This is part three of a three part series featuring a tour of the valentines I’ve made in the years since I graduated from college. This links you to the first post. This links you to the second post.
Which brings us to 2010 and a move back to Louisiana, which inspired that year’s valentine. Let the good times roll!
We moved down the street the next February and no valentines were sent so this was included in the next year’s mailing. I suppose it’s 2011, after the fact.
This is part two of a three part series featuring a tour of the handmade valentines I’ve made in the years since I graduated from college. This links you to the first post.
Some years the valentine making process is easy, some years it literately draws blood, as it did in 2000. It seemed appropriate that the message that year was literal as well as figurative. Sometimes love is difficult and can hurt.
The next year I constructed a valentine that was transparent, with each side different, yet the same, reflecting the many layers of love within each of us….perhaps also a statement about how we change, depending upon the angle we’re viewed from.
A poster of this Jim Dine bathrobe has been framed and hanging in my bedroom ever since I was in my early twenties.
It has survived through 30+ military moves and always finds it’s place soon after being unpacked.
Like many pop artists Dine took ordinary objects and elevated them to art. It was important to Dine to look for the meaning and passion behind those objects. Born in Cincinnati, he grew up in his father’s hardware store and many of his works incorporate paintbrushes, hammers, pliers…even, quite literally, the bathroom sink. If art imitates life it makes sense that the things we see and use every day become the stuff that art is made of.
In 1997 I made a valentine with a sketch of my interpretation of a Dine bathrobe. Dine’s bathrobes and hearts have always been my favorites so it made sense to combine them.
Today, in 2016, I went into my closet, pulled out my own bathrobe, summoned some Dine mojo and allowed life to imitate art.
After which, I played with the image and the SuperPhoto app on my computer.
I like to draw but I’ve never been a painter and although the purist in me inwardly cringes at what I’ve done here, iPhone photography has gone a long way in allowing me to let that inhibition go.
Dine is my favorite pop artist but I can hardly write a post about the movement without a nod to Andy Warhol.
I’m a Campbell’s fan but my bathrobe is more likely to invoke my passions, in the spirit of Dine, than chicken noodle soup ever will.