lines of flight

These are the pieces I’ve collected by Aaron Martin. He’s that guy!

Clockwise: the large multimedia painting is called Posed (Inhibition Dead), Sept. 1, 2003. The marker on tile piece that says Aarons Paky is earlier, not sure the date. The angry one is Charles, “He loves to sing, and picks on red pandas,” circa 2004.

I love the paintings especially, but Aaron’s styles have evolved a ton in the last few years and my woebot family needs a new member! Check him out in the first issue of Contrast magazine.

And check him out this Saturday at the Contemporary Museum Cafe. I can’t wait to meander around the grounds which inspired Shepard Fairey in 2005, so nice!

TCM pr person twittered two days ago:

TCMHonoluluPR: Live art? Come to TCM Thursday, Friday and Saturday this week to see Aaron Martin (aka Angry Woebots) create a mural from11:20-2:30pm/cafe

The Honolulu Academy of Arts was buzzing on Sunday afternoon, when I finally made it to see The Dragon’s Gift: The Sacred Arts of Bhutan, which had been there since February but held over til this weekend.

I was lucky enough to catch part of a guided tour of the exhibit, which allowed me more insight than I would have on my own. A lot of the pieces were intricately embroidered and appliqued thangka with symbol-ladden scenes from the life of important Buddhist teachers and deities.

There were also centuries old metal-cast sculptures and some ancient Buddhist ritual items including a phurba and a vajra, pictured, which I recognized because M left them here, his spiritual practice no longer a priority. This NY Times article explains how this one-of-a-kind collection was put together, the slideshow is good, too.

The exhibition was presided over by a small group of Bhutanese monks, who also lead prayers in another area of the museum called the Altar Room. The smell of incense and drone of chanting was enveloping even outside the doors, where shoes were piled. Beatific people were seated on cushions around the room in various meditation positions, throwing rice and plumeria blossoms up and into the center of the room either at certain times in the chant, or maybe just following along when the monks did it, which is what I was doing. Aping such earnest ritual made me uncomfortable.