Passion has many voices and even more iterations. It has results and a pulse and can be related to as most people understand what it means or what it feels like, but few understand where it comes from or if it has a source. I don't propose to explain this now for all to see, but in reading a great thinker's post this morning I am choosing to resubmit his post here, fully credited of course. He just explains it well enough that it should be hoisted up as a rounded enough explanation for all to see.
"People often ask me where I got my inspiration for one thing or another. Or what possessed me to do something. Or why I have a passion for a particular project. The assumption behind those questions, I think, is that if one could find out where such causes originate, it would be possible to pick a promising field of endeavor then activate the inspiration to spark higher levels of achievement.
But it doesn't work that way. In my experience, I do the project I can't stop myself from doing. Passion is the thing you can't control, by definition. It's the same with inspiration. At any given time there are dozens of projects that I think make sense, but sooner or later one bubbles to the top on its own, logic ignored, and takes over my schedule.
Dilbert was like that. It drove me; I didn't drive it. It felt as if some invisible hand was pushing me. You can label it passion or inspiration if you want. Religious folks might have a different interpretation. The only point is that it controls the person, not vice versa.
If there is a logical component to chasing these passions - beyond the thin rationalizations I tend to layer on them - it is the fact that sometimes you have to get them out of your system to free yourself for the next one. For me, this was most true with my book God's Debris. It was my first non-Dilbert book, at a time that writing such a thing seemed like a really bad idea to all observers. But I had no choice. The book sprang fully formed into my head one day while I was showering, and I couldn't do anything else until I got it out. That meant writing it.
So when people ask how they can find their passion, the answer is that your passion finds you, as long as you can free up your schedule from the "must dos" enough to let it in. When I had a full-time job, before Dilbert, I awoke at 4 AM, sat alone in a comfortable chair with a cup of coffee, and waited. I did that for a year or two, just emptying my mind and freeing my imagination. I don't remember the day I picked up a pencil and started drawing instead of sitting during those hours, but I'm sure I didn't have a choice." -SCOTT ADAMS
My painting comes from a similar direction. Between painting stages I often sit and ruminate on a new idea or thought. This usually culminates in new images that HAVE to get out. This process can get pretty efficient in that images and ideas come at any time; sitting at a stop light, the shower, elevators, anywhere. The stronger the idea the more intense it forms and the more it wants to get out. I would hate to think what would happen without this outlet.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Friday, September 19, 2008
Neutral
Crisis averted. There is nothing like a period of reexamination to clarify the road ahead. I’m sure every creative person experiences this purging turmoil at one time (or even much of the time) or another. I feel back on track with new weapons for tackling what lies ahead.
I am currently closing in on the finish to a few projects; a commission, a Halloween/Jack the Ripper themed show next month, and a bone deep inspection of the modern phenomenon of Holocaust denial. Granted, these aren’t exactly geared for cheery tea time chats, but if you can’t see the shadow you will have a difficult time finding the light.
There is much afoot, stayed tuned.
I am currently closing in on the finish to a few projects; a commission, a Halloween/Jack the Ripper themed show next month, and a bone deep inspection of the modern phenomenon of Holocaust denial. Granted, these aren’t exactly geared for cheery tea time chats, but if you can’t see the shadow you will have a difficult time finding the light.
There is much afoot, stayed tuned.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
1st Gear
It has been a slow road off of the recent crisis. The crisis is a crossroads; if I paint this infrequent my art life may go nowhere and then necessarily become extinct, traded for a more stable family friendly career. I haven’t been painting much lately as a result. I think one way out of this crisis is choosing to make more time for it, a proper amount. I have tonight, but an obstacle or two has already been presented. I have a prior obligation I am reluctant to attend and I have no energy. These are mere obstacles and for now I am resolute.
I have entered into a fine conversation or two recently and perhaps I will post those later. One deals with my art in particular and I found it an interesting take. It was opined that my work is interesting and of notable quality, but “empty”, my emotional content that is. On some level, I agree. Now, for those that know my work and have been exposed to my thinking, it can be agreed that this is quasi-intentional. It is intentional in that my priorities are for painting ideas and notions, not emotional moments and flowers or even pain. I paint ideas and concepts almost philosophically and have actively resisted too much specific emotional baggage. Though this is what I have done, “empty” is no achievement, regardless of where on the totem pole I place the importance of emotion.
That said, my ‘everyman’ forms serve a great purpose. I do not wish to personalize my forms so much that they overpower the theme. Often it is the very idea that individuals are lost in the modern media, replaced by numbers and sensation that drive the ideas behind my paintings. I want to focus on the greater concept of how we are changing as a people, as a world, as a species, with every new development in the conditions of our evolving human condition. When I painted In the Mines, I painted the whole of the lost souls and what it means to risk going underground and being left there in a commercial world. I painted the dark light of man’s last moments, pre-buried. I didn’t paint Jim’s ordeal or Jane’s sacrifice; I painted the ultimate sacrifice for all of us. The same goes for the painting representing the tragedy at the World Trade Center Towers, In the Towers. It represents all of those lost, the fear in all of us, the futility, the capitulation and quiet resignation in the face of the foreground avatar. Bodies twist in that one, as much from the idea of such fantastic carnage as it represents how little we knew of what it must have been like up there and how they would never know what would happen in the years after down here. It is unknown. Putting a specific emotional and realistic face into that dialogue would seem too one sided, like starting an argument with an absolute and refusing to budge your ground.
As mentioned however, “empty” is no triumph and I admit, I could stand to include this element in a more thorough way with my forms. Granted, ‘empty’ may not even be the right word, it may be too harsh (maybe not?), but the viewer trusts me to make the whole argument and I believe I can trust them to engage the whole idea of my intent without stopping on agreement or disagreement of how I use emotion in my paintings. So, I will soon endeavor to better frame my arguments, not neglecting parts of our being for the sake of sterile understanding of the truth.
I have entered into a fine conversation or two recently and perhaps I will post those later. One deals with my art in particular and I found it an interesting take. It was opined that my work is interesting and of notable quality, but “empty”, my emotional content that is. On some level, I agree. Now, for those that know my work and have been exposed to my thinking, it can be agreed that this is quasi-intentional. It is intentional in that my priorities are for painting ideas and notions, not emotional moments and flowers or even pain. I paint ideas and concepts almost philosophically and have actively resisted too much specific emotional baggage. Though this is what I have done, “empty” is no achievement, regardless of where on the totem pole I place the importance of emotion.
That said, my ‘everyman’ forms serve a great purpose. I do not wish to personalize my forms so much that they overpower the theme. Often it is the very idea that individuals are lost in the modern media, replaced by numbers and sensation that drive the ideas behind my paintings. I want to focus on the greater concept of how we are changing as a people, as a world, as a species, with every new development in the conditions of our evolving human condition. When I painted In the Mines, I painted the whole of the lost souls and what it means to risk going underground and being left there in a commercial world. I painted the dark light of man’s last moments, pre-buried. I didn’t paint Jim’s ordeal or Jane’s sacrifice; I painted the ultimate sacrifice for all of us. The same goes for the painting representing the tragedy at the World Trade Center Towers, In the Towers. It represents all of those lost, the fear in all of us, the futility, the capitulation and quiet resignation in the face of the foreground avatar. Bodies twist in that one, as much from the idea of such fantastic carnage as it represents how little we knew of what it must have been like up there and how they would never know what would happen in the years after down here. It is unknown. Putting a specific emotional and realistic face into that dialogue would seem too one sided, like starting an argument with an absolute and refusing to budge your ground.
As mentioned however, “empty” is no triumph and I admit, I could stand to include this element in a more thorough way with my forms. Granted, ‘empty’ may not even be the right word, it may be too harsh (maybe not?), but the viewer trusts me to make the whole argument and I believe I can trust them to engage the whole idea of my intent without stopping on agreement or disagreement of how I use emotion in my paintings. So, I will soon endeavor to better frame my arguments, not neglecting parts of our being for the sake of sterile understanding of the truth.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Clutch
I started a new composition. Sorry Stacy, yours is in my field of view still, just not on the easel. I am in a mild crisis however, so if there are extenuating circumstances, these are they.
How could I ever not do this? By that, I mean paint. I think I imagined last night, for the first time, not having access to [painting/creative endeavors] and it depressed me on a fundamental level. Not because it was sad or because I would not be able to do something that made me happy. It wouldn't be that simple. The depressing insinuation has everything to do with imagining forfeiting who I have always been, who I am today, and whom I always thought I would be.
This new painting, though in the initial stages, shows me painting will never go away. If I were to give all of this up to make those around me more happy I would only accomplish the opposite by becoming a negative force in their lives. If I had to be someone else out of capitulation, what good is that for anyone? What does that teach? What lesson is that? I know. It is a lesson on how not to live. It would be a lesson in failure and regret and forfeiture. Noble lessons some may say(the French?), but I say that those lessons come along the way regardless, in moments of thinness and moments of cowardice or self doubt.
Painting should be thick, brave, and confident. A painting should not be just a picture, it should be an idea. It should be a journey, an exploration, and an experiment. It should be something unresolved in the beginning. It should be a trial and a discovery and something worked out, like life. These criteria should make this new composition interesting.
I am a painter because I am not otherwise.
How could I ever not do this? By that, I mean paint. I think I imagined last night, for the first time, not having access to [painting/creative endeavors] and it depressed me on a fundamental level. Not because it was sad or because I would not be able to do something that made me happy. It wouldn't be that simple. The depressing insinuation has everything to do with imagining forfeiting who I have always been, who I am today, and whom I always thought I would be.
This new painting, though in the initial stages, shows me painting will never go away. If I were to give all of this up to make those around me more happy I would only accomplish the opposite by becoming a negative force in their lives. If I had to be someone else out of capitulation, what good is that for anyone? What does that teach? What lesson is that? I know. It is a lesson on how not to live. It would be a lesson in failure and regret and forfeiture. Noble lessons some may say(the French?), but I say that those lessons come along the way regardless, in moments of thinness and moments of cowardice or self doubt.
Painting should be thick, brave, and confident. A painting should not be just a picture, it should be an idea. It should be a journey, an exploration, and an experiment. It should be something unresolved in the beginning. It should be a trial and a discovery and something worked out, like life. These criteria should make this new composition interesting.
I am a painter because I am not otherwise.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Shift
This could be chemical or this could be bad wine at midnight. This could be fatigue, but this could be real. Often in reflection or thought I come across a new spin on an idea. I practice at this. It takes that, practice. It's tough looking at something differently or anew on demand. It is also important to attempt to view everything from as many angles as one can.
Life is a train ride. Sometimes however, you really need to get off or get on top of this train to get a view not as much for the scenery, but of the vehicle. I still like this metaphor, though my perspective has come to believe that life and choice is nowhere near as linear as train tracks. It's more like the old board game Trouble, where each decision or move is predicated by a push of the hemispherical pop up die toss thing. As in life, direct intention and action couples with randomized interference at the interface of life to determine your fork in the road and inevitably your fate, only in life, the die may have infinite sides and a few other features. But I digress.
Tonight a perspective flashed before me that had no immediate rebuke. There was no automatic refute in my head. There would have been if the idea were as false as it should be, but apparently there is room for consideration. This idea may require a climb to the top of the train and a look around. The flash was this; against all life experience and against all desire and makeup of me, perhaps in the not-so-distant future, I may have to give up painting. Why? I do not live for just me anymore. As minimal as I have allowed painting to become, it may not be enough. It brings in nothing for anyone but me, though I am it. From my daily demands it just seems there is less and less room. And yes I am aware this implies that on a daily basis there is less and less room for me in my own life.
The more I write about this the worse the feeling gets. I don't want to avoid that, but I don't want to buy into something that feels as blackhole-ish as self deprecation. I had the thought for the first time in my life and I felt dread instead of reassurance, that's all.
I may feel fight worthy tomorrow.
Life is a train ride. Sometimes however, you really need to get off or get on top of this train to get a view not as much for the scenery, but of the vehicle. I still like this metaphor, though my perspective has come to believe that life and choice is nowhere near as linear as train tracks. It's more like the old board game Trouble, where each decision or move is predicated by a push of the hemispherical pop up die toss thing. As in life, direct intention and action couples with randomized interference at the interface of life to determine your fork in the road and inevitably your fate, only in life, the die may have infinite sides and a few other features. But I digress.
Tonight a perspective flashed before me that had no immediate rebuke. There was no automatic refute in my head. There would have been if the idea were as false as it should be, but apparently there is room for consideration. This idea may require a climb to the top of the train and a look around. The flash was this; against all life experience and against all desire and makeup of me, perhaps in the not-so-distant future, I may have to give up painting. Why? I do not live for just me anymore. As minimal as I have allowed painting to become, it may not be enough. It brings in nothing for anyone but me, though I am it. From my daily demands it just seems there is less and less room. And yes I am aware this implies that on a daily basis there is less and less room for me in my own life.
The more I write about this the worse the feeling gets. I don't want to avoid that, but I don't want to buy into something that feels as blackhole-ish as self deprecation. I had the thought for the first time in my life and I felt dread instead of reassurance, that's all.
I may feel fight worthy tomorrow.
Friday, July 25, 2008
In Tangled
In Tangled. It is the name of this painting, but it explains so much now. I am entangled with this painting. I mean that. I am not only wrapped up in this painting, but I may be entangled in it in Quantum terms. The changes, the spin, the intent of this thing, this canvas, is some part of me, is it this from afar, mysteriously as Einstein might have suggested. I walk away but it changes in my head as I see it on the canvas and as it changes in the studio. It changes on its own now.
I have been working on it longer than ever anticipated. More than I hate it at times, I appreciate it. It is becoming sentient it. I am only helping it now, not creating it. I am helping it reach it’s own conclusion, I merely facilitate. It’s Ok though, this part too is a part I love. I want to move on, but can’t. Not yet.
This end of the image, this stage is what I think making music must be like. You play your instrument, but you get to a point where your fingers remember riffs on their own and your breathing anticipates passages. Together something original happens, something new. This is where music or the brush becomes your lucid dream, your creation you are riding, your movie being shot, the track you are laying down as you listen. You are in the audience of your own concert. This is no autopilot, it’s experiencing what you are working on, it’s active and passive, transcendent.
This may be the experience, or even the wine, but this guarantees nothing, namely quality. That argument begs debate, but over drinks with friends and maybe in another blog. Suffice it to say, getting to this point with a painting delivers a lot of satisfaction.
Is it done? No. When? No idea. When it speaks up I suppose.
I’m glad I got to paint tonight. Tomorrow is 19 hours of work straight and Saturday is at least 12-16 hours without rest with 4 hours of sleep between. That should effectively eliminate Sunday for anything. I have found welcoming Monday is more than tough, but I must trudge forward. Monday and Tuesday are painting nights so I have to come up with energy and positive vibes from somewhere.
I worked in Burnt Sienna Deep, Burnt Umber, Ocher, with a spit of Flake and a brush of Prussian for depth and primarily on the background.
I have been working on it longer than ever anticipated. More than I hate it at times, I appreciate it. It is becoming sentient it. I am only helping it now, not creating it. I am helping it reach it’s own conclusion, I merely facilitate. It’s Ok though, this part too is a part I love. I want to move on, but can’t. Not yet.
This end of the image, this stage is what I think making music must be like. You play your instrument, but you get to a point where your fingers remember riffs on their own and your breathing anticipates passages. Together something original happens, something new. This is where music or the brush becomes your lucid dream, your creation you are riding, your movie being shot, the track you are laying down as you listen. You are in the audience of your own concert. This is no autopilot, it’s experiencing what you are working on, it’s active and passive, transcendent.
This may be the experience, or even the wine, but this guarantees nothing, namely quality. That argument begs debate, but over drinks with friends and maybe in another blog. Suffice it to say, getting to this point with a painting delivers a lot of satisfaction.
Is it done? No. When? No idea. When it speaks up I suppose.
I’m glad I got to paint tonight. Tomorrow is 19 hours of work straight and Saturday is at least 12-16 hours without rest with 4 hours of sleep between. That should effectively eliminate Sunday for anything. I have found welcoming Monday is more than tough, but I must trudge forward. Monday and Tuesday are painting nights so I have to come up with energy and positive vibes from somewhere.
I worked in Burnt Sienna Deep, Burnt Umber, Ocher, with a spit of Flake and a brush of Prussian for depth and primarily on the background.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Time to Paint
I painted this weekend, somehow. It was a busy weekend. Due to a fairly thorough sub layer Saturday night (Brown Madder, Yellow Ocher, Prussian, and Flake) I had to walk away from finishing the whole upper layer as planned. It was too wet to continue in the time I had. I had hoped to catch that tacky stage for finishing some complimentary highlighting, but was unable to get started on time. I was ready too. That has become a thing in fact. More on that later.
Tonight IS a pre-designated painting night however and in that vein, tonight I paint! I prep for the final skin with some revaluing of shaded areas. I will tackle the compliment highlights tomorrow. There is a chance I could throw it off with tonight’s grays the other way around. My recent color adjustments have prompted tonight’s revaluing, but when executed, this adjustment in value will lend itself well to establishing the form of the final layer of skin I hope to tackle tomorrow. It depends on how carried away I get tonight. The fun part is, tonight is relatively monochromatic and generally just shading. It *should* be pretty straight forward and relaxed though there will be a lot of ground to cover. I have a lot of area planned and a unifying warm gray, but this gray will have to dial up and down over the variety of under layers I will be addressing. This will be tough to do correctly, but I love this kind of straight sword fight on occasion. There is less calculation and more fight.
As for the other thing, starting on time is tough in an active household. My painting is regularly deprioritized, but the fact that it has any priority at all is a testament to my perseverance for its importance. This type of struggle is historically common in the arts. I don’t intend to suggest that it is justified in any way because it is common. I won’t even argue that though most successful artists, whether musical, written word, visual, or performing artists, have experienced this priority struggle, that it is even then justified. Hell, I’m not even trying to justify it. There is no reason for that. What I would like to point out is simply this; until one experiences great success in something creative, other elements in life will attempt to unseat those endeavors claiming they are a waste of time or that they obviously are not contributing to the bottom line, the bills, or whatever. No, there is no justifying the creative endeavors because that would require that they are compared to success, time spent wisely, the bottom line, bills, or whatever. There is no comparison because those things exist to support creative endeavors, not the other way around and are not to be compared as though equal or competing.
I am fully aware only now, that not all people understand this distinction. It is an important one. The people that do not understand merely see the above observation as only moving words around while their personal interpretation remains intact. Those that understand the distinction are just nodding, hopelessly. They know the difference and know it is hopeless to explain. In a nutshell, art is life and all that we do is but a servant, obediently struggling to carve out enough time to live it.
Tonight IS a pre-designated painting night however and in that vein, tonight I paint! I prep for the final skin with some revaluing of shaded areas. I will tackle the compliment highlights tomorrow. There is a chance I could throw it off with tonight’s grays the other way around. My recent color adjustments have prompted tonight’s revaluing, but when executed, this adjustment in value will lend itself well to establishing the form of the final layer of skin I hope to tackle tomorrow. It depends on how carried away I get tonight. The fun part is, tonight is relatively monochromatic and generally just shading. It *should* be pretty straight forward and relaxed though there will be a lot of ground to cover. I have a lot of area planned and a unifying warm gray, but this gray will have to dial up and down over the variety of under layers I will be addressing. This will be tough to do correctly, but I love this kind of straight sword fight on occasion. There is less calculation and more fight.
As for the other thing, starting on time is tough in an active household. My painting is regularly deprioritized, but the fact that it has any priority at all is a testament to my perseverance for its importance. This type of struggle is historically common in the arts. I don’t intend to suggest that it is justified in any way because it is common. I won’t even argue that though most successful artists, whether musical, written word, visual, or performing artists, have experienced this priority struggle, that it is even then justified. Hell, I’m not even trying to justify it. There is no reason for that. What I would like to point out is simply this; until one experiences great success in something creative, other elements in life will attempt to unseat those endeavors claiming they are a waste of time or that they obviously are not contributing to the bottom line, the bills, or whatever. No, there is no justifying the creative endeavors because that would require that they are compared to success, time spent wisely, the bottom line, bills, or whatever. There is no comparison because those things exist to support creative endeavors, not the other way around and are not to be compared as though equal or competing.
I am fully aware only now, that not all people understand this distinction. It is an important one. The people that do not understand merely see the above observation as only moving words around while their personal interpretation remains intact. Those that understand the distinction are just nodding, hopelessly. They know the difference and know it is hopeless to explain. In a nutshell, art is life and all that we do is but a servant, obediently struggling to carve out enough time to live it.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Snake's Alive
I was right, I started hating this painting. Tonight I painted, now I like it again. There is much work ahead, but the direction is clear and the finish nearly as much so. Once again, I used the intimidation of a more difficult task, or at least one with heavier consequences, to my advantage. Knowing I had to lay down the final skin layer for 'In Tangle' and nail it, I decided instead to aim for lower fruit, the snake and some glazing. It paid off. I was relaxed and open. As a result, I have to keep looking over my shoulder because the painting is creeping me out. I will post it soon, perhaps this weekend if I get the chance to work on it again. I need to harmonize the color in her final layers for it to visually sing first.
It is this act, this forming a picture from thin air, causing an emotional reaction, on a previously blank canvas that really gives testimony to the power of imagery, imagination, and how these things color reality. And by reality I don't mean practicality or prudence or maturity. I mean reality, our surroundings and our results when we interact in it. If you were to walk into my studio right now, you would find me nekkid typing at the computer and drinking wine, then you would see the wet painting just behind me and you would have a reaction either internally or something externally/more expressive. I'm kidding about the nekkid thing, but that imagery caused a change in your chain of reality as well. That change may have lead to a memory or a story or a gag reflex, but whatever the reaction or even lack thereof, your reality altered ever so slightly. This painting would do something similar, maybe even the gag reflex. Reality is chaos really so this implies the butterfly affect = a butterfly flaps it's tissue wings, changing the air around it which passes change on until eventually it chains to a typhoon in Japan. My point is, this painting came from the ether of my mind as imagination. Empty head jokes aside, this imagination can lead to a typhoon of change and in this studio I'm flapping my wings like crazy.
Tonight I worked with Cad Yellow Medium, Burnt Sienna Deep, Golden Alzarin, Burnt Umber, Yellow Ocher, some Flake and some Prussian, but just a swipe.
It is this act, this forming a picture from thin air, causing an emotional reaction, on a previously blank canvas that really gives testimony to the power of imagery, imagination, and how these things color reality. And by reality I don't mean practicality or prudence or maturity. I mean reality, our surroundings and our results when we interact in it. If you were to walk into my studio right now, you would find me nekkid typing at the computer and drinking wine, then you would see the wet painting just behind me and you would have a reaction either internally or something externally/more expressive. I'm kidding about the nekkid thing, but that imagery caused a change in your chain of reality as well. That change may have lead to a memory or a story or a gag reflex, but whatever the reaction or even lack thereof, your reality altered ever so slightly. This painting would do something similar, maybe even the gag reflex. Reality is chaos really so this implies the butterfly affect = a butterfly flaps it's tissue wings, changing the air around it which passes change on until eventually it chains to a typhoon in Japan. My point is, this painting came from the ether of my mind as imagination. Empty head jokes aside, this imagination can lead to a typhoon of change and in this studio I'm flapping my wings like crazy.
Tonight I worked with Cad Yellow Medium, Burnt Sienna Deep, Golden Alzarin, Burnt Umber, Yellow Ocher, some Flake and some Prussian, but just a swipe.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Tonight was mine
Tonight, I made headway. I cannot claim victory yet, but the changes I made fit my vision, improved the whole, and revealed new things. What more can you ask for? What was the secret formula? What series of events lead me to progress? What guide, what Sherpa joined the party? Well, nothing that exotic, I simply had more important work to do (a portrait) and chose to put it off for tonight. That gave me the freedom I needed to experiment with an idea. The sex beforehand on this very floor, wine after that, and funky online radio station playing some sort of Latin rap/Maori Tribal chants during the session helped a touch, and the fine cigar for post analysis rounded out the picture. All day I was in a funk, but tonight was a measured electricity. It was probably the sex.
I'm reconstructing the InTangle piece. It shouldn't be long now. I can't wait. Though it has proven interesting as I have now worked with new elements like animals, in this case a snake, I am ready to push forward... and, yes, at some point finish that portrait too.
Tomorrow is a painting night as well. I do not anticipate the same formula at the ready, but I should be flying high enough from the relative success I found tonight. Of course, as often happens, I could wake to the realization of total dread. I could look back on tonight's formula and find that maybe the sex was right, but the wine clouded my clarity (it is red after all), the music skewed my soul (kinda felt like that anyway), and the cigar poisoned the whole affair (it was a nice Rocky Patel though?). That would be Ok because I know the day after that I will appreciate it again.
Worked in Prussian, Burnt Umber, and Flake tonight.
I'm reconstructing the InTangle piece. It shouldn't be long now. I can't wait. Though it has proven interesting as I have now worked with new elements like animals, in this case a snake, I am ready to push forward... and, yes, at some point finish that portrait too.
Tomorrow is a painting night as well. I do not anticipate the same formula at the ready, but I should be flying high enough from the relative success I found tonight. Of course, as often happens, I could wake to the realization of total dread. I could look back on tonight's formula and find that maybe the sex was right, but the wine clouded my clarity (it is red after all), the music skewed my soul (kinda felt like that anyway), and the cigar poisoned the whole affair (it was a nice Rocky Patel though?). That would be Ok because I know the day after that I will appreciate it again.
Worked in Prussian, Burnt Umber, and Flake tonight.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Bah
Bah, I knew I jinxed myself once I said the word completion. That latest painting has evolved and now eats at my head as it will do until I do actually finish it. What happened? I left it up, on the easel, in view. That is what happened. Much like a crooked picture on a wall or the tiny stain on your shirt, though actually insignificant, it will eat at you until something is done. I saw one thing that begged attention until it became two things and more. Now I find myself embroiled in a struggle to bring the painting to some unforeseen conclusion, its life or death hanging in the balance. What started as a one night stand has now become some sort of obsessive codependent weekly rendezvous, complete in its confusing slurry of clear intentions and warped desire, like hormones to the innocent.
I was out of town last week and the break helped clarify a few things I want to do in paint. It’s always helpful to take a step back or to step away. What’s also helpful is to never look at a painting again. I have found that a couple of things satisfy this requirement such as fire, a short trip to the dumpster, banishing them to facing the wall, or selling them away. It is important to note that the decision on how they live or die must be made well in advance of a possible ensuing buzz. All decisions after inebriation usually end incorrectly.
The latter choice on the list, believe it or not, is the hardest. Selling a painting is certainly less satisfying than terminating its existence in a flurry of paint and quick stabbing motions with brush handles that culminate in a twisting wrestling match out to the trash bin. That only happened once, but I still think of that fondly to this day. No, selling a painting feels so final and irrevocable and almost like abandonment. I know it will be out there somewhere, sold away as if to a for profit adoption agency. And yes, I embrace this agony as a living. What is art without pain?
I was out of town last week and the break helped clarify a few things I want to do in paint. It’s always helpful to take a step back or to step away. What’s also helpful is to never look at a painting again. I have found that a couple of things satisfy this requirement such as fire, a short trip to the dumpster, banishing them to facing the wall, or selling them away. It is important to note that the decision on how they live or die must be made well in advance of a possible ensuing buzz. All decisions after inebriation usually end incorrectly.
The latter choice on the list, believe it or not, is the hardest. Selling a painting is certainly less satisfying than terminating its existence in a flurry of paint and quick stabbing motions with brush handles that culminate in a twisting wrestling match out to the trash bin. That only happened once, but I still think of that fondly to this day. No, selling a painting feels so final and irrevocable and almost like abandonment. I know it will be out there somewhere, sold away as if to a for profit adoption agency. And yes, I embrace this agony as a living. What is art without pain?
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Conundrum
I am nearing completion, I think, on a latest painting. See In Tangle on my website, http://www.lanceeldert.com/. It has been an interesting process and frankly is going in a different direction than planned, but not off topic. This is fine, in fact, welcome. It’s a piece of the method I enjoy even, the unknown and the exploration. Also, one hidden benefit of working a painting beyond the original scope or intent or design is running into problems that inevitably crop up and solving them. If enough of these problems crop up and enough solutions are found, a style emerges on its own, a sort of characteristic of one’s method. This is seen in treatment of edges, surface dialogue, and the like.
The Conundrum then is that those things are the details, the gears and structures, not the overall impact or concept. When you step away from the painting after working on the small bits you take in the whole picture. The picture in this case is an amalgam of nudity and insinuated sex, crotch shot and all, with gravitationally pummeled breasts. I have been fine with this all along, but if I am no longer just painting for me, how much utility does this particular painting possess? Nudity is one thing, but full frontal with an exposed, um, gap, is possibly quite another. For a brief moment I considered the idea of pulling a Klimt. He would often paint the whole body then cover it with his constructs of design or renderings of clothing. It isn’t thought he was doing it to amend his original intent in anyway, just that he was finding the dimensions and placement of parts before continuing. My brief consideration was not this at all. It was a thought to make my painting palatable to the public for display. This, of course, flies in the face of artistic freedom and license and is presumptive of me to even think this would ever be an issue, but that then is the question, what can the public tolerate or better yet, what is appropriate today? Where does our mainstream lie? Nudity for the Greeks was normal, nudity for middle America, not so much.
Granted, my first response is, “there is no issue, nudity is natural and makes a better narrative,” and I still think this. It’s the second thought that is causing the problem. The third thought? That one is Ok too; it’s the second that gets in the way. If I were to craft a painting a day I believe the issue would go away. So does this mean the question is economic? Enough time and energy is spent on each one that each one represents a larger share of the aggregate and it is this that determines the viability of a career. To be clear, I am not talking selling out or buying in necessarily, I am talking omitting some subject matter until I can adjust my production vs. time ratio into more prolific territory. That would happen with more success which, in turn, translates into more time to paint by replacing the day job. More paintings mean more freedom.
If there is an economics professor or coffee shop philosopher or fellow artist I would love to hear from you. If you are a dry cleaner clerk or chicken kicker your advice may require a pinch of salt. Yes, I just wanted to say chicken kicker.
The Conundrum then is that those things are the details, the gears and structures, not the overall impact or concept. When you step away from the painting after working on the small bits you take in the whole picture. The picture in this case is an amalgam of nudity and insinuated sex, crotch shot and all, with gravitationally pummeled breasts. I have been fine with this all along, but if I am no longer just painting for me, how much utility does this particular painting possess? Nudity is one thing, but full frontal with an exposed, um, gap, is possibly quite another. For a brief moment I considered the idea of pulling a Klimt. He would often paint the whole body then cover it with his constructs of design or renderings of clothing. It isn’t thought he was doing it to amend his original intent in anyway, just that he was finding the dimensions and placement of parts before continuing. My brief consideration was not this at all. It was a thought to make my painting palatable to the public for display. This, of course, flies in the face of artistic freedom and license and is presumptive of me to even think this would ever be an issue, but that then is the question, what can the public tolerate or better yet, what is appropriate today? Where does our mainstream lie? Nudity for the Greeks was normal, nudity for middle America, not so much.
Granted, my first response is, “there is no issue, nudity is natural and makes a better narrative,” and I still think this. It’s the second thought that is causing the problem. The third thought? That one is Ok too; it’s the second that gets in the way. If I were to craft a painting a day I believe the issue would go away. So does this mean the question is economic? Enough time and energy is spent on each one that each one represents a larger share of the aggregate and it is this that determines the viability of a career. To be clear, I am not talking selling out or buying in necessarily, I am talking omitting some subject matter until I can adjust my production vs. time ratio into more prolific territory. That would happen with more success which, in turn, translates into more time to paint by replacing the day job. More paintings mean more freedom.
If there is an economics professor or coffee shop philosopher or fellow artist I would love to hear from you. If you are a dry cleaner clerk or chicken kicker your advice may require a pinch of salt. Yes, I just wanted to say chicken kicker.
Friday, June 13, 2008
California landscape painters need not worry
Occasionally a topic strain comes up from one of the groups I am a part that deserves repeating for one reason or another. This is one.
I wrote initially:
"Change is in the air. It feels as though we are in the midst of a tidal change, not necessarily a sea change, in the art world. More and more books are making their way to the shelves pronouncing the end of art and the end of the art world. With varying rhetoric, the message seems eerily similar. At first glance a panic sets in, but in further delving it becomes clear that the vibe is not that painting is dying, but that the art world has become so detached from art making that a crisis looms. In many ways I agree. It is a business and really always has been, but historically it was more a business built on Art rather than a business with a product it labeled with an art logo."
An interesting response:
"Hi Lance, welcome on board! Fortunately the writing you cite haven't crossed my easel, and I see no danger among my contacts. Luckily none of my work goes to market and I don't depend on income from it, although many artists in Northern California are selling works, in landscape mostly, though thoughtful work appears in galleries and public places for which artists are reimbursed. Painting shows no disease signs here, and room for all of us exists. The last book I read, Art and Fear, David Bayles, and before that The Art Spirit, by Robt Henry, as pertinent today as it was half a century ago, both offer insight and hope for all artists. Keep on painting!"
Optimistic yes and that always brings a smile, but rarely illuminates.
So I mentioned this:
"Some noteworthy literature deserving a look; the End of Art- Donald Kuspit, The End of the Art World- Robert C. Morgan, Post Modernism A Guide to Cutting edge Thinking- Richard Appignanesi & Chris Garratt, The Philosophy of Art- G.W.F. Hegel, The Artist's Reality Philosophies of Art- Mark Rothko, Ways of Seeing- John Berger, and This is Modern Art- Mathew Collins. I did not mean to suggest that anything was in danger of not selling; rather I meant to suggest that everything is in danger of selling. Of the art world: it may no longer be a trustworthy authority on talent or art for that matter. The disconnect between the spectacle that drives it and the lack of discourse that used to, is great enough to warrant looking about for the real authority, a new set of experts outside the art world buffet. I agree, landscape painters in California will never fear for lack of commercial attention in this 'market'. Plastic cup makers in China will never fear for a lack of demand either and the world will miss the irony of the little gold sticker on the bottom of the green plastic plate that says China on it. Not to say ALL California landscape painters are cheap plastic cups either, just that it is the skewed market that makes so many and currently it is the skewed market that determines ones success, not quality or innovation or dialogue.And no, this is not bitter. This is me kicking my feet over the edge of the bed and rubbing my eyes as if in the morning, about to see if the coffee is ready... metaphorically preaching. =) Understand though, it is not the artists or even the art I am taking to task, it is the system. And yes, I know how cliché' that sounds all, stand up to the man and all that, but in reality, the flaw is palpable and the discordance worthy of revolution, if even silent or slow. The art world performs taxation without representation and though I do not in the least think that art nears the analogy of democracy, I do believe it deserves recreating the system in order to better discover a real Ben Franklin or Whistler or a Greenberg."
Now, that may come off a bit harsh perhaps, but not if you know me. Also of importance, this person was an innocent responder on a mostly supportive art group forum. We go there to say how great each other's work is and to say, "you go, keep on keepin on," and the like. I do too I think. But it has to be pointed out that it can't be any more obvious the depth at which we are all buying into the industry. If you go the book store and pick up, oh I don't know; How to Get Hung A Practical Guide for Emerging Artists- Molly Barnes or Taking the Leap- Lang or any number of other vampiric tomes you really start to get the idea that artists or artiness in people is but a commodity. I challenge anyone to walk into a Michaels (if you know what that is, that says enough) and not think that art has not been assimilated into capitalism. It is no big leap to imagine that at higher prices and margins that this isn't the case in the art world.
Sure, it would be easy to see that a Michaels shines out of convenience and that they are doing no wrong...what the market will bear right? I say, sure, there really is no problem with that until we start buying art from Michaels and those market pressures determine what art is by what is selling. Wait, that's happening. I don't mean to say that Michaels is the art world either, I mean to say the art world is doing the same thing, they are the same animal.
Take that for what it is.
And yes, selling through galleries should be fine. As mentioned, it isn't the artists or the art I have a problem with, it is the galleries creating the illusion that they are the authority where I have the problem. The art world is not in galleries, disco show openings, or behind glass, it resides in studios, with artists.
I wrote initially:
"Change is in the air. It feels as though we are in the midst of a tidal change, not necessarily a sea change, in the art world. More and more books are making their way to the shelves pronouncing the end of art and the end of the art world. With varying rhetoric, the message seems eerily similar. At first glance a panic sets in, but in further delving it becomes clear that the vibe is not that painting is dying, but that the art world has become so detached from art making that a crisis looms. In many ways I agree. It is a business and really always has been, but historically it was more a business built on Art rather than a business with a product it labeled with an art logo."
An interesting response:
"Hi Lance, welcome on board! Fortunately the writing you cite haven't crossed my easel, and I see no danger among my contacts. Luckily none of my work goes to market and I don't depend on income from it, although many artists in Northern California are selling works, in landscape mostly, though thoughtful work appears in galleries and public places for which artists are reimbursed. Painting shows no disease signs here, and room for all of us exists. The last book I read, Art and Fear, David Bayles, and before that The Art Spirit, by Robt Henry, as pertinent today as it was half a century ago, both offer insight and hope for all artists. Keep on painting!"
Optimistic yes and that always brings a smile, but rarely illuminates.
So I mentioned this:
"Some noteworthy literature deserving a look; the End of Art- Donald Kuspit, The End of the Art World- Robert C. Morgan, Post Modernism A Guide to Cutting edge Thinking- Richard Appignanesi & Chris Garratt, The Philosophy of Art- G.W.F. Hegel, The Artist's Reality Philosophies of Art- Mark Rothko, Ways of Seeing- John Berger, and This is Modern Art- Mathew Collins. I did not mean to suggest that anything was in danger of not selling; rather I meant to suggest that everything is in danger of selling. Of the art world: it may no longer be a trustworthy authority on talent or art for that matter. The disconnect between the spectacle that drives it and the lack of discourse that used to, is great enough to warrant looking about for the real authority, a new set of experts outside the art world buffet. I agree, landscape painters in California will never fear for lack of commercial attention in this 'market'. Plastic cup makers in China will never fear for a lack of demand either and the world will miss the irony of the little gold sticker on the bottom of the green plastic plate that says China on it. Not to say ALL California landscape painters are cheap plastic cups either, just that it is the skewed market that makes so many and currently it is the skewed market that determines ones success, not quality or innovation or dialogue.And no, this is not bitter. This is me kicking my feet over the edge of the bed and rubbing my eyes as if in the morning, about to see if the coffee is ready... metaphorically preaching. =) Understand though, it is not the artists or even the art I am taking to task, it is the system. And yes, I know how cliché' that sounds all, stand up to the man and all that, but in reality, the flaw is palpable and the discordance worthy of revolution, if even silent or slow. The art world performs taxation without representation and though I do not in the least think that art nears the analogy of democracy, I do believe it deserves recreating the system in order to better discover a real Ben Franklin or Whistler or a Greenberg."
Now, that may come off a bit harsh perhaps, but not if you know me. Also of importance, this person was an innocent responder on a mostly supportive art group forum. We go there to say how great each other's work is and to say, "you go, keep on keepin on," and the like. I do too I think. But it has to be pointed out that it can't be any more obvious the depth at which we are all buying into the industry. If you go the book store and pick up, oh I don't know; How to Get Hung A Practical Guide for Emerging Artists- Molly Barnes or Taking the Leap- Lang or any number of other vampiric tomes you really start to get the idea that artists or artiness in people is but a commodity. I challenge anyone to walk into a Michaels (if you know what that is, that says enough) and not think that art has not been assimilated into capitalism. It is no big leap to imagine that at higher prices and margins that this isn't the case in the art world.
Sure, it would be easy to see that a Michaels shines out of convenience and that they are doing no wrong...what the market will bear right? I say, sure, there really is no problem with that until we start buying art from Michaels and those market pressures determine what art is by what is selling. Wait, that's happening. I don't mean to say that Michaels is the art world either, I mean to say the art world is doing the same thing, they are the same animal.
Take that for what it is.
And yes, selling through galleries should be fine. As mentioned, it isn't the artists or the art I have a problem with, it is the galleries creating the illusion that they are the authority where I have the problem. The art world is not in galleries, disco show openings, or behind glass, it resides in studios, with artists.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
It IS a tumor!
Is painting dead? I have seen this question a lot lately and in fact, by association, it is addressed in many of the books I have been consuming. There is a discussion circulating through the public veins that began as a tumor elsewhere in the body of the art world. The tumor was the notion of “art for art’s sake”, embedded in the whole post modern era. The claim that art was art simply by claiming it to be, effectively stripped all things that made art, well, art. It was saying that anything was art, as long as you called it that. This was no off the cuff nickname that happened to stick because there was an element of truth to it either, rather it was the culmination of decades of pressure to stretch the limits of expression and limitlessness. Someone had to say it and no one knew what to say in response, so it lingers like a good comeback or punch line, mistaken for poignant revelation.
As for Post Modern, it is often referred to as a movement and paintings are described as being post modern, but post modern really refers to the time after modern or after WWII when the hinges came off of aesthetic rigor in the art world and when the spectacle was born as a replacement for true artistic dialogue.
The symptoms leading to the tumor however started well over a hundred years ago, or further, when artists really began liberating painting in public acceptance from just being a craft or vocation. Much like symptoms that lead to tumors like excessive drinking or smoking, the things that lead to this disease were expressions of exploration and celebration and innovation. Many movements were born that enriched art as we know it and that have informed society, philosophy, and advances of all kinds since. We are better for our art. We are worse with this tumor.
I should clarify though, the tumor is in the ‘art world’, not necessarily in our art or in the act of painting. The two realms are different and it is in this observation that saying painting is dead becomes erroneous. Painting is not dead. I highly doubt it ever will be. We have been painting for 40 thousand years and the cover of Art News last month points out that the industry is in the 25 billion dollar a year range today. No, it isn’t painting, but the art world that is dying as we know it. It will fight however, as it is no longer a community, but an enterprise or an industry, a corporation essentially, with profits. People fight for money. The problem is, it is killing itself by feeding on itself. If it were still a community supporting artists it would be adapting and evolving in a sustainable manner. But it isn’t. It is a business and a business makes pictures, not art. Sure it will struggle, but something will have to give. I won’t go as far to suggest the industry will actually die away. It is far too large and possesses the illusion of grander content to just go away. It will have to change from propagating the tyranny of the gallery system and the requisite lackies therein driven by market forces and the subjugation of profiteering however, if it wishes to survive. It is a system still riding the coattails of the likes of Warhol, assuming that his formula was evidence enough that movements could be replaced by trends and conversation could be replaced by spectacle. Sure there may always be the Thomas Kincaids and the random ‘abstract’ canvas around to match your couch, but in this age of information proliferation and distribution contract emancipation (as seen in the record industry as of late) the animal we call the art world will have to change, not because I want it to, but because it’s blood is contaminated with the cancer cells of thoughtless art.
As for Post Modern, it is often referred to as a movement and paintings are described as being post modern, but post modern really refers to the time after modern or after WWII when the hinges came off of aesthetic rigor in the art world and when the spectacle was born as a replacement for true artistic dialogue.
The symptoms leading to the tumor however started well over a hundred years ago, or further, when artists really began liberating painting in public acceptance from just being a craft or vocation. Much like symptoms that lead to tumors like excessive drinking or smoking, the things that lead to this disease were expressions of exploration and celebration and innovation. Many movements were born that enriched art as we know it and that have informed society, philosophy, and advances of all kinds since. We are better for our art. We are worse with this tumor.
I should clarify though, the tumor is in the ‘art world’, not necessarily in our art or in the act of painting. The two realms are different and it is in this observation that saying painting is dead becomes erroneous. Painting is not dead. I highly doubt it ever will be. We have been painting for 40 thousand years and the cover of Art News last month points out that the industry is in the 25 billion dollar a year range today. No, it isn’t painting, but the art world that is dying as we know it. It will fight however, as it is no longer a community, but an enterprise or an industry, a corporation essentially, with profits. People fight for money. The problem is, it is killing itself by feeding on itself. If it were still a community supporting artists it would be adapting and evolving in a sustainable manner. But it isn’t. It is a business and a business makes pictures, not art. Sure it will struggle, but something will have to give. I won’t go as far to suggest the industry will actually die away. It is far too large and possesses the illusion of grander content to just go away. It will have to change from propagating the tyranny of the gallery system and the requisite lackies therein driven by market forces and the subjugation of profiteering however, if it wishes to survive. It is a system still riding the coattails of the likes of Warhol, assuming that his formula was evidence enough that movements could be replaced by trends and conversation could be replaced by spectacle. Sure there may always be the Thomas Kincaids and the random ‘abstract’ canvas around to match your couch, but in this age of information proliferation and distribution contract emancipation (as seen in the record industry as of late) the animal we call the art world will have to change, not because I want it to, but because it’s blood is contaminated with the cancer cells of thoughtless art.
Monday, June 2, 2008
If you are afraid to fail, do so.
If you are afraid to fail, than that is just what you should do, fail. All things in moderation is my follow up word of wisdom however. Too much success at failing only leads to failing to succeed so don’t get good at it, just embrace it long enough to lose the fear of it. This is no different than any other fear, with the exception of the fear of dying, that one has to be resolved by proxy.
This is my new qualifying creed for my art. I say new as if this is my first attempt at curing a fear of failure, truth be told I have embraced failure before with my art and seemingly every time it yields something interesting, arguably a form of success too.
I should be more clear, by failure I mean to say that I reach some form of dejection or doubt with my art in terms of marketability or as a career choice in general. I get to a point that every now and again I wonder what the hell I am doing. Of course, when my head clears days later this is only verification that I am on the right track because if the path is too clear you are no longer exploring. At the time however, it stinks of real concern. The problem is, when you are truly exploring you occasionally feel lost. Feeling lost feels like failure to someone exploring.
This happened this weekend, I felt a little lost. So what did I do? I embraced it, said f*it, opened the wine and just started painting. It was freeing. I wasn’t painting for anyone or to any end. If I were metaphorically lost as an explorer in the woods, I had stopped, made camp, built a fire, and was downing the whiskey while running through the forest nekkid singing Jimmy Crack corn and I don’t care (does Jimmy, crack, and corn imply nudity by the way??). From this heightened technical approach to hunting creativity, I bagged my game, the painting I am tentatively calling, In Tangle. See www.lanceeldert.com.
This painting captures a lot from one night without the usual endless mulling, deliberation, and layering normally taking days and weeks. This painting was a one night stand. It was born of a spasm of emotion and freedom only found when embracing demons like failure and feels that way in it’s atmosphere and heat and struggle. This painting also represents a return to the In the Towers style that sparked this whole line of work that has been my narrative for the past year, but with an evolved edge. Making this one felt more like passion and wet sex than some of my slower attentive pieces of late. Sometimes that is just what you need.
So I say release the structure of daily demands for success occasionally. I say Carpe Diem (or Carpe Noctem)! I say, “exist for tonight!” – ala Zack Hudson c. 1991. I say f*it, get lost, get drunk (metaphorically if you don’t drink), get wet sex, and sing at the top of your lungs nekkid in the woods, then get back to work.
This is my new qualifying creed for my art. I say new as if this is my first attempt at curing a fear of failure, truth be told I have embraced failure before with my art and seemingly every time it yields something interesting, arguably a form of success too.
I should be more clear, by failure I mean to say that I reach some form of dejection or doubt with my art in terms of marketability or as a career choice in general. I get to a point that every now and again I wonder what the hell I am doing. Of course, when my head clears days later this is only verification that I am on the right track because if the path is too clear you are no longer exploring. At the time however, it stinks of real concern. The problem is, when you are truly exploring you occasionally feel lost. Feeling lost feels like failure to someone exploring.
This happened this weekend, I felt a little lost. So what did I do? I embraced it, said f*it, opened the wine and just started painting. It was freeing. I wasn’t painting for anyone or to any end. If I were metaphorically lost as an explorer in the woods, I had stopped, made camp, built a fire, and was downing the whiskey while running through the forest nekkid singing Jimmy Crack corn and I don’t care (does Jimmy, crack, and corn imply nudity by the way??). From this heightened technical approach to hunting creativity, I bagged my game, the painting I am tentatively calling, In Tangle. See www.lanceeldert.com.
This painting captures a lot from one night without the usual endless mulling, deliberation, and layering normally taking days and weeks. This painting was a one night stand. It was born of a spasm of emotion and freedom only found when embracing demons like failure and feels that way in it’s atmosphere and heat and struggle. This painting also represents a return to the In the Towers style that sparked this whole line of work that has been my narrative for the past year, but with an evolved edge. Making this one felt more like passion and wet sex than some of my slower attentive pieces of late. Sometimes that is just what you need.
So I say release the structure of daily demands for success occasionally. I say Carpe Diem (or Carpe Noctem)! I say, “exist for tonight!” – ala Zack Hudson c. 1991. I say f*it, get lost, get drunk (metaphorically if you don’t drink), get wet sex, and sing at the top of your lungs nekkid in the woods, then get back to work.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
When is art porn or vice versa?
Finally, I've begun a new painting. I have two I am still working on and a third begging for attention with an idea, but no composition. This new one took on a life of it's own from the start, but wasn't planned that way. Are the others supplying too much pressure that I needed a good dose of freedom? Am I rambling in oil now? Is this a doodle while listening to a lecture? I don't know, but it looks good and has me pretty excited. It has a great glow so far and the shapes are intriguing, but it beckons another question, when has a shape gone too far?
One can argue that a shape never hurt anyone and therefore cannot be as much the culprit as the viewer construing added meaning. But one can argue that no meaning can come before the shape. The swastika is a shape. It clearly represents evil things, but is the shape itself bad? If found in the future buried in a forest, long after the human race eliminated itself, it would only be a clue and a design, not the Nazi movement, yes? Of course I would have to concede that once other clues of our race were discovered then yes, the shape of a swastika could be redefined as representing something evil.
Now, in my paintings I am not trying to defend swastikas nor do I include any, but I am wondering how far is too far when it comes to shapes. In particular, when does art become porn? Is the outline of a proportionally large penis porn? Are labial folds porn? Is an erotic pose porn? It is a valid question, but it is also one I do not want to define per se. It's a question that would be terribly interesting to answer because it has so many implications and would be a very interesting conversation over a few beers, but not one I want defined exactly. In fact, it would have been THE perfect conversation back in college when I was single. It begins with intelligent insight and the sharing of knowledge on art and history and humanity, but it would serve the dual purpose of negotiating the imaginary boundary line between each others views on sexuality. You would know right away how far the date could go and which base was art and whether you could steal home AND whether porn will be involved later.
I digress, where is the 'line' drawn? In my latest painting, started just last night, clearly some well formed breasts are prominent. For the record, I am a butt man, but(t) this doesn't really come into play when I paint. My painting is usually about something that, to me, feels beyond sexual boundary and societal convention. I paint ideas and emotion and if a nice pair make there way on to the canvas than it's nice scenery during the process. That brings up my true contention, I believe the boundary between art and porn is mostly limited to intent anyway. What does the author (or digital pimp) intend? What is meant by the image in question and for whom is it meant? It's a good question and one might be persuaded that the point of intent is enough to leave it at that. I say, "Buuuuuutt..."
I say, "buutt," because intent can be so gray. First of all, we may never know the true intent behind an image. Even if we do, society may down the line decide that the intent behind a particular image isn't all that bad. Public opinion changes. In the past it was at times black and at times white and still at others both black and white, but when considered over time it is gray. In fact, I would say more and more things become gray as more and more information is catalogued, made readily available online, and easily compared or conjured with the click of a mouse. That is a completely different conversation however.
Secondly, there is artistic porn and pornographic art and graphic sexuality with an artsy touch or even 'good porn'. What of the line being drawn as a genre of it's own? The gray just got bigger. It is much like oil painting there, gray is actually one of the most important and most difficult to master treatments. It is the gray that makes the color. And maybe that's the thing, it's the gray area that makes the art?
Maybe a demonstrative question that could shed some light is, what is my intent in this new painting? I intend to reach the viewer, engaging the imagination, and starting a visual conversation. It just so happens that it requires boobs to do it in this particular dialogue. If I meant to arouse you, that very image would change before our eyes. If it comes off too pornographic though, it limits the audience and salability. Does that limit the conversation then? When does the line cross the line?
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Oil
It's a loaded word oil. It is a resource, a medium, a suspension, a vehicle, and a dirty word these days. But I use the medium. I am a painter.
I can be found here: http://www.lanceeldert.com/
My work is exploratory and more about the image than the surface statement. The idea comes first usually on which the image is built. I have a tendency toward short series as ideas have many sides and I dwell on them a bit, but not too much. No other media feels as open ended and available to me. I write often and love it, in fact I feel pent up without that release of prose, but it is oil that really does it for me. It seems more efficient in a way. A finished painting keeps creating words when viewed. It will go on forever if you keep looking. A good painting will come to life and live far beyond the creator. It can have a voice and a story and use one to express the other as long as there is someone to see it. I know one is done when it basically puts me in a trance and I just stare without seeing things to work on. When a painting begins a conversation with you when you walk in the room, that's how you know.
I do not believe painting is limited to the realistic or is obligated to use the absurd to be art. I do not believe it has to shock you either or require lengthy explanation. I do not believe something qualifies as art because just anyone has labeled it as such. On that note, though I consider the notion, "art for art's sake" a mistake and lazy, I do not wish to define what it actually is, provided I dare claim the acumen to do so anyway. It is a dynamic entity, organic across ages, so any attempt at true definition is destined to fail over time. You do know it when you see it and it's best spotted by trained professionals, but to prove it is or is not is like proving love or quantifying imagination.
There can be no end to expression or the subconscious. Each can change and are unique. I intend to explore them and discover things along the way. Maybe this can be my daily or weekly writing outlet so that I may be feel free to explore in paint at night.
I can be found here: http://www.lanceeldert.com/
My work is exploratory and more about the image than the surface statement. The idea comes first usually on which the image is built. I have a tendency toward short series as ideas have many sides and I dwell on them a bit, but not too much. No other media feels as open ended and available to me. I write often and love it, in fact I feel pent up without that release of prose, but it is oil that really does it for me. It seems more efficient in a way. A finished painting keeps creating words when viewed. It will go on forever if you keep looking. A good painting will come to life and live far beyond the creator. It can have a voice and a story and use one to express the other as long as there is someone to see it. I know one is done when it basically puts me in a trance and I just stare without seeing things to work on. When a painting begins a conversation with you when you walk in the room, that's how you know.
I do not believe painting is limited to the realistic or is obligated to use the absurd to be art. I do not believe it has to shock you either or require lengthy explanation. I do not believe something qualifies as art because just anyone has labeled it as such. On that note, though I consider the notion, "art for art's sake" a mistake and lazy, I do not wish to define what it actually is, provided I dare claim the acumen to do so anyway. It is a dynamic entity, organic across ages, so any attempt at true definition is destined to fail over time. You do know it when you see it and it's best spotted by trained professionals, but to prove it is or is not is like proving love or quantifying imagination.
There can be no end to expression or the subconscious. Each can change and are unique. I intend to explore them and discover things along the way. Maybe this can be my daily or weekly writing outlet so that I may be feel free to explore in paint at night.
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