 Drawing 04·17·2019, pencil on paper, 20x16 inches Currently my studio time is 90% "getting ready" and 10% making original art. I much prefer doing the latter, but the former is necessary. Exhibiting new art is very important to me; I want to interact with viewers. The batch of drawings and paintings for the AVA Gallery exhibit are almost ready. I am framing drawings now, and I continue touch-up paintings on canvas that are now stretched on wooden stretcher bars OR mounted on wood panels.
The drawing I show today was executed two days ago. It is a good one. It will mostly likely be shown at Bromfield Gallery in Boston. I will not be delivering work to Bromfield till June 3 (by that time many new drawings will have been made; this one may not make the cut).
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 Drawing 04·14·2019, pencil on paper, 20x16 inches It took me two days to make this drawing because I did not have the time to do it in one sitting. This time management is caused by the necessity that I frame works for my upcoming exhibition at AVA Gallery. If you follow the link to AVA you would see the announcement on AVA's homepage. Going away from a partially finished drawing, then returning to finish it, is both beneficial and detrimental. Beneficial because it forces introspection upon return to the half finished drawing (I see it afresh; I see it more clearly; I immediately recognize its successes and failures). The detrimental part is me losing track of the original question I asked. In this case, in the drawing I show today, I wanted to inspect the possibilities of vigor in an insistently classically flat composition, one designed to be seen flat in the viewer's face. I often think of the great success Pablo Picasso had using this method in his painting Guernica, which has a central flat, in the viewer's face, triangle, surrounded by two side panels.  Pablo Picasso, "Guernica", oil on canvas, 1937  Drawing 04·04·2019 (state 1), pencil on paper, 16x20 inches As good as yesterday's drawing is, I believe it can be better. There is a thrust of darkness that begins in the upper middle and moves diagonally to the lower portion of this drawing. The clarity of this thrust gets a bit vague in the lower portion of the the drawing. I believe, if I enhance this movement it will enhance the drawing. The proof will come in the doing. I will post its final state tomorrow.
FYI: I have been busy framing works for the first of my Spring/Summer exhibitions. I deliver works to AVA Gallery (Lebanon, NH) on April 26 (opening on May 10). I will neglect my new paintings till the older paintings are framed, cleaned-up, varnished, ready to go to AVA. I will continue to make drawings. Making Art is ingrained in me, rewarding to me as necessary to problem solving life and living. Art to me is an indicator of Life; I cannot stop doing it. I believe my recent drawings are excellent, perhaps the best I have ever done. This reward of quality keeps me involved, day by day, relentlessly.  "How's It Gonna End" (2019 No.2, state 15), oil on canvas, 60x33 inches {"Life is sweet at the edge of a razor; And down in the front row of an old picture show the old man is asleep as the credits start to roll. And I want to know, the same thing everyone wants to know, how's it going to end?" -Tom Waits}  Drawing 03·31·2019 No.1, pencil on paper, 16x20 inches  Drawing 03·31·2019 No.2, pencil on paper, 16x20 inches When film was film I would take photos with it, develop it; first the negatives (in the dark of a developing tank), then the positives (in a dark room). I have aged. Film has left us, replaced by digital imaging, but I make analog images with pencil and oil paints. My recent passion in image-making is introspection regarding the power of the positive and the negative. George Eastman, the founder of Eastman Kodak Corporation, said, "Character, like a photograph, develops in darkness." This is me developing; unlike film, this is digital. This is the age of digitation. Now we use the digital World Wide Web. At one point I would have written this in my journal, but that was before blogging was possible.
All three images I show today are jumps in personal expressive progress. I am optimistic. I will solve my angst, my problems; I will find a way to express myself well. I do not want to live in darkness. Here I am!  Drawing 03·28·2019, pencil on paper, 16x20 inches Yesterday's studio session was a lot of me sitting and observing. Surprised I was at my having ignored the potency of negative space. I sometimes feel awash is quandary. Why did I so actively attack the positive forms as animators of my images? Why did I not look ardently at negative space as animator? I picked up a few books; I looked at images of works from de Kooning to Guston to Matisse. All of these artists, like me, tend to clog their canvases with marks, making negative space look like an afterthought. Their drawings, however, are different. Negative space is more important. (See drawings by these artists, below.) Today, I offer you a drawing of mine (made yesterday). In it I use negative space effectively. Learning never ceases. Learning sometimes leaves me with a feeling of loss; Sometimes it hurts! Why did it take me so long, some many drawings, so many paintings, to realize the great emotional and intellectual value of negative space?  Willem de Kooning, "Untitled", charcoal on paper, 1966  Philip Guston, "Web", India Ink on Paper, 1975  Henri Matisse, "Lydia with Her Hair in a Net", pencil on paper, 1939  "Doublethink" (2019 No.3, state 2), oil on canvas, 58x58 inches {"Doublethink means the power of holding two contradictory beliefs in one's mind simultaneously, and accepting both of them." -George Orwell, "Nineteen Eighty Four" (1949)}  Drawing 03·27·2019, pencil on paper, 20x16 inches Risk is going to uncomfortable places. Yesterday I forced myself to minimize my marks between forms. This was difficult for me because this is not something I have explored well. I uplifted my consciousness: I forced my self to allow a lot of negative space between forms in yesterday's drawing. You can also see me thinking this way in the upper right of the painting "Doublethink". One master of negative space is Kenzo Okada (1902-1982). Below is Okada's 1954 painting, "Footsteps".  Kenzo Okada, "Footsteps", oil on canvas, 1954  "How's It Gonna End" (2019 No.2, state 14), oil on canvas, 60x33 inches {"Life is sweet at the edge of a razor; And down in the front row of an old picture show the old man is asleep as the credits start to roll. And I want to know, the same thing everyone wants to know, how's it going to end?" -Tom Waits}  Drawing 03·26·2019, pencil on paper, 20x16 inches Yesterday I left the studio in doubt, full of worry. Am I making exceptional art, or just stuff that will disappear as soon as I disappear? Longevity of an image is a test of its meaningfulness. James Joyce's "Ulysses" will be read as long as humans read. I want my work to sustain itself, I want it to give meaning and knowledge to generations of viewers. I want my work to give others an experience of real, authentic, satisfying, deeply human ideas, ideas to contemplate by the process of seeing. As I thought about my work last night it felt as if my work is difficult, introspective, and slow in comprehension. There was redemption within this doubt. I know I am constantly moving forward; I am consistently making better and better work. Better to me is defined as more profoundly adequate in its ability to say true ideas, ideas that all sensitive and intelligent people can see. I am optimistic viewers of my art will respond with satisfaction that is intellectual and emotional. I am working in order to touch all viewers with fullness of human capacity, i.e., the stuff that make us uniquely us. Yesterday I believe I took a small step in that direction; Looking here, at today's reproductions, my worries dissipate a little. Yesterday's work is good.
 "How's It Gonna End" (2019 No.2, state 13), oil on canvas, 60x33 inches {"Life is sweet at the edge of a razor; And down in the front row of an old picture show the old man is asleep as the credits start to roll. And I want to know, the same thing everyone wants to know, how's it going to end?" -Tom Waits}  Drawing 03·24·2019 No.1, pencil on paper, 20x16 inches  Drawing 03·24·2019 No.2, pencil on paper, 20x16 inches The painting, "How's It Gonna End" (2019 No.2), is in state 13; now I know, it is gonna end. My drawings, however, tell a different story. This journey of mine, as long as I draw breathe, is NOT gonna end. I have become fascinated with the space between objects. I have always taken negative space into account, but my newest drawings exhibit an increased awareness of the potency that is blank space. For quite some time I have been worrying about congestion within my drawings — in yesterday's drawings I tackle this problem head-on. Interesting, I was on Instagram; There was a reproduction of a painting by Jean-Michel Basquiat. This work by Basquiat hit me hard. Immediately I recognized the power he gave the open areas in his canvas, areas between complex forms. I show you one of Basquiat's works. This is not the painting I saw that inspired me, but it does go right to my point.  Jean-Michel Basquiat, "Unbleached Titanium", acrylic, pencil, pastel, charcoal, crayon on paper, 57x76.5 cm, 1983  "How's It Gonna End" (2019 No.2, state 12), oil on canvas, 60x33 inches {"Life is sweet at the edge of a razor; And down in the front row of an old picture show the old man is asleep as the credits start to roll. And I want to know, the same thing everyone wants to know, how's it going to end?" -Tom Waits} "How's It Gonna End" (2019 No.2) continues its development. Here is state 12. This morning I walked into the studio; immediately this painting called to me for adjustments. Nothing extensive need be done. "How's It Gonna End" requires subtle enhancements. Great augmentation will occur with minor adjustments. The formal potency of this work will increase. BTW: Yesterday the width of this painting grew about one inch (such a bonus is available because I work on an oversized canvas tacked to a work wall).
 "Doublethink" (2019 No.3, state 1), oil on canvas, 58x58 inches {"Doublethink means the power of holding two contradictory beliefs in one's mind simultaneously, and accepting both of them." -George Orwell, "Nineteen Eighty Four" (1949)} My methodology is more multi-think than Doublethink. This concerns me. I worry I see in a complicated and complex manner. I worry this makes it difficult to communicate through my art. Am I allowing myself to solve the needs of an image by multitasking the image? Instead, should I be simplifying my images toward their basic instincts? When I began the new painting, "Doublethink", I had ambition; I wanted restrict it to two contradictory and contrasting forms. Obviously this did not happen in state 1. You can see "Doublethink" as two contrasting areas; the left playing with rectangular in/out rotational vigor, the right with rounded up/down spinning-top-like verticality. I am not sure I will work on "Doublethink" again today. I need its complexity to percolate within/without me. There is a very complex drawing on my drawing board right now. It waits for me to solve it, to finish it off. I began this drawing with thoughts similar to those I began "Doublethink". My thoughts were similar in their simplicity-seeking. The drawing ran away toward a self-imposed complex solution. It feels self-imposed by the drawing, but of course it is me. It is me who is self-trained to see this way. This morning, in my effort to question my complexity, I purchased a sketch book. I hope it will help me resolve my issues with myself. I will use the sketch book to experiment with different ways to tackle by complex-seeing personality. I believe I am in need of simplification. I could be wrong.
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April 2019
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