There is a thin line between great and stupid. I am not writing about the painting (above), but the drawing (below). Yesterday I put a lot of time and energy into finishing this drawing, and I moved my feelings from stupid to great. This was not just me, but a regular visitor to my studio saw this drawing in its current state and gushed with positive enthusiasm. Upon hearing this I was, initially, dumbfounded. I began this drawing as a less controversial, more child-like drawing, hoping it would sell in a local charity auction. Never thinking I would put so much time or energy into this drawing, I had intended it to be a simple and sellable item in a northern New England town which mostly exhibits landscapes and such in their homes. Now I have a new dilemma. If I price this properly for the auction it will not sell (too expensive). If it does not sell it will be useless to the local charity. It seems I need to make a new drawing for the charity auction.
The painting goes well. I only had time to put around 45 minutes into it yesterday. More to come... Yes, I am back painting after a week away from it. Last weekend I was at a family gathering. My nephew reminded me of a drawing from my past. I revisited that drawing yesterday by undertaking the same subject matter. I feel yesterday's result pales compared to the original. It lacks the imaginative impulse which created the first version. Yesterday's version is well drawn, yet proves you can't go back to the past looking for present day inspiration. I am a different person now. If the two drawings were compared, past and present, they would be descriptive of me then versus me now.
I did not spend a lot of time painting, as yesterday's drawing is large and took several hours to complete. However, I re-established contact with where I am artistically. There will be more painting today. Maybe this is me thinking the best of myself, but perhaps my normal way of seeing is actually radically different. The painting (shown above) feels very tame and normal to me, but perhaps it is new and different. Yesterday an observer of my work said to me how ultra-contemporary, and new, my work is because "it deals with space like no one is doing right now. It is forging a new way of seeing." Of course I like that comment. I feel like I am working hard on many artistic fronts, from space to form to color to composition. However, it may all boil down to me problem solving my central theme: animation of three-dimensional space on a flat piece of canvas or paper. I am using the figure as a central form within this space because I have interest in it too, but perhaps it is secondary to my primary 3D-spatial interest. These are questions undergoing continued investigation.
This painting (02·26·2013), as old as it feels to me, is an important chunk of an ongoing transition. It is academic proof. It demonstrates my ability to drive a painting to its intuitive, fastidious end. Its necessity in obvious. I am arriving at its end with the confidence to begin anew. It is "one step backward" in the iterative process of research ("two steps forward, one step backward, two steps forward, et cetera..."). This painting's end will give me the aplomb I require. I will be able to take the next "two steps forward". Anticipation of these next steps induces fear. Risk-taking will be required. The places I will go are unknown. All I know is this: I must actively indulge in personal research to find my authentic id.
There are components and idiosyncrasies of being an adult human that are not going away. Etherial, exquisite, supernatural powers we do not have. Struggle and process is our game. Playing it well is the best we can do. This means balance. It means listening to our internal human mechanisms. Doing this stuff daily, art-making, is making me better at recognizing my true priorities. Adaptation means constant adjustment; the tweaking will never end. There is a discomfort in my current work. I am trying to break down, and break out, from the mundane. Here is the dictionary definition of "mundane": "of this earthly world rather than a heavenly or spiritual one: the boundaries of the mundane world." Yes, I am trying to break through the boundaries. The boundaries are me; I manufactured them by living. I'll be back.
Can you see it? In my drawing (above), can you see the bit of dishonesty under the table? There are five table legs, and they make no sense. It works for me. This means I am accepting the visual ideas I once believed "dishonest" to be "honest." The painter Seymour Leichman pointed to this acceptance as the preeminence of the honesty of drawing over the honesty of mirroring visual reality (I was Seymour's apprentice for four years). Seymour demonstrated this truth using Leonardo da Vinci's cartoon, The Virgin and Child with St Anne and St John the Baptist (~1506-1508). Seymour asked, "Look at the legs of Mary and Anne, which legs belong to which woman? It doesn't matter! It's the drawing that matters!" Although it seems clear to me now (whose leg is whose), the doubt Seymour placed in my mind insured a lasting lesson. And so it is, I increasingly shed visual truth for the reality I am inventing as I draw. This transition is striking to me because it portends big changes. I am frightened and excited. Frightened, as this marks a beginning of self-inflicted whippings; there is going to be some hurt a-coming because I am required to give up that which I have constructed as truths for the actual truths submerged in my intuition, genuine truths born of things seen, and known, but hidden out of fear. Truth can be cruel while one transitions from the arm chair easiness of observation to the effort of manufacturing visual honesty on paper and canvas.
When I'm talking cyclone I'm talking throwing it all up in the air and seeing where it all lands. Some of the debris will be thrown so far afield as not to be recoverable. I hope the stuff that passes from sight is not important (but that too must be questioned). This is the essence of the problem. Even that which is lost from view may be important. No solution can be perfectly authentic. Suspicion and doubt is a fundamental part of the process. Constructing trustworthy images is impossible. Perception is so complicated as not to be logically discerned, so trust in intuition is required. This is frightful. Intuition is formed within the mess that is the cyclone, so it is, itself, messy. Entangled fragments are useless. Perceiving truth requires unravelling. Billions of lengths of string have become intertwined. There is no good way to discern the true strength of any one piece. The whole ball is overwhelming. Some strings, when unraveled, are weak, useless, unable to hold weight. So, one by one, I choose a length to set down. I will follow these notions. Some will be true and strong; these I will recognize and use. Many others I will discard. This process will take a lot of time.
Sometimes I feel like a little kid whose performing for the whole world. Naïve I may be, and naïve my work may appear. I am not the first person to do this: I think of Pablo Picasso's early work (prior to 1907 Picasso's work appears young and naïve). Picasso's early work was solid and emotive, but nothing new or revolutionary. Through the year 1906 Picasso practiced his craft, but it was in 1907 that it suddenly transitioned, became original, and authentically Picasso. There is a parallel here, between Picasso and me. As example, I show a couple of Picasso's works, the first Mendigos Junto Al Mar, 1903, the second Friendship, 1908. Just five years separate these works, and wow, what a dramatic change it is! I am in the midst of a similarly dramatic transition. I am three years into my five years of change.
I feel jumpy and anxious. This is a good thing, though annoying. One minor example is my mislabeling the date on yesterday's drawing. The mislabel is just a sign, only a hint that I am restless and unsettled. I am not paying close attention to extraneous details, such as the date, which is merely an announcement, and has nothing to do with the quality of the work of art. However, I am paying closer attention, more than ever before, while in the process of making art. My work is changing in its process, and consequently its qualities have changed as well. The art-making process totally takes me over, and when doing it I am nowhere except within the effort to get it right. On the surface this seems the way it should always have been, and should always be. It is not so long ago that I questioned the validity of my activity while in the process of that activity. You can find this concern in earlier blog posts.
I am enjoying the moment. My art feels like home to me. "Feels like I'm on my way back where I'm from." Randy Newman wrote it well... Feels Like Home to Me
Lyrics by Randy Newman Something in your eyes Makes me wanna lose myself Makes me wanna lose myself In your heart Something in your voice Makes my heart beat fast Hope this feeling will last The rest of my life If you knew How lonely my life has been And how low I've felt for so long If you knew I wanted someone to come along And change my world The way you've done It feels like home Feels like home to me Feels like I'm on my way back Where I come from Feels like home Feels like home to me Feels like I'm on my way back Where I'm from |
To read my profile go to MEHRBACH.com.
At MEHRBACH.com you may view many of my paintings and drawings, past and present, and see details about my life and work. Archives
April 2024
|