A Woman Four Times

oil, acrylic and ink on paper, 9" x 12" and smaller, 2009-2012

- matisse

- martin mcmurray

Exhibition: About Face at ACME.

Scott Grodesky, Ilona, 2012. Mixed media on linen on panel, 22" x 16"

This is the first time I felt like being at an opening was a better experience than going some other day. The exhibition at ACME called About Face—curated by Daniel Weinberg—was a group of fifty paintings that explored the theme of portraiture. The paintings were hung either in groups, in salon style, or alone. Because the exhibition design mirrored my body's relationship to other bodies (at times alone, at other times in groups, at times shorter, and at other times taller), I imagined these painted faces conversing with one another.

Faces created by renowned artists like Jim Nut, Eddie Martinez, and Brian Calvin met faces created by emerging artists like as Neal Tait, Scott Grodesky, and Helen Rae while also meeting with some artists' actual faces like Allison Schulnik's and Kristin Calabrese's. While I stood there, in that crowd of faces, I imagined what all those faces, human and painted, were talking about--painting, faces, surfaces, portraitures, etc.

I felt I was looking just as much as I was being looked at. Even the paintings that seem to be less figurative transform themselves into eyes that stared back at me. We, the human and the painted, the human and the human, the painted and the painted, acknowledged each other. The faces of humans and the painted faces became completely blended on my mind.

ACME, About Face Exhibition, Installation View. (December 2012) 

Truth and Markmaking

a mark i've kept

i'm aware of directness as a conceit in writing, a tool, as useful as metaphor or voice. ariana reines sometimes uses all caps and that makes me feel like she's speaking straight from the hip with no editing, a message sent through her like a prophet, but i also know that she's a craftswoman of language and i'd guess that her process curls back on itself like a snake spitting. eileen myles does it with run-ons and inconsistent capitalizations like she has to get it all out before it dissolves. there is truth and style in both of these ways of writing and i'm not even suggesting that truth and style are on opposite poles. and can you ever be without style? the way i move my hand when i paint, is that style? 

i always thought of writing as work and painting as the guiding of a force, especially in later years when i paint in a fever, surrounded by mess and coffee cups and rolls of wax paper half-dipped in blue latex, trailing. as though the mess and urgency kept me closer to something, but what? i do want truth, and i do think it exists, and i do think it exists in painting. but not because it aligns with something i already know is truth, or because it has the look of truth, or because i felt truthy when i made it. markmaking is a writhing pit and i am happily lost inside it. moments of clarity rise up and i stare at a line for days, trying to see what it is revealing to me. so many things in the visual world seem like they are opening themselves up to me, hoping to be seen and understood. the best of these are the things i make myself, because in their unfamiliarity i feel a rush of love, like my little brother doing calculus. a thing that is part of me surpassing me, becoming other. 

but painting has just as much fake-directness as writing does, if not more. all those men strong-arming their way into the canon, mistaking adrenaline and privilege for truth. and it's clear that writing toes the abyss just as painting does, the inconceivable possibilities of letters, the way a poem vibrates in the mind after reading it, the long, looping lives of characters that exist beside our own. when i finished dostoyevsky's "the idiot" a few weeks ago i sobbed in the shower and i wasn't even being self-indulgent. those characters deserve my sadness. their loss is real. this is why i keep the marks i make, the ones i have no practical use for, the ones no one else will ever see or buy. they are as real and living in the world as i am. unlike dostoyevsky, i'm the only one looking at them and usually i'm the only one who knows they are worth looking at. if you are an artist, you have these marks too, and you honor them in your own way. you know there's something there, truth or whatever, you don't need to call it anything. pink beside gray or black beside black or white beside white or a picture of a banana beside a weird purple or a thin line of something, you don't know what it is, you found it there on your palette like your palette was a doorstep.

Hot Bodies

Dana Schutz, Frank on a Rock, oil on canvas, 2002. Schutz says, "I have been working on a group of paintings loosely hinged on the act of painting a fictional man from observation...the paintings are premised on the imaginary situation that the man and I are the last people on earth. The man is the last subject and the last audience and, because the man isn't making any paintings, I am the last painter."

Brooke Shields at age 10, photographed by Garry Gross in 1975 and rephotographed by Richard Prince in his 1993 work, "Spiritual America." The version seen here was found on the internet and has been further altered; someone has cropped the photo, changed the color, and added a black and green border. Shields has unsuccessfully fought to gain control over the photographs in this series for years. Courts have said both that Shields' career was built on her sexuality (and thus she has no reason to complain) and that the photographs are not sexual in nature: "They are pictures of a prepubescent girl posing innocently in the bath." Prince's version of the photograph was sold at Christie's in 1999 for $151,000.

Painter as Warrior

As a follow-up to my previous post, "Painter as Jedi", I wanted to present a scene from one of my favorite movies, Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (2000) by director Ang Lee.

In the scene, Shu Lien, a veteran warrior and master of the martial arts, suspects a young aristocrat, Jen, of being the thief who recently stole the Green Destiny, a sword of great power.  In order to work out the tricky situation, Shu Lien visits Jen to befriend her and eventually uncover her devious actions.  When she arrives at Jen's private quarters, Jen is practicing her calligraphy; she offers to write Shu Lien's name, "just for fun" (the translated subtitles differ slightly from the dubbed dialogue; I prefer the subtitled translation).

Jen's proficiency with the sweeping motion of brush on paper all but reveals her secret identity as the martial arts thief and swordsman that Shu Lien had fought with earlier.  When Shu Lien remarks that calligraphy and swordfighting require similar movements and control, Jen of course plays dumb.

To me, the movie is all about discipline and self-control (represented by Li Mu Bai and Shu Lien) coming into conflict with unbridled power (Jen).  SPOILER: In the end, Shu Lien regrets dedicating her life to duty and honor as she was never able to fulfill her love for Li Mu Bai.  And Jen finally realizes that wielding power willy-nilly can have dire consequences when her careless actions inadvertently lead to Li Mu Bai's death.

Painting, fighting, calligraphy, fencing, storytelling: all require balance.  Power and innate talent is not enough; you must also have the knowledge of when and how to use it. 

Painter as Jedi

In a passage from one of the kitschy “Expanded Universe” Star Wars novels that I love to read, Jedi Master Luke Skywalker addresses his new pupils during their first lesson.  Even though Luke is talking about Jedi mind techniques and lightsaber dueling, I felt a kinship with what he was saying.  I’ve replaced “Jedi” with “painter” to make the metaphor that much more apparent:

          “I have brought you here to study and to learn, but I myself am still learning.  Every living thing must continue to learn until it dies.  Those who cease to learn, die that much sooner.
          “Perhaps it was misleading when I called this an ‘academy’ for [painters].  Though I will teach you everything I know, I don’t want you merely to listen to me lecture.
          “Your training will be a landscape of self-discovery.  Learn new things and share what you have learned with others.  I will call this place a praxeum.  This word, made up of ancient roots…distills the concepts of learning combined with action.  Our praxeum, then, is a place for the learning of action.  A [painter] is aware, but he does not waste time in mindless contemplation.  When action is required, a [painter] acts.”[i]

I have two thoughts on this quote: 1) even though Luke is clearly a master in his field, he is humble and wise enough to recognize that learning lasts a lifetime, and 2) the role of the peaceful warrior is very similar to that of an artist.  I didn’t realize how resonant the last two lines of the quote would be for painters until I switched out the words.

Cover art for Dark Apprentice

We don’t paint for the hell of it.
Our brushes are our swords.
We swing them, and they cut.
We hold them close, and they are quiet.
They can be honest blades.
We will act when action is required.
We will know when.

---

[i] Kevin J. Anderson, Dark Apprentice (New York: Bantam Books, 1994), 68-69.

My First Painting

Adair Stephens, Cellmates, acrylic on canvas, approximately 3' x 4', 2009.

I wrote a whole other post about this painting explaining the details, facts, whens, whys, and wheres surrounding its creation, but I’ve realized that those things are not what interest me.  When I think of this painting, I am mostly intrigued by the fact that I threw it away.  Most people say that you should never throw any of your art away, and they are probably right.  But I still throw a lot of things in the dumpster.  My recent attempt to move everything from my studio at CCA into my bedroom in my apartment forced me to toss the things I didn’t like and give away the things I did.  But I’m not saddened by this loss.  Instead, I feel like a weight is lifted.  I don’t want to look at my finished paintings.  I’m excited by the process of making a picture more than the finished picture itself.  Hanging up my own paintings would feel like nailing corpses to the wall.  My advisor in grad school once suggested I go back and work on some of my finished paintings, but that is impossible for me.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the king’s horses and all the king’s men
Couldn’t put Humpty together again.

I love Humpty Dumpty because his story is how I work.  I break things down and try to put them back together again in a different way.  You can’t go backwards once it’s happened.  You can cover up the body, but the ghost will always be there.  And the seams will always show.  It is up to you to either put it back on the wall or sweep the pieces into the trash.