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Posts Tagged ‘Painting’

I wrote the other day about an episode where my work- its format, content and style- had been seemingly appropriated by another artist in a city where my work regularly shows.  It was baffling because I knew and liked this person and had dealt with them in the past.  So I showed his work to a number of people who know my work very well and, to a person, they agreed that it was obvious that this was an attempt at replicating my work in nearly all aspects and that I was going to have to do something to counter this.  As much as I wanted to write it off as mere coincidence,  there were too many factors indicating otherwise for me to simply and philosophically shrug this off.

I contacted him and pointed out my concerns.  I really didn’t know what to expect.  In this era of rude and shameless behavior, I steeled myself for an argument.  But his response was quick and gracious.  He claimed to be ignorant of the similarities which, at first, I thought was a bit disingenuous but began to realize after a bit was truly the case.  This fellow really did seem to have a blind spot in this situation.  He asked his wife and some artist friends if they saw what I was seeing and they did.  Embarrassed, he got back to me quickly and agreed to pull the work from the website and would show the remaining pieces in his studio with “in the style of GC Myers” on the back and price tag of each piece.

That satisfied me and I consider the case closed.

I wished I felt more satisfaction.  I know I was in the right but part of me empathizes with this guy.  He is still struggling to find his own voice for self expression and has many long hours ahead before it will take shape.  Sometimes the prospect of that can be daunting in a world where instant gratification rules.

Perhaps that is why I was so protective of my work in this instant.  I realized, looking at his paintings that so resembled mine, the sheer amount of effort I have expended in the past fifteen years to get my work to the point where it now stands.  It is the result of spending literally tens of thousands of hours alone in my studio, agonizing over every aspect of the work.  I have struggled and sacrificed to make my work my own.  To make it an expression of who and what I am.  To make it my true voice.  It has been a long journey and there were no shortcuts taken.

It took this to make me realize what a precious thing this is to me, indeed.  These paintings of mine are not mere merchandise, products of commerce that can be easily copied like designer jeans or handbags on the street.  They are the products of spirit and thought, things that can’t be priced or simply copied.  But things that I now know must be protected.

I really hope this other person understands the journey he faces and is willing to undergo it.  You can only follow someone else’s path for so long before you must forge your own way.  But if he can stick with it, his efforts will produce something he can call his own and will be rewarded in some way.

I wish him well.

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In My Life

I thought I would show a little piece I recently finished.  It’s 5″ by 6″ and is on paper.  I finished the blocks that make up the background almost a year ago and it has sat on a cabinet behind my painting table ever since.  I would periodically pick it up and study it, trying to decipher what it was and where it was going but always put it back in place without doing any more to it.  There was a moodiness in its tone that made me wary of how I completed it.

But the other day I finally began to see where it was headed.  Simple. let the piece be about the texture and light.  let the figure be mere counterpoints to the drama of the environment.

I always like these pieces but am sometimes surprised when others do as well.  I consider my little figure paintings to be for my own viewing pleasure so I never have high expectations that others will find anything in them.

Still don’t have a title for this one.  I’m considering calling it In My Life, after the great  Beatles’ song.  In case you’ve forgotten, here’s how it goes:

happy birthday, linda



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Sometimes in the winds of change we find our true direction.

——–Anonymous

I’ve finished a couple of paintings over the last few days, pieces that I will show here in the next week or so.  This is a 12″ by 36″ canvas and is sort of a revisiting of a theme and a visual motif in the way the sky is painted.  I wanted a sense of motion and flow in the sky.  Controlled, directed chaos.  Like the wind itself.

I love painting the skies in this type of painting.  It’s thousands of paint strokes, layer after layer, built up.  There’s a real meditative quality in this manner of work, where I can lock into the surface and not feel as though there’s a task before me.  Time drops away and all I see is the next stroke to be painted.  It’s a strong and interesting feeling that really connects me with the work.

I sometimes worry that I see more in this work because I’m looking at it with the memory of this feeling achieved while painting.  The outside viewer doesn’t have this memory and can only judge it on their own experience and reaction to what is before them.  When I’m evaluating my paintings, I try to look at the work with a detached eye, putting aside personal memory and influence, but it’s hard to do so completely.  Those memories are strong.  I can only hope that the viewer gets a sense of the feeling from their own eye, that it somehow comes through and reveals itself to them in the brushstrokes and surface of the painting.

Often it does.  Sometimes it doesn’t.

That’s painting…

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Reign of Light

This is a new painting that I’m calling Reign of Light for the time being.  It’s a 30″ square canvas, a size that is large enough to give the piece real impact in a space.  I’m finding that it has a very commanding presence in the studio, one that immediately pulls the eye to it and holds it.

For me, there’s an ethereal quality in the sky, as though all the many strokes of color represent the deconstruction of time as we know it.  Time breaking apart into fragments of color and light of which we can see only a portion from our earthbound positions.  On one hand, I see the tree in this piece as the seeker, the dreamer.  The climber who is driven by a longing to find a new and higher position from which to see and better understand the world.

But another part of me thinks that maybe that’s too romantic a view for this piece because it seems also like a statement of power, as though the tree is holding court and the multitude of lights that gather above are at it beck and call.

An interesting pull between two separate viewpoints, one of strength and command and the other of wonderment.  Perhaps there is room for both viewpoints here in this painting.  Maybe it comes down to one seeking power from understanding the patterns and processes of the universe and passing that power on to others so that all can benefit.

But then again, maybe it’s just a painting of a tree out in some fields.  Nothing more.

Such is art.

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Led Home

As I wrote in a post last week, the idea of home has been a large component of my recent work.  For some,  it is a physical place and for others it is simply the sense of being at home, a feeling that may be prompted by something that triggers memories of a time when they felt at ease and completely secure.  It’s probably different for many people and I’m not sure it matters how one defines home for themselves.

For me, the important part is that the idea of home is a universal theme, one that we all identify with in our own lives.  We all seek the safety and comfort of home however we define it.  And it’s this seeking for something that is so vaguely defined that interests me as an artist.  It’s such a strong drive in us that it raises many different images in our minds.

This new painting, which I’m calling Led Home, deals with this idea of home as an elusive quest.  The house stands in the distance with a road leading to it through a field of golden grass.  Above, the sunlight breaks through the broken sky to act as a sort of beacon guding the seeker forward.  The tree and the path in the foreground are almost in shadow as though the discovery of home signals a transition from darkness into light.

The house, like many of those used in my work, is without windows or doors.  I’m never positive why this is so but perhaps, given the short expalnation above, it is because it is representing something vaguely indefinable, soemthing we can’t really see in full detail in our minds.  I don’t know for sure– that just came to me as I wrote this.

This is just one way of looking at this piece.  How I see it this morning at first glance.  Perhaps it will change in definition for me with time but I doubt it– those first glances tell a lot about a piece and tend to hold the most truth.

The painting is a 10″ by 30″ work on canvas.

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This is a new painting from the studio that I finished yesterday.  It’s a 16″ by 20″ canvas that combines, for the first time, the elements of the Archaeology series with the painting style that I call obsessionist.  The difference is visible when comparing the finer, more detailed work in the detritus of the Archaeology section at the painting’s bottom with the way the tree and sky above are painted, with more expressive, visible brushstrokes.

Also for the first time, I show the roots of the tree above.  I had been thinking of doing this in the past and many people had inquired but I didn’t want to do it unless it maintained the rhythm of the piece for me.  I don’t know how to explain how I judge this rhythm.  It’s just a matter of looking at the piece and determining whether a sense of rightness exists.  Do the elements flow easily together?  Is there anything that makes the eye stop because of something, a line for instance,  feeling unnatural?  Just intuition, I guess.  So far, I like the roots showing and feel they maintain the rhythm of this painting but I’m still taking in the piece.

It’s the time of the year when I can hold a piece for a while and soak it in, let it live in the periphery of my vision for weeks.  This gives me a better sense of the piece’s cohesiveness.  Sometimes a painting will feel complete and ready but, with a little time to let it be, reveals a need for something more.  It may be a major change such as the addition of a whole new compositional element or just a tweak in a small bit of color in a small section of the painting.

It will be interesting to see what this piece reveals over the next few weeks…

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Compromise?

I came across this painting from seven or eight years back,  an 18″ by 26″ piece titled Call of Freedom.  It was quite a different look for my work at the time with its simple design of two two blocks of colors playing off one another.  It may not visible in this photo of the piece, but there was a hint of purple through the bottom block of color that really enhanced the piece for me.

The tree was put in at the last moment.  After I had completed the two blocks, I sat this aside for quite awhile, looking at it in the studio, trying to determine if it held together just as it was.  Was there enough there — color, texture, contrast– to hold my interest, to make me want to continue looking.

This was a tough one for me.  It met all my criteria.  It held my eye.  Had meaning for me.  But I still wasn’t sure it would hold for others.  So I hesitatingly put the tree in place, almost as a compromise.

The tree changed the dynamic somewhat, brought everything closer, but it still allowed the blocks to dominate.  To tell their part of story, so to speak.  It worked without altering my first impression of what I saw in the piece and created an “in” into the painting for others.

This might be considered a compromise.  I don’t know.  For me, it’s about coming across that space between the painting and the viewer and connecting in some way, communicating something I might not be able to define.  So long as it doesn’t alter the feeling or the message I get from the painting, it’s not a compromise but an opportunity for more engagement.  As a result, I often think of this piece as where I want my work to be in the long run.

Is it compromise?  I don’t know.  I don’t care.

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I’ve been scanning some slides of old work, putting them into a more accessible digital form.  It’s been interesting, seeing a lot of the older work, much I haven’t seen in many years.  It’s enlightening to see the changes in the work and inspiring when I come across pieces where I remember what I was going for in the painting, the concept behind the work.  Sometimes it’s an idea that I’ve put aside at that time, to be used later but end up completely forgetting.  Seeing them anew brings that idea back to life but years later with a different base of knowledge to work with it.

Other times I come across pieces that I remember so well for the feeling they produced while painting them and the feeling of the final product.  This is one such piece, called Neighbors, that is from about 14 years back.  It’s a painting that I remember painting so well.  It was at a time when I was still forming a lot of the technique that became staples of my work and this piece seemed to come together so well.  There was something very delicate in the way I painted this, a lighter touch with the brush.  I don’t know if it’s visible but I feel it and remember it.

There’s also a certain nostalgic feel to this piece that I remember very well.  The location of this scene is not representative of any place I’ve known but strikes a very reactive chord within me as though it is an icon that is representative of something important within me but is there without my knowledge, laying dormant.

It’s an unusual, more complex reaction to a simple, straightforward painting than I would expect.  It makes me wonder what it is that makes me react this way and if this is the same emotional trigger that makes certain pieces raise similar reactions in other people.  What is this intangible?

I’ll have to think on that for a while…

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Time of Change

It happens every year.

There’s a period in my year where I’m sort of on hiatus from my painting.  I’m in the studio still,  doing small tasks and tidying up.  Looking at older work.  Thinking.

Thinking about what my next cycle of work will bring.  This is a natural point for me every year, when I’m sort of  mentally spent, from a painting perspective.  I’m in need, at this point, of new energy, new inspiration.  Something that set me off in a new direction or at least a new aspect.

I always look at this point with both a little trepidation and a little excitement.  The trepidation comes from the possibility that I may be a dry well, that I’ve drained off all my creative energy and it’s not replenishing itself.  The excitement comes from knowing that this isn’t the case and soon the change I’m anticipating will be at hand.  Something new will be here that will focus my energy, drive me into the new year with new direction.

How do I know this?

Because I am still trying.  The effort put forth will bring at least a few new thoughts and these new thoughts will spark other new ideas.  New possibilities.

And the well is flowing once more.

So, while I may not be painting at the moment, I am assembling the base on which new work will be built…

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Silence is as full of potential wisdom and wit as the unshown marble of great sculpture. The silent bear no witness against themselves.

—Aldous Huxley

___________________


I’ve been scratching around in the studio for the last few days.  Straightening up a little, putting things in their places.  Taking inventory, as it were.  Seeing what materials I have on hand, what I’m short on.

I do the same with the creative side of my mind.  I take this time, as I’ve noted in the past, to look back at the year and the body of work I’ve created over this period.  What have I done?  What is strong and what needs to improve?

One thing I’ve done in the past year is the continuance of this blog.  It’s done far better than I ever expected as far as readership and it has become a big part of my morning in the studio.  The feedback has been great and  I’ve taken a lot from the comments and e-mails received as a result of this blog but I still worry that this provides too much information about a subject, painting as an art, that often communicates best without words.  I still fear that the impact of my words and thoughts will never add up to anything near the sum of my painted work and, as a result, a seed of doubt will be planted.  A doubt that makes the viewer question their own view of the work.  If I speak and write and eventually expose all my flaws and deficiencies, will the work still stand up?

As Huxley said, the silent bear no witness against themselves.  There’s much to be said for that.  Maybe the silent artist allows the narrative surrounding their work to form on its own, to grow beyond what they themselves may be.  I can see that in many cases.

But I’ve found that I’ve always wanted to control the narrative around my work.  To not let it be spun out of my hands.  So I talk and write.

For better or worse…

The inventory goes on.

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