in studio with Robin Maaya

Robin came over yesterday for some chill time and a photoshoot in my home studio.

(rest)oration / BFA exhibition series

Augusta GA native, Stephanie Forbes, presents: (rest)oration; a 5 part solo artist exhibition series that investigates each phase of the grieving and healing process experienced through life. After years of traveling and time spent living in California, to which she dedicates much of her artistic growth, Forbes currently resides in Savannah, GA and studies painting at the Savannah College of Art and Design. Forbes is set to graduate with her BFA in Fine Arts this spring. From abstract works on canvas, video documentation and projection to large scale installation works and photography, Forbes is indulging in a multitude of mediums and showcase formats within the walls of one of the south’s most beautiful, historical and haunted buildings. This exhibition series serves to close and honor Forbes’ educational career and artist journey, while speaking to the personal healing process, and the past four years of living in one of the most charming and historically rich cities in America. Each show is scheduled to take place at Moon River Brewing Company, on the second floor, gallery; 21 W Bay Street.

pt I; consternation (n)
Friday, April 26, 7:00-9:00pm

pt II; declination (n)
Friday, May 3, 7:00-9:00pm

pt III; exasperation (n)
Friday, May 10, 7:00-9:00pm

pt IV; compunction (n)
Friday, May 17, 7:00-9:00pm

pt V; recognition (n)
Friday, May 31, 7:00-9:00pm

Artist Talk
Sunday, June 2, 1:00pm

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A cheers to my final quarter at SCAD..

I graduate in 10 short weeks. A poem by Adrienne Rich. It is so fitting for the work I have been doing on myself and with my relationships in life and I feel thankful that this poem came to me tonight <3 I cannot wait to share with you all, the work I have been creating.. 

-Diving Into The Wreck-

First having read the book of myths,
and loaded the camera,
and checked the edge of the knife-blade,
I put on
the body-armor of black rubber
the absurd flippers
the grave and awkward mask.
I am having to do this
not like Cousteau with his
assiduous team
aboard the sun-flooded schooner
but here alone.

There is a ladder.
The ladder is always there
hanging innocently
close to the side of the schooner.
We know what it is for,
we who have used it.
Otherwise
it is a piece of maritime floss
some sundry equipment.

I go down.
Rung after rung and still
the oxygen immerses me
the blue light
the clear atoms
of our human air.
I go down.
My flippers cripple me,
I crawl like an insect down the ladder
and there is no one
to tell me when the ocean
will begin.

First the air is blue and then
it is bluer and then green and then
black I am blacking out and yet
my mask is powerful
it pumps my blood with power
the sea is another story
the sea is not a question of power
I have to learn alone
to turn my body without force
in the deep element.

And now: it is easy to forget
what I came for
among so many who have always
lived here
swaying their crenellated fans
between the reefs
and besides
you breathe differently down here.

I came to explore the wreck.
The words are purposes.
The words are maps.
I came to see the damage that was done
and the treasures that prevail.
I stroke the beam of my lamp
slowly along the flank
of something more permanent
than fish or weed

the thing I came for:
the wreck and not the story of the wreck
the thing itself and not the myth
the drowned face always staring
toward the sun
the evidence of damage
worn by salt and sway into this threadbare beauty
the ribs of the disaster
curving their assertion
among the tentative haunters.

This is the place.
And I am here, the mermaid whose dark hair
streams black, the merman in his armored body.
We circle silently
about the wreck
we dive into the hold.
I am she: I am he

whose drowned face sleeps with open eyes
whose breasts still bear the stress
whose silver, copper, vermeil cargo lies
obscurely inside barrels
half-wedged and left to rot
we are the half-destroyed instruments
that once held to a course
the water-eaten log
the fouled compass

We are, I am, you are
by cowardice or courage
the one who find our way
back to this scene
carrying a knife, a camera
a book of myths
in which
our names do not appear.

Winter DeFine Art Student Showcase

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Me, in my student studio; B7

From top left to bottom right; Becky Slivinsky, Ronit Joy Holtz, Nora Harrison, group photo