Showing posts with label abstraction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label abstraction. Show all posts

Tuesday, August 15, 2023

Enter the void(s)



     Going into the void(s). I'm about to break out the old goth clothes, paint the walls black and throw on some Bauhaus for good measure, haha! Ok, so the most I'll probably do is listen to some Bauhaus since it's been a moment. These are actually just the starting point for new paintings. The reason I'm giving this any special attention is that I almost NEVER start a painting with a dark background; I've insisted on beginning almost every work with a white or light background. It's mostly out of habit, really. I generally like lighter backgrounds because of how they can affect the subsequent layers. I start off thinking about light and transparency in the colors, however, considering that there is an overall opaqueness by the time I'm done, it almost never makes that much of a difference. 
    Dark backgrounds like these are going to definitely change how I think about and use color in these paintings. I'm excited to see how I navigate my color choices, range of hue, transparency/opaqueness and compositional choices along the way. I'll let you know how it turns out once I've gone through the process a bit. Should be fun. 
    



    On another note, I was saddened to hear of the passing of painter Brice Marden last week. Marden's work was a big influence for me early on as a student. His early work contributed to my understanding of how subtle color can be used in a minimalist way to make a big impact on the senses. Marden's sensitivity to color and how he used it at scale really drew me in. The lyricism of his subsequent works continued to draw me in over the years. He was a true contemporary master and leaves an amazing body of work. 

TM

Saturday, July 08, 2023

Piles

 

Pile I, 2023, colored pencil on paper, 22" x 30"

Pile II, 2023, colored pencil on paper, 22" x 30"


    Summer's here and Philly's been a humid swamp this week. Thankfully, I have A/C in the studio and don't have to sweat it out. I've paid my dues over the years and am going to enjoy having air for as long as I can. 
    There are a bunch of works in progress in the studio, as always. In between working on some smaller paintings, I also made these two drawings that are part of a new series I'm calling 'Pile'. This idea literally just came to me one day this week as I was working on a painting that has an element of these interlocking triangles within a square of translucent red, seemingly hovering above and partially obscuring a layer of glyphs. My thought was, what would happen if I made a drawing of a bunch of these that filled a page? My only "rule" for these was that I wasn't going to start at any of the edges. Instead, I started with a singular form, within the page, just off center and built the rest of the composition around it. I wanted each form to be a different color as well. 
    So far, so good. The drawings are a nice change from the paintings in that they are pretty void of any considerations other than what color the next form will be and where to start drawing it. The act of drawing these is pretty relaxing, but also interesting in how the piece begins to take shape within the picture plane. That's the other "rule"; that the forms are to inhabit the boundaries of the paper and not seem to extend beyond it. 
    Within each of these drawings, there is an uncomfortable tension between the forms  because they feel like they don't appear to inhabit these spaces with any comfort; they seem to teeter on the edge of falling over. They also don't fit together comfortably. These would make near impossible puzzles. I'd like to make a bunch more piles and have some ideas for future drawings and maybe paintings.The work is changing in another big way and I hope that I can continue to explore this avenue into painting.

TM

Tuesday, December 13, 2022

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  

Friday, October 21, 2022

It's complicated

Afternoon sun gliding over works in progress

Because I approach most of my paintings without much of a predetermined path, there can be a tendency to over complicate things. This situation is made worse when it feels like almost nothing is working within a painting; not the color, not the forms, not the composition, and on and on. That's where I was yesterday with one piece that I've been wrestling with for a while now. The colors, in particular, felt really off. Too much white mixed in, everything felt too pastel-like. I'd also covered most of a background color combo that I liked a lot. That part was made with spray paint, as well, so it set itself apart from my other marks, which I also liked. 

None of this is uncommon for me to think about considering some of my painting habits. Most of the time, I'm able to shrug it off, but once in a while things get too messy and out of control. The over complication of ideas and, really, the proliferation of ideas that I have can serve to derail any painting I make. I was in bed thinking about this last night and the only thing that kept coming up was "simplify". I often step away from what feels "simple" because in my mind a lot of the times, "simple" is equated to "too easily figured out". That's not the reality, but rather the story I've concocted in my head about my work. As soon as I acknowledged those thoughts, an image came to me of how I could possibly move forward with this painting. I'll find out today if I'm on the right track.

TM

Wednesday, August 17, 2022

Just like that...

Studio view: 8.16.22


    Feeling a little off at the moment. A friend passed away suddenly earlier this week, heart attack, Sunday night/Monday morning. No details on exactly what happened. It's another of those things that reminds you of where you are in life and of your own mortality. None of us makes it out of here alive, an old joke that's crushingly true and takes on new meaning as you and those around you get older. In my life, I've only lost one other close friend almost ten years ago. It's such a strange feeling, the sudden loss of a presence, a laugh, a life full of stories and experiences. Just snapped out of existence. Death is a complicated thing to wrestle with for the living. There is no getting used to it. 
    
    I've been making small moves on the two paintings on the left side of the wall today. It's nice having enough space to get some distance from the work. I didn't have that at all in the old apartment studio and it makes a huge difference. I've had this kind of space before, but it's been so long since then, that it feels like a novelty. Earlier, I had to spend time on my laptop. I looked up every now and then and ran through possibilities for finishing them in my head. Once I finished up my committee obligations, I'd run through enough ideas to settle on at least a couple of approaches and got to work. I'm pretty sure I'm done with the outside two, but the middle one is still giving me problems. It would be nice to come to some resolution with it before we leave next week. Not going to rush anything. 
    
    Nice to not have to use the a/c in here today.

TM


Wednesday, June 29, 2022

New flow



    

    The past couple of days here in the studio have been really great. I feel like I'm finally REALLY settling in. I'm beginning to feel comfortable moving around the space, although I have to keep an eye on where I leave whatever tools I'm working with. I'm back to working on several things at once and now that there's more room to move around, I tend to leave things all over the place. Before, in my smaller apartment studio, most things stayed within arm's reach, give or take a couple of yards for some things. I'm not complaining at all, just observing the difference in how I use this space. 

    Having the room to spread out also means that how I think about my work is changing. Being able to leave something out to marinate on one wall, while working on another and having room between the two things is a wonderful feeling and one that I'll never take for granted (not that I did in the past). It makes a huge difference in my creative thinking to be able to walk away from a work in progress and have room to not have to have it in my direct  peripheral vision. It makes it easier to develop what I consider a proper relationship with the work where I can really step back and see it without making visual and mental compromises with all of the visual clutter of the older space. 

    I was thinking earlier about all of the work that I have here in storage. It's nice being able to put it up out of the way and I'm having less attachment to it, as well. All I can think about is the work I'm making and am going to make and barely contemplating the older work. Some of it I feel like I want to keep around just for reminders of what I've learned, but much of it can go. I'm sure I'll look in one of those boxes in the loft months from now and be relieved that I still have certain things and more than I might want to keep.

    I've had some strong feelings about the demands of social media and a creative life. I'm doing my best to not become a slave to the algorithm and keep a good boundary between it and my life; mostly by not posting about everything going on in my life and keeping what I do post to a narrow lane of mostly art, some cats and an even smaller amount of other things. I've softened my feelings about making reels in the studio a bit and only a bit. I'm slowly finding my way around what I need social media to do for me and how I can make the best use of the tools available without giving over every ounce of creative energy to it. For instance, I've come to see that I can film certain aspects of my studio life without feeling like the action is interrupting my creative flow. This has been a revelation and one that I'm glad to have come to. In opening myself up to certain possibilities, I'm better able to find peace with that side of marketing myself and my work without it making me feel angry and rejecting all of it. 

 On another note, I forgot to give an update re: my Covid experience last week. So, I'm all better now and have been since at least Saturday. I was feeling sick most of last week, starting on Monday and by Friday, I was pretty much back to normal. I don't know what this means long-term, but so far, so good. My energy was fully back on Saturday and has held pretty well. I say this all of the time, but it really does make a difference when you realize that you're not sick any more. 

TM

Thursday, February 24, 2022

The question of titles

 

Pages from my 2013 studio journal

The question of titles for my work comes up every now and then and I thought that I’d address it here as best I can. Anyone who has heard me talk about this in the past knows that titles are tricky for me. They are usually the last thing that I’m thinking about in the process of making art. It’s very rare that I’ll go into the painting process with a title already in mind. I do like to give my works titles of some sort, sometimes just for identification purposes. In a pinch, the very least I’ll do is something like, “Untitled (green 1)” or assign a number that is usually some configuration of the date the piece was completed. I usually do this with works on paper. 


Titling a work can be tricky, but the first thing I like to do is think about the piece and how it feels to me once it’s done. Does anything jump out at me formally? Is there some visual connection to a place or scenario that I know or have experienced? I might be working on a series and make some variation on the main series title. There’s never usually any one thing that influences a title. When making work, I’m always listening to music, podcasts or there’s just silence. Various things that I might be thinking about, emotional state of mind, how I’m feeling physically can also have a hand in it. “What were you thinking about when you made this?” Is never that simple. There's always a stew of many influences. Usually, my head is in the space of the painting that I'm working on. I'm trying to see how things are coming together or if they are not. 


To help in the titling process, I like to keep a running list of various ideas. Many times, as a starting point, I like to jot down a song lyric from something I’m listening to or maybe there’s a good sentence from something I’ve read that sounds good. I never copy things verbatim, I like to shuffle words and phrases around to come up with something that seems to work with a particular piece. I keep pages in my sketchbooks just for lists of potential titles. Some of my titles have a narrative feeling to them and often, I’ll make those up. It’s a combination of having overheard a snippet of a real conversation, making up a scenario of my own and coming up with something out of that. 


TM



Thursday, February 03, 2022

Rest & renewal (is good for art)

(detail of new painting 2.01.22)

Last Friday, I left the studio thinking that I was just about finished with a new painting; that I was just a few small moves away from stopping work on it. Of course, when I got back to the studio yesterday (Monday), I saw that this painting's journey was just beginning. This happens a lot and I'm always telling people that it's a great practice to let a work sit for a day or two, maybe a week, when you feel that it's done or if you're having problems with it and stepping away makes sense. I mostly work in the studio during the week, leaving Saturday and Sunday open to spend time with Julia. Things tend to work out well with this schedule. 

So, last Friday I stopped working on the painting. I felt that it was nearing completion and all I needed was a couple of big or little moves to bring it to its final state. There was some  leakage of paint from under the painter's tape on a section of the painting, resulting in some feathering of paint beyond the border that I didn't want to leave visible. I thought about what to do for a bit, but decided that it was best to just leave it alone for a while since I couldn't find some resolution then. The couple of days away from the work and studio did me good. Monday, I came to the studio with new mental energy and insight into what I thought needed to happen. Without thinking about it too much, I started to add some collage elements to the painting surface with the intention of adding brushwork and drawing on top of them. It was a really risky move, but well worth it in the end.

By the time I was done for the day, I was really happy about having taken the leap of faith with adding the collage elements. They completely changed the spatial dynamics within the image, making for a much more interesting composition than previously. Part of what I was after were different sets of marks than were there previously. The mix of opaque and transparent papers made a huge difference. Adding more marks on top of that pushed this painting to a place it would have never gotten to had I not let it (and myself) rest for a couple of days. 

TM

Friday, January 21, 2022

S p a c e

Morning studio corner

I didn't accomplish much of anything in the studio today. Nothing at all, actually, aside from watching some art-related videos and, later, more entertainment based YouTube videos. There were a few things besides art that I could have tackled, but I was completely unmotivated. I had ideas of working on some drawings and leaving the unfinished painting alone for the day, give myself some time away from it so I can perhaps return to it soon and get to a place of stopping work on it. I ascribe to the notion that paintings are never "finished"-that you simply stop working on them. (I'm paraphrasing the quote attributed to Leonardo Da Vinci). 

Since before Christmas until now, I've been on a very loose studio schedule. That is, I've taken more days off than on. I started back in ernest last week, worked Tuesday and yesterday and did nothing today. Once I stopped work on the one 36 x 36 inch painting yesterday, I spent some time just looking at the other one (40 x 40 inches), trying to figure out how to deal with the feathering that had happened along the taped edges of a shape in the composition. The area I'm thinking about needs some attention, but I haven't quite figured out how to deal with it. So it sits, for now. I didn't even look at it today, which is probably a good thing. 

Part of what's causing my non-motivation these days is the ongoing feeling of not having the  studio space I feel I need right now. I don't have enough floor space and have too much work that needs to be stored. If I were to take on a storage space for most of the work, that would help a little, but I still feel that it wouldn't be enough. I could be wrong, but I don't think so. I filled out an online form to get onto the Bok Building's waitlist for spaces, but honestly, I think that those spaces, when one is even available, will be beyond my budget. I have to do something to move towards a solution, so we'll see what happens. I'm also in another phase of downsizing the amount of personal items that I no longer need to keep with me there, like clothes that I no longer wear and linens I have no use for. Most of the things I have that I can get rid of are small things that aren't going to make a big overall difference, but I need to look at everything and determine if I need to be holding onto it.

I think the work space issue is getting to me and causing a lot of the uneasiness I'm feeling about working there. I'm feeling a limitation on the scale of the work that I'm able to make comfortably these days. On the flipside, there is always the problem of art storage and, quite frankly, I make a LOT of work. I need to make less work, or sell more. Beyond that, I need to look a lot more critically at the studio space and do my best to maximize it.

TM

Thursday, January 20, 2022

A quiet day

Studio 1.19.22 :: Morning studio light


I had a rather "quiet" day in the studio. Normally, I'd have been listening to podcasts and music throughout the day, but not today for some reason. In the morning, I had a video interview with Craig Sterling, the director of the Art Bank Program of the U.S. Department of State . Craig purchased a piece last year ("Star 69", a work on paper from 2012) and by the beginning of February, it'll be part of a new exhibition of works in the collection. I'm really honored and proud to have one of my works included in the State Department's collection. As soon as things ease up with Covid and they allow visitors into the building again, we'll go down to see the show. In the meantime, Craig said that he'd send me some photos of the show once it's installed. The interview I had with him is going to be featured in a kiosk for visitors so they can learn more about who I am and the work that I make. As usual, as soon as the interview was over, I thought of things that I wanted to say and ways of saying some things differently than I did. 

Once the interview was over, I set about getting to work on a couple of new paintings that I've been working on for the past week or so. I mentioned in my last post that I'm nearing the ending point for these two and after today, I did finish one of them. The other is going to take a little more time. There's an issue of some feathering along the edges of a large area that was taped off. Some of the paint managed to leak under the tape in a few places, causing the edges to have fuzzy-looking edges. I stared at the painting a lot today, going over various scenarios of how I may be able to solve the issue, but nothing stood out as a likely solution, so I tabled it until tomorrow. I'm taking things a little slow these days, trying to not rush myself into finishing something. It's nice to give myself a little space to take my time with some of my creative work. Last year was about getting a lot of things done at the same time and right now, I don't have that pressure. I'm going to let myself go a little slower and let things develop at a much slower pace. At least that's the idea.

TM


 

Sunday, March 07, 2021

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

Saturday, February 06, 2021

Commitment: Fuel for the Marathon

 

Not too long ago n the studio...

I was recently a guest on an as-yet-to-be-launched art themed podcast. Early on in the conversation, the host asked me how early did I make the commitment to become an artist. Commitment. Words have impact and this one hit me like a ton of bricks...in a good way. Let me explain: One of the most common questions creative people of any stripe get asked is "When did you know that you wanted to do this?". My answer has usually been something along the lines of, "Well, I've always considered myself a full-time artist in my mind, even though I've held day jobs since the age of 13...." For some reason, I could never think of another way to answer that question, until now. 

Commitment is the word that I've been searching for all of these years! It seems silly for this to be a thing after so long, but that's how things work sometimes. I mean, saying that I've always thought of myself as a full-time artist wasn't wrong, it's just that commitment gets to the core of my being an artist and how I've sustained myself mentally and emotionally all these years. Through all of the ups and downs, setbacks and triumphs, my commitment to making art is one of the main things that fuels my creative drive. 

I think that my drive to make art has been so intrinsic to my character over time, that I never consciously thought about what word or phrase best fits All I knew as a high school student was that art was the one thing that I felt I could make a life for myself with; it was one of the few interests that I truly loved and wanted to become better at. There was nothing else that held the same grip on me. I liked my english and science classes, but nothing gripped my imagination and fueled my curiosity like art.  It boiled down to the alchemy-like usage of the raw materials of paint and mediums to translate what I saw in the world around me to paper, canvas or other surfaces. That was and still is magic to me.

I understood at an early age some of what I was getting myself into as an artist. I'd read a lot about artists from the past and what they often had to endure to continue making their work. I also made it a point to educate myself as much as possible about what it may take to be an artist in the present day. I understood that, in no uncertain terms, I would be in it for life, full stop. I didn't know what that would really mean until later, as I began navigating my art life after college. The demands of adult life- bills, loan payments, jobs and relationships, in addition to art has proven challenging and the path stressful, at times. However, none of that has dimmed my continued passion and love for what I do. 

Being committed to art means continuing to do the work when no one is looking nor necessarily caring about what it is that you're doing. When I was a younger artist, I had ambitions of having my work "set the world on fire", of gaining wide recognition for what I did early on. I look back now and feel relieved that I didn't gain early fame because a lot of that work was bad. Bad, but very necessary for me to make. I still make bad work, but it's those unsuccessful ones that make the better ones that much sweeter to claim. I've made the choice to put my work out into the world through a variety of means. That's only the smallest part of my activity. What matters most is what happens in the studio, which almost no one ever sees (unless posted on social media). Even then, no one really knows what I do in there and that's where the commitment  and drive comes in. I don't need anyone to know exactly what i'm doing in the long run, as long as I get to do it and share some of the results. Everything else is icing on the cake. 

Thursday, December 31, 2020

Clap 'Cause It Feels Good

 


New work :: Clap ‘Cause It Feels Good, 2020, acrylic on panel, 14” x 11”

There’s no denying that the energy around us has been visceral this year. I can’t think of another word that fits so well. Sometimes, it felt as though our nerves were being stretched to their snapping point with stress, anger, anxiety and grief.

But then, we also found moments of hope, life and laughter amid the madness. Finding space to revel in the simplest of uplift; a dance, humor, making eye contact with strangers over masks hiding our smiles, but not the humanity in our eyes.

Clap ‘cause it feels good, that’s the only justification you need.

Sunday, December 06, 2020

Dreams and artist statements: translating singular experiences


This morning, I was attempting to describe a dream I had last night to my girlfriend and failed miserably, yet again. I was laying in bed, staring at the ceiling concentrating hard, trying to tell her about what it was like and what was going on in it, but couldn't. Beyond a few words about what I could describe, I was at a loss as to what to tell her about what I could see in my mind's eye about the experience. Images of the dream where still very fresh in my mind, but it was really tough translating what I had experienced in dream time. 

The key word here is 'experienced'. I haven't done much research into dreams, but being that they are a perpetual and integral part of my existence, I can say with some clarity that dreams are pure experience that can barely be translated in a woke state of mind. My inability to recall large swaths of dreams comes from the fact that they are unadulterated, unfiltered experiences that resist translation into our conscious and (we think) rational vocabulary of words. No matter how hard I try, I have always come up short when attempting to relay to someone large portions of my dreams. i can go a whole day, even more, replaying aspects of the dream to myself, but will not be able to describe them to someone else. Dreams are so singularly ultra personal to us that we lack the ability to relay the information that will make real sense to someone else.

This is the same thing that happens when you try to explain a concert that you attended to someone else after the fact: 

Them: "How was the concert"
You: "Oh, wow, it was the greatest concert EVER!"
Them: "What was so great about it?"
You: "It was just fucking amazing!"
Them: *states blankly*
You: "I mean, the lead singer was all like *WAAAAAHHH* and the guitarist was all like *wild air-guitaring gestures* and ..."
Them: *staring blankly*

This brings me to a point about creativity and the folly of translating ideas from the visual to the written in an effort to give other people a way to understand what we do. Artist statements exist to grant viewers and others a way of understanding your work and motivations behind making it. Many artists, myself included, sometimes find it hard to try and encapsulate our creative experiences into a written form that lacks the ability to properly relate the artists' experience of making the work. Most of us want to give viewers a way into the work by writing about our processes and influences, we don't normally talk about the deep, concentrated state of mind we might be in when making the work. However, that deeper state of mind is where I often begin when I'm writing artist statements.

When an artist is engaged in the making of their work, they are having a singular experience that no one else can imagine, much like how we go through life-there's nothing about how we deal with it that anyone else can understand, not completely from our perspective. They can only relate through empathy and/or having gone through similar situations. None of that is a substitute for how each of us experiences anything. Our creative visions, and the execution of them, are ours alone. When we attempt to talk about what we do, verbally or written, we are often at a loss for words. In our artist statements, we trip over ourselves attempting to make our internal journeys accessible to an external public. 

Why is this so difficult? Because, like dreams, our art making is pure, unadulterated EXPERIENCE! When I'm painting, I'm in a mental space that defies the laws of time, physics and the physical, just like dreams. In dreams, our subconscious minds override our "rational", woken thought processes, allowing for a more unfiltered experience that even we don't always have the ability to control. There is the concept of lucid dreaming, but I have to do more reading on it to feel capable of understanding and writing about it. For my purposes here, I'm sticking with what I know of dreams and not having control over them. 

So, what I'm basically getting to is that trying to translate creative thought processes and experiences into written and verbal mediums is very similar to explaining dreams. We literally can't. We've had to find physical language that most of us agree on in order to make our visual language and actions more understandable to others. It's difficult enough to figure out what we're doing ourselves most of the time. Usually, when working, we're in a constant state of existing in two (maybe more) mental planes at once: the creative space of the work we're making and the here and now. Constantly moving back and forth between what we know of as our physical reality and the realities of the creative work space in our heads. 

Artist statements have always been a challenge and now, having thought about the reasons why, based on my "aha" moment today, I have a better understanding of why, at least for me. My artist statements always feel stuck in a certain moment while my creative mind is continually evolving. Often, once I've gotten about midway through a new painting, my mind has already processed present challenges that I may pursue in the next piece or something further down the road. There is this constant swirl of thoughts about the work that makes a written artist statement just about moot. However, because there is a need to provide some justification for what we're doing to show jurors, grant committees, art school faculty, collectors and the public, we have to be able to capture some of the elusive alchemy of what we do and make in the written word. Of course, not every person who makes use of their creativity has to do this, but for the rest of us, it is a necessity. 

The good thing about writing artist statements is that it can give us some amount of clarity about what we're doing and why. While I love unfiltered creativity, I still think that it's good to have some idea about what's influencing us, even if it turns out to be something completely mundane, which, honestly, often it often is. My goal over the years with maintaining and updating my artist statement has been to make it as general as possible, without being too vague and within a certain parameter of concerns. I have found that this way, I'm able to update my statement for different purposes (grants vs. specific exhibitions, etc...) without losing sight of the overall concept of the work and with having to make more and more minor changes along the way. Sometimes, only a word or two need to be changed in order to fulfill a mandate about what I'm doing in the work currently. 

The experience in making a of a work of art is, like dreams, on a lot of levels, still unexplainable outside of it's visual incarnation. That unexplainable bit of mystery is what makes creativity special, what makes us all special because no one can truly understand the mechanics of the singular experience of living nor of creating and therein likes the magic.

TM

Thursday, October 29, 2020

...for what I want to see




New painting in progress

Last night, I had a bit of a revelation about where I am right now with my work. There is now an overwhelming need for less density in the paintings, or perhaps a different type of density. I'm not sure what that will look like, but it will be different from what I've been making lately. I came to this realization after making connections between my recent work with the densely layered compositions of glyphs and my current emotional state.

The past few days have been rough, emotionally. The death of Walter Wallace at the hands of Philadelphia Police is the latest in a too-long line of similar events that did not need to escalate to an extra-judicial execution in the street. He was having a mental health crisis, had a knife and approached the police, who fatally shot him ten times from at least ten feet away. 

This didn't have to happen. Wallace didn't have to be killed in front of his mother, family and neighbors like that. I keep asking myself, "Why couldn't they at least shoot him in the leg, incapacitate him and de-escalate the situation and get things under control?" The outcome is always the same with Black lives when it comes to policing; shoot to kill, maybe ask questions later. 

Standing in front of a newly repainted work last night, I realized that I really needed to step back and re-evaluate things. I took some white paint and covered up all but one pink, blob-like form. When the white dried, I made a loose grid of lines with an acrylic marker, over which I brushed some matte medium, smearing and blurring the grid. I looked up an album of the Daily Observation photos in my photo stream and sought out something that I could use from one or more of those shots. I found a couple of curvilinear forms that loosely replicated and over those, placed a reddish blob form in the lower left corner. 

I felt such a relief looking at this relatively pared down image! All of the denseness underneath showed through in the textures, but other than that, this painting now breathed like it hadn't before. The heaviness was gone. I realized in that moment that I wanted and needed to move to a different phase of this project with the glyphs; that I needed to focus on some of the other surfaces and instances of marks that I see every day in the streets. So far, I've been concentrating on the 'communication' aspect of this work, which has a very graphic feeling to it. The painted, multi-layered systems I make are full of a type of tension that I like, but that same density now feels overwhelming to me. 

I'm sure that my emotional state has finally caught up to what I've been doing in the paintings and it's just too much. Between the ongoing problems associated with the Covid-19 pandemic, the continuing social strife brought about by the killings of Black men, women and children by police authorities and the current toxic political climate, I'm just feeling overwhelmed. I've been fairly successful at keeping myself focusing energy on painting, but now, I need to change the energy of my paintings to reflect the breathing room I need, instead of the suffocating mournful feelings that keep coming back because of everything going on. 

TM

 

Sunday, October 11, 2020

The same and yet, different

In my studio: It's Not The Same You, 2020, acrylic on canvas, 60" s 60"

I've been letting this one sit for a while, although I mentioned it in my last post. It's a new 60" x 60" painting on canvas titled, "It's Not The Same You" (the title comes from a line in The Cure song, Labyrinth, that I happen to like a lot). This is the first large painting on canvas that I've attempted at my home studio in a while because, until a few weeks ago, I didn't have room to even think about making something of this size there. Most of my work in this space has been smaller and was being made in a former smallish bedroom that lacked adequate wall space for something this large. Most of the work that I've been making in-studio has been up to about 30-36" on the longer side. 

I realized a few months ago, that I was going to need more work space, but was stumped on how to make that happen. I don't have money to pay for an outside space, so I chose to convert the front room of the apartment into a work space in addition to the bedroom. I got rid of a couple of dressers and a bookcase, put plastic on the walls and floors, plus and additional layer of drop cloth on the floor. Now, I have a version of a studio that I've envisioned for a long time. I can make larger paintings like this and be able to step back at a decent distance to evaluate them. However, the only way that this is possible is because I've moved a good amount of my personal belongings into my girlfriend's home. Without that support, I would still be trying to figure out how to make this work. 

Over the past couple of years, I've been able to make large temporary murals and installation pieces, but they were either made on-site or in another space that could accommodate the scale of those pieces. Being able to return to stand-alone paintings on canvas of this scale has felt great and has also brought some of the usual challenges. From the start, this painting has felt like one that I had to get out of my system; it's a large scale amalgam of ideas that I've been working on in smaller contexts over the past four years or so. In the past, I've been fond of working on similar paintings at the same time, forming a series of sorts. My present feeling has me looking to break with the past by having more visible distance between some of the paintings. The glyph forms are the only thing that will carry over from one painting to the next. Some will have more of those forms and others will have fewer. For example, I've already begun painting a second 60" x 60" painting that will probably have little in common with this one, compositionally and colorwise, in the end; it has a shimmering black/purple background with a layer of gridded glyphs, so far. I've gathered a lot of new visual ideas these past few years and now I'm feeling comfortable exploring them more deeply on a one-on-one basis, and not rushing to make too similar paintings so much. 

TM
 

Sunday, July 12, 2020

Printmaking again...

Detail: Collaborative print with Alexis Nutini



This post is an addendum to the one I posted last week. I had more thoughts about this collaboration that I wanted to share, so here goes: I'm in the midst of a print collaboration with master printer, Alexis Nutini, that is being generously funded by the Brandywine Workshop. What's happening here is we're moving into the second and middle layer. I'm trying all sorts of combinations of blocks and colors and offsetting the blocks on this layer to create some spatial interest. The third and final layer will play off of the first two. i'm hoping to capture some of the tension between layers that happens in my paintings and works on paper-the blurring of layers in some places and more distinct passages in others. 

It's been interesting working in a collaborative way after not doing so for most of my creative life. The one exception being a painting/drawing collaboration that I did with my friend, Joni Woods back in the 90s, which was an amazing experience. The current one with Alexis is turning out to be really good, as well. 

The biggest issue I've had to deal with is letting go of the spontaneity of how I usually work in favor of making instructions for Alexis to carry out in the printing. This isn't a bad thing, just way different than I'm used to operating. What I'm finding is that I'm needing to step back and be more intentional about what kinds of choices I'm making in the work. I'm taking longer to think about the possible outcomes before committing to which blocks to have Alexis use and where they are placed. Even so, there's still a ton of room for unforeseen and interesting unintended aesthetic incidents to occur: surprises in how some of the inks interact with each other, sudden changes in opaqueness and transparency depending on where your eye lands, as well as shifts in spatial rendering. 

Looking ahead, there will be a third layer to work with and this will be where everything comes together or falls apart, depending on the choices made. There's going to be some that I'll want the layers to overlap in such a way as to be indistinguishable overall and others with more 'breathing room'. We'll see what happens.








Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Through the lens 7.02.11

Berum

CL72

Flail

Streak

More recent photographic detours. This time on the abstract side of things.

Sunday, June 27, 2010

John Millei


I just found out about the work of L.A.-based painter, John Millei, through a completely random blog link. I love how that works out for the better sometimes, because I'm really enjoying discoverying Millei's varied bodies of work. In this video, Millei talks about some of the ideas that helped him develop his Maritime and White Squall series.

You can see more images of John Millei's work on the Ace Gallery website: John Millei at Ace Gallery.net