ArtHouse23

I heard a story on NPR last week about how scientists are not only inspired by, but are using, the ancient folding technique of Origami to fold solar-powered panels, balls, etc. that fit easily into rockets and then, when they reach their destination, they unfold with minimal effort. (http://www.npr.org/2014/07/17/331974972/to-make-a-spacecraft-that-folds-and-unfolds-try-origami ) This amazed me. The whole idea of simply “unfolding” to achieve specific results seemed artful and poetic, not to mention creative.

I was sure I could connect this to the painting process, just as I connect everything to the painting process.  I imagined the symbolic unfolding Lotus flower for enlightenment, which, hopefully, painting will bring a bit of. I read the article Origami for Harmony and Happiness which states: “Origami resembles the system of world vision….a Universe of objects and nature’s phenomena — everything is reflected in symbols folded from paper. Surprisingly, the world shows itself related in an abstract language.” Surely there’s a thread there to make a larger statement about the painting process, right? Couldn’t come up with it.

Then I continued to read about the relation of Origami to Zen Buddhism. Since so much of my painting process unintentionally reflects Zen principles I thought I could link the two, especially after reading this regarding Origami: “Only change is constant”. This is a great discovery of Buddhism. Indeed, what do we do if not developing a picture until the moment when the truth shows itself, without reducing a thing, yet changing?” So there clearly is a connection, but as hard as I tried to imagine how folding something in such a way that it could be unfolded simply and beautifully, I could find no words to complete the thought.

Days went by—now I’m trying to squeeze blood out of a stone.

Then, after searching for a subject to paint, I was reminded of one of my favorite painting process metaphors—the razor’s edge (Mixing metaphors—sorry).  In my own mind I know that what makes art resonate is a delicate balance of thought, emotion, connection, discovery and authenticity. That balancing on that edge usually means leaning toward the intuitive, then the analytical, again and again, resulting in an idea unfolding.  Too much in either direction leaves the painting unbalanced at its core. The intuitive approach to painting often eschews the notion of an idea, but I (and much of the art world) think that a successful painting contains the nugget of an idea that can have as many interpretations as viewers.

Just being able to recognize those ideas as they emerge can inform the work—both the one staring back at you and those that await. I’m still not sure how to use “folding” as metaphor for any aspect of painting. But I do believe that the painting process contains an “unfolding”—a reveal of some thought or idea that, whether you know it or not, has significance in the making.

If however you have a dearth of ideas, you may be inspired by an article in the New Yorker written by (Saturday Night Live’s), Jack Handey:  http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2006/03/20/ideas-for-paintings.

Daily Life, Bastille Day and Modern Art and poetry—unable to settle on a theme turns into a topic.

I’ve been married for 43 years and my husband has told the same joke for all 43 of those years and I still laugh. This is something for which I’m extremely grateful.  Coffee in the morning consists of random sharing– bits of email, internet news and morsels of analysis about life as viewed from the downhill side of its trajectory.  The wisdom of the awareness of how these little things contribute to a satisfying life is not new, but every morning I’m conscious of the truth in that. Not much could be more important to me than to be able to laugh at an old joke with someone with whom I’ve shared 75% of my life. It may not be the stuff of romance novels but I consider myself to be very lucky to start my day in this way.

Yesterday was Bastille Day.  I wanted to do something French.  I didn’t and felt lesser for it.  But it will pass….

However, I got to thinking about what it was about Paris that fostered Impressionism and Modern Art. Is there any other period in art that is more universally loved?  Sure, there were important movements in other locales, but in the late 19th century everybody, especially artists, looked to Paris as it led the way to a revolution in the art world. Art history is full of answers about this. But I think a large part of it was due to the redesigning of the city by Baron Haussmann. http://www.arthistoryarchive.com/arthistory/architecture/Haussmanns-Architectural-Paris.html  New boulevards, parks and public works in Paris replaced gritty, dark, narrow medieval streets with places that invited strolling, gathering and enjoying nature on a daily basis.

Our new poet laureate, Charles Wright, http://www.npr.org/2014/06/13/321586882/charles-wright-the-contemplative-poet-laureate says: “Most of my poems start with me looking out the window or sitting in the backyard as dusk comes down, and what that sort of translates into…..”

Painter Pierre Bonnard enjoyed walking his dog daily after lunch before going back to the studio to paint. He said, “I have all of my subjects to hand. I go and look at them. I take notes. Then I go home. And before I start painting, I reflect, I dream,” —from one of my favorite (hubba-hubba) art historians, Michael Kimmelman’s Accidental Masterpiece, whose lessons include: “Art can be anonymous. It can be made by accident and with no apparent effort at all…..(or it can consume a life).” http://www.nytimes.com/2005/09/04/books/review/04SEARLEL.html?_r=0

The link in these fragments–whether it be the reassurance of a morning ritual, the love of a regular dog walk, the peace of the back yard, a place to stroll and meet a friend—is about how the everyday space we occupy and the things that fill the day become the shape of our lives. And maybe these bits and pieces are all that’s needed to shape our art.  “The answer to the frequent question: “What to paint?”, can perhaps be revealed by a practice of paying attention to daily fragments seeing how things connect and become resonant.

I am a fan of watching tennis.   To be clear, I do not play tennis, but I love watching tennis–especially Grand Slam tennis. The athletes at that level have not only mastered their bodies and refined a skill set far and above others, but, almost more importantly, they have conquered their “achievement demons”.  Or at least they’ve figured out how to lock them away for awhile.

So this past weekend I enjoyed “breakfast at Wimbledon”.

It‘s an exciting time in professional tennis. For the old guard, (the 32-year-olds!), their bodies aren’t reacting fast enough and their silent aches and pains take their toll. But mentally, they put on a clinic. They are challenged by the young guns who so desperately want to prove they belong.  Whose bodies are fresh and whose muscles are honed.  But they have a hard time managing the tension. As they slowly lose their grasp on a match the fear begins to show on their face.  The self-recrimination is palpable, as in the case Eugenie Bouchard, who had played absolutely inspired tennis until she got to the finals. When she came up against play to which she didn’t know how to react she tightened.  Her face, tears welling, had that look of a tired child on a long, hot road trip who asks: “Are we there yet.” She just wanted it over, to be done, destination be damned.

This is why I love watching tennis.  It is a rare opportunity to observe the gamut of raw, human emotions, and the control of them, in real time where no one gets really hurt. You can bear witness to every aspect of the players’ fast-moving efforts on the court and their face displays their feelings. There is little to distract and little time between their and their opponent’s move.

They cannot “plan” the match.  They can control the game somewhat with a masterful serve, but they cannot plan the next move, or the outcome. (Like life, really, despite our efforts.) They cannot rely on anyone else for anything.  They must react, singularly and with conviction.

Of course this resonates for me because it’s representative of my painting process.  In the studio I begin with a subject that hooks my interest. I know the surfaces I like or want to experiment with.  I choose a palette intuitively or as a discipline. Then I “serve”, finding connection to my subject.  The next strokes try to set up my “opponent”, the painting’s composition, but ultimately, I can only react to what is now in front of me.  To a certain point my practice guides me pretty well and I react with confidence.  Like the conditions on the court, I rely on my subject to guide adjustments.  But often my opponent, the painting, has something to say and I don’t quite get it yet–I get stumped.  I’ve liked my “game” so far, but do not know where to go.

How many times I have heard a similar statement from almost every painter I know? “I like what’s there, but I don’t know where to go next.”  The moves then become tentative.  Either anxiety arises with negative self-talk and tightness, or random stabs and jabs without connection to anything make it worse.

THE WORSE THING YOU CAN DO AT THIS MOMENT IS BE SELF-CRITICAL.  I see it in the player’s faces.  When they get down on themselves, their performance plummets.  Same thing in the studio—marks get tentative, passion is cut-off, the overwhelming desire is no longer “can I fully be a conduit to something bigger than myself”, it becomes a positive answer to:  “Am I done yet?”

It’s those who can manage the tension and look deeper inside who come out on top. As Novak Djokevich says: “Re-focus, find the right purpose, inner strength, the right energy…be aware of where I am and the occasion, aware of each minute.  You never know what going to happen.  Believe in yourself even when you don’t feel it. Say positive things to yourself, it worked for me. “

Good advice.  You’ll be done when you’re done. And it will be either a painting, or a worthy experience.  Fortunately in our game, it doesn’t always have to be a championship win.

Truffles, the kind put in risotto, can realize over $450 per pound. As an enthusiastic truffle fan I search every fine dinner menu I encounter for anything flavored with truffles, willing to pay the premium price asked. My pantry holds a treasured array of truffle salt, oil and butter. I can remember each event in which a there was a dish where the truffle could be truly tasted. It has that kind of power, which is why truffles can command the price they do.

The taste comes from a gas that the fungi emit for several biological reasons, but the result is the most delicate, elusive flavor that is almost impossible to describe. In cooking, care must be taken as heat destroys it. It dissipates over time, so storing and preserving truffles is challenging. A rare and wonderful thing, it is (strangely) found only by pigs and specially bred dogs. It seems a bit magical how the mysterious fragrance flavors the food. One small Ping-Pong sized truffle, left uncovered, can perfume a whole house.

What? What has this to do with painting? This elusive “magic” I describe is similar to what a life drawing experience has to offer. (I know—crazy!) The energy exchange that can happen when focus is attended to by both model and artist has been documented throughout art history. It is something not attainable in any other way. Matisse used the same models for years on end and often they just lay on the chaise as he painted the wallpaper (which was then rubbed out nightly). No book, no picture or statue of the same subject can elicit the mysterious presence that a model can.

Life drawing is not about anatomy. It is about seeing, just as last week’s drawing emphasized. But it’s still more– It’s about connection and the exchange of energy (like an elusive gas that perfumes your food). It is a focus that can bring about an altered state. It’s experiential. It promotes awareness in the moment. And this is our lucky week!

We are going to approach the model much like we approached your object last week. You will notice the difference. Remember the (paraphrased) Hoffman quote: “drawing should be free from the burden of imitation.”

Below is a description of drawing from the Georgetown University art department website:
“Drawing is the practice of applying marks, as line, texture and tone, to a surface or support, usually paper, using various medium such as graphite, charcoal, ink, and chalk. Pencils, brushes and other tools are used to apply the medium. Although sometimes incorporating text, Drawing is a visual language that can communicate ideas and information through images. The history of Drawing demonstrate its use as studies to investigate the personal, social, natural, scientific, spiritual, and imaginative aspects of life. In addition to the investigative nature of the sketch, drawings can become more polished works of art making sensitive statements about the subject and content depicted.”

“…..we focus on the student’s experiential development of imagination and creativity as integrating forces….”

INTEGRATING FORCES– IMAGINATION AND CREATIVITY. EXPERIENCE. DEVELOPMENT– MEANINGFUL EXPRESSION– Along with fun, focus, exhilaration and exhaustion, Oh My!

As most of you know, much of modern, western painting has been shaped by the Paris art world from the last half of the 19^th century to the period just prior to WWII.  A decades-long standard for that era was the official art exhibitions, commonly called “the salons”, that began under the reign of Louis XIV.

The French Académie de peinture et sculpture both organized and fed the system.  These salons were anticipated, respected and frequented by much of the population.  Being selected to exhibit meant not only prestige and prizes, but also opened the possibility for government support and a steady income.  All young artists aspired to be accepted into the heavily juried exhibitions.

Those whose names we know and love as favored artists were regularly rejected! Those who achieved the honor are largely forgotten.

List your most admired artists from the late 19^th and early 20^th centuries—Manet, Monet, Cezanne, Pissarro, Gaugin, Van Gogh, Picasso, Redon, Lautrec, Matisse, etc.—I could go on and on. They were all rejected, many more than once. (In 1884 a group of artists who were refused submission to this august institution started their own exhibitions— but that’s another story.)

I bring up this tidbit of art history to remind us that resonant art-making is not about reproduction.  Art that lives on and impacts humanity and our own daily lives is about exploration, innovation, reflection of self and culture, emotion and, above all, authenticity and connection—to which the “afterlife” of the list of rejected painters can attest. But how do we find our way to attempt those elusive qualities?

Two essential paths are composition and drawing skills.  We do a lot of composition exercises but we don’t do a lot of drawing lessons in class because, one, there are so many different skill levels, and two; the only way to really learn how to draw is to draw. That may be best done as a personal practice. Traditional drawing can be humbling—no question—and the nature of our group tends to be the opposite so if drawing frustrates you, draw.

But as the year rolls on we loop through and around various aspects of creativity and art-making from tapping the unconscious to color theory. Next— drawing. Exercises will be designed to facilitate “seeing”, connecting and being present.  If that is what’s happening the results will resonate and you can’t help but make your own personal statement. This is what has the most value. As you might have read in the Hoffman piece linked in last week’s blog—“…drawing should be free from the burden of imitation.” Drawing is not about reproduction.  ONE CRITERION ONLY to judge your work —how connected are you?  That should be the focus. (Blind Contours–here we come.)

If you have several pieces of paper that are suitable for drawing, but can also hold paint, please bring!  Otherwise, I will provide. Canvas and board can work, although can be more frustrating. You will need tape. If you want to use just graphite and charcoal and ink, (if you have it,) and a limited palette, including a white and a dark paint , that’s fine. Consider collage. Or bring everything and see where it leads.   We will be building surface through drawing. There will be time to begin more than one.

Once upon a time in the Bon Marche on the Left Bank in Paris I bought tickets to a Russian choir concert to be held in the church of Saint–Germain–des–Pres, (built in 11^th century). The whole experience was foreign and magical from the inspiration in the church lobby to the actual concert a day later.

Although I know about 100 words in French that can be cobbled together to form a sentence that might purchase a meal or reserve a train ticket, the nice clerk at the ticket booth knew zero words in English.

After a lot of what was gibberish to each of us, and much awkward smiling and exchanging of Euros, the helpful woman behind the counter started to urgently describe something she thought it was important that I know. I would utter what I thought she was saying in English and she would shake her head and rapid-fired more nasal-tinged French that just confused me further.

Eventually she stood up from her chair and began running in place, pumping her arms briskly.  I got it!!  She was trying to tell me that there were no reserved seats and that we should hurry there early to get a good one.  Once I understood, even though I couldn’t really say it with words, she knew immediately that she had communicated what she wanted to say.

She was so gratified to have, not only connected, but to have been understood that she hugged me. How wonderful for two people, who might just as well have had clubs for tongues, to find a way to converse!

This little story might be a metaphor for this week’s class. With “clubs” for brushes, the challenge will be to interpret two images. I will provide one on the wall and one for each person, I’m not sure if each person will get the same one or not yet.  If there are still beautiful flowers to be painted, a third element may be added. Your challenge will be to use anything to make marks and apply paint EXCEPT traditional tools—no brushes, no palette knives, no fingers!!  Be searching, be imaginative. See how creative you can be in trying to communicate what you have to say.

Bring stuff.  If you wait until you get here you to gather tools you may only have a rock with which to paint!

Remember this in case I forget.  If in the middle of piece it is all a muddle, do something extreme.

Let’s have fun!  You guys deserve it.

Walking the “halls’ of the art house I’m surrounded by these fantastic, murmuring voices reflecting the journey we take together.  So individual is the experience that every turn of the head opens a new path. “Look at me and my love of line”.  “Look at how I try to understand darkness.” “Look at me and I’ll make you laugh, or think, or deliberate.”  “Look how I dazzle the corner.”  “Look how I remind you of a favorite place or of the scent of spring.”  “Look and I’ll show you somewhere you’ve never been.” “Can you hear the sound…?” “Look at the color, so saturated or so subtle, that it’s enough.” “I can make you smile, or haunt, or tell you of heartbreak.”

These are all stories on these walls.  Your stories.  You show up and in a manner so specific to who you are and you explore. These paintings are a record of that.  No two can be alike.  They resonate with your truth, your understanding, your personal expression. And as time goes on that exploration gets more intentional, it goes deeper, it understands further. The evidence is here. How great is that?!

French musician, actor and teacher, Francois Delsarte said: “The object of art is to crystallize emotion into thought and then give it form.” That’s what you’ve done!  And oh so well!  I’m proud to be a part.  Thank you.

Jackie read me a snippet this week from the wonderful Sun magazine–  https://thesunmagazine.org/

When I was a shy twelve-year-old, my favorite subject at school was art, and my art teacher was German and very strict. One day she taught us how to use perspective. We were to paint the road going to our house. “The road is always narrower at the far end,” she said.

“Not at my house,” I said. (Our road widened at the end for a turnaround.)

“What?” said my teacher. “The road always decreases in the distance.”

“Not at my house,” I repeated. Before I could explain, she called me stupid and made me leave the class. Later I had to apologize for talking back. 

I didn’t try to draw or paint again until I was sixty-seven and a widow with grown children.

I ended up teaching others to paint, which I am still doing at the age of ninety-five.  Ann Taugher,  Ketchum, Idaho.

Narrow criterion for art-making is stifling, limiting and counter-productive. Rather than embracing vision and enhancing progress, a strict idea of what skill is, which in math, surgery and auto mechanics is critical, in art is backwards. Criticism based on rules, no matter how accurate the rules seem, questions the maker’s vision. And if art is about anything, it is about authentic vision. Finding it and trusting it is key.

Skills similar to drawing perspective can be useful in art-making. But in the end they have little bearing on whether or not one has anything to say as an artist.  Recall images of Egyptian Art, Cave Painting, Cubists, Neo-impressionists, Expressionists, Abstractionists, Surrealists, Minimalists—all art movements except the High Renaissance are comprised of great art that does not include proper perspective, proportion, value, volume, color-mixing, etc.

Vision can begin blurry and unclear. The point may be buried and dull at first. Focus and clarity comes in the doing and the making. Your vision will contain images that you may yet be able to express because “vision” is always ahead of us.  But as it becomes clearer in the process, you learn what you need to.

The key is to not call yourself “stupid” and “leave the class”. Enjoy doing. Revel in each step. Know there is no perfect, but know that the road leads to plenty of wonderful!

The idiom “spice up”, to no one’s surprise, means: “to make something more interesting, lively.”

We stopped in a fabulous cooking store called Surfas ( http://www.culinarydistrict.com/ ) while in the LA area. Shelves and shelves of spice mixes. Cool tools for slicing and dicing. I bought a bag full.

Despite mounds of work needing attention after a vacation I couldn’t help the urge to combine browned Chicken, tomatoes, onions, garlic, golden raisins, wine, cinnamon and cilantro, etc., etc., and a fabulous North African spice mix from Surfas.

It was just like having new paint, or a new brush, or some fantastic never-tried-before ink. I was “itchy” to see what can happen with new materials. (It was delicious, by the way.)

If I haven’t been in the studio in a while, or just feel uninspired, sometimes a trip to the art supply store is all that’s need to “spice it up”.

As the determination to “finish” work for the Open Studio can be felt in the air, there is a tendency to get tight and maybe a little stale. A quick fix, if the budget allows, may be as simple as a new tube of paint. (Not to tempt too much—Link to Jerry’s Artarama’s collection of fabulous, French, Charvin acrylics- http://search.jerrysartarama.com/search?keywords=charvin+acrylics&x=0&y=0 )

This week’s focus is works in progress.  If anyone needs more than a new tube of paint to get going I will provide a past exercise.

Remember learning to swim? Or better yet, the moments before you learned to swim? Remember that instant when you became aware that the instructor had removed their arms and you realized you were actually floating? How many of us panicked, grasping for anything that seemed safe, wriggling and struggling, gulping and swallowing buckets?

Before mastering the “float” the pool was compelling as long as you could find footing or the edge. Or when the teacher’s outstretched, supportive arms allowed you to hover, gazing upward, the water just barely covering your ears and blocking out sound granting that feeling of suspension, free from gravity in a muffled world all your own– able to hear your own heartbeat and the sound of each breath —it was magic.  Your body was encouraged to relax and let go. It was liberation from earthly ties, deliverance to a private realm.

Then when the instructor pulled their arms away a momentary sense of panic took over and as your muscles clenched you began to sink. And then imaginary alarms screeched in your head. Water filled your nose, tears might have filled your eyes. It had been sublime and then it became so scary. Even though you knew someone was right there to save you from drowning, you couldn’t help your reaction.

We came to know in time that the water would have buoyed us. If only we had stayed relaxed and trusted.

Relate that to how it feels when you have been putting your all into your work and it’s SO close, but not yet right. And you’re just not sure what to do. But that area to the lower left, or the upper right, or smack dab in the middle is just not working and then….? What? Do you freeze up? Get tighter? What happens? Do you hold your breath and hope for the best?

When you’re at that point, step back. Relax. Get some distance. Hear your own heartbeat. Listen for your breath. Move to another painting. Know that you will not “drown”. There is no failure. Getting to where you are was the value in the endeavor. It’s only paper or canvas–a surface that can be re-worked. The gain will come from practicing risk and trust.

This week see if you can find a way to believe that you’ll make it to the other side of the pool.  Make it your job to find your own personal “water wings”.  Is it the music, is it working upside down, or with eyes closed?  Try using something as a printing tool to take the onus off your brush? Perhaps it’s using a new tube of paint or passing your work to a friend for just one mark–one that serves as a catalyst– a life line. Find a way to float to resolution rather than struggle to get to the edge.