Monday, December 7, 2009
Blow-up
This post is going to be brief because I am in the midst of writing a paper and studying for an exam. This is a larger version of one of the Klimtian Copies posted below (8.5 x 11 rather than 4 x 6). It's in acrylic paint with white and colored paper cut-outs. The two versions look quite different in life, but not so different digitally, which I find somewhat interesting.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Color Tunnels
In September, a colleague gave me a book of poetry by Wislawa Szymborska because, he said, my artwork brought it to his mind. I'm usually a rather tepid lover of poetry--sometimes it strikes just right, other times I throw it away in frustration--but I do love this collection, and I would like to believe that her literary style can be related to my visual style. So here is an experiment of sorts.
I have recently returned to an aspiration to paint highways. I've skirted around this subject matter for some time now, doing a few, mostly unsuccessful, paintings over the past couple of years. The very first, which was successful, can be found in the initial post on this blog (Northeast Extension). I am drawn to the monochromaticity of highways during winter: gray roads, gray-ish salt- and dirt-encrusted cars, gray trees, gray skies. These dull shades are punctuated by sudden interludes of intense color from construction signage (orange), rest-stop signage (blue), directional signage (green), and finally, the lights from passing cars. At night, too, there is a monochromaticity, but with added dimensions of blue, black, and purple.
I spent a good chunk of time over the Thanksgiving break driving in the wee hours of the morning as well as in the middle of the night, often surrounded by thick fog. I was struck again by how the world takes on a beautiful, indistinct haze; it is a tunnel through grays and blues, and ground and sky become inseparable. This serves to sharpen the moments of color, rendering them fierce and aggressive reminders of a world away from the highway.
When creating the below piece, From Pittsburgh, I also looked to the following poem by Szymborska for inspiration:
Sky
I should have begun with this: the sky.
A window minus sill, frame, and panes.
An aperture, nothing more
but wide open
I don't have to wait for a starry night,
I don't have to crane my neck
to get a look at it.
I've got the sky behind my back, at hand, and on my eyelids.
The sky binds me tight
and sweeps me off my feet.
Even the highest mountains are no closer to the sky
than the deepest valleys.
There's no more of it in one place
than another.
A mole is no less in seventh heaven
than the owl spreading her wings.
The object that falls in an abyss
falls from sky to sky.
Grainy, gritty, liquid,
inflamed, or volatile
patches of sky, specks of sky,
gusts and heaps of sky.
The sky is everywhere,
even in the dark beneath your skin.
I eat the sky, I excrete the sky.
I'm a trap within a trap,
an inhabited inhabitant, an embrace embraced,
a question answering a question.
Division into sky and earth--
it's not the proper way
to contemplate this wholeness.
It simply lets me go on living
at a more exact address
where I can be reached promptly
if I'm sought.
My identifying features
are rapture and despair.
Szymborska, Wistawa. "Sky." Poems New and Collected 1957-1997. New York: Harcourt, Inc., 1998.
There are more of these to come, I think.
I have recently returned to an aspiration to paint highways. I've skirted around this subject matter for some time now, doing a few, mostly unsuccessful, paintings over the past couple of years. The very first, which was successful, can be found in the initial post on this blog (Northeast Extension). I am drawn to the monochromaticity of highways during winter: gray roads, gray-ish salt- and dirt-encrusted cars, gray trees, gray skies. These dull shades are punctuated by sudden interludes of intense color from construction signage (orange), rest-stop signage (blue), directional signage (green), and finally, the lights from passing cars. At night, too, there is a monochromaticity, but with added dimensions of blue, black, and purple.
I spent a good chunk of time over the Thanksgiving break driving in the wee hours of the morning as well as in the middle of the night, often surrounded by thick fog. I was struck again by how the world takes on a beautiful, indistinct haze; it is a tunnel through grays and blues, and ground and sky become inseparable. This serves to sharpen the moments of color, rendering them fierce and aggressive reminders of a world away from the highway.
When creating the below piece, From Pittsburgh, I also looked to the following poem by Szymborska for inspiration:
Sky
I should have begun with this: the sky.
A window minus sill, frame, and panes.
An aperture, nothing more
but wide open
I don't have to wait for a starry night,
I don't have to crane my neck
to get a look at it.
I've got the sky behind my back, at hand, and on my eyelids.
The sky binds me tight
and sweeps me off my feet.
Even the highest mountains are no closer to the sky
than the deepest valleys.
There's no more of it in one place
than another.
A mole is no less in seventh heaven
than the owl spreading her wings.
The object that falls in an abyss
falls from sky to sky.
Grainy, gritty, liquid,
inflamed, or volatile
patches of sky, specks of sky,
gusts and heaps of sky.
The sky is everywhere,
even in the dark beneath your skin.
I eat the sky, I excrete the sky.
I'm a trap within a trap,
an inhabited inhabitant, an embrace embraced,
a question answering a question.
Division into sky and earth--
it's not the proper way
to contemplate this wholeness.
It simply lets me go on living
at a more exact address
where I can be reached promptly
if I'm sought.
My identifying features
are rapture and despair.
Szymborska, Wistawa. "Sky." Poems New and Collected 1957-1997. New York: Harcourt, Inc., 1998.
There are more of these to come, I think.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Domestic Portraits
Two posts in one day!
These pieces are from a slightly older series--last spring and summer--but are part of an ongoing project. These are even tinier than I usually work, only 3x2 inches, in oil paint. Each is intended to capture a moment or object of domesticity. I sort of consider them portraits of the mundane. I find them more interesting when they are viewed together, and when considering how I would choose to display them, I've been most drawn to the idea of throwing them all in a cardboard box and letting people rifle through them (that's probably not archivally sound, but I think I'd be okay with that).
I started making these because I find them meditative and relaxing to create. I also like how they force me to be alert to moments of interesting color or shape in my daily routines. I think next up is something involving an espresso cup.
These pieces are from a slightly older series--last spring and summer--but are part of an ongoing project. These are even tinier than I usually work, only 3x2 inches, in oil paint. Each is intended to capture a moment or object of domesticity. I sort of consider them portraits of the mundane. I find them more interesting when they are viewed together, and when considering how I would choose to display them, I've been most drawn to the idea of throwing them all in a cardboard box and letting people rifle through them (that's probably not archivally sound, but I think I'd be okay with that).
I started making these because I find them meditative and relaxing to create. I also like how they force me to be alert to moments of interesting color or shape in my daily routines. I think next up is something involving an espresso cup.
Klimtian Copies
After a lengthy hunt for a good, functioning scanner on campus, I finally located one in the science and engineering library. So I am able to post the Klimt-inspired images. Here they are:
There was a fifth one, but it failed miserably enough to not even merit posting here. I did these, as I said below, as an exercise to get myself thinking outside of the object, since that is what I usually focus on in my work. When I created them, I intended to duplicate Klimt's backgrounds exactly, to be completely and totally derivative for the sake of the exercise. However, as is usually the case when I try to copy something, the "me" voice creeps in, totally unintentionally, to the point where the source is not always recognizable. As a result, I think that these are perhaps more in conversation with Klimt's work than they are copies. They are all 4x6 inches, but I am considering blowing up either the second or the third of them and trying to use paint, rather than magic markers.
There was a fifth one, but it failed miserably enough to not even merit posting here. I did these, as I said below, as an exercise to get myself thinking outside of the object, since that is what I usually focus on in my work. When I created them, I intended to duplicate Klimt's backgrounds exactly, to be completely and totally derivative for the sake of the exercise. However, as is usually the case when I try to copy something, the "me" voice creeps in, totally unintentionally, to the point where the source is not always recognizable. As a result, I think that these are perhaps more in conversation with Klimt's work than they are copies. They are all 4x6 inches, but I am considering blowing up either the second or the third of them and trying to use paint, rather than magic markers.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Blog Resurrected
Okay, I'm back. Maybe. We'll see how my blogging experiment goes the second time around. The first fared pretty poorly, as the date on my last entry proves. But I'm in graduate school now, and have an immense amount of unstructured time on my hands, so perhaps this can be my latest form of procrastination, following reading the New York Times (and all of the reader comments), watching good and bad television on the internet, nurturing a growing infatuation with Netflix, and taking unnecessarily long strolls through my new neighborhood. I moved to Columbus, Ohio about a month and a half ago to pursue a Masters (or PhD?) in Arts Policy and Administration at the Ohio State University. I am technically a student in the Art Education Department, but I also spend a good bit of my time at the School of Public Affairs. So far, so good, though I miss Philly and the people there tremendously.
After a really long art-making hiatus (due in large part to the incredibly time-consuming process of applying to and financing grad school), I am back to painting things...and magic-markering things. I haven't totally decided yet whether to post my latest pieces, since they are simply exercises to get me out of an object-depicting rut. Using Gustav Klimt's paintings as inspiration, I am re-creating their lush backgrounds using magic markers and an over-lay of white cut-outs. I am surprised to discover how difficult magic markers are to control. They force me to think in blocks of color, as blending and tone variance are hard to manipulate. I cannot correct my mistakes "back" to something intended. Instead, I have to let the mistakes dictate a new direction, usually involving a darker color. This is useful for me, because I think I over-rely on the changeable quality of paint. In acrylics, I can and do just paint over it. Oils can be re-worked fairly easily. These are not bad things, but it is nice to remember how mistakes can actually be a good thing for creativity, and a way to let the work evolve on its own terms. I think, after this long description, I must post them (and will do so, once I have a chance to scan them).
In the meantime, I'm just going to throw out some of my old stuff...circa 2006/2007.
I've chosen these three paintings out of homesickness for Philadelphia, and because I think of these paintings as a turning point in my artwork, or rather, the point where my artwork first took on some sort of conceptual theme. The first two, 1536 Pine Street I and II, and the third, Zack's, helped me realize and articulate an interest in space, perception, and memory. Using a "filmstrip" to convey spaces I spent a great deal of time in helped me depict movement and motion as a part of the act of perceiving, and it gave me a flexible framing device. Long narrow hallway views received a long and narrow frame. Wide rooms received a wide frame. I suppose it's not so different than creating a series of paintings in multiple shapes and sizes, but I like how these views are conjoined into a single work in the above strips. I haven't returned to this style since making these three pieces, partially because they were incredibly labor-intensive, and partially because I wasn't sure what else to say with them, but I often reference them when I feel lost or confused in my present practice.
After a really long art-making hiatus (due in large part to the incredibly time-consuming process of applying to and financing grad school), I am back to painting things...and magic-markering things. I haven't totally decided yet whether to post my latest pieces, since they are simply exercises to get me out of an object-depicting rut. Using Gustav Klimt's paintings as inspiration, I am re-creating their lush backgrounds using magic markers and an over-lay of white cut-outs. I am surprised to discover how difficult magic markers are to control. They force me to think in blocks of color, as blending and tone variance are hard to manipulate. I cannot correct my mistakes "back" to something intended. Instead, I have to let the mistakes dictate a new direction, usually involving a darker color. This is useful for me, because I think I over-rely on the changeable quality of paint. In acrylics, I can and do just paint over it. Oils can be re-worked fairly easily. These are not bad things, but it is nice to remember how mistakes can actually be a good thing for creativity, and a way to let the work evolve on its own terms. I think, after this long description, I must post them (and will do so, once I have a chance to scan them).
In the meantime, I'm just going to throw out some of my old stuff...circa 2006/2007.
I've chosen these three paintings out of homesickness for Philadelphia, and because I think of these paintings as a turning point in my artwork, or rather, the point where my artwork first took on some sort of conceptual theme. The first two, 1536 Pine Street I and II, and the third, Zack's, helped me realize and articulate an interest in space, perception, and memory. Using a "filmstrip" to convey spaces I spent a great deal of time in helped me depict movement and motion as a part of the act of perceiving, and it gave me a flexible framing device. Long narrow hallway views received a long and narrow frame. Wide rooms received a wide frame. I suppose it's not so different than creating a series of paintings in multiple shapes and sizes, but I like how these views are conjoined into a single work in the above strips. I haven't returned to this style since making these three pieces, partially because they were incredibly labor-intensive, and partially because I wasn't sure what else to say with them, but I often reference them when I feel lost or confused in my present practice.
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