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Posts Tagged ‘Painting’

The Struggle

Yesterday was the best day I’ve had painting in the past few weeks.  The holidays and the distractions they provide had really knocked me out of  rhythm and I’ve been struggling to get back on the path.  I think this has probably been evident in the writing on this blog.  Writing for this is a real chore when I fall out of my painting routine.  I find myself struggling for things to say and words to express anything.  The writing rhythm is definitely entwined with my painting rhythm.

But yesterday was good in the studio so I’m hoping to see some improvement here, even though I view this writing and my painting as very separate and different entities.  I’ve always viewed writing as being an expression of what the writer knows and sees.  On the other hand,  painting to me is about expressing what I feel but don’t know and am incapable of expressing otherwise.  Painting is more about intuition and the intangible for me. 

Not to say that intuition and intangibles don’t play an important role in writing.  But I can’t find them as effortlessly in writing as I can with a slash of color here or in the way a form plays off another in my painting.  I don’t have to fill in detail, don’t have to create a whole scenario for my work to communicate. 

I think that’s the distinction between the two forms.  With writing, I must know what I am trying to communicate.  With painting, I can communicate without knowing.  In fact, it is preferable that I don’t know.  The work that comes without trying to direct it is usually the best, graceful and filled with emotion.  I don’t see that happening with my writing.

So, I must get back to the paints and gain a bit more rhythm, let the momentum carry me ahead.  I’ll let you know how it goes.

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A few weeks ago, at the gallery talk at the Principle Gallery, I was trying to explain my process and how my work comes around to being what it is and why there is often a repetition of form and subject.  It’s a difficult thing to describe and has always evaded the limit of my words.  In doing so that day I used an example of an apt description that I had seen once on televison and had written of in this blog.

It was from a segment on PBS’ Masterpiece Mystery series called Wallander: Sidetracked starring Kenneth Branagh as a Swedish police detective involved in solving a series of murders.  There is a point at the end where he is forced to shoot and kill the killer who is a disturbed and abused young man.  Wallander (Branagh) is deeply affected by this and goes to see his father, played by the great British character actor David Warner (I’ll always remember him best as Evil in the film Time Bandits from  Terry Gilliam) who is shown above.  He is a painter of landscapes and is struggling with the onset of Alzheimer’s.

While trying to find a way to comfort his distraught son, the father reminds him of the times when Wallander as a child would ask why he painted what he did, why they were always the same.  He gives an answer that struck me deeply when I first heard it because it was so near to the heart of what I do as a painter.

 I used this example that day and as I describing the scene to the folks there at the talk, I was wishing I could just show them the scene to better illustrate what I had meant.  Anyway, I was able to find the scene which is definitely enhanced by camerawork and background music. I hope it gets the point across as well as I think it does.

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This is a painting that I recently completed (now at the Haen Gallery, Asheville) that is another example of a piece that evolved as I worked into something that I didn’t originally envision for it.

This 20″ by 30″ canvas was started at the end of 2009 and I thought at first that it would be a piece with my typical Red Tree at the front of the picture plane.  But as I painted, the composition began to shift and where I thought the tree might be n longer seemed feasible.  It would be awkward and out of rhythm.  I had painted myself out of what I had first imagined. 

And I couldn’t see where it would go from there.  No matter how I looked at it, I couldn’t see where it could possibly go.  I liked very much what I had painted thus far.  The layers of earth were sharp and organic in feel.  The color was right on– rich and complex with many layers.  But it seemed to have reached a dead-end.

So it sat for a long time.  About nine monthes. I would look and look at it yet it stumped me.  It was a puzzle and I couldn’t figure out a solution.

But one day I took the canvas from where it had been sitting, just to the right of my work table.  I began to see an answer to the question and began to work feverishly on the background and the sky, adding the water, tree and sun.  I changed the whole focus of the piece and began to see it come it together.  It could work and,  in the end, it did work for me.  It went from being a conunmdrum to being what I see as a strong and bold piece.

It just took a little time for the answers to come to light.  The title of the piece is, by the way, Come To Light.

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This is a new painting that I finished at the request of a collector in North Carolina.  It was an interesting request, one that piqued my imagination enough to accept the commission.  He wanted a very specific sized painting built on a hinged frame that would cover an unsightly circuit breaker box located in the middle of a wall in a well used room.

I found the idea that the painting would be part of a utilitarian object, something that had a real practical use,  intriguing.  But I didn’t want this purpose to outweigh the painting itself.  The painting had to be the dominant aspect of the whole, not a mere afterthought or pure decoration.

The client had specific requests that had to be addressed. First of all, it needed too be one size, which ended up being an 18″ wide by 42″ high canvas.  This size and proportion would dictate how the painting was composed.  He wanted it to be part of the Archaeology series as he had uncovered a number of old items in the ground around the old farmhouse he was renovating.  But he didn’t want to not have the below-the-surface area overwhelm the painting, desiring a smaller presence for the assorted items.  He liked my blue night skies and moons and red trees that were spindly like the pink mimosas in the yard of the old farmhouse.  The two red trees furthest away have touches of pink in them.

The part that I wrestled with the most was having a night skyline in the painting,  of which he had expressed an interest.  At first, I was hesitant as I had always seen the Archaeology pieces as being beyond the time of man, at a point when we’ve entered the realm of dinosaurs and exist only in the evidence we’ve left behind.  The idea of having evidence of man still existing rocked me at first but then I began to think that it might be interesting to see how it would play.  After all, we have certainly created a wealth of underground archaeology up to this point.  And maybe I was being a little too cynical in assuming that a time would come when we cease to walk the Earth.

After painting in the buildings, which vaguely represent the Asheville skyline especially with the far outline of the mountains behind, I was really pleased.  It gave me the feeling of two worlds, two histories, exisiting simultaneously, one above the ground and the other beneath it.  One history, the past, is already written and the other is being written in the present.  It really seemed to work,  filling out a new narrative and giving the piece a different depth.

I began to see that the painting had become one of my own paintings, beyond the desires of the collector, which was exactly what I wanted for it.  When people ask about commissions that is the point I try to get across– that I have to satisfy myself,  with the painting, have to feel that it has its own life,   before I would even consider showing it to them.  And this piece does just that.  It feels alive and vibrant to me.

Now it can move on to its new life.

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I’m busy at work, putting the final touches on several paintings that are strewn around the studio.  The final bits of color and detail don’t take a long time to put on the surface but the transformation to the painting is remarkable.  Sometimes it takes a piece that seems stagnant and lifeless to my eye, that seems to have lost direction, and suddenly imbues it with spirit, making it seem vibrant and alive before my eyes.

For me, it’s the most exciting time in the process and the one that most often baffles me, leaving me wondering how such a change occurred in just a few strokes of the brush.

This is a new piece that is an example.  As I worked on this piece, a 12″ x 24″ canvas, and let the composition come together, there were things I really liked about it.  The symetry was strong and obvious and the color was sharp and rich.  I could see where it was going but it seemed to be lacking.

I thought that perhaps adding the tree would do it but seeing the silhouette did nothing to animate the surface.  As I built up the layers of color, I still wasn’t feeling it.  Then as I put on the final touches that highlighted the edges of the foliage, there was a huge change in the painting.  Those final touches gave added depth and in this depth, the whole surface seemed to unite, coming together as one entity.  It became alive and vibrant.  

I sat at my work table with it before me and shook my head.  I’ve done this many, many times yet I am still amazed when I see this tranformation take place.  Even though it’s a small event late in the process, it is that moment that gives me the ultimate gratification in what I do.  I don’t know if my words can describe the feeling I’m trying to describe.  It seems like such a nebulous thing, like trying to describe something that you didn’t quite see and don’t really recognize to someone who didn’t see it at all.

Well, that’s what I do, I guess.

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Gossamer Days - GC Myers 2010

The studio is relatively empty now as I’m now in the week between delivering the Facets show to the Principle Gallery and the actual opening night this coming Friday.  While there is always anxiety over the show itself, there is usually a sense of relieved relaxation in the studio at this point, an almost giddy feeling over the possibility of what may come next there.  Usually at the end of painting for a show, all the creative energies  have come to a sharp, focused point and in the weeks of prepping the work for a show and the point when painting is resumed, this point is constantly poking me, impatiently waiting to be untethered.

At the moment, it wants to explore new ideas in sometime older styles.  For instance, the painting shown here, Gossamer Days, is painted in the more transparent manner of my early work and  provides me with a new spark each time I see it.  After years of having the work grow and evolve beyond this style, it’s always interesting to revisit it with the benefit of knowledge and insight gained through the years.  Something new and exciting emerges as new ideas are incorporated and older ideas that may have faded from my vocabulary are reintroduced.  For me, this an exciting time in the studio.

This discovery of things new and old keeps me always fully engaged, always feeling that the work is growing and not stagnant.  The idea of the work not moving forward is death in the energy of the studio and something for which I always on the lookout.  For the work to be vibrant and have its own sense of life, I must have a sense of engagement with and excitement for the work myself.  So, at points like this, when that excitement is almost palpable I am thrilled because I know the importance of it.  But I am always also a bit nervous of not capturing the full strength of this creative wind in my sails and being left adrift to paddle my way out by creating new energy somehow.

That is tough work…

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I’m in the last days of preparation for my show, Facets,  that opens June 11 in Alexandria, VA at the Principle Gallery.  Today I put on the final few hanging wires on the backs of the paintings, finish the necessary paperwork and documentation then wrap and load the paintings for tomorrow’s delivery.

This is often a hectic, anxious day but this year I find it strangely calm thus far.  Maybe it comes from the relief of seeing the endpoint in preparations for this show or perhaps it comes from finally seeing this group of work together, now fully framed and moved from raw images into their now presentable form. 

 Often a piece, especially one on paper, undergoes a  startling transformation once it is put in a setting for presentation.  I think of the painting as a gem of sorts and the matting and framing as the setting that holds this gem and allows it to be seen in its best light.  Sometimes a piece takes on a sparkle, a different life even, when seen in the setting of its frame rather than as a raw image on paper.  I see this often with Cheri when she will see a painting in the studio before framing and give little response then will react so much more stronglyand positively after it is fully presented. 

Seeing this group together and fully presented gives it a wholeness and allows me to see the continuity in it that I knew was there, which is reassuring.  It looks like it will hang together well and the pieces will play well off one another, each exhibiting its own individual strength and acting as a complement to those around it, reinforcing them.  There is a great blend in this group of boldness and softness, strong colors and muted tones.  Like the name of the show implies,  this group shows many of the facets of the body of my work to date.

The piece above, In the Golden Light, is part of this show.  It is a work on ragboard and measures a little over 11″ by 25” and is matted and presented in a 20″ by 34″ frame.  I think it’s a prototypical example of my work, one that strikes close to the core of everything I want to show and say in my work.  It’s a painting that flowed out easily and gracefully near the end of the final days of painting for this show, almost as though it were the final performance after months of dress rehearsals.  There was no struggle with this piece and there was a sense of a type of destiny in it even as the first section of paint began to dry.  I can’t fully explain this.  I used the word gracefully earlier in the paragraph and there was a type of grace in the painting of this, an ease of motion and a confidence that I seek yet seldom find, in my work or in my life.

I think I can say the same for much of this group of work.  I think there’s an ease and a confidence in this work that arises from coming to terms with where I am as a painter, reveling in what I am and setting aside concerns about what I am not.   I think it comes through quite evidently  in this show. 

At least it does for me.  I can’t predict what others might see…

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I am finished painting now and have started the process of finishing my work for the upcoming show, Facets, at the Principle Gallery in June.   As with every show, there is a final painting completed and for this show this is the last painting finished, a piece from the Archaeology series that is 18″ by 25″ on paper.  I call this painting  Archaeology: Legacy.

This is a piece that I started at the end of last year.  It was one of those times when I got to a certain point and liked what I had in front of me but had decisions to make witht he piece and didn’t feel ready to make them at the time.  So the piece would be set aside.  Occasionally, I would pull it out and add a bit to the underground artifacts but it just kind of simmered, growing slowly. 

As I neared my self-imposed deadline for this show, I began to hover back more and more to this piece.  I think part of it has to do with the feeling I’ve been experiencing in my mind at this point in the process.  Sometimes, as I near readiness for a show, there is a sense of great mental focus and clarity and other times, a feeling of chaos and disassociation.  There is no rhyme nor reason for this.  It just happens.  Maybe it has to do with my view of the outer world at the time  or how often I yell at the moon.

 I don’t know.

But as the prep for the show winds down this year, I find my concentration and attention dwindling.  Thoughts are short and fleeting.  Bursts of thought and image come and go in a flash.  It might be disturbing if I didn’t recognize this as being a sometime by-product of my process.  So, it seemed fitting that the last piece before me was an Archaeology piece where the details underground consist of a free flow of items and associations. 

As it neared completion, it seemed to calm me, as though a great piece of unfinished business that had been hanging like the sword of Damocles above was finally out of the way.  When the last iota of detritus had found it’s way to the surface, I breathed a sigh of relief.  A sigh of finality.

And maybe that’s what this painting is about.  The sigh of relief of a future world growing beyond the legacy passed on to them from a chaotic world.

Or not.

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I’ve started working on a series of paintings that are a return to my earlier work, back when the Redtree was first coming into view,  in the way they are painted.  Done on gessoed paper, I am using thinner, more transparent paints that allow the gesso base to show through, creating its own light and glow.

It’s a much different mindset than the one I’ve been employing in much of my recent work.  There is more restraint.  While it is still very much about color and texture, like the newer work, there is more delicacy and subtlety.  The colors are less saturated.  The transparency of the colors have a different effect even on a heavily textured base.  The linework is finer and the whole piece is really about how the blocks of color come together and interact. 

The feeling of the work, as a result, has a slightly more ethereal feel.  A lightness and coolness.  More atmospheric and less earthy than some of the newer work.  This being said, I don’t feel either style is superior to the other in that both reflect the same underlying emotions.  To me, they say the say the same things, only in different manners.   

This piece is a little over 5″ by 21″.  It’s still too new to have developed a title yet.  That will come soon enough…

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This is a painting titled Light Imminent that I’ve been working on for several months, on and off.  I used it some time back in a short film I put together in which I was working on this piece in an earlier stage of its development.

It’s a pretty big piece, 20″ by 60″ on canvas, so it sort of dominated the space where it sat incomplete for a long time, always in the edge of my vision.  It was, once again, a matter of letting a piece sit until it was ready to be completed, to have the last few pieces added which brings everything together.  The time it sat allowed me to really take in and weigh all the parts and make subtle decisions about the finishing touches.

For some pieces, this time spent resting is invaluable.  There is no rush to finish and options are given a chance to grow.  There are pieces that don’t require this period of mulling, that have an inevitability from the first few strokes that tell me where it wants to go.  There’s a sense of satisfaction in both types of painting.  Those that sit have the satisfaction of seeing the idea and feel of the piece take shape over time.  There’s a real sense of contemplation in this work.  Those that take shape quickly have the satisfaction of sudden birth, a burst of energy that takes form and becomes alive before your eyes.

I see the contemplative nature of the slower process in this painting.  It’s in little things that I probably am the only to notice.  A sharper edge here or there.  The modeling and strokework of the central tree.  A stroke or two added in the sky to bring the light to higher effect.  Little things.

Now I’m in the last few days of taking it in before it leaves to go out in the world.  Hopefully, it will find someone who sees some of what I see in it…

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