Journalistic Abstraction
There's a journalistic component to my abstract work, coming from the neighborhood of the subconscious. If I try to cook up a visual idea of some event or place, the painting turns out to be a remote translation - stilted and awkward, lifeless. If I am able to paint with a more open focus, working from a felt sense of color and mark in a conversant way, there's a better chance of mining something more authentic, and the painting can carry something closer to the direct experience of my surroundings and recent history. It's an odd thing to try to describe from a process experience, but evident in the work itself.
Having recently returned from living on a quiet island off the Florida coast, some of the work that has emerged continues to reflect the memory of the seashore, the high winds and storms of January, the ocean and sky teeming with life. There's a sense of the experience of living and walking and swimming there, taking in the sea oats grasses, dunes, occasional turquoise waters and washed up lobster baskets. Also the sea life shows up: tunneling hermit crabs, fish wriggling down a pelican's long throat and being swallowed whole, starfish, clams, octopuses, blow fish, scallops, mullet, fish bones washing up on the shore. A few painting details shown here:
Below, I've included a painting image from an earlier post along with a photo of the woods near the studio, to look at the the different imagery arising from experiencing the midwest in February: north winds, silvery tree skeletons, golden sedge grasses and the hardy wildlife that survives the harsh winters.
Getting a Few Things Off My Chest
I've been rattled by events of the world, and wasn't able to let the angst go in order to work in the studio, so I invited the misery in and pinned up a canvas to get a few things off my chest. It was very helpful, and while I softened some of the initial output with more marks and washes, the cacophony of words and imagery were pleasing. In this video, the painting is nearly complete.
Easing Back Into the Studio
This past month has been heavy with sales, inventory and installations.As usual after not painting for awhile, it takes some time to clear my head, relax, open up my senses and be able to work. First, it's time to sweep the large floor, open the doors, take in the landscape, make a pot of tea. Maybe read a little something beautiful, listen to some soul piercing music. Untangle.
The Studio Opening 2017
The official studio opening celebration was the first Saturday in September, in the peak of sunflower and zinnia season. 200 people parked in the meadow and walked up the hill to the show, which spilled out of the studio onto two painting patios. Paintings were hung on the outside walls of the studio as well as inside.
There were lots of bouquets.
The people who came out were talking about art, I loved that most of all. It was a lovely group of people.
Sunset was beautiful from both sides. A painting was hanging on the lightening struck tree..
The nearly full moon....
These two pieces that were displayed from the After Dark series, spanned 24'. They are my most recent paintings. On the left is "After Dark - In Spirit" and on the right, "After Dark - In Body"..
Then it was after dark, and the party was over.
Thanks to many friends for the photos!
Waiting for Inspiration
Sometimes I'll hit the studio full of ideas and energy and exhilarated to be able to paint, and nothing happens. I can pick up some tools and begin to work, but it's obvious before the first brushstroke, that it isn't going to work. Where does inspiration go? Sometimes you have to wait around for it.
Coming Up for Air (Really, this time)
Coming up for air after an intensive time in the studio.
Scissors and gloves with E.J. Rost.
Getting Out of the Way
When I'm getting ready to paint, usually there is a quieting period, taking the edge of high excited energy down to a harness-able wattage. Sometimes I'll take a few photographs, mill around looking at the work that's in process on the walls, smooth out some canvases, or often sit quietly for a very long time, listening to the wind or the stillness, so that the focus shifts to the senses and out of my busy and more linear mind. I think of this process as getting out of the way, so that the distance between ideas, what is seen, what is felt, and what goes down on canvas, is very small. I was curious to see if I could capture this process of "getting out of the way" on video. This take was 23 minutes long, but compressed into one minute.
The Impact of the New Studio - A Photojournalist's View
Kansas City's esteemed photojournalist Julie Denesha was interested in the impact of the new studio on my work. It was an honor to be interviewed and photographed by her while working. The resulting product is here, click the "Listen" button below photos for the interview:
Photo Essay - Paint, Rust and Open Air
I am enchanted with painting the combine. The scale! There is nothing to prepare in order to paint; it lies in wait. Last night I dreamed about it and woke up with new ideas, barely waiting for the dew to dry to paint some more. The beautiful thirsty rust is already gorgeous in the patterns that have been created over the years. Keeping a delicate touch on what is painted and what is left natural, is the dance. The purples against rust makes me swoon. My work on canvas is benefiting from these new eyes.
Yard Art
This old Oliver combine was beautiful as it stood, but was hidden in a patch of fast growing trees on the north end of the property. With a 4020 tractor and a lot of enthusiasm, we pulled it out into the light and placed it near the studio. The lichen covered rust is a beautiful neutral background for some color.
Everything is a Universe (the beginnings of inspiration)
I'm on the Florida gulf coast in large part to work; it always having been such a fertile place for painting, but it hasn't been happening. Having come off of an extremely intensified time in the studio in December, perhaps it's creative fatigue, and surely in part physical fatigue, given that my methods for painting and scale call for considerable energy and strength.
A fresh 30 yard roll of canvas is propped up against the kitchen wall, breathing it's coppery breath down my neck as I go by. Paint bottles mixed, brushes, pencils, paper, boards set up outside to work on, not a single inclination or movement towards them is detected. I walk the beach, walk and walk and walk, no urge to consider shape, line, color. I feel guilty.
This past year, intensely focused OUT - studio building, negotiations, concrete pads, vistas, horizons, mass bird migrations, space, canvases large enough to depict space, series multiplying and expanding to 12 paintings deep, every foot of wall space having something pinned to it. But January has been an inward turn.
On the shore, Instead of as usual watching the vast body of water, the birds in flight, the horizon line, I keep finding myself kneeling, pulling in closer and closer to the intimate, camera held as close as it will focus, to see the tiny jewels of the sea, the bubbles from retreating waves, bird tracks, the tiny shadows of bird tracks. Seeing that each is a universe. Everything is a universe!
(The cosmic so readily available by the sea.)
With 3" square pieces of paper, a few pencils, some watercolor - the beginnings of inspiration.
Ground and Space
I worked all of November in the dazzling, illuminated tall space of the new studio, painting with some tired colors and a rusty process that was no longer alive. It was painful and unchanging, with dark days of autumn reflecting the mood.
At last, I gave up completely the idea of painting and began to simply live in the studio, day after day, bringing nourishment for body and soul: art related books and magazines, Japanese tea, piano concertos, breakfast lunch and dinner. Lovely but grim at first.
Gradually, in all that quiet space and time, a tree or spine form and the space around it, began to form in my mind's eye.
Canvases very wet, grays, blacks, dark greens over weird yellow under paintings, slamming paint filled brushes along edges for the joy and freedom of the process, rather than for the result, discovering new cause/affects. Discovery is so vital to keeping one's art alive, thrilling!
When completing this 12' piece, I realized the series would be called "Ground and Space". I'd been wallowing in space, and lacking ground! The studio enveloped me; I enveloped the studio. It has been a warm embrace.
Pattern and Light
Inside, outside, negative, positive, gravel and fur, rolls and rhyme, scarf and steps.