Solutions: don't take the obvious for granted

A view of my Daily Observations photo archive

Earlier this afternoon, I hit a wall with a new painting that I'm working on. Well, not so much a wall as a door to which I had the right shaped key, but that key had been cut wrong, making entry a little difficult. I started thinking about how to solve the issue that I was having by doing what I usually do; refer to other paintings of mine for clues. I'll often look to other artists' work, as well. This habit has been ingrained in me since high school. It's often hard to turn off this part of my thought process when viewing artwork, especially when the work has some resonance with mine. I try to be aware of my thought patterns in these situations because I can miss out on really looking at the work. 

This afternoon's issue was something that came up during the last painting session I had, three days ago, on Friday. Towards the end of that session, I had the unmistakable feeling that I had reached that first point where I didn't know what to do afterwards. The painting needed something to push it forward, but what that was, I hadn't a clue. When I came in today, it was still taunting me, daring me to even think about a solution. After doing a little prep work on three other panels, the possible solution hit: why not take a look through some of the hundreds of photos I've taken that make up my ongoing Daily Observations project? I've done it a couple of times in the past, but using the photos to work out a painting problem is generally nowhere near the top of my list. Anyway, I got on my laptop to look at some shots and within a couple of minutes, I had what I thought was my solution. Not bad at all. 

When I make use of a source outside of my own work for problem solving, it's never with the intent of direct copying something into my painting. I'm just looking for some way into a solution, something that will trigger a response within me that will lead to a way forward. In general, it's both a form and a feeling. I'm not looking at the photos and thinking, "Ah, ha, that's the exact thing I need to use!" More often, it takes elements from several sources to comprise a workable solution. It's good that this time, I was able to come up with something that made sense fairly quickly. Now, I have to deal with the new question(s) that my solution brought up. 

TM

The physicality of life in art

(photo: ©Stanley Whitney)

"You want to bring the physicality of life to your work"

-Stanley Whitney

I was watching a short interview with Stanley Whitney via YouTube this past week and this quote really grabbed me. It hit home because I've been thinking about issues related to this in my work. A lot of what influences my work is the textures of the world around me, like different kinds of wood screwed together, layers of worn posters stapled to utility poles, cracked and lined cement and asphalt...the list goes on. I'm a fan of bringing more physicality to my paintings, but I've wanted to do it in a way that doesn't just mimic the textures that I see in the streets. I'm not looking to replicate those textures, but to develop textures that suit the specific needs of a work. 

I've always embraced various types of textures in my painting, but never anything that was too obvious, at least from a distance. Mostly, it's been visual texture through the manipulation of forms on the surface. These textures don't rise from the painting's surface, but are just changes in how the paint or drawing material is handled. I had a period in the late '90s where I made a bunch of mixed media works where plexiglas, aluminum and wood were used in a variety of ways and had their own textures. I've never embraced really thick applications of paint on my paintings to create texture-it always seemed to be too much about surface, whereas I've been more interested in making spatial environments that rely on changes in scale to create depth. I went for textures that were a little more subtle. Like the mildly sandpapery Micaceous Iron Oxide (MIO) that Golden makes. Once dry, MIO has a surface that may be equivalent to 100 grit sandpaper Not too chunky, but still noticeable to the eye, and it's somewhat reflective. 

Lately, I've wanted to make some of my glyphs stand out from the surface. I've found that a heavy gel medium does the trick very well. Not only does it create a good peak, it gives a nice, almost encaustic-like look to the paint. Now, I want to experiment with adding differing amounts of paint and dried pigments to the gel medium to see how it acts.

"The physicality of life" is such a perfect way to describe what I want to bring to my work. That can take the form(s) of brushstrokes, scraping of paint, drips, covering of areas and so on. It's not only the look, but the general feeling that I hope to communicate. I like that some of my paintings feel like they're still in the process of evolving, even when I've chosen to stop working on them. Allowing some of the making process to be seen keeps the work alive in a way that I can't explain. It's similar to when observing the changes in my environment, on my walks, subtle and not so subtle; there's almost always a feeling of small wonderment at recognizing shifts in the world around me.  Doing this reminds me of how life is in continual change and flux, something that I want to convey to the viewer. My hope is that through the work, they'll recognize and appreciate something of what I see and experience. 

TM