Bigindicator

Diane Golden

Profile  |  Artworks  |  Comments
20120503165242-sheartmachine
Heart Machine, 2011 Mixed 14"x10
20120503172147-s_monolith
Monolith, 2012 Assemblage 15"x11"
20120503172609-snestingbird
Nesting, 2011 Assemblage 13"x9"
20120503172447-s_badbunnies
Bad Bunnies, 2011 Assemblage 9"x14"
20120503172800-spetitions
Petitions, 2011 Assemblage 4"x9"
20120503172930-s_wings
Wings, 2012 Assemblage 14"x16"
20120504004055-sskulleye
Untitled, 2112 Assemblage 20"x12"
20120504004238-searthchest
untitled, 2011 Assemblage 12"x16"
20120503165227-a-sdiane_golden
Quick Facts
Birthplace
Illinois
Lives in
Warrensburg NY
Works in
Warrensburg NY
Tags
assemblage, collage mixed-media, sculpture
Statement

The form of the art I make is not new; the idea of “things” contained and arranged in boxes is ancient and cross-cultural - think of Mexican nichos, Andean retablos, and Buddhist ghau shrines. We are intrigued by what a box has hidden inside and wonder what it will reveal when opened. I like to engender that anticipation, and hope my constructions will surprise or even startle the viewer. I am fascinated by the process of transformation. All things of earth - animal, vegetable and mineral - are mutable. It is in their nature to constantly change form. There may be an “end” process - decay, decomposition, death - but something remains. A body becomes bones, flowers become seed and stalk, rock grinds to sand. To me there is comparable beauty in each altered state. Here in the Adirondacks, the harshness of the weather scours the landscape. Each winter the sleet, snow and powerful winds beat down the flora and fauna. The end of winter is a time of resurrection. New forms emerge from the fallen trees and broken branches. Stones rise and root masses push through icy soil. Often the modified forms have acquired (or revealed) anthropomorphic characteristics; these are qualities I exploit in my constructions. An old dump site on my property holds a hundred years’ worth of trash, gradually buried by rotting leaves. Each spring the thawing ground spews bits and pieces to the surface. I love the patina of these objects, created first by handling and use, then by time. Nature re-uses glass, filling bottles with moss and weeds. Wood and steel tool parts, riddled with fissures, edges softened by decay, are transfigured into small sculptures. Tin and copper, chain and wire rust to mellow shades of orange, brown and slatey blue. Sometimes I need to dig in the loamy soil to release the captive objects. Those that catch my eye get a casual brushing on their way to the studio. There, bins, baskets and tabletops spill over with treasure (or junk, depending on your perspective), both manmade and natural. Shelves are filled with animal ribs and skulls, plant pods. seeds and branches, all manner of unidentifiable fragments of wood, metal and leather. Boxes, dozens of boxes, are piled in every corner and under every table. The parts I select for a box may seem, initially, disparate and without connection. But I have a sense that particular bits and pieces were meant to reassemble into a specific new “whole”. As I join one form to another, I know when I have found the place they were meant to be. The longer I live and work as an artist in the Adirondacks, the more my work changes. As I am assimilated into the wilderness, so too is the art - it get “wilder” and more naturalistic. And certainly darker. The woods, after all, are both beautiful and just a little scary. Diane Golden March, 2012

The form of the art I make is not new; the idea of “things” contained and arranged in boxes is ancient and cross-cultural - think of Mexican nichos, Andean retablos, and Buddhist ghau shrines. We are intrigued by what a box has hidden inside and wonder what it will reveal when opened. I like to engender that anticipation, and hope my constructions will surprise or even startle the viewer. I am fascinated by the process of transformation. All things of earth - animal, vegetable and mineral - are mutable. It is in their nature to constantly change form. There may be an “end” process - decay, decomposition, death - but something remains. A body becomes bones, flowers become seed and stalk, rock grinds to sand. To me there is comparable beauty in each altered state. Here in the Adirondacks, the harshness of the weather scours the landscape. Each winter the sleet, snow and powerful winds beat down the flora and fauna. The end of winter is a time of resurrection. New forms emerge from the fallen trees and broken branches. Stones rise and root masses push through icy soil. Often the modified forms have acquired (or revealed) anthropomorphic characteristics; these are qualities I exploit in my constructions. An old dump site on my property holds a hundred years’ worth of trash, gradually buried by rotting leaves. Each spring the thawing ground spews bits and pieces to the surface. I love the patina of these objects, created first by handling and use, then by time. Nature re-uses glass, filling bottles with moss and weeds. Wood and steel tool parts, riddled with fissures, edges softened by decay, are transfigured into small sculptures. Tin and copper, chain and wire rust to mellow shades of orange, brown and slatey blue. Sometimes I need to dig in the loamy soil to release the captive objects. Those that catch my eye get a casual brushing on their way to the studio. There, bins, baskets and tabletops spill over with treasure (or junk, depending on your perspective), both manmade and natural. Shelves are filled with animal ribs and skulls, plant pods. seeds and branches, all manner of unidentifiable fragments of wood, metal and leather. Boxes, dozens of boxes, are piled in every corner and under every table. The parts I select for a box may seem, initially, disparate and without connection. But I have a sense that particular bits and pieces were meant to reassemble into a specific new “whole”. As I join one form to another, I know when I have found the place they were meant to be. The longer I live and work as an artist in the Adirondacks, the more my work changes. As I am assimilated into the wilderness, so too is the art - it get “wilder” and more naturalistic. And certainly darker. The woods, after all, are both beautiful and just a little scary. Diane Golden March, 2012