I recently saw a short film called The Chapelwhich is from filmmaker Patrick Kizny. It is a high-def timelapse film that explores the interior of a decrepit Protestant church in Zeliszów, Poland, designed by architect Karl Langhans and built in 1796-1797. It has obviously been in a horrible state of disrepair for many years but Kizny manages to evoke the architectural beauty of the building with his moody film. At first, I thought it was all computer generated, like a video game, but this is real photography. And a great and real building. If you are a fan of the art in great architecture, this is quite striking.
If you are interested in seeing how the photography and look of this film came about, I have included The Making of The Chapel below.
Thanks to Via Lucis, a terrific site specializing in the photography of religious architecture, for pointing out this film.
I don’t know a lot about famous harpists except for possibly Harpo Marx, who I have featured here before playing an ethereal Take Me Out to the Ballgame. To tell the truth I can’t think of another harpist at the moment except for Joanna Newsom. My nephew introduced me to her music a few years ago and I have to admit it has taken some time for me to warm to it. It has not been the harp playing, the sound of which I really love.
No, it was getting past her voice.
It’s a high, flat voice that some have called childlike, a term to which I understand Newsom objects. Others have said it is reminiscent of the voices of the Appalachian hill folk and their traditional songs. I kind of find it in somewhere in between and had a tough time hearing it set in contrast against the beautiful tones of the harp. But I keep listening and there are now many moments when I really see the beauty in her truly unique talent. The Sprout and the Bean is such a moment.
This painting took a long time to emerge. I started with just a large block of color, originally feeling that there was a distant, stark landscape in it. But it never felt completely right and I let it sit for many months, occasionally picking it up and trying to decipher what it might hold. But recently I decided that it was long enough and that I would either pull something from it or destroy it.
Either way would be a bit of mercy for me. There’s something in having a piece sitting unfulfilled for long periods that gnaws at me, as though they are poking at me in the studio, begging to be released from the state of limbo in which they are trapped. I have a group of such paintings floating around and I have to hide them at times because of this constant, silent pleading from them. So it is a degree of mercy in the relief that comes from finishing one– in one way or another.
What emerged in this painting, an image that measures about 6″ by 22″ on paper, is quite different from what I first envisioned. It ended up as more of a silhouette piece, the dark boniness of the trees standing in stark contrast to the pale, almost sullen feel of the sky. Even the sun struggles to bring light to this surface, appearing darker than the sky itself. The whole effect is quite somber with an air of drama.
Originally, the chair was the only other element in this piece but the more I looked at it, the more I wanted something to counter the chair. Something to create a context for the drama of the revealed moment. The small figure in the background provided just that. I saw him as a ghost of sorts– perhaps dead. Perhaps not. But caught somewhere between existences. The Red Chair here fills in as his memory and he looks upon it, seeing all his misdeeds and regrets. He has lived his life as a rake and the empty chair sums up his time.
That’s one way of looking at it.
I chose the title from the old English folk song of the same name that evolved from it’s 18th century origins into the early blues song, St. James Infirmary Blues, a song covered over the years by many, many musicians. It has a deep and wonderfully mournful feel and it meshes well with this image in my mind. Here’s a great version from the Belfast Cowboy, Van Morrison, who gives the song the weight it requires. See if you feel the same.
I thought I’d show something a bit different this Sunday. I came across an interesting little video called Gulp which bills itself as the world’s largest stop-motion animation. Plus it’s shot entirely on a Nokia N8 cellphone. It’s a short film depicting a fisherman and a difefrent sort of day on the ocean. It was produced on a beach in South Wales by Sumo Science, a branch of Aardman Animations, the folks responsible for the great Wallace and Gromit films. They are masters of stop-motion and if you’re thinking of stop-motion in terms of it being like the Gumby and Pokey films of years ago, you’re in for a big surprise.
I watched this film and found it entertaining but it wasn’t until I watched the video showing how it was made that I was really impressed. In that film, you get a sense of the scale as well as the immense work that went into making this little charmer. I’ve included both below. And if you aren’t impressed with the largest stop-motion shot entirely on a cellphone, they are also repsonsible for the worlds smallest stop-motion, Dot, also shot on a cellphone. It is a sweet little film and I mean little. I’ll throw that on here as well. Have a great Sunday!
A friend pointed out to me that that a new exhibition of work opened yesterday at theInternational Center of Photography in Manhattan featuring the work of the fabled NY freelance crime photographer, Weegee. Most have seen his work in some form, perhaps in his graphic shots of murder scenes or the less lurid but still compelling shots of everyday New York in the 1930’s and 40’s. I had been wanting to feature his work here for some time so I thought this was as good a time as any.
Weegee was the nickname given to Arthur Felig, who was born in the Ukraine in 1899 and came to NY as a young boy. He worked as staff photograher for a news service in the 20’s before becoming a freelancer in the mid-1930’s, selling his photos to a number of NY papers. Cruisng the city in his salesman’s coupe (a car with a front seat and the rear seat removed for extra room for samples cases) that he had equipped with a police radio, he earned his nickname from the police who were amazed at his ability to instantly appear on the scene, as though he had a Ouija board.
His work was graphic and sometimes seedy. But it was always well composed and thought out, each frame revealing the drama or pathos of the moment. His work was all about telling a story and murders, mob hits, transvestites and drunks made up a big part of Weegee’s world. But he also captured the feel of the NY of that time. His shots of people sleeping on fire escapes during an extended summer hotspell or the incredible views of massive crowds filling every possible inch of Coney Island or a young couple with 3-D glasses caught in a passionate embrace in a darkened theatre (shown at the top) tell more humanly accessible stories. In addition to providing an anthropological record of that era in MYC, he also transformed the tabloid photo from mere documentation to an artform, in a way that has never been matched.
Weegee died in 1968 but his work has maintained great popularity through the decades. If you’re in NYC, check out this show at the ICP. It runs until September 2, 2012.
If you have a few minutes, here’s a film of Weegee explaining a few things about his business and talking about a few of his memorble photos. Very interesting stuff.
I’ve been working on a group of new work that will be going to a gallery in the Indianapolis area that is new to me. I’ve been working on pieces that I feel are very representative of my voice, knowing that it will be a first view of my work for most of the people who may see it there. I’ve focused on imagery, forms and colors that feel almost ingrained in my body of work wanting to give the viewer a quick insight into what I try to do with it.
As I’ve been working away, I keep coming back to the idea of these as internal landscapes, meaning that they are attempts at creating an inner harmony. Harmony is the key word here, the concept of separate parts working together to create a unified whole. I think we often feel fragmented and unsteady in our external lives, never fully feeling in harmony with the world around us. Perhaps I make a mistake in using the term we here when I mean I, not really knowing what the rest of you feel in your own relationship with the world. But I do know that I have often felt this way, out of sorts with the world in many ways and that it really is an unsteady feeling and that I turn inward to try to find an inner rhythm, a harmony within that can steady me. Something to allow me to function outwardly.
Like many things, this a difficult thing to explain. Perhaps I should just point out this new painting, a smaller canvas, 12″ by 16″, that I call Rooted In Harmony, and let it speak for me. This piece probably says more about what I am trying to describe in a single glance than I can with all the struggling words and sentences I could possibly write. I find great pacification in this painting, a feeling of relaxed ease forming inside. It tempers my confusion, calms my angers and slows the turning wheels of my inner self. My outer self is better for it. And maybe that is what I hope for with the title of this piece, that by finding an inner peace, the root here, it will spill outward in a harmonious attitude.
Okay, I have to stop the words. For another example of harmony, a great example of musical harmony, here’s a little classic Simon and Garfunkel from a 1966 performance on Dutch television. It’s I Am a Rock.
I’ve been pretty busy in the studio lately. That’s not unusual at this point of the year because it is when I’m gearing up for upcoming exhibitions but in past years this is when I have often felt a bit blocked and far removed from the point where I wanted my work to be . But thus far this year, things have been flowing easily and I feel as though I am near that sometimes elusive groove where the act of painting becomes more instinctual than cerebral. When I feel myself in this groove, I start to trust these instincts, this pushing back of conscious decision making. As a result, there’s no dwelling over decisions at the table or the easel. I just make the mark and move on from there.
And each piece brings an inspiration and desire for the next painting with ideas gushing forward. I often find myself making quick little sketches on scraps of paper, little rough stick drawings really. Just enough of the thought to be able to rekindle the idea later. Often, I don’t make the sketch and the idea floats away and is sometimes fortuitously recalled at a much later date or is gone forever. I sometimes think my best thoughts have taken this fleeting route.
The piece shown here is from this recent burst, a smallish canvas, only 6″ by 18″ that I call Tangled Up In Blue. The title is, of course, taken from the old Bob Dylan song. This is a simple composition, very typical of much of my work, but it’s carried strongly forward by it’s colors and contrasts. It has a dramatic edge to it. I think the red of the mound really highlights this feeling of high emotion. I try to envision it in other, more natural colors and the result is less potent, more understated. This feels to me like the tangled trees are two lovers springing from the same red bleeding heart. The intensity of the red mound and the trees is a sharp contrast to the cooler blues of the water and sky, even though they still have their own intensity.
But the piece is probably brought to completion by the break of pale yellow in the sky, the light that comes through creating chasms in the blue night wall. This break sets off all the other color and creates a sense of moment in this small, simple piece. The result is that the result is greater than the sum of its parts.
Or at least I think so.
Here’s a little music. I bet you thought it would beTangled Up In Blue. It was going to be but I came across this version of a different Dylan song, Love Sick. I really like this film and performance of a song that has been a favorite since it first came out in 1997 and decided to share it instead. Enjoy.
I have never seen the HBO series True Blood. Maybe I’m reticent to get sucked into the current vortex of popularity created by the return of vampires and zombies in pop culture. I don’t know, but I have never felt a strong desire to watch the show. Maybe that will change.
One thing that might make me switch on True Blood is their use of music in the show. Apparently, each episode is titled after a piece of music that is used in that show. I came across one such piece of music created for an episode that really piqued my interest. It’s a remake of the 1964 hit She’s Not There from the classic 60’s British Invasion band, The Zombies, performed by my favorite, Neko Case, and the provocative Nick Cave. I immediately knew that this would not be your typical cover/remake.
Normally, I wouldn’t even want to hear a remake of a song like She’s Not There. It has held up spectacularly well over the almost 50 years since it was released, as do several of The Zombies’ other songs. Probably why they still perform and tour after a half decade. But the idea of these two performers singing it expressly for a vampire series brought up some the possibility of something different than a straight cover.
And I was right. It has a creepy Cajun bayou thump in its bass and with Nekos’s voice soaring over Cave’s growl, it makes a compelling cover. Old yet new. Like a vampire, I guess.
So, here I am, despite my protests, endorsing a song made for vampires originally sung by zombies. Here is the new cover with Neko and Nick (hey, that’s kind of catchy) and, if you’d like to compare, the original from The Zombies.
Okay, I promise this will be the last Christmassy thing you will hear from me for a long time but I came across this video of the old holiday chestnut, Sleigh Ride, with a dog sled team hurtling through a winter wonderland. The song is performed by She and Him, the indy-folk duo comprised of the ever adorable Zooey Deschanel, the singer/actress of 500 Days of Summer and now New Girl fame, and singer/songwriter M. Ward, whose distinct solo work I really admire. There is something very charming in much of their music.
I just found myself sucked into watching this video, not being able to look away as I followed the dogs’ powerful gaits which made me think of our first dog, Maggie Blackwater, a husky-sherpherd mix who favored her husky side, if her love of snow and desire to run at full throttle for long distances are any sort of indicators. She sometimes felt more wild than domestic but never in an aggressive way. With an indomitable spirit, she simply burned through life like a wildfire, always racing forward in a most unpredictable fashion, and never slowed down until she died from a heart attack at age 12. She would have been straining at her harness to get to joyfully run with these guys.
I wrote a week or two ago, after seeing the film Hugo, about the work of George Melies and how wildly inventive it was at the advent of modern cinema. He used built sets and illusion to create images that were like scenes torn from a dream.
The same might be said for the work of Robert and Shana Parkeharrison, contemporary photographers who create magnificent metaphorical landscapes on elaborate painted sets then photograph them. Old school. There is no computer generation here. In their best known series which is captured in a book of the same title from 2000, The Architect’s Brother, they create a monochromatic, sepia tinged world that is both filled with foreboding and trepidation as well as sheer beauty. Each image is poetic and thought provoking on some level.
And powerful.
I’m sure I’m not giving as much detail about this couple and their work as you may desire. I just wanted to pass along their imagery and let you do what you may with that. Besides, if I write much more, that means I have less time for exploring these photos further.
Here’s a slideshow of the images from the Parkeharrisons’ book, The Architect’s Brother.
Redtree Times 