Retro Flashback

Love Battery performing Highway of Souls at the Vogue in Seattle in 1989. (Steady Cam and Best Boy: Steven LaRose)

I thought I should add some links to Mona's recent post

and I quote: "This is a statue of Victor Hasselblad. He invented the first 6x6 single reflex camera, he also left his fortune to a foundation, The Hasselblad Foundation, which gives grants to photographers.The biggest grant is awarded each year to a known photographer, that also gets a big retrospective show at the Hasselblad Center at the Gothenburg Art Museum. Last year it was Nan Goldin,(a great show) this year its the Mexican photographer Graciela Iturbide. She has a very good photobook about Oaxaca, its called 'Juchitan'.
On Monday, the last lab that processes big format film in Seattle, Iveys, is closing. Small buisnesses and artists are scrambling."

via: monawashere

The Accordian and Synesthesia

Two more pages I made, over a decade ago:

Style

I was a solo parent this weekend.

My daughter Zaida freaked me out
(in the best possible way).

When Stacy returned with her lady-friends from Portland, she was sportin' a cute t-shirt:

and she was obviously anxious to model her new racy work shoes: When I was asked "what do you think?," I diplomatically did not mention how aroused I was by her shoe's similarity to a Hot Wheel I once had.

ahem

The seven year old would like to flaunt her new shoes as well:

Everyone is lobbying for attention.
Except Omeed the Kitten.
Omeed runs off or on.

As a "solo parent" I tried really hard to make sure that the house was presentable upon Stacy's return.

You can imagine my horror when the girls started shouting: "There's a frog in the house!"

I suspect, that ole' man Jake escorted the frog into our house.
I mean sheesh, the dude is 14 years old and "frog" rhymes with "blog".

We all need to pay more attention to Jake.

I need to pay more attention to certain painters.
Have any of you seen this painting before?
Barnett Newman, Pagan Void, 1946
Oil on canvas, 33 x 38"

Brock's Lacuna

The following four pages are from the limited edition print version of Fish or Cut Bait, 1997.

The Archrival's Love

Special thanks to Zaida LaRose for camera work, music, and sound effects.

Steven LaRose, Pareidolia, 2008

Acrylic and oil on wood panel, 11.75 x 10.25 inches

Pareidolia is the final painting in my HMS Challenger suite. This suite of twelve paintings can be viewed as a flickr set here.

I finished this last painting at the same time that I became bored with reading texts from the previous centuries.

I'd like to close with these words from Hermann von Helmholtz:
"The specific element of artistic technique to which investigation in physiological optics has led us are closely related to the highest goals of art. Indeed, we may perhaps entertain the thought that even the ultimate mystery of artistic beauty - that is the wonderful pleasure we feel in its presence - is really based upon a sense of the smooth, harmonious, and vivid current of our ideas which, in spite of many changes, flows toward a common point and brings to light laws hitherto concealed, allowing us to gaze into the deepest recesses of our own nature."
- "The Physiological Causes of Harmony in Music" (1857), translation A.J. Ellis, in Selected Writings of Hermann von Helmholtz, ed. Russell Kahl (Middletown, Conn.: Wesleyan University Press, 1971), 107.

Of course, even though I am "closing" with these words and I expect to in the future read some modern books, my "no-more-old-books" policy may change.

I am not against the changing of one's policy if it is a well considered change.

Wild Kingdom

COMING SOON! A special blockbuster summer short! Watch for the release of this spine tingling thriller some time this week, here on
Fish or Cut Bait!!

New (to me) Old Footprint

Hans Schmithals, Balls of Bacilli, c. 1900
Pastel on paper fixed to wrapping paper, 21 x 16 in.

I recently came across this painting by Hans. His Wikipedia entry is not only brief, but it is also translated from German. Only those whose blankets exude wetness will find a reason to maintain their granite and furrowed brow after reading : "Although he was only a few years worked as a painter, he is still today as a major initiator in the transition from Art Nouveau to the abstract painting."

Look out. . . here comes Mona

That is my old friend Mona on the floor. She just started a blog called Mona Was Here. You can also visit her web page to check out her sensibility. She is one of those stereotypical Göteborg - Oaxaca - Seattle types. We did a collaboration exhibition back in the day. It was wicked fun.

Ten minutes after three

Just to make things perfectly clear, I live in a village of 20,000 people. Painter/Bloggers are hard to come by. Consequently, it was obvious that when Sarah Burns sent me an email announcement about her art opening at Weisinger's, I was at least going to make a brief visit. I handed the camera over to my seven year old and I now regret my blossoming paunch more than my variegated cut-offs. Shit, I can even take pride in my potential Beakerness. It is that damn paunch eruption that has my hands behind my back at a winery no less. Anyway, I think Sarah has potential. I'd buy this piece if I could: Not only is the painting essentially set in my backyard, it reminds me of that prick William Wray.I can call William a prick, because he has called me one. The thing is, the whole genre of representation freaks me out. I can't offer it anything. The steepness of Sarah's hill is daunting. Especially for someone like me who is groping in the valley.

Steven LaRose, Nature's Soft Nurse, 2008
Acrylic and oil on wood panel, 11.75 x 10.25 inches

If you are so inclined

Marc Snyder and I had a fun week over at 10,000 Pixels, tossing images back and forth. He would post an image, the next day I would post something responding to it, and so on. The animation above is a compilation of one of the two resulting image threads.

We'll be doing something similar next week, so keep your eyes open for that.

Dink-Lump Huper-Seroes

Here are some blogs (and one web page) that are new to me, and some blogs that I have mentioned before but for some reason have neglected:

Cabin


Tim McFarlane


such stuff

Rachel Maxi


Jim Denevan


George Lawson


Bearskinrug


bOdhi'shOp

Dave's Cafeteria D'Art

Paleo-Future

Steven LaRose, Kyūdō, 2008
Acrylic and oil on wood panel, 11.75 x 10.25 inches

". . . the right frame of mind for the artist is only reached when the preparing and the creating, the technical and the artistic, the material and the spiritual, the project and the object, flow together without a break. And here he finds a new theme for emulation. He is now required to exercise perfect control over the various ways of concentration and self-effacement. Imitation, no longer applied to objective contents which anybody can copy with a little good will, becomes looser, nimbler, more spiritual. The pupil sees himself on the brink of new possibilities, but discovers at the same time that their realization does not depend in the slightest degree on his good will.

Assuming that his talent can survive the increasing strain, there is one scarcely avoidable danger that lies ahead of the pupil on his road to mastery. Not the danger of wasting himself in idle self-gratification - for the East has no aptitude for this cult of the ego - but rather the danger of getting stuck in his achievement, which is confirmed by his success and magnified by his renown: in other words, of behaving as if the artistic existence were a from of life that bore witness to its own validity."
Eugen Herrigel, Zen in the Art of Archery, (Vintage Books Edition, 1989) 43-44.

Steven LaRose, Retroactive Continuity, 2008
Water based paints on wood panel, 11.75 x 10.25 inches

Miso and Omeed

Suitable

On Saturday morning, I gamboled through the audio book section of our local independent video store. I was looking for something to ease the monotony of a 3.5 hour drive to Portland. I had made an earlier art-related journey along the lavender spine of the I-5 Serpent once before. This time however, I was determined to be equipped with the kind of brainwave stimulus that books-on-tape have to offer. I wasn't going to be fooled by the savage-beast-calming nature of music once again. To my surprise, it seems that only Danielle Steel, Larry McMurtry, and Deepak Chopra produce books on tape. Or, at least, they generate the greatest quantity of them. Fortunately, I was anxious to hit the road and so I was grateful for the slanted and simple selection. Before long, I was presented with the option of either renting The Kite Runner, or The Yiddish Policeman's Union. I decided to ignore my first aphorism of the day and completely trust the Chris Ware-ish cover-art of the latter. After filling up the tank with gas that was $4.40 per gallon, I slid onto the back of The Lavender Serpent, and set the cruise control for 65. I promptly inserted the first disc and my instant impression was, "How in the world can motor-homes and buses be passing me with gas prices like this?" My second thought was, "Damn, this is too hard to listen too." Which seems odd in retrospect because, five discs later, I found myself in front of my hotel destination, reluctantly pausing the narrative. I had been magically transported.

I handed the car keys over to a poor schlep dressed in a Beefeater costume. I felt sorry for him until he called me "big guy". I barely bristled and let the kid valet the car while I proceeded to the tenth floor of the Heathman hotel. Whiting Tennis was there stewing over which shirt to wear. He thought the white shirt and dark suit made him look like a caterer. When I put on my choice of clothes, Whiting advised that I tuck in my shirt. As we left the room, I noticed in the elevator mirror, two stickers that I promptly removed from Whiting's crisp new pants. I also inconspicuously un-tucked myself.

We launched ourselves out of the be-mirrored and burled elevator and stopped at the hotel bar for a quick Pilsner and a de-briefing. Whiting brought me up to speed as to the gesture of the night. He informed me as to how he despised awards for artists and how he felt that they were a counter-productive contrivance for everyone in the trenches. I asked Whiting if he had any sort of speech in mind. . . just in case. He assured me that it wasn't necessary because he had recently won the 2007 Neddy Artist Fellowship and the way these "political" things work out, he was certainly not a contender.

We drained our pints and swaggered the two blocks over to the museum. On the way, we marveled at the downtown beauty of Portland. They aren't tearing down all their old buildings and Portland even has a tree lined boulevard! They have planned for growth and the "scene" is hoppin'. God only knows who is fucking up Seattle, and why?

At the Portland Art Museum, Whiting ducked inside to meet with some early bird patrons while I went around the corner for more beer and a phone call to Eva Lake. Man, what a trooper. Eva's husband was making dinner and I am almost certain that she was in a bathrobe and bunny slippers when I called. With only the tinniest of coaxing, Eva was at the bar lookin' fast with a new haircut and a Perelli racing shirt. We bolted through the usual topics like blogging and painting. I wish I could remember Eva's precise words, but she certainly stressed her distaste for subtle paintings and how she would rather have hers be alive in the room. Alive, like she is now. We talked about which Portland gallery would be suitable for me to court. We also speculated as to who was going to be at this award ceremony I was attending. Eva knew of only a couple of collectors who had been invited. She filled me in as to the nature of the event and why it was different from the previous years. Eva lightly fluffed everything up with some information about who was participating. Or, more specifically, who wasn't participating. . . namely, Oregonians.

My second pint (the third for the night) was three fingers shallow when Whiting's housemate and my old friend Tina Meadows rolled into the bar. Tina was surrounded by seven other individuals whose names I immediately and rudely forgot. This was a big mistake because they were fascinating people. In the whirlwind, Eva went home (did I say good-bye?) and the new group headed towards the opening.
Once inside, the gallery's were very crowded and I wasn't supposed to be taking pictures. I was only able to shoot this one above from my hip while everyone was leaving. The one below is from Greg Kucera's web site. I don't get it. What is wrong with taking pictures?

I must admit that I didn't get a chance to look at the other artists work and I was only beginning to swim in the room that contained Whiting's work when I glanced over and recognized a pair of eyes that belonged to Heather Watkins. Heather was at Pitzer College when I was attending Claremont. Much to my delight, she now teaches at Lewis and Clark and is represented by PDX. Check out her paintings:

Heather Watkins, Flow, 2008

Mixed Media

30" x 24"

Right up my alley, no? Well, I had to talk to her for awhile. Soon, someone came through the gallery spaces playing a three note pattern on a Fisher-Price xylophone. It was time to move the masses to the award ceremony. I quickly looked around again and wondered what exactly was making Whiting's work seem so mature? Was it the lack of irony? His attention to craft, is unique and developing, but that isn't enough to explain my slack-jawed wonder. He seems to have been able to capture a simultaneous nod to the past and the present. (If the future is involved, it must come from the anthropomorphic spell the sculptures contain). The pieces standing in the room teeter on the edge of coming to life. There is hope in Whiting Tennis' unborn zombies. It seems he has found a way to externalize his soul. Maybe he learned this from playing music?
Bing, Bong, Ping.
The xylophone lady walked through again.

We were all escorted into another antechamber of the Museum. The award was being given out in what appeared to be an old Masonic hall. Those secret societies may be hiding something but they sure made some beautiful spaces at one time. It felt like two gymnasiums and there were far more people than I had been expecting. Here is Whiting talking with Greg Kucera.

I can't even guess at how many other people were there. But I was certainly impressed by how easy it was to acquire a healthy glass of wine. Everything was very nice. More shmoozing insued. I briefly exchanged words with a fraction of the Butters Family Ltd and although I didn't get a picture of Kristina, here is Jeffery:

Jeffery has been painting too:Jeffery Butters, Memes 5, 2007
Mixed media on paper, 12 x 9"

I also met Andrea Schwartz-Feit, who was remarkably prompt with a follow-up comment (see previous post).

Andrea Schwartz-Fiet, Funnel, 2007
Oil and wax on panel, 14 x 11"

I chatted with all sorts of people. I met Adam McIssac who works at Pinch, a design office. I remember talking to Billy Howard of Howard House, and putting my foot in my mouth. I started off real smooth with Billy by dropping Matthew Picton's name (fellow Ashlander and currently represented by Mr. Howard). But my looser and looser lips started talking about Victoria Haven (someone I consider a friend) and who recently left Howard House under circumstances that are none of my business. But judging by how Billy's smile retreated into two tight worms, I deduced that he was not impressed by my association.

plingplingplingpling (the amplified tapping of a glass)

Thank heaven it was time for the award. I scooted away to my corner.

Whiting won!
"Here's your check."
No speech after all.

Huh?

The aforementioned Tina thoughtfully gathered a plate of food for Whiting.
Yeesh. I know that a wise person, (especially after a social blunder) might consider a booze mop, but the plate that Tina was wielding reminded me of a grotesque metaphor being sucked into a worm hole. I scooped up another glass of wine instead. Whiting's big mistake was trusting me as his date. After the dust settled, we were whisked off to a patron's beautiful home. At this point, my world looked like this:
I asked the host "Would you mind if I took some pictures?"
He replied, "For what reason?"
"I have a blog" I said.
He laughed with contempt "Yes, I would mind."
What is wrong with taking pictures? I wondered again.
I felt even smaller and more baffled. I decided to go outside.
I took pictures of the dusk sky. I wanted to respect the host's wishes. I was incredibly impressed with the lighting that every piece of art in their house received. And yet, I was challenged by their slight, and prejudice towards blogging. So, when Whiting was finally asked to give a speech. I couldn't help myself:

The night was like a parabolic curve. I witnessed the entire "artworld" lamination. After we left the gracious and seemingly ultimate patron's home, we went back to the hotel bar where there was a different crowd. My camera is tucked away at this point. After that, a few of us continue on to the Doug Fir Lounge. Eventually, we make it back to the hotel room where our bathrobes have been given some sort of origami treatment and Whiting freaks out because he can't find his coat with the $10,000 check in the pocket.
Its cool. Ten minutes later we discover that he had responsibly hung his suit up when he came in.

sleep

I wake up and my eyes look like that dress:
I drive home, transported by more Michael Chabon.

I am left feeling spent, embarrassed, and yielding. Can you see how life affirming that is?
-~-~-~-~-
More thoughts from the Oregonian on the CNAA here.