pour-painting

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DIY Holton Rower Inspired Rainbow Pour Painted Vase Tutorial for Kids from Growing a Jeweled Rose. This kids’ project is fun and easy using acrylic paint and Dollar Store or free glass vases. Top Two Photos: Holton Rower “Pour” Series and video here, All Other Photos: DIY by Growing a Jeweled Rose.

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If you’re in New York City, we recommend you head on over to The Hole (until May 26th) where you’ll be able to experience an amazingly colorful exhibit by Holton Rower. The first New York solo exhibition for the artist, Pour Paintings is just that, a collection of paintings created by carefully pouring paint over plywood. The result is incredible color combinations that are stunningly psychedelic. 

Photos via The Hole and Scott Lynch

If you enjoy these paintings, visit My Modern Metropolis to watch a video of Holton Rower at work and learn how this beautiful art takes shape. 

opens tonight, Wed, May 14, 6-8p:

War Stories
 curated by Anthony Haden Guest

William Holman Gallery, 65 Ludlow St., NYC

War Stories brings together an impressive and diverse group of artists, whose work focuses primarily on war and conflict. The exhibition features Steve Mumford’s documentary watercolors from Iraq and Afghanistan, poured paint castings of Taliban gunshot holes by Piers Secunda, video work of Desert Storm by Nin Brudermann, Farideh Sakhaiefar’s conceptual display of smuggled Iranian war objects, photography by Trevor Paglen, terrorist bomb sculptures by Gregory Green, and Alfredo Martinez’s firearms drawings alongside a video interview by Mika Mattila.  - thru June 21

my snow white wakes up with her ravenwing hair in her mouth. my snow white has the first eight buttons undone. everything tastes dry. the air in her lungs is a blizzard. 

her mother died screaming, so snow white has given up speaking. her stepmother has become loud enough for the two of them. mirrors echo down hallways. there are makeup stains on the rug. there are makeup stains on the first knight and lead hunter of the royal guard. nobody tells snow white’s father.

snow white has raw hands. snow white smiles like a drop of blood. snow white has eyes that will eat you up.

her stepmother is all long dresses. snow white wears miniskirts. she wears lingerie to bed. she winks and flirts and sings over the scalding soup her stepmother pours her. snow white paints her nails black.

on her twenty-second birthday, she wakes up with a dry mouth and a man in bed beside her, all rippled muscle and scar tissue and soft lips and good at choking. her fingernails have carved her mark on the skin of his back. first knight and hunter of the royal guard.

the stepmother only learns by accident. wakes up furious. in the mirror of his armor she sees herself aging. sees snow white with the ease of her long legs.

chases her step daughter from hall to hall. “what is mine is mine!” she snarls, “i am the fairest of them all!”

snow white sneaks out a back door. she kisses the hunter for good measure, bites his lip hard enough to get blood out of it. he stands there in the doorway, watching her fade into the shadows, his fingers touching the raw space where warm snow white used to fill his mouth.

my snow white is a warrior of a woman. she has every control over the beauty that lives in her bones. she does not run hungry through the woods. she makes herself an angel, a seductress, takes what she has to and gets away with it. when she can, she sleeps with men. their eyes dance with want of her long after she’s left their beds. they whisper her name and try to capture the last of her smell on their sheets. she hunts them. she finds the rich ones and coaxes them out of their diamonds. she calls them her little men. a little horde all to herself. all devoted to the twist of her wrist and that smile that shows nothing but says everything all at once.

the stepmother looks at herself in the mirror of the hunter’s eyes. sees a monster. presses her claws into his breast. tells him to find the princess or she will burn the country until there is nothing left.

snow white hears from the one she calls doc. he is giving her a back rub. he whispers it in her ear. she sits up a little taller. those black eyes dance. 

the hunter brings back the heart of a hart. it is bloody and raw. the stepmother eats it in her kitchen hall.

snow white is a name whisper while shuddering with want. snow white is a dagger that wants all, snow white is a wound men ask to befall. 

her stepmother, in the morning, belly full of meat, hears through the wires that snow white is still living. someone called dopey let the truth slip, his brain fermented by the sweet of her lips.

a poison apple for a girl who has made herself into the apple blossom and the wasp. her stepmother smiles a black grin. one bite and all of the spite between them will become the perfect weapon. it is dark magic.

my snow white would know this woman in any form, so the stepmother sends the one person she has left: the hunter, with the holes her claws left still healing in his breast. he knocks on her door at midnight. he begs her to take a bite. he tells her of her stepmother’s threat to put the kingdom at risk and because she is kind and gentle and clever - because she is snow white - she sinks her teeth into the skin of it. she knows what will happen.

when she falls down, he carries her back to his hut out in the mountains where his sister lives. he then takes everything he has and walks into the woods and is never seen again. on his bed, snow white is dead.

the sister brings her outside. she calls the women from the village. they stand around her. they speak of the things she has managed. she was born a woman in a world where that gave her nothing. she used her womanhood for power. she used her weakness as strength. she was clever and provocative and she gave everything for people she’d never spoken to. the women join hands. there are better magics, older magics, than the blackest. 

snow white does not rise from the other realm quite whole. her eyes are now completely black, all pupil. those lips are a red that hungers. her teeth are too sharp and her voice is like thunder.

she gasps awake there, on the floor of a forest. she is weakened. when the women leave, the sister takes care of her for weeks and weeks. spoon feeds her, even though snow white will not eat. wraps her in blankets. holds her hands when the shaking memory of death suddenly enters snow white’s brainstem.

on a day that is grey, out rides snow white with a small woman in tow. on a night that is midnight blue, up rides snow white with a smile and a yawning desire she cannot quell. 

she finds her stepmother sleeping on a couch with hair in her mouth. there are men at her feet. 

snow white eats.

when their ribs are empty and snow white is queen, the white of her eyes starts to come back until she is completely clean. on her arm is a small woman who brought her back to life and snow white reigns supreme.