cynthia henebry

Ask me anything   sketches and inspiration

website

instagram
mfa yearbook

ok fine, I’m on Instagram now- we’ll see how long this lasts:find me @cynthiahenebry

ok fine, I’m on Instagram now- we’ll see how long this lasts:
find me @cynthiahenebry

— 4 months ago with 23 notes
pagebondgallery:

Cynthia Henebry
Mavis by the Family Car, 2013
Archival inkjet print
Edition of 10
40 x 50 inches
Come see Cynthia Henebry’s work at the Opening Reception for
VIEW FIND, a group exhibition, Friday, March 7, 7-9 pm


I’ll also be giving an artist talk March 19 along with Brian Ulrich.

pagebondgallery:

Cynthia Henebry

Mavis by the Family Car, 2013

Archival inkjet print

Edition of 10

40 x 50 inches

Come see Cynthia Henebry’s work at the Opening Reception for

VIEW FIND, a group exhibition, Friday, March 7, 7-9 pm

I’ll also be giving an artist talk March 19 along with Brian Ulrich.

— 4 months ago with 201 notes
#page bond gallery  #brian ulrich  #cynthia henebry 
'Mossless' Magazine’s Mammoth Third Issue | VICE United States →

I’m really excited to be in this book alongside some of my very favorite photographers- our kickstarter ends in 3 hours, so donate now if you are interested in supporting!

— 4 months ago with 11 notes
#mossless magazine  #kickstarter  #photobook 
greatleapsideways:

The Testing-Tree
by Stanley Kunitz 

1On my way home from school   up tribal Providence Hill      past the Academy ballparkwhere I could never hope to play   I scuffed in the drainage ditch      among the sodden seethe of leaveshunting for perfect stones   rolled out of glacial time      into my pitcher’s hand;then sprinted lickety-   split on my magic Keds      from a crouching start,scarcely touching the ground   with my flying skin      as I poured it onfor the prize of the mastery   over that stretch of road,      with no one no where to denywhen I flung myself down   that on the given course      I was the world’s fastest human.  2Around the bend   that tried to loop me home      dawdling came naturalacross a nettled field   riddled with rabbit-life      where the bees sank sugar-wellsin the trunks of the maples   and a stringy old lilac      more than two stories tallblazing with mildew   remembered a door in the       long teeth of the woods.All of it happened slow:   brushing the stickseed off,      wading through jewelweedstrangled by angel’s hair,   spotting the print of the deer      and the red fox’s scats.Once I owned the key   to an umbrageous trail      thickened with mosseswhere flickering presences   gave me right of passage      as I followed in the stepsof straight-backed Massassoit   soundlessly heel-and-toe      practicing my Indian walk.  3Past the abandoned quarry   where the pale sun bobbed      in the sump of the granite,past copperhead ledge,   where the ferns gave foothold,      I walked, deliberate,on to the clearing,   with the stones in my pocket      changing to oraclesand my coiled ear tuned   to the slightest leaf-stir.      I had kept my appointment.There I stood in the shadow,   at fifty measured paces,      of the inexhaustible oak,tyrant and target,   Jehovah of acorns,      watchtower of the thunders,that locked King Philip’s War   in its annulated core      under the cut of my name.Father wherever you are    I have only three throws       bless my good right arm.In the haze of afternoon,   while the air flowed saffron,      I played my game for keeps—for love, for poetry,   and for eternal life—      after the trials of summer.4In the recurring dream   my mother stands      in her bridal gownunder the burning lilac,   with Bernard Shaw and Bertie      Russell kissing her hands;the house behind her is in ruins;   she is wearing an owl’s face      and makes barking noises.Her minatory finger points.   I pass through the cardboard doorway      askew in the fieldand peer down a well   where an albino walrus huffs.      He has the gentlest eyes.If the dirt keeps sifting in,   staining the water yellow,      why should I be blamed?Never try to explain.   That single Model A      sputtering up the gradeunfurled a highway behind   where the tanks maneuver,      revolving their turrets.In a murderous time   the heart breaks and breaks      and lives by breaking.It is necessary to go   through dark and deeper dark      and not to turn.I am looking for the trail.   Where is my testing-tree?      Give me back my stones!
Photograph © Judith Joy Ross, from Eurana Park, 1982.


thank goodness for this, just what I needed to be reminded of today.

greatleapsideways:

The Testing-Tree

by Stanley Kunitz

1

On my way home from school
   up tribal Providence Hill
      past the Academy ballpark
where I could never hope to play
   I scuffed in the drainage ditch
      among the sodden seethe of leaves
hunting for perfect stones
   rolled out of glacial time
      into my pitcher’s hand;
then sprinted lickety-
   split on my magic Keds
      from a crouching start,
scarcely touching the ground
   with my flying skin
      as I poured it on
for the prize of the mastery
   over that stretch of road,
      with no one no where to deny
when I flung myself down
   that on the given course
      I was the world’s fastest human.

  
2

Around the bend
   that tried to loop me home
      dawdling came natural
across a nettled field
   riddled with rabbit-life
      where the bees sank sugar-wells
in the trunks of the maples
   and a stringy old lilac
      more than two stories tall
blazing with mildew
   remembered a door in the 
      long teeth of the woods.
All of it happened slow:
   brushing the stickseed off,
      wading through jewelweed
strangled by angel’s hair,
   spotting the print of the deer
      and the red fox’s scats.
Once I owned the key
   to an umbrageous trail
      thickened with mosses
where flickering presences
   gave me right of passage
      as I followed in the steps
of straight-backed Massassoit
   soundlessly heel-and-toe
      practicing my Indian walk.

  
3

Past the abandoned quarry
   where the pale sun bobbed
      in the sump of the granite,
past copperhead ledge,
   where the ferns gave foothold,
      I walked, deliberate,
on to the clearing,
   with the stones in my pocket
      changing to oracles
and my coiled ear tuned
   to the slightest leaf-stir.
      I had kept my appointment.
There I stood in the shadow,
   at fifty measured paces,
      of the inexhaustible oak,
tyrant and target,
   Jehovah of acorns,
      watchtower of the thunders,
that locked King Philip’s War
   in its annulated core
      under the cut of my name.
Father wherever you are
    I have only three throws
       bless my good right arm.

In the haze of afternoon,
   while the air flowed saffron,
      I played my game for keeps—
for love, for poetry,
   and for eternal life—
      after the trials of summer.

4

In the recurring dream
   my mother stands
      in her bridal gown
under the burning lilac,
   with Bernard Shaw and Bertie
      Russell kissing her hands;
the house behind her is in ruins;
   she is wearing an owl’s face
      and makes barking noises.
Her minatory finger points.
   I pass through the cardboard doorway
      askew in the field
and peer down a well
   where an albino walrus huffs.
      He has the gentlest eyes.
If the dirt keeps sifting in,
   staining the water yellow,
      why should I be blamed?
Never try to explain.
   That single Model A
      sputtering up the grade
unfurled a highway behind
   where the tanks maneuver,
      revolving their turrets.
In a murderous time
   the heart breaks and breaks
      and lives by breaking.
It is necessary to go
   through dark and deeper dark
      and not to turn.
I am looking for the trail.
   Where is my testing-tree?

      Give me back my stones!

Photograph © Judith Joy Ross, from Eurana Park, 1982.

thank goodness for this, just what I needed to be reminded of today.

— 4 months ago with 52 notes
tri-ciclo:

Orpheaus Theme (71 x 47.5 cm, lithograph, 1960)Jean Cocteau

tri-ciclo:


Orpheaus Theme
(71 x 47.5 cm, lithograph, 1960)
Jean Cocteau

— 5 months ago with 321 notes
mossfull:

This photograph by Alex Matzke and a few others from Issue 3 got posted on ilikethisblog today. Thanks, Paul!


my awesome classmate Alex!

mossfull:

This photograph by Alex Matzke and a few others from Issue 3 got posted on ilikethisblog today. Thanks, Paul!

my awesome classmate Alex!

— 5 months ago with 202 notes