As one component of their final project, I had my first year painting students copy a page from Faber Birren's Creative Color. Although it is not the same as painting from life, I thought the exercise incorporated many valuable challenges: Transparency, Texture, Highlights, Shadows, Luminosity, Iridescence, Trompe-l'œil, etc. I've never actually read the book and only began collecting these sorts of publications out of some sort of kitchy irony. Lately, however, I have been discovering little gems buried in them. From Creative Color's forward: "Human perception is a fascinating area of study for the simple reason that it is related to the firsthand experience of everyone. It is not something apart from life, but intimately tied in with it. Thus everyone has access to the laboratory of his own consciousness. The way may not be too easy, but at least it is personal and not remote." Alas, imagine my disappointment, when only four students finished.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Four different students
As one component of their final project, I had my first year painting students copy a page from Faber Birren's Creative Color. Although it is not the same as painting from life, I thought the exercise incorporated many valuable challenges: Transparency, Texture, Highlights, Shadows, Luminosity, Iridescence, Trompe-l'œil, etc. I've never actually read the book and only began collecting these sorts of publications out of some sort of kitchy irony. Lately, however, I have been discovering little gems buried in them. From Creative Color's forward: "Human perception is a fascinating area of study for the simple reason that it is related to the firsthand experience of everyone. It is not something apart from life, but intimately tied in with it. Thus everyone has access to the laboratory of his own consciousness. The way may not be too easy, but at least it is personal and not remote." Alas, imagine my disappointment, when only four students finished.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Sunday, March 08, 2009
One day in Seattle, I didn't have time to enjoy a phở
I write this while sitting at the Portland airport, awaiting a connecting flight to Medford. I felt compelled to purchase a pencil and ruled writing tablet in order to share my sense of foreboding unease. This is a curious state to be in as I spent the previous day in a glorious smear of activity.
That morning, my sister had lent me her car to go pick up my paintings which were being stored in Whiting's basement (thanks for retrieving them Tina). I took a quick tour of Whiting's sculpture garden before going inside. The cherry tree was impressive.
Once in the basement, I was stung by a painting of mine that I had forgotten. It was a one-off that contained an image from a series that dates it around 1997.
At the time, I categorized the coupling of my painting with Ed's self portrait as a "flashback" and only later did I see that it was also a foreshadow of the evening to come.
I should take a moment to point out that Ed has recently updated his website.
It seems a delicate dance to paint and sculpt in the same room. He has got some plans to make separate spaces, but until then, Whiting works in batches or stages. This one is going to be made of poured plaster.
Here we see drawing and object.
All objects start from drawings.
Well, not ALL objects. Some are the consequence of caprice, necessity, and good old fashioned I-wonder-what-will-happen-if-I. . .
I was sorry that I had to leave his studio, but I was due at Snoose Junction Part Dieu. When I got there, I found Tommy and Matt putting the finishing touches on the hanging system.
I hung the last painting at 3PM and the doors opened at 4PM. Since I seem to be on a foreshadow binge, I would like to point out that one of the sweetest sales of the night was to Matt, who purchased a painting for Tommy.
Two paintings hung downstairs and the rest were up in the bar area. Three of the larger ones can be viewed from a bridge.
People started showing up and before I put my camera away, I snuck out and took a peek at Harold's ride.
And I also tried to get a snap of Tim, who I must thank for all the work he did and for asking me to participate in the first place.
With my camera tucked away, I started the socializing component of the evening. Openings can be like weddings. Never does anybody receive the proper amount of attention. I feel like I was really short with a number of people who went out of their way to attend. That is about the only regret I have of the day. I might have been harboring some apprehension about the venue being not a "traditional" gallery space, but that feeling was dispersed as the red dots began to accumulate.
Then the music started.
The Tom Price Desert Classic are amazing. Lifers. I had to go and grab my camera. It wasn't my show anymore.
Lilly and Garrett purchased a painting and reinforced the good vibe of having a show at a non-traditional venue.
Whiting was there. Some bloggers attended as well: Matthew, Debbie (a proud owner of a new LaRose), and Shannon.
And yet today , I am moving from seat to seat in the terminal in an attempt to find some solitude in order to read my book. It is not lost on me that Camus The Plague is affecting my mood. And yet, mad people continue to surround me and draw me into their dramatic existence. It is as if these people have a pulsing force field around them. Transparent blisters of madness.
One young mom is blaming her toddler for missing their flight. Her anger is escalating to violence as she begins to make increasingly desperate and rude demands of the airline staff. Can't she see that her volatile attitude is making her situation worse?
Why does the obese woman in the questionably legal halter top find it necessary to play distorted and tinny ring tones for her caged cat? Should I report this abuse? Will the pacing and irate mom strike her child? Should I intervene?
Does the Humvee grandma have to read the entire newspaper article to whoever is on the other end of her connection? "Dour times" she is shouting. Apparently, unemployment and similar underclass woes are reaching their indiscriminate tentacles up into her world. There is fear in her voice. He bade his hearers picture a huge wooden bar whirling above the town, striking at random, swinging up again in a shower of drops of blood, and sending carnage and suffering on earth, "for the seedtime that shall prepare the harvest of the truth."
Is that man speaking in tongues? The dialogue doesn't bother me as much as his peculiar need to rub his face with his phone. Is he talking to someone else as he spreads the thin clam shell around his cheeks, forehead, and chin? He seems to be conducting some sort of cleansing ritual accompanied by an arcane incantation. His cell phone is an incongruous modern element. For some reason I decide to flash him a smile when I get up to change my seat again.
More and more people. I couldn't read. I found myself reflecting on an appropriate passage from page 25 of my book:
"Query: How contrive not to waste one's time? Answer: By being fully aware of it all the while. Ways in which this can be done: By spending one's days on an uneasy chair in a dentist's waiting-room; by remaining on one's balcony all of a Sunday afternoon; by listening to lectures in a language one doesn't know; by traveling by the longest and least-convenient train routes, and of course standing all the way; by lining up at the box-office of theaters and then not buying a seat; and so forth."
There is a plague in this terminal.
I had a great time but I'm glad to be home.
That morning, my sister had lent me her car to go pick up my paintings which were being stored in Whiting's basement (thanks for retrieving them Tina). I took a quick tour of Whiting's sculpture garden before going inside. The cherry tree was impressive.
Once in the basement, I was stung by a painting of mine that I had forgotten. It was a one-off that contained an image from a series that dates it around 1997.
At the time, I categorized the coupling of my painting with Ed's self portrait as a "flashback" and only later did I see that it was also a foreshadow of the evening to come.
I should take a moment to point out that Ed has recently updated his website.After shuttling my paintings into Linda's car, I toured the rest of Whiting's house and saving the best for last, ended up in his studio. I hate to admit it, but one of the first things I noticed was another one-off painting of mine sitting on a window ledge. I have no recollection of why I painted a covered wagon, but I am thrilled that it has such a marvelous home.
Whiting has two shadows. The dog goes everywhere he does.
Whiting has two shadows. The dog goes everywhere he does.
It seems a delicate dance to paint and sculpt in the same room. He has got some plans to make separate spaces, but until then, Whiting works in batches or stages. This one is going to be made of poured plaster.
Here we see drawing and object.
All objects start from drawings.
Well, not ALL objects. Some are the consequence of caprice, necessity, and good old fashioned I-wonder-what-will-happen-if-I. . .
I was sorry that I had to leave his studio, but I was due at Snoose Junction Part Dieu. When I got there, I found Tommy and Matt putting the finishing touches on the hanging system.
I hung the last painting at 3PM and the doors opened at 4PM. Since I seem to be on a foreshadow binge, I would like to point out that one of the sweetest sales of the night was to Matt, who purchased a painting for Tommy.
Two paintings hung downstairs and the rest were up in the bar area. Three of the larger ones can be viewed from a bridge.
People started showing up and before I put my camera away, I snuck out and took a peek at Harold's ride.
And I also tried to get a snap of Tim, who I must thank for all the work he did and for asking me to participate in the first place.
With my camera tucked away, I started the socializing component of the evening. Openings can be like weddings. Never does anybody receive the proper amount of attention. I feel like I was really short with a number of people who went out of their way to attend. That is about the only regret I have of the day. I might have been harboring some apprehension about the venue being not a "traditional" gallery space, but that feeling was dispersed as the red dots began to accumulate.Then the music started.
The Tom Price Desert Classic are amazing. Lifers. I had to go and grab my camera. It wasn't my show anymore.
Lilly and Garrett purchased a painting and reinforced the good vibe of having a show at a non-traditional venue.
Whiting was there. Some bloggers attended as well: Matthew, Debbie (a proud owner of a new LaRose), and Shannon.And yet today , I am moving from seat to seat in the terminal in an attempt to find some solitude in order to read my book. It is not lost on me that Camus The Plague is affecting my mood. And yet, mad people continue to surround me and draw me into their dramatic existence. It is as if these people have a pulsing force field around them. Transparent blisters of madness.
One young mom is blaming her toddler for missing their flight. Her anger is escalating to violence as she begins to make increasingly desperate and rude demands of the airline staff. Can't she see that her volatile attitude is making her situation worse?
Why does the obese woman in the questionably legal halter top find it necessary to play distorted and tinny ring tones for her caged cat? Should I report this abuse? Will the pacing and irate mom strike her child? Should I intervene?
Does the Humvee grandma have to read the entire newspaper article to whoever is on the other end of her connection? "Dour times" she is shouting. Apparently, unemployment and similar underclass woes are reaching their indiscriminate tentacles up into her world. There is fear in her voice. He bade his hearers picture a huge wooden bar whirling above the town, striking at random, swinging up again in a shower of drops of blood, and sending carnage and suffering on earth, "for the seedtime that shall prepare the harvest of the truth."
Is that man speaking in tongues? The dialogue doesn't bother me as much as his peculiar need to rub his face with his phone. Is he talking to someone else as he spreads the thin clam shell around his cheeks, forehead, and chin? He seems to be conducting some sort of cleansing ritual accompanied by an arcane incantation. His cell phone is an incongruous modern element. For some reason I decide to flash him a smile when I get up to change my seat again.
More and more people. I couldn't read. I found myself reflecting on an appropriate passage from page 25 of my book:
"Query: How contrive not to waste one's time? Answer: By being fully aware of it all the while. Ways in which this can be done: By spending one's days on an uneasy chair in a dentist's waiting-room; by remaining on one's balcony all of a Sunday afternoon; by listening to lectures in a language one doesn't know; by traveling by the longest and least-convenient train routes, and of course standing all the way; by lining up at the box-office of theaters and then not buying a seat; and so forth."
There is a plague in this terminal.
I had a great time but I'm glad to be home.
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
I am out of touch
Louise Fishman, ALL NIGHT AND ALL DAY 2008 Oil on canvas, 66 x 57 inches
Louise Fishman has a show opening at Cheim & Read on March 26th. Maybe you New York bloggers can go and tell me all about it. How can I be so ignorant of her work?
Louise Fishman, UNTITLED, 2001
Ink wash and pencil on paper, 30 x 22 inches
Louise Fishman, UNTITLED, 2001Ink wash and pencil on paper, 30 x 22 inches
Sunday, March 01, 2009
Sunday Night
Steven LaRose, The Glacier Knocks in the Cupboard, 2009Oil on canvas board, 16 x 12 inches
I wasn't intending to increase the scale so quickly or so much. I am in the process of building another 20 surfaces that are only a couple inches bigger than the 5 x 7 flurry I recently had. Because I can't work power tools late at night and because glue can only dry so fast, I found myself reaching for a surface from the reject pile. It was this cheesy canvas board that I had done a class demo on. Although the end result didn't surprise me as much as the smaller paintings did, I learned a lot. It was definitely worth stopping here.
I am beginning to think about these knife paintings now. Now that I am in the lull. The prep-lull. The chopping wood and carrying water lull. The bait cutting. It occurs to me that they obviously didn't come out of nowhere. I am not being original and I don't have a tumor. Here is a painting from 1988 that I painted entirely with knifes:
It is 68 x 48 inches. And while I was slathering the paint this last month, I found myself thinking of the 2003 paintings I did on stone:
Those were six inch squares but still clinging to representation. In 2007 I had a breakthrough series that began with Gorgon:
This 48 x 32 inch painting traveled to The Blogger Show at the Digging Pitt Gallery in Pittsburgh and then moved on to Gallery Moda in Santa Fe. Unfortunately, Gallery Moda will be closing their doors soon and Gorgon (and five other paintings) will be moving to another location.
I could have used them for a show I'm having in Seattle this week. It opens on Friday at five. My sister sent me a link to a little piece about the venue in a local blog about the Phinney Ridge and Greenwood neighborhoods. I've titled the show Life Science in the Emerald City as it will be all paintings that I showed at the Thorndike Gallery with the title Life Science. Remember? Jacques wrote an essay for it?
So, you Seattle folks, that is
Friday, March 6 at 5:00 PM
at Snoose Part Dieu
10406 Holman Rd. N.
Seattle Washington
I am beginning to think about these knife paintings now. Now that I am in the lull. The prep-lull. The chopping wood and carrying water lull. The bait cutting. It occurs to me that they obviously didn't come out of nowhere. I am not being original and I don't have a tumor. Here is a painting from 1988 that I painted entirely with knifes:
It is 68 x 48 inches. And while I was slathering the paint this last month, I found myself thinking of the 2003 paintings I did on stone:
Those were six inch squares but still clinging to representation. In 2007 I had a breakthrough series that began with Gorgon:
This 48 x 32 inch painting traveled to The Blogger Show at the Digging Pitt Gallery in Pittsburgh and then moved on to Gallery Moda in Santa Fe. Unfortunately, Gallery Moda will be closing their doors soon and Gorgon (and five other paintings) will be moving to another location.I could have used them for a show I'm having in Seattle this week. It opens on Friday at five. My sister sent me a link to a little piece about the venue in a local blog about the Phinney Ridge and Greenwood neighborhoods. I've titled the show Life Science in the Emerald City as it will be all paintings that I showed at the Thorndike Gallery with the title Life Science. Remember? Jacques wrote an essay for it?
So, you Seattle folks, that is
Friday, March 6 at 5:00 PM
at Snoose Part Dieu
10406 Holman Rd. N.
Seattle Washington
The Tom Price Desert Classic will be playing music later in the evening, and it is all for the GRAND opening of the West coast's only vinyl only (only records played) bar. This poster has nothing to do with the event, I just liked it:
So, the question is, do I bring up a handful of the new 5 x 7 inch knife paintings? Should I have them tucked in a bag? A little taste of things to come?
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