Jennifer Lanski

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Dear Friends,

In light of the metaphorical darkness of these times, I wish to announce my latest, experimental art project:

Beginning March 19, and each day thereafter* (for as long/short as this disruption lasts), I will work for (at least) 19 minutes on a project*, and post an image of the visual evidence of that stage in the process for you to see (by 9 pm PDT)*, for free, here on my website: jenniferlanski.com/COVID19.

(*I hope: all plans subject to change in our rapidly shifting reality)

Though galleries, museums, and other cultural institutions are physically closed, creativity and cultural production continue, and can continue to be shared.

The images from previous days will be archived on the page, so you don’t need to worry if you do not visit the site each day, but of course you may!

Comments are always welcome. And as with any work in progress, please remember the adage: don’t judge a work until it’s finished! (And then don’t judge too harshly—this is a new direction, and I plan to experiment, learn, grow, and hopefully have a little fun in there somewhere.)

Feel free to share with anyone you think might, possibly, be interested.

– Jennifer

5.20.20

5.19.20 ←

→ 5.21.20

Today I was supposed to fly to New Haven. ⋅ This weekend I will not embrace the friends and classmates I’ve not seen in 5 (or 20) years. ⋅ I will not hear the bells of Harkness. ⋅ I will not trail my fingers through the water on the Women’s Table. ⋅ I will not walk the streets I once walked at 2 am, coming back from the studio with hammer in hand (much to the amusement of the townies). ⋅ I will not step into the cathedral of Sterling, inhaling awe, serenity, and generations of dreams. ⋅ I hope instead I can buy cherries again at the farmer’s market without making my fever nearly come back. ⋅ While the world grieves, summer fruit (in this hemisphere) is starting to appear in all its tart sweetness. Small blessings. ⋅ And we had a 10-minute discussion about terroir related to not-Joe’s (not yet present) nectarines and cherries today (and if you could tell someone stole your cow and grazed her on their field before returning her by the taste of the milk). ⋅ (I was thankful to see all the familiar faces of the vendors last Saturday—since I hadn’t been in a month I could know I had not inadvertently infected and killed any of them.) ⋅ So many worlds. ⋅ 7” × 7” ⋅ India ink on BFK Rives