Unfortunately, or fortunately, it happens. Exhaustion sets in and takes over. I had a good week in the studio, but yesterday I finished one drawing and could not move into painting. So here it is, yesterday's studio work, but this is just the tip of the berg. Processing continues, questioning continues, while I live my life outside of the studio. At least 80% of my life is out of the studio, so it obvious that some the most important insights come during introspective daydreaming while I am not actively engaged in making art. It is the power of these daydreams that is the fortunate consequence of exhaustion.
This painting (02·26·2013), as old as it feels to me, is an important chunk of an ongoing transition. It is academic proof. It demonstrates my ability to drive a painting to its intuitive, fastidious end. Its necessity in obvious. I am arriving at its end with the confidence to begin anew. It is "one step backward" in the iterative process of research ("two steps forward, one step backward, two steps forward, et cetera..."). This painting's end will give me the aplomb I require. I will be able to take the next "two steps forward". Anticipation of these next steps induces fear. Risk-taking will be required. The places I will go are unknown. All I know is this: I must actively indulge in personal research to find my authentic id.
Yesterday I promised you the man's left foot would be altered and bettered. That did not happen, but both his arms and hands got attention. It is during times like this, when the nuances of truth are becoming apparent, that I am genuinely amazed at the slowness of insight. It is leading to a greater depth of expression, but it comes in trickles, and not like a river. As I look at today's reproduction of "Painting-02·26·2013" I see several minor elements that require final fixes. Three required fixes include the man's right foot, the color of the shadow the man sits upon and projects, and color coordination of the man's torso, limbs, and head. There's more. Solace for the upcoming work comes in the idea that all things for this painting are getting better, and more expressive, with each bit of labor upon it.
"Did you ever have the feeling that you wanted to go, and then you had the feeling that you wanted to stay?" These are lyrics from a song by Jimmy Durante, originally sung by Durante in the 1942 movie "The Man Who Came to Dinner", with Monty Woolley, Ann Sheridan, and Bette Davis. Staying and wanting to go; that is where I am with the painting (02·26·2013). I am a man obsessed with finishing off its details. I am looking for emotional and physical authenticity. I keep returning to the same details, over and over, looking for true solutions. I did this yesterday with the man's left arm (on viewer's right). Other elements changed as well, but I finally feel that his left arm and left hand are appropriate and require only a few finishing touches. I can see myself working on the man's left foot today. Check here tomorrow for an increment of change as I drive this painting toward its ultimate solution.
Yesterday I took a few steps toward finishing "Painting-02·26·2013", but I could not resist drawing. I am addicted to drawing; it functions as a booster of morale and a squeeze to perception — I require a daily fix. So just half of my studio time was devoted painting, the first half to drawing. FYI: the painting's main alterations were to the man's extremities, both his hands and his right foot (on viewer's left). The woman's back was also revisited in response to the work done on the man's left hand. And yes, I feel a strong need to get this painting done and to move on. Unhappily I may not be able to get into the studio today—necessary routines in life may take over (you and I may have to wait till Wednesday 04/10/2013 to see the end of it).
Right now I feel caught in the middle. Through drawing I am trying to break down barriers born of routine while trying to finish a rather traditional painting. The painting (02·26·2013) is in its fourteenth state; one extremity gets solved one day at a time. Yesterday's drawing shines in some ways; there are drawing solutions which offer me hope for higher levels of expression. I particularly like the middle man's pants (as I write this I am reminded of Cezanne's quip about his "Portrait of Vollard"). Cezanne's evaluation of his Vollard portrait was this: "The shirtfront is good." (After my work see Cezanne's "Portrait of Ambroise Vollard".)
How do I know if Painting-02·26·2013 is becoming a masterpiece? There is no way for me to know, but I do know this painting, as conservative and limited as it seems to me, is coming together well. There are successful subtleties which are surprising me. These subtleties feel very satisfactory: the composition is strong, the forms are full, the light is enjoyable, and there is sensitivity found in small nuances. It is a discovery in process, and therefore, I believe, it will be a discovery to observe in real time. "A discovery to observe in real time" describes well my most wonderful experiences with works of art that have been labelled masterpieces. Just before writing today's post I came across an advertisement for a video called "Masterpieces in the Louvre". On its cover was a painting by Georges de la Tour (shown below my work). This is a painting a viewer can observe for long time while continuously discovering. Yes, this is the definition of a masterpiece.
It's all fun and games, right? Not really, but yesterday was very busy with the mundane, the necessary, and with fun. I set up a new Ruku internet streaming interface, I went to the dentist, and I attended a film class (we watched and discussed "As Good as it Gets"). So, I did not post yesterday. Today I show the work from 04/03/2013, and today will be a normal day in the studio. Please check back tomorrow for my next post. As you notice, two "portrait" drawings are posted today. For some reason, which will soon surface in my larger and more substantial work, I am exploring the manner and means I use to depict human physiognomy. I am watching and wondering, and I hope you too will stick in here with me for the journey. As always, I am driving on a dark, winding road, with my headlights on. I can only see a little way in front of me, and I, like you, must wait to see that which is revealed after I round the next curve.
“There is a wisdom that is woe; but there is a woe that is madness." (from "Moby Dick" by Herman Melville) I must not try too hard to further clarify this idea from Herman Melville. it feels so very right to me. Making art is seeking wisdom within a madness that is always present in living with our myriad of limitations. We are limited by everything, from life span to perception, comprehension, and understanding. It is maddening, and it is woe, but it is because of the woe that I make art. The wisdom that "is a woe" is acceptance of consistent failure. A work of art never quite gets there, it always falls short of true expression of knowledge and feelings. Accepting this is the wisdom that drives one back to make art, always seeking closure, always seeking to get to full and correct expression. At the bottom of today's post the Herman Melville quote is given with its entire paragraph from Moby Dick. The quote's meaning deepens when in full context. “There is a wisdom that is woe; but there is a woe that is madness. And there is a Catskill eagle in some souls that can alike dive down into the blackest gorges, and soar out of them again and become invisible in the sunny spaces. And even if he for ever flies within the gorge, that gorge is in the mountains; so that even in his lowest swoop the mountain eagle is still higher than other birds upon the plain, even though they soar.”
-Herman Melville, from "Moby Dick" There are components and idiosyncrasies of being an adult human that are not going away. Etherial, exquisite, supernatural powers we do not have. Struggle and process is our game. Playing it well is the best we can do. This means balance. It means listening to our internal human mechanisms. Doing this stuff daily, art-making, is making me better at recognizing my true priorities. Adaptation means constant adjustment; the tweaking will never end. There is a discomfort in my current work. I am trying to break down, and break out, from the mundane. Here is the dictionary definition of "mundane": "of this earthly world rather than a heavenly or spiritual one: the boundaries of the mundane world." Yes, I am trying to break through the boundaries. The boundaries are me; I manufactured them by living. I'll be back.
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May 2024
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