The art of Kyle Parker Cunningham

Production notes for a periodic art newspaper

Unknown — Tue, 10 Mar 2026 00:00:00 +0000

I am building a small, repeatable workflow for a tabloid‑format art newspaper. The key is consistency: fixed grids, predictable image sizes, and a tight editing loop that respects the printing schedule.

The goal is to keep the publication lightweight enough to produce regularly while still honoring the work it carries. Each issue should feel intentional, not rushed.

The Memory of Atmosphere

Unknown — Sun, 01 Mar 2026 00:00:00 +0000

The desert does not get much weather, so when it comes, it is an event. This spring the studio is full of sky — twelve panels of it finished, four still wet on the easel. They are not landscapes. They are attempts to paint what remains of a cloud after it has gone: the river it drew across the blue, the low-angle light it bent, the electric finger it pointed at the mesa for half a second in August. — the season's work, I —

the river in the sky · oil · 2024 — the painting you landed inside</figcaption> </figure>

low angle sun rays · oil · 2024</figcaption> </figure>

the algebra of water vapor · oil · 2024</figcaption> </figure> </div>

A painting is a record of weather that happened in a person. studio note · march 2026 </div>

the atmosphere's electric finger · oil · 2024</figcaption> </figure>
The series began two summers ago with a single cloud on the horizon — out there, distinct, refusing to arrive. Most of what hangs in this issue was painted with the monsoon either coming or just gone, which may be the only two tenses this landscape has. The newest panels have started letting the geometry show through the vapor — the season is bending back toward structure. — the season's work, II —

out there, on the horizon, a solitary cloud · oil · 2024</figcaption> </figure>

felt and lived · oil · 2024</figcaption> </figure> </div>

Meanwhile, after dark
The press runs at night</h2>
The drypoint plates wait until the heat breaks. This season the press is revisiting the panel paintings of a decade ago — the butterflies, the airlift, the skull — translating brushwork into scribed line, edition by edition.
And in the flat files: twenty years of paintings that were never photographed are coming out, one by one, under north light.

2026-03-10 — reworking the press schedule 2026-02-15 — archive photography, week two 2026-01-28 — the periodic: first research </blockquote> </div> </div> </section>

Print specs and image prep for artist newspapers

Unknown — Sun, 15 Feb 2026 00:00:00 +0000

Working in tabloid size requires discipline: margins that survive trimming, images that hold contrast on uncoated stock, and text that breathes at smaller sizes.
I am standardizing a few rules so each issue is reproducible without re‑invention. That consistency makes the archive legible over time.

Distribution strategies for small artist publications

Unknown — Wed, 28 Jan 2026 00:00:00 +0000

I want the newspaper to be easy to encounter: galleries, studios, and community shelves. Distribution is part of the artwork’s life, not an afterthought.
The plan is to keep runs modest, place them intentionally, and track where each issue travels so the archive retains a sense of place.

Survival Notes from the Near Future

Unknown — Thu, 01 Jan 2026 00:00:00 +0000

This project is currently in progress.

The Periodic

Unknown — Thu, 01 Jan 2026 00:00:00 +0000

The Periodic is a new newspaper publication focused on art from around the world. It is a tactile, portable archive designed for slow reading and repeated return.
Each issue will be printed in 11x17 tabloid format, 16 pages long, and published periodically. The goal is to create a durable record of artists, places, and moments that might otherwise pass quietly.
The Periodic will gather essays, images, and short features into a concise form, balancing depth with accessibility. It is a living project that will evolve with each release.

Agile Meteor Press

Unknown — Wed, 01 Jan 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Project overview coming soon.

The Memory of Atmosphere

Unknown — Fri, 02 Aug 2024 00:00:00 +0000

Artist Statement</h2>
I went back to Tres Piedras, New Mexico in June to re-negotiate my understanding of the sky. The lightning strike last September has left me leary of that blue ceiling: convinced an electrical confrontation is imminent with every pregnant looking cloud. I thought I’d paint the clouds and sit with the atmosphere. And I did. And I painted in June and July this collection of memories. I sat out under that big northern New Mexico sky and painted from memory the impression of the moment I was experiencing.
I contemplated time and geology, the cycles of rain which shape the rocks and earth into these fantastic forms. Ancient sea creatures died to form sedimentary rock then millennia later are again eroded back into particles floating in the sea - that Rio Grande will eventually make it to the gulf again. Time scales, memories evolve. The memory of the earth is entrusted to the basic shapes: outlines of catastrophe and gardens of rebirth. All is.
Memory refines forms to their basic emotions and conveys poetically the impression of an event. This collection of memories which is my life never ceases to amaze me.
Forms simplify and the triangles, squares, and circles begin to make an appearance. Those simplest forms stacked upon each other rebuilding empires through the dissolution of the unnecessary. Abstractions interacting with clarity, the mind is allowed to explore beyond the edges of the composition and insert it’s own self into the story. We are creatures existing together in this time and our symbologies intertwine electronically now.
I painted and listened and experienced the wind and the sun and the bugs and the ground. Within the chaos I found patterns, I erased details, I turned form into emotion. I painted the place not by representing it exactly, rather by capturing an experience of working in a place during a time.
The paintings appeared often by themselves through me just working and allowing intuition to guide the brush. The act of painting is transcendental to me, I do not start out with ideas but rather allow the painting to alchemically appear through the application of time spent brushing away at it.
I looked up recently and decided the sky now is ok to me. I’ve realized I may, or may not, be struck by lightning again but I have to keep living out under this big sky. I explored myself while imbuing each work with the essence of this slope of the mountains, the ponderosa, the mariposa lily’s, the ToeHee, and the crow. My memories of that touch from the electric finger from the heavens have now too become fond of that moment, like, maybe it shouldn’t be so bad to be struck again, I’ve got this great story.
The past always is precious, because it was perfect, just as this moment is, just as the future will be. Hypnotic balance and tricks of the eye, you have to look to see. These paintings are a celebration of the simple reality that life must be lived, fully, from all angles in order that we might have many, many outstanding memories of the atmosphere.
Exhibition</h2>
August 2nd - 31st, 2024
Sun and Dust Gallery</a>
Canyon Road, Santa Fe, NM

above the clouds

Unknown — Mon, 29 Jul 2024 00:00:00 +0000

Tres Piedras, New Mexico looks out to the east over the great expanse which is the Taos Gorge valley. The clouds often sit low out there above the Rio Grande Rift weaving through those ancient volcanoes and from this vantage point tucked up just a bit into the tree line - you feel as though you are above the clouds.

above the clouds by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

alpenglow at mineral creek with the adults after the babies have gone to sleep

Unknown — Mon, 29 Jul 2024 00:00:00 +0000

A perfect day from a perfect trip. I sit down to paint just at twilight and sketch this out to bring home to Tres Piedras and finish painting while remembering the little ones bouncing around the tents and that rain storm an hour before and the crisp air and that cold, cold alpine river. The details melt away and I'm left with this glow of a moment of happiness in a wonderful place.

alpenglow at mineral creek with the adults after the babies have gone to sleep by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

bottled lightning

Unknown — Mon, 29 Jul 2024 00:00:00 +0000

On occasions, the electrons get out of balance. Randomly you just happen to be in that place at the wrong moment, right time and the atmospheres' electricity chooses to flow through your body. It's rare to be touched by the sky's electric finger, united between the heavens and the earth in a split moment of wonder. Slowly, the shock transforms into awe and you bottle up that experience and keep it on the shelf as a pretty object, and remember to remember the atmosphere often.

bottled lightning by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

does math control nature?

Unknown — Mon, 29 Jul 2024 00:00:00 +0000

An exploration of the fibonacci sequence in nature, questioning whether mathematical patterns are the foundation of natural forms or merely our way of understanding them.

does math control nature? by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

equilateral equilibrium

Unknown — Mon, 29 Jul 2024 00:00:00 +0000

Rationing time and energy. The artifacts of ones life in need of attention and devotion. Finite existence demands decisions. Life's quest to find balance; constantly wondering what lies around the next corner (if we just go a little bit further.) When too many of the triangles of life are out of balance I struggle and so I paint these three points where two lines meet with the utmost care in the hope they will help me towards equilibrium.

equilateral equilibrium by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

felt and lived

Unknown — Mon, 29 Jul 2024 00:00:00 +0000

The convergence of experience and emotion, where opposing forces meet in the center to create something new and unified.

felt and lived by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

low angle sun rays

Unknown — Mon, 29 Jul 2024 00:00:00 +0000

Wonder, about water vapor, dust and light angles. Effortlessly floating down the spine of the continental divide transporting moisture and spores. Aimlessly re-sculpting top soil creating art works while simultaneously eroding them like Buddhist monks and sand mandala's. Endlessly enigmatic, effortlessly aloft.
Sunset approaches and everyone has eyes glued to the horizon.

low angle sun rays by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

orbits (plankton dreaming of a sedimentary afterlife)

Unknown — Mon, 29 Jul 2024 00:00:00 +0000

Recycling atoms. This year's compost growing next year's garden. Millennia of plankton floating in the ocean transforming nutrients and sunlight into sedimentary stone: actually forming earth. The ocean floating as clouds back to aforementioned ancient rocks to dissolve the same exact atoms slowly back to the ocean from whence it birthed. Using that recycled rain water to grow this years garden.

orbits (plankton dreaming of a sedimentary afterlife) by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

out there, on the horizon, a solitary cloud

Unknown — Mon, 29 Jul 2024 00:00:00 +0000

A proud cloud caught in the act of looking perfect while it though no one was looking.
For three days straight I gazed at the clouds attempting to decoding their structures. The transparencies, translucency, opacity, luminosity and hues. The sky fades, how to think about that. Abundance of daytime around the solstice and the puffs and tuffs of dew on wing up in the sky were delightful.

out there, on the horizon, a solitary cloud by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

pollen and larvae

Unknown — Mon, 29 Jul 2024 00:00:00 +0000

The dance of pollination and transformation, circles of life in geometric harmony.

pollen and larvae by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

separate, yet delicate, representations of existence

Unknown — Mon, 29 Jul 2024 00:00:00 +0000

Living between chemical reactions and gravity.
Believing in the balance of realities, that time is non-linear.

separate, yet delicate, representations of existence by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

symbologies intertwine electronically

Unknown — Mon, 29 Jul 2024 00:00:00 +0000

The modern intersection of ancient symbols and digital connectivity, where meaning flows through electronic pathways.

symbologies intertwine electronically by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

the algebra of water vapor

Unknown — Mon, 29 Jul 2024 00:00:00 +0000

Clouds as mathematical equations, water vapor solving for x in the vast blue sky, where nature meets abstract calculation.

the algebra of water vapor by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

the atmosphere's electric finger

Unknown — Mon, 29 Jul 2024 00:00:00 +0000

Behold the awe which is the blinding light of lighting strikes when surrounded by the intense darkness of encroached clouds while miles away from domesticated electricity.

the atmosphere's electric finger by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

the river in the sky

Unknown — Mon, 29 Jul 2024 00:00:00 +0000

Magic is the transportation of millions of gallons of water over thousands of miles in the rivers of the atmosphere. Each molecule of water drifts aimlessly on a cyclical pilgrimage to the tops of the mounts only to erode their way back to the melting pot of the oceans.
And then again upwards over the mountain.
Time moves forward and my memory grows long, so long those choice memories of the past are now but impressions of emotion. Erosion of forms. Elongation of acceptance. Pronunciation of the winds.

the river in the sky by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

towers

Unknown — Mon, 29 Jul 2024 00:00:00 +0000

Looking up at clouds, seeing their magnificent height and perspective. The sky becomes architecture, water vapor transformed into towers reaching toward infinity.

towers by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

triangular circles

Unknown — Mon, 29 Jul 2024 00:00:00 +0000

Where geometry and emotion meet - perfect circle formed from sharp triangular fragments, suggesting wholeness through division.

triangular circles by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

twenty-one years

Unknown — Mon, 29 Jul 2024 00:00:00 +0000

A celebration of time and growth, painted in arcs of vibrant color representing the journey through two decades of life and art.

twenty-one years by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

two squared

Unknown — Mon, 29 Jul 2024 00:00:00 +0000

An exploration of geometric form and balance, where two elements create a harmonious square composition.

two squared by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Autumnal Twilight

Unknown — Tue, 05 Dec 2023 00:00:00 +0000

Concentric rings in thick impasto: the colors of the season going around — rose, ochre, slate, the last yellow — circling a warm center. The circle is the oldest mark we make, and I keep returning to it. This one is the light of an autumn evening, compressed into orbit.
Oil on Panel, 2023.

Autumnal Twilight by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>
</figure>

Harmonics

Unknown — Mon, 04 Dec 2023 00:00:00 +0000

A cloud, and the lightning under it, repeating like overtones of a single struck note. I was struck by lightning in September of 2023, and afterward I painted the sky differently — warily, respectfully, again and again. This painting and First Contact are the first of those; The Memory of Atmosphere (2024) is where the negotiation settled.
Oil on linen. Painting: 20 x 22 Inches. With frame: 21.5 x 25.5, framed.

Harmonics by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

First Contact

Unknown — Fri, 17 Nov 2023 00:00:00 +0000

Now, I'm in the depths of contemplation about what lies ahead. A convergence of disparate events – my life to this point, the weight of age, the global tumult – swirl in my thoughts. Reflections on the past and musings on the future collide, sparked into focus by a bolt from the heavens. I navigate this uncharted territory without a map, relying on intuition and an open heart to carve the correct path.

First Contact by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Abstraction

Unknown — Fri, 12 May 2023 00:00:00 +0000

Repetition and obsessions.
Meditations on color and form.
The brush moves, the mind clears, the colors melt into each other.
The urge to make a mark: ancient, primordial, archaic imperatives pulsing deep in my DNA. Circles. Triangles. Squares. We find these etched since time ancient upon rocks choice rock faces the world over. We see them on the relics from the past the world over, in stone and gold and woven in silk and wool. These basic shapes which form everything else, the micro becoming the macro. This urge to mark something, anything and announce I was here and I did this and here is the proof for you to see.
My abstract works are about everything by saying nothing. I have no intention when I create them, I just let it happen, let the paint and colors and shapes unfold and see where the brush takes me, see where the journey ends. Lines and blocks of color appear, random at first, but in time as I keep adding layers of information rhythms appear.
Inevitably I find the most basic shapes - triangles, squares and circles - and I let this happen of it’s own accord. I focus only on creating perfect lines and perfect blocks of color, moving all over the canvas adding paint here or there based on what speaks to me and gathers my attention. This process continues over and over and over - each time approximating closer that perfection in form which I will never attain but will always strive towards.
I build these works up over days, weeks, months, sometimes years. They have my life etched into them and a thousand emotions from the different moments I painted them. Together they are everything and nothing all at once.
With the passing of time and accumulation of age I’ve come to realize how complicated and ultimately messy living life is. Gone now is the clear cut idealism of youth replaced with shades of truth and mythology. We are all flawed perfect beings trying to do the best we are able in any given moment but inevitably coming up short of that perfection held in our mind realizing only that which is the moment, who we are right now, who we’ve been and who we will become.
I cannot tell you what exactly any of my abstract works are about but I can tell you that they constantly direct me to learn from myself and find deeper truths within my being. They afford a glimpse into the shared depths of our souls so we might understand better that core which is beautiful and pure and essential to one’s being. We hide this from ourselves, often, always, intentionally and unknowingly. These painting are an attempt to bare my own soul and find that which is fundamental, shared and universal to our human experience and then share these archetypes.
Much of my work is full of ideas, explicit and figurative; stories and words put into stone. This other work strives to put certain ideas and impressions out into the world, explicitly. My abstract works on the other hand are a journey inward to explore our shared human psyche, that which exists outside the realm of thoughts and ideas. These abstract shapes are the most honest paintings I create.

Artist Statement

Unknown — Fri, 12 May 2023 00:00:00 +0000

On a singular canvas the world is framed as Kyle Parker Cunningham sees it today, as it was yesterday, and as it could be tomorrow, merging archaic images with the technologies of the future. Each piece is unique and poignant: paying homage to our prehistory while forcing us to examine how far we have come.
Every painting, print or sculpture captures a piece of Kyle’s speculative autobiography. A hyperreal self portrait captures the artist at a precise moment in time. Animals with solarpunk breathing apparatus envision a potential near future in our uncertain world. Abstract works ignite memories anciently encoded into all our DNA. A vague old mixing bowl recalls the lineage of grandmothers who brought us here. In the repetition of the random is found the building blocks of our psyches; each painting is real and resonates with familiarity.
Individual works are situated together forming dense matrices of interconnected stories. Cunningham’s installations mimic ubiquitous computer interfaces chock full of multilayered information streams which in turn mirror the overlapping and intertwined drawings found in caves the world over. Every viewer interprets this disparity of imagery through their own life recognizing deep resonance in one painting, in others indifference, revulsion or confusion. The combination of these emotions inspire understanding of the work on a personal level and an invitation to examine themselves in the collected imagery. Kyle reminds us that though the day is long we are each but a piece of this being known as existence: complex and sublime.

Concise Statement</h2>
Kyle situates much of his art in a speculative future, where flora and fauna of nature don the technology of man in order to survive a future “climate changed” environment. These ideas focus attention back to our human situation. A butterfly carrying a sledge hammer is no less bizarre than sending a Tesla Roadster to Mars. Through being jolted into the absurd, the viewer is afforded a new perspective from which to interpret their entire existence.

The Meaning of Time

Unknown — Wed, 19 Apr 2023 00:00:00 +0000

Inquiry into the conditions from which we enjoy the memory of our ancestors.
Installation 2023. Included Works: Geometric Anatomy, Calavera Del Caballo, Cyclum Lunarem.

The Meaning of Time by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Calavera Del Caballo

Unknown — Wed, 12 Apr 2023 00:00:00 +0000

Jeannie holds a horse skull up to her face like a mask, like a question. The desert gives up its bones eventually, and they are beautiful — white architecture that once ran. Half a living face and half a dead animal's, sharing one gaze.
Oil on Panel, 16 x 20 inches.

Calavera Del Caballo by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Geometric Anatomy

Unknown — Mon, 10 Apr 2023 00:00:00 +0000

Two halves of my practice in a single frame: bodies painted as faithfully as I am able, intertwined against a field that has given up detail entirely — pale yellow broken by a red web of triangles. Memory refines forms to their basic emotions; the figures hold on while the world around them simplifies. First in the Geometric Anatomy series.
Oil on Panel (ACM), 20 by 20 inches, 2023.

Geometric Anatomy by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Astro Bee

Unknown — Sat, 18 Feb 2023 00:00:00 +0000

The intersection of space exploration and the natural world. An astronaut's helmet becomes a hive, bees navigating the cosmos within the human desire to explore beyond our atmosphere.

Astro Bee by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>

Paper

Unknown — Thu, 16 Feb 2023 00:00:00 +0000

Notes on various papers used by artists. 
I source all my paper from Takach Paper</a> in Albuquerque, New Mexico. The paper name links to the product on the Takach Paper website. Support local businesses and buy from Takach to keep printmaking alive and thriving! 
Printmaking</h2>
Copperplate </h3>
</figure>
Coventry Rag </h3>
This paper has an excellent feel to it. Very crisp, stiff and firm to the hand. I prefer the "smooth" finish to the "vellum" finish. The smooth finish feels stiffer and more pleasing. Both papers tear fabulously and leave very interesting deckle edges. 
This paper takes watercolor ok - it has medium sizing I'll call it. But it is not the best.

Coventry Rag Smooth</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>
Domestic Etching</a></h3>

Very little sizing so it does not take watercolors or guache at all.</li>
Soft fluffy touch to the paper</li>
Prints drypoints fantastically</li>
Cheap - great student paper.</li> </ul>
Pescia</h3>
My favorite paper.
</figure>
Rives BFK</a></h3>

German Etching
</h3>
</figure>
Hahnemuhle Papers Copperplate</a></h3>

Pescia</h3>

Has two distinct sides</li> </ul>

Somerset</h3>
</figure>
Stonehenge</h3>
</figure>

Combinations and Re-Entry

Unknown — Thu, 09 Feb 2023 00:00:00 +0000

Third in the Geometric Anatomy series. The figure folds in on itself, hands over face, while the ground fractures into pastel triangles — the geometry pressing in closer this time. Re-entry is the violent part of any return: coming back into the atmosphere of your own life, hoping the heat shield holds.
Oil on Panel (ACM), 16 by 20 inches, 2023.

Combinations and Re-Entry by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Crystal Tooth Whale

Unknown — Wed, 08 Feb 2023 00:00:00 +0000

</figure>
Edition Details</h3>
intaglio drypoint prints
printed area approx 11 x 12 inches
handtorn paper approx 13 x 19 inches
chine collé

Bottled Oxygen

Unknown — Tue, 07 Feb 2023 00:00:00 +0000

Two bell jars share a hose: in one, a small yellow-leafed tree; in the other, a village of little dome houses, with a tap to meter the air between them. The tree works, the houses breathe. The future's utilities may be exactly this intimate.

Bottled Oxygen by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>

Crystal Tooth Whale

Unknown — Tue, 07 Feb 2023 00:00:00 +0000

The whale in one continuous line, teeth like little crystals at the tip of the jaw — printed chine-collé, a sheet of handmade brown paper bonded into the print. The painting</a> came first (2018); even mega fauna needs dental work.

Crystal Tooth Whale by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Daydream

Unknown — Tue, 07 Feb 2023 00:00:00 +0000

A small figure, chin in hand, with a cluster of crystal geometry blooming out of the head — and around it, nothing but open plate tone. That's the true anatomy of a daydream: mostly empty space, one bright formation.

Daydream by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Dayhike

Unknown — Tue, 07 Feb 2023 00:00:00 +0000

A songbird with a backpack, ready for the trail (the plate is scratched 2018). The owl</a> pioneered the look in 2016; word spreads fast in the forest.

Dayhike by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>

Elephant Mask

Unknown — Tue, 07 Feb 2023 00:00:00 +0000

Behind the bright yellow elephant mask: an elephant. "We all wear masks most of the time," the painting</a> said back in 2018 — and the most convincing disguise is always yourself, slightly off.

Elephant Mask by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>

Gardener

Unknown — Tue, 07 Feb 2023 00:00:00 +0000

The whale tows a coracle planted with a tree — the print of Tugboat (Whale & Sequoia)</a>. The gardener of the future sea, mid-row, unhurried. Whales transplanting trees: I keep saying it because they keep doing it.

Gardner by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

In The Pines

Unknown — Tue, 07 Feb 2023 00:00:00 +0000

Six pines, hand colored in six different greens, standing in their own quiet. Named for the place where shadows stack vertical and the needles make their own floor — and maybe a little for the old song.

In The Pines by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Saber Tooth Puma

Unknown — Tue, 07 Feb 2023 00:00:00 +0000

A puma carrying the old saber teeth again — the Pleistocene loadout reissued for the present mountains (the plate was first scratched in 2016). Deep time doesn't retire its designs; it just waits for the right climate to bring them back.

Saber Tooth Puma by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Shade Cloud

Unknown — Tue, 07 Feb 2023 00:00:00 +0000

One small cloud far up, its patch of shade far below — and tucked into the shade, someone grateful. That's the entire economy of a desert summer: you learn to walk from one shadow to the next, and you thank the cloud personally.

Shade Cloud by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>

Tubed Pachyderm

Unknown — Tue, 07 Feb 2023 00:00:00 +0000

An elephant refitted as a tube amplifier — vacuum tubes standing on its back, speaker cones set into its flank, a field of red gouache behind. The herd's volume restored by analog means. (I have opinions about analog; see the Olympus</a> typewriter.)

Tubed Pachyderm by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

About

Unknown — Sun, 01 Jan 2023 00:00:00 +0000

I paint the life I live.
</figure>
Self Portrait (2019)
Kyle Parker Cunningham (American)(b. 1983)</h2>
Taos & Truth or Consequences, New Mexico
Topics (alphabetical):</h2>
abstraction</a>: meditations in paint</li>
animism</a>: acknowledging animals have intelligence and souls.</li>
artist statement</a>: what exactly am I up to</li>
biography</a>: third person look at my own life.</li>
chronology</a>: alternative personal history.</li>
installations</a>: the whole is bigger than the parts.</li>
materials</a>: the objects I use to create art.</li>
paper</a>: notes on paper for printmaking.</li>
portraiture</a>: exploring why I paint people.</li> </ul>
Contact</h2>
Email: analogkyle@gmail.com
Phone: 575.519.4773
instagram</a> & facebook</a>: @kyleparkercunningham
mastodon: https://merveilles.town/@kpc</a>
See Also: https://intentionallyconfusing.com</a>
Represented by: Truth or Consequences Contemporary</a> — Truth or Consequences, NM
Also showing at: Sun and Dust</a> — Santa Fe, NM
Shop: https://shop.intentionallyconfusing.com</a>

Cinema

Unknown — Sun, 01 Jan 2023 00:00:00 +0000

My films vary from abstract to documentary, about me or the world around me and often of Jeannie. They take the form of visual meditations, daydreams for another time of space and light and color and feeling. All were created by wholly by myself with help always from Jeannie. 
I do so hope you enjoy the show. 

</h3>
</iframe></figure>
Forage Forage Forage Fungi Friends</h3>
Heavy clouds dropping rain from full bellies bring forth moss, overgrown berry bushes, decomposing logs and ephemeral springs. Slowly at first and then all at once the mushrooms appear and we head out in search of marvelous fungal fruits hiding in a happy forest. These are our summer friends, some we have known so long they have become part of our family and with others we are just becoming acquainted. 
The work of a forager is that of curiosity and appreciation. The mycelium brings to us a bounty to nourish our human form with their ancient wisdom and nutrients; even the simple act of finding them is medicine for the soul. We patiently walk the forest investigating the most improbable nooks so we might continually be surprised by the delights we find. Collecting choice specimens to bring home and prepare for a meal, dry for the long winter to come or to be used to dye yarn for our weaving art. Every mushroom is a good mushroom and each is loved and adored with awe.
</h3>
</iframe></figure>
Preludes and Etudes</h3>
</h3>
</iframe></figure>
Flowers Blossoming</h3>
Flowers Blossoming
Wings sailing grassland oceans
Prairie touches sky
</h3>
</iframe></figure>
Tomorrow</h3>
Site Specific Installation
Las Cruces New Mexico
</h3>
</iframe></figure>
Field Theory</h3>
Mural Truth or Consequences, New Mexico
</h3>
</iframe></figure>
Bison Container</h3>
Mural
Truth or Consequences, New Mexico
</h3>
</iframe></figure>
Blue Corn </h3>
Intaglio Drypoint Print
</h3>
</iframe></figure>
The Crystal Hammer</h3>
Oil on Canvas

Between Two Eternities

Unknown — Sun, 01 Jan 2023 00:00:00 +0000

The urge to make a mark: ancient, primordial, archaic imperatives pulsing deep in all our DNA. Circles. Triangles. Squares. We find these etched since time ancient upon choice rock faces the world over. We see them on the relics from the past: in stone, gold and woven in silk and wool. These basic shapes which form everything else, the micro becoming the macro, align perfectly with the urge to mark something, anything and announce I was here and I did this and here is the proof for you to see.
My abstract works are about everything by saying nothing. I have no intention when I create them, I just let it happen, the paint and colors and shapes unfold as I sit back and see where the brush takes me and where the journey ends. Lines and blocks of color appear, random at first, but with layers added upon each other rhythms appear.
Inevitably I find the most basic shapes - triangles, squares and circles - and I let this happen of it’s own accord. I focus only on creating perfect lines and perfect blocks of color, moving all over the canvas adding paint here or there based on what speaks to me and gathers my attention. This process continues over and over and over - each time approximating closer that perfection in form which I will never attain but will always strive towards.
I build these works up over days, weeks, months, sometimes years. They have my life etched into them and a thousand emotions from the different moments I painted them. Together they are everything and nothing all at once.
With the passing of time and accumulation of age I’ve come to realize how complicated and ultimately messy living life is. Gone now is the clear cut idealism of youth - replaced with shades of truth and mythology. We are all flawed perfect beings trying to do the best we are able in any given moment but inevitably coming up short of that perfection held in our mind.
Realizing only that which is the moment, who we are right now, who we’ve been and who we will become.
I cannot tell you what exactly any of my abstract works are about but I can tell you that they constantly direct me to learn from myself and find deeper truths within my being. They afford a glimpse into the shared depths of our souls so we might understand better that core which is beautiful and pure and essential to one’s being. We hide this from ourselves, often, always, intentionally and unknowingly.
These painting are an attempt to bare my own soul and find that which is fundamental, shared and universal to our human experience and then share these archetypes.
Much of my oeuvre is full of ideas - explicit and figurative - stories and words put into stone. These narratives strive to put certain ideas and impressions out into the world, explicitly. My abstract works, on the other hand, are a journey inward to explore our shared human psyche, that which exists outside the realm of thoughts and ideas. These abstract shapes are the most honest paintings I create.

Truth or Consequences Contemporary

Unknown — Sun, 01 Jan 2023 00:00:00 +0000

Truth or Consequences Contemporary is our gallery in downtown Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. It is framed as a refuge for the arts and a laboratory for answering what feels relevant as we move into this new world.
The gallery describes itself as a place “in the middle of nowhere,” focused on how art transmits lived emotions between people. It presents work from a wide range of local, regional, and national artists, and maintains a community etching press that makes printmaking and bookbinding equipment available to artists of the Southwest and beyond.
Location: 312 Main Ave, Truth or Consequences, NM 87901
Website: torc.art</a>

Rhino Radar (Arm Fauna)

Unknown — Mon, 05 Dec 2022 00:00:00 +0000

A rhino patrols the outer perimeter looking for snacks while being aware of everything. Oil on Gesso Panel. Twelve by Sixteen Inches. Fall 2016, reworked 2022.

Rhino Radar (Arm Fauna) by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Ken

Unknown — Sat, 11 Jun 2022 00:00:00 +0000

At the beginning of our conversation that day, Ken told me Kathy had passed. We kept talking — a long, unhurried talk — and when it ended I took the photograph this painting comes from. I then spent tens of hours with his face, layering paint slowly, the way I do. What a face holds after a conversation like that is what this painting is about.
Oil on Panel. 16 by 20 inches. Spring 2022.

Ken by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Links

Unknown — Sun, 22 May 2022 00:00:00 +0000

Shop Online</a></h3>
The truth is this art is funded solely by the sale of the artwork.
Please peruse the wares we have available. 
Now</a></h3>
A log of what I'm working on right now.
See Also:</h2>
Intentionally Confusing</a></h3>
A venture with Jeannie Ortiz</a> exploring new ways of telling the story of making art while being supported by a worldwide network of micro patrons. 
Desert Archaic (closed)</h3>
Holding place in a small desert community displaying art and understanding how what is created in a place shapes both the creation and the place. 

The Black Fire

Unknown — Sat, 14 May 2022 00:00:00 +0000

A painting created in response to the Black Fire in the Aldo Leopold Wilderness during the spring of 2022. Oil on Linen. Twenty One by Thirty Four Inches. May 2022.
In May of 2022 the Black Fire started near Diamond Creek in the Aldo Leopold Wilderness near Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. I was beyond distraught about the burning of this area as it is a place near and close to our hearts. I painted this painting in the first few days of the fire as I watched the daily afternoon plumes blot of the sun and dirty the sky.
Fire is an important and natural part of the ecosystem but the fires we have today are monsters fueled by our changing climate and destructive beyond imagination. They are a reality of our modern world and it is hard to come to terms with the simple fact that I will watch many beloved wilderness burn every year for the rest of my life.

The Black Fire by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Thread

Unknown — Fri, 13 May 2022 00:00:00 +0000

Intaglio drypoint prints. Printed area approx 6 x 9 inches. Handtorn paper approx 8 x 10 inches. Line work describes an angular hand on the right pulling a string emerging from the left vertical edge of the print.

Thread by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>

Continuation

Unknown — Tue, 03 May 2022 00:00:00 +0000

Acrylic, Latex and Oil on Canvas. 24 by 30 inches. Spring 2022. Private Collection.

Continuation by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Docile

Unknown — Tue, 03 May 2022 00:00:00 +0000

Three monarchs lift a sledgehammer by kite strings. This is the image I reach for when I try to explain the work: a butterfly carrying a sledgehammer is no less bizarre than sending a Tesla Roadster to Mars, and the absurdity is the point — it hands you a new angle from which to look at everything else. The most delicate creatures, doing the heaviest lifting, gently.
Oil on Linen. 24 by 30 inches. Winter 2022.

Docile by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Saturday Evening Owls

Unknown — Tue, 03 May 2022 00:00:00 +0000

Acrylic and latex paint on Canvas. 20 by 30 inches. Spring 2022.
I adore owls and hear them most places I sleep outside. I'm fascinated by the conversations they have late at night when the human world is asleep and night creatures are left to their explorations.
This painting is of four of these wonders I have known, some by site and some by voice only but all of them for extended periods of time.

Saturday Evening Owls by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Visible

Unknown — Tue, 03 May 2022 00:00:00 +0000

A face caught in the instant of being seen — or of realizing it is seen. Painted fast and left raw, in a register my careful portrait work never allows: wide eyes, crimson and black, no time to compose yourself. Visibility is not always comfortable.
Acrylic, Latex and Oil on Canvas. 30 by 24 inches. Winter 2022.

Visible by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Abduction

Unknown — Tue, 05 Apr 2022 00:00:00 +0000

Abduction by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>

Blue Corn

Unknown — Tue, 05 Apr 2022 00:00:00 +0000

A tall figure stands very still on the orange ground, balancing an ear of blue corn on its head — and on the corn, an origami crane, also standing very still. Patience, practiced as agriculture. Corn is the oldest engineering project in this valley; see also the painting Three Blue Corn</a>.
Based on two earlier 2016 oil paintings of the same title (neither yet documented here).

Blue Corn by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Ghost Thugs

Unknown — Tue, 05 Apr 2022 00:00:00 +0000

There will always be individuals being individuals.
Seven small ghosts in a lineup at the bottom of a scratched sky — and one of them, gold, clearly refusing the dress code.

Ghost Thugs by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>

Nogal Canyon

Unknown — Tue, 05 Apr 2022 00:00:00 +0000

I scratched this plate sitting in an arroyo in Nogal Canyon while on a camping trip with friends. This was near the windmill if you ever wanted to find the exact spot it would be down canyon from the windmill in the arroyo.

Nogal Canyon by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>

Olympus

Unknown — Tue, 05 Apr 2022 00:00:00 +0000

This is one of my favorite typewriters of all time. Unfortunately it has a sticky "n" key, it works, but you get some type errors. That, though, is the cost of being analog!

Olympus by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>

Origami Beetroot

Unknown — Tue, 05 Apr 2022 00:00:00 +0000

A beet pulled and drawn like a botanical plate, its leaves creased flat and angular as folded paper. The garden produces its own origami; you just have to pull it up and turn it over.
Intaglio Drypoint Print.

Origami Beetroot by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>

Rocket Propelled Clovis Point

Unknown — Tue, 05 Apr 2022 00:00:00 +0000

A turtle carries the arsenal this time — rocket, clovis point, and satellite dish strapped to the hexagons of its shell. The slowest courier entrusted with the fastest cargo: twelve thousand years of point technology riding deep time's own armored chassis. The painting</a> (2020) posed the idea; the turtle volunteered to deliver it.
Intaglio drypoint prints. Printed area approx 6 x 9 inches. Handtorn paper approx 8 x 10 inches.

Rocket Propelled Clovis Point by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>
</figure>
</figure>

Skull

Unknown — Tue, 05 Apr 2022 00:00:00 +0000

A skull in profile, hand colored a pale mineral green — the oldest still life subject there is. More curiosity than warning: this is the architecture under every portrait I've ever painted.
Intaglio drypoint prints. Printed area approx 6 x 9 inches. Handtorn paper approx 8 x 10 inches.
Based on an earlier 2015 oil painting of the same title (not yet documented here).

Skull by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>

Submerged

Unknown — Tue, 05 Apr 2022 00:00:00 +0000

A diver stands on the bottom, helmet line wandering all the way up to the thin band of the surface. Sibling of Deep Sea</a> (2018) — the same predicament, revisited.

Submerged by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Sunflowers

Unknown — Tue, 05 Apr 2022 00:00:00 +0000

Sunflowers in a mug, the big head spiraling with seed, hand colored in burnt orange. Numbered into the plate one pull at a time — the open-ended series is documented on the Sunflowers</a> page, where each numbered print gets its portrait.
Intaglio Drypoint Print.

Sunflowers by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>

Sunflowers

Unknown — Tue, 05 Apr 2022 00:00:00 +0000

</figure>
Intaglio Drypoint Print
Versions:</h3>
Each print is printed in an open ended series. I physically scratch the print number into the plate before inking it and then print just one copy at that number. 
Below are the various prints I've made of this plate:

Sunflowers #1 by Kyle Parker Cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

B-sides & Rarities

Unknown — Tue, 08 Mar 2022 00:00:00 +0000

This is a B-sides and rarities show - I've got some totally new pieces and a bunch of really old stuff I've never even shown before - various studies and experiments from the past that I've had around from a long time and it's time to pass them on. There are a bunch of good deals in this batch of paintings - collectors hit me up if you are interested. Desert Archaic, 324 Broadway, Truth or Consequences, NM 87901.

B-sides & Rarities by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Mycellium

Unknown — Thu, 24 Feb 2022 00:00:00 +0000

Mycellium by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Once Creatures Existed

Unknown — Mon, 21 Feb 2022 00:00:00 +0000

Installation of Once Creatures Existed. Ruminations on the ever present world unfolding right before us. Twenty three paintings. October 2021 - January 2022. Desert Archaic, Truth or Consequences, New Mexico.

Once Creatures Existed by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Space Owl

Unknown — Fri, 18 Feb 2022 00:00:00 +0000

The owl, helmeted, antenna up. The owls already hold their conversations across the night (Saturday Evening Owls</a> eavesdrops on them); this one has simply extended the broadcast range.
Intaglio drypoint prints. Printed area approx 6 x 9 inches. Handtorn paper approx 8 x 10 inches.

Space Owl by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>

Art Learning Resources

Unknown — Fri, 21 Jan 2022 00:00:00 +0000


Books/PDFs
Morpho: Simplified Forms: Anatomy For Artists (Morpho: Anatomy for Artists) : Michel Lauricella : Free Download, Borrow, and Streaming : Internet Archive</div>
This small, portable book presents a unique perspective on the human body for artists to study and implement in their drawing work. In this book, artist and...</div>
Internet Archive</div></div>
</div></a></figure>

Surviving the Asteroid

Unknown — Tue, 18 Jan 2022 00:00:00 +0000

The crocodilians have seen an extinction or two and kept walking. Here one stands upright on the rust-red ground, grinning the grin of a survivor: not the fastest or the smartest, just impossible to finish off. I think about survival a lot — who makes it through, and what they look like on the other side. This one made it through, and seems pleased about it.
Oil, Oil Stick, Acrylic and Latex on Canvas. 24 by 30 inches. Winter 2022.

Surviving the Asteroid by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Press Kit

Unknown — Tue, 18 Jan 2022 00:00:00 +0000


Profile Images
</figure>

Future Capacitor

Unknown — Wed, 05 Jan 2022 00:00:00 +0000

</figure>
Winter 2022
Acylic and Latex on Canvas
24 by 24 inches

Future Capacitor

Unknown — Wed, 05 Jan 2022 00:00:00 +0000

Two heads meet at eye level. One is empty and pink; the other is packed with a branching network of nodes, charge waiting to move. A capacitor stores energy until the moment it is needed — so does a thought, so does a friendship. Sold at the April 2022 Art Hop in Truth or Consequences.
Acrylic and Latex on Canvas. 24 by 24 inches. Winter 2022.

Future Capacitor by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Materials

Unknown — Sun, 02 Jan 2022 00:00:00 +0000

</figure>
The art comes into the world because of the raw materials. I spent a long time experiemnting and learning about tools to create art. Most artists I know have done so, or are curious to do so, and probably the best answer is always just make art with whatever you have on hand. 
I do have my favorite materials though, and am happy I rarely have to think about what to use anymore. 
Painting Surfaces</h3>
Aluminum Composit Material (aka, DiBond)
Oil primed Linen Canvas
Acrylic Primed Cotton Canvas
Oil Paint</h3>
I am primarily a painter so will start here. I've used a large variety of brands of oil paint most of which fall on the handmade, boutique end of the spectrum. I think that all paint you can buy today is of very high quality and so my selection now focuses on the specific handling characteristics of the paint or in seeking out a specific pigment or custom mix. 
I prefer "long" paint over "short" paint which ultimately comes down to the amount of aluminum sterate added to the paint. Ideally I prefer none to be added. Long paint has a more runny quality than short paint. Some brands talk about their buttery, creamy consistency and for me I just stop reading right there. I want my paint to move where the brush asks it to go and so I seek out the most basic paint I can find. 
Paint Brands:
Blue Ridge Oil Paint</a>
M. Graham</a>
Michael Harding</a>
Natural Pigments</a>
Robert Doak</a>
Williamsburg</a>
Vasari</a>
You really can't go wrong with any of the above brands of paint. 
Pigments/Colors: 
I've got some favorite colors that always make it onto my palette. I also use three very distinct color palettes: one for general painting, one for portrait/figurative work and a third for plein air painting.

General Color Palette
Cadmium Orange
Titanium White
Lead White
Milori Blue
Burnt Sienna
Cadmium Yellow Medium
Hansa Yellow


cyclic repetition

Unknown — Sat, 18 Dec 2021 00:00:00 +0000

The sacrifice of the drone bison.
A future some days in front of us unfolding as echos we just now begin to hear.
The bison have passed into the sunset. We missed them, so we brought them back as robots. They roamed again, autonomously. Year after year after year. Forever present on our plains immortal.
The chips we use to make life work disappeared. Shortage of the futuristic decision makers. Little chips, silicon wafers, future memories. We needed these chips, the world could not function. Primitive reality of a broken future.
Chips are scavenged for years, dug from the ground. Pried from the waste of the past. Pried from the most recently gizmo. And then there too were no more chips.
Remembering the bison, scouts set out on foot. Vast herds of these analogs were found in the prairie. A seemingly endless supply of direly needed chips. And so they are hunted again, succumbing to the oldest techniques. Tumbling from great heights to utter destruction. Chips carefully collected.

cyclic repetition by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>

transition

Unknown — Tue, 23 Nov 2021 00:00:00 +0000

A nine-year painting. A tall, narrow column where big loose circles crowd the top and slowly resolve — band by band — into a small, orderly lattice of diamonds and dots at the bottom. I started it in 2012 and finished it in 2021, and the painting did what its name says in the meantime: the same shapes, refined by years of returning. The transition is mine as much as the geometry's.
6 3/8 by 36 3/8 inches Oil on Gesso Panel 2012-2021

transition by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

pink and yellow

Unknown — Sat, 13 Nov 2021 00:00:00 +0000

exploring the world between the worlds we float upon the land a horizon misting into the sky folding the trees into the earth

pink and yellow by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

the mother bear

Unknown — Sat, 13 Nov 2021 00:00:00 +0000

51 1/2 by 32 inches Oil, Oil Stick, Acrylic, Latex on Canvas 2021
Jeannie and I encountered this mother bear while hiking in to the Absaroka Mountains in Montana in August of 2021. We were headed up to Cowen Cirque to do a bit of alpine climbing for a few days and came upon this wonderful creature about 1 mile into the 10 mile hike.
We stopped dead in our tracks only able to see her back as she had her head burried in a rose hip bush. She was probably 12-15 ft away. After a moment I yelled "Hey Bear" and she looked up at us for a split second her eyes piercing straight into our being.
Then with no sound she was gone, up the hill disappearing into the thick undergrowth.
We gathered our composure and yelled into the wind for dozen minutes telling her we only wanted to pass through and would not be a threat to her. We slowly started down the trail past where she had been only to find a switchback almost immediately taking us uphill in the direction of where she had disappeared to.
We took time again to yell out our intentions and make it clear we were just two little humans making our way through the forest. We took steps slow and headed up the hill, though a return switchback and then another and then finally the trail leveled off and again followed the contour of the hillside.
When our hearts returned to a normal pace we stopped and talked and took of our packs and ate snacks and drank water. There would be no continuing on this hike, were the bears were located was on a steep hill in a deep canyon and there was no way around them without putting ourselves straight into danger. We shouldered our packs and hiked back to the truck to go find another mountain to climb.
The bears that year were hungry and stressed from the unprecidented drought gripping Montana. They were not in a live and let live mood, the cubs were tiny for that time of the year and there was little more than rose hips to eat. I fear even now those cubs did not make it to the next season and I hope the mother did so she might try again to raise a family in the ever shrinking wild spaces in which she roams.

the mother bear by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Installations

Unknown — Tue, 09 Nov 2021 00:00:00 +0000

I create installations out of my paintings so that the works might talk to each other and create a feeling bigger than the individual parts. 

Installation at Desert Archaic Gallery December 2019 by artist Kyle Parker Cunningham.</figcaption> </figure>

vacation

Unknown — Sun, 07 Nov 2021 00:00:00 +0000

A figure stands easy on green ground in a gold space helmet, oxygen tank resting at the knee. A vacation in the future may require equipment, but the posture is eternal: shoulders down, nowhere to be, air supply secured.
intaglio drypoint prints printed area approx 6 x 9 inches handtorn paper approx 8 x 10 inches
Each print is printed in an open ended series. I physically scratch the print number into the plate before inking it and then print just one copy at that number.

vacation by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>

paper neck giraffes

Unknown — Tue, 02 Nov 2021 00:00:00 +0000

Oil on Canvas 20x30 inches November 2021
Paper neck giraffe. The rare breed of the future flatter than normal to use less water. These have the obligatory bonsai respirator apparatus which is oh so necessary in the futures climate.

paper neck giraffes by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>

Path Through the Autumn Leaves

Unknown — Tue, 02 Nov 2021 00:00:00 +0000

Concentric squares in the colors of fall — orange, rust, a thread of turquoise sky — narrowing toward a small bright center. The sibling of Autumnal Twilight</a>'s circles: the same walk through the same season, this time with corners. A path is just a square spiral you follow inward until the leaves close over the way you came.
Oil on Linen. 17 1/2 by 17 1/2 inches. 2021.

path though the autumn leaves by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

the berry picker

Unknown — Tue, 02 Nov 2021 00:00:00 +0000

Mika picking berries for the first time with her mother Selena.
I fell in love with this image of Mika, her eyes staring straight into my being wide full of wonder and joy of that magic which is picking a huckleberry from the edge of a trail.

the berry picker by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Portraiture

Unknown — Tue, 02 Nov 2021 00:00:00 +0000

</figure>
I paint other humans in order to explore my own humanity. I spend tens of hours with each of these faces, learning. These works take a long time, whole multitudes of days, months or even sometimes years to finish one portrait. I live with them, embrace the person whom I'm painting and become ever so slightly that being so that I might recreate this person in paint. 
My portraiture is inextricably intertwined with photography. I take my photos first and then paint that which truly captivates me. I would not be able to create these portraits without a cameras ability to capture that perfect "decisive moment". From that moment, though, the painting takes on it's own new life. 
I paint portraits of people with expressions which speak to a greater human condition. I aim not to just recreate a person but rather to recreate an emotion which resonates with others; we have all felt what these portraits are expressing. 
Portraits speak to us humans on a most basic level. Everyday we study each others faces, our innate knowledge of the human face is perhaps that which we know more than anything. From this it follows that anyone is instantly able to judge a portrait - we know when the eyes are off, when the mouth is just a little bit crooked, when the cheeks go flat. There is very little room for error in creating these works; I am unable to hide behind artistic license or abstract ideas. I either capture perfectly the person and deftly create reality with a brush or I do not. 
I layer paint slowly, methodically and meticulously upon the surface of the painting exploring and understanding the minute details of a persons skin. I build up slowly, each layer leaving notes and makers for the next. This web of color creates a luminosity radiating life in a way one must experience to understand. 


Michael by Kyle Parker Cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Cydney and Val by Kyle Parker Cunnigham</figcaption> </figure>

Jeannie by Kyle Parker Cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Self Portrait by Kyle Parker Cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Nana by Kyle Parker Cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Biography

Unknown — Mon, 25 Oct 2021 00:00:00 +0000

</h2>
Kyle Parker Cunningham (American)(b. 1983)
Taos & Truth or Consequences, New Mexico
Concise:</h2>
Kyle Parker Cunningham paints, print makes and sculpts in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico where he co-creates Desert Archaic Gallery.
Expanded:</h2>
Kyle Parker Cunningham was born in Wyoming, raised in Montana, and now resides with his partner Jeannie Ortiz on the banks of the Rio Grande at the edge of the great expanse of Gila Wilderness in Truth or Consequences, NM. Momentarily tethered to the New Mexico sun but nomads at heart, they garden and make things.
Kyle’s childhood spent wandering the mountains of rural Montana imparted a deep and fundamental love for the wild; he is much more at home in the middle of wilderness than in the middle of civilization. It is impossible for him to escape this influence and it is visible in everything he creates.
The wild’s influence is not limited to the beauty and magic of nature, but also the test of the will undergone when alone and completely self supported in the wild. The mental and physical challenges of wilderness travel delivers the mind to a trance like state where ideas are cultivated and new connections flourish. Capturing, interpreting and sharing these new ways of thinking is paramount to his artistic output.
Art is that most ancient and universal tool of communication, Kyle embraces it to fulfill that necessary urge to listen, share and tell stories. Art speaks to us from the ages, be it in a Rembrandt painting on a museum wall or chipped lines of a petroglyph in the rock of choice canyon alcoves, we inevitably recognize our own lives. Kyle shares that ancient inexhaustible urge to leave his story in the world and to share his story with other humans so they might understand themselves all the better.
Formative years in rural Montana imparted a unique empathy for other people's beliefs. He has been fortunate enough to both have lived in His Holiness the Dalai Lama’s monastery and also have worked cattle with cowboys on vast ranches in Montana.
These disparate experiences have formulated a world view which seeks to cultivate understanding between the rural/urban and liberal/conservative divide our nation is currently experiencing. His practice of exhibiting and creating events in rural areas embraces this ideal by fostering art appreciation to a portion of the public often overlooked by the mainstream art world.
On a singular canvas the world is framed as he sees it today, as it was yesterday, and as it could be tomorrow, merging archaic images with the technologies of the future. Each piece is unique and poignant: paying homage to our prehistory while forcing us to examine how far we have come.
Still life paintings raise the authority of the simple, mundane objects whose presence infuses our being, consciously or not. Dinosaurs with agua-lungs, elephants in space suits, whimsical perhaps, but each has been a part of our history or sits on the arc of the future. In the repetition of the random is found the building blocks of our psyches; each painting is real and resonates with familiarity. He reminds us that though the day is long we are each but a piece of this being known as existence: complex and sublime.


Chonos

Unknown — Mon, 25 Oct 2021 00:00:00 +0000


Some major projects and phases of work. These are some mainline events and bodies of work I've created over the years. All of this has combined to allow me to create the work I do today. I view life as completely intertwined with the creation of art. I've spent much of my life learning to translate my intensely lived experiences into works of art which communicate deeply to other beings. 
A Brief Chronology:</h3>

2021 - Present
Intentionally Confusing </h3>https://intentionallyconfusing.com</a>
Online project for fostering communities into robust and supporting audiences. Using a membership “sustaining member” model of crowdfunding to provide sustained funding for experimental art. We treat ourselves as the social media platform.
2020-Present
Nature Cargo Cult - Oil Painting</h3>
A body of paintings set in a speculative future where nature has realized the technology of mankind using the detritus of human civilization to afford survival in a post climate changed world. This project will be exhibited and also printed in book form.
2019
Tomorrow - Site Specific Installation </h3>
256 paintings on found and repurposed materials. Tomorrow examined time, memory and the way our perceptions change as we age.
- Las Cruces, New Mexico
- Desert Archaic, TorC NM
2019-Present
MeTeORiC - Truth or Consequences, New Mexico </h3>https://meteoric.world</a>
Co-Creator of the MeTeORiC festival in TorC. The festival invites artists of all types to share works other more traditional festivals overlook. We brought 30 artists from around the world to TorC to share film and art and foster conversations between urban and rural individuals.
2016-Present
Life Studies - Oil and Watercolor Paintings.</h3>
Painting from life, portraiture, figurative and landscapes. Kyle’s technical mastery of painting combined with careful and patient observation of life creates paintings which appear “more real than real life”.
2014-2018
Cyclum Lunarem - Oil on 24kt Gold Leaf on Panel</h3>
Lunar investigations: in depth study of the Earth’s oldest timepiece. Multiple works created representing the phases of the moon, including oil paintings of all 96 moons of the summer of 2016.
2013 - Present
Ephemera - Intaglio Drypoint Printmaking</h3>
Examination of the glitches experienced in day to day reality. Select prints are hand colored or printed with chine-collé. Current series numbers in the 100’s of unique prints.
2012 — now closed
Desert Archaic - Truth or Consequences, New Mexico</h3>
Art gallery and performance space created by Jeannie and Kyle as a tool to bring art to the rural community of TorC. The space started as an art gallery but quickly morphed into a tool for community building through art appreciation. Desert Archaic is credited as a catalyst for many individuals in making the decision to uproot their lives and move to TorC.
2011-2016
Raindances - Oil Painting</h3>
A group of 67 oil paintings dealing with water or lack thereof in the desert. Exhibited extensively and published in book form late 2018.
2011-Present
Elephant Nest - Truth or Consequences, New Mexico</h3>
Rehabilitation of a tiny 100 year old house and outbuildings creating a unique and magical living space and extensive artist studios. Elephant Nest will be turned into an artist residency in the coming years so that it can be enjoyed as a living sculpture.
2010-2011
Homemade Spaceship - The American West</h3>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aUe-TYCjZz</a>
Kyle built a teardrop trailer with his partner Jeannie and lived for an entire year in the American West creating art and being part of nature.
2010
Grand Enchantment Trail - Arizona & New Mexico, USA</h3>http://www.simblissity.net/get/</a>
Self supported hike of the Grand Enchantment Trail. This route is still considered to be one of the hardest long hikes in the world because of the poor trail (often orienteering overland), difficult water sources and general thorny desert ruggedness.
2005-2008
Volunteer at Namgyal Monastery - Dharamshala, India</h3>
At Namgyal Monastery Kyle trained both Tibetan monks to film, edit and distribute recordings of the teaching of His Holiness the Dalai Lama. He created an operational workflow for the archive of these recordings so future generations of Tibetans may learn from them.
2001-2004
Montana State University</h3>
Student of Photography and Philosophy. Participated in shows and goings on typical of a undergrad student. Cemented in my work the desire to work in long series, especially to create “art” books. Freelance graphic design and illustration work. Unix geek (Solaris, Irix, OpenBSD & Linux).
1983-2001
Childhood and early adolescence - Montana</h3>
Kyle produced art through his whole childhood, even winning a state wide competition in 3rd grade creating a poster for Montana State Parks. He was introduced to film via the VidKids program in middle school and worked on numerous film projects throughout the state. He attained Eagle Scout rank and has continued to this day to be committed to service to the community.
He learned how to be adept at wilderness travel which in turn spurned a true love and admiration for the wild. His being was infused with an extreme reverence for the natural world.

transplanter

Unknown — Sun, 24 Oct 2021 00:00:00 +0000

oil on linen 16 x 20 inches Spring 2021
Octopus tenderly tugging a coracle boat which has been planted with a magnificent Alligator Juniper tree. The tree is stressed but alive and I'm assured will make it just fine in it's new home some where out there in the mysterious middle of the ocean paradise these exquisite specimens are being gathered.

transplanter by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

molecule

Unknown — Sun, 24 Oct 2021 00:00:00 +0000

Colorado Marble. 2019–Present.
Some molecules just exist.
Over in Europe the big atom smasher has allowed human knowledge to understand subatomic particles might be either matter or antimatter and effortlessly shift between those states. We don't even really know what this means, sure there are ideas, but we are yet again at the we know we don't know something phase. Perennially inquisitive.
Some molecules are banal.
We've been locked into our minds for these months now just peeking out, here and there, attempting to relearn our old fears after spending such a moment fearing a particular configuration of molecules. We are not so sure how to reattach ourselves into the collective story of our civilizations; what remains of the old and what is built fresh is on everyone's mind. Only the details of the present remain to be manipulated; the past and the future are known — we were all once and will again be molecules arranged in a different but totally unique arrangement.
Some molecules change your life.
This molecule is still in progress as I'm at a moment of choice: do I polish this form or do I push further into the stone. I'm paralyzed with this choice and so I've sat with this molecule for a year now and now it will sit here with you for a bit. I carved this molecule directly, that is, I had no plan to begin with, I simply started making cuts into the stone and after some time this molecule appeared to my mind and my hands brought it to reality. So now I sit, listen, wait until suddenly the path will be evident and this molecule will be perfect.
Some molecules are both one thing and another.
This stone is made of sunlight powered plankton compacted and then heated deep in our earth quarried to the surface carved carefully by my hands and now here this stone steps back into the sunlight from which it came.

molecule by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

preservation cactus

Unknown — Sat, 09 Oct 2021 00:00:00 +0000

A small cactus potted in a preservation jar, lid resting on top, not quite sealed. Painted thick, the whites like frosting. We put up the things we cannot bear to lose — peaches, memories, whole deserts if we could. Started in 2018 and finished three years later, which seems right for a painting about keeping things alive in glass.
Oil on Linen. 11 by 14 inches. 2018–2021.

preservation cactus by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Contact

Unknown — Tue, 05 Oct 2021 00:00:00 +0000

Email: analogkyle@gmail.com
Phone: 575.519.4773
See Also: https://intentionallyconfusing.com</a>
Represented by: Truth or Consequences Contemporary</a> — Truth or Consequences, NM
Also showing at: Sun and Dust</a> — Santa Fe, NM

Shop: https://shop.intentionallyconfusing.com</a>
instagram</a> & facebook</a>: @kyleparkercunningham 
Mastodon</a>



Privacy

Unknown — Tue, 05 Oct 2021 00:00:00 +0000

We track you in no way at all. 

fall 2021

Unknown — Tue, 21 Sep 2021 00:00:00 +0000

A log book of November 2021.
Truth or Consequences, New Mexico
The first days of November have brought perfect fall weather. The type of fall I always dreamed fall could be while a child in Montana. Lingering, wonderful fall.
Work progresses on the new batch of paintings. Excitement for their completion.

fall 2021 by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

lunar lander

Unknown — Sat, 31 Jul 2021 00:00:00 +0000

intaglio drypoint prints printed area approx 6 x 9 inches handtorn paper approx 8 x 10 inches
Based on an earlier 2014 oil painting of the same title (not yet documented here).
Each print is printed in an open ended series. I physically scratch the print number into the plate before inking it and then print just one copy at that number.

lunar lander by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>

stole the rainbow

Unknown — Sat, 31 Jul 2021 00:00:00 +0000

Everyone is trying to find what is at the end of the rainbow. Some of us just have more effective tactics than others.
8 x 10 inches drypoint intaglio print hand painted with watercolor and gouache

stole the rainbow by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

expansion drypoint

Unknown — Fri, 30 Jul 2021 00:00:00 +0000

The mind shifts color pretending the future is a peeled orange imitating a banana.
8 x 10 inches paper Rives BFK

expansion drypoint by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>

balance

Unknown — Fri, 23 Jul 2021 00:00:00 +0000

drypoint intaglio printmaking on rives bfk, handcolored with gouache 8 by 10 inches 2021
Finding balance in the forest. Everything is something and is something else at the same time. All is connected and coincidence rules the day. Tomorrow I find myself ideal in balance and rhythm with the trees.

balance by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

airlift

Unknown — Sun, 18 Jul 2021 00:00:00 +0000

Future cranes crafted from recycled libraries. They soar up on thermals. Voice heard echoing canyons. The float towards the sun. Find clouds along the way. Absconding back to the moon.
Intaglio Drypoint Print Image Size: 6 x 9 inches Paper Size roughly 8 x 10 inches
Based on an earlier 2015 oil painting of the same title (not yet documented here).

airlift by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>
</figure>

butterfly conundrum

Unknown — Sun, 18 Jul 2021 00:00:00 +0000

Drypoint Intaglio Print 8 inches by 10 inches July 18th, 2021
Based on the earlier oil painting: Butterfly Conundrum (2015)</a>.

butterfly conundrum by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>
</figure>

rocks glass

Unknown — Fri, 16 Jul 2021 00:00:00 +0000

This particular glass was my grandfathers. He drank from it nightly a 7-up and vodka.
8 x 10 inches drypoint intaglio print hand painted with watercolor and gouache

rocks glass by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

there once was ice here

Unknown — Wed, 09 Jun 2021 00:00:00 +0000

oil on linen 21x34 inches Spring 2021
These polar bears, they learned how to blow glass and crafted mostly round bubbles to live in. They filled them with water and froze them solid and live inside one until it melts, escape and appear in the next bubble as if by magic. Or Imagination. Or space age teleportation technology.
Binary detritus of a bygone era.

there once was ice here by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

tugboat whale sequoia

Unknown — Wed, 02 Jun 2021 00:00:00 +0000

A sperm whale tows a coracle planted with a giant sequoia across a flat lavender sea. Whales transplanting trees — mutual aid at the scale the future will require. The tree is stressed but alive, and the whale knows where it's going. Painted the same spring as Transplanter</a>, whose octopus does the same work; apparently that year I trusted the ocean's labor force completely.
oil on linen 13x34 inches spring 2021

tugboat whale sequoia by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

cydney and val

Unknown — Wed, 05 May 2021 00:00:00 +0000

Cydney and Val in their masks from the DaDa Ball, one arm slung over a shoulder, two pairs of eyes looking out from behind turquoise paper-mâché. A portrait of mischief held still long enough to paint. Some faces you paint for the bones; these two I painted for the glint.
oil on linen 16x20 inches Winter 2020 - Spring 2021 private collection

cydney and val by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

rhino radar

Unknown — Fri, 16 Apr 2021 00:00:00 +0000

oil on gesso panel 12 x 16 inches fall 2016, reworked 2020

rhino radar by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

owl

Unknown — Tue, 13 Apr 2021 00:00:00 +0000

oil on baltic birch panel 12x17.5 inches painted 2012, reworked spring 2021
This painting was from a few years ago. I reworked this painting in April 2021 to how it is here.
I have mixed feelings about working on old paintings. On the one hand I love the old paintings, they have a piece of history of my life in them, they were a time and a place and they represent what I was capable of doing and what I was thinking at that moment. On the other hand I'm an infinitely better painter now than I ever have been. This owl, now, has more of my history representing it's form, owls are magical and deserve to look as good as possible.

owl by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

bison robotics

Unknown — Thu, 08 Apr 2021 00:00:00 +0000

oil on linen 21 x 34 inches spring 2021
They will one day again roam the great plains.
Three of them graze a pink-orange sky, hides of riveted sheet metal, legs of jointed steel. The companion poem lives with Cyclic Repetition</a>: we missed the bison, so we brought them back as robots — and when the chips ran out, we hunted them all over again, the oldest technique aimed at the newest herd. Ancient cycles repeat.

bison robotics by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Solstice

Unknown — Mon, 21 Dec 2020 00:00:00 +0000

Solstice (15 paintings). Algebraic assimilation. Harvests and desert flora. Substantial expansion. Mythological Intonations. Spacial Atoms. A group of 15 paintings.

Solstice by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Alligator Juniper

Unknown — Sat, 21 Nov 2020 00:00:00 +0000

The Nogal Canyon juniper, wind-bent and holding on. The third alligator juniper in the series — they are the great elders of this country, and I keep visiting them with a scribe point the way you visit grandparents with a camera. See also Nogal Canyon</a> (2022).
Intaglio drypoint prints. Printed area approx 6 x 9 inches, handtorn paper approx 8 x 10 inches.

Alligator Juniper by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>
</figure>

Nana

Unknown — Wed, 11 Nov 2020 00:00:00 +0000

Nana at the end of a century of weather, white hair lit like a cloud, one hand drawn up to her shoulder. The face is a map and I painted every road. Portraits of the very old are the closest my work comes to geology — time laid down in visible strata, and still moving.
Oil on linen, 14x36 inches. Private collection.

Nana by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Michael

Unknown — Tue, 02 Jun 2020 00:00:00 +0000

Michael, mid-laugh, lit from one side against the dark — the kind of expression that lasts half a second and takes months to paint. I take the photograph first, then live with the face, layering until the person is present. What I wanted here was the warmth; everything else is just paint taking orders.
Oil on linen, 12x18 inches. Private collection.

Michael by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Rocket Propelled Clovis Point

Unknown — Sun, 10 May 2020 00:00:00 +0000

A figure in a white suit stands at ease, helmet ringed with ears of corn, a single bee parked on the crown, holding a rocket-propelled clovis point. Twelve thousand years of weapons technology collapsed into one absurd tool — the first point we ever knapped, strapped to the newest engine we could build. Pandemic painting, summer 2020. The intaglio version</a> followed in 2022.
Oil on cotton canvas, 24 by 30 inches.

Rocket Propelled Clovis Point by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Solar Ascension

Unknown — Sat, 02 May 2020 00:00:00 +0000

One large triangle built from a hundred small ones — reds, pinks, golds — rising off a green field like heat. The triangle is the sun's shape when a child draws its rays, and the oldest mark on the rock faces. Painted in the first spring of the pandemic, when ascension was on everyone's mind one way or another.
Oil on linen, 34 by 34 inches.

Solar Ascension by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Migratory Scavengers

Unknown — Tue, 24 Mar 2020 00:00:00 +0000

Space program detritus and grain binge daydreams.
Sandhill cranes on gold leaf — the old religious ground reserved for saints, here given to the scavengers who will inherit the launch sites. Companion piece to Bonsai Giant Sequoia</a>, painted the same year.
Oil + 24kt gold leaf on ACM panel, 8 x 18 1/2 inches.

Migratory Scavengers by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Shawn Fischer

Unknown — Thu, 12 Mar 2020 00:00:00 +0000

Oil on linen, 12 x 16 inches.
Of Flagship Romance Fame.

Shawn Fischer by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Bonsai Giant Sequoia

Unknown — Wed, 22 Jan 2020 00:00:00 +0000

The Sand hill Crane.
Apocalyptic scavenger. They still wander the migrations paths of old and winter in the abundant Bosque del Apache along that ancient Rio Grande. Now they collect artifacts from defunct spaceships, the detritus of the Spaceport and human hubris. Good fodder, though, those spaceships with their top notch circuitry and magical fabrics. All is appropriated in this new reality and anything is fair game.
What if all of nature is in some sort of suspended cargo cult, dizzy with anticipation of that moment when nature's child Human Being's technology becomes available to all living things on earth. Nature, constantly pushing the limits of possibilities and ever creating new and interesting solutions to the complex problems of life. Maybe we are just another tool in the toolbox of nature, a means to an end, a focus group working for a few hundred thousand years on the task of pushing the realms of intelligence so that other beings are able to in turn push the limits of intelligence. Are the dolphins telling the spiders how to please us? Is your pet cat informing a deadly coronavirus on your respiratory system's weaknesses.
In this world is it really strange to imagine a Sandhill crane scavenging spaceships parts in order to make hazmat suit which taps a bonsai (giant) sequoia tree as it's oxygen source?

Bonsai Giant Sequoia by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Prophets

Unknown — Fri, 01 Nov 2019 00:00:00 +0000

Site specific installation. Painting on Found Wood. Private collection.

Prophets by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Six

Unknown — Fri, 25 Oct 2019 00:00:00 +0000

Six round creatures on bird feet, eyes up on long stalks, hand colored in purples and blues, standing around the way a group does when nobody wants to leave first. Cousin to the Seven</a> painting; apparently I count my crowds.
Drypoint Intaglio Print, 8 x 10 inches. Handcolored with watercolor.

Six by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Tomorrow

Unknown — Wed, 24 Jul 2019 00:00:00 +0000

Site specific installation at Desert Archaic in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico.

Tomorrow by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Tomorrow

Unknown — Wed, 01 May 2019 00:00:00 +0000

Site Specific Installation, Las Cruces New Mexico.

Tomorrow by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Monsoon Bird

Unknown — Wed, 24 Apr 2019 00:00:00 +0000

A bird built from the oldest vocabulary: striped body, wings of blue rain-leaves, a head of orange grid-marks around one concentric eye, arrows flying off the corner of the sky. It walks the red ground on stilt legs, the way the big birds do here when the water finally comes. A petroglyph that got up and went looking for the monsoon.
Oil on canvas, 30 by 30 inches.

Monsoon Bird by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Self Portrait

Unknown — Wed, 17 Apr 2019 00:00:00 +0000

Wool cap, glasses, a gray gaiter against the cold — the artist at a precise moment in time, which is what I've said a self portrait is for. Mountain clothes, winter light, a face caught deciding something. If the rest of the work is speculative autobiography, this is the autobiography holding still for once.
Oil on acm panel, 16 by 20 inches. Private collection.

Self Portrait by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Pruning

Unknown — Mon, 18 Feb 2019 00:00:00 +0000

Loppers at work on a prickly pear, a green barrel cactus standing witness. Garden chores in the desert are a negotiation between species, and the cactus usually gets the last word. Hand colored.
Intaglio drypoint prints. Printed area approx 6 x 9 inches, handtorn paper approx 8 x 10 inches.

Pruning by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>

Tomorrow

Unknown — Tue, 01 Jan 2019 00:00:00 +0000

Project overview coming soon.

Lunarem

Unknown — Sun, 25 Nov 2018 00:00:00 +0000

Twenty-eight moons in their phases, row by row, drawn from the years I spent painting the Earth's oldest timepiece (Cyclum Lunarem, 2014–2018). The moon repeats itself and is never the same twice — which is also a fair description of pulling prints from one plate.
8 x 10 inches. Drypoint Intaglio Print. Handcolored with watercolor. 2018.

Lunarem by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Alligator Juniper

Unknown — Mon, 29 Oct 2018 00:00:00 +0000

The juniper again, this time at arm's length: the trunk and limbs filling the frame, bark in checkered plates like reptile hide. You can know a tree from across the mesa or from inside its shade; this is the second kind of knowing.
intaglio printmaking on rives bfk. 8 by 10 inches. 2018. private collection.

Alligator Juniper by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Teardrop

Unknown — Thu, 25 Oct 2018 00:00:00 +0000

The teardrop trailer — the Homemade Spaceship. Jeannie and I built one and lived in it for a year crossing the American West, so this is less a still life than a portrait of a home. Red and white, hand colored, permanently ready to leave.
8 x 10 inches. Drypoint Intaglio Print. Handcolored with watercolor. 2018.

Teardrop by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>
</figure>

Robot Family

Unknown — Wed, 24 Oct 2018 00:00:00 +0000

Two tall machines and a small one between them, holding hands, rolling on drawn wheels through a field of white and yellow. A family portrait from the far side of the future — whatever we become, apparently we still take the little one for a walk. One of the tender ones.
Oil, Oil Stick, Acrylic and Latex on Canvas. 33 1/2 by 31 1/2 inches. Fall 2018.

Robot Family by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Elephant Mask

Unknown — Mon, 22 Oct 2018 00:00:00 +0000

oil on linen. 11x14 inches. Fall 2018.
We all wear masks most of the time.

Elephant Mask by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Kite

Unknown — Tue, 25 Sep 2018 00:00:00 +0000

An elephant with her kite.
Sometimes life is stranger than fiction.
Pretending us humans with our myriad distractions would be the first to ever notice extra terrestrials is the kind of anthropocentric folly we are all to easily fooled by.
If aliens did magically appear is almost certain the world of animals and plants will be the first to notice. They live in and of the natural world not on top of it. Ever observant, life for them depends upon knowing exactly what is happening around them at all times. If something was amiss in our atmosphere and outer space creeps were lurking in the shadows I'll put my faith into spiders and elk knowing before anyone else.
Elephants have generational knowledge carefully curated and shared since time immortal. I'm pretty sure if they find a little flying saucer poking around the Savannah they will probably already know with it is and what to do with it.
I imagine they will fly it as a kite, because what could be more fun for a trunk than a kite.
8 by 10 inches. Drypoint intaglio print. Watercolor added by hand. 2018.

Kite by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>
</figure>
</figure>

Pinned

Unknown — Sun, 02 Sep 2018 00:00:00 +0000

Eight clouds, each one pinned to the sky with a nail, like specimens in a collector's drawer. In the desert you would do anything to make a cloud stay. So: pins. It works about as well as everything else we've tried.
Acrylic and Latex on Canvas. 20 by 27 inches. 2018.

Pinned by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Space Worm

Unknown — Wed, 18 Jul 2018 00:00:00 +0000

intaglio drypoint prints. printed area approx 6 x 9 inches. handtorn paper approx 8 x 10 inches.

Space Worm by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>

Airdrop

Unknown — Sat, 19 May 2018 00:00:00 +0000

Acrylic on Found Object. 12 by 26. 2018.
Future Cultures. Assimliated Gardens. Landscapes unquestionable.

Airdrop by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Flicker Rhino

Unknown — Sat, 19 May 2018 00:00:00 +0000

Airdrops in the night. This Rhino has it figured out. Friends with the Flicker feathers are affixed to a spider silk string. And upon the wind waves floats this Rhino of my dreams.
Acrylic on Found Object. 13 x 20 inches. 2018. Private Collection.

Flicker Rhino by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Hands

Unknown — Sat, 19 May 2018 00:00:00 +0000

Our hands allow us to be the most human we can.
Acrylic on Found Wood. Dimensions Variable. 2018.

Hands by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Narwhal

Unknown — Sat, 19 May 2018 00:00:00 +0000

Mystery of the sea. Where do you go? Where do you see?
Acrylic on Found Object. 30 x 3.5 inches (approx). 2018. Private Collection.

Narwhal by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

A. Muscaria

Unknown — Fri, 18 May 2018 00:00:00 +0000

Future perfect anomalies.
The ants will probably be O.K. in that future perfect scenario. I'm guessing contingency plans are already in place.
Winches. Now that was a giant leap forward for the ants.
The space helmet is necessary for that particular moment in time, again, obligatory spontaneous evolution of the mind. They some how have this technology, I'm not really sure but it feels like it could happen.
Everywhere you look the ants are working and testing our limits. What do you think they are doing down in those caverns of magic and alchemy?
My guess: boiling up some A. Muscaria to leach away to amatoxins, pickling said cleansed mushrooms and then canning them up for the winter. Oh and probably inventing jet packs while soaking in sub teranian hot springs late at night.
Acrylic on found panel. 14 x 28 inches (approximate). 2019. Private Collection.

A. Muscaria by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>
</figure>

Octobat

Unknown — Fri, 18 May 2018 00:00:00 +0000

Wild futures.
An Octopus whom has created the most magical hot air balloon you could possible imagine. (I'm definitely pretty sure she sewed it by hand.)
That Octopus, she is an acrobat so she is an octobat. An aquatic danced realized in the sky.
Mesmerizingly absurd.
Acrylic, Paint Marker, Latex Paint on found wood. 3.5 by 19.5 inches. 2019.

Octobat by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Thursday

Unknown — Mon, 14 May 2018 00:00:00 +0000

A small hooded being with two dot eyes, alone in five by seven inches of fog. Painted on a Thursday, presumably; named for the most anonymous day of the week, the one nobody writes songs about. Some paintings are cathedrals. This one is a Thursday, and proud of it.
oil on linen. 5 by 7 inches. spring 2018.

Thursday by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Crystal Tooth Whale

Unknown — Sat, 28 Apr 2018 00:00:00 +0000

oil on linen. 11x14 inches. spring 2018.
Even mega fauna needs dental work.

Crystal Tooth Whale by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Prickly Pear

Unknown — Tue, 24 Apr 2018 00:00:00 +0000

Prickly pear pads filling the square edge to edge, olive green on warm ochre, each one outlined like a river stone. A still life of the most ordinary desert citizen — the one that feeds you, sticks you, and outlives you. Simple, mundane objects infuse our being whether we notice or not; this one I noticed.
oil on dibond ACM panel. 12x12 inches. Spring 2018.

Prickly Pear by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Three Blue Corn

Unknown — Tue, 17 Apr 2018 00:00:00 +0000

Three ears of blue corn, stacked like sleepers, every kernel its own small blue planet. Corn is the oldest technology in this valley — twelve thousand years of selective breeding before anyone called it engineering. This painting also has a second life in its provenance: in the summer of 2020 it was raffled to keep Desert Archaic's lights on through the pandemic, and it went home with Lynn Salley. A painting of staple food that became one. The intaglio version</a> followed in 2022.
oil on canvas. 26 by 26 inches. spring 2018. private collection.

Three Blue Corn by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

120 Volts

Unknown — Wed, 28 Mar 2018 00:00:00 +0000

A long, stooped figure plugged into the wall outlet by his own hair. Household current as life support, five years before the sky demonstrated the high-voltage version on me personally. The glitch of daily reality at its most literal: we are all on the grid.
intaglio printmaking on rives bfk. 8 by 10 inches. 2018.

120 Volts by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>

Stole the Rainbow

Unknown — Sun, 25 Mar 2018 00:00:00 +0000

Someone has cut the middle out of the rainbow and is walking off with it across the clouds, leaving the two ends standing there like an unfinished bridge. Hand colored, naturally — it's the only print where the color is the loot. Pulled again in 2021</a>.
5 x 5 inches. Drypoint Intaglio Print. Handcolored with watercolor. 2018.

Stole the Rainbow by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Seven

Unknown — Fri, 16 Mar 2018 00:00:00 +0000

Seven white figures standing in a row, scraped and weathered into the gray like old fence posts, like cottonwoods in winter, like people waiting for something to begin. Count them and the title is done explaining; stand with them a while and it isn't.
oil on canvas. 20 by 16 inches. Spring 2018.

Seven by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Deep Sea

Unknown — Sun, 25 Feb 2018 00:00:00 +0000

A figure in a diving helmet stands on the bottom, while a single line wanders all the way up to the thin green-and-red band of the surface, impossibly far above. Some days are like that. The air is up there somewhere.
8 x 10 inches. Drypoint Intaglio Print. Handcolored with watercolor. 2018.

Deep Sea by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Tecate

Unknown — Sun, 18 Feb 2018 00:00:00 +0000

A Tecate can, slightly crushed, hand colored red. The desert has its monuments and its sacraments; this one is both. Still life raises the authority of simple, mundane objects — sometimes the object is a cold beer at the end of a hot day.
intaglio drypoint prints. printed area approx 6 x 9 inches. handtorn paper approx 8 x 10 inches.

Tecate by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>

Aeropress

Unknown — Wed, 24 Jan 2018 00:00:00 +0000

The Aeropress, drawn like the small monument it is — exploded view, chambers stacked. Part of the coffee congregation, with the carafe</a> and the espresso machine</a>. 2018 plate #1 — the year started properly.
intaglio printmaking on rives bfk. 8 by 10 inches. 2018. private collection.

Aeropress by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Field Theory AP

Unknown — Tue, 02 Jan 2018 00:00:00 +0000

Concentric rectangles closing in on a small blue center — the field drawn as pure attention. The same image became a mural in Truth or Consequences; this is the pocket version. Artist proof.
8 x 10 inches. drypoint intaglio print. hand painted with watercolor and gauche. 2018.

Field Theory AP by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Cyclum Lunarem

Unknown — Thu, 21 Sep 2017 00:00:00 +0000

I painted the moons from an entire summer, starting on the summer solstice and completed on the autumnal equinox.
Each moon is painted upon a 3 3/8" square prepared with linen and a traditional gesso ground. 24kt gold leaf was gilded upon this ground and the moon then painted upon this.
Installation size is variable based on shape as well as spacing between the moons.
This piece plays well with atmospheric light due to the gold leaf.

Cyclum Lunarem by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>
</figure>
</figure>

Riot Ghost

Unknown — Sat, 18 Feb 2017 00:00:00 +0000

A ghost in a gas mask and wreath, standing in a scratched-black night. Even the dead come prepared now. From the Ephemera series' darker shelf — the glitches in daily reality include the evening news.
intaglio drypoint prints. printed area approx 6 x 9 inches. handtorn paper approx 8 x 10 inches.

Riot Ghost by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>

Yellow and Orange

Unknown — Sun, 05 Feb 2017 00:00:00 +0000

An orange triangle on a yellow field.
Oil on Gesso Panel. Twelve by Fourteen Inches. Winter 2017.

Yellow and Orange by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Outer Space Ephemera

Unknown — Sun, 01 Jan 2017 00:00:00 +0000

Our tenacity for exploration is technologically enabled: the wheel gave us carts so we didn’t have to carry all our provisions; math turned the stars into geophysical reference points, opening the oceans. The culmination of the industrial revolution’s advances begot space age technology unlocking the heavens to humankind for an after dinner stroll. Advances in technology are always met abreast with our desire to see what is around the next corner to know the unknown and return with tales magnificent.
Vessels of space exploration are not only marvels of engineering but also aesthetic wonders used for but mere moments; they capture our imagination in the way that fire does (fire is still mesmerizing). Space age ephemera now litters our country’s museum or floats in zen like peace in the celestial spheres. The Opportunity rover still dreams of electric sheep in the red dust of Mars. We all gaze at the moon in awe of the knowledge that we collectively visited that dusty orb and left arguably the raddest golf cart ever created.
Technology, though, is not enough to open areas on the map labeled “here be dragons”. An absolute, almost blind trust in the world and knowledge of one’s fellow human is requisite before one is to step upon the nose of a 36 story tall rocket filled with somewhere close to a million gallons of jet fuel and oxidizer and press “go”. It took the same courage to cast off the lines of a catamaran and set the sails for the east - trusting there was not just a giant waterfall at the edge of the earth.
As we ogle and gawk at the shiny contraptions we have used to prod the void surrounding our nice earth ball the penultimate takeaway is remembering that as humans our greatest technology is our ability to work together.

Air Lift

Unknown — Tue, 25 Oct 2016 00:00:00 +0000

Two hot air balloons cooperate to lift one untroubled elephant. The first appearance of an airlift I kept returning to — the plate was pulled again in 2021</a>. Some problems simply require more balloons.
5 x 7 inches. Drypoint Intaglio Print. Spring 2016.

Air Lift by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Approximate Completion

Unknown — Sat, 09 Jul 2016 00:00:00 +0000

Rings of purple, magenta, and red circling a pale center, like a storm seen from above or a tree's rings still being laid down. The title is the whole philosophy of my abstract work: each pass approximates closer that perfection in form which I will never attain but will always strive towards. You stop when the painting is approximately complete, which is the only kind of complete there is.
Oil on Canvas. 30 by 30 inches. 2016.

Approximate Completion by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Boom Box

Unknown — Sat, 23 Apr 2016 00:00:00 +0000

A skull-faced figure in a space helmet carries a boombox on one shoulder, walking the horizon line. Every era gets the procession it deserves; ours brings its own soundtrack and its own helmet.
5 x 7 inches. Drypoint Intaglio Print. Spring 2016.

Boom Box by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Day Hike

Unknown — Thu, 21 Apr 2016 00:00:00 +0000

An owl wearing a backpack, ready for the trail. The work of a day hike is mostly looking — and nobody looks like an owl. A backpacked songbird took up the same hobby in Dayhike (2023)</a>.
5 x 7 inches. Drypoint Intaglio Print. Spring 2016.

Day Hike by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Alligator Juniper (Adobe Canyon)

Unknown — Fri, 08 Apr 2016 00:00:00 +0000

A whole alligator juniper, drawn limb by limb, the checkered bark that names the species rendered scratch by scratch. The drypoint scribe turns out to be the right tool for a tree that grows one century at a time.
8 x 10 inches. Intaglio Drypoint Print. Spring 2016. private collection.

Alligator Juniper (Adobe Canyon) by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Spring

Unknown — Sat, 02 Apr 2016 00:00:00 +0000

Triangles in every green the season makes — plus one or two orange ones for the early bloomers — scattered across a gray field like seedlings coming up through late snow. Spring arrives geometrically if you watch closely: one point first, then the spread.
Oil and Spray Paint on Linen. 20 by 30 inches. 2016.

Spring by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Binoculars

Unknown — Fri, 04 Dec 2015 00:00:00 +0000

A creature that is mostly neck — a long striped column rising out of ordinary baggy trousers — with binoculars for a head. All watcher, no talker. I have spent enough of my life glassing ridgelines that this may be a self portrait of one particular muscle.
20 by 30 inches. Oil on Panel. Walnut Frame. 2015.

Binoculars by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Cadence

Unknown — Fri, 04 Dec 2015 00:00:00 +0000

Forty-nine orange circles in a careful grid, each one drawn around and around like a tiny enso. Cadence is what repetition becomes when you stop counting — the hand finds the rhythm and the rhythm keeps the hand. The same mark, made until it sings.
13 by 13 inches. Oil on Gesso Panel. Walnut Frame. 2015.

Cadence by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Clouds

Unknown — Fri, 04 Dec 2015 00:00:00 +0000

A terracotta profile face, eyes closed, gathering a crowd of small white spheres — clouds in the shape thoughts take when you finally lie down in the grass and look up. They cluster at the lips and crown like a hatch of weather. Where clouds come from, more or less.
8 by 13 inches. Oil on Linen. 2015. Private Collection.

Clouds by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Enso

Unknown — Fri, 04 Dec 2015 00:00:00 +0000

Three ensos — the circle drawn in one continuous gesture, here built up in yellows, greens, and pinks like tree rings. I lived three years in a monastery and the enso followed me home: the mark that records exactly one moment of one hand, never repeatable, never finished. Painting them in oil is a contradiction the Zen masters would probably enjoy.
Three Paintings. Each 11 by 15 inches. Oil on Linen. 2015.

Enso by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>
</figure>
</figure>

Split the Atom

Unknown — Fri, 04 Dec 2015 00:00:00 +0000

A head split and split again, fanned out like a deck of cards: skin, then muscle, then skull, and at the very center a blue coil of whatever-it-is that does the looking. Split the atom and you get energy; split the self and you get this — layer after layer, each one wearing the one beneath. The face is a mask all the way down, until suddenly it isn't.
13 by 21 inches. Oil on Linen. 2015.

Split the Atom by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Egg

Unknown — Sun, 25 Oct 2015 00:00:00 +0000

A figure folded into itself inside a red oval — knees up, arms wrapped, the body becoming the shapes it's made of. Everything waiting to begin is egg-shaped, including us. Eight years later the same curled figure surfaced again in Combinations and Re-Entry</a>; apparently some positions are permanent vocabulary.
Oil on Panel. 2015.

Egg by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Rainfall

Unknown — Fri, 03 Apr 2015 00:00:00 +0000

</figure>
Monsoon hovering; bored on the horizon.
Prelude:
It's been some years now that I've been in the desert and it's motions have solidified in my veins pulsing with blinding white intensity. The suns up high hanging on the horizon pushing the ground towards a certain level of dryness impossible to describe to those in more damp climes. And so it is of no surprise the rain is on the mind often. Climate nudges at the mind and polishes our tendency shaping our moods. Mostly these years have been about time and focus and memory and objects.

</figure> </div>

</figure> </div>

</figure> </div></div>

</figure> </div>

</figure> </div></div>

</figure> </div>

</figure> </div></div></div></figure>
A thousand tribulations until the waterfalls come forward and give us a proper chance. We eat fireflies for dinner sometimes to keep the spark and the corner of our mouths clean. We dip and dive asunder underneath a travelers moon; hunting the illustrious mushroom and wondering after the sandwiches of yore.
This is our lot, here, in the desert.

</figure> </div>

</figure> </div>

</figure> </div></div>

</figure> </div>

</figure> </div>

</figure> </div></div>

</figure> </div>

</figure> </div>

</figure> </div></div></div></figure>
the sky. upward gaze.
neck soar from staring at the screen.
eyes week to bright light.
can't really enjoy the blue. 
the sky.
bringer of rain.
mistress of clouds.
imagination of gods.
the lair of the immortal.
the bane of Iccarus.

we live and die by her tears.
the tears of joy are better
than those of sadness and complacency.

when the weeds start to wither away.
you know it's going to be a long summer.

</figure> </div></div></div></figure>
And the season is over. The sun returns, now less intense, and the light is a full yellow instead of the brilliant white of the perfectly vertical orb. The plants give it their best; the food is gathered and eaten.
The green wanes.
The winter comes.
The dry returns.
</figure>

Substantial

Unknown — Wed, 04 Mar 2015 00:00:00 +0000

A wall of gray faces, all enormous eyes, watching a small figure who has turned to leave the frame. Being seen is heavy — substantial — and so is deciding to walk out from under it. Years later Visible</a> picked the same nerve from the other side.
13 by 21 inches. Oil on Linen. 2015.

Substantial by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Butterfly Conundrum

Unknown — Thu, 01 Jan 2015 00:00:00 +0000

5.75 by 11.75 inches. Oil on Gesso Panel. 2015. Reworked in 2020 with a substantial amount of added detail.
Later revisited as a drypoint intaglio print: Butterfly Conundrum (2021)</a>.

Butterfly Conundrum by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

espresso machine

Unknown — Fri, 05 Dec 2014 00:00:00 +0000

</figure>
8 by 8 inches
Oil on Panel
2014
Private Collection

Bison at Sunset

Unknown — Fri, 05 Dec 2014 00:00:00 +0000

A golden, glowing rider on a dark bison, crossing the last light at the bottom of a night-blue sky. The oldest partnership on the plains, painted small and quiet. Some paintings want to be murals; this one wanted to be a secret.
8 by 13 inches. Oil on Linen. 2014. Private Collection.

Bison at Sunset by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Coffee Carafe

Unknown — Fri, 05 Dec 2014 00:00:00 +0000

A white enamel carafe, dented by use, doing what it has done every morning for decades. Still life paintings raise the authority of the simple, mundane objects whose presence infuses our being — and few objects have infused mine more reliably than the coffee vessels. One of a small congregation (see the espresso machine</a>, and the Aeropress print</a>).
8 by 8 inches. Oil on Panel. 2014. Private Collection.

Coffee Carafe by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Corn Sky Connection

Unknown — Fri, 05 Dec 2014 00:00:00 +0000

13 x 21 inches. Oil on Handwoven Linen. 2014. Private Collection.
The spark from the heavens sets the maize to life.

Corn Sky Connection by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

espresso machine

Unknown — Fri, 05 Dec 2014 00:00:00 +0000

The espresso machine painted white on white, an appliance dissolving into the kitchen light like a saint in an old fresco. Every household has its altars. This is one of ours.
8 by 8 inches. Oil on Panel. 2014. Private Collection.

espresso machine by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Arm Fauna

Unknown — Thu, 04 Dec 2014 00:00:00 +0000

13 by 21 inches. Oil on Handwoven Linen. 2014. Private Collection.
I painted this on the occasion of reading about the death of Satao. I had not known before of this creature but his story really moved my heart.
So I gave this elephant a rocket so as he might ever so slightly even the playing field.
This piece was one of my first fully successful paintings on this theme of an anamistic solarpunk future. One where the remaining animals of the world use the detritus of the collapsed human civilization to survivie in a post climate changed world.
At the heart of this series is my intense belief in the intelligence of nature. We are all created form the magic which is life and to believe we are above or beyond the natural world is core mistake in our modern societies.
This body of work, absurd as it is, looks to inspire hope as well as instill fear for the near term future of our planet in the face of unimaginable change.

Arm Fauna by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Atmospheric Whales

Unknown — Thu, 04 Dec 2014 00:00:00 +0000

Whales coming down by parachute through a gold-leaf sky, an eye-sun watching from above. They appear again and again in my work, these atmospheric whales — the biggest body the planet ever made, handed the gentlest possible landing. Five by seven inches of the largest thing I know.
5 by 7 inches. Oil on Handloom Linen. 24kt gold Leaf. 2014.

Atmospheric Whales by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Expansion

Unknown — Mon, 09 Jun 2014 00:00:00 +0000

The mind shifts color pretending the future is a pealed orange imitating a banana.
Six by Seven Inches. Oil on Handwoven Linen. Summer 2014.

Expansion by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Pet Walk

Unknown — Thu, 05 Jun 2014 00:00:00 +0000

A figure in a space helmet takes a small whale for a walk on a leash, across a gold field under a deep teal sky. In some future, this is just Tuesday. The tenderness is the point: whatever world we end up in, somebody will still walk the pet.
5 by 7 inches. Oil on Handwoven Linen. 2014. Private Collection.

Pet Walk by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Dodecahedron

Unknown — Thu, 05 Dec 2013 00:00:00 +0000

21 by 34 inches. Oil on Linen. 2013.
The inspiration for this Buddha comes from a small wooden carving of the Buddha in the Temple of Namgyal Monastery, Dharamshala India.

Dodecahedron by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Parasitic Pollen Eaters

Unknown — Thu, 05 Dec 2013 00:00:00 +0000

21 by 34 inches. Oil on Linen. 2013. Private Collection.
The bees build bubbles to protect themselves from the poisons dropped by drones on the human's crops. The bubbles allow them to gather pollen while not being infected. They take the pollen back to their beehive laboratory, work some bee alchemy and like magic pure, perfect honey is once again produced.

Parasitic Pollen Eaters by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Me Own Juniper

Unknown — Wed, 25 Jul 2012 00:00:00 +0000

30 x 40 inches. Oil on Linen. 2012. private collection.
Alive prominently upon a height of land out on one of a myriad of mesas extending west from the crest of the Black Range in Southern New Mexico there exists this particular Alligator Juniper. Splendid and ancient, all full of stories reaching as far back as any living being in these parts remembers.
Jeannie and I happened upon this being during a long walk of the Grand Enchantment Trail: a 770+ wilderness route. You can visualize the path we took as roughly heading east from Phoenix to the crest of the Black Range 30 miles west of Truth or Consequences and then directly north to the top of the Sandias east of Albuquerque.
The day before our encounter we had spent a long day trekking from Gila Hot Springs to a bivouac just a bit shy of Me Own work camp on the Northstar Road. Thus was a dusty parched hike after leaving the East Fork of the Gila and climbing up into the endless country of mesas so typical of the Gila. We moved along till dusk and found ourselves overlooking a large clearing with a bear stomping around at the far end. There was water here and it was time to make camp so we descended into the opposite end of the park and made a nest.
With the last moments of twilight fading fast I took off to look for water in the wash, following it down stream into a rocky canyon. There will be water here I knew - all the signs of this precious resource were present - I just needed to find a good enough pinch in the canyon where the water would be forced to the surface. I kept moving quickly, hopping and scooting down the increasingly constricted narrows now in the now pitch dark by headlamp.
Some time passed as I moved. The darkness accentuated that palpable expanse of earth we were alone in. The ever closer and taller cliffs just screamed ambush; I put rocks in the metal cup I had brought to scoop water with; a rattle to scare bear or puma is what I told myself.
We pack light and move fast, carrying just enough of everything to survive but nothing frivolous. This day our water ration was exhausted on schedule: just about when we arrived at a probable water source which was impossibly dry at this moment in time. It was not an option to not find water tonight so I kept moving. Every cell in my body was energized single minded on this task; out alone unsupported in the wild the edge of life and death becomes just ever so more tangible.
The canyon finally narrowed to a slot and almost immediately I found water in a small pool tucked up in a crook of the cliff filled with moss and bugs and slimy gooey mud. I scooped these tiny little scoops of water into the filter and played camel and drank up heartily. I filled three litters to carry back to camp, just enough again to get us to Diamond Creek.
I turned and burnt ground upstream all to aware too much time had passed on this mission. I found Jeannie about two thirds of the probably two mile hike back to camp. I had been gone long enough she needed to come look for me, fearing the worst and knowing time is always of importance. Reunited we strolled back to camp feeling secure and we slept that deep slumber of creatures truly tired.
The next morning we were hiking before dawn, utilizing the cooler morning and evenings and resting through the heat of the day. As the sun rose we slogged up another endless slight incline on a mesa top and came upon this Juniper I have painted right here. We took a rest in it's presence and awed at its age. It knows stories no one else remembers. It knows the sky and the earth suspended here timelessly.
On May 13th, 2022 a fire started very near to that place we camped that night. I write this a day later and this fire is spreading rapidly — we have visited this area many times and I know this fire will rage in the coming days and weeks and engulf yet another section of the Gila. I have spent this whole day thinking about this tree and the worlds it knows and the almost certain abrupt violent end it will experience imminently.
So much of what is happening around us is experienced abstractedly. These giant forest fires, that most easily recognizable type of climate change, are often just statistics: so many acres burnt, so many houses lost. We see the smoke and then it's gone.
The reality of these events is whole worlds are destroyed, a billion homes for birds and bugs and bears and trees ancient. Lost is the cumulative knowledge of spans of time both huge and tiny we as humans cannot even fathom. These stories are never to return. A new climate brings with it new stories.
This Juniperus deppeana is perched on that edge between life and death. I will visit once the monsoons return to know if its arc of time continues.

Me Own Juniper by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

Muxy

Unknown — Fri, 25 Sep 2009 00:00:00 +0000

Japanese Ink & Oil on Linen Canvas. 34 x 55 inches. 2009. Private Collection.
Painted while working at Showdown Ski Area in the heart of the Little Belts up in cold wonderful Montana. This is the place of my youth and it was a magical summer Jeannie and I spent up there.

Muxy by kyle parker cunningham</figcaption> </figure>

The art of Kyle Parker Cunningham

Production notes for a periodic art newspaper

The Memory of Atmosphere

Print specs and image prep for artist newspapers

Distribution strategies for small artist publications

Survival Notes from the Near Future

The Periodic

Agile Meteor Press

The Memory of Atmosphere

Exhibition</h2> August 2nd - 31st, 2024</strong> Sun and Dust Gallery</a> Canyon Road, Santa Fe, NM</p>

above the clouds

alpenglow at mineral creek with the adults after the babies have gone to sleep

bottled lightning

does math control nature?

equilateral equilibrium

felt and lived

low angle sun rays

orbits (plankton dreaming of a sedimentary afterlife)

out there, on the horizon, a solitary cloud

pollen and larvae

separate, yet delicate, representations of existence

symbologies intertwine electronically

the algebra of water vapor

the atmosphere's electric finger

the river in the sky

towers

triangular circles

twenty-one years

two squared

Autumnal Twilight

Harmonics

First Contact

Abstraction

Artist Statement

The Meaning of Time

Calavera Del Caballo

Geometric Anatomy

Astro Bee

Paper

Domestic Etching</a></h3> Very little sizing so it does not take watercolors or guache at all.</li> Soft fluffy touch to the paper</li> Prints drypoints fantastically</li>

Pescia</h3>My favorite paper.</p>

Rives BFK</a></h3></p>German Etching</h3>

German Etching</h3>

Pescia</h3> Has two distinct sides</li> </ul> </p>Somerset</h3> </figure> Stonehenge</h3> </figure>

Somerset</h3> </figure> Stonehenge</h3> </figure>

Stonehenge</h3> </figure>

Combinations and Re-Entry

Crystal Tooth Whale

Edition Details</em></h3>intaglio drypoint printsprinted area approx 11 x 12 incheshandtorn paper approx 13 x 19 inches</p>chine collé</p>

Bottled Oxygen

Crystal Tooth Whale

Daydream

Dayhike

Elephant Mask

Gardener

In The Pines

Saber Tooth Puma

Shade Cloud

Tubed Pachyderm

About

Cinema

Field Theory</em></h3>Mural Truth or Consequences, New Mexico</p></h3></iframe></figure>Bison Container</em></h3>Mural Truth or Consequences, New Mexico</p></h3></iframe></figure>Blue Corn </em></h3>Intaglio Drypoint Print</p></h3></iframe></figure>The Crystal Hammer</h3>Oil on Canvas</p>

</h3></iframe></figure>Bison Container</em></h3>Mural Truth or Consequences, New Mexico</p></h3></iframe></figure>Blue Corn </em></h3>Intaglio Drypoint Print</p></h3></iframe></figure>The Crystal Hammer</h3>Oil on Canvas</p>

Bison Container</em></h3>Mural Truth or Consequences, New Mexico</p></h3></iframe></figure>Blue Corn </em></h3>Intaglio Drypoint Print</p></h3></iframe></figure>The Crystal Hammer</h3>Oil on Canvas</p>

</h3></iframe></figure>Blue Corn </em></h3>Intaglio Drypoint Print</p></h3></iframe></figure>The Crystal Hammer</h3>Oil on Canvas</p>

Blue Corn </em></h3>Intaglio Drypoint Print</p></h3></iframe></figure>The Crystal Hammer</h3>Oil on Canvas</p>

</h3></iframe></figure>The Crystal Hammer</h3>Oil on Canvas</p>

The Crystal Hammer</h3>Oil on Canvas</p>

Between Two Eternities

Truth or Consequences Contemporary

Rhino Radar (Arm Fauna)

Ken

Links

See Also:</h2>

The Black Fire

Thread

Continuation

Docile

Saturday Evening Owls

Visible

Exhibition</h2>
August 2nd - 31st, 2024</strong>
Sun and Dust Gallery</a>
Canyon Road, Santa Fe, NM</p>

Pescia</h3>
My favorite paper.</p>
</figure>
Rives BFK</a></h3>
</p>
German Etching
</h3>
</figure>
Hahnemuhle Papers Copperplate</a></h3>
</p>
Pescia</h3>

Has two distinct sides</li> </ul>
</p>
Somerset</h3>
</figure>
Stonehenge</h3>
</figure>

Rives BFK</a></h3>
</p>
German Etching
</h3>
</figure>
Hahnemuhle Papers Copperplate</a></h3>
</p>
Pescia</h3>

Has two distinct sides</li> </ul>
</p>
Somerset</h3>
</figure>
Stonehenge</h3>
</figure>

German Etching
</h3>
</figure>
Hahnemuhle Papers Copperplate</a></h3>
</p>
Pescia</h3>

Has two distinct sides</li> </ul>
</p>
Somerset</h3>
</figure>
Stonehenge</h3>
</figure>

Pescia</h3>

Has two distinct sides</li> </ul>
</p>
Somerset</h3>
</figure>
Stonehenge</h3>
</figure>

Somerset</h3>
</figure>
Stonehenge</h3>
</figure>

Stonehenge</h3>
</figure>

Edition Details</em></h3>
intaglio drypoint prints
printed area approx 11 x 12 inches
handtorn paper approx 13 x 19 inches</p>
chine collé</p>

</h3>
</iframe></figure>
Bison Container</em></h3>
Mural
Truth or Consequences, New Mexico</p>
</h3>
</iframe></figure>
Blue Corn </em></h3>
Intaglio Drypoint Print</p>
</h3>
</iframe></figure>
The Crystal Hammer</h3>
Oil on Canvas</p>

Bison Container</em></h3>
Mural
Truth or Consequences, New Mexico</p>
</h3>
</iframe></figure>
Blue Corn </em></h3>
Intaglio Drypoint Print</p>
</h3>
</iframe></figure>
The Crystal Hammer</h3>
Oil on Canvas</p>

</h3>
</iframe></figure>
Blue Corn </em></h3>
Intaglio Drypoint Print</p>
</h3>
</iframe></figure>
The Crystal Hammer</h3>
Oil on Canvas</p>

Blue Corn </em></h3>
Intaglio Drypoint Print</p>
</h3>
</iframe></figure>
The Crystal Hammer</h3>
Oil on Canvas</p>

</h3>
</iframe></figure>
The Crystal Hammer</h3>
Oil on Canvas</p>

The Crystal Hammer</h3>
Oil on Canvas</p>

Painting Surfaces</h3>
Aluminum Composit Material (aka, DiBond)
Oil primed Linen Canvas
Acrylic Primed Cotton Canvas</p>

</h2>
Kyle Parker Cunningham</strong> (American)(b. 1983)
Taos & Truth or Consequences, New Mexico</em></p>

A Brief Chronology:</h3>
</p>