 Drawing 02·07·2019, pencil on paper, 16x20 inches It will happen shortly. My art will be due at galleries for exhibition. This fact hit me hard last week. I negotiated final dates and works to be exhibited. Stay tuned for more information. I have three exhibits scheduled this year, and more possible. My first exhibit begins in Late April.
Exhibiting is confusing to me because it comes with good, bad, and ugly. Bothersome it is to my most important activity, my most fulfilling activity: The making of art itself. The drawing shown here is from two days ago. It is a complex and excellent drawing. There is a push/pull of three-dimensional space, excellence in value contrasts, and a robust, active composition.
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 "The Doctrine of Liberty" (2019 No.1, state 9), oil on canvas, 66x59.5 inches {"I believe there is a golden thread which alone gives meaning to the political history of the West, from Marathon to Alamein, from Solon to Winston Churchill and after. This I chose to call the doctrine of liberty under the law." -Anthony Sampson, "The Changing Anatomy of Britain", 1982} Is it better to have a good dog than to make paintings? I lament not having a wonderful dog in my life; all of them gone. When they were here they helped me be calmly satisfied. Making art is rarely calming. The best it can get is where I am now! This will not last. Soon I will move to my next worry, the next problem to solve.
I feel good today because yesterday I successfully problem-solved my way through a painting. The "The Doctrine of Liberty" is good. It speaks to my ability to solve. Solutions such as this painting have grandness of spirit. The result is this moment, me feeling fulfilled and worthy. Unfortunately this satisfaction is momentary. Having the constant companion of a good dog lasted longer. "The Doctrine of Liberty" is grand; it is an imposing painting. It talks boldly and subtly. Its details and its overall composition are both interesting. Simultaneity of the emotive quality of big and small are important to me. This painting is doing it!  Drawing 01·15·2019, pencil on paper, 20x16 inches Rules have been made because history has been made. I grew up with intense interest in visual arts, especially painting and drawing, I studied art history. I looked for models. I looked for information. I gathered it, assiduously and thoroughly. Here I am, playing differently than any model I have ever seen in art history, or in contemporary art. I am myself. Yet, I have not rid myself of the laws I learned from art history and from art school studies. Yesterday's drawing is amazing in its play with form, composition, mark-making, value-contrast, atmospheric and local effects; but it has a deep foundation in the stuff that came before. Is this good or bad? That is a question I continue to answer. This is the process! I have established myself as myself. Now I question the validity of my answers. I am wondering, "Is this drawing remarkable because it plays with rules I invented myself?" OR "Is this drawing just another variation on the rules I have been given by those who made art before me?" Question #2: "Does it matter?" I need to know. Thus I proceed.
 "Seriously?" (2018 No.11, state 11), oil on canvas, 49.8x62.5 inches {"All higher humor begins with ceasing to take oneself seriously." - Hermann Hesse, "Reflections", ed. Volker Michels, 1974}  Drawing 12·20·2018, pencil on paper, 16x20 inches Growth comes with confusions. Most confusions, most problems, are rectified through work. I have this worry, "Am I able to keep all my lessons learned, those things I have rectified through work, available to my present consciousness?" Yesterday's drawing has element of silliness. It was pleasant for me to go that way. Today, looking at that drawing, I muse amusingly, "Silly me!" Lesson learned: This one is silliness too far. The hand-like object was made in jest, but it removes the viewer from this drawing's formalistic wonder. This drawing is glorious in compositional play. Its merits get lost because it took the extreme risk of referencing an obvious human trait. This distracts too much; it is not as successful as it might have been. Lesson learned!
Yesterday's work on the painting, Seriously?, is proof of lesson learned. Seriously? is now enlightened by acceptance of atmospheric color. There are many way of holding a painting together; this atmospheric color thing is one great technical method toward coherence.  Drawing 12·06·2018, pencil on paper, 20x16 inches Three million strokes and counting.... Yesterday's drawing celebrates the marking of a white piece of paper with graphite from a pencil. Later yesterday, as I rested reading in my living room, my arm let me know it had been taxed. I had been enjoying finding forms, finding surface, finding space, finding light, and finding composition! This simultaneity-filled activity is a celebration of mindfulness. The more I do it the longer I can sustain it! This is "practice", as defined by veteran meditators. The Buddha would be proud of me! I have not obtained Buddhahood, but I am moving in that direction. Shravasti Dhammika, a Theravada monk, writes:  "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!)  Drawing 10·17·2018, pencil n paper, 16x20 inches I did prepare a new canvas for a new painting. It is ready to go, and I am too! The drawings from the last two days tell me this: these drawings illustrate a direction I do NOT want to go. They are too static. Each develops compositionally around a firm set of forms. These forms give spatial direction, and solidity, but movement is restricted. I enjoy loop-da-looping within a rectangular piece of paper or canvas. Yesterday's drawing does drive the viewer from lower right to upper left, but then what? It is play, but in a static space. This is dull. It could be nice for a different kind of artist. Even Piet Mondrian (1872-1944) made static compositions at the bringing of his mature period (around 1920). Mondrian was the most staid and sober of artists, yet ultimately his static use of bars and colors transformed to images of great animation. I show you an early Mondrian (1921), and a late one (1944); see both below this post.  Piet Mondrian, "Tableau I", oil on canvas, 1921  Piet Mondrian, "Victory Boogie Woogie", oil on canvas, 1944  "Burnt Norton" (2018 No.8, state 16), 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. Footfalls echo in the memory." -T.S. Eliot, "Burnt Norton"} Once upon a time, not too long ago, I disliked the process of finishing a painting. I falsely believed full clarification was tedious, and had questionable merit. I no longer feel that way! I now know I must dedicate myself to properly finishing the construction of Burnt Norton. The enormous thought and energy I have placed into Burton Norton's construction has instigated in me profound responsibly for its final outcome. Emotional and intellectual nuance radiate in every bit of Burnt Norton's composition. I am deeply invested. If I abandon Burnt Norton before I have fully tested my knowledge I would relinquish the possibility of my greatest insights. This is about me clarifying the depths of my knowledge and my emotions. To stop before bewilderment would deprive me of full insight. Without full insight I would proceed to the next painting without knowledge of possibilities.
That said, Burnt Norton may be complete, or it is very close to complete. |
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February 2019
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