 "Chocorua" (2018 No.5, state 4), oil on canvas, 36x54 inches {"A substitute for all the gods, This self, not that gold self aloft, Alone, one's shadow magnified, Lord of the body, looking down, As now and called most high, The shadow of Chocorua" - Wallace Stevens, "The Man with the Blue Guitar", verse XXI}  "Adjective" (2018 No.4, state 8), oil on canvas, 63x61 inches {"As to the Adjective: when in doubt, strike it out." - Mark Twain, "Pudd'nhead Wilson" (1894) chapter 11}  Drawing 06·28·2018, pencil on paper, 20x16 inches This game of art-making is simple... Just show up in the studio, make an effort to ring it true, i.e. make art that makes sense to oneself, then move on. Moving-on is not letting go, it is accepting the accumulation of knowledge; trying again to make an even more true-to-oneself image.
Yesterday both paintings shown here, Adjective and Chocorua, are better than the day before. This is me hearing (or should I say, "seeing") a bell ring true. Yesterday's drawing is more a question than an answer, or (If you prefer) it is an answer that does not fully ring true.  "Adjective" (2018 No.4, state 7), oil on canvas, 63x61 inches {"As to the Adjective: when in doubt, strike it out." - Mark Twain, "Pudd'nhead Wilson" (1894) chapter 11}  Drawing 06·27·2018, pencil on paper, 20x16 inches The information revealed by light becomes visual knowledge. It is this way with my work. The painting Adjective is sending me a message, "Make me known! Make me Light!" And so I am. Adjective has taken a big jump in that direction. It grew a few inches too!
I find yesterday's drawing congested. Naturally I will react to that today. I will a more sparely penciled drawing.  Drawing 06·26·2018, pencil on paper, 16x20 inches I spent last weekend in New York City. I saw a lot of art. Some of it excellent, some has mysteriously gotten great attention from buyers & collectors (despite being devoid of profundity). My biggest interaction with art relevant to me, was the massive exhibition of works by Alberto Giacometti at the Guggenheim Museum. Giacometti and I share love of form and love of touch; we both scratch every part of the surface of everything we make. Giacometti and I love to feel our way through a work, whether it be a drawing, a painting, or a sculpture. Because I wish to get to the studio as soon as possible, I leave you with a couple works by Giacometti and one by me. Mine was made yesterday. Giacometti died in 1966.
 "Adjective" (2018 No.4, state 6), oil on canvas, 62x57 inches {"As to the Adjective: when in doubt, strike it out." - Mark Twain, "Pudd'nhead Wilson" (1894) chapter 11}  Drawing 06·19·2018, pencil on paper, 16x20 inches The miracle of showing-up is the miracle of mastery waiting to happen. Mastery does not mean the artist knows all he needs to know. Mastery means the artist has the ability to recognize the value of the stuff in front of him; he knows how to move upon it, create better out of the predisposed image. This means recognizing when something is incomplete (it can be better) and knowing when it is complete (the best solution given current understanding). Mastery means the artist can do his best on any given day. This brings me back to "showing up." It is a delight to enter the studio with this ability, knowing problems can be solved, things will get better and better. This is a plea for health and well being. That said, yesterday's improvement in the painting Adjective, and yesterday's drawing, are great steps in the right direction. I know it.
 "Adjective" (2018 No.4, state 5), oil on canvas, 62x57 inches {"As to the Adjective: when in doubt, strike it out." - Mark Twain, "Pudd'nhead Wilson" (1894) chapter 11}  Drawing 06·17·2018, pencil on paper, 20x16 inches A huge indicator of my internal life, unfettered and unconscious, is the stuff you see before you today. Actually, you see it in everything I make. Ideas spill from a place in my subconscious. I have an internal life, active and more interesting than what I have seen and know. The growth of my art, its depth, its sophistication, its reference to a world and to history bigger than mine, is astoundingly reliable. I walk into the studio everyday and get surprised. This is one great reason to return, day, after day, after day...
 "Adjective" (2018 No.4, state 4), oil on canvas, 62x57 inches {"As to the Adjective: when in doubt, strike it out." - Mark Twain, "Pudd'nhead Wilson" (1894) chapter 11}  Drawing 06·16·2018, pencil on paper, 16x20 inches I have been reading a lot of poetry. Its complexity gives me great solace. I fear my art is difficult. It is not quick. It is not easy to fully comprehend. The viewer must pay attention. Mostly I fear it does not engage the viewer as quickly as (for instance) a work by Keith Haring. A viewer of my works is invited to give into contemplation. Engagement by one of Keith Haring's artworks is quick. My art reveals itself slowly. Profundity is its message; thus it insists upon the viewer slowing down, taking his or her time to see it all. Engagement might begin quickly, but full comprehension takes a lot of time. Reading the poetry of Wallace Stevens has been extremely helpful to me. It encourages complexity. Wallace Stevens constantly reminds me that comprehension of life and living is a slow process. His poetry hits a sweet spot of mine. It makes satisfying sense. It simply feels right. That rightness sings back at me. It is hitting the correct notes. The satisfaction of hitting those notes correctly is profoundly fulfilling. It satiates and quenches my thirst. I am doing that now, over and over, in my art-making. I want this to continue for a very long time. Satiation, like quenching one's thirst, is temporary. I need more of it!  Keith Haring, Untitled Poster, 1982  "Chocorua" (2018 No.5, state 3), oil on canvas, 34x51 inches {"A substitute for all the gods, This self, not that gold self aloft, Alone, one's shadow magnified, Lord of the body, looking down, As now and called most high, The shadow of Chocorua" - Wallace Stevens, "The Man with the Blue Guitar", verse XXI}  Reproduction be damned! I have tried for half-an-hour to make yesterday's drawing as elegant as it is in person. Nope! Viewing it here is a hazard full of the possibility of misinterpretation. Now on to my painting: Chocorua is dancing along to its own tune. Never did I see this coming. It continues to be a mystery to me how I am the conduit of the self-intelligence bred into a painting after I have begun it with my intuitive-intelligence. Maybe this is like breeding race horses. The breeder tries his damndest to get a fast one, but he gets what he gets; bless his heart if he allows it to live naturally, i.e., to blossom as it should. Maybe this me trying to make a fighting bull but I got Ferdinand* instead!
*This is a reference to "The Story of Ferdinand the Bull" by Munro Leaf & Robert Lawson: Ferdinand is the world's most peaceful--and--beloved little bull. While all of the other bulls snort, leap, and butt their heads, Ferdinand is content to just sit and smell the flowers under his favorite cork tree. Leaf's simple storytelling paired with Lawson's pen-and-ink drawings make The Story of Ferdinand a true classic.  "Chocorua" (2018 No.5, state 2), oil on canvas, 34x51 inches {"A substitute for all the gods, This self, not that gold self aloft, Alone, one's shadow magnified, Lord of the body, looking down, As now and called most high, The shadow of Chocorua" - Wallace Stevens, "The Man with the Blue Guitar", verse XXI}  Drawing 06·13·2018, pencil on paper, 20x16 inches The drama of yesterday's drawing insists upon the reproduction seen here, where the white ground appears gray. I tried to reproduce this authentically, as seen in actual. There is success here, as this reproduction allows the viewer to see the play in lower versus the upper half. In today's reproduction the immense amount of surface work in the lower half cavorts nicely with the artifice of 3D-space in the upper half.
Chocorua is going, and coming. It is calling me to be entertained with surface romp, to perform it like a music jam.  "Chocorua" (2018 No.5, state 1), oil on canvas, 34x51 inches {"A substitute for all the gods, This self, not that gold self aloft, Alone, one's shadow magnified, Lord of the body, looking down, As now and called most high, The shadow of Chocorua" - Wallace Stevens, "The Man with the Blue Guitar", verse XXI}  Drawing 06·12·2018 No.2, pencil on paper, 16x20 inches  Drawing 06·12·2018 No.1, pencil on paper, 16x20 inches I am always wondering about space as constructed on a flat plane; this plane, for me, is canvas or paper. Yesterday I began a new painting, Chochrua. This title comes from a verse in one of my favorite poems, The Man with the Blue Guitar by Wallace Stevens. A quick web search gave this critique of this poem: "For Wallace Stevens, reality is an abstraction with many perspective possibilities." Reads like me to me. No wonder I like this poem. It is a poem of human possibilities, an open perspective of what we are. Thus comes my art. The unusual look of my forms are a result of me looking for reality. I continue to research how to sit these forms on a flat plane. I ask, "How can I make the artifice of three-dimensional space on a two-dimensional plane be the abstraction with the many perspective possibilities that communicates the complexity that is my perception of living?" Read that last, mouth-full of a sentence, again. It is me speaking clearly.
 "Weoman" (2018 No.3; state 11), oil on canvas, 43x48 inches ("I could not get a rhyme for Roman, And was obliged to call it Weoman." -Marjorie Fleming, "Sonnet")  Drawing 06·08·2018, pencil on paper, 16x20 inches There are mixed-emotions when a painting is called "finished." Weoman has reached that place. After eleven states, Weoman is "done." A painting in process is a thrilling relationship; similar to the process of getting to know a new acquaintance. Similar to a relationship with a soon to be valued friend; it never ends. Paintings do get called "complete." This does not happen with a valued friend. Like a good friend, a good painting will instruct forever, upon every re-visit. A completed painting is static in its elements; a good friend is never static in any way. The happy part of calling a painting "finished" is the consequential opening of space and time to begin a new painting, a new journey, with all the excitement that is inherent in getting to know a new acquaintance.
The drawing shown today has gray reproduced on its ground, which is not true in the real drawing on Stonehenge WHITE paper. |
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