Writing About My Practice - Versions 1 and 2

For our graduate program we are asked to write about our individual art practices.  This exercise aims to clarify, for ourselves, what our art making is about and to what ends it leads.  I definitely struggle with articulating my artistic practice.  Besides the fact that I think there's a strong element to art-making that evades articulation in words, I am just not practiced in it.  I do find it valuable, and definitely hold to Schopenhauer's maxim: 

"An arbitrary playing with the means of art without proper knowledge of the end is in every art the fundamental characteristic of bungling.  Such bungling shows itself in the supports that carry nothing, in the purposeless volutes, prominences, and projections of bad architecture, in the meaningless runs and figures together with the aimless noise of bad music, in the jingling rhymes of verses with little or no meaning, and so on." (WaWaR Vol. 2, 408).

Schopenhauer does not mean to say that you need to have a clearly defined way to define every artistic action in words, but that a strong idea must motivate you.  You can't just go in there armed with a brush and a strong arm to fling paint and think that the magic will happen.  So writing about our practice is a way to shape our artistic pursuits so that we can get to the good ideas that are the launching point for the art-making.  With that in mind, here are are two short essays about my practice, one from earlier in the semester and one from this month, to see if I've gained any ground in understanding my practice...

Version 2 (April 2017):

I once watched a short documentary about a young artist who said that she had "Creative Compulsive Disorder" (edit: found it - https://vimeo.com/80973511).  It was her way to sum-up her sprawling artistic interests and her desire to take whatever she had around and make it into something beautiful.  This phrase always stuck with me.  My interests are diverse and sprawling.  I compulsively write down new ideas for art pieces and installations in my journal.  I pluck things off the street because I see the potential for them to become something new.  My pen is always close at hand and I tend to obsessively doodle and sketch if a piece of paper is front of me. 

The thread that runs through this inborn creative impulse is my recognizable gestural style, which I can identify in my handwriting all the way through the lines of my drawings, paintings and even sculpture.  I admire simplicity and economy in artworks but strongly identify with artist with a strong sense of individual style.  My intention, if I have possess such a fundamentally focused attribute, would be to maintain my own gestural style - to maintain "Brick" - in all of my creative pursuits.   

The Troubadour, a design I doodled without thinking one day.  I have taken that and drawn it a million different ways, implemented it as a personal logo, as the character who announces my comings and goings, as wallpaper patterning, as the insp…

The Troubadour, a design I doodled without thinking one day.  I have taken that and drawn it a million different ways, implemented it as a personal logo, as the character who announces my comings and goings, as wallpaper patterning, as the inspiration for large-scale paintings and who knows what else in the future.  The Troubadour embodies much about my process-driven, gestural style.

One of the primary results of this meandering, gestural impulse is an innate interest in process and perpetual change.  Recognizing this over the past year has helped me to begin a series of works I call "The Infinite Canvas".  All of these pieces revolve around the idea of un-ending change and perpetual alteration.  The pieces vary in their starting points: it may begin with a form which is then altered in the act of drawing, over and over again (such as a painting or drawing that begins with the form of "The Troubadour" above).  It may be an unending digital collage or a series of portraits that I alter in a set of stages that can keep going, ad infinitum.

Now I find myself in a research-based graduate program that asks for focus and articulation of a course of work.  My first semester really helped me to formulate a line of research.  This body of work I call "the digital migration", a term for humanity's collective movement towards and into our devices; a change in our collective activity which makes us "users".  Most people spend as much time with their digital identity as they do with their physical reality.  How does one communicate this profound, relatively sudden change to people through art?  How can I make art pieces that point out the consequences of our dual identities?  How do I discover the implications of the digital migration?  Those are some of the questions I want to answer in my art-making over the next year.

The first piece to merge these two lines of my practice - process and digital migration - is "The Infinite Canvas No. 3".  It's about painting with myself using projection:

The left hand side is a projection of me drawing. I then project that onto a new canvas and record myself drawing with the projection.

I think there are many ways to interpret the idea of "painting with yourself".  For me, considering the amount of time spent with my devices and how during that time I am essentially a different person, a digital version of myself, inspired this piece.  This digital 'Brick' is different than physical 'Brick'.  How do I get these two versions of myself in conversation?  This seemed like the best way.  From this starting point I want to keep expanding the number of projections and the size of the canvas(es).  We will see where it takes me.   

 

Version 1 (February 2017):

On a daily basis I write down ideas and thoughts as they come to me in my journals, I paint and I collage.  

My work for DIAP needs to evolve because I'm interested in creating new media works that maintain my gestural style.  Specifically, I want to focus on projection and lighting/arduino.  For my projection mapping work I want to start by transforming either the DIAP space or a space on campus, while my arduino/lighting pieces I want to evolve my current painting/sculpture making practice that I do with my collaborator, Kyle Dietrich.  

I had two focuses last semester: "the infinite canvas" and new iterations of those pieces.  Each piece involves a never ending process which continually transforms a piece or pieces of work.  

More directed and researched was on the idea of technology and nature and technology and alienation.  In that capacity I made my plant light for physical computing and my five proposals for exhibitions in Project Research.  I think that my work in projection and painting/sculpture/lighting should focus on these ideas moving forward. 

Painting with Myself: The Infinite Canvas No. 3

The idea came to me to keep moving with my projects in process/perpetual alteration.  I also want this piece to address the digital migration - which is what I'm calling our collective movement into our devices.  This first effort is me painting with a single projection.  Here is how it works:
The left side is the projection.  I recorded myself drawing the left hand side of a face.  I then put a blank sheet over that drawing, project the recording onto it and then record myself drawing the right hand side of the face "with" the projection.  Here is the video...

Infinite Canvas No. 3

Obviously I need to improve the sound quality.  I'm hoping to get feedback about how to move forward with this.  I have thought of a few questions:

  • Should I draw/paint something more abstract?
  • How could I bring projection mapping into this?
  • Would you like to see the final performance as me drawing with my own projections OR me projection drawing with my iPad with all of the projections?
  • Is there a way to get better film quality (it needs to be shot in relative darkness because of the projection)?  I have a starter lens for my Panasonic GH2.

 

Olafur Eliasson at Tanya Bonakdar Gallery

Olafur Eliasson has six works made within the last two years at the Tanya Bonakdar Gallery March 23 - April 22, 2017. 

I'll take a minute to discuss a few of them here. Some of the works are to my mind vintage Eliasson: taking a simple idea or a simple object and distilling something essential out of it.  The main gallery space consists of three large mirrors against the three walls with large metal railings coming out of the mirrors at semi-circles.  The circles are completed by the mirrors.  You walk around the space and see yourself and these orbital railings reflected endlessly.  There's a quiet strangeness to the experience.  Eliasson's political-art-optimism is present in the works title, "The listening dimension".  Art allows us to draw our own conclusions, engage others and voice different opinions and still be together...

The railings complete their circles in the reflections of the mirror.  They repeat in an endless mirror effect.  (Photo: http://www.tanyabonakdargallery.com/exhibitions/olafur-eliasson_9/6

The railings complete their circles in the reflections of the mirror.  They repeat in an endless mirror effect.  (Photo: http://www.tanyabonakdargallery.com/exhibitions/olafur-eliasson_9/6

I find these types of gallery sheet descriptions difficult to stomach and tangentially related to his work.  But it's besides the point because the works themselves are wonderful.  "Rainbow bridge [2017]" is a series of glass balls about the size of basketballs that are partially painted in slices on about 1/3 of the surface area. Depending on where you walk, the balls change in color and reflective properties.  At one point you see yourself upside down, at another you see a person on the other side of the ball, at another strange, burn like circles emerge from the colors.  The entire process of walking up and down the "bridge" is one of distortion and discovery.

Upstairs Colour experiment no. 78 (2015) excited me like Your Atmospheric Colour Atlas did many years ago when I was first introduced and fell in love with Eliasson's work: a simple idea, but one that requires experiences to appreciate it. "A large grid of seventy-two paintings of subtly progressing hues that reveal the entire spectrum of colors visible to the human eye," is put in a room with florescent yellow lights and a string attached to a powerful white-light bulb.  If the white bulb is off, a gray scale is perceived over the entire seventy-two paintings, from white to black.  If the string is pulled, the white-light brings the spectrum back.  A simple joy and one that requires a visit to the room to truly appreciate! 

PSAD Synthetic desert III (D. Wheeler at the guggenheim)

I went to the Guggenheim this morning to experience 'PSAD Synthetic Desert III':

"For PSAD Synthetic Desert III (1971), Doug Wheeler has altered the structure and configuration of a museum gallery in order to control optical and acoustic experience. He has transformed the room into a hermetic realm, a “semi-anechoic chamber” designed to minimize noise and induce a sensate impression of infinite space. Wheeler likens this sensation of light and sound to the perception of vast space in the deserts of northern Arizona. While Synthetic Desert is deeply grounded in the artist’s experience of the natural world, the work does not describe the landscape. Its form is strictly abstract." (guggenheim.org)

Only 5 people at a time are let into the space.   A cool blue glows up from below the central platform the seamless white wall slowly fades from blue to a whiteness.  The fact that there are no railings and everyone (all of the people in my group) chooses to sit, gives the space a much larger feeling.  Wheeler achieves a sense of the vastness he found in the desert in 1977.

Doug, what was your first experience in the desert that led to thinking about trying to base a piece around that environment?

WHEELER I once landed my plane on a dry lake bed in the Mojave. I wasn’t thinking I was going to land there for that experience. I just wanted to try to land in a place like that. When the plane engine stopped ticking, there was no breeze of any kind and it was really silent. In about 10 to 15 minutes I started to be able to hear things far away — tiny, different frequencies hitting me from a great, great distance. When you’re that far out, the mountains are just hazy shapes — they could be 60 miles away or hundreds. And the sounds — you can’t tell a human voice from a car door closing or an eagle screaming more than a mile up. (https://www.nytimes.com/2017/03/23/arts/design/desert-silence-transposed-to-the-cacophony-of-new-york.html)

Another observation that I made was that the blue foam pyramids (used to dampen the sound to create this "semi-anechoic chamber") look like monumental objects in the still light of the room.  There's something otherwordly about the architecture of the space.  All of this is heightened by the silence.  Which he estimates to be about 10-15 decibels (70 is NYC traffic).  And that is probably the largest takeaway most people will get from this experience.  Observing the people around me, all eyes eventually were closed as we sat just taking in the quiet which we really never get in the city.  The otherwordliness, the sacredness of the space, comes from its silence.