Aptly named “Money Pieces”, this series by Canadian visual artist Kristi Malakoff capitalizes on capital. Using the U.S. dollar, Turkish lira, Euro, and a variety of world currency in between, Malakoff takes advantage of the full color spectrum that passes through our hands as paper money around the globe to create her intricate and beautiful sculptures.
Her process requires the money to spend more time in her hands and studio than it does in typical consumer exchanges, though, as Malakoff must take great care in the folding, cutting, and pasting of her designs. The finished pieces range from geometric displays, such as “Desert Cactus” (above, part of the Polyhedra Series), to portraits of Jamaican school children and a Nicaraguan fruit seller. These and the other “Money Pieces” can be viewed on Malakoff’s website.
While on her site, be sure to check out her innovative stamp sculptures – along the same vein of “Money Pieces”, but featuring 3-dimensional images pulled out and propped up from within international postage stamps – and floral installations.
See on www.mymodernmet.com
In this spirit, check out Frank Montesonti’s gorgeous poem, originally published in LitCouture:
Vegas Lights, Hedge Funds, Monetary Policy and Beauty
In the hotel room, dust, ground from the edges of the long run
blew under the door. Swimming
pool flush as we slipped in.
Heat detectors swung
overhead without a sound.
I wished then I could turn to your body
and the odds
would come off with your clothes.
There used to be an old kind of sadness
a mom-and-pop sadness,
a sadness you could hold in your
hands as you buckled over
on the curb and took off your hat,
warm, heavy as a wadded nocturne,
that slowed the passing memories
just enough to feel like you
could go back if the wind were slight
and westerly. But the new sadness
It knows what we can afford.
I’m for hedging
my bets. Look at me, downright distrustful
of beauty, how it locks the risk from the dice—
what should be among us, condensed
in even features— ten thousand ships etc., a sea etc.,
I haven’t been the first to question
why we are we so wild for something easy
as the clean architecture of a face.
Yet when you slipped into the pool
something clean and brutal
possessed me: I was embarrassed
at being like everyone else.
For you see, I have this secret dream
almost the opposite song of the soul
I feel blow through me,
a bright string, where the one
who makes the beauty, the
the universe shivers,
and for moment drops her spade.
Frank Montesonti is the author of Hope Tree (forthcoming from Black Lawrence Press) and the chapbook A Civic Pageant. His work has appeared in Lit, Tin House, AQR, Poems and Plays, Barrow Street, Black Warrior Review, among many others. He teaches creative writing at National University in Los Angeles.