I came across these small, sculptural gems at the recent holiday market at my house, and asked Laura from Templton General if I could photograph them. They are new works by local Boston artist, Liliana Folta. A departure from her previous, more iconic, work these intimate, abstract pieces nonetheless possess Liliana’s signature exploration of the boundaries between the beautiful and the bizarre.

Flora and fauna intertwined, these undulating lifeforms take us on a cyclical ride that is both nurturing and disquieting. At first our inherent optimism leads us to experience those pods as buds, unfolding with life. Or are they fungi initiating their recycling process?  Are those tendril forms reaching forth to take root? Or are they choking tentacles? Are we witness to nascent garden or Little Shop of Horrors? An exciting dance, small enough to be cupped in the palm of your hand, these works feel like a privilege. For though they are fluid and fecund, they are also brittle as bone. Take care of these emerging seeds, lest their fragile bodies turn to barrenness and dust.

 New works by Liliana Folta are available at Templeton General.

Schema, 2013

Wrapping up this week of the slightly macabre and subtly disquieting, I thought I’d share the stunning work of British artist Kate MccGwire, whom I discovered via Harriet Goodall. Kate’s work with feathers began one day when she started collecting pigeon feathers on the way to her Hampton studio. Now Kate benefits from the generosity of poultry farms all over the UK.

For me, the power of Kate’s work lies in her ability to evoke our most primordial urges and archetypal instincts. Serpentine forms – undulating and elemental – bring us right back to that uneasy time when Nature was not so tame. When forces like Tiamat or Jörmungandr ruled, filling us with a sense of awe and foreboding at both their beauty and potential for chaos. Though they are tantalizingly tactile and exquisitely detailed, one dare not succumb to the lure of Kate’s pieces, for fear  you might waken a sleeping beast.

Cusp 2013

Cleave 2012

Wrest, 2009 and Flail, 2013

Shroud, 2013

Smother, 2013 and Splice, 2012

FINE, 2012

Evacuate, 2010

Evacuate (detail), 2010

An Ode to Miss Havisham (clockwise from the left): “Path to a Little Black Church” by Eye Poetry; vintage tea cup with dead mouse from Merel; black tulle collar by Karolin Felix Dream

As Halloween approaches, it’s once again time for a roundup of my Etsy favorites. Here are this year’s ghoulish discoveries.

Batmen (clockwise from the left):  felt bat mask by Kitty Dune Cuts; vintage skim board from Now Vintage; paper bats by Heidi’s Hubbub

Black Widows: wire pumpkins by Simply Chi, Spider watercolor by Geometric Ink

You can check out other year’s picks, here and here.

Ever wonder if the things you covet in blogs are really as good in person? I know I’ve sometimes been disappointed by either the quality or execution of something I ordered, that was not as I hoped or expected.

Not so with Mr. Finch. Believe it or not, his work is even better in person!

Pictured here is a sleeping fox that Finch made as a birthday present for my aunt Jessie, whose characterful menagerie you may remember here. I can’t say enough about this work. It is stunning and evocative on so many levels. It is expressive from every angle, from his rounded haunches to his tucked-up paws. He is sweet and vulnerable in his fetal position, like a baby cradled in the blanket of his protective parents. And yet, his clever eyes and ever-alert ears reveal that he is still a wild animal, full of natural impulses, innocent, but still untamed by the temperance of adulthood. Though small he is an archetype for something much larger. The painted stars on his legs speak of a future as limitless as the universe, yet also as intangible, not for us to control. He is a totem of potential. A weaver of dreams.

Sometimes after a big adventure, what’s needed is a little quiet. And often, what arises out of this period of reflection is something, perhaps not quite so spectacular, but ultimately more personal and authentic.

In 2010, artist and designer Mihaeko embarked on a collaboration with Björk, creating larger-than-life instruments for the singer’s world tour. Though these were impressive and dramatic, Mihaeko longed to return to a more intimate form of expression. Thus, setting up shop in New York, the largely self-trained artist started Starling Brood.

Starling Brood is quiet collection of deeply personal, small-scale pieces, designed to be enjoyed one-person-at-a-time. Pocked tea cups with a resting place for your thumb; rustic, soft sculpture lap cats curled up in a ball; or porcelain mushrooms that fit in the palm of your hand, these are the stuff of moments of calm. And yet they are not unlively. Quietly dynamic, the artistic process is tangible in the pinches and prints which mark each with its own distinct character: some jaunty, others more languid. Fluid and organic, these pieces possess an understated energy. Like the slow beat of nature’s biological rhythms, their daily vicissitudes are no less palpable, though they may be indistinguishable to the naked eye. Neither conspicuous nor grand, Mihaeko’s Starling Brood may not impress from a stage “enthronged.” But to the individual, these small gifts of everyday life are no less breathtaking.

Last week, I featured the breathtaking work of Swedish paper artist, Cecilia Levy. Today I bring you another talented paper artist from Sweden: Fideli Sundqvist. Working in the same medium, the work of these two artists shares a deep sense of story. And yet, in many ways they are quite different. Where Cecilia’s pieces tend to be more ethereal and introspective, Fideli’s work, especially her fantastical paper cuts for kids, is more often bright and jubilant. Or, in the case of her still lives with food, a little dark and downright succulent.

To achieve this kind of sensual lusciousness with paper is quite a feat. And it sets up a fascinating paradox between the senses and the mind. Intellectually, you know that it’s dry, tasteless paper – in fact the title of this series is “Tasteless”. Even so your eyes and tastebuds urge you to take a big bite!

And then there are the bugs. Natural and low, they enhance the earthiness of these pieces, as well as the ick-factor. And yet it’s all so intricate and lovely that you can’t look away. Beautifully styled by Joanna Lavén, Sundqvist’s still lives may indeed be tasteless, but they are nonetheless a feast for the eyes… and mind.

Originally from Uppsala, artist/designer Fideli Sundqvist grew up in a creative household. After high-school she moved to Stockholm, studying first at Nyckelviksskolan and then at Konstfack, from which she obtained a degree in illustration and graphic design. Today this prolific artist’s work includes, paper cut, prop-and-graphic design, as well as illustration.

Still life: “Smaklöst” – Photographer: Olivia Jeczmyk; Stylist: Joanna Lavén

A graduate of Mass College of Art in metal smithing, artist Jennifer Trask went on to receive her MFA from SUNY New Paltz. Today this Hudson Valley resident is an acclaimed artist, whose work graces many a museum throughout the country.

Similar to the Dutch tradition of Vanitas, Trask employs found materials – bone, wood and antlers – to suggest the transience of life. But to my mind she takes it to a whole new level.

In Trask’s pieces, opulent laced curls and undulating vines, often gilded and lavish, conjure the decadence of the Baroque. So lush and lovely, their seductive allure beseeches you to reach out and touch their wild displays. And yet to do so would render them dust running through your fingers. So delicate are they, these precarious bones. Not living at all, they are utterly dead. The paradox is achingly exquisite.

reindeer

Send a sculpture anywhere in the world for just the price of flat rate!

In 2011, industrial designer Nick Rübesamen got together with Henrike Mayer, a photographer and graphic designer, to form Formes Berlin. The very first product by this creative duo are clever postcards made from cedar veneer. In a “cross between pop-up surprise and origami,” each card features a laser-cut character, which can be popped out and quickly formed into your own mini sculpture.

evergreen

sheep (that bears a striking resemblance to my children’s favorite, Shaun the Sheep)

elephant

The upcoming solstice, plus several days of 70° plus temperatures, means that it’s officially spring week here on designkool! Kicking us off are the stunning works of Anne ten Donkelaar.

Two of Donkelaar’s most ephemeral series: Broken Butterflies and Flower Constructions, celebrate spring’s most symbolic harbingers. In these works the Dutch artist utilizes a combination of natural and man-made materials to create these exquisitely delicate assemblages.

For her Broken Butterflies, Donkelaar procured insects that had died a natural death in a local butterfly observatory. Often these beauties were damaged, so in her work Donkelaar set about “restoring” their missing parts with pins and thread, embroidery, roots, or other elements. For her flower constructions, Donkelaar again combined bits of real and man-made – pressed flowers, stems, and printed illustrations – to create her floral collages.

In both series, Donkelaar seems to be commenting on the parallel roles of human and Mother Nature as Creator, and how artists and scientists in particular endeavor to capture the beauty and complexity of Natures’ designs. It is no accident that these works resemble the pinned specimens of the naturalist or botanist. (To me the flowers in particular resemble the Blascha glass flower models at Harvard University’s Museum of Natural History.) Nor is it a coincidence that Anne’s constructions have a distinctly Frankensteinian aspect to them.

Indeed the theme of rebirth is quite strong in Donkelaar’s work. Like the awakening of spring itself, dead flowers and damaged butterflies are renewed. But even as Donkelaar plays at creator, she does not try to hide the human hand. Indeed she celebrates it with overt, machinist attachments to her butterflies or by deliberately maintaining the two dimensionality of her bouquets. It’s as if Donkelaar is quite aware that in all our attempts to dissect and understand and mimic Nature’s beauty, humanity’s efforts will never have quite the same life.

At first glance Anne ten Donkelaar’s collages seem deceivingly demur. But to me it is not just the beauty, but the tension of Donkelaar’s pieces that makes them so evocative and compelling. In Donkelaar’s fragile work, we are aware of how frail life can be. And no matter how much we study her with our sciences or revere Nature with our art, we cannot cheat death. It is the play of life and death, of nature and machine, of the beautiful and the monstrous that lends great power to Donkelaar’s work.

For an interview with the artist, see My Modern Met.

Yesterday, I was delighted to make the aquaintance of Mady Dooijes via the comments here on designskool. Not only is Mady a talented clothing designer, but she also has a beautiful blog, Abundance, which I thoroughly enjoyed leafing through. One of her features in particular struck me – that of Dutch artist Peter Gentenaar. His latest exposition of 100 paper sculptures in the abbey church of Saint Riquier, in Northern France, is totally stunning.

I can imagine that Peter’s work would be striking in any venue, but in this cathedral it is utterly breathtaking. Floating in this soaring place of worship, these huge sculptures adopt all kinds of powerful connotations. Much like the abbey church itself, these ethereal pieces possess a calm, quiet grandeur, a sacred serenity. And like this cathedral their organic forms pay homage to Nature as the master architect, appearing sometimes as flowers, a breath of wind, or even a whale.

And yet, there is also a darker countenance to these creatures. Wafting through the heavens, they take on aspects of both cherubs and shrouds. Here with their visible veins echoing the “bones” of the structure, and their sweeping folds flowing right into the graceful lines of the architecture, it’s as if they are one with the space. And yet, thus unbound, one has the feeling that any calm might be temporary. That given the slightest provocation, these angels might be whipped into a frenzy of furies.

The genius of this installation lines in Peter’s ability to simultaneously evoke all aspects of our complicated relationship with the divine. From their lofty prospect in Saint Riquier, Gentenaar’s creations appear much like The Creator itself. Beautiful, but slightly menacing, they are simply awesome.