Showing posts with label contemporary artist. Show all posts
Showing posts with label contemporary artist. Show all posts

Thursday, August 17, 2023

Slow

Studio view :: 8.16.23


    Slowness has been on my mind a little lately. Specifically, slowness in the studio, in my painting. Over the past 6-8 months, I've been slowly bringing a new body of work into existence that's moving me into another realm of thought and being in my art making. The nature of the new work has caused a shift within that's manifesting in the work and while quite different from how I've approached my painting, it's a welcome difference.         
    The difference is of slowness in the making of these new paintings. My general modus operandi in making new work is to remain open and push my boundaries as far as I can within a painting, drawing or other work. That means bringing together painting, collage, drawing and whatever else I can think of into the work and working fairly quickly to make these ideas gel visually. There's a sense of urgency, a need to get it out and resolved sooner than later. Over the course of making the pieces, I gradually slow down and take more time with creative choices. 
    With some of my newer work, taking my time is ingrained in the process from the start. I'm moving with a directed kind of intention that's different from how I've worked for years. There's still the push/pull of formal elements and still plenty of surprises along the way, but I feel like I'm taking the scenic route instead of the expressway. I'm finding that in taking more time for the act of painting I'm feeling less anxious about the work and process. I love my fast-paced, loose way of making work, but sometimes it gets to be too much with having my energy on 10 + so much. So, for the time being, I'm breathing deeper, painting slower and enjoying this new process. 
    Most of all, I'm realizing that it's ok to take my time now. In years past, when I worked at a day job, I was forced to make the most of any time that wasn't spent working. It meant that sometimes, I only had maybe an hour and-a-half to paint so I often worked as fast as I could. I got good at it and had quite a few successful paintings and other things come out of those years. Since 2020, I've had the fortune of not working somewhere and I'm just now beginning to see an alternative to the sometimes frantic way I was in the studio before. All things come in their time. 

TM
    

Monday, December 19, 2022

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. 
   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. 
    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




 

Wednesday, October 26, 2022

A slight retreat

 


It's been an interesting couple of days as I've managed to catch a head cold. Tested for Covid and it's not that, so that's a good thing. I also don't feel like I did when I had Covid earlier this year, also a good thing. Mostly congested, but not any other heavy symptoms. I went to the studio yesterday and today. I felt good enough to dabble on one of the new paintings I've been working on. Going in, I didn't want to really do much of anything considering how out of it I felt due to the lingering effects of a decongestant that I took last night. Felt a bit drowsy most of the day, but not bad enough to stay home. 

Anyway,  I wound up working on a painting that I mentioned the other day as one that has been a bit of a headache. I finally just painted out what I'd done and started again. This time, with a couple of  layers of big glyphs, one blue the other yellowish, then collaged some old stenciled images onto it that's on thin drafting paper. Love that stuff for adding layers of marks because like tracing paper, it's translucent. After, I added a couple of grids of light green glyphs. So far, it's ok. I'm trying to not be too judgemental about this painting-in-progress, but I'm also feeling like it needs to be moved to another, more interesting place form and color-wise. I have to wait until I get back into the studio tomorrow (hopefully) and see it with fresh eyes in order to plot next moves. 

I'm taking the day off from the studio today. I wish I'd have done so yesterday and took better care of myself. I had to cancel a meeting that was supposed to happen this morning after a night of not sleeping well and being just as congested as yesterday. I'm not sure what I'm going to do here at home today, but a couple of things have come to mind. It might be the day to go through my stuff that's sitting in the basement and see if there's anything I can get rid of or at least consolidate some of the stuff in boxes. 

TM

Wednesday, October 19, 2022

Still going...


    Even though I haven't been posting here, things are happening. The last time I wrote, I was still on vacation, I think, ruminating about not having posted online in a bit. Since we've been back from Sardinia and Barcelona, I've resumed posting on IG, FB, LI and the bird app. Not in quite the same way as previously, but I'm definitely back on there more, something that I'm trying to balance a little more. I don't feel the way I did before the social media break, a good thing, I'd say. It's kind of funny, but I've embraced the making of reels and posting on Tik Tok. My feelings about reels before the break was that they really got in the way of how I make art, but thinking about it a little more and having made a few shorts, I'm a bit less high-minded about them and have been able to find my own way of dealing with them. 
    The I take a low effort approach to making reels, which isn't hard to do since the apps have everything you need, like music, effects, and all sorts of editing tools. I just make sure that I'm not doing anything to disrupt my studio flow. I already document my studio practice and other aspects of my life, so adopting to them hasn't been that hard. I'm not that interested in making a lot of "how-to" vids with voice-overs, but I will do a time-lapse that shows me making part of a drawing or painting, then switch to a view of the finished or near finished piece. I'm also just into making experimental shorts with whatever platform tools there are. 
    Painting has been going fairly well. I'm just a little annoyed with a couple of things that I've been doing, but I'm trying to gain an understanding of some of my habits, as well as take time to think through my frustrations. It's important to be as open and present as possible so that I allow for opportunities for solutions to come forth and I can accept them. 

TM

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

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

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

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, January 14, 2021

Black and Abstract


Tim McFarlane, Shapeshifter (Sm. II), 2020, acrylic on panel, 11" x 14"


Last year, during the social upheaval and protests after the extra-judicial killings of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor and countless other Black and Brown people by police, I questioned whether my work could be relevant for the moment. Being a Black artist working with abstraction, I felt like what I do wouldn’t mean much to people, and other Black people, in particular.  Art made by Black artists has almost always been expected to reflect the Black community; its struggles against white supremacy, strength in community and various aspects of Black life. Realism being the preferred avenue of messaging. In this context, abstraction by Black artists, until relatively recently, has been, at times, disdained by Blacks and willfully ignored by the greater art world. This is the lens through which I understood things as a young artist in my late teens and early twenties, even though it took me a bit longer to fully understand and fully embrace my own need and reasons to make non-objective art. 


My last years of high school on through to my sophomore year of college saw a big shift in the type of work that I wanted to pursue as an artist. I had learned and practiced the basics of color, drawing, line, form, composition, etc… through realism. Going into my last couple of years in college, I had begun to discover that realism had limitations for me that I couldn’t ignore. By this time, in the late 1980s, I’d begun paying more attention to contemporary art through regular trips to galleries and museums in Philadelphia and New York. A whole other world opened up for me. At the same time, I was finding out more about how Black artists were highly underrepresented in the wider mainstream art world and when they were accepted, there seemed to be a very narrow view of the type of artwork made by Black artists that was acceptable. Basically, almost anything that centered around Black figuration and themes of struggle and community were “acceptable”, a trope that seemed to be the consensus of the Black community and the white-dominated mainstream art world. This is how I understood it at the time. There were very few Black artists, male or female, that were being recognized with shows in New York and other big art cities around the U.S. The biggest exception that I knew of at the time, was Jean-Michel Basquiat. It wasn’t until much later that I would become aware of Black abstract artists like Sam Gilliam, Howardena Pindell, Norman Lewis and Ed Clark, to name a few.


Around the late 80s to early 90s, I took an interest in the work of American Abstract Expressionists and later abstract artists, which provided the aesthetic kick that I needed to move into the beginnings of discovering and molding my own non-objective voice. Just prior to this, I had begun to lean into a kind of rejection that would fuel my practice for a long time. The rejection I focused on was what I perceived at the pigeon-holing  of Black artists and art by both Black and white establishments. Both Black communities and the mainstream art establishment only seemed to champion a type of social realism that felt overused and limited in its scope, in my view. An only child, I had developed an independent streak pretty early on, so it’s no surprise to me that I took the route that I did in my work. Later, after high school, one of the things that spurred me on as a young artist, was wanting to prove, mainly to myself, that I could make non-objective work that was just as good as any of the white abstract artists that I had knowledge of at the time. 


Flash forward to now and with almost 40 years of art making behind me, I still have moments of wondering if what I’m doing matters in certain ways. The truth is, what I do as a Black artist working with abstraction isn’t going to resonate with everyone and it definitely isn’t going to directly solve any of the social ills that continue to plague the Black community or other communities. What it can do is provide another way of seeing, another way of helping people to see, to question their world and themselves, perhaps. Also, to show a way forward, to be a testament to hope and a future. The one certainty about making art is that it is an act of faith. It’s an act of faith that assumes a future simply because of its existence. The will to make a painting, sculpture, film or other creative endeavor means that there is some amount of faith in the maker that a future is possible. 


The events of 2020, now bleeding into 2021 are way beyond the scale of what my painting can do. However, the smaller scale individual value that I and my work bring to the table is that of questioning, standing in one’s own truth, through confidence and perseverance. I don’t know what people look for or see in my work. My only hope is that it can provoke a feeling of some kind, good or bad. That is communication, that is making a connection. Whatever connections viewers make with the work is out of my hands, on the other hand, having had the faith to make the work and put it out into the world for people to witness and experience is all I need. I have other goals, like having my work represented in major art institutions and collections worldwide. However, those ambitions have been a secondary concern for me. At this point, I have good  gallery representation, my work is included in many private and university collections and I continue to have work shown, something that I didn't imagine would happen as a teenager, so I now know that it's possible and I welcome bigger things. However, continuing to paint and make the non-objective work that I want, being in dialogue with other artists across time, regardless of who may or may not see it, like it or not, or whatever else is going on in the world is the ultimate success for me. 

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

Sunday, November 15, 2020

A look back: Roam (Blue), 1999



Roam (Blue), 1999, mixed media, 33" x 48"


I've been thinking about some older work for a while now and this piece in particular, over the past week. I don't know why, but I've felt the urge to unwrap some older work and post them up on IG for "Throwback Thursdays". More importantly, I just haven't just looked at a lot of older work in a while. I need to document a ton of work, but haven't figured out how that will work with Covid, especially with the sickness and death counts getting worse all over the country again. I need to order a light kit soon, right after my next payment comes through. In the meantime, I'll just pull out works unwrap/rewrap them and at least take some studio shots of them, until I feel safe having someone come over to shoot a bunch of work. 

This piece (above), is one of my favorite older works. I made it out of wood scraps, plexiglas and hardware. At the time, I was heavily interested in expanding my idea of what painting could be and wound up suspending a sheet of painted plexiglas above the wood surface and adding another piece of plexiglas to the bottom. Movement, color and materials were the things that drove the making of this work. One of the challenges of Roam was how to integrate the hardware into the work.This was the first time that I was attempting to have a "floating" surface, so I spent a little time figuring out how to make that part work, in addition to choosing what the image was going to be. To keep things simple, I chose one color and that was black.There were a couple of darker elements already and I felt that the black floating above the main piece would create just the right amount of counterpoint to the other colors. An unexpected treat were the shadows created when the piece is lit from the ceiling when installed, creating another layer of visual interest. 

I also liked working with the plexiglas because it was just thick enough to create a layer of distance between the viewer and the painted surface (the plexiglas was painted on the back). I painted the main body with three divisions which enhanced the feeling of movement with the floating plexiglas, which also echoed the bottom panel that was also divided into sections and had a small area of "cells" emerging from the bottom. 

I made a few pieces similar to this around the same time period ('98-'99) that incorporated a mix of materials with varying levels of success. With the other pieces, aluminium, enamel paint and shellac were major components. This approach ran its course and I returned to a more traditional way of making paintings on single surfaces around 2000. 

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

 

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. 





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.