I keep thinking that I will see the world end, see it burn up and then watch the water
come and cover all of our moments. But the world ends everyday and starts again tomorrow. So I keep looking at these paintings on my wall and how they came to me through my eyes and my hands, through my tears, through
these paltry years and all the habits I've succumbed to and shed. Soon they will return to earth, but not before me.
June 11, 2015 Ridgewood, NY
David Nakabayashi and Jenni Lukasiewicz
David Nakabayashi and Jenni Lukasiewicz collaborate to make repurposed sculpture, mixed media drawings,
paintings, photography and installation which are impressions of a real forest they left behind. All of this artwork is made from mostly recycled, scavenged or salvaged materials from the streets of New York, from seven
acres of wooded hillside in New Mexico and the lives that were led there by strangers, and from their participation in a consumptive modern society. The resulting collaboration, while not without friction, expresses a
deeper reconciliation with the artists' sense of displacement, as well as with each other.
June 9, 2015 Ridgewood, NY
Seeking Space - Bushwick Open Studios 2015
Sometimes I paint prayers. I want to be religious, to surrender to happiness, but I don't believe in God, or happiness. I do believe in
haplessness, and also optimism.
April 29, 2015 Ridgewood, NY
Pop Up Gallery - Bushwick Open Studios 2014
After emigrating from the forest of southern New Mexico to New York City, I spent the winter into spring painting New York, the Pacific Ocean, Hawaiian
mythology, disembodied hands, petrified wood, cattle wandering rooftops, antiques and tree branches outside my window. I could say that these paintings were created during a major transition, except that I'm always in
transition, and despite my tendency to try to carry the past into the future, only the present matters. Painting is always about the moment you are living in.
Ridgewood, Queens, NY May 2014
Albert's Unburnt Logs
A child of the Great Depression, my Step-Dad Albert Ogle (1920 -
2009) refused to burn the firewood he had accumulated over the 17 years I knew him because, as he stated, "we might need the wood someday." He also saved everything new, used and broken in the many closets and
storerooms about his mountainside property. In honor of him I have taken several of his saved logs and adorned them with his hoarded materials including spark plugs, lightbulbs, tiles, bottle caps, nails, washers,
fabric, tin and work gloves. The result is a little forest of memories. This piece could only have been created by me in this one time and place and through its creation I have learned more about Albert than he ever
revealed to me during his life. Also in honor of Albert I am burning his remaining firewood during the cold winter months here in the Sacramento Mts.
High Rolls, NM February 2013
pre·sen·ti·ment - noun :
a feeling that something will or is about to happen.
I move through
time and space as a visitor. I linger. I observe. I never stay. I stumble upon situations and strangers: innocent or not so innocent, perhaps dangerous, mostly benign, and from all walks of life. Each unique encounter
starts with a mysterious feeling that something is about to happen. The impact of such interactions on my life can be metaphysical, but is mostly insignificant. Yet, I still suspect that every group of people I
encounter is on the verge of insurrection and I am addicted to that feeling. I want even the smallest gesture, glance or quiet observation to contain a truth that changes history. The moment I stop moving life resumes
its state of predictable melancholy. And so I wait until I can escape once again into uncertainty.
High Rolls, NM - June 2012
Family Reunion and Memento
In 2009 I began to use up my family photos in a series of collage pieces called "Family Reunion". I decided that rather than keep the
photographic documentation of my childhood, and my family heritage, in a box I would use it up, like paint. These works illustrate a strange universal narrative that has little to do with me anymore. That same year my
mother's husband Albert died. He spent his entire life in New Mexico except for four years in the Army during WWII. He also saved everything. As I have spent the last year sorting through his collection I've discovered
some inspiring materials from old documents, heirlooms and photographs to fishing tackle, hats, used wallets and broken watches. I've begun to reinterpret this material through my artwork, including works on paper and
found wood, sculpture and installation, and in the process give new life to this otherwise meaningless history. I've blurred the past even further by including my own mementos with his. This continuing project is called
"Memento". I have come to know Albert, a very quiet man, more than I ever did while he was alive and for that I am grateful.
High Rolls, NM - March 2012
I've been wandering around this land since I was a child and have been trying to paint it since I was 12. I rebelled against my
normal life for decades by escaping to the desert until I finally escaped by giving up my normal life. So in return the land has filtered into all my endeavors. All my expressions of human connection and disconnection,
of culture and of art cannot exist without the land. And on the day that I die I will regret not having been able to capture it.
High Rolls, NM - April 2011
In January 2009 I was driving through Ohio during an ice storm when an out-of-control car came spinning into my lane from the other
side of the freeway. A moment later I was standing alone next to my totaled car on a snow-covered embankment. A short while later I sat in a truck-stop restaurant looking out the window, the whole country seeming to
pass me by. I sat reflecting on where I have been and the people I have met and realized that all my experiences had led me to that moment standing alone in the snow.
Santa Fe, NM - February 2010
A story has the ability to spark a personal emotional connection in a reader or listener. That connection
can take the form of an image, a revelation or a memory that is not contained in the story but illuminated by it. While my recent paintings reflect my life and travels, my personal narrative is irrelevant to the viewer
and the artwork can stand alone, undefined. It is in that undefined, mysterious space that my paintings serve to manifest emotional connections to narratives provided by the viewer.
Santa Fe, NM - February 2010
Here & There: Seeing New Ground
I make art like I think a nomad would. I move through space looking
at everything. I talk to people and get them to reveal their secrets; I gather things and take them to a working place. I think about it all for long days until all the different images and stories and feelings begin to
overlap. I float in this gathering state of mind until the time is right and then the paintings all come out in a frenzy. When it is over I leave again. This practice is a reflection of my life that I have lived as if I
was always on my way to somewhere else. I don't know where home is anymore.
Santa Fe, NM - May 4, 2009
Learning To Catch Knives
My artwork is filled with metaphors for the personal challenges encountered during a time of great change including the expectations of family, the pain
of lost love, the struggle of new love and the search for cultural identity. My images are both accessible and cryptic, highly personal yet connected to the world around me. While the viewer is inclined to decipher
these images, one need not understand the meaning of the icons and the situations in which they appear to appreciate their beauty and the skill with which they have been rendered.
Santa Fe, NM - July 1, 2007
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