I’ve been working on another edition of my “Event Horizon” piece. The concept behind the sculpture has to do with the theorized existence of a gravitational border around a black hole beyond which nothing can escape. I wondered what it might look like to see something torn apart but not completely consumed by the black hole; what might the remnants look like as they were spun off into space? I thought it might be stylized into something like this:
Imagine my surprise when I stumbled across this video, showing a Red Giant star being ripped apart by a massive black hole at the center of a nearby galaxy:
That is pretty freakin’ awesome, right there. The Daily Mail online has a pretty good article on what’s going on here.
I was shocked at how deeply the news of Steve Jobs’ death affected me. There I was, standing in the back yard, looking up at a blue October sky blurred by tears. I had to look inward a bit, try to figure out just why this man I’d never met – whom I had no personal relationship with, and new nothing of beyond what his publicist and the tech punditry presented to me – had such a profound hold of my heart. Wandering around the internet, I found loads of people whose connection with him started with their first positive experience of computing on an Apple ][ or an early Macintosh. Many others cited the new freedom their iPod brought to their enjoyment and experience of music. But for me, I realized that Steve Jobs had nurtured a radical and transformative seed that had already germinated in my mind in 1988 when I bought my first Mac. That seed was the idea that beauty MATTERED – that the esthetic quality of anything and everything was the differentiating factor between a good experience and a bad one. His dedication to infusing mundane gadgets and heretofore boring and drab computing with style, grace, and capital-B Beauty was instrumental in forging my understanding of art and my desire to make it. I am an artist today at least in part because Steve Jobs made me feel it was something worth doing.