 "Seriously?" (2018 No.10, state 5), oil on canvas, 49.8x61.5 inches {"All higher humor begins with ceasing to take oneself seriously." - Hermann Hesse, "Reflections", ed. Volker Michels, 1974}  Drawing 11·28·2018, pencil on paper, 16x20 inches Reality is fluid. Corrections are always possible, but not always efficacious. The painting Seriously? has many corrections to come, as does Chaos, Stillness & Prayer (the painting whose beginning immediately preceded Seriously?).
I find yesterday's drawing very good. One measure of excellence is perception while in action — this one, during its making, made me feel full of knowledge. I believe that's a good thing. I always fear self-delusion. Vincent Van Gogh feared self-delusion too; look where that got Vincent!  "Seriously?" (2018 No.10, state 4), oil on canvas, 48.5x61.5 inches {"All higher humor begins with ceasing to take oneself seriously." - Hermann Hesse, "Reflections", ed. Volker Michels, 1974} It takes more than time in the studio to produce one of my paintings. Thought-power happens now, while I am writing my Blog, while I am in the studio, and much of the time in-between. What a simple thing it would be if I was so present in thought and action that I could make a painting in one studio session! My drawings work that way. I act on a drawing till my ideas run out. That is true about my paintings as well, but the difference between drawing and painting (for me) is this: I am willing to allow slow and steady regurgitation of an idea in the making of a painting; a drawings is always a study. In other words, my drawings are practice and introspection surrounding idea-possibilities; paintings are solidly exploring idea-fulfillment.
 "Seriously?" (2018 No.10, state 3), oil on canvas, 48.5x61.5 inches {"All higher humor begins with ceasing to take oneself seriously." - Hermann Hesse, "Reflections", ed. Volker Michels, 1974} This is like pulling nails out of woodwork. Position is not always apparent. How can one function well within the quest for profundity if one does not have a sense of humor when pursuing mundane activities? And so it goes! Is that a chess piece on the right of "Seriously?"? Seriously? Does it take two question marks to end a sentence with a title that has a question mark? Seriously?
 "Seriously?" (2018 No.10, state 2), oil on canvas, 48.5x61.5 inches {"All higher humor begins with ceasing to take oneself seriously." - Hermann Hesse, "Reflections", ed. Volker Michels, 1974}  Drawing 11·24·2018, pencil on paper, 16x20 inches I have changed the title of my newest painting. I am following its call. It is a question: "Seriously?". I must place it in quotes because I need to emphasize it is questioning my behavior. Yesterday's drawing is a study for this painting. Right now I feel light of heart; more daring than usual. This painting is certainly surprising me. Yesterday's drawing surprises me too; its solution is unusual. To me, this drawing is astonishingly unexpected.
 "Seriously?" (2018 No.10, state 1), oil on canvas, 48.5x61.5 inches {"All higher humor begins with ceasing to take oneself seriously." - Hermann Hesse, "Reflections", ed. Volker Michels, 1974} The advance continues! This morning I visited my studio — very early in the morning (I always visit a couple hours before work in order to turn on the heat). I looked at my new painting, now in state 1 with its ice-blue paint-stick scrawls. It is humorous! It is a twisted reference to reality! It is a departure from my recent works, which have been relatively serious. It is me saying, "What the hell! Just animate the thing!" Perhaps this is a new beginning, or perhaps it is an interlude. I don't care. It looks good to me; it looks right! It began with vigor and celebration; I hope this painting will continue in this mood of joy, celebration, and humor. Appropriately, I have named this painting after a quote from Hermann Hesse, the Nobel Prize winning author of Siddhartha, "All higher humor begins with ceasing to take oneself seriously." Thus, the painting 2018 No.10 has this title: Seriously?
 Drawing 11·21·2018, pencil on paper, 20x16 inches A robust and heavy contrast took over my last two drawings. In a recent post I noted that my recent days in the studio have gone one way or the other, but no both at once; I am talking choice of media. I have drawn, or I have painted; never both on the same day. This is a recent separation of time dedication. The last two days were spent making the drawing I show today. No painting was accomplished; unless the act of painting includes preparation to paint (I removed the painting Burnt Norton from my work wall. I am in the midst of placing a new, blank canvas where Burnt Norton once resided).
In the drawing I show today the thickness of the black graphite had only once before been realized by me; that was in the immediately previous drawing (posted 11/19/2018), In these drawings I could not get enough black from my pencil! I stroked and pushed until the graphite sat on the paper like snow on a frozen lake; a little wind could move the flakes of carbon about in swirls! Next time in the studio (tomorrow), I will begin a new painting (2018 No.10).  "Burnt Norton" (2018 No.8, state 23), oil on canvas, 63x66 inches {"What might have been is an abstraction remaining a perpetual possibility; Only in a world of speculation what might have been and what has been point to one end, which is always present." -T.S. Eliot, "Burnt Norton"}  Drawing 11·28·2018, pencil on paper, 20x16 inches The painting, Burnt Norton, is complete! Is it OK for the creator of an artwork to call one of his works a masterpiece? Burnt Norton is full of mastery. In making Burnt Norton I was constantly surprised at my ability to solve its many problems. One after the other, as they presented themselves, I solved its problems. No matter public opinion, I declare Burnt Norton a Masterpiece!
Yesterday's drawing also surprised me. It too had many problems to solve, from go to finish. I was enormously prepared. One problem after another was solved. I have always wanted my work to be so completely skill-based that only I could pull off the activity required to problem-solve my artworks. This desire, to be masterful in my definitive skills, is a product to my athletic past. I also watched my son become a masterful baseball player. There is the routine of practice, a repetitive practicing of the necessary skills, an athlete must do to act correctly, with authority, in the moment a problem presents itself. In baseball the batter must make a split second decision on the pitched ball, i.e., is it hittable? What kind of pitch is it? Do I to need adjust for the ball's movement? Do I want to it hit left, right, or up the middle? Hard? Soft? Yeah, in making art I make similar immediate decisions; well honed skills are required for quickness in decision-making that come moment by moment during the artwork's creation. The big difference is time. A painting is made over weeks; a drawing is made over hours. Athletic skills are callable on a more immediate time frame. In art and athletics enormous practice must occur to achieve these kind of callable skills.  "Chaos, Stillness & Prayer" (2018 No.9, state 6), oil on canvas, 54x36 inches {"Art has something to do with the achievement of stillness in the midst of chaos. A stillness which characterizes prayer, too, and the eye of the storm.... an arrest of attention in the midst of distraction." -Saul Bellow, "Writers at Work: Third Series", 1967} Chaos, Stillness & Prayer is Standing straight and tall! This after I made a 1° counterclockwise move. My studio time is filled with more physical effort than ever before. Yesterday I did as much physical change as artistic change. I removed the many pins holding Chaos, Stillness & Prayer to my work wall — except the one on the upper left — then I rotated the canvas. This was followed by pinning the canvas down again. In addition I have recently begun taping the edges of my canvas with black painter's tape; by doing this I know how the final rectangle will look. So I had to remove all the tape applied previous to the 1° rotation and place new tape to surround the image. Finally, I painted. As consequence, state 6 of Chaos, Stillness & Prayer is now much better than state 5!
 "Burnt Norton" (2018 No.8, state 22), oil on canvas, 63x66 inches {"What might have been is an abstraction remaining a perpetual possibility; Only in a world of speculation what might have been and what has been point to one end, which is always present." -T.S. Eliot, "Burnt Norton"}  "Chaos, Stillness & Prayer" (2018 No.9, state 5), oil on canvas, 54x36 inches {"Art has something to do with the achievement of stillness in the midst of chaos. A stillness which characterizes prayer, too, and the eye of the storm.... an arrest of attention in the midst of distraction." -Saul Bellow, "Writers at Work: Third Series", 1967} What might have been is becoming what is. The painting Burnt Norton is closing in on its own personal conclusion. Burnt Norton is close to finality. It is rounding its final corner toward a center that is an abstraction which denotes perpetual possibility. Further away from its personal possibility is the painting Chaos, Stillness & Prayer.
A note of interest: Burnt Norton was twisted my me, 1° counter-clockwise. This happened about three states ago. Now I feel the same about Chaos, Stillness & Prayer. It requires a 1° counter-clockwise rotation. What is happening in the studio? My eyes see the need for rotation here before I see it in the real life of the studio. I immediately realize the required twist when I see these images in the concise rectangle of my computer screen. Why do I miss it on the larger rectangular work wall of the studio?  Drawing 11·14·2018, pencil on paper, 16x20 inches Approach can swing from fully intellectual to fully emotional. The sweet-spot must be somewhere in-between. The sweet-spot is not-too-soft, not-too-hard, but just-right; yes it is something Goldilocks would enjoy!
Yesterday's drawing consumed my entire studio time. That drawing is intricate and it is thoughtful, but it felt dry in-the-making. This drawing was born mostly from my intellect and less from my emotions. Does it fail the viewer because it is not fully human? This is my worry. Living well, making art well, both are not fully intellectual nor fully emotional. Art, if done well, contains a balance of intellect and emotion. So how do I do this in a way that fully represents me? Perhaps, if this drawing were a bit different it would be more emotionally successful. For instance, if the form on the bottom right were larger, would its contrast create emotional stress through a dramatic emotional juxtaposition of forms? Instead it is so well balanced as to be comfortably numb. I do not want to represent this drawing as poor, or inadequate. It is an excellent drawing; but it just does not speak with a striking amount emotional energy. I want more. OK, I know how to put together a nicely balanced composition, one that is intellectually satisfying. Again; I want more! I want to see the stresses of existence in my art; the push and pull between my intellect and my emotions. The quest is truth and representation of the authentic consequence of living. I am getting closer. Writing, as I am today, is a call for my instigating a great effort to move closer to full satisfaction, me delivering a performance that fully and completely represents all I feel and know. (Beethoven's Ninth Symphony come to mind!) |
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February 2019
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