ArtHouse23

At my local dollar-a-plate sushi place I noticed 2 little kids fingering the sparkly ornaments on the fold-up Christmas tree with a true sense of wonder. I remembered at that age being completely enchanted and transported with the magic of shiny things as snow fell and presents appeared.  How did that all happen and what was in those packages anyway.

As adults, harried and stress is the more likely the tune at holiday time. As artists, it’s a time to remember the kid who sanctioned a sense of wonder.  It’s a kind of faith to hold on to.

Thoughts on the subject:

Ursula Le Guin wrote, “The creative adult is the child who has survived.”

Picasso said, “It took me four years to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child.” And “”Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.”

A well-proliferated tale by artist Howard Ikemoto:   “When my daughter was about seven years old, she asked me one day what I did at work.  I told her I worked at the college – that my job was to teach people how to draw.  She stared at me, incredulous, and said, ‘You mean they forget?’”  (His work is marvelous-http://www.howardikemoto.com/work/ )

“An artist is not paid for his labor but for his vision.”
James McNeill Whistler

In an attempt to tap our vision and “inner-child” we’re going to play—bring whatever—old paintings, blanks, limited paints, everything in your arsenal—your choice.  Be willing to set aside expectations and just play.

Magic for your listening pleasure—(be patient, it will get you)– http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gIoSga7tZPg

Merry Christmas

The practice of composition in painting is much like the practice of scales and chords in music.  Once it becomes second nature the real business of the “art” comes more readily.

The idea is not to think so much about the theory but to be aware and practice it as you discover the poetry of your work.  Good composition does not make good painting, but good painting can hardly exist without good composition.  There are countless paintings in which “the lights are on, but nobody’s home.” Almost all dollar greeting cards contain an image that is composed well-enough. Just as Row, Row, Row Your Boat is a well-enough composed piece of music but with a very low bar.

So as composition theory plays in the background of your visual awareness, the real attention is to be paid to the meaning of your “statement”.  And that begins with subject.

“A  ‘painter’ should concern himself with whatever absorbs his fancy, stirs his heart, and unlimbers his ‘paintbrush’.”   http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/E._B._White (A quote from the writer E.B. White with some obvious word changes.)

One of my favorite quotes that you may recall (by me) is: “Notice what you notice”.  Paying attention to those things that “absorbs your fancy” will be your greatest tool for satisfying painting.

Once you notice when and how certain subjects grab your attention. Engage.  Figure out what aspects of those subjects speak first and loudest.  For example—if you find you’re attracted to architecture ask yourself:  is it the straight, solid lines or geometry that attracts?  The shadows and doors or what might they be hiding?  What the space can contain? The sheltering aspect? The contrast between inside and outside? Etc.  Don’t bother answering.  What is important to you will make itself known over time.

As you are looking, shift your gaze either by using a view finder made up of thumbs and fore-fingers or just your mind’s eye to determine the most dynamic format.This takes only seconds.  Again, you don’t have to do anything with it, just practice the awareness. Consider keeping a file of tear sheets for future use or small thumbnail sketches.  Spending a little time at this drill will add ease to the process.

Two links to play with—the first one is the Hans Hoffman Push Pull game we’ve done in class. If you have time, it’s fun.  And the second one is a photographer’s blog.  Just scroll down that one until you see the dots.  Just glancing at those will inform.

http://www.pbs.org/hanshofmann/push_and_pull_001.html

http://blog.mingthein.com/2012/07/31/aspect-ratios-and-compositional-theory/

Whether you succeed or not is irrelevant — There is no such thing — Making your unknown known is the important thing.  Georgia O’Keeefe  

There’s a new premium channel “teaser” program on cable on which you can watch a pilot episode of a new series.  On one of the channels is a series call Da Vinci’s Demons about Leonardo Da Vinci.  I watched about half of it.  It would be a perfect pastime for a nasty cold.

The visuals are captivating, the writing—meh.  What I liked, however, was watching the depiction of Leonardo “seeing” the underlying structure of what’s in the streets of Florence or the fields of Tuscany.  Through the magic of television everything from the dome of the Duomo to the wing of a bird could be studied.

As we know, paintings have underlying structures too and those structures provide a critical path for the viewer. Observing and practicing what makes the successful building blocks of the picture plane and how those blocks interact together is what makes composition come instinctively. Just like Leonardo we will idnetify the underlying structure of the whole and see if it can be improved.

Bring an old painting that you’ve deemed unsuccessful.  Make it something you’re not attached to.

Because we’re going to marry a composition exercise with color practice—leave your paints at home except for: black; white; Paynes grey & yellow ochre.

This week after our last class, Paula (Saturday), led me down the rabbit hole once again—she is full of good stories and amazing experiences.  She sited Gordon Lish, 20^th Century author, renowned writing teacher, editor and pioneer of words.   (More on Lish from the Guardian– http://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2013/aug/29/gordon-lish-80-raymond-carver  .)

She shared notes taken directly from his writing classes.  The line that most resonated for me was: “You set forces in motion.  You do not tell stories (make pictures).  You set forces in motion and then control them.”  This is what my “follow-the-leader” exercise was designed to do. Set forces in motion–-offering a controlled chaos that you then use your resources to explode, manage, coax and dance with. And through that process you find order and that ubiquitous “harmonious whole”.

He further describes it: Turbulence rushes in as you swerve from the original “brush stroke”,….Your job is to contain the turbulence as it grows and grows.  That act of containment is form.

The trick is to trust. As you wrestle with all of that insecurity  and unknowing of the end, trust that your focus will lead you to resolution—maybe good, maybe not so good, but definitely something upon which to build.  

While reading more about this man I ran across a lecture delivered to the students of Columbia University’s writing program by short story writer and Lish student, Gary Lutz.  He describes powerful writing— “in which virtually every sentence had the force and feel of a climax.”  He describes these sentences as having “minute immediacy”.

Brush strokes can have the same power. As you approach your work, practice immediacy–keep connected, keep focused, keep open—practice letting the brush glide, push, pull, caress, do-a-jig. Try not to think how you might make a tree, a bird, a figure, but how you might capture its energy and in doing so make a mark of meaning.

Last week we considered a subject with which we were familiar.  We had 3 opportunities to express the idea of it, or to render it, 3 different ways after given a few days to think about it. The emphasis was on using imagination.  We saw how others expanded ideas by repeating them, dissecting them, editing, changing palette, etc.–exploring new ways in which to see your subject’s characteristics, what it does and what it might become.  Sometimes it involved setting limits in order to push innovation.

The objective of this two-week exploration is to compare two ways of working.  The first week gave time to ponder, to find references—to prick the imagination through thought.

This week we will take a 180.  And although you have the last week’s experience and considerations nipping at the edge of your consciousness, you will have little control on how you will approach and develop the piece. I will lead a step by step process.  It may not always make sense, but it will be interesting.

Begin with one CLEAN substrate that either matches the size of last week’s (in case you decide to develop a series) or is a little larger.  Your first step will be to apply a wash—any color.  Resist going too dark as it limits the possibilities.  But if that’s what calls to you, go for it. Get that done as soon as you come in so it can dry. Have the other pieces from last week handy to fiddle with while you wait for instructions.  Some work faster than others, some will have a lightning bolt of an idea at times, some will struggle with an application, etc.  so rhythms of action will vary.  Prepare for it. 

Keep in mind your incredible “possibility”.  Make each move with commitment. It’s not about getting “done”.  It remains about the journey.

As always, have fun, make it meaningful, or both!

The seeds of “good art” are various.  So are the definitions.  Some words to describe “good art” are: resonant (to whom); beautiful, (not always); engaging (to some); transformative (maybe); makes you think, makes you feel; makes you rich (HA!)l   The one word that is hard to dispute when trying to capture the elusive definition of “good art” is authentic. And like nature, it is surprising and inevitable at the same time.

Our goal as artists is to mine the depths of our process, ourselves and our stimuli until authenticity floats to the top. What tools we use will fluctuate.  But what results will clearly come from our hand.

For me and for most it is the intuitive self that delivers.  And since the analytical or left brain is generally easier to access I tend to devise exercises designed to access the right brain– to take the thinking and control out of the mix and let the unconscious take the lead.

Not this week.  This week I’ve been inspired by expanding an idea by thinking of new ways in which to see.  A marvelous artist, Ann Hamilton, spoke on Saturday about her work’s inspiration of text and textile, which came from sitting with her grandmother who knitted while she read—text and textile.  Ann has taken that concept into far reaching places. (http://www.annhamiltonstudio.com/scripts.html )

A recent Brain Pickings offered some wonderful minimalist posters that illustrate imagery that expands an idea: http://www.brainpickings.org/index.php/2012/02/27/childrens-book-posters/  Now it’s our turn.

How many ways can you represent a bird, a dancer, a desert, a figure, a church, a bridge, etc.?  Choose one subject that you’ve already explored in a painting.  Prepare 4 SMALL, clean substrates (can be 8” x 8”, but at least 2 must be fresh).  Think about THREE different ways to characterize your subject.  Words like simplify, enlarge, crop, magnify, multiply, layer, heat, cool, combine and mix are some you can apply to evoke a new image.  Save the 4^th substrate for next week. (Size of each should be no more than 12” x 12”.)

“Variations on a theme” is a common methodology in composing music. Those who are musically minded can share their thoughts. For the visual approach take a look at Monet’s variations on the Rouen Cathedral: http://www.learn.columbia.edu/monet/swf/

How many variations of your theme can you start to think about?  (Don’t be afraid to jot them down…….)

While watering the flowers on the deck late last June booming soul music from somewhere in the neighborhood beckoned.  Following, I discovered an annual Street Party called “Good in the Hood”. Sparing you the description of my participation, I will note that it was whole-hearted and enthusiastic.

Last night the same thing– “Good in the Hood” was back and so was I, this time with Otis.  We ordered wings and catfish, wandered the stalls, sat on the grass, listened to funk, drank a beer, all smiling ear to ear.

Not for a minute could I say “these are my peeps.”  On the contrary, the culture we were enjoying was pretty foreign. But the fact that it, along with the street-painting hippies, the non-profit organization for the disabled, the skateboard park, the young alternative families, the long time African American residents and Darcelle, all live in my neighborhood, it feels like home.  It suits me.

Finding home—geographic or otherwise– is what we all are aiming for whether we know it or not.

The painting process is method and metaphor to that end. The subtle selections we make in palette, media and subject, the echoes we follow in the halls of art history are all sign posts of where we’ve traveled leading us to where we belong on the canvas. The authenticity can be felt.  When you hear remarks from your audience that cause you to think “that’s just what I hoped to say” you know you are close.

Doubts creep in.  Normal. The journey is long. It can be a struggle to listen hard to yourself, to filter out the static and pay attention to what your hand grabs and to “notice what you notice”.

The artists we will be looking at in the next few weeks have found their voice.  If they hadn’t, we’d have never heard of them. Did it lead them “home”?  It might have, but they might not have known it. The voyage is experiential and individual. But it is clearly documented in their work. We will study their “maps” and see if their directions help us find home.

Although Richard Diebenkorn stayed here only a few years after his birth in 1922, I like to think that Portland exercised its influence on him just as it did on Marc Rothko. (I’m going to assume Aberdeen Washington had a similar effect on Robert Motherwell.  It couldn’t possibly be a coincidence that three of my favorite painters are from the NW could it?)

Visualize what you know of Diebenkorn’s work.  There are those figures bathed in light and placed on the canvas for purposeful divisions.  The influence of Hopper can be seen here–so different than the early expressionist work which writhes with expressive marks and big brush loads of juicy paint. And we can all envision the late Ocean Park paintings—flat, veiled geometry in which hints of the history of the work’s very making float between taut edges and angles.

Michael Kimmelman, art historian and former NY Times critic (and one of my big crushes), writes about meeting the artist, published in the Times: September 13, 1992–

He speaks in a halting, almost apologetic manner, forever correcting what he just said, or wincing at what he perceives as the imprecision of his own, or your, remark. He’ll pause for a good while before answering a question. Sometimes he will correct or alter even a minor statement he made a day or more before, having silently ruminated about it during the interim. He somehow exudes at the same time extreme self-doubt and tremendous self-confidence. He seems to revel in the process of arriving at a solution no less than in the solution itself.

This is very much the spirit in which Diebenkorn paints. He has produced hundreds of abstractions during the last quarter of a century, most of them part of his Ocean Park series, named after the section of Santa Monica where he kept a studio from 1966 until he moved north of San Francisco to Healdsburg in 1988. Each of these abstractions discloses the history of its making: the works are composed of second thoughts, pentimenti, erasures and emendations, which at their best combine to form images of remarkable elegance and poise. The strength, and also the curiosity, of the work lies in this contradiction — that indecision, conflict and ad hoc tinkering could become the stuff of such deeply lyric art.

This is not a new way to work for many of us, we Portlanders are “ad hoc tinkerers”, shifting contexts to create new meanings. We exhibit “at the same time extreme self-doubt and tremendous self-confidence” (stump-jumping hipsters). It’s not only ok to have “second thoughts…erasures and emendations” but in actively doing so belief in process over product is confirmed.

This week we will embrace our halting worldliness and channel our inner-Diebenkorn working backwards to the future.  Bring old works to which  you are not attached–the crustier the better. If you work best from a source bring one, or bring the source that inspired the old crusty work to begin with.

“Drawing is not what one sees but what one can make others see.” Edgar Degas (1834-1917)

Drawing is about both seeing and about expressing.  But to make others see, as Degas, one of the world’s finest draughtsman suggests, a drawing has to be about something more than reproducing what the subject looks like or expressing the fallout from rush-hour traffic.  It has to be authentic, it has to be connected and it has to display your individual uniqueness.

However, in a struggle to hone skill enough to lay down a line that isn’t embarrassing, what I often see is a hand trying to be more and more in control.  The tighter it gets, the ‘deader’ the drawing or painting becomes.

So instead measuring and gauging and fretting, my approach to any subject is to set up a situation that keeps control at a minimum.  That means giving myself  a problem to overcome (besides drawing),  like  not looking; or using a non-dominant hand; or drawing over other drawings; or turning the page upside down repeatedly still drawing the same thing; or drawing in all 4 directions; or erasing all or part  with eraser or paint after several minutes and starting again. And again. Each time leaving evidence that I was there. Not worrying about the outcome, just the moment in which my hand moves the charcoal, graphite or brush. That way a little bit of what is inside is allowed to leak onto the page as if by magic.  And at the same time that I’m tripping over the extra challenge, there is seeing, there is connecting, there is learning.

Paula shared part of a beautiful letter from a student of her husband’s—Marc Lipshey, a renowned oboist: “He insisted that as a musician it was my challenge and responsibility to craft a life for every note. That every note, no matter how brief for the listener, has a birth and death. That each note was a lifecycle and together they create a universe.”

The artist has the same responsibility with each mark, with each stroke of the brush.  But sometimes we may have to get out of our own way in order to find it.