Relief Regarding Creative Anxiety

Not a Richter but it has a similar feel. I've been
wondering what it would take to render my digital
works on canvas... if I would even know how. 

I am watching a German language documentary on Gerhard Richter. They are trying to film his creative process and it is messing him all up. He is a quiet person, reserved in public and not the kind of guy who can lecture. Which is what it seems the documentary director wants him to do. He just wants to paint. But things are not going well for him with this series that he is creating.

He talks to the camera person about it. He articulates the feelings that I have about performing sketch or painted art. What happens when you are watched is that you do not work with the same freedom of expression. To the artist this shows in the work and in the heart. Those observing do not see the conflict growing within the artist. It changes the work. He and his work are the quanta. The more they are observed the more they change. Unlike the quanta, the artist can refuse to be observed.

He is a quiet man and seems a bit terrified to even be at his show in the Nation Portrait Gallery in London. Portraits are not his sole production. I rather do like his modern atmospheric paintings. They seem like giant monoprints.  But I know they are not; paint and a squeegee with instinct made those works.

He works without a plan and works until it is done. I watch him and I see in his face when a piece is complete. But I could not tell you which of the painting's qualities he considered to be the key to a successful painting. And he could not tell the documentarist. I relate to this method. And I see things in the work that I would consider the benchmark of success. But I will never know that he and I see the same things. At some point he says that the painter and the viewer have to have only one thing in common, and that is to know that a painting is good of its own merit. He did not say that we would have to agree on what made it good.

I am finding quite a lot in this that is very helpful to me in a an aesthetic, spiritual way though nothing practical in his methods as Richter and I do not have a similar style. I do believe that we have a similar temperament. He was a serious child. A serious teen and a mature art student who though that the boy who whistled at his easel was working too hard to enjoy his own works. Richter believes that one must always look on one's work with a critical eye. Really, how else will you know if you are on the right track?  It was when he was asked about his relationship to his mother and her own mature personality that made him such as he is.

He said that "You don't want to believe your parents And you can see through them pretty good." 

Which seems to fly in the face of what most people would assume to be true. Most of the world says that we want to believe in our parents and that a good deal of our issues with reality is the extreme disappointment we feel when the reality that our parents helped to mold dissolves painfully or dramatically when we experience the world outside of the home. I was one of those kids as well. I wanted to believe some things that I was told. But there were things that I fought to disbelieve. The things that I know in my soul are true, the things that I could trust because the heart never really lies to you as it has no need to be placated, those things I fought to hold on to. I disbelieved a good many things I was told and yet was very gullible about others. I do wish that they has asked him what sorts of things he did not want to believe. A child raised on Goethe is bound to be a serious one. Of course being a Winter baby, an Aquarius, Goethe may have had nothing at all to do with anything.


Nearing the end of the film, I can see where he became more comfortable with observation. Having gotten used to the camera a bit, the cameraman and the questions he approaches the green series for this installation with more certainty. He almost attacks the canvases that were about to give him fits in the beginning stage. Now, as before, when he drags the squeegee it seems if he is pulling a layer of film to reveal the painting. Almost as if unwrapping a present.

Definitely a present.

You're Ruining the Art Market, Sotheby's

In a short list of things that really make me angry this is one of them. Let me introduce you to Barnett Newman. While being a fellow artist and Aquarian, I am tempted to love him in spite of my anger just because we have to stick together. Why am I angry?

Because of this article. http://twentytwowords.com/canvas-painted-blue-with-a-white-line-sells-for-nearly-44-million-4-pictures/ Because ANYONE can paint these paintings. Maybe not 10,000 monkeys with sable bristle brushes as they lack sufficient attention span for such a huge undertaking. But any, ANY, human being on the planet can paint this! I can make this on pickmonkey in about 4 minutes if I didn't have a monkey's penchant for distraction.

This is his wiki article. In it, the author states that he is considered one of the foremost of color field painters. So first, we have a term for what this is called; color field, a sub genre of abstraction. And this seems to suggest that he is on par with Rothko, Kandinsky and Mondrian, more so with Mondrian obviously. Secondly, let's face it... blocks of color representing whatever the artist tells the audience it represents is the same thing be it color field abstraction or neoplasticism, associated with Bauhaus, de Stijl or whatever. It is the same thing!!!!!!!

The difference between these guys hawking their wares and the average Joe Painter is that their prowess for bullshit is unmatched by any other skill which they might possess. How can I say that? For one, anyone with a huge canvas, a roll of frog tape and some paint can paint a pane of blue with a white stripe. For two, this excerpt from Wiki:

 Utilizing his writing skills, Newman fought every step of the way to reinforce his newly established image as an artist and to promote his work. An example is his letter on April 9, 1955, "Letter to Sidney Janis: ...it is true that Rothko talks the fighter. He fights, however, to submit to the philistine world. My struggle against bourgeois society has involved the total rejection of it."

He wrote this to Mark Rothko's agent Sidney Janis. And in the 40s he destroyed a good chunk of his work. I'd say in destroying it he really did totally reject the bourgeois-iness of the bourgeois. I don't know how you can call this skill. It isn't like Impressionism, in which the entire structure in the creation process is flipped on its head. There are no gradient under paintings, no washes of color built over the tones, smooth brushstrokes to emphasize the ploy of reality. Impressionism was thick, visible, bold strokes of barely defined planes in which color and light do all the work of the under paintings in the realism of the Old Masters. And it was so different, so ethereal that it jarred the senses.

I will grant you that abstractionism is as jarring to the senses of one accustomed to the work of preceding eras. I will also grant that some abstraction is wildly fascinating. Kandinsky's work does have structure which try as I might, I can not fathom. His is not the work of an elephant with a brush and 14 cups of tempera paint. It has rhythm and motion, pattern. Mondrian as well is pattern. There is something to the work. But Barnett Newman's work is all in his words..... his skill as a busker.

Enter Sotheby's. As the link says... they sold it for 44MILLion dollars.
As I said on Facebook:
At that price you'd better be able to hold a black light up to it and find the cure for cancer, AIDs and class stratification.


You can call this whatever you want. Cathedra is what Newman called it. So on the right.... any number of options I could call this. Other than the fact that this is a statement of protest, this is not art either. It is expression. But it isn't art.

Go home Sotheby's, you're drunk.

I'm in!

That did not take as long to hear back as I thought it would. This is exciting. I am a little more nervous now than I was before. But holy cow.... I've been accepted into a gallery with a brick and mortar store. And with that... I think that I should be able to market myself more easily locally.

The physical store is in Scottsdale Arizona.

Might be a reason to go visit some friends and relatives.

Thoughts Turning to Spring

I know that it is not as bad as the big Winter of '78. Nor is this Winter much different that a two month stretch in '07 that wrecked havoc on my budget with excessive plow bills. But this is a long and annoying Winter none the less. We have been spoiled these last 20 years with little snow fall and the ability to walk around like it is still Fall for most of the bleak white season. This year though, my patience is tried to its last bit of strength.

In a few months I will be moving again. For the most part everything will go back into storage, I'll be crashing with a friend for a while to save some money and with any luck I will not have surgery on those hamstrings. Yes.... it is getting to that point. I'm in a level 3 constant amount of pain in both legs and over the last two days I am losing the feeling in one foot... the one whose hammie has been torn twice. And the back is not cooperating. Every time I get stuck without the benefit of the boyfriend's assistance I do more damage. Oh if only I could stay home when he is not here!

With these trials and constantly numb fingers I find myself looking forward to Spring. Not because I want to move heavy stuff around. But because the color will come back like a slow spreading pinkish orange sunrise. I have the newest issue of Somerset Studio and this is the article that I want to pour over the most.



photo: www.stampinton.com, artist: Heather Jacob. See her awesome blog at www.heatherandlife.blogspot.com
Yes, borrowed without permission and edited like mad to avoid the impression of digi-theft.
Full credit where it is due... this is wonderful.
Seriously... check out her blog there is even more wonderful stuff there. Showing link love on the right too!  

 Oh no, not because I am a scrapbooking fool at the moment. But because I like the way her negative spaces gives you a chance to breathe and dig deeper into the work. It is filled with great bits but the work isn't cramped or crowded. It spreads out a bit.... like a cold tired somebody stretching into the sun after a dark and cold winter.

The stark white pages, like our stark white winter bursts with color. This is the article that grabbed a hold of my imagination on first and second look. It has that Boho Chic whimsy and the Shabby Chic simplicity that really speaks to me right now as I contemplate another move. It speaks to me as I am trying to stretch into Spring to break the grip of cold that runs through and across me every day. Even with my Sweetie by my side I feel the cold creeping.... he warms my heart. And he inspires me to be more than I have been in the last few years of conflict and fleeting peace.

We talked about Art. The making of it, the process and the absolute desert that is the home when I am fully involved in a project. We talked about the things that take him inside of himself in a similar way. So we already know there is conflict between Muse and Life, between Egos and Encouragement. And we are already preparing for the eventuality that we will chose to live together somewhere and make our dreams come true. He isn't an artist in my medias, but we shared an art class so he knows how the process becomes entangled. He is an artist in the kitchen. I am a mere foodie in his presence. But I know the rapture of a well executed meal. The pain of plating and the foibles of study that let him become better at his craft even after his 25 years of experience. And he knows that culinary art is the same to him as my media are to me. So we know. But can our egos handle it?

I think so. And somehow... Heather Jacobs' work seems to convey that feeling to me... the growing together and yet independently. The mutual success. The encouragement and the praise for each other. I think that the red so close to the mid February Hallmark holiday may also have something to do with how I feel toward this particular article.

My thoughts are turning to Spring at any rate. There is so much to do between now and then. And so much change coming. Good change. I am actually not afraid like I have been in the past. I think that means that things are settling in my fluttery, little anxiety-riddled heart.

I picked up artful blogging this week too. The cover is a few shades of Winter Blue darker than the persistent steely blue grey skies and lifeless evening shadows outside. Crisp and brighter, this has me thinking Spring again. Still. Also. And with those thoughts, I think of how to make the blog fresh again. To bring it into the Spring season and celebrate the warmth to come. While I think, I shall read. There is a lot of great information in this magazine.  As I absorb and assimilate the posts here will be rather small and scarce.... or maybe just scarce. So get your art fix with the links at the right and see what others are doing.

You'll love it. I promise!

Organizing

I'm laid up for a while again. Hamstring again. But at any rate, while I am laid up I am working on organizing my Pintrest™ boards. While I was working on the boards, I came across a new artist in the illustrations pins.

Her name is Irina Vinnik, a Russian illustrator. Her work is remarkable. I will let her work speak for itself. This is January from her new calendar.

 

 



It is amazing how much there is on Pintrest. Its a great way to spread the love around. Especially since the thing is so random. Everyone anywhere can post things. Slide it under a header and the whole world suddenly has access to people and places that otherwise would remain unknown.

I wish she had a blog. But maybe I can get a widget for her Behance page. Until then, here is a link to her shop.

Strength in Solitude

As I am embarking on a new personal journey, the question of solitude has come up. Again. In many ways introverts are completely comfortable with the concept of seclusion, especially in the creative arts. However.... and you thought there was a but coming, however; introverts don't always want to be alone. Ideally we would like to be with an extrovert that can be our world representative. I think. Maybe it isn't fair to speak for all introverts. I speak for myself and say it is nice to be able to share the quiet and be connected to someone.

It's hard to find people to do that with though. So many people in the World freak out over the concept of spending time alone that we seem weird. There is almost always something wrong with people who need a lot of time alone. I have a friend who just made bread from the mold of a grape found on a walk.... it's yeasty good bread raising mold. But those things take time to cultivate and work out to perfection. Those things don't need an audience in the experimental phase. But they do need an audience for the reveal and the applause. Accolades are just as important to introverts but we feel like we have to work harder. And that takes some time alone to be the genius.

Reflecting on that, I found words from the Impressionist Paul Gauguin. And this is the result:

Blast from the Past

So way back in 2000, my stampin friends and I decided to participate in this cool paper study project that Michelle found. It was to be our way to keep in touch as she was off to the East Coast. Note to self: Xmas windows In NYC

We'd only gotten a few projects in when life threw us all into a dither and the book found a quiet nook on a shelf and sat neglected. It's moved with me everywhere because I can not bear to let it go after Michelle went through the trouble of putting it together for each of us. And now.... digging through it again. I want to make this my project to finish this year (2014) just commit to one page a month. I can do that.

It will be interesting to see how things have changed, or not, since 2000.

Reblogging: A Change in Policy

Originally, when I started this blog is was to be just for my own art. Spilt Paint was to be about my work and selling it, promoting it the best that I could. It occurs to me that I have been very shortsighted in a way. And by focusing on myself and my work, I've cut out a vital part of what being an artist is: the things that inspire us.

I posted that cartoon from Rhumer. And today I am going to link to a blog that I have been following. And the reason for that, aside from it being well written and an important message to other artists, is because of something that Amelia said:

Being an artist isn't something one does in 3 years anyway. It's a LIFESTYLE; a way of being; a mode of ongoing thinking and existing ad infinitum.

Art is a lifestyle. If van Gogh's life and death, taught us anything it should be that. Artists are essential to the human condition: feeding the soul, healing wounds, being there when there is not an earthly person to depend upon. Since artistic endeavors look so much like play and not much like work artists tend to take a lot of abuse from the people who could most benefit from our passions. And becoming a paid artist is a lot harder than one could ever imagine.


So I am linking to 101 Bird Tales article here. http://101birdtales.blogspot.com/2013/09/how-to-diy-art-school-education.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+101BirdTales+%28101+Bird+Tales%29 and telling you all to go for it. Unless you live in the frozen tundra (which is now melting under your feet) you are not too far away from a resource that will let you develop your natural talents. I am close to the tundra in that there is not much that is close to me that I can afford to attend on a regular basis. But I do have the power of the internet and the gift of serendipitous discovery: I can manage to fuel my imagination.

But I can not do it if I am only focused on myself. Look at every artist out there. They belong to some kind of a community. My friend Michelle is constantly in contact with other artists. They feed her and she feeds them. I do not know it musical artists do the same thing... I assume at some point they must, Sting and Dominic Miller being one example. But I do know that without constant immersion in art the well begins to run dry.

That is most likely the root of my current dry spell.... in addition to a profound discomfort in working conditions. There are things still brewing, fleshing out the Unverwundbar and Unendlich inspired pieces is taking a bit of time. Honestly, I don't usually plan pieces so carefully. I mostly work with a slight concept and work the kinks out as I go. This time is different. Still.... I need more art to fuel my own ideas because that is how the process works.

So I think it is time to spice up the Spilt Paint blog with a bit of the things that I find inspiring. I see being immersed in all things BBC has given my writer's imagination some fire for creative thinking over at 6°. So it is time to see what I can do with this one.

A Little Something Fun....

DeviantArt artist Rhumer graciously gave me permission to blog this. The Doctor Who Hub found it and posted it yesterday. This is hilarious... and would explain so much. Here is a link to the deviant page.
http://www.deviantart.com/art/Vincent-van-gogh-175543323

Visual Treats: Chihuly Persians

I am not sure what I can really say about this next set of photos from my vacation.  I am glad that we decided to get expensive food to revive us for the rest of the viewing at the Sculpture Park. If we had not then we would have missed the awesomeness that was.

ME: (stumbling and nearly lethargic) Where is the café?
ROOMIE: (staring straight ahead and pointing at the wall markers) It says this way.

[The low ceiling is dark on such an overcast day. Feels like a cave.]

ME: I'm dying. (eyes flitting shut as body temp has risen to an alarming degree)
ROOMIE: We should have had more coffee or breakfast.

[Suddenly the ceiling height rises, sunlight fills a pool of tile on the floor, attention shifts from body pain to....]

ME: OMG!!!!!!!!

IT'S A CHIHULY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


I frantically dug out the camera took this shot then walked into the café proper. And what did my wondering eyes behold?

 

 

 

A ceiling full of Chihuly Persians. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that I would get to see these in person. The visual feast that is his murano processed glass is something that you just have to see in person. A Tacoma, Washington native and resident near Seattle, Dale Chihuly brings color to the art scene in more ways than one. His work is shown around the world. If you are a fan of the show Frasier then you have seen Dale Chihuly's work already.

 

I snapped tons of shots of the ceiling's rainbow assortment of Persians. And after six hours of near non stop photography I killed the batteries with the last photograph. I would have to buy more batteries to finish the indoor gardens.

 

I could wish for sunshine all day long. I think it would have made everything in the park stand out more. As it was we had overcast skies and there is little that I can do about it. What I like about his work is that it is radiant in spite of its surroundings. There is just no mistaking a piece of his glass for anything else.

These pieces found themselves somewhat better lit by virtue of artificial lighting. The one shot that I wish I had gone back for, no matter how sore my feet were, was the shot underneath the chandelier. How I would love to have laid under it to look up into that medusa form and feel smothered by light.



 





Pond wanted a New Van Gogh & She Got It

It would seem that the Doctor heals spirits as well as rifts in time. Just unveiled, published 3 hours ago by the LA Times, a new van Gogh. Things like this don't just happen. Not in the A to B, one foot in front of the other lives that we live. We are so accustomed to life being linear and unyielding that we forget that there are miracles of a wibbly wobbly timey wimey sort. And this is a case in point.

Several remarkable things in this story give my giddy Geek plenty to squee about. So much so that I am not sure which blog this story belongs to. First the director of the Amsterdam Museum that authenticated the work looks a lot like the guy in that episode that played van Gogh. Second, the whole discussion in that episode from Pond with her wanting to extend his life for there to be hundreds of new paintings

Amy: So you were right. No new paintings. We didn't make a difference at all.

The Doctor: I wouldn't say that. The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and... bad things. The good things don't always soften the bad things, but vice versa, the bad things don't necessarily spoil the good things or make them unimportant. And we definitely added to his pile of good things.

The Doctor, later in the Museum: And... if you look , maybe we did indeed make a couple of little changes.

The new van Gogh comes from the period in which the Doctor & Pond visited with him. And yes, I know that it is just a TV show. I know that this is fiction and that in the real world there are no Time Lords from Gallifrey... but I also know that this is how wonderful story telling is done.

The process for authenticating this piece began in the 1990s when the Belgian owner wanted to sell it in the first place. This story has been circulating for a while. And mostly ignored by the rest of the world because we have all been side tracked by wars, plane crashes, celebrity gossip and the like. So somewhere, some when, some one wondered what would have happened if the Doctor had visited with van Gogh. Myself, I wondered after that episode if he might not have kilt him.

In the 6 month period prior to his suicide van Gogh was in more than a little slump. He was talking to his brother about maybe giving up. He could not make his hands do what his mind saw. And he was overly critical of his work... lamenting the haystacks series as failures. This is referenced in the episode. Someone helped him out of it. Theo paid his bills but he wasn't the best source of comfort as far as I can tell. So how did he get out of his funk?

And what all did he paint? 36 x 28 inches is not an incredibly huge ordeal in acrylic by todays standards but it is apparently in oil back in the day. The thick impasto application of oil paints would take a few weeks to dry. How many canvases could he keep going at once? And what happened to make him want to shoot himself?

Just look at this painting

Of course seeing it in person is going to be better. The first pics I saw gave very little contrast between the fore and mid ground so that it looked like little more than a slathering of greens. However, this one from the CBS page shows contrasts in the seeming monochromatic fore and mid grounds. There is just a bit of bright blue dashed about for the eye to follow back to the blue horizon and that fabulous outcropping of buildings. And I would have to say that the gable end of the one building looks an awful lot like a T.A.R.D.I.S in disguise, Tardis blue being the unifying compliment in this piece.

Perhaps Sunset at Montmajour is something else that he considered a failure. Perhaps the flatness in the cluster of trees up front that is little distinguished from the row in the back infuriated himself to no end. Perhaps there was not enough shading in the foliage to make him happy. Perhaps.... when he decided what was wrong with it and tried to fix it the paint was still too wet. Or worse, the thick layers of oil paints would not yield because they had dried.

Here's the thing. If you stare at something long enough you will find all the things that are wrong with it. If you stare at perfection long enough you will find ugly. I'm an artist. I know that not every stroke I put on a canvas is going to be perfect. It isn't about the individual strokes. It is how they all work together. And when you fixate on one little flaw it will ruin the experience of the painting.

When I first saw this my heart leapt out of my chest. It is breathtaking. And it is calming. Personally, I would like to pull up a lawn chair and have a good read in that grove of trees. Sure... it's no Starry Night. But... this is impressionism. We aren't looking for road signs when we sit with the Impressionist Masters. We are looking for their company, for the feelings that they felt, we are hoping not for a history lesson but for community with our emotions. You can pick apart every single work by every single master and find something that doesn't sit well. They won't be glaring flaws like my misshaped apples. But there will be something.

When you are the artist you find the flaws faster because you have the map in your head of how it was supposed to be. Plagued with a notorious demand of perfection from ourselves we will judge our own works far more harshly than anyone else would. Once a guy like him fixes on the things that are wrong there is not a lot anyone else can do to help him out of it. If Sunset was part of a string of paintings he considered "failures" then the shooting becomes more understandable. Not justifiable but understandable.

In either case, he proves over and over again that art is not as easy as everyone makes it out to be; that art is subjective and sometimes the customers know best; and we always want more from our heroes than it is possible for them to give. Except in this case it is possible to have more van Gogh.

Visual Treat: The Horse

Sometimes it is good to get away and see things that challenge or update your own ideas of what is and is not art. I had a lot of that on vacation. It was a spur of the moment thing, we weren't really planning a full out minute by minute itinerary for this trip. My house mate said Grand Rapids and I said "OK." Even when she mentioned the sculpture park I wasn't too enthused. There has been a lot of that lately. But when we got down there I suddenly remembered "THE HORSE!!!!"

da Vinci modeled a horse for the Sforza clan for a commission by the Duke of Milan. The whole statue never was built. The clay model ever got beyond the construction of the horse before it was used for target practice when French soldiers invaded Milan. A few centuries later an American named Dent decided to have it built. The process began in 1977 and was completed just before I went to school in 1999. The story was huge. Every paper carried full page spreads of the newest installation at the Frederick Meijer Garden and Sculpture Park. And I was even more excited to get to art school than before.

Life gets in the way the way that it does and it is 2013 before I even think about getting there to see it. When I remembered that he was there... this great war horse of da Vinci's, I felt the fire for art that I haven't felt in a while. I needed desperately to connect with something outside of myself again.

And so....

Looming over a piazza built for him, the stallion is an awesome and fierce looking thing to behold. He can be seen from many vantage points within the garden park. Thankfully my zoom let me get up close and personal for this shot.

 

 

It was a hazy day, incredibly overcast with threats of a good shower. Amateur photography is difficult on a day like today because I don't know how to compensate. Just now, while uploading this photo I noticed the rays in the shot. Glorious!

 

 

 



 

 

 

There are three models of the Horse. Here the littlest and the biggest stand in the same pose and the same direction and look like a father teaching a son about military precision stepping. The tiny horse is meant to be touched and enjoyed. The large one can be "hugged" if you are so inclined. I was a bit overwhelmed by the sheer size of the thing and got a small case of vertigo, so I kept my distance.

 

The medium sized horse sits perpendicular to the others. One should not "ride" the horse but it is of a size in which one might; though, I think it is still not enough hands high for a proper wartime mount. But for the purpose of photography the medium horse is still a magnificent thing to behold. You can get much closer to the details in the mane and face than with the behemoth in the piazza. And, if you go up around the wall enclosing that part of the piazza, lean a bit against it to get your bearings then you can see this....

 

 At this vantage point you are part of the sculpture. You are on one horse and looking at the horse of your opponent in battle. You are about to lose your shit and it feels like there is very little you can do about it but muster some strength to fight like a Klingon or

piss yourself and go home.


And I wonder... if the Trojan horse was not this magnificent why the hell would they let the thing into its walls. Any thing less than this is not a gift but an insult. Troy should have known better and since it did not it got what it deserved.

If you would like to see these animals for yourself there are two options. Grand Rapids Michigan at the Frederick Meijer Garden and Sculpture Park or the Hippodrome de san Siro Milan.

MO W13 First Box

Also uncrated from this box....

A portrait of an ex boyfriend, sleeping angel. And the oil on paper of a Chickadee in Winter. This has a very graphic feel too it. I can see his penchant for the 80s in this work. And lately, as I am digging things out of storage and finding tons of work from this time period, I find I miss him a lot right now.

Life, being what it is, has separated us for good this time. In the past we could always find one another and catch up. He is my Wonder Twin. Sometimes our artistic lives clashed in competition but most of the time we fed and improved each other's passions for our individual projects.

He's shown at ARTprize in Grand Rapids and has had his work shown in a few places down there. I do not know that he ever has sold much. Tis a shame... he is so good at what he does really love, anime and art nouveau. The combination is stunningly fresh, almost steampunky if it weren't for all the bright colors he used. Steampunk...... yeah... I do miss him.

My Own W13

I just uploaded a bunch of stuff to facebook. My sister is back online and I wanted to shove a few things at her in preparation for the onslaught of her baby pictures. Plus.... facebook is quicker and I get to try out the funny on them before launching words at you guys.

So here we go....


From the W13 Artifacts Vault, First Box:
Among the Chagalls, Degas and Victorian Cats, in a Rubbermaid repository lies tiny treasures of past artistic adventures and experiments. Unlike a real W13 artifact..... none of these things possess weird powers that warp reality or bestow superhuman powers.
Too bad.





The vault is open........

 

 



The top layers are laid out on the floor. From left: Italian wall
calendar 1998, watercolor exercise from Watercolor Magazine
of pears, 2 Chagalls from a wall calendar, 1992 Gates McFadden
portrait in colored pencil, Dover Collection Degas wrapping
 paper, college project "Product Announcement" 2001, watercolor
of a random hill in the middle of a farm in Port Oneida in
Leelanau County in the Fall.
 

Charcoal drawing from Glee Fenby's class 2000.
Study in textures and shadows.



Prelims for rubber stamps sold to A1 Stamps. The collection
celebrates my home town.

Trying to be Degas with ink.... not sure how
successful I feel about this one.



Left: Censer for Christmas maybe 1999? Right: Imagining a Woodcut or Lino-cut badge
of an artist in the service of his or her queen.

Grammpa Gerbstadt and the unfinished portrait
1998 or 99

THe NatGeo cover that started a thing with cacao pods sitting
alongside a watercolor exemplar of the Hebrew alphabet.

Practicing a new wet in wet watercolor technique on the left
and exploring cacao on the right.

One of many partially used watercolor pads in the box. I opened
this one thinking it would be the fifth empty book. But no. This
one had a surprise inside......
A mostly finished stargazer lily.
 

Wolkenreiter

It is not a "winter" album. Not like Sting's winter album was a winter album. And not like his Hounds of Winter was a get through seasonal affective disorder was a love 'em and leave 'em panacea. I've been listening to Wolkenreiter on a constant loop today. I woke up late with even intention to do so. It was a long and painful weekend at work and I know my body needs the rest. So I've had it playing. It is the one that I leave home because it is reflective and not the adrenaline rush you need to fold laundry for 8 hours. And I have to say... I think it is my favorite winter album.

Wolkenreiter means "Cloud Rider". Now perhaps that is more a Summer thing since there are so many beautiful clouds that look like you could ride them somewhere wonderful on a fantastic voyage. Granted under these titian white skies with an uber faint wash of indanthrene blue (and I mean really faint!) there are no discernable cloud formations. The sky is flat and uninteresting where there are not scraggly tree tops piercing into the dome. A smattering of snowfall flocks everything that isn't road. The road is nothing more than a well spilled slushie of dubious flavor. It is one of those days evocative of a Dickens classic, all bleak and lonesome and junk. I half expect a raggedy wolf to wander aimlessly across the once grassy quad outside my window. Or a ghost of Christmas Whenever.... I've been painting in autumnal colors, pomegrantes in clusters and cascades. But today I want to paint in frosty blue, sage, violet and perhaps just a little quinacridone violet... nothing too red. And it is all due to the perfect pairing of this album as soundtrack to our first Winter day in Northern Michigan.

Wolkenreiter really is the best album for a day like today. Not soley a collection of ballads, and the ballads are not the depressing kind that you expect from our side of the pond. For whatever reason, artists here have an idea that a slow song means you have to be brooding and ponder the dark complexities of the sole of human existence and its relationships to other souls. But with this album, it is a positive relfection. In the song I just finished listening to, Matze offers the very thing that I needed and wanted to hear two years ago. He offers the thing that Sir Knight (psuedomymn, obviously) did and with no more expectation than to be a help to someone in need. Here it is in English: (my own translation. Not exactly word for word)

Come take me with you, I take a piece of you with me

until you're standing on your own feet

Come take me with you, I take a piece of you with me

Then you go on your own way

Come take me with you, I take a piece of you with me

off to the big fairground, the roller coaster of life

as it goes up and down constantly.

There is  not only cotton candy(joy), but also the ghost train(sorrow)

But whatever will happen, as life always happens

I'm here

come into my arms

This is comfort music. It is reflective but it doesn't wallow in self pity. In many of the songs you have the feeling that this is a man who can stop and smell the roses and doesn't care if anyone thinks less of him for it. These songs freeze a moment for observation and say "It's okay. In this moment I feel ____ and then in the next moment I will feel something else". It is the exact thing that I need to to help me keep from getting stuck in moments that serve no good purpose.

In another song Matze states that his heart is not a hotel that the one room in it is reserved for someone special, and only for that one person. And "on the door hangs a sign which applies to the others 'entry forbidden'."

And in Vermiss dich
where are you?
where are you?
I've often thought to tell you that we went a wrong way
i miss you
pleae miss me too
i believe very firmly that we can turn back time
come with me an we will start from the beginning.


American music tends to want to trash the other person in the relationship. Matze is always looking for a way to peace, either in the relationship itself or in his heart when reflecting on a relationship. We go all first wives club on someone. That is not the mature or helpful thing to do. Of course he is not perfect. And there is that song on Manner sind Krieger in which he says he'd like to flip off her new boyfriend when next they meet out on the street. But that is not the same as setting clothes on fire and blowing shit up. Rosenkrieg was for that.... I am digresing. Again....

No,Wolkenreiter is a very reflective, calming album and I am now in the mood to frost my sorrows with a little bit of sugar... and do some watercolors with sparkling H2Os. Laundry can wait another day.

Oodles of Doodles

It's a rainy Northern Michigan morning and I am having a hard time getting my German radio station to load. Apparently the rainy season makes everything a little sleepy. I am no exception. For the first time in I don't know how long I slept a full 8 hours. But I woke at 11 to grey clouds after a brilliant dream. This always leaves me a little melancholic. The dreams I live in during sleep are vivid in texture, color, sound and lighting. Reality has a hard time keeping up.

This morning when I logged on to Facebook I made a comment from a Seuss quote about it being to wet to play. And then I popped over to google for some mail and such only to find a brilliant Google doodle about Little Nemo. Instant love. So being the geek that I am I went on a hunt to learn more about it's creator, Windsor McCay.

from today's google doodle
used without permission but
with the request that you guys
start to credit the animators who
create these amazing
bits & bobs.
~Thank you~

First I love the name. Windsor and Newton are my favorite watercolors. And, though spelled with a C instead of a K, the name McCay will always invoke David Hewlett's scientist extraordinaire Rodney the raging egomaniac from the Stargate franchise. But what I love the most about this man's work is the the strength of the drawing and the delicacy of the colors. Created in the early 1900s, the Art Nouveau style is very apparent in his work. The first thought that I had when I saw them was of Maxfield Parrish and Alfonse Muscha.

The second thought that I had was "Who puts that much work into a Sunday comic? Of course, I grew up in the 70s and 80s where the most complicated Sunday strip was Prince Valiant. And our animated cartoons were those of Disney and Warner Bros. While Disney cartoons have a great aesthetic, they are simple things. Detailed and yet uncomplicated so as to make production easier, there is still a flatness to the films.

And then when we get into the realm of Saturday morning cartoons there was the Adventures of Tarzan, Johnny Quest and later Wizards and Warriors to fill in the details of realism that the others left out. And I wonder now if simplifying the cartoon to appeal more to children might have been a poor choice. Not wrong or bad but poor. I love animation. I fell in love with it the first time I ever saw a cartoon because I recognized it as art. However, I know that as I got older, 8 or 9 maybe, I wanted there to be more substance. The world was not overly simple. The rush of images that pass us in our daily lives get noticed when we are kids. But we may not always have understood what we saw. I think that is perhaps why Japanimation and Anime have taken the world by storm. It does not filter out the complicated or the bad and the ugly in human or anthropomorphic behavior. And I can see all of this in the things that Little Nemo encounters in his dreams.

The comic was hugely popular in its time. And it was one of the first animated films. Not THE first, but one of them. I think that the popularity of them is because we all know that we have dreams in which we live the action. There is evidence upon waking. The drug our body uses to paralyse us in sleep is weak or wears off and we thrash about. This is the dream life of Nemo. And I think that part of the appeal is that the child who can not tell his or her parents what the dream was about and is confused by it will see this comic and know that they are not alone in their adventures. Kids encounter the complicated things of life all the time. But not many adults take the time to help explain it.



borrowed again
 

And the popularity of his work among adults would be, perhaps that the real world textures and layers now have a dreamy quality that puts a little more color into the Industrial Age in America. You know, I look at this next illustration, gleaned from the net most inappropriately, and I see that the era of Steampunk began in the 1900s. It doesn't take us back to the beginning in the manner of homage; it has always been with us... just hiding a bit.

The illustration to the right juxtaposes the modern 1900s with ancient architecture and some fairly, in 2012, fanciful ideas of hydrogen power. I see a city that would never have been built because of the clash between the modernity of convenience and the grace of traditional living and a city that will never bu built now because exterior ornamentaion is a colossal waste of money and material. And certainly the irrationality of fanaticism would prevent such a wondrous place from existing in the future. Purists would pale at the thought of Asiatic and Roman design commingled in a single structure such as the shadowy building on the left. I am certain the upon seeing this there must be a few 14th century Italian architects bristling at the thought of Roman viaducts and duomos being the foundation of such a conglomerate monster such as the central building cluster. Which, may I point out, looks very much like it could have been cut and pasted onto the cover of any fantasy novel of the 1970s, especially the cloud cities of Marion Zimmer Bradley's worlds. Shoot... if Tolkein's Lorien elves were all about building in the open this could very well have been one of their spired cities. Behind the blue dome, fading in to the mist I see something that would be comfortable on the Klingon home world.

I think in all of this mornings travels, the thing that most entertained me about McCay's work is this last photo. Because the first thing that I thought when I saw it is the first thing that you are thinking...

 

Thank you, Google, for the excellent doodle and teaching me something that I didn't already know. I almonst take back what I said about book research being better (in the aesthetic sense) than a Google search. What a great way to spend a rainy morning/afternoon.