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Archive for the ‘Painting’ Category

Valley Bountiful

I am calling this painting Valley Bountiful.  It’s a new 30″ by 30″ canvas that is a continuance of a recent group of work that focuses on the patterned fields and tree groupings that make up the foreground, all feeding to the central figure of the Red Tree. 

I’m really enjoying this recent streak of work.  There’s a sense of fullness, or completeness, in these pieces that really gratifies me.  I see this in the density of the color,  in the depth of the picture plane into which the scene pushes and in the way the fields comes together.

  I may not be able to explain what I fully mean by the word fullness here.  Maybe it feels as though there is a sense of self-containment in the piece, an autonomy that allows the painting to live fully on its own in its own self-described world.  I have always described a piece as being successful if it takes on a life of its own, to have their own voice and vocabulary and existing in their own time and place.  These pieces seem to fully embody this.  They seem fully alive, dwelling completely in their own idealized world.

All that I can ask.

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Fork

Another new black and white, or gray, piece, this one an image of about 7″ by 11″.  I call this painting Fork because of the repetitive form of the fork seen in the path as it splits and in the the tree as it reaches upward.

The sun here is oversized, something I have often employed in my work, to create a dramatic visual quality, a sense of immediacy in the moment.  As though it is a guide of sorts, hovering above and reminding the traveler that every decision, small or large, takes them in a new direction, some far afield from where they currently stand.  The sun is not menacing in this position that it maintains.  No, it’s immediacy is more of an urging to see the significance of the ordinary, the importance of seemingly small decisions and thoughts.

Recognize where you are and what is before you, in both a physical and spiritual sense.  The tree here represents the spiritual or mental aspect of this.  Just as the traveler comes to a fork and takes one of the paths which determines what they will see and experience, we make judgments each day, on nearly everything, which shapes how we view everything that we see and experience.

As I always say, this is only how I see this piece.  You may not see it that way.  You may see something completely different or nothing at all but a simple composition.  All are valid.  Art often falls in that gray area.

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In between the new work I’ve been featuring here as of late, I’ve also been continuing to produce a few other pieces of my black and white ( or gray, as I sometimes refer to it) work.  As I said before, I enjoy the challenge these pieces present in trying to create emotion and feeling without the use of color.  No deep reds or yellows to warm up the scene and give it an inviting glow.  Only the composition and lines and shading to give the piece its lifeblood.

Oh, there is a touch of color.  The most recent group features red and yellow sun/moons which gives this group a great sense of continuity between the individual pieces.  The tryptych shown above, an image about 7″ tall by 18″ wide on paper that I’m calling The Warming, is an example.  In some of my gray work I have reserved the touch og contrasting color for the crown of a red tree but with this group I wanted the color to be only in the orb of light in the sky.  So with this piece the tree has gray foliage.

I like the feel of a tryptych, the way the three images are compartmentalized and relate to one another.  Each stands alone but is strengthened by the next and the sum of the three is infinitely more compelling than any one alone.  Thi breaking apart of the scene also brings a further sense of remoteness that I feel in the work, a feeling that is aided by the removal of color in the foreground.  The dark grays create a somber now from which the viewpoint originates and the yellow of the sun/moon creates a more optimistic future which approaches.

I’ve got plans for another in this series with four or five asymetrical segments creating different visual weights.  I’m still working it out in my head but will show it here-  if it works as I’m envisioning it.

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If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. Then quit. There’s no point in being a damn fool about it.

 

-W.C. Fields
 
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Okay, maybe those aren’t the most inspirational words ever uttered.
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But I’ve been thinking about the nature of failing and succeeding ever since reader Tom Seltz posed a few questions on the subject to me the other day.  I wrote yesterday about how failure for what I do was truly subjective, completely comprised of shades of gray.  But as I thought about it through the day I came to same conclusion for what is considered success for my paintings.  The perceived success of a piece is also truly subjective.  It has happened many times that a piece that I felt succeededgreatly for me has languished and raised little attention in the galleries.  I know that this doesn’t necessarily designate it as a failure but it points out the subjective perception of art.
I think this differs for various types of art.  Obviously, in portraiture there are more objective aims that must be met in determining the success or failure of a piece.   Ask anyone who has taken on a portrait commission.  I immediately think here of a portrait of George Stephanopoulos that was painted by Joseph Solman in the 1990’s when Stephanopolous was still part of President Clinton’s team.  Solman, who died  in 2008 at the age of 98 and one of the leading lights of the Modernist movement of the 30’s, painted Stephanopoulos in tints of green.  I thought it was a spectacular painting, a rousing success, when I saw it but Stephanopoulos had a differing view, seeing it instead as a failure, refusing to buy it.  Two polar views of the same painting.  Sadly, I can’t find an image of it to show here.   Painters who work in an ultra-realistic manner face the same objective viewing of their work. 
My work tends to be more about expression and emotion rather than sheer representation so this creates even more gray area for objective analysis.  I don’t really care about exactitude in rendering so long as the emotion that I’m seeking comes out and a sense of rightness exists around whatever I am depicting.  While I don’t have a great concern for the object being perfect, it can’t be absolutely wrong.  This emotion and sense of rightness are the main objectives for my work  so there is little to go by as far as judging a work a failure or a success.  And I like that.  I would rather the individual judge my work for what they see and sense in it rather than than by having them judge how it compares to reality.
I know I’m way off target here and not sure I’ve made my point  but I’m leaving it to be at this point.  Keep in mind, this is just thinking out loud here.  I may change my mind about the whole thing completely by tomorrow. 

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Failure

In response to yesterday’s post concerning a very large blank canvas that is waiting patiently for me, I received several very interesting questions from my friend, Tom Seltz, concerning the role that failure and the fear of failure plays in my work.  He posed a number of great questions, some pragmatic and some esoteric,  that I’ll try to address.

On the pragmatic side, he asked if there is a financial risk when I take on large projects like the  4 1/2″ by 7′ canvas of which I wrote.  Actually, it’s not something I think about much because every piece, even the smallest,  has a certain cost in producing it that, after these many years, I don’t stop to consider.  But a project such as this is costlier as a larger canvas is more expensive right from the beginning simply due to the sheer size of it.  The canvas is heavier and more expensive and there is more used.  I use a lot more gesso and paint.  And while the cost of materials is a larger cost the biggest financial risk comes in the time spent on such a project.  It takes longer to prepare such a large canvas, longer to paint and, if it works out, longer to finish and frame.  This is time not spent on other projects.  Wasted time is by far the biggest risk in facing such a project and that is something I have to take into consideration before embarking on large projects.

He also asked whether I can reuse the materials if I don’t like what I’ve painted.  Sure, for the most part.  Especially canvasses.  Actually, the piece shown here was such a piece.  I had a concept in my head that floated around for months and I finally started putting it down on this 30″ square canvas.  I spent probably a day’s worth of time and got quite far into it before I realized that it was a flawed concept, that I was down a path that was way off the route I had envisioned.  It was dull and lifeless, even at an early stage.  It was crap and I knew that there was no hope for it.  I immediately painted it over, mainly to keep me from wasting even more time by trying to resuscitate it,  and this piece emerged, happily for me.

Tom also asked if I ever “crashed and burned” on a piece or if the worst sort of failure was that a piece was simply mediocre.  Well, I guess the last paragraph says a bit about the “crashed and burned” aspect, although that is a rarer event than one might suspect.  The beauty of painting is that it’s results are always subjective.  There is never total failure.  It’s not like sky-diving and if your parachute doesn’t open you die.  At least, that hasn’t been my experience. 

Mediocrity is a different story.  That is the one thing I probably fear most for my work and would consider a piece a failure if I judged it to be mediocre.  I have any  number of examples I could show you in the nooks and crannies of my studio but I won’t.  They have a purpose and some have remaining promise.  The purpose is in the lessons learned from painting them.  I usually glean something from  each painting, even something tiny but useful for the future.  But most times,  the mediocre pieces teach me what I don’t want to repeat in the future.  A wrong line here.  A flatness of color there.  Just simple dullness everywhere.

But, being art, there are few total failures, and many of these somewhat mediocre pieces sit unfinished because there are still stirs of promise in them.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve come to what I felt was a dead end for a painting, feeling that it was dull and lifeless, and set it aside.  Months and months might pass and one day I might pick it up and suddenly see something new in it.  A new way to move in it that brings it new life.  These paintings often bring the greatest satisfaction when they leave the gallery with a new owner.  Sometimes failure is simply a momentary perception that requires a new perspective.

Okay, that’s it for now.  I’m sure I have more to say about failure but it will have to wait until a later date.  I’ve got work waiting for me that doesn’t know the meaning of the word failure and I don’t want to risk that it might learn it.

Tom, thanks again for the great questions.  I’m always eager for good questions so keep it up!

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Daunting

Here’s a shot from my studio at about 6:45 this morning.  If you look out the window to the lower right of the canvas you can see one of the deer who seem to be always in my yard trying to find a bit of grass that is finally showing through the remaining snow.  The canvas itself has been hanging around the studio for a couple of weeks now since I stretched it.  It’s a looming presence at 4 1/2 ‘ high by 7’ wide, easily the largest canvas I have ever faced.  A long way from the tiny paintings, some as small as 1″ square,  with which I began my career.

As I said, it’s been hovering for a couple of weeks and the sight of it is both exciting and terrifying.  On one hand, it holds the potential for something big and exciting.  But on the other hand, it sits like a black hole threatening to absorb everything around it.  It’s so large that to fail is to do so on a grand scale with nowhere to hide the flaws.

So it has just sat there, waiting for me to face it.  I don’t know if today is the day to start the journey into whatever this will offer or if I will again set it aside and do something different.  Something  smaller and less daunting.  Normally, I just start and kind of let the painting take me where it will without a lot of foreplanning.  But I’m torn here, thinking that I need to at least have a clue of the final destination for this large piece.  Some sort of plan.

But I don’t have one.  I’m tempted to go with a huge version of the new work with a sky full of clouds, thinking that the visual impact of it on such a scale would be really dynamic.  I can somewhat see it in my head and if I can catch the right subtlety of color that I’m seeing, it would bang off the wall.  But there’s a little hesitation on my part and I’m not fully committed yet.  And before I start something on this scale I want to be fully invested in the belief that I will draw something alive out of this. Sitting here now, I’m beginning to feel that I need another few days to consider it more, to try to see something more concrete in my mind before I embark on this journey.

Hmm.  We’ll have to see what comes from this.  I’ll let you know.

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Antithesis

This is a new painting that is a variation of the new work I showed here last week.  If you read yesterday’s post you’ll probably recognize the the look and feel of this piece as being the antithesis to the feelings I was experiencing myself and seeing in the darker work of Grosz.  This is a painting that is forward looking and filled with positivism.  Oh, it has dark edges and traces of something ominous lurking beneath the surface of the colors but it takes an optimistic, almost triumphant stance.

This is a larger painting, 24″ high by 48″ wide, and just glows in the studio amid the other strongly colored work around it.  The color is vibrant and bold and decisive.  It puts itself forward and demands that you look at it whether you like it or not.  And I think this is a piece with which the viewer will make that decision very quickly.  I don’t think there’s a lot of middle ground here.  It is demanding and not subtle, not for those who seek something that blends into its surroundings. 

But it is in the same vein as the bulk of my work.  Despite its bold feel, it is filled with quiet and space.  The quiet is a bit different, like an exultant outward quiet rather than an introverted, examining quiet.  I don’t know if there is actually such a difference in magnitude of quiets but if there is, this painting is of the more vibrant, even loud,  sort of quiet.

I also see this as being very empowered.  The central figure of the red tree is beneath a large sky and a vast open landscape but doesn’t seem overpowered or overwhelmed by its place in this scenario.  It seems to be larger than life and defiant of the clouds above, pushing them away to claim its view of the sky.  In fact, I call this painting Push Away the Clouds

As my words attest, I feel pretty strongly about this piece.  Whether others will see it in the same way is beyond my control so I’m not worrying about it at the moment.  For now, I’m using it to pushing away my own clouds.

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I have been pretty busy at the easel lately.  I’ve been getting into a decent rhythm where one thing quickly leads to another, one creative spark jumping up toward the next tree.  This is the result of one of these wildfires.

Measuring 24″ by 24″ on canvas, this new painting has been a pretty vibrant addition to the studio.  It has excited me visually with its vibrancy of color and the massing of the clouds in the sky creates a different atmosphere than my often clear and empty skies.   It just seems brighter and more optimistic in nature, more extroverted.  While the red tree is still the central figure and stands alone and different, I don’t get the sense that there is exclusion here.  Rather I sense inclusion, a feeling of connection to the world around it with the clouds being almost celebratory above and the surrounding trees willing witnesses.  Jubilation is word that comes to mind for me.  A sense of joy in just being alive.

This piece has a very intoxicating quality in the studio.  I am constantly pulled to it which both excites me and makes me wary, suspicious of my own initial strong  response to the work.  I have been doggedly trying to find fault in it to give me a reason to curtail this excitement in case it is a mere episode of color intoxication, where I get somewhat mesmerized by the colors I am working with and can’t objectively see the work in its entirety. 

But this work seems to fit, seems to belong in the continuum of my work.  There is part of me that is pushing towards rushing into a series of this work while part of me is telling me to slow down and give it time.  But the rushed part is winning, seeing new takes and twists in this work with which  it’s itching to forge ahead.  I’m already well into another of this series. 

Well, maybe a series.  Only time will tell.  But for the time being, I’m drunkenly enjoying this painting.

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This is a painting from the early part of the past decade that is titled Persevere (Face the Wind).  It is one of Cheri’s favorite pieces and was immediately claimed by her when I finished it.  It is one of my favorites as well and has unfortunately languished in one of the bedrooms of my studio that serves as storage space now until we find the proper place to hang it in our home. 

It’s a very large painting on paper, 32″ wide by 52″ tall, which really enhances the open feeling of the scene.  The colors feel bold and bright but are somewhat muted which allows the central figure to strongly contrast and really dominate the picture.  There is no ambivalence about the subject of this piece.

The path that comes into the foreground is left unpainted, creating a white ribbon that grows out of the unpainted space around the painted image.  I contemplated painting it for a long time but ultimately chose to leave it as is, favoring that  ribbon that comes from the whiteness of nothing.  To me , it adds a different dimension, adds another question that hangs over the image enigmatically.  And I think that’s a good thing.

I periodically go to check on this painting in that back bedroom, moving things out the way to get a better view of it in the small space.  I am always filled with a sense of  liberation when I allow myself into the picture plane.  I feel the wind that blows through the leaves of the tree and feel the strength of the tree as it defies the wind.  It is autonomous and it’s oneness fills me with the reminder that we are all are on our own paths that are self-defined, beyond what anyone else can decide for us.  Our happiness, our concerns and our hopes are all our own. 

I see a lot in this painting with each view, sometimes things new and unexpected, and am glad that Cheri placed her claim on it those years ago.  It’s a piece that feels like a very large part of me.

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Auction Update

A reminder that tomorrow, Monday, at 12 noon EST is the final deadline for the Auction to Aid Japan.

 
 

#1 Full Silence-- Current High Bid $650

 

 

 

#2- Seems Like a New Sun - Current High Bid $810

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This is a new 12″ by 24″ painting that sits in my studio at the moment.  It draws a lot of my attention at the moment and I’ve been enjoying it over this time.  I find this a very hopeful piece, the whiteness of the house’s reflection of the bright rising light set in contrast to the dark foreground.  It’s this contrast that creates the hope I see.  Like many things, hope is relative to the conditions of the situation.

 I’ve left the landscape bare of other trees other than those in the foreground which form a stage-like setting for the scene beyond, wanting to create  more focus on the starkness of the house.  The path moves from dark to light and also conveys this sense of hope, of moving towards a more illuminated situation.

I’m thinking of calling this Obscurity.  I know that this doesn’t convey the hope of which I speak but I have been thinking of a line from John Locke’s An Essay on Human Understanding that has been bouncing around in my head for a week or so.  Locke states: 

 Untruth being unacceptable to the mind of man, there is no defence left for absurdity but obscurity.

It sounds wonderful.  In a perfect world.  I can’t help but wonder if in fact the opposite might apply to our times: Untruth being acceptable to the mind of man, there is no defence for rationality but obscurity?  This thought has hung hauntingly on me for some time and maybe I see this house as a refuge of some kind for rational thought in what seems an irrational time.  A place of obscurity.

Or maybe it’s just a house. After all, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

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