There's minimal differences between these two photos, but I thought I'd post both anyway.
This piece uses the "flurries" Marxhausen loved to work with. One of Amber's post gave you a look inside Marxy's studio where students got to play with these flurries.
- Duncan
Today is Ash Wednesday!
This piece by Marxhausen commemorates Lent.
I was curious if there were 40 colored pieces, but the number was well over that.
Its dark background may have been chosen because the color black is used to symbolize Christ's death on Good Friday. I see a cross-shape created by the rubber band stretched across the brightly colored pins. Prof. Anschutz recalled that Marxhausen made this cross lop-sided, and the rubber bands essentially submit to gravity and sag, representing the sin that made Christ's sacrifice a necessity.
- Duncan
I love the sun! After days of gloomy, cloudy days, it finally peeked through on Ash Wednesday! This sculpture by Marxhausen was photographed around 1:10 p.m.
Note how the snow in the first is so close to the color and texture of the statue, you don't notice it until you look at the right half of the picture, where sunlight reflects off of just the snow.
[Update] One of Marxhausen's former students remembered that Marxy would run around campus taking photographs when it would start to snow, then ask his class about to find compositions and elements of design in the photos. Isn't it strange that I observed the way snow affected his Open Book sculpture before hearing this story? You can read the story in the "What do you remember?" section.
4:10
- Duncan
This comment was posted on Amber's post on the original blog site:
This was an amazing day. It was my privilege to communicate God's love to His precious children. I have many stories to share after visiting with these people, but I have to share about my meeting Marxhausen for the first time, in particular.
I thought it would be a neat idea to look at a book about Medieval Art with the residences, so I pulled one off the shelf that had a nice velvety-feel to it. There was a griffin stamped onto the cover, and it had a smooth texture in comparison. I passed the book around to those sitting at the table with me and let them feel the book cover and asked them if they knew what the figure stamped onto the cover was.
The book made its way to Marx. I asked him if he knew what the figure was and he gave a quick nod and a beat on his breast. He knew what it was. I could tell he was frustrated that he couldn't communicate that verbally.
I told him it was a book about art. His eyes lit up. I smiled warmly as I saw those quivering hands flip through every page. Those tired eyes darted in every direction on the pages, soaking in every detail and insight too profound to express in what the Lord has deemed right to take away from him.
Placing his hand over the griffin, he returned the book to me in a way that expressed deep gratitude and love. I can't fully explain how he did so, but I knew that this dear old man was moved in a powerful way.
It was only after this that one of my fellow writers informed me as to who this man was. I was blown away. Marx continues to fulfill his role as teacher, but in the gentlest, most profound ways. I was blessed, and I hope this story blesses you as well.
Austin Albers
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