Looking, thinking, digging deep...

Contemplating a new painting

      I like to say that at a certain point in the painting process, watching me work is like watching paint dry. At first, there's usually a lot quickish choices being made about color, form and placement. Then, once I've gotten over the usually annoying mid point of making the painting, there's a slowing of mark making and much more contemplation of what's in front of me. I have a habit of looking at my paintings from all sorts of odd angles at times. One of the most unconscious positions is turning my head sideways instead of the painting. I was taught long ago that you should rotate your paintings to see how they are working from different directions. The classic move is to turn it upside down. This is used as one way to determine how the painting is holding together compositionally. The point is that there is a lot of thinking going on when we're sitting or standing in front of a work. Even when I'm not in front of it, like at home or some place other than the studio, the work is on my mind. I'm mulling over possibilities of changes or placement of forms as I'm walking down the street. I'm trying out all sorts of compositional possibilities when I'm in the shower. I'm considering which new materials I could use as I'm washing dishes. The work is never ending, but I also love it this way. 

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   Last week,  I found a couple of chairs in the hallway of the floor I'm on in the Crane Arts Building that someone didn't want any more. I took them in because they're softer and generally more comfortable than the hard molded plastic chairs I already have. They both have old thin leather covering the back and seat. The frames are made out of silver metal of some sort. I brought them into the studio, wiped them down and am enjoying having them. I still need to get a couch in there. Studio naps are essential not only to my well-being, but the well-being of the work. 

    Trying to push through sleepiness in the middle of the day or late afternoon is tough without a proper place to take a nap. I feel like a good hour to hour-and-a-half is a good period of time for a nap. They are so necessary for helping to keep my mind clear during the day. Taking time to nap is so beneficial for thinking. Art is really taxing mentally and physically sometimes. It's best to try and keep your mind sharp so that you don't go about making bad choices in the work. Well, bad choices happen regardless of napping or not, but the likelihood of them increasing is greater without resting a little during the day. 

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    I watched a "behind the scenes" video with Tom Cruise that's the beginning of the hype machine for the next installment of the "Mission Impossible" franchise. This one was interesting to see because it shows how much of a committed actor TC is. He is known for doing a lot of his own stunts and this video showed just how deep that commitment is. One of the big stunts is him riding a motocross bike off of a huge ramp, off the side of a cliff and then parachuting down into a ravine that's closed in on three sides with rock face. He trained on riding the motocross bike, practicing the jump, learning to parachute from a helicopter and even more than that. He did all of that and did those actions over and over and over again to get everything as right as possible to make an action sequence as believable as possible. Seeing that kind of dedication to honing just one part of his craft made me think about how much we as artists need to make sure that we're doing all that we can to keep ourselves educated, doing research and pouring as much as we can into the work that we do. Being persistent, consistent and risk-taking with your work habits in the studio and digging deep within to make the best work possible will pay off. Show up for yourself!

TM

 

Paintings being free

 (Detail :: work in progress)

    Online recently, I made a post that mentioned a shift that I feel is happening in the work. Yesterday, that feeling became even more clear to me. What's happening is that I need to take a break from making the dense, glyph-filled work that I've been doing for the past few years. The glyphs will still be in the work, but I'm kind of done with the denseness of mark making that's been going on for a while. Two recent paintings that I've worked on sealed that feeling for me. I was having a real struggle to complete them and couldn't figure out why until just this past weekend; I'm just tired of what I've been doing. These paintings feel heavy in a way that bugs me. Everything about the work feels heavy; the surfaces, the compositions even the colors, many of which are repeated in similar ways throughout recent paintings. The paintings are breathing laboriously at this point, wheezing even. It's funny how palpable the feeling of discomfort around this work has been for me lately. It literally weighs on me, almost oppressive to a certain degree. I feel the need to think about why this is a little deeper.

    Even as that revelation has become more clear to me, I've already begun making some paintings that are moving down a separate, but parallel track. I've been making some works on paper centered on these forms that are basically interconnected triangles. It's been something that I've played with off and on over time, but now I'm feeling more comfortable with how I might be able to put them to use. I'm hoping to create some different color and spatial relationships within the work where they behave somewhat similarly to the glyph paintings, but are completely different in execution and how they behave on the canvas or panel supports. 

    I can trace these new works back to some things I've done since 2013, but I haven't been able to figure out what they mean for me, yet. That's probably a good thing because they will define themselves over time. Compared to the various connected influences of the glyph paintings, these new works are very much their own thing. They exist outside of everything that I've been focusing on over the past seven or eight years. They are as alien to me as anything that we may call biological that might exist somewhere else out in space. They have a history for me, but I haven't been able to identify them, yet. They are resisting categorization, which is somewhat frustrating, but also very freeing. They aren't tethered to any kind of ready-made philosophies or uses. They insist on being what they are without outside intrusions of meanings. 

I'm perfectly fine with that. 

TM

In silence

     I like to take a few moments to be silent and express gratitude when  I come into the studio for the day. It really helps to ground me and remind me of all the good things that have come into my life through my actions and otherwise. I had hoped for years to have a larger studio again after having to move from the space at 16 N. 3rd Street back in 2015. I don't like to take things for granted because everything can crumble, turn to dust and disappear in an instant. I worked hard to get here, with help along the way, and I'll never forget that. 

    Since moving here, I've been able to look at my work in a completely different way than I have for the past seven years or so. Just being able to have the room to step back from something and see it in relation to something else that I'm working on a few feet away is truly powerful. I get to walk a few yards away from a painting and can really take my time with letting it live and come into being on it's own terms and not with the crush of all of my other work right on top of it. It's an amazing feeling. 

 TM  

Bringing others in

    Coming off of my birthday weekend, I gave a workshop for teaching artists of Mural Arts Philadelphia this morning. Things seemed to go well since this was the first time I'd led an activity in a workshop like this for peers. The actual first workshop ever was last spring with some of Brad Carney's Mural Arts Education students at George Washington High School in northeast Philly. This workshop was focused on showing the participants how they can use translucent materials like tracing paper or drafting paper to create interesting layering effects in their work. 

    It's very educational when you have to interpret what you do in your studio practice for other people in a situation like this that demands clarity of communication and thought. You have to really look deeply at what you do in the studio and find ways of connecting people with what's mostly in your head otherwise. What seems simple to you can be a complete mystery to others, even artists. We all have our own experiences with making art that are often as completely singular as we are as individuals. That makes sense for obvious reasons, but we don't often think about that because of the myopic lens through which most of us look at the world.

    That's not an indictment, I'm just stating what I see as a part of the human experience. All of us are made up of what ever experiences we have and tend to look at the world in a particular way as a result. Problems occur when we can't make room to appreciate how others might experience things in their way. Being able to empathize is a huge thing and a lot of the bad experiences that we have with people who can't or won't accommodate other world views shows up in horrific ways. Learning to effectively share and communicate your ideas and processes with others is a huge thing and not something to take lightly. It's a key way to better understand what you're doing in your work, bring you closer to other to others and help them understand who you are as a person and artist. 

TM

 

How long...?

Detail of No Way Out (2022)

[The following is copied verbatim from a recent social media post I made last week. I felt like it needed to be enshrined here, too]

Studio 12.01.22 :: I felt a perceptive shift within me regarding aspects of my work now and possibilities moving forward. Yesterday evening felt like a moment where the dust of years of different paths and influences collided and started forming a couple of new ways forward that I feel absolutely compelled to follow. An “oh shit, yes!!” moment that packs a bigger punch than others in the past.

The question of inspiration comes up once in a while and my answer is always some version of “life and doing the work” that I elaborate on. First, no idea comes from a single influence or source; there’s always a constellation of experiences-conversations, random thoughts, dreams, research, whispers, daydreaming, reading, music, doodling, walking down a different street, noticing that tiny crack in your glass-that can lead to where you are now. Everything that you’ve lived through is right in that moment of discovery. Second, I don’t believe in waiting for “inspiration”. That comes from doing the work, whatever that is for you. You don’t get anywhere sitting and making yourself frustrated that inspiration hasn’t swept you off you feet. It won’t, trust me, I know. Doing and actively participating is how discovery happens. Begin where you are with what you have and see where that takes you. Rinse and repeat as needed 

“How long did it take to to do that?” My whole life to this point, literally.