On Craftsmanship… and walking the Camino de Santiago

There is a difference between good technique and good craft, or craftsmanship. Technique is the style in which an artist attempts to realize the concept. It is merely a part of the craft and not the same thing. There are some highly skilled artists who are seduced by their own bravado and rely too much on their developed level of technique to carry the work. As a result, the objects become more representations of the artists’ admiration of their own abilities and the piece becomes stale and lifeless. Good craftsmanship is not realized. On the opposite side, there are plenty of artists who see good technique as taboo. Often because they have not been able to develop their own technique adequately enough for various reasons, and the skilled technique of another can certainly be threatening. As a result they shun technique and rely on irony and camp to carry their ideas- a witty sense of humor then replaces the need to develop technique. It becomes a matter of convenience. (Technique is not just the ability to render representationally, technique is any means one chooses to best achieve his or her desired product. Jackson Pollock had as much of a technique as Velazquez did. Which artist utilized his technique best within his craft is up for debate.)  Perhaps the main and most unfortunate reason that quality technique is abandoned and therefor good craftsmanship is not realized, is our own competitive commercial market. An architect in New York, competing with other architects to build an apartment complex, no doubt seeks the cheapest materials and labor to keep the cost low and stay competitive. In the name of efficiency, the best materials are not used and an adequate amount of time and labor is not invested to see the project thoroughly through. And so, the building leaks in a rainstorm or the mice find their way in through the seams. And now the owner must pay extra, in the long run, because shortcuts were made in the beginning, simply because the architect needed to keep costs low to beat out his or her competition if he or she is to survive in our commercial market. Enough about technique.

Good craftsmanship is exercised when an artist thoroughly conceives an idea, exhausts all options as to how best to translate that idea into substance (the substance being the final product: a painting, performance, building, etc.). The artist spends as much time as is required to get to know the material, to explore all options as to how the pieces of the idea come together upon realization. (That is where technique comes in.) And when the seams don’t quite fit, the artist is willing to start over, to comprehend what went wrong, what went right and to begin again, and again, and again as many times as is needed until the idea takes form, organically, through trial and error in a seamless fashion. When it is clear that a painter has thought through his or her execution, that the artist struggled and strove to find the best possible answers to solving such a complex problem as how to create a good work of art, that he or she dedicated as much time, energy and thoughtfulness, thoughtfulness above all, as was needed- the painting exists as a single entity. The colors, the mediums, the linen or cotton, the size, the width of the support structure, all elements come together harmoniously and create a solid, independent object of beauty (Beauty not in the taboo sense of the word, but beauty that can exist in the horrific or ugly as much as in the pleasurable.) that does not rely on the artist, art dealer, critic or literature to carry its weight. This is good craftsmanship. This rarely happens, but when it does, it’s incredibly powerful and it moves the viewer on a deep but simple level of the viewer’s subconscious that can not be described by words.

Below are a few examples of work that I believe have achieved that level of craftsmanship.

Michelangelo's Pieta

John Constable, oil on canvas

Quaker chair- the Quakers are known for their excellent craftsmanship

Lucian Freud, Benefit's Supervisor, oil on canvas

"Wet" by Hendrik Kerstens, print

Pantheon, Rome

Suleymaniye Mosque, Istanbul

On walking the Camino-

I recently came back from walking the Camino de Santiago with my brother. The Camino de Santiago is a European Union Cultural Landmark which involves trekking across Spain. There are several different paths one can take, however the Camino Frances, is the most popular and believed to be the path taken by St. James as he walked across Europe to preach Christianity. The destination of the Camino is Santiago de Compostella in Galicia, believed to be the resting place for the bones (minus his head) of St. James, the apostle. According to Christian legend, the eleven apostles (Judas, the twelfth, having hung himself, of course) dispersed across the known world after the execution and resurrection of Jesus to preach His Word and spread Christianity. St. James, one of the grumpier of the eleven apostles, made it as far as Galicia in modern day Spain, but was ultimately not very popular with the locals and so headed back to Judea where he was beheaded by King Herod Agrippa I in 44 AD becoming the first martyr of Christianity. (Christianity wouldn’t become the official religion of the Roman Empire until after the Emperor Constantine converted nearly three hundred years later.) From here it gets a bit hazy, there are several stories as to how the the headless corpse of St. James found its way back to Galicia. “A beautiful legend was elaborated, telling how the body of St James was returned to Galicia after his death, ‘by a raft with neither sail nor rudder’. The arrival was followed by a series of fantastic adventures : the followers who had accompanied James asked a heathen queen, Luparia, to bury the body of the Apostle in her lands. She refused and the unfortunates fled, pursued by the royal troops who, conveniently, died by drowning, thanks to the collapse of a bridge. Then Luparia tried wild oxen guarded by a dragon. They killed the dragon and tamed the oxen, upon which Luparia converted, and finally allowed the burial in a place which was soon forgotten.” (www.saint-jacques.info) The remains were not discovered until sometime in the 9^th century by a hermit. The reigning Pope was quick to declare the bones as being those of St. James. Though, realistically, there was no way to be certain. Since then, the bones have been hidden countless times from various invaders and were even lost at one point for a period of time, commencing the decline of the pilgrimage to Santiago. In 1884, bones were yet again recovered and, once again, the reigning Pope was quick to identify them as the relic of St. James- though, today, apparently the Vatican acknowledges the uncertainty of the declaration.

In any case, by the 1100’s, the Camino de Santiago had become one of the three most popular Christian pilgrimages and at one time even surpassing that of the Vatican in Rome and Jerusalem in popularity. Today, the Camino sees over 100,000 pilgrims each year (though many take modern day transportation to Sarria, only 100 kilometers away from Santiago and begin their pilgrimage there.) My bother and I began our walk in Roncesvalles, 750 kilometers away from Santiago. Many of the towns along the way have managed to maintain their medieval presence in the form of the architecture and religious art even when their inhabiters have no doubt changed with the times like the rest of us. The pilgrims that pass through every year have equally changed. Whereas before, people trekked thousands of kilometers in the name of Christianity, many pilgrims today, my brother and myself included, do so in the name of vacation. And I don’t mean this as a belittling reason. Religion aside, the experience of walking across Spain, climbing over mountain ranges and gently rolling hills covered in vineyards and wheat, descending valleys and exploring medieval villages and castles perched on hilltops, hearing tales of knights and invading Muslim armies, and some of the most beautiful landscapes you will ever see- this is enlightening enough for any modern day pilgrim. The pace at which you cross through Spain, a slow and steady walk, allows you to thoroughly absorb the vast layers of cultural history, accrued from the various ruling peoples from pagans to Christians to Muslims and again to Christians and is of great contrast to the speed and busyness of modern day life. (There are also plenty of examples of excellent craftsmanship from the Middle Ages to the Baroque along the way.)

In addition to a daily journal, I painted one watercolor a day, at the end of the day, of something in my new environment, as more of a record than of self-expression. Below are a few examples.

Day 1

Day 9

Day 10

Day 12

Day 13- Scallop shell with the Cross of the Order of Santiago

Day 14

Day 15- where we stayed for the night.

Day 16, my brother, after walking 40 kilometers in a day.

Day 17

Day 18

Day 20- old, Galician oak tree

Day 23, Santiago Cathedral, south facade.

Whispering Vs Screaming

As I’ve been working on these new, smaller pieces I’ve been thinking about the contrast between a whispering painting versus a screaming one. There is certainly a time for both. The two artists I want to set against each other, as I had in an earlier entry, are Morandi with his muted, intimate, simplified and softly vibrating boxes, bottles and pots; and Rubens, in the other corner, with his monumental compositions of swirling masses of flesh and muscle.

Morandi

Rubens

Supposedly, when Brunelleschi completed his dome in 1436, it was said that the entire population of Florence could fit underneath it all at once. Today, in a given year, more art students graduate from art school than was the whole population of Florence during the Renaissance. In the 15^th and 16^th centuries, a “golden age” for art, the artists of Florence could be counted on your fingers, and the ones to be taken seriously, you need only count the fingers on one hand. Perhaps this is a bit of an exaggeration- however, the difference in the number of artists today, versus 1436, is staggering. The numbers were different even as recent as a century ago. This has since changed because of the relative financial stability of the country, due, in part, to advances such as the Industrial Revolution. But also the romantic Hollywood-type characters such as Picasso and Van Gogh, and the recent glamorous lifestyles of artists like Andy Warhol and Damien Hirst have done nothing but entice those youngsters who might have otherwise taken up something more “safe” like a desk job. Indeed the overpopulation of artists in this country and elsewhere has probably been curbed a bit by the Great Recession, but in the long run, it wont make much of a dent.

I talk about this “overpopulation” of artists as a bad thing only because many decide to become artists for poor reasons- the reasons being listed above. I do feel that achieving the glamor of a Warholian lifestyle is a fine, ambitious goal in life as long as the craft of your artwork is not neglected as a result. For if this is your ultimate goal as an artist, where does the actual art making fall? Craft and aesthetics of the artist’s creations are neglected if not sacrificed so that he/she may give his/her utmost and full concentration towards achieving their desired social status in today’s exclusive art world. This is the reason for so much bad art out there.

Throw on top of the overpopulation of artists, a daily overstimulation of images from magazines, television and the internet and the audience finds themselves dumbed down by visual imagery, numb to aesthetics. Today, as an easy remedy for this, as a way to get the viewers attention, the artist screams. Like a defibrillator to the senses, the artist will literally attempt to shock the audience in order to stand out amidst the dense sea of artists and images. There are different ways to scream, however.

Ron Mueck

Jenny Saville screams, but she maintains her mastery of aesthetics, as does Ron Mueck. But often, the screams of the artist moves towards the absurd and he/she risks leaving the audience with a bad taste in their mouth. The absurd reminds the viewer just how out of touch an artist might be and so the viewer turns his/her back on the artist’s creation, not caring to put in the effort to try to understand what the artist was trying to convey in the first place. There are a handful of artists today who walk a very fine line between quality and absurdity while screaming- Paul McCarthy and Damien Hirst being two of them. I enjoy the work of both of these artists- McCarthy’s videos rely heavily on our attraction to the grotesque. Their carnal scenes of giant clowns and bleeding sausages can at times be weirdly seductive but at other times, he relies too heavily on the grotesque and the videos fall flat. Damien Hirst has found himself in a strange position as his screams have become too successful. His diamond encrusted, platinum skull and sharks floating in formaldehyde

Paul McCarthy

have become such icons that he is now forced to compete with his own screams. He has recently returned to the studio and has picked up a paintbrush with his own hand and has gone back to the “basics”. This is a man who (like Jeff Koons, Takashi Murakami, and many, many others) has established a factory in which he has an entire team of recently graduated art students painting, sculpting, building his work for him. One might easily disregard this way of art making as a contemporary, capitalistic phenomenon, where an artist has become so big that he turns himself into a factory and in essence becomes a name brand, but Peter Paul Rubens, the painter of all painters, did the same thing in the 17^th century. (On a somewhat smaller scale, painters like Kehinde Wiley, Yigal Ozeri, Mickalene Thomas, and probably many others, hire young artists to handle if not all, then at least the bulk of their paintings for them so they may dedicate most of their energy to necessary networking.) When asked about the recent return to the “basics” of painting his own paintings, Hirst mentioned that his audience is no longer shocked by his floating, dead sharks and that there is nothing more shocking now, than for him to go into his own studio and make his own art. In order to get his audiences’ attention once again, Damien Hirst has, in essence, gone from screaming to whispering.

Damien Hirst

Damien Hirst, painting

Being bombarded with images and an overpopulation of artists, many screaming to be noticed, there is nothing more refreshing than a whisper. I could have spent days at the recent Metropolitan Museum’s exhibition of Morandi’s bottles. Small painting after small painting, each composition quietly beckoning you to come closer, to explore the subtly agitated surface of the canvas. I saw one of Hirst’s new paintings at the Armory Show last weekend. In spite of all the negative reviews of his new self-painted paintings, they almost felt genuine if not for certain references to Francis Bacon.

Axel Geis

I actually managed to get lost, briefly, in his delicate and at the same time clumsy mark making. Two other artists that stood out at the show because of their whisper- Axel Geis and Michael Borremans.

In my own work, I went from my 8′ multi-figure painting back to my own “basics”- 18” bust portraits and still-lifes. I have been finishing each painting in one or two sessions and have been trying to pay a considerable amount of attention still to that fine line between letting the physicality of the paint take over and wanting to control it with the brush. In my new portraits, I’ve de-emphasized the eyes to various degrees because the eyes become too confrontational, even when the subject is not looking back at the viewer, the eyes animate the subject too much for the whisper that I am attempting to achieve. This huge distinction created by such a small variant (emphasis of the eyes), goes to further my argument that the figure itself takes up a dominant space in our psyche as human beings. In a still-life of a fish, the decision of the emphasis of features does not necessarily affect our connection to the painting.  Likewise, if an eye in a portrait is a centimeter too far to the side anyone, any human being, will notice immediately. However, if the eye of a fish in a painting is wrongly placed, no one will likely notice. The eyes play a huge roll in human communication and so, in a painting of a figure, the success of the painting is often determined by decisions made concerning the eyes. Again, this is because we spend our lives concerned and obsessed with the human figure, we are a social creature. That is why my first assignment for my painting students is usually a still-life of fish. In this still-life they can concern themselves with extreme variation of color, texture and tone (fundamentals of painting) and they will not get too caught up or discouraged by the drawing. Whereas, when they tackle a portrait, immediately, they become aware of their own shortcomings concerning their drawing ability and as a result become too frustrated to enjoy the painting process.

Shoes- new painting

Head 6, new painting

Untitled

I recently pulled a small painting out from storage, it is a painting by a fellow art student from graduate school, Braden Williams. We had traded paintings at the end of the program. Whereas I enjoyed the painting before, now that I have been thinking about the idea of whispering versus screaming, I have kept it out, in my studio so that I can look at it while I work on my new paintings. For his final project he completed a series of still-lifes. Like Morandi, in each one, he concerned himself with the formal placement of the objects and completed his paintings in muted colors. Also like Morandi, his paint seems to lightly vibrate at the edges of the objects by a hand with a nervous and genuine touch. The subject consisted of found objects- a cardboard box, or a single sheet of cardboard propped against the wall, a piece of styrofoam that had been once used to package something much more expensive, a small house plant, a plastic fork, a used tea bag and other things like this. Sometimes Braden would mold a clumsy figure of a person out of clay and he would incorporate this into his compositions. I will not pretend to know exactly what his intentions were behind these paintings, if he had mentioned what he was thinking, then I have forgotten. But I do remember him being a religious person. Religion played a significant roll in his life and the act of taking these random, discarded objects that to my mind were trash, and giving them each a sense of importance through the slowed down, labor intensive and careful process of painting is fitting for his character. One could easily draw parallels between his molded, clay figures and God molding Adam out the same substance. Personally, I am not religious and, so my new found appreciation for his paintings has nothing to do with religion. But rather, I know that he is religious, and so my appreciation has everything to do with the perceived genuineness behind his work. And if Braden’s intentions were to imply to the viewer the significant roll that religion plays in his own life, then he has done it masterfully with a solid, genuine whisper.

Braden Williams- www.bradenw.com

Self-Portrait, Winter and Deer Heads- Reworked

Below is the final version (finally) of Self-Portrait, Winter- though I am now calling it Self-Portrait, January. Deer Head 1 and 2 have been reworked and Deer Head 3 is a new addition. And finally, two small portraits titled- Portrait One and Portrait Two. They are the first of, hopefully, a series of small portraits. Please see the website for detail images.

Deer Head 1- reworked

Deer Head 2- reworked

Deer Head 3

Self-Portrait, January (Winter)

Head One

Head Two

Meaning Vs Significance and Self Portrait in Winter Hat Reworked

The Wheat Sifters

Meaning is a man-made concept. Significance is real. However, the value of a thing’s significance is relative and can therefor be misleading.

That said, we have always projected meaning into things where there is none. It’s what we do. And it’s quite fulfilling. It raises the value of the significance of the thing (whatever that thing may be- a painting, a house, a country, a religion, our own lives). This is a phenomenon that is common with the practice of art, the study of art history and art theory. It, most likely, has existed since the beginning of image making and it continues to happen all the time. To be clear, I am not referring to meaning as in the standard visual metaphors, like a skull in a painting meaning immortality. Rather, I am referring to a much broader sense of the word. For example, in the book, The Rape of The Masters, Roger Kimball writes that a certain theorist came to the conclusion that the scattering of grain in Courbet’s The Wheat Sifter “can also be seen as a downpour of menstrual blood- not red but warm-hued and sticky seeming, flooding outward from the sifter’s rose-draped thighs.” An interesting meaning indeed. And we can see how the imagery might allow a contemporary theorist (having lived during and after the feminism movementof the 60’s and 70’s) might go there. But Courbet lived nearly a century before the Feminist Movement. This connection is completely irrelevant to the painting as the artist intended it. The only relevance can be seen through the eyes of a contemporary individual. The newly derived meaning adds mystique to the painting and to the legend of the artist, boosting the value of the painting’s significance and, ultimately the main goal, to boost the status and career of the theorist. An artist does the same thing. He or she will be tempted to insert meaning into an image of his or her own creation in an effort to make the piece more substantial in the eyes of the viewer. When in reality, quite often the artist doesn’t exactly understand why he or she made the image in the first place, let alone what it is supposed to mean. Meaning is often slapped on at the end and the result can be the opposite of the artist’s intentions- it can cheapen the image.

One of Richter's Candle

During this last crash in the art market I was working as a temp art handler in the basement of Christie’s auction house and was fortunate enough to witness one of the biggest beasts of the art market deal with the crippling crash. Before a catalogue for an auction is put together, a group of specialists meet in front of each painting and one by one, they discuss and determine the monetary value of each piece. This value is normally reached not only on the quality of the piece and the authorship but, also, largely by the story of the piece- the importance of the past owners, the roll that the piece has played in art history thus far, etc. The idea is that the meaning that the artist, critic, historian or even these specialists have inserted into the piece, through the means of a good story, will sky rocket the piece’s value and a collector will feel, if even falsely so, that he or she has gotten his or her money’s worth. In reality, this meaning is simply an add on and has nothing to do with the quality of the physical piece itself. But we love a good story, and so, normally we will pay extra for it. I carried a Richter painting, one of his candles, from the second floor of Christie’s to the loading dock in the basement. As I was on my way with the painting in hand, the art handler who handed it to me mentioned as an ironic aside that I might want to be careful with this one as it is worth over 13 million dollars.  In an interview, when asked about the high asking prices at the auction houses, Richter says, “…It’s flattering, of course, but at the same time it’s shocking…They do indeed tend to pay far too much for art. There is a huge discrepancy between the true value and the relevance of art and the insane prices people are paying for it.”

I was present during one of these meetings in the Christie’s basement of Rockefeller Center. The group of specialists were looking at a DuBuffet- not a particularly interesting piece by the artist. They were going on about the importance of the previous owners when the head specialist stopped the others and said that because of the crash, they could no longer base their prices on the stories behind the paintings. In the new market, it is only about the DuBuffet itself. It is now a question of how much does the painting look to be worth and not about how much they can make it worth. People are no longer willing to pay the high prices for the stories that go along with the paintings.

On mimicking:

The contemporary world does not need another painter trying to paint like Velázquez. Velázquez fulfilled his roll and it was a necessary roll in the timeline of art history. Those artists who emulate Rembrandt or Velázquez in their pursuit of painting a significant painting are simply emulating art history and not engaging in a dialogue with our current world and our current issues. This goes for an artist who emulates a more contemporary artist such as Francis Bacon or Lucian Freud. These two painters fulfilled, or in Freud’s case- are fulfilling, their rolls. They came to their styles based on their own conclusions. And an artist who makes paintings in the likeness of these artists is simply mimicking. Of course I have my favorite artists, Freud and Velázquez being two of them, and I have certainly borrowed and will continue to borrow elements from their repertoire, but I have borrowed in an attempt to further realize my own means towards reaching a painting. All developing painters do this. It’s a necessary way of looking and researching. The manner in which one comes to making an image in paint should be the most genuine and honest manner possible in relation to the current times. This desire for honesty has brought me to my current, confused state. Exciting but confusing. I am happy with this last self-portrait. I feel like it is the only self-portrait I could come to, if I am to be as genuine as possible. But perhaps the significance I see in it is a result of some sort of self-imposed meaning. Perhaps I am fooling myself with this desire for a genuine response to existing in our contemporary world and inserting meaning where there is none. Perhaps I am going down the wrong path. But to that, at least I can say I am going down the wrong path honestly. (Note: Since this entry I have painted over the most recent self-portrait. It has come to several different “finished” stages and though there was much that I liked about the painting, in the end, there was something that just wasn’t working. It’s best, after several weeks of work, to paint over it and start fresh then to blindly and continuously tweak it.

an early finished stage of Winter Self-Portrait

most recent stage of Winter Self-Portrait

A bit more on the use of photography versus working from life:

My choice to work from life is not something I think about often. It’s a decision that seems natural. However, often I am asked the question of why not take a photograph of the model since it would save time and money. Two things I seem to have very little. I suppose that photography is such a dominating visual medium today that my decision to paint from life must be evaluated from time to time. I have mentioned before, the specific technical reasons for my decision- a photograph is a static display of information. You may not obtain any more information than what is recorded for you in two dimensions in the photograph. Painting from life allows a constant shift of information with each and every second. From the model changing, from the light changing, from my position, my mood, etc- things are constantly in flux which provides me with an infinite number of paths to take the painting down. I can keep the painting open for as long as I wish and add new information for as long as my subject is there in front of me.

When it comes down to it, when the technicalities are stripped away- I paint from life because, for me, it is more fun. Painting from a photograph is incredibly important when first learning how to paint. Translating three dimensions into two dimensions takes an understanding of a specific visual language. A language that, for most people, is not intuitive. Of course, the camera is an expert at this and a photograph is a flawless example of translating 3-D to 2-D. It knows the short cuts. It knows how to condense an infinite amount of tonal information into a finite amount- the bare minimum that is needed for the human brain to understand that a represented object has volume within a represented space. Put simply, in a photograph, the camera has already done the hard work of translating 3-D to 2-D for you. You need only observe the decisions made by the camera in the photograph to understand the basis of the specific visual language of representational painting. A lot can be learned in painting by copying a photograph. In college, I made the decision to leave the photograph. I felt like I had learned enough from it and I wanted to better comprehend this representational language without the photograph as a guide. Mature painters who choose to use the photograph as a resource for their paintings and who already understand this language are able to not only merely copy the photograph, but to manipulate the information that the photograph gives them. This allows them to bring the painting beyond the limitations of the photograph. It’s not a question of which approach to painting is better than the other. What is important is that you truly understand this language of representational painting. Once a painter (who chooses to work from a photo) is familiar with this, then the photograph can become a handy tool assists in the process of translation and does not limit the potential of the painting.

Deer Head 1

Deer Head 2

A quick note on the most recent paintings- with the recent self-portraits and this series of paintings of the deer head, painting has become less about the final outcome and more about the investigation of the 3-D to 2-D translation. Through painting the same subject over and over again, painting becomes considered more as a verb and less as a noun. I reworked SP in Winter Hat after  a friend brought it to my attention that the drawing in the arm was off. I also covered over the red smear that I assumed was absolutely necessary. It’s a stronger painting as a result.

Self Portrait in Winter Hat

Self Portrait in Winter Hat

Last week I began and completed, Self Portrait in Winter Hat, and I believe it comes very close to what I have been after. (Two days vs. nine months (Coup d’Etat)) There are moments of complete, flat abstraction and moments that tend towards volumetric representation. The paint both references itself as the medium, the physical characteristics of oil paint, and at the same time comes together to reference skin stretched over the forehead or the side plane of the hat as it wraps back towards the sky, away from the viewer. The background has turned into a flat plane of green, turned vertical, and applied thickly like butter with a palette knife. The sky creates the illusion of atmospheric depth in which clouds exist in space. But before this illusion is taken too seriously, any sort of depth is denied by the flat brushstrokes at the horizon and, especially, the red mess that exists above the head. Both of which allude to the physical flatness of mere paint on canvas.

Though I feel this painting by no means captures a viewer’s attention like Coup d’Etat or Girl with Watermelon, if I could maintain this balance of realism and abstraction, illusion and the material, in a more complex, less straightforward composition, I think I could create some pretty interesting paintings.

A Painter’s Modern Day Dilemma

I am once again stuck deep in the throws of a painter’s modern day dilemma. This was the cause for much stress and frustration last year during my fellowship at the NYAA. I thought I had come out of it.

Two Nudes

Botticelli, detail, La Primavera

With the industrialization of the photograph, it was said that painting had died. Of course, what that really meant was that the photograph had changed painting forever. The ease of capturing an image from life and transferring it on to a two dimensional surface through photography meant that painting was no longer the authority in that very small nook of representation.

Magritte, Time Transfixed

In the painter’s attempt to make painting still valid, cubism and surrealism came about. Painters created images from reality that a photograph could not. In a way, photography forced painting to depths more substantial that simple reproduction of the real on to canvas. Expressionism, Abstract Expressionism, Minimalism, etc. The dawning of psychoanalysis, the world wars, nuclear bombs aside- a major reason visual art went down the path that it did was because of the painter’s simple need to find validation once the photograph became the dominant form of visual reproduction. Everything else, all the movements fell into place, responding to the movement before, like dominoes.

There is the popular argument that to paint like the “old masters” is no longer valid, that representing the real through certain techniques that have belonged to the trade of painting for centuries is no longer necessary because we are living in a different time. Different times have different problems. Different problems ask for different solutions. I agree that we don’t live the same lives as Van Eyck or Caravaggio but we aren’t that different. And our world and our concerns still revolve around our own image, the human figure. And to completely disengage from our history and to abandon these techniques passed down through the centuries simply because we assume our cultures have evolved, is actually retroactive, not proactive. It is to deny where we came from and in essence, who we are. In fact, I would argue that today, more than ever, the image of the human figure is a dominant form in our psyche. And these techniques are a part of our history therefore, they are a part of us. And they can be expanded upon, but there is no reason to abandon them.

So many painters who have decided that they must make paintings different than the paintings of before, by default, tend towards clumsiness as if clumsiness is the only road a contemporary painter has left to walk down.

Andy Warhol, Campbell Soup Can

The artists today who do paint representationally continue to struggle for validity. After Abstract Expressionism it was hard for the artist to approach representation and when representation again found its voice, it was not with without irony. Even today, representational art is hardly ever found without irony or kitsch or nostalgia. There certainly is nothing wrong with addressing these three elements from time to time in a painting. I have. But they have become the three pillars of contemporary representational painting. They have become a crutch. They provide an easy answer for an artist seeking validity. And this is my dilemma.

Richter’s response as to what he is after in his paintings was perfect. He paints because painting is hope. Creating something good (as in ethically good, not quality) with our own hands is in direct defiance to all that is bad today, ie: war, famine, murder, disaster. And that’s it. That’s all the reason there needs to be. That said, as I’ve mentioned before in this blog, it is no longer enough to paint a pretty girl in a pretty landscape. To do this today is irresponsible. Though, I don’t want to rely on irony to carry my paintings either and I certainly don’t want to preach or lecture the audience about what’s wrong with this world.

I have found myself irreversibly engaged with the vocabulary of the representational language. And I have chosen to inherit the techniques of the past generations of painters and to expand upon these techniques with new answers from new, contemporary problems. I choose not to rely on irony, kitsch, and nostalgia as the only themes a contemporary, figurative painting can take. I want my paintings to be current, refreshing and to stand on their own. Where does this leave me? Where do I go from here?

The Flea-Market Portrait and Death

Not the portrait I saw, but a prime example

The other day I was at a bar on the Lower East Side, or perhaps a restaurant. It doesn’t matter, it was the style of portrait that seems to fit the décor of so many trendy establishments today due to its nostalgic and kitschy qualities. I saw the type of portrait one sees at a flea market or tucked behind some boxes in the corner of someone’s garage. The flea market portrait is almost always executed in an unoffensive, heavy handed, amateurish style that brings to mind the weekend painter-hobbiest. And the sitter can be anyone’s brother or father or sister, mother, or friend, and yet, at the same time, he or she is someone unmistakably specific.

I suppose the charm of these portraits is, in fact, the nostalgia. Like going through old photos of unknown families from generations past, at a second hand store. The loss of the subjects’ identities due to the passing of time turn the photos into a novelty. If you can get past the charm and the kitsch, you are face to face with the mystery of the individual and eventually, you feel a sense of the passing of time, and further, a sense of loss. You come to the realization that someone thought highly of this person. Highly enough that the painter-hobbiest took up the task to attempt to record the likeness of this specific individual in paint, for themselves, for others, and for future generations. Then you ask, so what has happened to this individual? And this is where the sense of loss comes. Since the time that this record was made, he or she has aged and is that much closer to death, if not dead already. And what has happened to the painter-hobbiest? No one cares. Besides the small signature scrolled on the bottom corner of the canvas, the painter-hobbiest’s identity is unknown, if not completely irrelevant. Which is how it should be. These flee market portraits are about the sitter and, as the years roll by, they end up having nothing to do with the painter-hobbiest.

The individuality and the undeniable existence of the sitter in the portrait I saw seemed overly apparent. This, because of the position that the sitter took as he posed for the portrait. As if to underline the passing of the hours in real time and real space, he had chosen to rest his head on his hand and his elbow on the table. His head was heavy and to sit for hours for a portrait, he decided to rest it in his hand, to prop himself up against time and gravity. Had this painting been done from a photo, most likely, the sitter would not have chosen such a cumbersome position. As it is, as he sits in the painting, he expresses his own passing in real time, be it years ago, it is the same passing of time we experience, which places him in our world, which gives him a specific identity and existence.

It is the kitsch that makes it so much easier for people to hang a portrait of an unknown sitter in their house. No one wants a portrait, a realistic portrait, of a specific individual who is unknown to them in their home. But an old portrait is ok, the time has erased the identity, turned it kitsch to a degree, and it is now more about being an OLD portrait and less about the person in the portrait. The same rule applies for more contemporary portraits that are highly stylized- John Currin for example. (I am in no way saying that Currin’s paintings resemble that of the flea market painting- they are two different types of kitsch, on two very different levels.) Currin’s portraits are of  individuals, ie: his wife, but he has turned her into a cartoon, he is embracing the kitsch, therefor erasing her specific identity and as a result, making it easier for the owner of the portrait to coexist with. John Currin’s wife is no longer looking back at you in your living room, instead its some funny looking woman, who certainly doesn’t exist in your world, who is staring at you. And that is easy to live with. The kitsch is a buffer.

Let it be paint first and a representation of the subject second…

The Large Multi-figure Painting in Progress

I finished Christophe’s figure, last Saturday, on the large canvas. The painting is getting close to being completed. I have finished Derrick’s figure as well. The major elements left to be resolved are Alan’s arms and hands along with finishing touches of the body, Julie’s feet and lower legs, most of Daniel, Liliana, and spots here and there to tie it all together. When all is done, this painting will have taken me nearly a year to complete.

"Fine Thanks, And You?"

I worked on another large watermelon still life/landscape at the same time, these past few weeks. Only, in this new one, I treated it more towards the extreme end of what I have been talking about in the past blogs- in terms of more texture/impasto and more gestural brushwork. I paid attention mostly to the manner in which the paint was applied- smearing, wiping, scratching, reapplying, etc. I allowed for accident as much as possible. And in the end, I wasn’t happy. There are moments I absolutely love, the series of thick green strokes of paint that run over a vibrating pink on the upper left side of the whole watermelon. The paint is raised high above the surface of the canvas and looks like it is suspended above the pink layer beneath. I love the glazing in the sky of oranges and spots of cool greys. And I like the single piece of the fruit on the lower right side, its simple, like some sort of calligraphy, an abbreviated note that implies a chunk of watermelon.

But that’s all.

The painting as a whole, gives off a sense of impatience, generalization, and a lack of resolution. Perhaps I was a bit impatient once I saw where the painting was going. But I’m glad I did it. I pushed it to the far end of something that has intrigued me- to see what might happen. I believe its good to get carried away from time to time and ruin a painting or two. You learn a lot. Most likely, I will crop the watermelon on the left and scrap the rest, using the stretcher bars for something else.

There is something to be said about the quiet, unassuming presence of the smaller watermelon paintings. The attention to detail. Time is slowed down for a moment in these. I enjoy the slow process of analyzing the surface of the thing in front of me and breaking it down into a combination of colors, inch by square inch. One gets lost in this process and,over time, things begin to fit together, the elements in the painting begin to fall into place and there is such a wonderful feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment. Its like being three quarters of the way through a crossword puzzle. The bulk of the puzzle is finished and the words already discovered begin to inform the ones left blank, and things begin to fall into place, one word after another. Its a very satisfying feeling and its what is happening with my large, multifigure painting. It is also something that never happened with the large watermelon still life/landscape. It is as if, in order to retain the gesture and the sort of, violence, in the mark making, I was never able to get past the preliminary stage of blocking things in ( the first stage of any representational painting where the local color, the general shape and light and dark masses are first determined- a long way before any detail is considered.)

I suppose much is learned in failure. Bringing the painting to that extreme has a helped to underline what I already knew- my paintings are strongest when they have elements of both slow detail and quick, gestured strokes. Moments where one can get lost in the intricacies and detail in one place on the canvas and then come across a violent tantrum of brushstrokes in another. Its important to have variety- these elements compliment each other.

Velázquez is a painter who understood this well. In fact, he made it his signature. The faces of a portrait is done with a delicate touch, the features have been observed slowly and carefully and then in the clothing or background, right against the face, the brushstrokes dance quickly and lightly across the canvas.

detail of brushwork on Julie's leg.

I feel like I am coming close to successfully combining both paces of painting in my large, multifigure painting. Each figure is composed of slow glazes juxtaposed against opaque, wet on wet (alla prima). There is a moment, halfway up Julie’s thigh where the brushstrokes become more gestural and flatten out a bit into nothing more than paint, as it describes a transition in tone. Alan’s figure is mostly done from layers of glazes, but then moments like his left breast and, hopefully, his arms, when I complete them, have a more immediate handling of wet on wet. Christophe’s face, now that it has been reworked (I couldn’t leave it as a smear, it wasn’t fitting with the rest of the canvas) is composed of opaque detail. His hand, the one holding the melon piece, is more of an open gesture- hopefully preventing the viewer from getting stuck at the edge of the canvas. The face has taken me several hours – the hand with melon, probably 15 minutes.

Detail of Christophe's portrait.

Detail of Julie's portrait

After attending the Dumbo open studios yesterday and seeing a few paintings here and there, I realize how incredibly important it is to have faith in the medium itself, to not try to have complete control over it, otherwise you run the risk of making the image stale and stiff. Let it be paint first and a representation of the subject second.

“What’s Up With the Fish?”

“What’s Up With the Fish?”

I suppose I should address the question since it comes up from time to time. And I am asked the same question now, in my new series that revolves around another food, the watermelon. As a figurative painter, I spend a good chunk of my time analyzing forms in detail. Occasionally, a specific form will strike me for whatever reason and my new found interest in it will run its course- this might take an entire series to get it out of my system. And sometimes, as in the case of the human figure, it will, hopefully, never be exhausted.

Fish are unique creatures. They come from an environment we know little about and their forms are incredibly foreign to us. They are the subject of many a monster story. Fish come in endless sizes and shapes, their colors range the spectrum, their metallic skin can glisten the brightest highlight or be dull and muddy. They can be some of the most graceful and beautiful animals and some of the most horrifying. Their varieties make them incredibly compelling from the standpoint of the representational painter. And their faces can take on the caricature of the human face.

The watermelon’s proportion is compatible with the human figure, more so than a lot of fruit. It is large enough so that it doesn’t get lost in a figurative composition. It is obese, “rubenesque”, bulging at the brink of exploding from its own fertility. It is a vessel of complimentary colors- rich, velvety reds against dark greens. The intricate pattern of light to dark green stripes run along its surface, wrapping around the melon, enhancing the volume visually. It can be easily personified. A delicate skin, encasing a heavy mess of red, wet, heavy innards.

Actually, both the fish and the watermelon make great visual metaphors for the human body.

When I was painting the nudes with fish series, I was aware of the historic, religious symbolism that a fish carries with it. The dead fish becomes a martyr. A thing of somber beauty. And, so, the figure takes on this characteristic as well. But, also, I wanted to play the soft warm flesh of the naked figure against the cold, slimy, scaly flesh of the dead fish- hopefully creating a slightly unsettling element to the paintings.

The watermelon, unlike the fish, is an object that doesn’t carry much art historical weight. There is not much symbolism attached with this fruit. This has allowed me to incorporate it more freely into the compositions. I have been using the melon as a metaphor for the human figure and the carnal, fertile, and excessive nature of our species. In my two landscapes with watermelon, I wanted to paint the melon as a fertile fruit at the peak of its ripeness, with an element of what is to come after- the slow decay- this is referred to by the dead palm tree in one painting, and the flies in the other. I hope that the absurdity of the image invites the viewer to see it as a reflection on the rise and fall of our own lives.

An aside: An interesting development in Art History- the Met recently cleaned the Portrait of a Man, which has been attributed for some time now to Velazquez’s workshop- just shy of being attributed to the man himself. Now, after having cleaned it, they believe, and other Velazquez experts agree, that it is in fact, an original Velazquez. Read the article: www.nytimes.com/2009/09/10/arts/design/10velazquez.html?_r=2&ref=design

On the chaotic tendency of paint…and us(?):

An artist was painting a model’s portrait during a demonstration at the Academy. After about an hour or so into the demo the painting had reached a stage in its development in which it could have been considered finished. It was well painted and looked like the model on the other side of the canvas. At this point, the artist took a glob of muddy paint from his palette and flung it onto the face of the portrait. He then proceeded to smear the paint across the surface with a blending brush until the resemblance was no longer discernible. Someone watching the demonstration asked the question that we were all thinking- Why destroy such a nice painting. The artist responded by saying that it had been too easy. He then began to paint the model once again, bringing the face back out of the mud- eventually.

I believe what he meant by it being “too easy” was this… A painting is by necessity of the process, a record of a “struggle”. There is a history and a story in the paint itself once it has adhered to the linen. Through smearing, scratching, wiping off and reapplying, the paint is a record of the physical gestures of the artist in his or her attempt and “struggle” to create an image. These are the “flaws” and the “mistakes” recorded in the paint, and they are the most exciting moments of a painting. Standing in front of Rembrandt’s self portrait of 1660 at the Met, I remember coming across an area in the hairline, where the skin of the artist’s forehead and his wiry hair meet where he used the back of his brush to scratch through the fresh paint to the dry layer underneath to suggest a few dark, unruly strands of hair. This was a very exciting moment for me- it reminded me that though he may be one of the biggest figures in the history of painting- he still used the back of his brush. He still scratched and smeared and clumped and wiped and globbed. He still was human just like me. Also, in so many of Velazquez’s paintings, one can see a faint outline of paint that runs along the sides of his subjects (I know there is a term for this, almost specifically for this phenomenon as it relates to Velazquez)- as if one is seeing double. (Notice the ghost image of the Pope’s robe as it runs along his leg, or the black outline along his hand and the paper he is clutching.) This is a record of Velazquez’s constant reworking of the edges of a form. Over time, certain colors have faded, and the reworking that had been hidden when the painting was finished, has worked its way back to the surface, and so we are able to trace Velazquez’s steps. (There are also wonderful moments where you can see where he would wipe the paint off his brush right onto the canvas.) Many of Degas’ ballerinas have two or three right arms (in the drawings at least) as he redrew the outlines of a limb over and over again until he felt he had it “right”.

Times have changed. It has been said that Michelangelo destroyed all of his “bad” drawings to erase evidence of any flaw or imperfection that might be seen as a strike against his mastery as a draughtsman. This was a time when there was a canon for the ideal figure and man was the measure of all things, etc. But a pretty painting of a pretty face is no longer enough. (I’m not suggesting that that was all that Michelangelo’s drawings, paintings and sculptures were about. But he certainly, up until the Last Judgment in the Sistine Chapel, celebrated the ideal man, as was the philosophy of the entire Renaissance.) There will always be painters to paint pretty paintings for those who wish to merely skim the surface of what it means to be a human being and perhaps have something nice to compliment their sofa. But as far as a painting is a reflection of a society, these artists are perhaps in denial and are not giving their audience enough credit.

The contemporary person is fully aware that they are a vessel of extreme complexity, contradictions and imperfections. Unlike Michelangelo’s man (again, pre-Last Judgment), today’s man is more often an animal first and a god dead last. We have shifted from an obsession in human perfection to an obsession in the complex and sometimes disturbing human psyche. Mainstream, contemporary film is a testament to this- no one wants to watch a movie about a flawless person. This would be utterly boring. And, to bring it back home- the same thing is true in painting.

Being colored mud, oil lends itself to our most primal levels of existence. In the hands of a beginner, it tends towards chaos then ends in brown sludge. Trying to fight this natural digression only makes it worse. A good painter uses this important trait of oil paint to his or her advantage. The artist, being prone to accident but struggling towards order, should allow for mistakes and a little bit of the paint’s inherent chaos. And in return, the paint will record life and give the painting itself a more lifelike existence.

PS- I’ve come to enjoy using the underside of my fist to smear the paint around if things are a little too “easy”. It moves all of the fresh paint at once and not in layers like a brush would.