https://twitter.com/jonsarkin — Jon Sarkin jonsarkin.com
FLAT ROCKS GALLERY PRESENTS: DRIVEN…:
For some people art is not a choice.
Paul Cary Goldberg, photography.
Ken Riad, assemblages.
Jon Sarkin, mixed media.
Please join us
Check out full article at Art Finder. …
Outsider Art, or Art Brut as it was called by Jean Dubuffet who coined the term in the 1940s, was primarily used
What Drives Them
For some time now, we at Art*Throb have enjoyed the careers of all three artists featured in a discussion Feb. 2 at Flatrock’s Gallery… in Gloucester’s quietly
Affecting Perception: Art & Neuroscience
2nd – 31st March
03 Gallery, Oxford Castle, Oxford
Check out the original article on Insight Magazine…
If you’re looking for something that will get
Jon Sarkin has conjured up a series of original legal riffs for the Law & Water Gallery. From deep veins of literature, language, and history, Sarkin mined raw material into statements…
Jim raised his glass and then, reconsidering, put it down without drinking. To get here I’ve traveled some hard miles, he thought, the road was gravel and rubbled with rocks. This is not a metaphor. I mean he DID really walk miles to get here, and the road he walked WAS gravel, but at the same time, it IS metaphor in that his journey WAS challenging. But metaphor and literality – non-metaphor – are not mutually exclusive. But back to Jim. He was sitting at a table, an old oak table, that had seen better days, but so had Jim, and after all, haven’t we all? I don’t want to get all maudlin and hang-doggy. I really don’t. And neither did Jim. Yes, he WAS in a foul mood, but this was par for the course. Even birdie, whatever that means. Myself, I’m not much of a golfer. But that’s another story, and boy, what a story it is! And to say I’m not much of a golfer is an understatement of understatements, a sort of anti-hyperbole that bends back on itself like spacetime does in the presence of a black hole. I’ve no idea what I’m talking about of course, but talking about things I’ve no idea about is, I hate to admit, a compulsion of mine, like going on and on about phonies, when I myself am like the biggest phony you’re ever going to meet. Admittedly, this is a poor example, but citing poor examples is my stock in trade. It’s my trade in stock, too. Again, I have no idea what I mean. In that way, I’m a lot like Jim, aimlessly and randomly caroming about this life like a drunk playing pinball.