looking at Philip Guston

I have long looked at these two drawings as they face one another in a large book about him which I pick up from time to time to see how a painter from his generation looks today barely 60 years on. 

I have always marvelled at the top one but felt disappointed by the one underneath it.

Why?

It makes me curious about my own thinking and my own sense of craft. 

I imagine they are both 'drawn from a motif', that is to say, from a still-life but that seems irrelevant to my point. Whether done from imagination, memory, or motif, it's all the same to me; a drawing either succeeds or it fails, mostly,... sort of.

Ruthless I am! Yes... but hey; an experience of art should be intoxicating. So if one wants to get drunk, why not pick the best wine?

The drawing above opens itself to the page. There is a luminosity which pours through its entire surface and which creates different spaces. Its light moves but does not seem to stop. In fact, it feels quite Japanese in this regard. I like it very much because it appears to be breathing each time I visit with it. Most importantly, it surprises, and this, for me, is an essential part of why I  crave the artistic experience as a maker or spectator.

The drawing below, the longer I look at it, never seems to get moving; it feels clogged up somewhere; suffocating, unable to open up to the page upon which it was born. 

But it isn't a bad drawing, it's just one which does not possess that spontaneous clarity which I find in the drawing above it. It is more of a declaration about itself than a question, and I like questions.

a reprint from 2013, but I find it so relevant

04 June 2013

surprise!

I just arrived back in France from England, and while driving south I was listening to France Inter; a discussion between Francois Busnel and the writer Antoine Compagnon concerning Proust and Montaigne. Compagnon said that literature must principally evoke a sense of the 'surprise'. He added that a reader must never read the preface before jumping into the book. 

"One should not lose out on the pleasure of reading by too much pedagogy". 

("..il ne faut surtout pas, surtout pas supprimer ce plaisir par trop de pédagogie"...)

I bring all this up because recently in the Museum of Contemporary Art in Kanawaza, Japan (but it could be almost any Contemporary venue today) I moved through an exhibition while reading the fact-sheet which I was given to explain the works and the artists exhibiting. There are, these days, certain code phrases which let one know that one is in a Contemporary Museum space:

"...the artist engages our sensibilities.."

"...he has created a world that calls our attention to ..."

"A continuing investigation of life and death is the theme informing all facts of..."

"...we remain confused by...."

"These works which compel us to question our 

visual understanding of the world and everyday 

awareness, engender a mysterious world of a 

different dimension...."

I am often surprised to discover that I am 'supposed to feel this', and I am 'supposed think that', that I was supposed to 'question this' and 'be confronted' by that. I have barely the freedom to have my own experience in front of a work of art as I am assaulted by what the curators and artists have already programmed me to experience. No doubt they do not trust that we, (the public), can be trusted to 'get it' without being armed to the teeth with all sorts of information and philosophical questions. But isn't it all a bit maddening? I mean: where is the poetry, after all?

Thus, how refreshing it was to hear a writer proclaim that surprise, an element so duly overlooked, it would seem, is a crucial necessity for entry into the world of literature, for this writer, (and reader). In other words: what is the point of our imagination if we cannot be present for our own experience in front of a work of art, even at the great, and delicious risk of getting lost in it?

So the questions begs: If one agrees with this premise, then; why the disconnect between the 'Visual Arts' and 'literature', and, how come the Visual Arts have been hijacked by intellectuals and anthropologists? 

curtains

This is a painting I made in France back in 2013. I was painting a series of large pictures about the sea which were completely invented from my imagination while landlocked in Dieulefit for the summer, and about 200 kms from the coast.

I must have been thinking of all the awful things I was reading about and seeing concerning the condition of our oceans. When I went to swim off the beaches in Marseille I was so appalled and ashamed that it was so poluted with human junk. At the same time I felt grateful that I had made the move to a small coastal town in Australia. The French coastline is filthy, full of cigarette butts. and plastic bags and cups. The beaches and calanques too were littered with ever imaginable refuse from our plastic life. What are we going to do about it?

Point of No Return

      “Trunkenes Paar” (“Drunken Couple”) (1981) by Lutz FleischerCreditInGestalt/Michael Ehritt; Lutz Fleischer

Love this painting, unusually light-hearted for German painting.

from the New York Times  

• July 24, 2019

The show, running through Nov. 3 at the Museum of Fine Arts in Leipzig, is just a few hundred yards from the church where activists began regularly gathering in 1989 to push for change in the stifling, authoritarian East Germany, officially known as the German Democratic Republic, or G.D.R.

The exhibition, “Point of No Return,” is billed as the biggest so far of East German art, featuring 300 works by more than 100 artists, including dissidents who defied the communist regime and established figures who taught in its institutions.

“Der Agitator (Rufer)” (1988) by Hans TichaCredit                             Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York/VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn

                         Paul Kaiser, one of the curators of “Point of No Return,” said that “30 years after the fall of the wall, the process of categorizing East German art within the Pan-German context is still conflict-ridden and incomplete.” The exhibition was “a further step in synthesizing the history of East German art into German art history,” he added, and in countering its “politicization and devaluation.”

the holy whale!

i-phone photo of the beast in question

This twilight sky has become my 'Moby Dick, My white whale', 'My dearest holy grail'. I am not sure how it happened but it has evolved slowly over time. 

I have always loved being anywhere by the sea at that hour when dusk seeps into the night. The hour of the wolf, some call it. And, it is not always the same everywhere in the world; similar, but not at all the same.

So thus, on a dune on an eastern point of Australia I find myself painting this motif in order to explore the faintest possibility of success. And though I know it is illusionary I have come to accept  its divine impossibility. Unlike the tortured Captain Ahab scouring the seas in a grumpy state for his Moby Dick, I gingerly maintain my patient vigil from a small dune for I know that each session brings me closer to thee.

more to be revealed

Evening Prayer Brunswick Heads, 28 July, 2019, oil on canvas board, 25 X 30 cm.

first drafts

at the very beginning

Evening Prayer Brunswick Heads,  19 July, 2019, oil on canvas board, 30 X 40 cm

The top image is taken from the easel after the first strokes have been articulated  after mixing a palette. The second is the finished result.

After that, I have no idea where I am going. only It is the colours on the palette, and a vague sense of a drawing prompt my intuition. The sense of joy is in the 'not knowing'.

Sometimes, I wish I could simply keep these canvas boards like that; to hold those first strokes in their very sober, almost zen-like state. But I lack the right amount of chutzpah.

I don't put them aside them though, I jump into the canvas board with the appetite of a mad man. What I leave is a study of what was. They are both real and unreal, like the Art I like.

large paintings

Evening Prayer Brunswick Heads, 28 April, 2019, oil on canvas board, 30 X 40 cm

This was done back in April, and it is one which has inspired larger versions in the studio since then. It is very difficult to 'reproduce' a picture away from the original motif. There are so many considerations, one of which is the sheer amount of paint involved as the image scales up from 30 X 40 cm to 150 X 150 cm. And the cost of paint here in Australia is stratospheric. But also,  questions abound; principally, why bother? It is true that the 'studies' done from a small rise on a dune behind the beach have a raw and often rich sense of spontaneity, but they still remain small pictures. And, I love large paintings in my own home or anywhere, ones which sit quietly on the wall without much fanfare or need to make a point. I love a painting which continually asks questions but do not answer them but nor do they feel like images which resemble a banal decoration which feed boredom from overexposure. For me, I yearn always for a painting (large or small) which still possesses a life of its own, a spontaneous touch, and one which can be lived with day in and day out. That is why I have paintings around my home, done by me and others.

fading quickly

Evening Prayer Brunswick Heads, 19 July, 2019, oil on canvas board, 25 X 20 cm

After making a larger study of this motif, the sky was still pulsating with light so I grabbed a smaller board from my pack, and jumped into it. My palette was barely visible but I knew where the messy colours were placed. The light was fading quickly but a moon was sitting somewhere. Happily, this came easily. 

Rothko and me

         

Evening Prayer Brunswick heads, 29 June 2019, oil on canvas board, 30 X 25 cm

Several people have recently remarked that my pictures resemble those of Mark Rothko. I was a bit surprised as he has never figured into my educational sensibilities. So I went to look at his work on Google. Of course, I was familiar with some of work over so many visits to museums around the world but I have never been so attracted to it. Online however, I found several images which I liked very much, but maybe that is because they felt to me like landscapes with a discernible horizon. These pictures of mine were made from a motif in front of Nature. I believe that Rothko’s were done in a studio in New York. So, I am now interested in what he was thinking about, what moved him; what inspired him to paint his pictures? I ordered this book with a sexy cover (below), in hopes that it will answer some of these questions. All I know about this poor guy is that he killed himself. Most original artists are to a great degree un-conformist, and sometimes just plain weird. I know, because I have been told the latter about myself. More to be revealed.

Evening Prayer Brunswick Heads, 17 July, 2019

Evening Prayer Brunswick Heads, 17 July, 2019, oil on canvas board, 30 X 40

After two years of working from this twilight motif I begin to know it, feel it, and worship it. It is is not curse like Ahab's pursuit for his white whale, but a kind of divine, benign, and sensual puzzle. It beckons me further and further into its secret labyrinth  of misty colours each night. Will I ever arrive? Certainly not, but I am getting closer, somewhere.

I often wonder to myself that I just might be the wealthiest soul on earth. For each night, as I set up a palette to work, I am given another chance to paint this gift, this perfect horizon which has been offered up to everyone on the beach here. But I, like Prometheus, get to steal it from the Gods each night. 

Truth in Nature

Evening Prayer Brunswick Heads, 27 May, 2019, oil on canvas board, 30 X 40 cm

"Truth is in Nature, and I shall prove it."
Paul Cézanne 

Morrandi defies chaos

In this time of worldly angst it is reassuring to me that Giorgio Morrandi painted this gentle picture in 1942, at the height of World War Two, in his home town of Bologna Italy. It is from his garden I believe. Art is the solution against cruelty, and it outlives the chaos of man's greed and ignorance  

Evening Prayer Brunswick Heads 15 December 2017

Evening Prayer Brunswick Heads, 6 December 2017, oil on canvas board, 25 X 20 cm

Continuing these small studies from a little rise in the dunes most nights brings one the a great sense of pleasure. Even if the entire day has felt wasted, or irrelevant, by making a small painting gives me satisfaction. 

Evening Prayer, 24 November 2017

After a long hiatus, I am back to working from the motif most nights. As what Walter Pater sought in Art; experiences of brilliant intensity that promise "nothing but the highest quality to your moments as they pass and simply for those moments' sake"*

Whether one is painting (or taking in a picture), it is thus.

So, an otherwise banal horizon is at the mercy of how the sun and the clouds dance over the sea. These are prayers and small meditations at twilight.

*Taken from that great book by Stanley Fish entitled How to Write a Sentence.

Evening Prayer, Brunswick Heads, 24 November 2017, oil on canvas board, 30 X 25 cm

Richard Tuttle revisited

I confess that when I first encountered the work of Richard Tuttle I was aghast. And even the second time I encountered it in New York at the Whitney sometime in the 90's I was even more aghast. It went against everything I thought I understood about Art up until then. 

A few years later however, after a subtle immersion into the ideas surrounding Art and Nature in Japanese thinking, I awakened to the beauty of expressed minimalism, if I can call it that. Then I came across Richard Tuttle's work again, and I kind of fell in love for the first time. 

Looking backward barely 40 years it is hard to imagine that his works could have provoked such an outrage, but then his influence was a tsunami of sorts for young art students everywhere. In fact, I cannot think of an artist who has been such a driving force of influence in art schools, and in academic thinking generally than Tuttle. He has merged the Personal with the Academic, and not always for the better I think.

It is a minimalism which made meaty and materialistic America uncomfortable.  

dusk at sea

This was done last week, very small at 25 X 25 cm. It is just a study of the mind, an excuse to mix the delicate colours of twilight when everything goes to the grey tones.
I read recently that painting could be really 'important' (meaning, I suppose of a political or socio-ethnic kind of statement)

Or, it it was referred to as a 'pastime' which was pejorative. I rather liked it; Pastime, even better, maybe; Past times in painting.

It is after all a kind of meditation one can make before Nature. 

Twilight series at the beach in Australia.

                                                        March ? 2017, 25 X 18 cm

What can seem like a banal beach scene often turns into something magical just after the sun sets behind me. These are studies of just the sea and sky. Whatever happens, in any weather I try to interrupt it with paint.

a sad day for artistic and intellectual freedom....

White Artist’s Painting of Emmett Till at Whitney Biennial Draws Protests

By RANDY KENNEDY•MARCH 21, 2017

Dana Schutz’s “Open Casket,” a 2016 painting in the Whitney Biennial. Collection of the artist 

The open-coffin photographs of the mutilated body of Emmett Till, the teenager who was lynched by two white men in Mississippi in 1955, served as a catalyst for the civil rights movement and have remained an open wound in American society since they were first published in Jet magazine and The Chicago Defender at the urging of Till’s mother.

The images’ continuing power, more than 60 years later, to speak about race and violence is being demonstrated once again in protests that have arisen online and at the newly opened Whitney Biennial over the decision of a white artist, Dana Schutz, to make a painting based on the photographs.

An African-American artist, Parker Bright, has conducted peaceful protests in front of the painting since Friday, positioning himself, sometimes with a few other protesters, in front of the work to partly block its view. He has engaged museum visitors in discussions about the painting while wearing a T-shirt with the words “Black Death Spectacle” on the back. Another protester, Hannah Black, a British-born black artist and writer working in Berlin, has written a letter to the biennial’s curators, Mia Locks and Christopher Y. Lew, urging that the painting be not only removed from the show but also destroyed.

“The subject matter is not Schutz’s,” Ms. Black wrote in a Facebook message that has been signed by more than 30 other artists she identifies as nonwhite. “White free speech and white creative freedom have been founded on the constraint of others, and are not natural rights. The painting must go.” She added that “contemporary art is a fundamentally white supremacist institution despite all our nice friends.”

The protest has found traction on Twitter, where some commenters have called for destruction of the painting and others have focused on what they view as an ill-conceived attempt by Ms. Schutz to aestheticize an atrocity.

10m: Dana Schutz should have read Saidiya Hartman before she turned Emmett Till into a bad Francis Bacon painting. #WhitneyBiennial

— cathy park hong (@cathyparkhong) 3:36 AM - 18 Mar 2017

@whitneymuseum I think it's mighty disrespectful for you all to display Dana Schutz' photo of Emmet Till. You should really remove this

— Mahdi 陈 🌹 (@My_D_) 6:23 AM - 18 Mar 2017

Mr. Bright, in a Facebook Live video of his protest, makes some of the same points in objecting to the painting’s inclusion in the show. The biennial is an unusually diverse exhibition of work by 63 artists and collectives; nearly half the artists are female and half are nonwhite. Calling the painting “a mockery” and “an injustice to the black community,” Mr. Bright adds that he believes the work perpetuates “the same kind of violence that was enacted” on Till “just to make a painting move.”

“I feel like she doesn’t have the privilege to speak for black people as a whole or for Emmett Till’s family,” Mr. Bright says in the video. He also objects to the thought that the painting could be sold and make Ms. Schutz, whose work is highly sought after, a significant amount of money.

Ms. Schutz, who first exhibited the painting last year in a gallery in Berlin, has stated that she intends never to sell the work. In a statement on Tuesday, Ms. Schutz said: “I don’t know what it is like to be black in America but I do know what it is like to be a mother. Emmett was Mamie Till’s only son. The thought of anything happening to your child is beyond comprehension. Their pain is your pain. My engagement with this image was through empathy with his mother.” She added: “Art can be a space for empathy, a vehicle for connection. I don’t believe that people can ever really know what it is like to be someone else (I will never know the fear that black parents may have) but neither are we all completely unknowable.”

The curators said that they wanted to include the painting because many of the exhibition’s artists focus on violence — racial, economic, cultural — and they felt that the work raised important questions, especially now, in a political climate in which race, power and privilege have become ever more urgent issues.

“For us it was so much about an issue that extends across race,” said Mr. Lew, who along with his co-curator, Ms. Locks, met with Mr. Bright on Tuesday to discuss his protest. “Yes, it’s mostly black men who are being killed, but in a larger sense this is an American problem.”

Ms. Locks said: “Right now I think there are a lot of sensitivities not just to race but to questions of identities in general. We welcome these responses. We invited these conversations intentionally in the way that we thought about the show.” She added that she felt the painting was a means of “not letting Till’s death be forgotten, as Mamie, his mother so wanted.”

The story of Till’s murder has begun to resonate loudly again in recent months. News recently emerged that the Mississippi woman who said that the 14-year-old Till whistled at her and was verbally and physically aggressive — an account that led to Till’s abduction, torture and killing — told a historian in 2007 that she had made up the most sensational part of her account.

The Black Lives Matter movement and greater awareness of the killing of black men by the police have led to efforts to film the Till story, with at least three screen adaptations in production.

                                                                                                            

The green sea

Evening Prayer Brunswick Heads, 15 February 2017, oil on canvas, 21 X 26 cm

From about a week ago comes this study from a dune at the beach where I work most nights. Its a very banal beach scene until the sun begins to set, then, all hell breaks loose.

And it's a great meditation on the sea and clouds.

Hiatus

Evening Prayer Brunswick Heads, 5 February, 2017, oil on canvas board, 21 X 26 cm

I am woefully negligent in keeping up this blog but hopefully I will get back to it on a regular basis.

I have been working from Nature, specifically at the beach in front of an immense sky and   thick band of sea. One could say it is a 'banal' vision of unordinary beauty. A beach and sky is all it is. And I use the word beauty with care because it is such an emotionally charged idea for so many post-modernists. However, beauty is a deeply personal concept, if one can call it that. It is certainly more than just a word even as highly over-used as it is. It is right up there with genius in its overuse. After all, John Keats did say in Ode to a Grecian Urn 'Beauty is truth, truth beauty'. Obviously, being a romantic, I am from another planet when it comes to all this. But I am a painter who too, who in front of Nature simply wishes to transmit an emotional feeling to another human being. But this is not the reason I paint. I paint because it makes life more real for me, and I live better each day as a result.

About a month ago I began a series of small studies done just as the sun has dropped back behind the earth's horizon. It is that time of day when Nature prepares for sleep commonly know as Twilight, or Dusk; both equally sensual in meaning and in sound. It's a time of day when I finally awaken. The French call it 'l'heure entre le chien et le loup' The hour between the dog and the wolf, otherwise known simply as 'the hour of the wolf'. But I am not really comfortable with this. For me it is a time when everything moves with delicious speed. The colours in Nature prepare for death it could be said, and felt. At the sea, with my back to the setting sun, I witness this moment when all colours in the sky correlate chromatically with those of the sea below. One has such a small window within which to operate. And, indeed I often feel like a kind of solitary surgeon desperately trying to keep a small painting alive as all hell break loose in front of me. It is for this reason that one works. Turner, for whom I have always felt an affinity, loved the wild and destructive force of the sea, and it is known that he had himself even attached to the mast of a ship during a storm at sea. 

In any case, at the end of a long day, painting these small things is a ritual of great importance for me.

More to be revealed.

when life imitates art

Nadal, and the art of photography!

Such a marvelous photograph! If I knew the artist's name I would credit him or her.

Rodin's hands

From Conversations with Stravinsky

"I made his (Rodin's) acquaintance in the Grand Hotel in Rome shortly after the beginning of the First World War. Diaghilev had organized a benefit concert there in which I conducted the Suite from Petrouschka.

I confess I was more interested in him because of his fame than because of his art for I did not share the enthusiasm of his numerous and serious admirers. I met him again, some time later at one of our ballet performances in Paris. He greeted me kindly, as though I were an old acquaintance, and at that moment I remembered the impression his fingers had made on me at our first handshaking. They were soft, quite the contrary of what I had expected, they did not seem to belong to a male hand. He had a long white beard that reached down to the navel of his long, buttoned-up surtout, and white hair covered his entire face. He sat reading a Ballet Russe programme though a pince-nez while people waited patiently for the great old artist to stand up as they passed in his row..."