Time Marches On... Wait a minute. In America it's "justice first... and just a second." May you never be cursed to live in interesting times but you already are. A stitch in time saves nine, but it's too late for that because time and tide waits for no man. And no man is an island. So why are sea levels rising? Is global warming linked to the speeding up of clocks, or is it an artifact of aging? Let's turn back the clock, make the sands of time run back into the upper half of the hourglass. Yesterday, today and tomorrow are mere abstractions since it's always now. And the Grand Canyon can fit inside your head when you think about it. So yank on your walrus gumboots, hop in the Landscape Rover and move over... it's Safari time!





Stefcia Skrabak fires off a current events inspired mixed media titled "Untitled", drawn on a German newspaper.

Tanks alot and choppers aplenty. How do you say machete in Kongolese?

Nothing times something is still nothing. Even in the New York Times.

 Sadie Burzan gave this chiaro-not-too-obscuro painting the same title as Skrabak's artwork, "Untitled."

I wil continue to show no mercy to those who use that untitle for their art.

The grim rictus of this bonehead reminds me a bit of Rumsfeld grinning over the obscene profits he has made off the privatization of murder and destruction.


We continue with the dismemberment and decapitation theme.

A headless "Ascending Angel" rises out of the picture plane in this gory allegory by Shelley Farkas Davis...

Looking every bit like it was snatched from the icing of a white weading cake.



The invisible made visible. The sublime, rediculous. Plumage and plumbing of the torso and so on.


You think I picked this one just because it has skeletons in it and I'm obsessed with death?

Ha! You are wrong!

Judith Singer strikes again in "Artists are required to submit a brief autobiography."

We are inviting local artist to really do this for the upcoming Shandaken Art Festival & Studio Tour in July.

Email me if you want to be on the map and open your studio for visitors.




Nevermore quoth the ravens of "Messengers through the rain" by Deborah Joyce.


I'm not picking all the morbid paintigs for this untimely death of history moment in human devolution, am I?




Just to prove it, I'm including this winsom and cheerful mug of foamy facial foliage.


I have known "James" ever since the early 1980s. The handsome rascal has had every beard hair captured and immortalized in this warm and loving photo by Yvonne Gunner.

Her solo show of portraits is a veritable who's who and who's not of our local illuminati.

How solo can you go?



Tick, tock. Baby's first steps on the "Tightrope" of life by Laura Katz.

The Earth dangles like a pendulum which swings from ice age to steamy jungle every 20,000 years or so.

A blue moon, the Islamic icon, hangs on a shorter leash, just above the Chinese checkerboard of global geopolitics.

Baby must watch her step. The waxed feather wings of Icarus can only take you so high before melting off. Kind of like dependency on fossil fuels. It's fossil fuelish!






Walking right along, we have "Fawn's First Steps" by Troy Gangle.

I begin to see the inklings of a new local sculptural genre of found wood assemblage shared by such notables as Skip Gallagher, Chris Pryslopski John Byer and Lenny Kislin.

If you peek between the legs, you will see the rotting charred roof of the Phoenicia Hotel.


The natural next step is this frolicsome yet surprisingly worldly and insightful cosmic mandala by Phoenicia Cub Scout 60 called "The Clock." I like the title.


Time is money, indeed.

Why didn't I think of that old saw when writing my introduction?


 Here is Chris Pryslopski's totally non-functional grandfather clock titled "Pendulum VI (Ripple)"

The tree rings are a calendar marking years gone by.


The lack of passage of time proves that even a broken clock tells the right time twice a day. And it's always 11 AM somewhere in the world.

Hence, we may order the breakfast special. Make mine over easy with bacon, home fries and rye toast. And yes, I'll have a refill.


Thank God it's Friday and not some psycho stalker.

Oh, wait. Those are my footprints. I must be stalking myself.

Leslie Reich jumbles metaphors in "The Sands of Time marches on."

See what fun you can have with titles, you artists that shall remain nameless!



Claire Kassor must see the universe in a grain of sand. She weaves threads of imagination into the fabric of reality on the loom of larger than life in such a small frame.

"Long Beach in Late Summer" where the weekend waning tide has washed away all trace of Friday's footprints.



Nancy Winternight invites us into her dream, a cryptic triptych called "Elevation."

I often have pleasant dreams of flying, now that really flying has become such a nightmare.



Marie Marionette and Lady Godiva dance with their inner child on the fleeting timetable of this diorama by Polly M. Law called "Time and the Maiden."

Remember what time it is in Michael Jackson's Never-Neverland... It's when the big hand touches the little hand.


I hope your time on my Safari has been well spent because the moving hand having writ, moves on...

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