Auction #7: Words Take Flight

November 7th, 2009

Visual Fiction or The Metamorphosis of Vision by Ilene Winn-LedererVisual Fiction™ or
The Metamorphosis of Vision
by Ilene Winn-Lederer

11 x 14″ gicleé print on Stonehenge substrate, unframed/float mounted on museum board.

Based On:
Valentines by Shira Lipkin

This auction has ended. Thanks to everyone who bid. Please check the front page for more auctions, going on through the first week of December, 2009.

‘Visual Fiction’ or ‘The Metamorphosis of Vision’ evolved from a journal sketch in which I set down concepts and wrote titles of the pieces that would appear in my exhibit. These titles were for both existing works and new ones that I would create. The drawing reflects my creative process and its consequences. When I read Shira’s story, this image, the title piece of my 1986 solo exhibition at The Pittsburgh Center for the Arts immediately came to mind. The original drawing was scanned and extracted from a composition that included hand calligraphy. It was then set into a vertical format for maximum visual effect. ‘Visual Fiction’ or ‘The Metamorphosis of Vision’ evolved from a journal sketch in which I set down concepts and wrote titles of the pieces that would appear in my exhibit. These titles were for both existing works and new ones that I would create. The drawing reflects my creative process and its consequences.

Ilene Winn-Lederer

Story, Artist, Author: , ,
Filed under Auctions, Interfictions 2, Print, Visual Art | Comment (1)

One Response to “Auction #7: Words Take Flight”

  1. Shira Lipkin on November 15, 2009 12:20 am

    Information changing and making its way in the world. Lovely. :)

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A Taste Of Interfictions 2
“October evening, 1969. Golden leaves spiral down. Johnny tries to catch one. His fingers touch the whisper of leaf but close on air. It doesn’t matter. He spins across the yard, dodging gold bullets. He’s hit! He’s hit! He falls to the ground, rolling in leaf, grass, sticks and dirt. In the distance, a dog barks. The boy lies still, arms spread, legs at odd angles. Dead. He is dead when the car pulls up in front of his house. Heart beating wild from all his spinning, he is dead, trying to still his breath when the doors slam shut and shoes click up the sidewalk, dead when a man’s voice says, “Mrs. Harlyle?” dead when his mother screams, a siren-sound that falls to the ground like leaves. The boy is dead when he opens his eyes, looks at the sky, darkly now. Dead as he lays there, waiting for God, angel, or ghost. Dead as one leaf spiral-lands on his cheek.”
From: The Beautiful Feast by M. Rickert

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