Showing posts with label painter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label painter. Show all posts

Thursday, June 30, 2022

A world unto itself


     There was a point today when I realized that I only left the actual space of the studio to go down the hall and use the restroom a couple of times. Stepping out into the hallway always feels like I'm going into another world. I'm so comfortable in this space and getting into a work groove that it feels like it's own world. I think the last time I felt this way was when I had the studio in Old City, which had a similar vibe to this one. Now that i've been making some work these past couple of weeks, the space feels more like my own world and even more so every day. 

   So far, I've finished one painting (a part of that can be seen in the photo above) and close to finishing a couple of other ones. There's a 48" x 36" painting on canvas that's tacked to the wall that I'd like to stretch soon. I thought that I already had an old set of stretchers ready to go, but the measurement is completely wrong, with one side being 54" long. So, now I have to buy a set of stretchers for it. Not the worse thing, but I thought I was saving myself some money. This is why it's important to make sure to have the correct measurements of anything. I assumed that I had the right sized stretcher frame already, but nope. I'm at a point of moving to finishing touches and adjustments and would like to do that with it stretched. 

    I have a ton of works on paper and I keep making more, just like everything else. I made a bunch of acrylic marker drawings on translucent drafting paper in preparation for using them as layers in new collage/drawings that I want to make. I really like layering the collage elements and drawing/painting in between layers. It works really well on panels because of the flat, rigid surface, but I also like working with it on paper. The only issue with the paper support is that it will curl and warp. I don't really mind that so much, since I can iron the paper once it's had a chance to dry. I also like the imperfections that come along with the paper curling. I'm after a feeling of the work having had a life already, anyway. I'm not precious with any of my surfaces. I want them to feel alive and breathing, not sterile. 

TM

Friday, June 17, 2022

It's all connected


 






    I'm pretty much settled into the new studio. It took almost two weeks to figure out where things were going to live and how to configure the spaces I'll use for painting, but I feel like I've gotten it to where I need it, which is a huge relief. I finally feel like this is my art home, now. There's going to be all sorts of minor adjustments in terms of how I use things, how I move paints and other materials around as I start painting. Actually, I've already begun working on a couple of things, slowly regaining my feeling for painting after being away from it for at least three months. 
    Prepping for the move was a LOT of work, between sorting the paintings and materials, while also organizing (and purging) personal belongings, all of my mental energy was dialed up to eleven almost every day, leaving me drained by bed time. A lot of what I experienced was high emotional energy being expended, as well. Going through years of personal belongings and trying to figure out what I needed and what needed to go was really taxing and the process is on-going. What I've kept so far is in the basement and I'm sure I'll go through and get rid of more. Same here in the studio. I've already purged a lot of old work, but I need to get rid of more. The totality of my painting rack is filled with old work. Before I moved, I thought I had done a pretty good job of purging, but that seems to have been only the beginning. 
    Julia offered me the futon that's in the middle room of the house, so that's the next thing to come in. I'm looking forward to having it here, because studio naps are very much in need! It'll be nice to be able to take a break and catch up on a little sleep in the middle of the day or early evening, like I used to when I had the Old City studio years ago. 
    I'm still figuring out different aspects of my new life routines. I joined a gym over a week ago and have yet to go. I need to work that into my schedule. I need to take my own advice that I gave in a reply to a post on Instagram: "Artists need to remember that they are whole people in addition to making art and need to attend to self care in order to continue being creative. Art is life, life is art. It's all connected."

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 20, 2021

Nine drawings

    
Nine Drawings (out of 20), 2021
Each: graphite or conté and oil pastel on paper, 12.5" x 9.5"

One day recently, I went on a drawing spree. I completed twenty drawings during an afternoon while also watching video profiles of various artists. I don't recall all of them, and I'm sure that there were a couple of repeats, but I often enjoy watching videos when not listening to music or podcasts while working in the studio. This particular afternoon, I wasn't in the mood to paint and remembered that I had this pad of nice, smooth white paper made by Fabriano and that I had a bunch of oil pastels that  hadn't been used in years, so that was it, a drawing day it was. I made some drawings back in 2004 or so where I used graphite with colorless and white oil pastels that turned out really well. I wanted to see what could happen using those same materials with my glyph images. 

The types of mark making that can happen when dragging the colorless or white oil pastels across soft graphite or conté was interesting to see. The blurriness and break down of the original drawing does something for me and I can't quite put it into words. I think it may have to do with altering the drawing in such a way that it begins to take on a different shape and appears to be morphing as I'm manipulating the oil pastels. The drawing seems to be in a state of flux, receding and advancing out from the paper all at once. If I cover the drawing with thicker layers or darker colors, the drawing gets buried under a confluence of marks. I'm always debating how much of the original drawing to leave visible. I'll start covering it up from the middle or one side and work my way across it from there. Determining where to stop the over drawing is always the interesting part. I like pushing the marks to the very edges of the glyph grid and figuring out how much of the glyphs to leave and where to cover them up entirely. 

I'm not sure where these will lead next. I've already made some on larger paper (22" x 30") and the results were pretty cool. However, the surface of the larger paper has a mild cold-press feel to it and even though it's a shallow texture, I'm not entirely satisfied with the results. I'm going to look for sheets of smooth paper that's at least 140lbs. A hot press watercolor paper will work, I'm sure. In the meantime, I think there's a lot to experiment with on the smaller sized paper. The 12.5" x 9.5" size feels really good, so I'll probably continue with more of these drawings at this scale. Maybe make enough to fill up a good sized wall. 

TM

 

Friday, February 12, 2021

Art Doesn't Make the Artist


I can't always relate to your work, but I can always relate to you, and that is what mattered.”


This quote is from someone who is a former coworker of mine that I still stay in touch with. We both worked for a long time at a food retail job in Philadelphia as managers. The business switched hands a couple of times after the original owner retired. I didn't last past the second changeover, but Kerry P. did, although he eventually left there, as well. Kerry is someone who will say what is on his mind and is pretty open with people. It's one of the things I like about him. 


The above quote is from an email exchange we had not long ago. What he said here has really stuck with me because of its honesty. What I make as an artist isn't going to appeal to everyone and there's nothing new about that, it's a simple truth of life, in general. I don't really worry about who will like/dislike my work. I'm more concerned with making it and having it out in the world to be experienced. I guess what it brings up for me is the importance of interpersonal relationships and how we navigate them as artists. What I'm trying to get at is that, deep down, we want a response to our work. If that happens, good or bad, then I think most of us will be satisfied. How we handle those reactions is also key. I wasn't surprised by Kerry's pronouncement of not being able to relate to what I do, since he has said in the past that he has a limited understanding of contemporary art. 


This part, "...but I can always relate to you, and that is what mattered.", is key. It brought home the thought that what we do isn't all that we are. Art has always been a MAJOR part of my life, but just one part, not all of it. I live, breath and eat art, but it isn't the only thing that makes up who I am as a person. I've always felt this way. Often, I think that people can tend to subsume their entire personalities and motivations into what they see as the one thing that makes them who they are. While I believe there is no separation between art and life, art isn't all of life. There are so many other factors that go into what makes up who we are. Much of that has to do with perceptions of us from others. Our personalities and beliefs are made up of our own experiences, how other people experience/perceive us, as well as our own perceptions of the world and others. 


I think I could have easily taken offense to Kerry's remark, saying something like, "What do you mean, you can't relate to my art but you can relate to me? Isn't my art part of me?" and so on. However, that wasn't the case. I accepted his comment because that's his truth, plain and simple. He relates to me as a person from a certain part of his life (work, mostly) and he's had difficulty relating to some of my artwork. It doesn't negate my whole being as a person, if anything, it can open up a path for further discussion about my work and his relationship to it. It's easy to conflate our main occupation with the entirety of our self worth, but in the end, there's way more to us than what we think we know through our work. 


TM



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.

Thursday, December 24, 2020

Artist Interview on Yale Radio with Brainard Carey



I recently had the pleasure of talking with, Educator, Author, Artist,  and Director of Praxis Center for Aesthetics, Brainard Carey, on WYBC, Yale University Radio. The discussion centered around my studio activities throughout the pandemic and how this year has affected my art practice, as a whole. You can listen to it here: Tim McFarlane on WYBC

TM

 

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, November 26, 2020

It's all new again


Details of two works in progress (11.25.20)

It's a great feeling to follow through on giving old ideas new life. In this case, I'm referring to works from 2013, like A Hazy Reverie and Channel (the former (the former is in a private collection, while the latter is in a corporate collection. I mention those paintings because at that time, the overlapping hard-edged forms felt like something I could explore, but at the same time, I felt like there was something limiting about that work. The problem is that in the making of that particular body of paintings, I'd already started to move on to newer ideas in my head. So, I did just that.



The thing is, there was something about that series that stayed with me: a vertical diptych titled, Everything Happens At Once (seen above, currently in a private collection). It's a black and white piece, composed of two 36" x 48" panels. It was the most successful of the group,  I think, because of the sense of movement and I kept it relatively simple compared to other works in the group. It also felt the most accomplished, the one that was the most daring of my 2013 works, aside from We Dance to Pray, the 13 foot wide piece that I painted on the wall during my show, Presence. 

Flash forward to now and I've once again found a space and time to consider some of those older ideas in a new light. I stopped making those paintings because I'd done about 14-15 in 2012-13 that were of the same concept and I wasn't sure that I wanted to continue with those ideas just then. Once the show happened, I no longer felt that I wanted to continue along that same road and, as is my habit, I started anew. Recently, I had an opportunity to have my work presented for consideration for a commission. The work that had a good response was a piece from 2013 that had sold already. To remedy that, I made a new, smaller painting that had some of the same attributes. I don't usually like attempting to make something that was of an older concept, but for some reason, I jumped at the chance to do this painting. Thinking about it, I realized that I'd still held onto some of those ideas, hoping to explore them again, which is what I'm doing now. 

Since 2013, my work has changed and gone off on some interesting routes, but now I'm happy to have two distinct bodies of work to pursue that offer different challenges and interest for me. The glyph works of the past three years has been great in terms of moving my work into uncharted territory, where every step is a journey unto itself. This work is very experimental. The new iterations of concepts from  2012-13 are very different in terms of how they are approached and executed. There's already a conceptual template with this work that doesn't exist with the glyph pieces. However, that template doesn't make the new work any less challenging. There's just differences in thought and process between the two ideas. 

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
 

Wednesday, August 26, 2020

Processing...

Work in progress detail
Detail of a new painting in progress-August, 2020

It's been about two and-a-half months since I became a "full-time" artist. Even though I've worked my entire teen and adult life (my first job was at age 13, working as a bagger at a neighborhood grocery store), I've always considered myself a full-time artist, in spite of having day jobs. Art was (and is) always at the forefront of my being; it's been one of the few constants in my life and really keeps me going. I could never picture myself doing anything else with my life and now I have the opportunity to explore and expand my life and practice without giving over so much of my time and life energy to a day job. 

I touched on this a bit in today's virtual conversation that I had with Sandra Felemovicious. The interview was part of her "Tap Into Your Creativity" artist interview series on Instagram Live. The short version is that before the pandemic and lockdown, I was involved in a couple of art projects: one with a group show at Towson University and the other a mural through Philadelphia's Mural Arts program. During the pandemic, I completed a print series with master printer, Alexis Nutini. So, there were all of these opportunities that required a lot of time that I knew I wouldn't have if I continued working at Artist & Craftsman, so I gave my two weeks notice. 

It's been a little surreal, in a way, being able to fully concentrate on my artwork and related projects exclusively. The transition period is still going on, even if it felt that there wasn't much of one. Every day is different within the overall structure of daily events. There were no heavenly choirs singing the day after I left the job, just the knowledge that I had a lot of work ahead of me. There was no time to reflect because I had to get to work right away on a few things. I'm just now beginning to have some comprehension about what my life is now. It feels like both a natural state of being and completely alien at the same time. Still processing.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • •

One of the things I've been trying to figure out is how to have a larger studio space with the need to make larger paintings again. Both Bridgette and ParisTexas LA have requested larger works for clients. The least expensive way to do that was to clear out the front room of the apartment. So, last week, Julia helped me empty out and move three dressers to the curb, along with my bed. Opening up that space was the best thing I've done in a long time here. The only tasks left are to find floor coverings to protect the wood and to cover the wall I'll be using to paint on with plastic and wood railings to hang paintings from as I work on them. 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • •

I'm in an extremely fortunate position, particularly since we're in the midst of a pandemic, but I also know that this is the time for it to happen. As Sandra pointed out in today's conversation, I've worked my entire life to get to this point. And it's true. While things have turned out somewhat differently from what I imagined when I was younger, I've had steady opportunities that I was able to take advantage of and worked my way to where I am now. I don't know what's going to happen next, but all I know is that I need to keep going and keep painting. 





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.








Matter. at Gray Contemporary


Honored to have Transmission VI on view in Matter. at Gray Contemporary (Houston, TX) until 8.01.20. 
Image:
Tim McFarlane
Transmission VI
acrylic on panel
8” x 6”
2016

(photo courtesy of Gray Contemporary)

Gray Contemporary

Matter.
6.27.20 - 8.1.20
Theresa Anderson, Mary Bucci McCoy, Amber Cobb, Deborah Dancy, Mel DeWees, Neil Fortune, Tommy Gregory, Sarah Elise Hall, Monique Lacy, Ernesto Marenco, Mary Bucci McCoy, Tim McFarlane, André Ramos-Woodard, Dave Swensen

*All gallery percentages of sales within this exhibition will be donated to Black Lives Matter Global Network.

A long history of neglected attention to another type of pandemic arose by the demonstrations of many brave young activists and concerned citizens in this country to the abuse and systematic racism that has plagued the American Black community. Through Black Lives Matter this inspirational movement has now spread worldwide.
Our current exhibition Matter is comprised of artists from different racial backgrounds joined together by the color black to show support for the Black Lives Matter movement along with all the protests worldwide. The works within this exhibition were not made specifically for this exhibition, but rather by their day to day studio practice. As this exhibition is less about individual perspectives and more about the unity of us individual artist’s coming together as one to support and stand against any form of racism or oppression. In show of support Gray Contemporary will donate all Gallery percentages of sale within this exhibition to Black Lives Matter Global Network. 

Comme


Thursday, July 09, 2020

Wait, but also work






On Sunday, 7.05.20, I finally started a long-awaited print collaboration with master printer, Alexis Nutini of Philadelphia. We've been talking about working together on something since before I moved out of the 1241 Carpenter Street studio building, where I had a studio for a couple of years and where Alexis still maintains his. The idea is to produce a variable edition of block prints that will be released sometime this coming fall. 

I've learned that sometimes, there's definitely a right time, place and space for a lot of things. Not everything, because sometimes you have to take advantage of a situation or loose the opportunity. At other times, you have to let something sit and things marinate before the universe helps to open a door for you. In this case, as in a lot like this, there was a confluence of actions that conspired to make this collab happen. I met Allan Edmunds, the founder of the Brandywine Workshop and Archives, while working at Artist & Craftsman Supply last year. At the same time, Alexis happened to have been working on making prints as part of a program at Brandywine. Alexis and I started up with talk of a collaboration and in the meantime, I had the chance to talk with Allan again, trying to learn more about Brandywine. 

Fast forward to this year. Alexis talks to me about a possible print project that would be funded and supported by the Brandywine that would culminate with a two-person exhibition with myself and sculptor, Miguel Horn. Outside funding falls through for that project, but Alexis and myself move ahead with plans to make a variable edition of prints from my glyph forms, which is being supported by Brandywine. This is just one example of how things can take very circuitous routes to realization. Patience and perseverance wins the day, always. 






Thursday, May 21, 2020

Coping with Covid

Untitled, 2020, drawing/collage on paper, 30" x 22"
Studio view, May 2020

A few years ago, I had to move my studio into my apartment to keep my art practice sustainable. After some adjustments, I'm more comfortable working at home in a much smaller space. Just in time, it seems, because when the stay-at-home orders came, I was ready. With everything going on; the sicknesses, deaths and myriad socio-economic issues coming to the fore, the best thing I thought I could do was to continue with painting. It’s one of the main stabilizing forces for me.
Life right now is a difficult roller coaster ride. One day, I can work for hours at a time, the next, because of mental fatigue at everything happening at once, all I can do is have a nap, hang out with my cats and watch movies and videos. However, amid all of this, I’ve made new paintings, updated my website and dealt with with other admin tasks that I normally don’t feel that I have time for.
I also cherish those days when I’m not physically productive. The time to just think, daydream and contemplate has made living through the pandemic a bit easier. Another side affect is that quarantine orders came during the transition from winter to spring. Experiencing the renewal of nature gives me hope for renewal of life beyond (or with?) Covid-19.