And drawing. And wishing I had a whole lot more time to do it. It's been a number of months since I worked on anything visual -- most of my time has been consumed by coding and information design and trying to collect my writing and clean my study and update my various blogs and whatnot. Oh, and do social things(?)
I guess I got a bit swamped by all the stuff I've got around... And it didn't help that I had neatly organized all my paints and brushes and supplies in various containers and put them in areas I was intending to use for artwork... but never got to it.
Organization is fine and necessary in some respects, but sometimes you just have to create.
I'm getting back to my geometries. And my cardboard pieces. And my oil pastels and watercolors. Still trying to sort out what moves me the most -- 'cause no matter how important something may be, no matter how significant it may be to others, no matter how socially acceptable and status-invoking a certain activity may be, if you don't have passion behind it... the kind of passion that would drive you to do it, even if you weren't getting paid... well, chances are you won't have the stick-to-it-iveness to hang in there through the tough times, the dry spells, the painfully niggling little details that all make up the sum total of your Work.
So, what moves me?
Color. Shape. Light. Nice precise lines, along with texture.
More to come.
Showing posts with label drawings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label drawings. Show all posts
27 June 2009
15 June 2009
How -- and why -- (visual) art suddenly matters
Actually, art has always mattered. No doubt about that. Art (of many kinds) and music have been staples of human experience for as long as we've been able to draw figures and sing and dance and make stuff that is not only functional but also beautiful. They're staples of the human experience, and they have a way of getting to us in ways that only they can.
I'm going to talk about visual art, here. Much as it dovetails and consummately integrates with visual art, music is a whole other massive world unto itself, and I'm going to leave it alone for the time being.
There's a reason that art collections, whether corporate or personal, grow over time. There's a reason that art has become increasingly valuable over the past years. It's not just about art portfolios out-performing stocks and bonds and real estate in long-term appreciation of value. It's not just about striking a pose and chatting about your latest acquisition at a dinner party thrown for the parents of the kids your child goes to private school with. It's not just about making a good impression when you're standing in front of a piece at the MFA or MOMA or WAM and some good-looking (and apparently single) individual stops beside you to admire it.
I've been working with colors and lines and light for decades, now. I've been doing it in the privacy and comfort of my own home workspace(s), building pieces out of whatever was available, and being alternately surprised/dismayed/pleased/distressed/annoyed/encouraged/invigorated by the results. I haven't had a lot of formal training -- almost none, if you must know the truth. I've had a sort of "fringe" arts education -- hanging with people who have had the means and the opportunity to receive formal training, who assured me that what I was creating was every bit as inspired as what they came up with.
But I never really took it to heart. Art for me was always something that was, well, for me. A sort of poor-woman's therapy that kept me going through thick and thin.
And while I haven't shown a lot of my work to a lot of people, I have had a lot of time to think about art and light and color and lines... not in the context of a formal educational environment, but in the context of my own life, my own art, my own impressions. And the ideas and approaches and attitudes I've developed around art and its place in the world have had the freedom to grown and change in a sort of hermetically sealed one-way mirrored container of sorts -- always looking out, always looking out... reading various things along the way, contemplating those things, changing my views, adjusting my attitudes... all along the way...
And what this isolated thought process of mine has come up with, is that (visual) art is, in its purest form, simply information. Its lights, colors, lines, textures, shapes... it's all information. And it is non-verbal information that is actually a synthesis of and extension of verbal information -- a visual-spatial "echo" of the linear-sequential info we are constantly taking in, which sends out ripples of effect throughout the whole of our lives, the whole of our world. What's more, color and lines and shapes and textures enable our brains to synthesize the linear-sequential information, so that it can be integrated into our whole selves, and so inform our own growth and evolution.
Visual art, to me, is a complement and logical extension of this linear-sequential-information-rich modern world we presently inhabit. Each and every day, those of us who are connected with computers and other media are bombarded with information at a dizzying rate that probably would have driven our great-great-grandparents over the edge. We can't possibly take it all in. We can't possibly make sense of it all.
Unless, of course, we use art.
I'm going to talk about visual art, here. Much as it dovetails and consummately integrates with visual art, music is a whole other massive world unto itself, and I'm going to leave it alone for the time being.
There's a reason that art collections, whether corporate or personal, grow over time. There's a reason that art has become increasingly valuable over the past years. It's not just about art portfolios out-performing stocks and bonds and real estate in long-term appreciation of value. It's not just about striking a pose and chatting about your latest acquisition at a dinner party thrown for the parents of the kids your child goes to private school with. It's not just about making a good impression when you're standing in front of a piece at the MFA or MOMA or WAM and some good-looking (and apparently single) individual stops beside you to admire it.
I've been working with colors and lines and light for decades, now. I've been doing it in the privacy and comfort of my own home workspace(s), building pieces out of whatever was available, and being alternately surprised/dismayed/pleased/distressed/annoyed/encouraged/invigorated by the results. I haven't had a lot of formal training -- almost none, if you must know the truth. I've had a sort of "fringe" arts education -- hanging with people who have had the means and the opportunity to receive formal training, who assured me that what I was creating was every bit as inspired as what they came up with.
But I never really took it to heart. Art for me was always something that was, well, for me. A sort of poor-woman's therapy that kept me going through thick and thin.
And while I haven't shown a lot of my work to a lot of people, I have had a lot of time to think about art and light and color and lines... not in the context of a formal educational environment, but in the context of my own life, my own art, my own impressions. And the ideas and approaches and attitudes I've developed around art and its place in the world have had the freedom to grown and change in a sort of hermetically sealed one-way mirrored container of sorts -- always looking out, always looking out... reading various things along the way, contemplating those things, changing my views, adjusting my attitudes... all along the way...
And what this isolated thought process of mine has come up with, is that (visual) art is, in its purest form, simply information. Its lights, colors, lines, textures, shapes... it's all information. And it is non-verbal information that is actually a synthesis of and extension of verbal information -- a visual-spatial "echo" of the linear-sequential info we are constantly taking in, which sends out ripples of effect throughout the whole of our lives, the whole of our world. What's more, color and lines and shapes and textures enable our brains to synthesize the linear-sequential information, so that it can be integrated into our whole selves, and so inform our own growth and evolution.
Visual art, to me, is a complement and logical extension of this linear-sequential-information-rich modern world we presently inhabit. Each and every day, those of us who are connected with computers and other media are bombarded with information at a dizzying rate that probably would have driven our great-great-grandparents over the edge. We can't possibly take it all in. We can't possibly make sense of it all.
Unless, of course, we use art.
More work from last year
I'm working my way through my drawings and paintings from the end of last year, digitizing them and posting them. Eventually, I will get around to posting them individually with information on their media and original dimensions. The colors don't always translate exactly, but I'm pretty happy with how they've come out.
Here are some more:
Central Sun (October, 2007)
Circus (October, 2007)
Double Fuse (October, 2007)
Feather (October, 2007)
Gemini (October, 2007)
Green Fuse (October, 2007)
Gridlock (October, 2007)
K-Type (October, 2007)
Mountain Air I (October, 2007)
Mountain Air II (October, 2007)
Mountain Air III (October, 2007)
Ode to Kandinsky I (October, 2007)
Of Earth (October, 2007)
Omen (October, 2007)
Piet I (October, 2007)
Ringlet (October, 2007)
Self-Portrait (October, 2007)
Splay (October, 2007)
Stormy (October, 2007)
Suess (October, 2007)
Sundown (October, 2007)
Swept (October, 2007)
Treetops (October, 2007)
25 May 2009
Improving my art space with feng shui
Mountain Air 3
10 inches wide x 7 inches high
Mixed media -- marker and oil pastel and watercolor and acrylic
Mountain Air 3 was created as part of an overall effort to "feng shui" my studio, which has a big chunk missing from the room -- ironically, the corner that's about self-awareness. I created a bunch of pieces that had strong blues and browns and blocky design in them and placed them in that corner, and the effect was palpable.
It actually seemed to help me be more comfortable in my space, become more focused in my work, and not feel this general sense of malaise that had dogged me, every time I went into the room, no matter how much "my space" I tried to make it. Let me tell you, it was a really weird feeling to have a studio of my own -- at last -- but not feel like it was friendly to me. When I feng-shui'ed it, that really changed. The improvement was dramatic, and my work really took off, as it hadn't in years.
I started out being something of a skeptic about feng shui, but after I made some simple but intentional changes to my space -- including adding a bunch of artwork that addressed the "energetic needs" of each quadrant of the room -- I became a real believer.
22 May 2009
I am neither painter... nor poet...
I am an adventurer who ranges far and wide to see what life has to offer, and then records my experiences in color and words. If color happens to use paint and canvas as its medium, or even pen and paper, then so be it. But it can just as easily find expression in wood, stone, clay, marker, colored pencil, graphite, oil pastel, watercolor... or on the monitor in front of you.
Acrylic paint on heavy canvas suits me better than the more refined "professional" supplies that promise to make a work of art an "investment" for the collector. And it gives me a broader, wider, deeper "vocabulary" to work with.
Just as written words, spoken words, felt words shaped and plied in solitude feed and sustain me far more than public performances or "poetry slams" (heaven help us).
These media give me a way to record/express/memorialize/archive my adventures in a shareable and (I think) exciting way. Through the use of color and light and texture... through the sing-song lilt of vowel and consonant... the nuances of not only what I've experienced, but also how I've experienced it, can be captured and expressed.
Through the eye and ear -- and through touch as well -- the full range of human experience can reach into the deepest centers of the brain and tickle the mind to new knowledge, new understanding, new appreciation, new experience, and renewed humanity.
I don't "think" art should ennoble us. I know it should.
Acrylic paint on heavy canvas suits me better than the more refined "professional" supplies that promise to make a work of art an "investment" for the collector. And it gives me a broader, wider, deeper "vocabulary" to work with.
Just as written words, spoken words, felt words shaped and plied in solitude feed and sustain me far more than public performances or "poetry slams" (heaven help us).
These media give me a way to record/express/memorialize/archive my adventures in a shareable and (I think) exciting way. Through the use of color and light and texture... through the sing-song lilt of vowel and consonant... the nuances of not only what I've experienced, but also how I've experienced it, can be captured and expressed.
Through the eye and ear -- and through touch as well -- the full range of human experience can reach into the deepest centers of the brain and tickle the mind to new knowledge, new understanding, new appreciation, new experience, and renewed humanity.
I don't "think" art should ennoble us. I know it should.
01 August 2008
Engineering co-creation
It's the day of a Total Solar Eclipse, and I've been painting since about 5 a.m. I woke around 4:04, when the eclipse started (on the East Coast), and I tried to get back to sleep, but it was nothing-doing. So, I got up and went to my studio to see what was becoming of the pieces I've been working on.
I had given some thought to modeling some figures for friends of mine, to capture the spirit of the day, but I got caught up in painting.
I've been wanting to paint for some time -- with brushes, I mean. I do that type of work periodically, when I want to hone my brushwork. But honestly, it's just not me. I don't have that kind of dexterity to manipulate the brush pressure and direction, and my lines end up being more blobby than I want.
A whole lot more blobby.
Not good.
Now I'm presented with several choices that I can see:
Either keep at the brushwork and try like the dickens to sharpen that skill, running the risk of developing a skill that really isn't "me"... and losing valuable time in the meantime, when I could be creating works that are much more in line with what I'm like, and my orientation to the world. I figure I stand a pretty good chance of becoming a middlin' brush gal, if I keep at it.
Or I can cut my losses and limit my brushwork to occasions where I'm not as dependent on precision as my smaller works are... and develop ways to "engineer around" the blobbiness that tends to emerge from my attempts at straight lines. And let the paint do the actual work.
I choose the second option. Already, I'm coming up with ways I can not only have the precision that I want, but also work with the media I have in ways that are totally appropriate to them... and in ways that let them "do the work," using their very qualities to achieve the effects I'm seeking, rather than trying to impose my will on them.
It's an interesting concept I'm working with here -- how do I relate to my media? How do I work with them? How do I honor them as equal partners in the art I create, while still bringing my own vision through?
I think it's a new approach whose time has come -- a new approach for a new time.
The "standard issue" approach to creating art (and being respected as an artist) appears to be all about "mastering your medium/-ia"... putting in long years of work in your preferred media and then showing that you've got total control of it.
It seems (to me) to be the way folks go from art aspirations to art school to art vocation out in the world. And it seems to be what folks look for when they're considering the skills of artists in question.
But my approach is not to "master" the media, but collaborate with it. Learn its ways, its temperament, its moods, its inclinations... and then blend it with my own vision and bring forth something that is not all me, not all the paint/pastels/gouache/watercolor, but rather an amalgam of us all, equal partners in the creative process.
It sounds a little hokey to me, talking about "co-creating" artwork with the media themselves. A sort of "media animist" approach. But I am essentially an animist at heart, and I do believe that all things have spirit within them.
I'd much rather work with the media, as the media, and allow it to "do its thing" in the creative process.
Ultimately, what comes out of it is an exponentially greater expression than I could achieve on my own, by exerting my own "mastery" over the colors and textures I choose to work with.
I had given some thought to modeling some figures for friends of mine, to capture the spirit of the day, but I got caught up in painting.
I've been wanting to paint for some time -- with brushes, I mean. I do that type of work periodically, when I want to hone my brushwork. But honestly, it's just not me. I don't have that kind of dexterity to manipulate the brush pressure and direction, and my lines end up being more blobby than I want.
A whole lot more blobby.
Not good.
Now I'm presented with several choices that I can see:
Either keep at the brushwork and try like the dickens to sharpen that skill, running the risk of developing a skill that really isn't "me"... and losing valuable time in the meantime, when I could be creating works that are much more in line with what I'm like, and my orientation to the world. I figure I stand a pretty good chance of becoming a middlin' brush gal, if I keep at it.
Or I can cut my losses and limit my brushwork to occasions where I'm not as dependent on precision as my smaller works are... and develop ways to "engineer around" the blobbiness that tends to emerge from my attempts at straight lines. And let the paint do the actual work.
I choose the second option. Already, I'm coming up with ways I can not only have the precision that I want, but also work with the media I have in ways that are totally appropriate to them... and in ways that let them "do the work," using their very qualities to achieve the effects I'm seeking, rather than trying to impose my will on them.
It's an interesting concept I'm working with here -- how do I relate to my media? How do I work with them? How do I honor them as equal partners in the art I create, while still bringing my own vision through?
I think it's a new approach whose time has come -- a new approach for a new time.
The "standard issue" approach to creating art (and being respected as an artist) appears to be all about "mastering your medium/-ia"... putting in long years of work in your preferred media and then showing that you've got total control of it.
It seems (to me) to be the way folks go from art aspirations to art school to art vocation out in the world. And it seems to be what folks look for when they're considering the skills of artists in question.
But my approach is not to "master" the media, but collaborate with it. Learn its ways, its temperament, its moods, its inclinations... and then blend it with my own vision and bring forth something that is not all me, not all the paint/pastels/gouache/watercolor, but rather an amalgam of us all, equal partners in the creative process.
It sounds a little hokey to me, talking about "co-creating" artwork with the media themselves. A sort of "media animist" approach. But I am essentially an animist at heart, and I do believe that all things have spirit within them.
I'd much rather work with the media, as the media, and allow it to "do its thing" in the creative process.
Ultimately, what comes out of it is an exponentially greater expression than I could achieve on my own, by exerting my own "mastery" over the colors and textures I choose to work with.
30 July 2008
25 July 2008
Re: Testing my posting from afar...
It's time to start posting more of my artwork on this blog. I've got literally tens of pictures and paintings and drawings, and it's time I digitized them and put them up.
The past six months have been eventful in ways I can't even begin to express.
Now, it's time to get back to art.
30 July 2007
Selected art - 20 years in review
I've been unearthing my collected artworks from various folders and notebooks around my study and the house... and getting some positive feedback from folks about it. Turns out, my lack of proper training in this area works in my favor, and according to an artist whose work and vision I have tremendous respect for, nobody is apparently doing quite the same kind of work I am, these days.
He also told me that some of my stuff is "seriously good", which comes as a surprise, 'cause I "jest do it"... I haven't sunk vast amounts of time into classroom instruction or classes or whatnot... I haven't been tutored by geniuses... I haven't gone to Paris or Florence to hone my craft. I just go about my day, go about my life, and I draw and write what comes up, as a result.
I've started scanning my collected visual works into the computer, and I'll be uploading them to this site, as I go. I work mostly in paper and colored pencil and crayon and some pastels and some markers and some black pencil and some ink, as well as mixed media, so the textures tend to get lost in translation, especially since my scanner leaves a little to be desired.
And so, without further ado... the first of my visual works I'm posting online -- from May, 1990:
5/90 - Graphite and colored pencil and crayon on paper. 8.5" x 7" Unframed
About this Piece
This work was created in May, 1990, when I was going through a great deal of transitioning around my life, my work, my relationships... basically, everything was up in the air. I was crashing at the pad of a friend, while I was looking for a place to live. Technically, I supposed I could have been considered "homeless", but it was such a heady time of great excitement and change, I didn't mind it at all. It never occurred to me at that time, that I was living on the edge. I didn't see the edge -- I was too busy looking out to the horizon, and I was a whole lot more excited about what I saw there, than what was right in front of me... which was changing rapidly, anyway.
He also told me that some of my stuff is "seriously good", which comes as a surprise, 'cause I "jest do it"... I haven't sunk vast amounts of time into classroom instruction or classes or whatnot... I haven't been tutored by geniuses... I haven't gone to Paris or Florence to hone my craft. I just go about my day, go about my life, and I draw and write what comes up, as a result.
I've started scanning my collected visual works into the computer, and I'll be uploading them to this site, as I go. I work mostly in paper and colored pencil and crayon and some pastels and some markers and some black pencil and some ink, as well as mixed media, so the textures tend to get lost in translation, especially since my scanner leaves a little to be desired.
And so, without further ado... the first of my visual works I'm posting online -- from May, 1990:
5/90 - Graphite and colored pencil and crayon on paper. 8.5" x 7" Unframed
About this Piece
This work was created in May, 1990, when I was going through a great deal of transitioning around my life, my work, my relationships... basically, everything was up in the air. I was crashing at the pad of a friend, while I was looking for a place to live. Technically, I supposed I could have been considered "homeless", but it was such a heady time of great excitement and change, I didn't mind it at all. It never occurred to me at that time, that I was living on the edge. I didn't see the edge -- I was too busy looking out to the horizon, and I was a whole lot more excited about what I saw there, than what was right in front of me... which was changing rapidly, anyway.
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