Rollick & Roll: More Visual Fiction by
I want you to like my work, and I want you to like me. Or at least not be mad at me and think I'm trying to pull a fast one. I'm not trying to pull a fast one. While it is true that most of my work does seem to simply build itself, or draw and paint itself, that happens only when I have the skill to get out of its way. Or out of my own way. Try that sometime, you humans. It is not so easy as you might think.
It is surely not easy for me because the tools and materials of my workday are not capable of animating themselves, even though it sometimes seems that they are aiming themselves for that exact future, which would make staying out of their way a whole lot easier.
The sticks of pastel, or paintbrushes, or soldering iron and scraps of wire and sheet copper do want me there; they still need my hands. Don't think that I am disassociated from myself. I'm not. If you ever met me you would probably find me boringly normal, and probably soon be wishing I actually did have a magic soldering iron that could rig itself into some hot state of animation. Or a wand of charcoal which could inexplicably draw the face of a horse you would ache to feed, while vaporizing its fetlocks to the point that it required wings to simply stand. I'm sure you would wish I had brought all that wonderful stuff with me and could show you how it works. I can't. All I can do is try to stay out of the way, and be alone, and let the fictions begin. I guess they are fiction, the paintings and sculptures; they have that look of story about them. It's as if I've just landed in the middle of a tale or scene.
There are people who dream themselves important and capable, who imagine themselves still the masters of their devices, while their animal companions seem happily free of the knowledge that humans are usually only experimenting. There are people in the middle of conversations where words flap around like half-winged birds, and I just know that they are still trying to say some same silly thing that words don't work for.
There are wheeled contraptions ridden or hauled by people who long-ago gave over the use of their hands and arms to technologies which promised the invention of superior loving embrace. Sometimes their vehicles sport painted signs where front and back cannot agree on a story. I try not to argue with them. I try to stay out of my way.
About the Artist:
A native of Charleston, South Carolina, Aggie Zed grew up in a large family on Sullivan's Island riding ponies and donkeys on the beach. As a child she watched her father repair television sets and played for hours with cheap plastic horses and cowboys which has no moving parts. She could always draw. Living in Richmond, Virginia, after graduating from The University of South Carolina with a degree in Fine Arts, she supported her painting by designing and building ceramic chess sets. Her work in clay evolved to become a widely-collected series of human-animal hybrid figures with which she has made a living. She divides her working life between sculpture, drawing and painting.
Her drawings and paintings are informed by lifelong celebration of the beauty and strangeness of dreams posed against the absurdity and poignancy of supposedly rational human activity. Her usual mediums are dry pastel and various inks with water on paper. Aggie Zed's sculpture ranges from intimately-scaled ceramic figures of people and human-animal hybrids to copper wire and ceramic horses to ceramic and mixed-metals contrivances she calls "scrap floats." Her scrap floats are intended as entries in a parade of the future.
She currently lives with her husband in Gordonsville, Virginia where she keeps animals in her life, especially chickens, which defy anthropomorphism.
About the Exhibition:
In this exhibit, each sculpture exists in many different scales – the artist’s work is the clay slab along with the occasional use of steel and wood which forms in various ways to explore the balance, tension, and structure of the piece as well as the interplay between the components within the piece. In some pieces, the surface texture and color suggest that the piece could be made of steel, wood, plastic, or another generic material. In a similar way, the scale of the piece is meant to be ambiguous, thus creating in the viewer’s imagination, the possibility of a monumentally scaled piece.
About the Artist:
Born in 1954, Edward Belbusti studied Architecture at Virginia Tech. He graduated with a Bachelor of Architecture degree in 1981. Prior to moving to Nashville in 1989, he worked as an architect in New York and Baltimore. In Nashville he worked for many years as University Architect at Vanderbilt University. He retired from architecture and began his career as a sculptor in 2011.Even though retired from the field; he admits that architecture still plays a strong role in his artwork – especially in the freedom of expression of his own designs and concepts.