Backyard

Cy Twombly at AIC

nospam@example.com (annworthing) — Mon, 10 Aug 2009 17:33:08 -0400

I had lunch at Terzo Piano with my very perceptive friend Joanna last Thursday.

The whole new wing at the Art Institute is about light and air, and this room on the top floor allows for a new way of seeing the other buildings facing the lake. I felt I was both bathed in light and emphatically a part of the city - open and in the air but also enclosed by the soul, or identity of the city as expressed in architecture. And the food was darn good, too.

Joanna had not seen any of the new wing yet, so first thing we walked into the Cy Twombly show, a perennial favorite of mine. Seeing it with Joanna was a wonderful way of escaping my habitual reasons for liking him because she approached the work so personally, and was so open to whatever response she had with absolutely no preconceptions, that the whole experience was a revelation for me. She reminded me I'm a sensate person first and an artist second. I guess I had to reconsider my original reasons for loving his work, and how this work was different.

I realized that what I always liked about him was his intelligent exuberance, his way of placing events in his paintings as opposed to composing a painting - in other words, there is conversation apparent between his mind and his soul, and then between him and the materials and the canvas.

But those earlier works also made me a little uncertain and nervous - off balance, but not in a scary way. I think because of all the white space I felt I had to leap from incident to incident or risk losing my place.

I know I'm making a gross generalization because some of the earlier work (a suite of paintings at the beautiful small museum the de Menils built - to the scale of the work - in Houston) possess this more sensual assertiveness. But all of this work and especially the large pieces positively tremble at the edge of expression and resemblance and the exuberance is all over the canvas. The palettes of these paintings is achingly simple and sophisticated - small changes in value of the dominant hue (over its complement in my favorites) with large objects of pure color or white (mainly) placed to control the space - and his edges are great lessons in how important the edge of a painting can be. Transparency, solidity - and those small ,close changes in value make the space wiggle, but it never retreats.

If you are anywhere near Chicago, you can't miss this show. Especially if you have a perceptive friend to take with you.

Steampunk in spite of herself

nospam@example.com (annworthing) — Sun, 29 Mar 2009 17:29:33 -0400

I was all set to write about steampunk and then Margaret Cho declared herself a fan in the NY Times today. Almost too au courant for me.

I’ll write something anyway.

My very significant other introduced me to steampunk, announcing that, at last, here was the aesthetic she had been looking for. At it’s most extreme, it’s defined by a kind of decorative hypermania – nothing is too baroque. It never met a geegaw it didn’t like. But in its calmer iterations it also can be a welcome relief to the technological slickness that defines design today.

I haven’t looked at too many sites, but I’d characterize it as VERY idiosyncratic, to say the least. There seem to be no no-nos. The human capacity and need for decoration is fully embraced and exploited – there can be an ecstatic quality. Craft is central. And it’s a celebration of the expressive potential in all materials. It’s a joyful thing.

Oddly enough, my work falls smack in the middle of this thing, I think.

I’m applying for an associate membership – steampunkette?

How to Make a Painting

nospam@example.com (annworthing) — Wed, 23 Jan 2008 13:42:23 -0500

If process underpins and figures in a painting’s content, bringing a painting to completion depends on the artist’s ability to juggle competing realities/impulses.

On the one hand, there is the drive toward completion. On the other, the desire to just stay in the process, romping with Ambiguity and her hand-maiden, Curiosity.

It’s the impulse to dream and wander and wonder in the beginnings of a place, with no desire to ever leave. What exactly is possible? Is there something I can discover just for its own surprising sake? (There is a logic here, but it is in constant flux. Think of dolphins.)

Against this care-free, playful alertness is a need to make sense, to finish, to create/find wholeness and meaning. To close the circle.

In the most successful paintings these competing needs are beautifully balanced. Sometimes, this high wire act seems to occur without effort – a gift from nowhere. Most good work though, is the result of a practiced, habitual, disciplined elasticity, the constant flipping between inner states: painter – critic – painter – critic.

In other words, you have to show up at the studio, everyday.

In a Small Town

nospam@example.com (annworthing) — Tue, 11 Dec 2007 19:05:41 -0500

Last week I spent some time with several old friends – 30 to 40 years worth of knowing. I live in Chicago and they still live near the small Texas town I still think of as home. I see them maybe once or twice a year now. There was a gap of at least 20 years at one point where I didn’t call when I hit town and they were busy getting married and divorced and having babies and then raising those babies.

The thing that’s unique and invaluable in our friendship is the sense I have of knowing and being known. It’s not just the childhood history of our relationships, though that’s a necessary piece, but rather our continuing affection for each other, in spite of what seem to be enormous differences in who we are and what our lives look like.

At one point in our conversations someone said, “Oh, you’re just the same,” and someone else said, “No, we’ve all changed”. I think both things are equally true. Our politics, among other things, couldn’t be more opposite, but there is a tolerance for difference born of really wanting to connect with the best parts of each other that made us friends in the first place. (Of course, there’s also a strong whiff of goofy around this group – that’s because we all still like to raise a little hell).

I make a point to call when I come to town because I realize these friends come along once in a lifetime, and I’m lucky to have them.

Grey

nospam@example.com (annworthing) — Fri, 16 Nov 2007 20:17:12 -0500

Yesterday I went to the Chicago Art Institute and saw the show of Jasper Johns grey paintings, a choice of palette he has returned to throughout his career. Seeing this group of works is a lesson in the circular nature of an artists undertaking, and it belies the myth of linear progress – a very harmful myth for young artists, especially.

I had a pretty lukewarm response to the show. I’ve always been an admirer of his work, but the monochromatic theme muffled the content and deadened my response, I believe. The up side of this, though, is that I found myself thinking just about the fact of the materiality of the work. This is a false dichotomy, in a way, if we’re speaking conceptually, but I was thinking like a painter (just an eye).

These paintings are about struggling to find something to hang paint on. (In this day and age I believe this is the primary concern for the serious artist) When he is engaged by a map or the alphabet, the strokes have intention and his method has direction. When he is merely covering space there is nothing there to hold the viewer. The surface looks thoughtless. And there is really nothing there because the space is, well, grey. Some of the encaustic works seemed to suck the light out of the room.

In the works that employ objects (a broom, a ruler, utensils) he’s got a readymade support for the paint, a reason for the effect. And in the final works – the Canternary paintings (probably I misspelled that) the painting supports and string are literally his armature for the paint. And they really encourage long looking.

After my hour or so with Mr. Johns, I fled to color. Bonnard, Matisse, even the silent Morandi reminded me what paint can do.

Edges

nospam@example.com (annworthing) — Fri, 02 Nov 2007 18:16:49 -0400

I’ve been thinking about edges recently.

It all began when I started looking at Gerhard Richter’s paintings of photos and newspaper clippings. I was working on a painting based on an old black and white photo and I wanted the painting to refer clearly to its source as a photo. Sounds easy enough, just make it monochrome, right? Well, no.

Richter paints his edges, whether inside a shape or at the intersection of object and background, with what I can only describe as a kind of precise blurriness. The genius of this technique is that it is a direct reference to the mechanical source of the image’s appearance – ink on paper, in the case of newspaper, and filmic resolution in the case of a photo.

Having been a painter for many years, one would think I had had a few thoughts about edges before now. I have, but only in relation to the limits of my painting surface. (While consistently referential to the world, my interest has always been in mood and atmosphere and has never extended to this kind of specificity of rendering.)

Now I see them everywhere, and I’m intrigued. My beginning oil painting students are a particularly wonderful study in the variety of approaches to edges. Some students have a kind of de-militarized zone around each object – they can’t decide if it’s safe to go there yet. Others work at warp speed. They slap paint in a generalized and vociferous way and just hope they get the shape right on their next pass. Others are just very, very careful and tiptoe right up to the edge. ( These are the students who get a little moody if a little of that red gets in that green.) Finally, some students paint the same line over and over again in defiance of all logic – kind of like the mad dashers in their hope that it will somehow miraculously be ok if they just keep to their course. ( Budding republicans?)

Adios for now.

The Painter's Ear, pt.4

nospam@example.com (annworthing) — Mon, 29 Oct 2007 18:57:05 -0400

One of the best parts of my life is having other artists as friends. There’s all that good friendship kind of stuff, (well, duh) but there’s also the pleasure that comes from watching and sharing (to some degree) another person’s creative process. Over time there’s the added bonus of witnessing how an artist/friend refines and expands their content, finding the style and/or techniques that best serve their vision. Not a straight road, we all know, but when all the hard work begins to pay off, this is truly a time of beauty.

I’m happy to say that Susan Werner is one such friend, and this is a long overdue appreciation of her newish CD “The Gospel Truth”. (Full disclosure: Susan gave me the title “A Painter’s Ear” for my blog).

Susan trained as an opera singer, got known as a folkish singer/songwriter, added some bluesy roots, investigated the American Songbook style (I could be completely off base with that one) and has put it all together with gospel.

To say Susan has a powerful voice is an understatement – on this CD she employs her voice in a nuanced and expressive way: there is vulnerability and sadness that I’ve never heard before, along with a different kind of passion.

I like the songwriting, too. I’ve always thought her lyrics were primary to the songs; it feels now that the music itself is doing more of the work. There are some wonderful melodies on this CD to go with her incisive take current events.

I give this CD 4 ears. www.susanwerner.com

***If you have a chance to see her live, run, don’t walk. She puts on a great show. ****

The Painter's Ear, pt.4

nospam@example.com (annworthing) — Mon, 29 Oct 2007 18:57:05 -0400

Cultural Woes

nospam@example.com (annworthing) — Mon, 22 Oct 2007 18:22:13 -0400

Last night on “Dexter” (Showtime) we were given more information about his creepily seductive sponsor at the AA-like group he attends for his “addiction”. She’s a visual artist.

Of course she is. And of course she exhibits all the signs that she is Dexter’s soul mate in pathology.

I understand that to make her a visual artist gives the writers a simple short-cut to her psyche. But give me a break, fellas (and I’ll bet some $ that it is fellas), could you be MORE ham-fisted with her work’s content?

But I digress.

As a rule, the writing on this show is fairly subtle and intelligent and recently has explored the cross-over between Dexter’s “coping mechanism” and the role of addiction as a default position in our culture. HOWEVER, the choice of a visual artist (and our immediate belief in this character and her dreadful work) serves to reveal just what a marginal place artists occupy in our culture.

The reasons are many and varied, but ask yourself this; When was the last time you saw or heard a thoughtful piece in the mainstream media on a visual artist or artwork? (Sorry, NPR doesn’t count).

Thoughts on Abstraction

nospam@example.com (annworthing) — Sat, 20 Oct 2007 18:13:22 -0400

How to think about abstraction?

I’ll start with Webster’s definition: 1. the act or process of removing or separating. 2. The act or process of separating the inherent qualities or properties of something from the actual physical object or concept to which they belong.

My personal introduction to abstraction was as a kind of holy grail. I think I was a freshman or sophomore in college. My art professor pulled another student and myself into his office to show us a painting, figures in a landscape, I think. “This is my last realistic painting, “ he announced proudly. I didn’t know what to say, but I could tell he felt congratulations were in order. The implication was that if you wanted to be a serious artist, you HAD to make abstract work. Unfortunately, he also believed an artist was supposed manifest the romantic ideal of the suffering artist as well (a good friend noted all the artists he revered had offed themselves) and died a very premature death, following in those artist’s footsteps.

The confusing thing about abstraction for an artist is how individual achievement and voice have been put in boxes, packaged, if you will, by art historians and critics. For heaven’s sake, Agnes Martin with the minimalists?

I think abstraction is the result of asking, “What is really essential/what is it about this thing/view/object that carries meaning? How much of its capacity to mean/signify is wedded to the physical presence of this thing in this particular space with this specific light and space? Or is it the light or color in and of itself? (I’m not talking about symbolism or narrative, cause and effect)There are degrees and kinds of abstraction of course (and I also might go so far to argue that all good painting involves some degree of abstraction and use of memory – could the two be closely related ?) but what interests me is work that begins in close observation of the physical world and doesn’t stop there

In her wonderful biography of Matisse (Vol 2, The Conquest of Color) Hilary Spurling discusses his understanding “that the secret of painting was to reconcile theory and practice, thought and instinct, to appease the exacting, analytical side of oneself in order to gain free access to the depths and power of feeling”. (p. 172)

Matisse conceded that Delacroix had been wrong about how
useful the invention of photography would be to painters: “Its
real service was in showing that the artist was concerned with
something other than external appearance,”… (p. 148)

Flirting With Sea Monsters, pt.3

nospam@example.com (annworthing) — Tue, 09 Oct 2007 19:12:43 -0400

I think the key – after some kind of recognition that, hey, I’m doing this to myself – is to be willing to simply not know what one is doing. And to go ahead and do it anyway. And to wrestle with materials and techniques (literally and figuratively). And to rethink those assumptions that powered your work for so long but aren't working so well anymore. And to perhaps learn new skills to serve the new work, without trying to make it fit in that box called "consistency."

On “60 Minutes” Bruce Springsteen was asked about his decision to tour without his band in the 80’s. He said he had to do it to “break the narrative.” I’m guessing he was talking about over-familiarity with form – he knew how and what his songs carried within his band, so he had to step outside for a different view.

Flirting With Sea Monsters, pt.2

nospam@example.com (annworthing) — Thu, 04 Oct 2007 18:28:59 -0400

The funny thing is, it’s precisely these kind of subterranean times that can provide real access to true and unexpected content: The trick, though, is to tolerate those awful dark days. And by no stretch of the imagination am I saying that I negotiated these useless feeling times gracefully. You can bet I wanted to kick the dog (I didn’t). Luckily I had other ways to feel effective that gave me a little psychic breathing room for a time – teaching, gardening and reading. Commiserating with other artists and friends certainly makes it less lonely, too.

Who knows what causes these fogs to lift eventually? I think for me it was a matter of reexamining my studio habits, including and especially those ways I talked to myself (not aloud) as I began for the day. I don’t know about anyone else, but I became a real pro at stopping myself before I even got started by finding all the reasons that this thing (whatever idea I had) will go NOWHERE. Now that truly is a failure of the imagination…

Flirting With Sea Monsters, pt. 1

nospam@example.com (annworthing) — Tue, 02 Oct 2007 19:31:59 -0400

One of the reasons I wanted to write a blog was to help myself keep track of my process in the studio. I play solitaire there as a way to disengage from the visual work and let it sit, and I often am surprised to find that I’m working through things in the back of my mind as I play. This blog is a way to more fully investigate some of those issues, and to expand upon them.

It’s been a trying 9 months since I completed the work displayed here. There is always that letdown after a show, but I think this time it was more severe than normal because I had broken with any use of images or “real” space in making this work; previously, I’ve always used the world of appearances as a starting place. My departure from a familiar form was absolutely necessary – I could not not make this work, and before I began Post I had lost interest in my habitual way of painting – but having finished with that body of work I found myself with not a clue as to how to proceed. Nothing seemed to hold my interest or arouse my curiosity. I truly felt as if I had wandered off the map and was in danger of being eaten by sea monsters.

The Painter's Ear, pt.3

nospam@example.com (annworthing) — Sat, 29 Sep 2007 16:17:35 -0400

Joni Doesn’t Need a Hook

A hook is what makes a song, specifically a pop song, refuse to leave your brain. It’s different from a theme in that it doesn’t develop musically; I’m thinking about either classical music or jazz as genres that have mutation and elaboration as their bases. Also, this kind of pop is very specific, subject-wise. Ambiguity has no place.

A successful hook is a beautiful thing and there are many, many songwriters who employ it to exciting and pleasing effect. I can’t listen to a lot of pop music in the studio, however. These songs are too specific ultimately, and leave no room for me as a listener. They also can seem bound by their cultural moment because they express and reflect that time so acutely (this is what makes them so good on the radio).

This is why song-writers like Joni Mitchell make me so happy. Her narratives, social commentary – well really, her poetry, just never gets old. Like a good painting, the songs change with time because of the musical atmosphere she creates. Not much is spelled out, and the events in the songs don’t exist in the usual narrative universe of cause and effect. Situations just are, and we join her there.

I hope she made plenty of bucks off “Big Yellow Taxi”, but that song isn’t why I listen to her.

The Painter's Ear, pt.2

nospam@example.com (annworthing) — Mon, 24 Sep 2007 19:11:13 -0400

I was listening to “Grievous Angel”, the CD of Gram Parson’s songs performed by various artists( produced by Emmy Lou Harris a few years ago) in the studio today. His lyrics are always suprising but somehow inevitable. And though I’ve listened to his songs for years, I’m still not sure what exactly some of the songs are about. For example, “Sin City” seems to be about some kind of religious group, and somehow, he includes me (the listener). It’s not a straight forward narrative, but rather a place that I’m very happy to go to.

This kind of song writing is (thankfully) so unlike what gets played on commercial C & W stations. The majority of those songs continue to beat that poor old dead horse: He/She done me wrong, I drink too much and do stupid things, but I’m an American and Jesus is my saviour so that makes anything I do ok.

There are so many good song writers and/or singers out there who write thoughtful, tuneful songs we’ll never hear on the radio. They don’t follow the strictures of one particular genre perhaps or their music is rooted in an “old” tradition so they can’t be slotted easily into a station’s playlist. I think the same can be said of the visual arts, and our culture runs the risk of losing the richness of different voices and perspectives.

I’ll be writing more about these wonderful artists in the future.