"Working in a studio means leaving the clean world of normal life and moving into a shadowy domain where everything bears the marks of the singular obsession." (James Elkins). This does not mean that the studio itself is scary. The space may be untidy and cluttered, but that can be fixed with an afternoon of efficient puttering. What I am avoiding, for fear of failure I suppose, is something else. "Alchemy's lesson here is that everything actually takes place within the body. The insanity of the studio is that it is not architecture - it is not made of wood and cement - but it is nothing other than the inside of the body." (Elkins again).
I suspect I have been too hung up on the end result. This is an unfortunate side effect of mixing business with pleasure. I need to start doing again. Right? Who cares about the outcome of a painting? Its not what you do, its the way that you do it? And yet, I can't shake the feeling that our knowledge of the world is not completely derived from our experience.
As the panels that I am preparing to paint on are drying, I am reading the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy's entry Aesthetic Judgment. The phone vibrates in my pocket, making me jump. I feel confused, if not guilty, about how I am spending my time. Imagine the perverse notion of taking the time to blog about that guilt. Thanks for visiting.Before I go, I'd like to address the thing that I've been telling my students this week and is being reinforced over at Mary's blog, Never underestimate the value of your first step.
3 comments:
I think -- and I haven't gone over to Matthew's page to read up on it yet but -- I think that there are far too many variables to account for why that painting got so many positive comments. I mean, I think first is that it's a good painting. But beyond that: I know the times I comment on something have a random element to them. Some days I don't feel like typing. Some days I don't have time and don't get back to it. Some days you've already posted two or three or more works and I already said something on one of them, which may not be the best, but it was the one I started on. Sometimes I do comment partly because I haven't touched base with you in a while and want to remind you I'm still reading, sort of the way you say "uh huh" during a cell phone conversation just so your friend knows the call wasn't dropped.
I think in the case of this painting, I hadn't seen you post anything striking in a while. So I was primed to comment favorably.
Okay, I just read Matthew's post. I also think he's dead wrong about aesthetics. And it looks like you may be on the way to changing his mind, too.
I've been thinking lately that that's all it takes to turn a postmodernist into a modernist: The one work of art that makes them go "ah". Like their first orgasm.
Okay, not to piss on your wheaties, but I have seen other works of yours I like "better" than the mass comment painting. Not to say I don't like it, but it didn't do for me what it did for others. This would of course explain your blogging popularity, as opposed to mine. ; )
This is not a critique of the painting at all, but I wouldn't be afraid not being able to outdo yourself. Your palette knife paintings along with Tracy's small work pushed me into a new direction in the studio which is rocking my world now. No fear, dude. No fear.
What is great is that, after three years of blogging, I finally have a dialog with people who can comfortably piss on my wheaties.
What is interesting about three years of blogging is that I am beginning to repeat myself. What I need to remember is that Chris is the only person outside of my family that might notice it. Thanks Chris.
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