Robert Montgomery

May 17, 2016 § Leave a comment

Robert Montgomery (born 1972) is a Scottish-born, London based sculptor and poet, known for his site-specific installations created from light and text. Montgomery works in a “melancholic post-Situationist” tradition, primarily in public spaces.

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Robert Montgomery follows a tradition of conceptual art and stands out by bringing a poetic voice to the discourse of text art. Often installed illegally amid industrial and urban sites, Montgomery’s installations address universal themes such as power, love, and human kindness with sparse language and dramatic visuals. These text-based conceptual pieces categorized as recycled sunlight pieces, billboard pieces, fire poems, woodcut panels, and watercolors.

Montgomery’s cryptic and emotionally resonant poetry comments on contemporary life and affirms his personal and philosophical beliefs, which he describes as “melancholic post-Situationist”, a 20th-century antiauthoritarian Marxist movement.

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What is real?

November 23, 2012 § Leave a comment

What is real?
Father is made of limestone. Mother is a feather shifting in the wind. Water is lead made fluid. An echo isn’t always a sound, and a memory might be a lie.
Understand? Once more…
What is real?

Father is made of limestone. Mother is a feather shifting in the wind. Water is lead made fluid. An echo isn’t always a sound, and a memory might be a lie.

Understand? Once more…

What is real?

Father was a quarry man. Mother is a bird woman. Water is a lake and a tackle box. I am an echo, and my memory is fading.

Understand? Once more…

What is real?

Father was a quarry man. Mother is a bird woman. Water is a lake and a tackle box. I am an echo, and my memory is fading.

Understand? Once more…

What is real?

Father was the ground. Mother is the sky. Water is between. An echo is between, and a memory is nothing.

Understand? No, not yet. Once more…

What is real?

Father was the ground. Mother is the sky. Water is between. An echo is between, and a memory is nothing.

Understand? No, not yet. Once more…

What is real?

Father was a quarry man mining the earth for its limestone. Mother was a bird woman breeding pigeons for their red feathers turned white. Water is a lake and a tackle box filled with lead weights. I am an echo of my father who is an echo of his; I am an echo of my mother who is an echo of hers, and my memory of my father is fading.

Know that what I say is real.

~

By. Crystal Ellis, Sculpture 2011

On Exhausting the Edit

February 4, 2012 § Leave a comment

Take a writing and see how many ways you can edit it:

  • Cut it up.
  • Black it out.
  • Re-frame it.
  • Delete every other word or every other line.
  • Fold into another persons work.
  • Think of it as a visual exercise as much as a textual one.

Excerpt from: Exhausting the Edit by Anna Riley

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