Monday, 26 November 2012
Pretty
"Artwork by Erin O'Malley" Photography from a curious eye and an uncharted mind. Exploring the interaction of light with macro photography, this blog documents the artist’s journey of translating impressions from altered states to normalcy.
Tuesday, 9 October 2012
Friday, 5 October 2012
Jean-François Millet, The Angelus, c. 1857-59
A man and a woman are reciting the Angelus, a prayer which commemorates the annunciation made to Mary by the angel Gabriel. They have stopped digging potatoes and all the tools used for this task – the potato fork, the basket, the sacks and the wheelbarrow – are strewn around them. In 1865, Millet said: “The idea for The Angelus came to me because I remembered that my grandmother, hearing the church bell ringing while we were working in the fields, always made us stop work to say the Angelus prayer for the poor departed”. So it was a childhood memory which was behind the painting and not the desire to glorify some religious feeling; besides Millet was not a church-goer. He wanted to catch the immutable rhythms of peasant life in a simple scene. Here he has focused on a short break, a moment of respite.
Alone in the foreground in a huge empty plain, the two peasants take on a monumental quality, despite the small size of the canvas. Their faces are left in shadow, while the light underlines their gestures and posture. The canvas expresses a deep feeling of meditation and Millet goes beyond the anecdote to the archetype.
Perhaps that explains the extraordinary destiny ofThe Angelus: it triggered an unbelievable rush of patriotic fervour when the Louvre tried to buy it in 1889, was venerated by Salvador Dali, lacerated by a madman in 1932 and became a world-famous icon in the 20th century.
Beyond "So what?"
Greetings!
Last night, Catherine Stock of Rignac, France wrote, "I wonder if you could write a letter on how to elevate one's work beyond the 'So what?' level. That's where I'm stuck. I can draw and paint pretty well, but--so what? I would imagine there are a few of us out there with this problem."
Thanks, Catherine. You're right. "So what?" is universal and as insidious as studio termites. Here are a few thoughts:
Deus ex machina, according to Wikipedia, means "God from the machine." It's a literary and theatrical plot device whereby a seemingly unsolvable problem is suddenly and abruptly solved with the contrived and unexpected intervention of some new event, character, ability, or object. Roughly translated as "God made it happen," it's primarily used to move the story forward when a writer has "painted himself into a corner."
Using this concept, you need to ask yourself what extraordinary thing could be made to happen in your picture. It could be, among many things, a burst of light or an unlikely inclusion. You need to think of something just a bit magical. An engagement of imagination brings a shot of emotion, drama or surprise. This visual epiphany, devised or not, is key to entering the sensibilities of others. Artists who merely rest on their drawing or other facility are forever condemned to the back room.
Another valuable blah-reducing ploy is to do inventive things with your surfaces. This might include adding crusty impasto (a la Lucien Freud), flinty fidges of gradation and zip, (a la Paul Cezanne) or smears and smudges (a la Francis Bacon). But it's the nuances you invent and make yourself--embedded in your processes--that neutralize creative boredom and give energy to carry on. "This is mine" chisels out your claim. Your embellishment may not even be very good, but it will be yours. "A poor thing, but my own," is a line attributed to Shakespeare. A unique design, mannerism, or touch of your own is worth more than any rich thing that belongs to someone else.
Best regards,
Robert
PS: "A work of art is the unique result of a unique temperament. Its beauty comes from the fact that the author is what he is." (Oscar Wilde) "Common objects become strangely uncommon when removed from their context and ordinary ways of being seen." (Wayne Thiebaud)
Esoterica: There's a natural human tendency to lean on and repeat that which we do well. This is okay if we're cranking out donuts or widgets. But as self-anointed creative artists, our daily joy and progress rest on our ability to jump beyond our safety. Look steadily and imaginatively at the blah in front of you. Given time and contemplation, your new level will stealthily appear. When "So what?" strikes, we ask ourselves "What now?"
Friday, 28 September 2012
I have just returned to the Namibian desert.
What if through interspecies collaboration we could explore our shared imagination? We are accustomed to seeing stories through the eyes of human beings. That is why, in many of these images, the human eyes continue to be closed and the animals’ eyes are open. It is the animals that gaze out at the world and tell us their stories.
Gregory Colbert
Thursday, 27 September 2012
David Maisel: Library of Dust
New York City based artist David Maisel brings our attention to ethics and aesthetics in a most sublime way. His most recent project titled Library of Dust is a series of photographs of unclaimed and forgotten copper canisters containing the cremated remains of patients from a state-run psychiatric hospital. The science behind these eery though beautifully aged canisters lies in the copper, as it goes through chemical transformation due to prolonged contact with it’s contents. The outcome is striking enough, but it’s possible that the pull between matter and spirit is what makes this series so fervent. What we’re dealing with here is a conflict of sorts. We have these colorful, blooming canisters almost calling for our visual attention; however, time was ever necessary in the process of this chemical transformation, some urns having sat unclaimed by family since 1883. Thus to the surface also rises themes of neglect, remiss, and more impatiently, our own mortality. Maisel comments on the library in which these are canisters are numbered from 01 to 5,118: “Imagine the many separate fates that led these thousands of individuals to this room. What combination of choice and chance, of illness, of representation and misrepresentation, an infinite number of slippages multiplied more than three thousand times over, circumscribes this room, this library.” The artist also poses the question: is it possible that some form of spirit lives on?
Friday, 14 September 2012
New paintings by David Tomlin
Thursday, 13 September 2012
Monday, 10 September 2012
Suzanne Opton, Soldier/Many Wars (Decode, 2011)
Thursday, 6 September 2012
Paul McGuire
Tuesday, 4 September 2012
Tuesday, 28 August 2012
Jean-Paul Riopelle, Pavane, 1954
From the National Gallery of Canada: Jean Paul Riopelle was one of the most ambitious artists of the group “Les Automatistes”. The artist applied paint directly to the surface of the canvas using a palette knife, blending each mark in a free, abstract and automatic gesture. Space is created by the relationships of colours as they intersect or lay in close proximity to each other. This creates an animated surface, with some colours receding and some dancing forward. This monumental triptych was first exhibited in Canada in 1963 as part of the artist’s retrospective at the National Gallery of Canada, and its title refers to a Spanish dance that originated in the 16th century. The dance incorporates a stately and processional rhythm, which is captured in the energy and movement of this painting.
Jean-Paul Riopelle, Untitled, 1953
From the National Gallery of Canada: Inspired by his admiration for Claude Monet’s waterlily paintings, Riopelle, by spray painting the colours, captures the water’s properties of transparency and infinite depth as well as its shimmering surface. India ink, applied in daubs and dripping lines, replicates the effect of the waterlilies which float on the surface and whose tendrils penetrate the liquid colour. This drawing is an important new direction in the artist’s work which will lead him to his masterworks such as “Pavane” 1954.
Monday, 27 August 2012
Animals in the Womb
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