Archive for March, 2012

I imagined these paintings as tentatively, giddily stumbling upon an aftermath, in this case that of a flowery flood. A floral concoction. Something enticing, somewhat crushing, but still nice. A turquoise mash, tin and tuberose seep into your heart while the geranium petals float through, quietly piling up against a muddy shore where there is nothing but a sweet breeze, cascarilla sticks, warm ferns and a sort of low, dark growl.

Petrichor (PET-ri-kuhr) noun: the scent after a rain.

I think of my work as moments or places I want to revisit. Or just stories I make up. Standing on the edge of the lawn at night. Perched above an irregularly deep swimming hole. The last one standing in a dark field after a game of tag. Those moments defined in adolescence, when one dares to stay just a moment longer than called for, a chance to slip back into the light of the yard or wander closer to the night. 

Intrigued by our bizarre and absurd expectations of nature, animals and the myths and literature we create to explain these perceptions. I fish for these stories on the internet, in libraries and film, or just by listening to people explain their unexplainable encounters. Humor and fright seem important.


Kirsten grew up in Tacoma, WA. She earned her MFA from the University of California and her BFA from the University of Montana. She lives and works on Phinney Ridge and very often sneaks over to Fresh Flours for a vanilla latte with her good friend Ric. She recommends the Peach Danish.

To see more of Kirsten’s work, please visit: http://www.kirstenmariepisto.com


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What you see is not always what you get. In this case, what you see may not be what I see. You might see a series of random lines or circles or crosshatches or whatever – but I didn’t make those. These pieces are all built from negative space. There was no preliminary drawing of any kind – just a piece of paper and a knife. They are different than work you might have seen which is drawn on one side and then cut around. Look at the spaces – that’s where the work is. I cut thousands of tiny shapes out of white paper and what you’re seeing is the leftovers from that process. I want you to see the shapes of the spaces; that’s what I “drew” with my blade, or, I should say, many, many blades. Each piece has its own rules that I decided at the beginning, so each has differently shaped spaces that converse with each other in a unique way. I hope that what is left is pleasing, and I hope what is missing is pleasing, too.

Tom O’Brien



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