It sounds mundane, the word contrast; but contrast is, I think, what enlivens these images: the abandoned tattered old red leather sofa, abandoned in front of the very alive and green late-spring rock garden, together almost a summer Christmas gaiety of reds and greens; the quiet tree stump, now pedestal for the modern inventions of television and telephone, a chalk cityscape behind them suggesting the tree is now in the new electric forest of tall buildings. A Pan-like bronze boy atop a zoo gate in Central Park, in that pose forever, with real and moving trees behind him. A bouquet of tulips in water, on glass blocks which look very much like swirling water, but are forever still: what looks like trapped water within squares is glass.
And last, the crayon-on-cork drawing of two figures in a thriftstore, "The Beekeeper and Me in the Thrift Store, Looking for Dior," reminding the viewer that even in a thrift store, perhaps most of all in a thrift store, we have elegant wishes/dreams.
Rebecca Pyle lives in Salt Lake City, Utah. She is a writer and an artist. Other places her visual art can be found are The Menteur (Paris & U.K.), JuxtaProse, Belle Ombre (U.K.), and New England Review, or on the covers of issues of Raven Chronicles Journal, Oxford Magazine, and her own poetry chapbook, The Underwater American Songbook (Underwater New York, 2018). (See rebeccapyleartist.com.)