Dunga Brook Diary

The rural life through the lens of an iPhone and notes from the field…

Archive for photo

John Keats (1795 – 1821)

John Keats (1795 - 1821)

One life,-a little gleam of time between two Eternities.

Iphoneographic Map To My Interior Monologue and A Sliver of Ginsberg

Iphoneographic Map To My Interior Monologue and A Sliver of Ginsberg

““Follow your inner moonlight; don’t hide the madness.”
~Allen Ginsberg

Thank YOU Cherry Branch Gallery for making this cool fold out brochure for my iPhoneography show.

Cherry Branch Gallery presents Vicki Whicker’s iPhoneography- Dunga Brook Diary: A Year of Seeing Differently

Saturday, April 6th, 2013….

Cherry Valley, NY- Cherry Branch Gallery will be hosting an opening reception for central New York artist, Vicki Whicker.

For the month of April, the gallery will feature a collection of her iPhoneography, Dunga Brook Diary: A Year of Seeing Differently.

“The Cherry Branch Gallery is tremendously pleased to represent Vicki Whicker and her iPhoneography. Whicker demonstrates a mastery of this genre through wit, heart, critical awareness, style, technique, and an infectious appreciation of her subject matter. Looking doesn’t have to get any better than this.” Kristen Henderson, Director, Cherry Branch Gallery

In 2011, Vicki Whicker left Los Angeles for central New York to renovate an 1820’s farmhouse that she found on Facebook and purchased, sight unseen. The rundown property, she would later learn, was named “Dunga Brook,” a once a thriving dairy farm spanning over 2,000 acres in Otsego county.

While waiting for renovations, Whicker explored the area using her iPhone to capture the world above and below her feet.

It was this impromptu exercise that marked her personal awakening to the astounding beauty of New York State; beauty that has surely been here since Dunga Brook’s hey dey.

Of the contemporary medium and her process, Whicker states, “iPhoneography as a mobile method for making art and as a creative movement was exploding around the world while I was stalking the flora and fauna of my new home.

Coming from LA, I was in a paradise- the lush trees, the long country roads lined with Queen Anne’s Lace big as pie plates, the crimson and gold fall leaves, those first pristine snow flakes. The more I shot, the more I saw; the more I saw, the more I wanted to see…by the time my house was done 6 months had passed and I had produced over 20,000 images…through the lens of my iPhone I fell completely in love with central New York.”

Dunga Brook Diary: A Year of Seeing Differently, is Whicker’s first iPhoneography exhibit and features her evocative 8″x8″ limited edition images printed directly on metal.

Please join us for the opening reception on Saturday, April 6, from 5-7pm.

Cherry Branch Gallery, 25 Main Street, Cherry Valley, NY 13320 / 607-264-9530 Facebook: Cherry Branch Gallery / Twitter: @cherrybranchgal

Schedule of Events

APRIL 6th, Saturday, 5-7pm: OPENING RECEPTION Live Jazz with Jeff Palmer, (pre-sales 12-4pm)
APRIL 14th, Sunday, 3-5pm: Seeing Differently: Intro to iPhoneography Workshop w/Vicki Whicker. $40. Fee / Limited to 20 spaces
APRIL 20th Saturday, 5-7pm: Wine & Sweets, Poetry Reading with Los Angeles Poets and Writers Collective members, Vicki Whicker, Leslie Berliant and Chris Shearer
APRIL 27th, Saturday, 5-7pm: Closing Party – SALES CLOSE @ 7pm

Heading east with LA in the rearview & iphone photos of red tail lights…

leaving LA

Dunga Brook Diary, remembering July, 2011.

Leaving LA, after 25 years, felt like the right thing to do. LA was a pit stop, a very complicated, very expensive pit stop on my journey through life.

On the road from LA to NY, I followed my son in his truck and took iPhone pictures through my truck’s windshield. Mostly of his tail lights. I admired his ability to drive away from the only life he’d ever known, his childhood friends, the dry heat and the desert he loved, all in the support of my new gold dream.

I’m an old hand at leaving. The first time was traumatic, my dad was transferred from Florida to Illinois in January and I went from a Gilligan’s Island type paradise to some sort of snowy 70’s version of Petticoat Junction. Sans the pretty girls and fun. I spent years plotting my way out, first as a long haul truck driver, which I realized later was the desire to run, be powerful, in charge of my own destiny. I toyed, during a brief summer romance, with the idea of leaving as someone’s wife, the wife of a football coach who transferred from campus to campus in search of that ultimate winning team. But hooking on to someone else’s dream is just not my thing. No matter how handsome the dreamer.

The summer after college, I ended up taking my mom’s powder blue International Scout and moving to a Colorado ski resort for seasonal work. Five super saturated 80’s years as a “ski bunny” in Vail was my max. When a friend moved to LA, I thought, why not try a big city, see what you can do as a small fish in a big pond?

But this cross-country move was different, I was uprooting someone else’s life. Connor was off to college in the fall and somehow I’d justified it in my mind that moving the day after he graduated would be the best timing for both of us.

I didn’t cry during our going away party, packed as it was with every fun friend I’d made from all my varied walks of life in the big city, but he did, tipsy on absconded beer  he communed with his Cali best buds while the band played and we danced. I didn’t cry as we packed, when we drove away. The hours and the miles ticked by.

Across the plains, the skies were a cathedral of thunderheads, rainbows that went straight up and down, lightning that streaked sideways. It was majestic, this threat of weather related annihilation. Nothing happened for hours, aside of the light show and darker skies. Finally, the great release as the rain came.

I cried then, my wet eyes on his quivering red tail lights, the distance vast between us.

A photo of an old barn at twilight and a tiny bit about fresh air…and a link to JOY

Winter Eye

In LA, windows were not meant to be opened. I worked in an office that was 5 stories high, full of people doing their officey things and not one of us could open the window to get a bit of fresh air. When I renovated my farmhouse (Dunga Brook) I put in 17 giant top pained windows that open to corn fields and a county road and more corn fields and in the winter an ocean of snow. The wind howls outside today, the house is snug, because those windows are new and close tight, I also insulated the house well. Still, it is an old house, built in the 1820’s, the wind is meant to come in…old houses, as they say, breathe. Everything needs to breathe. And this is the way it should be.

Check out this wonderful writer, Maili Halme Brocke, she has posted one of my photos and a bit about JOY  http://myjoyfortheday.blogspot.com

Chevy seen through a link and a tiny bit of Thoreau…

chevychain

“One must maintain a little bittle of summer, even in the middle of winter.”
― Henry David Thoreau

 

Last winter we lived on a farm in Fly Creek that had 20 of the most beautiful rolling acres I have ever lived on.

The property was owned by an artist and all through the fields and trails he had set up whimsical finds…

Broken mirrors (the thick vintage kind) in which you could catch a glimpse of the sky and tree branches and your own smile, a lovely wood and rope swing, the wood and rope so thick it was guaranteed to last decades, this chain, vintage glass bottles, all found objects just waiting to be found, again.

Each morning walk with the dogs was a discovery, if nature wasn’t enough there was art .

This land belonged to a certain man with art in his soul.

I could tell it was a labor of the heart, very personal, not meant for wider audiences, a conversation between a man and the universe.

XO, V

The Moth and a touch of Rilke…

The Moth

“you are not too old
and it is not too late
to dive into your increasing depths
where life calmly gives out
it’s own secret”
~Rainer Maria Rilke

In LA, whenever it rained we had reporters on every corner. Out here, it snows. And you can’t find a soul or a corner anywhere.

Winter Road

Winter Road

Good Morning, CNY!

Good Morning, CNY!

County 19, ready for spring

Back in LA there was the 10, the 110, the 210, the 405 and the 605…trying to get somewhere  fast on those 8 lanes was nearly impossible. At rush hour, less than impossible.

Out here we have the county highway 19, 22, 23, 28 and if you really want to go somewhere we have the 20, a mostly 2 laner that runs from Boston to Oregon.

Rush hour traffic would be a tractor, 2 Amish buggies and a work truck. Unheard of, really.

I have been on these country highways for hours without seeing a single car or truck but mine.

Priceless.

Good Morning, CNY!

Good Morning, CNY

Dunga Brook Diary~

When I lived in LA, I didn’t have the serenity to slow down. A dog was something to let out in the morning and lock in the house all day.

Written On A Butterfly Wing

Written On A Butterfly Wing

“I know well what I am fleeing from but not what I am in search of.”
~Michel de Montaigne

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