twenty four inches

wake me with a tallboy @ Infusion Coffee and Tea, Philadelphia, PA

Work up from the series "wake me with a tallboy" through September.
Go check it out!


http://www.infusioncoffeeandtea.com/


7133 Germantown Avenue
Mt. Airy, Philly, PA 19119

215.248.1718

37130, Murfreesboro, Tennesee

 

Off the Coast of Spain

The snow was sprinkling in the windows like powdered sugar. Charlie had not thought to pull the shutters from storage, so there was nothing to close in order to keep the snowflakes out.
It was so quiet. Charlie quite liked it. Sitting in his whitewashed boat, in a whitewashed world, all wrongdoings absolved, hidden behind the fog and fluffy precipitation falling thoroughly consistent.
He could see his breath in the cold colored air, a warmer gray than it was, and as his ears began to adjust to the absence of audible sounds he started to feel like he could hear the weight of the flakes as they amass.
The wood where he sat no longer gave way under his weight, as it did during the lazy days of summer – it had stiffened with the weather, the moisture within had frozen.

The boat was not made for winter.
Charlie couldn’t stand up in the cabin without hitting his head. He had to hold his shoulders down near his knees when entering or exiting the hatch.
He felt a breeze near his ankles and used his eyes to follow along near the floorboards until he located its source, a hole had punched up through near the corner, and the wood was dark and rotten at its edges.
Something he would have to fix, but not until the winter had thawed and the spring had dried out. The glue would not hold a bond in the freeze or in the wet. The dry, hot summers were the best time for Charlie to make repairs.
He had a peanut butter sandwich wrapped in wax paper in his pocket, one with strawberry jelly. The quiet had been nice but Charlie had lost his concentration.
All he could think about was that jelly, the color of it such a stark contrast against the atmosphere. It was a red full of light, a red that wanted to live, a red that was alive.
He pulled the parcel from his pocket and the rustling of unwrapping banished the silence, changing Charlie’s perception. None of it seemed as empty as it had a moment before and even the colors seemed to warm.
Charlie thought he heard birds now and passing cars.
Maybe it was finally morning, or finally everybody else’s morning. Charlie had been up for hours. It made sense that his appetite would come and that his focus would go when he was no longer alone in the waking.
It was just as well, Marlena would be out soon and then just like clockwork, Charlie heard the backdoor. He heard her boots along the snow.

And her face was peeking in the hatch. She smiled sweetly, quietly, crow’s feet bending at the corners of her eyes. “Hi Charlie,”

“Marlena,”

“Mind if I join you?”
Charlie shook his head, made a sweeping motion with his hand, “Can sit anywhere you like.”

Marlena bent into the cabin, shoulders near her knees, crouched down and sat along the wall across from him. Their legs parallel with one another, Charlie saw a patch of purple cabbage in the blue jean field, all lined up in rows; another thing for summer.

He watched as Marlena pulled a cigarette tin from her jacket pocket. The scene a very cool blue painting: the daylight, the stark white snow, the off-white of the boat, heather grey of Marlena’s eyes, her coat a hungry chocolate brown.

She pout and held the filtered cigarette out between her lips, looking now by patting down her pockets for a lighter. Charlie had one in his coat.

“Thank you.” She mumbled mouth full and bent her neck down towards her chest to light her cigarette, pull in the first lung full. She held the lighter back out for him to take. He shook his head, held up his hand, she could have it. Marlena slid the lighter into her jacket.

Charlie did not smoke and his need for a lighter was very slim, but Marlena made him feel full up like nothing or no one ever had, and it made him feel like a good man to be able to light his lady’s smokes.

That cigarette smell nostalgic, cigarettes a cultural icon and a memory from back home, aunts and grammas and moms sitting around the dinner table or out at the dock wrapped up in a cloud. Charlie had spent a lifetime loving women with cigarettes dangling from their mouths.

Charlie sighed. “This boat is only good for sinking.”

“Well it’s a good thing then, that it’s under three feet of snow,” Marlena grinned.

Charlie didn’t want to, but he smiled back. “I guess it is, isn’t it? Although, you never know, that flood it could be coming and then what are we to do with a boat full of holes?”

“Start swimming?”

Charlie shook his head, “Hot air balloon.”

“Is that what’s next?” Marlena asked.

“Yes.” Charlie answered, now with a full on smile, “I am thinking we can use the drapes. I hate the ones in the kitchen, but I think they would be sturdy enough. Ugh, that heavy eggplant color, but it could be good for when we get real close to the sun. They could give us some shade or we could burn them for fuel.”

“And what for the basket?” Marlena asked. “Should I start bending the planks of the bed frame?”

“No,” Charlie said and spread his arms. “this boat. The holes make it much lighter, we could fit one with a telescope to look-out for good places to land and cheeseburgers.”

“Which way we flying?” Marlena asked and reached for a second cigarette.

“South.”

“mmm” through pouting, cigarette lips. “Now you’re talking. I don’t know about cheeseburgers though – what about fish tacos or burritos?”

Charlie shrugged his shoulders, “sure, as long as you come with me.”

“Of course I will come with you Charlie.”

They sat there in the cabin staring out opposite windows listening as the morning traffic start to stream past. Their house was fairly far from the road, but they could still hear the big trucks and with this weather, the small cars too – all dragging heavy chunks of ice in their wheel wells.

Philly Artblog Shout Out!

If you live in Philly you MUST get accqaunited with Roberta Fallon & Libby Rosof's artblog.
It gives a insight to all things art in Philly and even NYC and further.
Make it a habit, morning coffee and artblog - save it to your 'favorites', simple.

And while you're there - check out the write up on the Summer in the City Exhibition at Project's Gallery. My photographs are mentioned with an image of the work as well!

Fantastic!

Thank -you, artblog.

Here's the link:
http://theartblog.org/2009/07/first-friday-an-introspective-fourth-of-july/#more-8423

wow, Emilie Faif

I have shyed away from posting other's works. But this: WOW.

Artist: Emilie Faif

you can see more of her work here, http://www.valeriehenry.com/
(just click on her name)

her.

Summer in the City @ Projects Gallery

June 5 – August 1, 2009 "Summer in the City"

@ Projects Gallery

629 N. 2nd Street

Philadelphia, PA

Since the advent of cities, those with the means have escaped during the steamy summer months. But what of those who remain? For the months of June and July, Projects Gallery presents “Summer in the City”, a group show resulting from an open call to artists from the greater Philadelphia and Delaware Valley region. The resulting artists run the gamut from current students to established, mid-career artists.

Frequently galleries close or reduce their operating hours under the assumption that the sticky days and hot nights leave no audience for art. Projects Gallery believes that, for the peoples that remain, the thirst for expression is not diminished by the change of season. The work in this exhibition is a template of patient visual critique of the experience rather than simple jubilation. “Summer in the City” celebrates these die-hard urbanites and is reflective of their myriad experience.

Artists include Jennifer Baker, Henry Berkowitz, Aubrie Costello, Linda Dubin Garfield, Conor Fields,Ashley Flynn, Adam Lovitz, Daniel Petraitis, Bobby Rosenstock, Martha Savery, Allen Spencer and Deborah Imler, Fay Stanford, Jayne Surrena, Mat Tomezsko, Andrew Wapinski, Tamsen Wojtanowski and others.

“Summer in the City” will be on display June 5 – August 1, 2009.

There will be an artist opening reception First Friday June 5th from 6 - 9 p.m.
The opening will embody the energy of a backyard keg party as we celebrate our own summer in the city. The reception is free and open to the public.

Exhibition at The Bean Cafe

Come and get it.

art by Tamsen Wojtanowski

The Bean Cafe
615 South St.
Philadelphia, PA

May13th- June 9, 2009

Opening May 13th: 7:30-9:30pm.

http://www.tamsenwj.com/

Hard Times Down Home, Juried Exhibition, Watchung Arts Center, NJ

HARD TIMES DOWN HOME

Juried Exhibition

at the Watchung Arts Center

Watchung, NJ

Opening Sunday, May 3, 2009, 1 to 4 pm

Show runs May 3 to May 29, 2009

Artists: Joanne Amantea, Les Brownstein, Laura Cuevas, Paul Di Zefalo, Laurie Fitzpatrick, Annie Fraser, Sheryl Goldberg, Frances Heinrich, Will Holub, Judith Peck, David Ratcliff, Mary Ann Reilly, Anne Sailer, Jesse Thompson, Tamsen Wojtanowski .

Watchung Arts Centeron the Watchung Circle18 Stirling Rd.Watchung, NJ 07069

for you, Ms. Roth - Part 2

So I wrote you letters

mapped the space in between
did my best to bend
my words into pictures

to shape
time
into plans

I will see you,
when?


I wrote you letters
I wrote you recklessly
I wrote to the pain in me

though I
don't think
that's how you saw it

my longing full up like a storm coming

changed the color made the drawing seem one of incessant
burning rather than that of an everpresent lacking
tear-drop shaped eyes

you were
weathering a storm of your own
and i was lucky.


In the distance

I built us a home
I layed down the grass seed
grew up the trees
put mattress on top of mattress
made the whole thing sunkissed and smell
of fallen leaves
baking bread and chocolate and coffee.

In the distance

like a locket with a loved one's photograph

I put your mark on me.

I have been writing to you

in there

the you I cannot name

painting pictures for you

staging photographs for you

for a lifetime

perverse
in my vulnerability

when in the space of you

I called you art

you were my

little secret

I was
embarassed

but you felt good
the trance

and no it didn't make sense

but it didn't have to

although

in the space of you
I was lacking

calling out over the canyon
I was not answered
by an echo

there were no lilly pads
to wrap around my ankles
at the bottom of the pond

falling hurt
but there was no blood
there was danger

but nothing at stake

just unanswered letters
almost there paintings
and something missing photographs

my indulgence
sad

as
indulgences usually are

but

I have seen you now

of this earth
and I have your name

don't worry
I will stay away

but when you can

you should come to me

I promise to be

disguisting
covered in
and leaking
my humanity.

Robots have it better than I do.

They get to be in music videos.
They get to meet the Beastie Boys.
They get to hang out with the Beastie Boys.
And the Flaming Lips.
And I'm sure they get to party with them both.

I would party on weeknights if I could party with the Flaming Lips.

I would still only party on the weekends with the Beastie Boys.

If I was a robot I would spend all my time in the garage with scrap metal and a soldering iron making useful extension tools for my metal arms. And my metal legs.

I could probably fashion guitar strings in my left armpit, one end attached to the inside of my forearm, the other end to my hip.

And that way when I held my arm out straight, the strings would tighten up (like webbing between the toes on a frog's foot.) Then I would have a built in musical instrument, like a secret super power.
And I could fashion a bow holder on my back. Not "bow" like bow and arrow, but "bow" like bow for a cello - and I could use it to play my armpit guitar.

And also I could carry arrows back there and use my tightened guitar strings like a built in bow (the launching kind) and that way my secret power would not only be of the heart (music) but also of justice (violence).

But, you know robots - they don't have hearts.
It would be hard to make music without a heart,
but then I guess plenty of people do it.

So why shouldn't robots?

Robots have it better then I do.
They can use oil and glue and soldering irons. They don't have to feel themselves getting old and they can always improve with extra parts.
Plus, they get to hang out with the Flaming Lips and at NASA and they are more likely to go to the moon and I think they've been on Mars, and also very deep in the ocean.

Robots have it better than I do.

Oh woe!

I am wearing your favorite shirt
the one you wore in high school
and the underwear
you gave me
ruminating
eyes at half mast
over cereal bowl
and coffee

I woke up again
in the bed without you love

have the whole day ahead
to fantasize
about taking my wrench
to the gear box

I won't

because I fear
when the dust settles
and the gear box is still there
and you are still far away



no, love, I will wait here

I will keep
making pots of coffee
watching the black turn lighter
shades of gray

as the world wakes.

Patience your breath is hot
on the back of my neck
patience please patience stop
I am not

the one you thought me to be

on the hilltop
silhouetted
against the glow
of a city burning
faithful to the fact that the fire will go out

and we will be standing still
with hands
ready to rebuild


but
it is not a city burning is it
it is not any kind of armageddon
it is just a woman
with a lover
who is far away
and has been and will be so for some time to come

perhaps I would do better with a fire
(though I wish it not)

patience still I beg you
pleaseI am tired.
patience stop
I am not

the one you thought me to be.

for you, Ms. Roth

It began with a parade
of palm fronds
fashioned like peacock feathers
in an homage
to a higher power
moving through the park
around the little league field
and the monkey bars

we were across the street
walking towards the mountains
in the distance
they did not seem so far
but then
that illusion just a demonstration
of the mountains' size
like you a stranger I knew

I already loved

the sun was high but lazy
and the air was thin
you talked about race cars
and boxtops
and life in Tennessee

and I knew then I could forgive you
of anything you had done
or of anything you might ever do

I flew

out of Denver
dutifully compliant

to patience.

ADVENTURE SHELF
photographs and mixed media
by Tamsen Wojtanowski

at

BORROWED TIME
sober, smoke-free, vegan
arts and event space
1202 S. 46th Street
(at Kingsessing)
West Philly.

runs: March 28th-April 9th

Opening: Saturday, March 28th from 4-7pm

gallery hours: April 5th from 2-5
or by appointment: tamsenwj@temple.edu

***I'm making vegan banana nut chocolate chip muffins! You bring juice. See you Saturday!

The everfresh sunflowers
are fading behind the glass
except for a small one in the back
still holding onto its browns
and pale yellows
the rest awash
a soft shade
of cyan and teal
a confetti set
of barrettes
sprinkled in the hair
of the
school age girl
going into
the corner store
I can still see my breath
but it is spring.

I haven't been sleeping
they changed the time
to make the morning dark
the evening light

I've been thinking of you, dear
all the while

the smiling gargoyles
the pointy spires

all the gray
above my shoulders

the sun is breaking
over the trees

my bones hurt
where they meet
under my skin

I think

that's all for you

its not for me
its not for them

my heavy head
it wants to rest

lover, on your chest

the dog's toenails
across the hardwood floor

all the world cut out of paper
all the colors flat.

I have got nothing but a sick head
a foul taste in my mouth
ghost images of velociraptors
hiding behind order
standing in the shade
with their long teeth
and their long fingers
while the rest of us bake
in the hot sun
my hot head
a gelatinous skin
has settled
over top of the stew
the insects are feasting
on what is soon to be infection
and then the dinosaurs
won't want to
eat us
anymore
a crippled youth
they did not wish for us better
but to keep their seat
underneath
the umbrella.

what if every post-it
was put
in the same landfill
a candy colored mountian
we could hide in
between
the
"file these"
"to do" lists and phone number
reminders

burrow in the colors
nest aggresively in the neons
rearrange the shades
make order
in our kingdom

bring in banquet tables
stage buffets
climb outside
and to the top
to sunbathe

candy mountian

you me baby
and the mice
the paper fleas
and
freedom.

What do they say?

Post-its
could you imagine your life
without them?

contrast is needed
to create dimension
in a painting
and in a meal the same
in the body
of what
is between
you and me
in a cup of coffee maybe
sunshine and danger
tender
in the dark
apples and onions
maple syrup and soy sauce
the way you make me angry
the way you fill me up

the
stolen moments
when chaos hits

be it good
be it bad

before
we pour
the alcohol

before the chance
to split

when we are all
just in it

together

in the transient pause

the freedom

in the moment
right
before

changing direction

without wanting

to make a new plan

but
when
being forced.

I spent
all the time
by myself
the tree branches
articulated
naked
the legs of
my pants
covered in mud
there was no rock and sway
just the silence
water frozen solid
moving
hand over foot

traveling erosion

I circled through the space
a cratered moon
with a bic lighter
without a song
a broken smile
only the miles
before me
and behind
me.

Friday in paradise
the marching band
is playing
up and down the
streets

you can hear
the misfits banging
pots and pans
from their camp
to match them

their timpani and snare

the sun is
strong-arming
the night

and with it
any dreams
that try to linger

I can smell the coffee in the windows
feel
the fat of sleep
around my eyes

- to the trenches

to the shower stalls
and the buttered bread
the work boots
the shirt/suits

and the
bus
stops

there is someone
lying
in
the
street.

My work IN GEORGIA! (where it's probably warmer)

***Above images from my series "Perhaps". 2008. Color photographs. 4"x6".

They are being shown in juried exhibition:

“All Small Redux"

In this time of downsizing, low returns, minimal output and small budgets, it is refreshing to celebrate the fabulous preciousness of the tiny.

Jurors are Lisa Alembik, Rachael Baldanza and Richard Gess, organizers of 2002’s “All Small.”

Feb. 12- March 22nd, 2009

@ the Dalton Gallery, Angnes Scott College

Decatur, GA

Feb 12 - 5-8p.m. Opening Reception.

March 4, 7 p.m. All Small Night of PerformanceAn evening of performances that are 60 seconds or less! Dance, song, performance art, poetry readings—most anything goes. Contact the gallery to sign up to perform.

Gallery Hours: M-F 10 a.m.-4:30 p.m. S/S noon-4 p.m.404 471-5361 daltongallery@agnesscott.edu http://daltongallery.agnesscott.edu/

Entry is free and open to the public.

The Dalton Gallery is located in the Dana Fine Arts Building on the corner of S. McDonough and E. Dougherty streets.

Lisa Alembik, DirectorThe Dalton Gallery Agnes Scott College 141 E. College Ave.Decatur, GA 30030404 471-6244 p 404 471-5369 f www.agnesscott.edu http://daltongallery.agnesscott.edu/

The Dalton Gallery is a member of the Visual Arts Network of Atlanta (VANA) www.visualartsatlanta.com

When I wear the socks I wore to bed to work
I feel devious and sleepy
audaciously unkempt

knee high and red
soccer socks from the fourth grade

they're stained
with a history of victory
and losses

the next best thing
to barefoot

under my desk

naked ankles
and toes

lusting after
blisters

longing

to carry this body

for freedom

for open roads

or
at least
take me
back

to my

warm
worn
bed

back
home.

"Lookin' for Love"? - First Friday at Highwire Gallery in Philadelphia's Fishtown

***It's cold out -- go see some of my work! @ the Highwire Gallery. It'll warm your heart...and who knows, it's an opening with poetry, maybe you'll be able to pick somebody up.

"Lookin' for Love"@ HIGHWIRE GALLERYa juried show on the theme of love

Opening Reception First Friday, February 6th, 5-9 pm
with a special reading at 8:30 pm..."Four Poets in Love" featuring Adam Fieled, David Prater, Sarah Birl and Paul Siegell.

show runs February 6 through March 1, 2009
Th 12-4, Fri 3-7, Sat & Sun 12-5

HIGHWIRE GALLERY
2040 Frankford Ave, 19125
215.426.2685http://www.highwiregallery.com/

The city is dressed
usually
obtrusively
naked
pre-sexed or post-sexed
this morning I woke
and the city was dressed
hidden away
are the dinner remains
the city's cow paddies
arrant plastic bags and newspapers and grit
mixed and made into mud
masked is the smell of urine
the sirens and trolleys
are muted
the whole angry mean thing
insulated
trapped within itself
beneath a blanket
of snow
all forms of public transportation
are stalled
now its raining
in the breaking morning light
we are all waiting
for the trolley
and they keep driving
past.

A breeze blows underground
the personality of public transportation
being pushed down long corridors
and through tunnels
smell of wet earth in the concrete

we are all potatoes

french fried
and mashed
shoe-string and crinkle-cut
baked and dressed
with sour cream and chives
greek yogurt
honey and raisins
bacon bits
cheddar cheese
artichoke hearts
marinated in olive oil and garlic

tuber roots
with tentacles and pock marks
stink-eye and bruises
showing our growth
in lines along our faces
scared arms and hands

And at night
lying in the bed
next to one another we roll over
Potatoes turning in the dirt

we all
roll over

waking to apply
eye glasses

get up
and
take the train.

Photo I Portfolio

*** New on my website!

Check out my student's work from Tyler School of Art, B&W Photo I Class!

http://www.tamsenwj.com/

(above image a self-portrait by Brandt Imhoff)