Everyday Evason Every Day
Hilton Garden Inn, Room 302, Rye Brook, New York
Greg Evason, "Untitled 17" (2011)
Every day, or nearly so, Greg Evason sends me and an unknown number of correspondents his poems, drawings, and paintings. It is his emailart.
The poems he sends are much different from his poems from the late 1980s and early 1980s. They have a naive character that he grew into, which is the opposite of what one would expect, but they have a reverberating power. They are often simple stories of real life that swerve into surrealism, violence, horror, and almost everything else, making my email a set of unexpectable surprises.
His paintings and collages are made quickly, but they have a controlled purposefulness. They almost always capture my attention, especially in the way that he uses everything for them, especially packaging of goods he's purchased.
But tonight I want to think about his drawings, which I find exquisitely beautiful. His control of the line is so deft that I year for that control myself (and I have some control, but not like his). I want the eye he has, the hand he has to move so deftly, so apparently effortlessly, through the making of these spare but lively and ultimately beautiful pieces, which also lean surrealistic.
His untitled piece above gives some sense of work he does, and I chose it because of its vispoetic character. The lower half of a man appears to transform into an arm extending out of a sleeve and then out of a sleeve, handless, and maybe the arm turns into a head. But into the legs of this man are cut letters of the alphabet that almost spell out words, that suggest the naming of the man, that give a sense of us as people of signs and meanings.
And meanings are much different than meaning.
ecr. l'inf.
Greg Evason, "Untitled 17" (2011)Every day, or nearly so, Greg Evason sends me and an unknown number of correspondents his poems, drawings, and paintings. It is his emailart.
The poems he sends are much different from his poems from the late 1980s and early 1980s. They have a naive character that he grew into, which is the opposite of what one would expect, but they have a reverberating power. They are often simple stories of real life that swerve into surrealism, violence, horror, and almost everything else, making my email a set of unexpectable surprises.
His paintings and collages are made quickly, but they have a controlled purposefulness. They almost always capture my attention, especially in the way that he uses everything for them, especially packaging of goods he's purchased.
But tonight I want to think about his drawings, which I find exquisitely beautiful. His control of the line is so deft that I year for that control myself (and I have some control, but not like his). I want the eye he has, the hand he has to move so deftly, so apparently effortlessly, through the making of these spare but lively and ultimately beautiful pieces, which also lean surrealistic.
His untitled piece above gives some sense of work he does, and I chose it because of its vispoetic character. The lower half of a man appears to transform into an arm extending out of a sleeve and then out of a sleeve, handless, and maybe the arm turns into a head. But into the legs of this man are cut letters of the alphabet that almost spell out words, that suggest the naming of the man, that give a sense of us as people of signs and meanings.
And meanings are much different than meaning.
ecr. l'inf.
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