I overslept Saturday morning... got out of bed slowly, lingered over coffee, and generally procrastinated enough to arrive an hour late to the weekly drawing group I participate in. I missed all the 'short poses,' two- to five-minute warm ups that are supposed to get the brain into proper working order for the longer poses which follow.
Exploiting the Tension Between Reason and Mystery
A friend of mine (and an accomplished artist), Marty Hatcher, and I were recently "conversing" via email about art. She had just read my previous column, and was telling me that in her own work she was exploring a path of "feeling" a painting into existence.
Pictured: "Shadowed" 10"x15" oils on watercolor paper. Available for $240.
Marty is a painter's painter, with old-style academic training and credentials most of us can only envy. She started out doing sketches of classical sculptures and learning in the style of the old Dutch and Russian masters. Her work today would, in my parlance, be described as realist/impressionistic, and in my opinion it also wears its emotional content on its sleeve. So as she spoke of "feeling" the painting, I was thinking, "You're already there!"
She had just gotten off the phone with HongNian Zhang, a classically-trained Chinese immigrant and one of the best contemporary painters in this country. They were discussing a workshop Zhang would soon be instructing at Marty's studio, and he was describing his current line of teaching. He said that honoring the intuitive, emotional side was going to be a prominent concept in the next book he will publish.
Zhang talked of the "innocent artist within," as opposed to the "professional painter" who knows all the rules. In responding after reading my column, Marty said, "I am delighted that this notion of 'letting go and allowing the creative child in me take over' keeps cropping up in my life. To me this definitely means that I am personally going in the right direction."
This is a concept that I have been known to champion. Mention the word "rules" and you hit a hot button with me; I've never been very fond of them. Undoubtedly, the rules of color and light in art are useful. My own work grows and develops in proportion to my learning, understanding, and incorporating them, and my failed canvases are a result of my lack of mastery of the basics... the rules of color and light.
I use the term "rules," loosely, because to me all of it is a pack of lies and half-truths. Marty's opinion diverges – emphatically – from mine on this point, but to me we should use a less authoritarian term... "Suggested guidelines," or perhaps, "concepts." Certainly my use of the word 'lies' is meant to be provocative. Just because it is stated by a master artist as truth should not shield it from the harsh light of examination.
There are many established systems of rules, from the Dutch masters to the impressionists and beyond, and all of them are at least partially – if not mostly – correct. All of them have a specific aesthetic context, and generally that context seeks to incorporate complete, objective realism, and then deviate from it with a stylistic intent.
I have read enough about both the scientific and artistic understanding the perception of light and color to know that even objective realism is on shaky ground, especially when physics becomes involved.
Any attempt to transmute that which is seen by the eye to that which is viewed on canvas is inherently prone to speed wobbles. Even the way in which film and digital cameras capture and record light is the result of a wrestling match between sterile science and a blood, sweat, and tear-stained human existence. We humans have, in our various schools and tribes, agreed that certain methods of painting are aesthetically pleasing, and represent an accurate record of what we see.
I'm guessing that early mankind made the same agreements while viewing cave wall paintings in the dim light of fire. Extrapolate forward into the millennia, if you will, and hear them smugly expressing the same thoughts about the painters of yesterday and today.
I am not an iconoclast. It would be a sadness if my words caused someone's artistic belief system to fall, and a triumph if I cause one to question their beliefs about art... but enough about the rules. Gather them like riches, then break them as it suits you, for art is built on a laissez-faire economy.
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I favor the concept of the "innocent artist" when the state of "innocence" is that which exists before art teachings begin to pollute the mind with the way things "should" be. It's a necessary pollution, like benzene in the water table of an oil field. Who among us feels they can completely do without gasoline? In art our creative engines run on the gasoline of color-and-light teachings, so we have to take care with regard to benzene, which in this case is the "box" of acceptable painting technique.
Yet at the same time, Zhang's term, "innocent artist," amuses me. The innocent artist inside me isn't innocent in any sense of the word. Zhang's concept of coming closer to the child is true, but a child is a slave to the primitive impulses of his id. The "professional painter" in me, the policeman of my psyche, has to keep a close eye on the innocent artist, who is a known seditionist, malcontent, lecher, kitsch junkie, egomaniac, iconoclast, and opportunist of churlish manner and ill repute... and to top it all off, he likes to squeeze my Old Holland paints directly out of their forty-dollar-tubes directly onto the canvas! I have stacks of unfinished work, derailed and in ruin at his primitive hand. I don't want my sinful, caddish "innocent artist" to sully my reasonably good standing in the art community.
Yet, just like the sin of lust, without it there would be no procreation. Our art is born of sin just as we are. As long as we wish to create, the willful, libidinous, innocent artist must be allowed to get his groove on. As to how much fun is too much, that is strictly a matter of your penance to St. Vermeer. You're taught to fear opening Pandora's box, and – depending on what you want from your art – you are right to be cautious. As I stated in the previous column, the best thing you can do as an artist is gather information, then follow your own compass.
Isn't that just what Heironymous Bosch did? And Vincent Van Gogh and Jackson Pollock? They bravely sailed past the known and right off the end of the earth, spilling into a yawning chasm full of wonder and despair. Open that box lid too wide and there could be hell to pay. (Like Picasso said, "Art is dangerous," and I believe he knew Pandora well.)
The voice you hear as you read this column, it could be the voice of art wisdom, or it could be the voice of a fool. Either way, it is an absurd paradox (exclusive to art) that the only way that voice could be wrong is if it were the voice of reason.
We find art in things that exist on the other side of reason, or as it is popularly stated, in the sublime. I would go so far as to define aesthetics as, "the tension between reason and mystery." The sublime is bigger than we are, and it uses color, line and form as its pawns. As Marty described it in the context of her work, "I've actually gone back to the more abstract, even undefinable, way of feeling a painting into existence."
In other words, she is finding ways to selectively undo her learning, which she can always reestablish on the fly if needed. In my own work, I am very much aware, daily, of my shortcomings of knowledge in painting technique. In this column I am a provocateur, and like critics, they are a dime a dozen. But temporarily assuming another's life view and aesthetic philosophies can stimulate new thinking. I want to stir the pot, and nudge artists to look outside the comforts of their self-imposed boxes toward the undefinable – the chasm – as they pick up the brush.
So keep in mind, as you paint, that the only authorities in art are those we have ordained, and we can strip them of their credentials in the blink of an eye if it suits us. Paint with passion, shake loose the chains, and kneel at the altar of art authority as it suits you... Mind you, keep only one knee on the ground, with the other foot poised over authority's neck.
This is the first installment of a column I wrote a couple of years ago... less a statement than an exploration of what I am as an artist.
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I might as well admit it right off the bat... I have held a paint brush in my hand for far less years than most of the artists who will read this column. I've been a dad for over two decades, a publisher for even longer, and listing the hobbies that have flowed through my life could easily fill this entire space. So what business does a 46-year old novice painter have writing words about art?
For several years I was deeply involved in writing, playing and recording original music. At the time I was doing it for therapy – it was literally a survival tactic so I could keep my head on straight and be the rock that my family needed... and it was surprisingly effective.
I learned something very important in the process: practicing art (in this case music) with motivation and intent has more than just aesthetic benefits. It is healing, spiritually invigorating, and for me it was a catalyst in establishing a link with God; it provided a forum for dialogue. It primed the pump when the well seemed otherwise dry.
I was not born with prodigal talent in any field of the arts; certainly not music. My childhood sketches were rather artsy, but otherwise undistinguished. It took a life event of ultimate magnitude for me to make an immediate connection with art – a connection that was beyond the intellectual – and when it happened it was music that was in my life.
Music remains – I still play and occasionally I write – but in November of 2004 I experienced a stunning revelation. I discovered that I could paint! How that happened is a whole other story, but to have it happen relatively late in life is one of the greatest gifts I have ever known. There is no explaining it except to say that I must have finally been ready for it. After more than twenty years doing layout and computer design for print media I discovered that my own visual art could have a spiritual life that goes far beyond line and composition to include endless experimentation with color and form as a way of communicating my passions.
There are many skills I picked up along the way that enabled this to happen. I became proficient in drafting. I wrote a lot of poetry and song lyrics. I sketched in the margins of my textbooks to keep myself awake during school. I worked as a graphic designer (eventually founding, and then selling, my own printing company). In this I worked with composition, color, typography, and photo editing.
But mainly I just lived a full life and matured. I collected battle scars, became aware of patterns in life, and learned to love with my whole heart (parenthood will do that for you). I survived spiritual storms, periods of feast and famine, acts of loyalty and betrayal. I was giving and I was selfish. I learned to be thankful for the day, and for the life. Just as the painter learns how to see, I began to recognize the many hues and contrasts of humanity.
So now I eat, sleep, breathe and dream in paint. Visual art is always at the front of my mind. I have gone on an art book buying binge that defies all reason. I have read dozens of such books, but honestly, I often just look at the pictures.
I should say I pore over the pictures. Many are interested in deciphering the technique of pigment and brush, but to me this is secondary to the mental and emotional technique, because that forms the clouds from which content, composition, and color will rain. That is how I am learning to paint, and it usually tells me what I want to know. I have little interest in reading books about painting techniques. I have found my chemistry is compatible with oils, and I have no interest (at this point) in learning about any other media. I have strong opinions about what is good in art, and what matters most.
But I will be the first to tell you that all art is good. If you practice art in any media, or any form, you are doing a good thing and you can do no wrong. Every opinion I have is food for thought, and perhaps respectful debate, only. The best thing you can do as an artist is gather information, then follow your own compass.
If someone else's opinion doesn't make sense in the realm of your art, disregard it. If their viewpoint challenges you, provokes thought, that is a happy circumstance, and it is what I hope to do. I find that reading the philosophical musings of other artists is provocative. It is like the current that keeps the waters of art from becoming stagnant.
I meet people in art circles who have become stagnant. Perhaps they have been painting for 20 years, yet they are still constantly seeking advice, taking every workshop they can, and entering the student division because they lack the confidence to step up and compete with the best. Those are artists who are crying out for tough love!
They need to stop looking for the silver bullet... stop looking for the magic method or technique and start thinking about what they are trying to say with their art. If they don't have anything to say, then they need to think of something!
I decided that the way I was going to grow as an artist was to read about artists' lives, and about their philosophy on art, and that I was going to paint as much as possible. Also I am not going to limit myself as to subject or motif... basically I am going to paint whatever crazy thing I'm moved to paint.
I will observe, listen, and interact with other artists because that is a path toward knowledge. Even though I don't know what I am doing, I'm not looking for someone to tell me what to do. I'd rather make ten thousand errors and then hit upon something truly unique than learn to replicate what someone else does. It is truly all about the journey...
Having said that, I'd like to acknowledge an artistic debt to Lesley Humphrey, a renowned equine artist who, despite her international reputation and many laurels, is still moving toward something bigger and greater in her art (I can see it happening, but I can't say what it will be). She, with her simple explanations of light and color, and her impassioned discourse about painting with intent, was the lightning that struck the key on my kite. Now I paint, and I will forever be grateful to her for that.
BAL's own Frank Gerriets is another artist I respect. His speaks his unvarnished, plainly stated thoughts about art in a language I can understand. His use of color (particularly in his spectacular Night Music Series) resonates with the artistic truths I am seeking.
My teachers are Monet, Cabanel, Bosch, Manet, Van Gogh, and all of the wonderful people I have met at art shows, meetings and events.
So, what business do I have writing these words? Hopefully I will occasionally stimulate a new line of artistic thought. Whether you agree with all or none of it, please know it is offered by a humble artist who has none of the "right" answers. I do hope to pose more than a few of the right questions. With art as my journey, that is my intent.
(PIctured above: "Rhythm and Blue" Oils, SOLD.)
A game changer is something which impacts all who play the game, whatever it may be. The game changer alters expectations for the game through innovation and strategy. Whether it is in personal relationships, corporate ladder-climbing, consumer products or a technology sector, the game changer introduces something new that, through human interaction, becomes a new paradigm by mutual assent.
The game changer kills the killer app. It wins the heart. It steals the future from the past, and rides the crest of the breaking wave.
"Game Changer" 24"X18" oils with topsoil. Available for $290.
"Sin and Redemption" (20"x16" oils, 2004)
A lot of different artists are credited with inventing the "outlaw country" genre, but inarguably, it was Johnny Cash. Incredibly, it was well over fifty years ago when Johnny Cash's words were first laid down on vinyl: "I hear that train a comin', it's rollin' around the bend..."
I first connected with Johnny Cash when he released American Recordings in 1994. I'm not into country music, so it seemed an unlikely choice for me, but I better understood this connection when I read his autobiography, Cash, three years later. I felt a kinship with him on a spiritual level... he was a broken, rebellious man, but strived to do good, and he leaned on Jesus as his savior. And he loved his second wife June passionately until the day he died.
Johnny Cash had a remarkable, complex face with a formidable nose. If you look at the two sides of his face you can detect character traits in the asymmetry (something true of all of us). As you view him, the left shows the earthly, sinful side, and the right, the chaste, obedient aspect of his character.
When I painted it in November of 2004, it was intended as a tribute (Cash died in September of 2003). It was my first real work using oils, and the first portrait I ever painted.
I remember well working on it at around 3:00 am during an all-night painting bender (something I still do from time to time). Tired to the point of exhaustion, I had been singing along to one of Cash's last CDs... and calling on him to visit me -- to breathe life into this work -- as I labored on the canvas. Little did I know... his eyes came suddenly -- and startlingly -- to life with a few strokes of the brush. The hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up as I sensed his presence. I guess I wasn't too well prepared for his arrival.
(This has only happened once again since that time, while painting "Chef Theo", another post-mortem portrait.)
This painting is still one of my favorites.
"Sin and Redemption" 20"x16" Oils, available for $1490.
