That Singing Voice
27 Feb - 02 Apr 2014
That Singing Voice. Installation View at Galería Marta Cervera, 2014
© Sam Anderson
Untitled (International Chess), 2014
Wood, metal, magnets, tangerines, watercolor, wild rice
47 x 47 cm
Untitled (International Chess), 2014
Wood, metal, magnets, tangerines, watercolor, wild rice
47 x 47 cm
THAT SINGING VOICE
Sam Anderson, Trisha Baga, Bradley Kronz, Win McCarthy, Kyle Thurman
27 February – 2 April 2014
Organized by Matt Moravec
In accompaniment to the show I have organized at Marta Cervera, Madrid, I’m including a poem. Composed of memories of long ago events, memories disappeared with the expiration of those who experienced them, the poem is written on a page to be given form and posterity. Similarly, the works presented here, which start life as thoughts, memories, translations and loosenesses, are given form through material and presentation. The posterity though is open to us, so please let us indulge and let her voice echo “Tuck me to sleep...”
—MM
“That Singing Voice”
Once, camping on a high bluff
Above the Fox River, when
I was about fourteen years
Old, on a full moonlit night
Crowded with whippoorwills and
Frogs, I lay awake long past
Midnight watching the moon move
Through the half drowned stars. Suddenly
I heard, far away on the warm
Air a high clear soprano,
Purer than the purest boy's
Voice, singing, "Tuck me to sleep
In my old 'Tucky home."
She was in an open car
Speeding along the winding
Dipping highway beneath me.
A few seconds later
An old touring car full of
Boys and girls rushed by under
Me, the soprano rising
Full and clear and now close by
I could hear the others singing
Softly behind her voice. Then
Rising and falling with the
Twisting road the song closed, soft
In the night. Over thirty
Years have gone by but I have
Never forgotten. Again
And again, driving on a
Lonely moonlit road, or waking
In a warm murmurous night,
I hear that voice singing that
Common song like an
Angelic memory.
– Kenneth Rexroth
Sam Anderson, Trisha Baga, Bradley Kronz, Win McCarthy, Kyle Thurman
27 February – 2 April 2014
Organized by Matt Moravec
In accompaniment to the show I have organized at Marta Cervera, Madrid, I’m including a poem. Composed of memories of long ago events, memories disappeared with the expiration of those who experienced them, the poem is written on a page to be given form and posterity. Similarly, the works presented here, which start life as thoughts, memories, translations and loosenesses, are given form through material and presentation. The posterity though is open to us, so please let us indulge and let her voice echo “Tuck me to sleep...”
—MM
“That Singing Voice”
Once, camping on a high bluff
Above the Fox River, when
I was about fourteen years
Old, on a full moonlit night
Crowded with whippoorwills and
Frogs, I lay awake long past
Midnight watching the moon move
Through the half drowned stars. Suddenly
I heard, far away on the warm
Air a high clear soprano,
Purer than the purest boy's
Voice, singing, "Tuck me to sleep
In my old 'Tucky home."
She was in an open car
Speeding along the winding
Dipping highway beneath me.
A few seconds later
An old touring car full of
Boys and girls rushed by under
Me, the soprano rising
Full and clear and now close by
I could hear the others singing
Softly behind her voice. Then
Rising and falling with the
Twisting road the song closed, soft
In the night. Over thirty
Years have gone by but I have
Never forgotten. Again
And again, driving on a
Lonely moonlit road, or waking
In a warm murmurous night,
I hear that voice singing that
Common song like an
Angelic memory.
– Kenneth Rexroth