Changes were made to two of the paintings so here they are again in the gallery.
Tuesday, June 27, 2017
My new studio is coming along slowly. I can function in it the way it is, more or less, but it's not set up yet and won't be until the proper lighting goes in, along with a work table, etc. But it's ok. The doors to the outside have to stay open for light and air, and with all the boxes still packed and stacked, my space is limited so I watch where I step. Lately a little scurrying sound keeps taking me by surprise. I look down and a little lizard is running for cover, under a box of brushes near my painting area. The lizard is about five inches long and very cute. When I step more than ten feet away it will come out and look around again. It sees me and freezes, then will dash back under the box when I get close to the easel. It doesn't worry me that he'll be shut in and die, because there are plenty of crevices for a lizard to get through to outdoors, it just surprises me that he thinks there are any bugs in here for him to subsist on. If I were a lizard I would want to be where the bugs are. But it's bloody hot outside so the cool must feel like a treat.
There is a different sort of lizard in the back of the house, always sitting on the same fence post. It is more weathered looking and robust than the one in the studio-to-be, which is a more slender and graceful variety. The weathered one looks like a bit of tree bark. It will lay in the boiling sun and appear to do push-ups. It must be to attract a mate, who I suppose he hopes is laying in the shade and observing the whole thing.
Wednesday, May 31, 2017
These paintings are in the gallery right now. The center one is 24"30" if that helps form a sense of general bigness / smallness.
When people go to art school they must come away from it with a different set of monkeys on their back than the people who don't go to art school. I don't think there are many artists walking around who don't have a monkey on their back about something or other.
You don't have to go to an art college to learn perspective, but a self taught artist might forget to bother learning it---until they need it. Then it informs their work from then on. You don't have to be self taught to have enthusiasm for wanting to paint, say a sunflower, but someone who went to art school would definitately have to overcome the whole "Sunflowers have been done to death, Van Gogh did it better than anyone," schtick that people are so fond of saying, which is hardly encouraging.
At a time when I was getting really bothered by my landscapes, I thought I should take a giant step backwards, re-evaluate my process, and hopefully find out where it was that I had hit a wall. So I focused on painting still life, which I hadn't done much of. Flowers were handy (and free) so they became my choice of props. It helped me. It clarified my work processes in a more condensed way than the landscapes had done, helping me to see what worked well for me and what didn't. For a few weeks I became throughly absorbed in flowers.
Flowers were interesting to experiment with. I absolutely loved working on floral paintings, but I never was very thrilled with how the finished paintings turned out even though I felt myself learning a lot.
The gallery said, "But where are the landscapes?" The people I knew said, "Why are you wasting your time with flowers?" It became fascinating to me that my friends who did NOT go to art school, usually summed up these efforts with comments such as: "I like flowers / I hate flowers" and let the matter drop. My friends who DID go to art school tended to say, "Yah, we did flowers in art school," as if it were a rite of childhood, firmly in some distant past not to be revisited. Both groups of friends poo-pooed flowers as a subject matter---because it had all been done before. I put this example here because its one of the few things that were similar about my friends from art school and friends who were (more or less) self-taught. I thought that was interesting, and kind of funny. Because it wasn't about the flowers, to me---it was about the simplification of my work process, to get myself on track so that I understood more about what I was doing when paintings went right or wrong. Anyway, to me it was an interesting experience. I was glad I had an open mind about flowers, especially since I got so much out of them!! Back to the monkeys on an artist's back:
A self taught person might say, "I'm going to try to get my work into that gallery." The art graduate might say, "That's the smallest gallery in town. I've got to hold out for a better one." I think there is a retroactive pressure on those with an art education to do great things with that privilige, and end up in hanging in a museum----pressure that can be greater than the urge to explore different work processes, and spend lots of time practicing on things no one will ever see.
One priceless advantage art students would likely have is a variety of blood-and-guts professional artists in front of them, day in day out. Lots of real live role models. A self taught person can suffer from a shortage of people showing them the reality of such a life. A good thing a self taught person might hopefully have is an open mind about the processes of personal growth, because they haven't been told that creative learning happens in such-and-such a way, or in a certain order, or from a particular person; they might have an easier time accepting that no matter how much you know, you're always a beginner basically.
I think the best thing is to have the freedom to go off into one's own creative world with a feeling of confidence about it, not thinking too much about what anyone else thinks, or what anyone's judgement will be later, saving the self editing and critique for after the fact. Sometimes people who are more self taught or who come from the world of academia have a special feeling that their way is the only way. I think something good happens from all the methods of learning, and being receptive to it all is the healthiest thing, since the learning doesn't stop anyway.
Friday, May 5, 2017
This painting came from this drawing:
Painting from a drawing offers freedom and complexity at the same time. Painting from a photograph offers more detail, but a photo doesn't teach anyone when to say 'no', quite the opposite---it seems to say "Paint all of me", whereas a drawing has almost nothing in it, relatively speaking---a few lines. As the photo shows you a realized image just asking to be replicated, the drawing mutely asks you, "Why am I here?"
I wonder if photographs tend to reinforce 'subject' throughout the process, whereas drawings introduce and reinforce 'idea'. Anyway, it takes a strict person who can work with photographs and keep them as a tool, not rely on them as THE mainstay of their process. Creating a drawing to paint from is something everyone should try and practice. Like skiing or rowing, it exercises muscles you didn't know you had. The dearth of detail keeps taking you back to the original idea.
Since photographs are easier to come up with than a drawing, their use is ubiquitous, but the drawback is that the unfeeling eye of the camera captures everything with equanimity, the interesting parts and dull parts alike, and this very often slips the artist into straight replication. This is where a drawing----like a shopping cart with a stubborn wheel---veers to the other side of creativity, willy nilly, and takes you with it. Unless your drawing is photographic in its detail, your emotional eye and hand will have drawn things with an imbalance, capturing those details and gesture which mean something to you and ignoring---or disguising---those parts that leave you cold. This off-beat focus is going be unpredictable with everyone because it is the eye of the individual that gets to have the final word in a drawing.
Painting from a photograph does offer you the opportunity to invent parts of your painting and insert your personal self into the final product, the same as a drawing does---but it's just so very easy NOT to, that it is a simple matter to forget that part and copy the photograph. The photo has so much, that you often feel you must put it all in there--- or at least 1/2. Painting from your drawing, on the other hand, means you are being sparked from the very beginning by something that remains nearly ephemeral ; The dearth of detail becomes a blessing in disguise as you are forced to invent certain parts, so without really intending it your own free will is the deciding factor throughout the process----your own free will has become, in fact, the 'subject' of the finished work. You have become an interpreter, not a human camera. You are putting imagery through the filter of yourself.
In essence, while I don't see anything wrong with working from photographs it is something to lament when the same artists who paint from photos see no sense in painting from their own drawings. That is all I'm saying here. I know how much it's helped me. On the other hand, the process has it's ups and downs and it can be scary. It's quite humbling. And exciting. When you do it, you do feel that you are a chef with all your burners on and you have a fervent hope things turn out ok----you have to be a Pollyanna and talk yourself through it with a high hope, because without confidence it's a hard way to work. You have to believe it will all be just fine. Of course it isn't, it hardly ever ends up very well, but that's ok. It's about the process.
Regarding the painting above, some changes from the drawing were made, and I'm about to do it again with the addition of a bowl of figs.
I'll post the painting when it's done.
The weather today was cool and gray, then sunny in the afternoon. Now as the sun is going down it has gotten incredibly warm, it's strange how that happens just because of the angle of the sun. All day it was pleasant, then at late afternoon it gets so hot.
Thursday, April 6, 2017
Just when I thought living in a sea side town was firmly in my past and not in my future, here I am again. Maybe it took being gone to appreciate the parts of it that had stopped being interesting to me. Living in the dry hills of a desert was a billion times more interesting and fun than I ever thought it would be----to live a traffic-free California life is something to consider, and by California-life I refer to good roads and grocery stores that carry everything-----but the intense summer heat, even though somehow it didn't bother me much, still went on for such a long period that it became a bit grim. Temperatures over 100 that persist more than 100 straight days have a way of wearing you down. And the winter weather was bone chilling in a way I hadn't anticipated, something about the lack of moisture in the air I guess. Friends from Canada and England who came to visit in the winter time were freezing the whole time and looked on the frigid temperature as a betrayal of sorts, a mirage. Deserts are supposed to be warm. That's what they had aimed for when they planned their trip. The Canadians said, "I'm freezing!!" The visitors from England said, "I'm frightfully cold."
Also I'm in a different art gallery than when I lived here before, so that's a new change. I'm looking forward to it all. It's nice. Change is good. Also the fish market is close by again so I can keep painting fish. I can go in with the Asian women and pick and choose and smell and touch, than grab what I want with a fishy hand and shove it in a bag and plop down at the cash register. In the desert that was the one thing you couldn't get----a fresh, slippery, floppy fish. I have so many ideas I want to work on !!!!!
This one is 18"24", they were little shashimo, a type of sardine like fish that has a quantity of roe inside and they are fried up quickly and eaten. As fish they are beauitful to look at and have a pronounced round eye and angled mouth, like tiny barracuda.
Wednesday, January 11, 2017
Today it has been cold in the morning, raining much of the day so far, but still pretty out the sun comes and goes.
My work is representational. To try to improve myself I work on abstract compositions periodically. I love it. I don't see the difference between creating that kind of work and representational work, at least not in the way some other people seem to.
Some artists that I knew were going to an art show that was showing both representational and abstract paintings. They came back so critical of the abstract pieces, to the point of venom, that I decided to go to the same show to see for myself. The artists had complained about the emptiness of the modern pieces---'a child could do it'---etc., but on seeing the various work myself, I didn't sense that. It seemed to me that in many cases the artists of the abstract pieces appeared to have put more thought into their work than the representational artists had. It's impossible to say. But sometimes you look at things and think, "Another one." I HATE looking at my own stuff and thinking that!!! But it happens, it happens, and that's life. Anyway, without knowing any of the artists involved, my cold blooded assessment was that some of the abstract pieces showed some real inspiration and thought, and I didn't see that happening with the the representational things at that particular show. And I walked away with a few ideas about ideas for representational work for myself, that were inspired by the abstract pieces and not the traditional representational pieces that I saw.
We live in a very good time for artists now, because so much is available to learn. (Yay for the Internet and YouTube and workshops galore) The only trouble is the extremely odd economy, so that now artists are very often making their living from other artists (workshops galore).Even the plein-air group shows, firmly anchored in the representational world, have hit on the profitable idea of often having a drastic size limitation---sometimes insisting on miniatures basically----in order for the exhibition to display the maximum number of paintings....and collect the maximum number of entry fees. The walls are then hung chock-a-block with identically sized paintings, four or five inches in diameter, looking itself like a grid---or like a vast wall-sized piece of abstract art.