Wednesday, September 5, 2018

Looks at Gross McCleaf Gallery

Self with Snuff Bottles, 2018, Oil on Panel, 12 x 12

Tourist, 2018, Oil on Panel, 12 x 12

I have these two paintings in a group show opening this Friday, September 7th from 5 - 7pm at Gross McCleaf Gallery.  The show features the work of myself, Clint Jukkala, Susan Moore and Ashley Wick and centers around the theme of portraits.  Hope to see you there.

Thursday, August 9, 2018

Thomas O'Meara Animations

Sanyu, Reclining Leopard, 1930's, Linocut on Paper

I stumbled across these fabulous shorts by animator Thomas Harnett O'Meara.  They recreate two of my favorite painters(Sanyu and Hockney) works and add a time dimension.  Good lift on a random Thursday morning.

Thomas Harnett O"Meara / Sotheby's from seven six on Vimeo.

David Hockney, Peter Getting out of Nick's Pool, 1966, acrylic on canvas

Thomas Harnett O'Meara / Hockney at Tate Britain from seven six on Vimeo.

Saturday, June 30, 2018

Savvy Painter Podcast and the Artist Myth

I just did an interview with the Savvy Painter Podcast.  It was such an honor to be asked as I have been a listener for a while.  Also a drop of terrifying, I generally think I am better at clarity when writing than speaking, but I guess most people feel that way.  Anyhow, the show is run by painter Antrese Wood and she does a nice job of asking specifics but also keeping conversations broad enough for people working in different ways or different fields to take something away.  At least I find that when listening to other episodes, I agree with a lot of the philosophies of other painters, even if our work is very different.  So that has been interesting.

One of the things she and I touch on which has been a big thought for me recently is the artist myth.  We discuss how many people assume you are either a starving artist locked away in the studio all night driven only by mad passion or you are a sunday painter, happily dotting trees onto a canvas in the park.  And of course every profession has stereotypes and generalizations.  But this is one I even hear other painters believing.  Many of my professors said you can't have a career and a family.  I hear peers ask each other anxiously, myself included, how many hours you spend in the studio per day.

In the beginning of the interview Antrese asked about my early exposure to art.  I hadn't thought about it until that second but I mentioned how my mom showed me Georgia O'Keefe and Mary Cassatt.  The funny part is I actually thought I was better than Georgia O'Keefe when I was about 10 years old (didn't really grasp the range of her work then but still find my response uneven).  That was the extent of women artists I was exposed to and had the choice to think about.  But having even two female painters to look at gave me a subconscious sense that being a painter was possible.  Never before did I think of that until this interview, as I didn't really love their work, just their position as women.  It is so important to internalize a model, not a role model but someone modeling the role as female painter.  It is crucial to support the work of women and minorities in the arts, first for its quality now but maybe also because of the quality it might nourish in the future.

I think it also makes me want to push back against that artist myth:  To be great, an artist should forego balance and relationships in pursuit of their greatness and passion.  It makes for a great story, when you read about Philip Guston and his insane drive and black moods it makes the work feel more suffered for, more authentic.  However, its actually much harder to feel that drive, that singular desire to work and continue to attempt to be a good person, a member of society, a balanced human being.  I can't say I'm there but I would like to redefine for myself what a painter's life can look like, what I should be striving for.

Many thanks to Savvy Painter for bringing these thoughts to the forefront in my mind and for bringing other painters' voices and opinions into the public sphere.  Thank you for supporting me here and there.  I love the emails I get, it is another aspect of my painting world that is enriching and builds a sense of community around a very solitary and intense path.

Saturday, June 2, 2018

Thoughts from someone who taught a little and knows a little bit more about teaching than they once did

I hope that blog title accurately conveys the hesitancy I have about professing here....

But I have just finished my fifth year teaching undergraduate art students and as I won't be returning in the fall I'm in quite a reflective state about it.

I think to teach well, the thing you do yourself, is so challenging.  My studio mate and I used to joke about how much easier it would be to learn a little math and teach that.  The reason we felt that way, I think, is because once you really know just how much there is to convey, and just how wrong some approaches can be, you realize how much of a responsibility it is, and just how easily you can f it up.  It would be great to teach the few (5?) things I know about math, and be ignorant to all the nuance that exists in that discipline and just teach with pure unbridled confidence.

The tricky thing too, is students love and latch onto a teacher like that, who has an absolute answer without any exceptions.  I think I was probably more of a teacher like that when I started even, I knew less but thought I knew more.

In teaching art, it is critical to both hold a strong point of view but also allow for all viewpoints to be valid.   To confidently explain that there is no one explanation.

So while I come away from these last few years with a lot of open-ended questions, here are the few steadfast principles that I can stand behind and would hope each of my students has come away with:

1.  Anyone can and should make a painting.

I have often heard a similar conversation from both painters and also from students.  Basically its the question of who should make paintings?  Is a child's painting a real painting?  Is an untaught artist (or non-major student) able to make a good painting?  How much do you need to know to make a painting?

Answer: Yes, yes, depends.  I've heard the argument that people don't have to go to school to be musicians or to dance well, why should they for art?  They don't have to.  Everyone should feel free to make paintings.  At any point in life and level you should try to make the best painting you can.  Good teachers are helpful in that they can give you more options, options on how to manipulate the materials, and examples of people who have done that in different ways.  Expanding your knowledge base, ideally, will allow you to make paintings that are more satisfying and challenging and ultimately engaging.

2.  Always try to make a painting you have never made.  Never try for cohesion.

There is another common conversation I have run into over the last five years that drives me crazy.  It's usually coming from upper level students trying to get their senior show or graduate school portfolio together.  They talk about theme, a series, a cohesive body of work etc.  I distinctly remember doing the exact same thing in school and it stunted my work deeply.  I don't think a student should ever prematurely try to make cohesive body of work.  Sure, if there is a weird tangent you are on that dictates making 10 of the same painting, please do that.  But don't fence yourself in.  At the undergraduate level I found most students just needed to follow really different and random urges.  The work will not be cohesive, it will be all over the place, but it will be experimental and informative.  To make the furthest boundaries of where your interests lie, allows you to see common threads, know what you will never do again and slowly the work will narrow into your interests.  But always try to be making a weird one.  Boredom is the real studio practice killer.

3.  Let your influences show.

I still hear this in regards to my own work.  'Oh you must love Bonnard, this reminds me of Matisse, your influences are showing!'  Often students seemed to think it was a bad thing for the work to relate to other painters, they'd say "I want to do something that has never been done before." No.  You will always be making work in relation to other paintings made before and that's a good thing, it's the language painters speak.  Look at paintings, copy paintings.  Eventually that will not be the only thing visible.  That understanding will make the work richer.  De Kooning said to Guston when he merrily ran into the bar after a day of painting, "Ah, you must have paid off all your debts!"  And that took him years.

4.  Listen deeply to critical feedback.  Then consider the source.

Criticism coming from a painter, professor, or someone with a trained eye deserves being heard.  It is helpful to hear what is being seen when the work is looked at by someone other than you, the maker.  However, consider the source before agreeing with the diagnosis.  Meaning, that person may have a very different aesthetic or intention for painting, that is other than yours.  You can hear the feedback but not agree with the suggestions.  Think about the perspective of where that insight is coming from.

5. The answers are in the paint.

The only way out of a creative block is to paint through it.  It feels awful, the work is mediocre and going nowhere but putting marks down on canvas is the only way to break out.  Ideas and plans for paintings are not the same, the only way forward is to paint.  Eventually answers and new questions will materialize, try not to put pressure on the product or the subject, just begin a bunch of paintings with anything being enough of a reason to start.

(all images are student work from the past academic year)

Thursday, April 26, 2018

Random Good Visual Things

It has been one hectic month.  There has been a lot of bad.  But I have been trying to (distract, nourish, treat?) myself and so here is a random list of things related to the visual that are worth something:

1. I finally read Night Studio, a memoir of Guston by his daughter, and it is a messy and enchanting and depressing thing.  I'm thinking a lot about vulnerability and it tapped right into that and gave me some new thoughts on who is allowed to be vulnerable and when and why.  

 2. Took my students up to Chelsea to see some galleries in person.  Beautiful discussion with Bill Scott at his show at Hollis Taggart, along with Polina Barskaya at Monya Rowe and Angelina Gualdoni at Asya Geisberg being my highlights.  Big highlights.

Polina Barskaya

Angelina Gualdoni

3.  The Princeton University Museum -- Went over to this small but excellent collection to see the still life show, modernist works from the Phillips.  It was stunning as well as the permanent collection.

Ben Nicholson, John Graham and Milton Avery

4.  Artist Interview Podcasts -- I am a podcast devotee from way back but always resisted listening to art ones.  Why, I don't know.  Enjoying the Savvy Painter and Sound and Vision.  

5.  Betty Woodman -- Just looking at images but she has been bringing me joy.

6.  The film Everybody Knows Elizabeth Murray.  It's not the best I ever saw, but its recognizing a woman slogging through when times are tough and sticking to her work.  She says (not in the film, but a separate interview): " C├ęzanne painted cups and saucers and apples, and no one assumed he spent a lot of time in the kitchen."  I like that a lot.


Tuesday, March 20, 2018

New Work for Volta

Above are images of work that was shown at Volta a few weeks ago.  I'm very happy with the work.  It was a pretty anxious time making sure I had paintings I wanted to show, coming off the September show with Nancy Margolis.  I'm not sure the fair was the right fit for my work, its such a quick glance way of looking.  But I saw some good friends and met some good people.  

We drove up in the last snowstorm and that was a pretty terrible decision, now tomorrow I'm scheduled to fly to Cincinnati to give a talk to the art department at the university and a foot of snow is in the process of falling.  I think the weather is trying to tell me something...time to hide in the studio for a few months. 

Friday, March 9, 2018

Bill Scott Leaf and Line

I couldn't believe the colors that happened to be nearby on my dresser...

I was honored to contribute a writing to my friend and Philadelphia painter Bill Scott's catalog for his show opening at Hollis Taggart next week.  In all honesty I was a bit terrified.  I like to write but it can be a difficult task for me, especially in the context of it being for another painter.  I hope I did justice in writing, my pictures especially don't do justice here.  But the catalog gets close, the reproductions are beautiful.  And the paintings in person are a delight.  Below is my essay and info on the exhibit...

Bill Scott: Reinventing His Rose

On my most recent visit to Bill Scott’s studio, a reproduction of Matisse’s 1942 painting, The Idol, came into view as he moved a large canvas propped against the wall onto the easel for better viewing. His paintings often strike me twice. First comes a flood of pure sensation, as Bonnard once described, “the appearance of things in the exact moment of entering a room.” Colors and air whip up a positively frenzied delight. And then as I settle back into my chair, shaking my head to clear my eyes of the unrelenting beauty of the thing, I can start to really see. Under the bounty lies something much more precarious and daring, hidden in plain sight. The beauty Scott presents rests on an infrastructure that is of our world and of the rules of painting. There is space that expertly opens and closes, foreground spilling forward only to be held up by a dainty violet line, tiny slices of open windows offering a glimpse of cascading shape gardens beyond.

As I sat there reveling in that distinct post-looking-at-good-painting glow that any painter can attest to, I thought harder about why these paintings work while others fail. I have seen previous students and contemporaries try to emulate his expression to no avail. Scott’s work is seductive and relatable and makes painters want to paint, so that is understandable. But it is inimitable; other attempts feel shallow and sugary, somehow simultaneously lacking the search and sophistication. Perhaps it was seeing the Matisse print in such close proximity that night, but I felt as if Matisse had reached into my internal conversation. In a 1953 essay he talks about how a painter must look at the world as if seeing for the first time, not jaded or bleary eyed, but full of wonder, if he ever wants to express a true and original vision. He goes on to say, “I think that nothing is more difficult for a true painter than to paint a rose, since before he can do so, he has first to forget all the roses that were ever painted.”

Scott seems to be constantly studying other painters’ roses, real roses blooming on Philadelphia fences, his own previous versions of those roses, thinking about them and then reinventing them. He does this not in a haphazard, casual way or in a dramatic, upending way, but by looking out at the world and absorbing its matter and then deliberately attempting to express its grace.

That first striking sensation I feel when I look at his work is this, his pure feeling, that humble, stark acknowledgment of being human and staring directly at the glory of nature, which necessitates a first-person response to be emotive. But for that sensation and invention to maintain power it must be held up by a serious and disciplined understanding of formal consideration. This is the thing that is so masterful, understood by Scott and Matisse alike. The degree of invention is sustained only by the difficult and unyielding parameters of form. Compositional decisions of shape and color are completely devoid of excess, each touch to the surface purposeful and felt. This synthesis of rigorous structure and abundant generosity allow for a world where a circle knocking at the window or a squiggle pausing to catch its breath may be a little whimsical but by no means unbelievable. The familiar is otherworldly, in a kind and forgiving way, positing a place we haven’t really been but hope to visit one day.

Bill Scott Leaf and Line at Hollis Taggart Galleries opens March 15th and continues through April 28th.  

Thursday, February 8, 2018

Postcard from the Studio

I've been working in the studio like a mad man.  I have 13 paintings heading to Volta in March and on top of finishing them I am building all the frames, you can barely see the floor most days.  But the space still manages to be the most sanctuary-like of any space in my life.  I'm so thankful for it and the fact that I have something so fulfilling to do for work.  I think after this semester I am leaving teaching for a while.  It's been good, there are things I will miss, but my plate is too full and happily I'm busy in the studio for now.  

A few of my new paintings are about making paintings and looking at paintings.   Seems like the thing I am seeing a lot and thinking about a lot so inevitably it becomes the subject.  And tulips.  There is nothing better to look at in the winter than tulips.

Thursday, January 18, 2018

Museums Shows at the Met!

Favorite moment of the Hockney Show

I went up to New York for my opening and was able to get a few hours in the Met and Met Breuer before.  There are so many strong museum shows right now.  I saw Hockney, Michelangelo, Rodin and Munch.  My eyes were bleeding by the end.  The shows were very crowded which always detracts from the looking for me.  It's amazing how some visitors seem so unaware and like they are the only one in the place.  How? I wish I could be like that.  I spend half my time watching their insane behavior.  

I wanted to look at Michelangelo's copy of Massacio's expulsion, which is one of my favorite paintings ever.  But I listened to one woman blow smoke up another woman's *** about it for so long that I could no longer stand there, she literally said nothing for 10 minutes but her mouth did not close.  Anyway, I eventually just chose a few drawings that were less popular and tried to calm down and enjoy them.  

Beyond that, Hockney was great to see in person for all the little moments that are lost in reproduction.  So many of the paintings are so big that there are all these little still lives and funny side notes within.  The work is so seemingly carefree and easy, California and pools feel like such the right subject.  I preferred the beginning half of the show much more than the end.    

Munch at the Met allowed for a much calmer environment and that made sense for the work.  It is so depressing you just want to weep.  This painting detail above of his sister's deathbed was really heartbreaking, and the color was sick and beautiful at the same time. I heard one lady say she likes the look of the paintings but can't he just paint something a little happier?  haha.  He seems to be a real master of color and value. But there was something in his brushstroke I didn't always care for.  He seems so set on expressing immediately the misery and turmoil that the brushwork can be unfelt and too fast somehow?  And the bottom edges of the compositions feel odd a lot, things cut off at weird places.  I think that was okay, it was distressing but I think that made its point.  

Anyway, a lot to see and worth the visit.  But maybe go with earplugs...

Monday, January 8, 2018

Couple Paintings at NMG Jan 2018

Fruit with Toaster Reflection, 2017, 24 x 24 inches, Oil on Panel

I've been working like crazy in the studio recently.  There is no heat except my space heater, and the water was just shut off this week so the pipes don't freeze.  I feel like the sacrifice in no ways makes my work better,  but I like being able to complain here about the things painters go through for their work haha.

These five paintings are in a group show opening Thursday Jan 11th at Nancy Margolis Gallery.  I will also have my work at Volta in march.  So hopefully the big paintings I'm fighting come to some resolution this winter...

Bouquet Among Pines, 2017, 24 x 19.5 inches, Oil on Panel

Cereal on Snowy Sill, 2017, 24 x 18 inches, Oil on Panel

Dog Park Pile Up(Snow), 2017, 32 x 24.5 inches, Oil on Panel

Woman with Flurries, 2017, 10.5 x 13.5 inches, Oil on Panel