New Floral Gallery; Green Tea Chocolate

Green Tea Chocolate, Acrylic on 300lb watercolor paper, 22.5" x 30", 2003

I hinted at its existence two entries ago, but I should formally announce a New Floral Gallery on the painting gallery page. All these pieces were painted with very wet acrylic paints on various types of 300 lb. watercolor paper in a watercolor style.  I created the texture for the table cloth in this particular piece by scraping a wide pallet knife through a wet wash of pigment, squeezing the paint back out of the paper.  This piece has an interesting color space that elicits an exotic atmosphere. Is there such a thing as green tea chocolate? There must be. I don't think its actually green though.

Details of Tree Telepathy

A short blog today. I'm spending a lot of time volunteering at our middle school to help paint the sets for the school play. Maybe I'll blog some images from that later.

 

The Proof for Interstellar Aboriel Telepathy, detail, archival inkjet print, 22.5" x 54", 2005

This image we see today is actually a detail from a larger scroll formatted piece called The Proof for Interstellar Aboriel Telepathy.  ( don't forget you can click again on the image in the gallery to get the light table mode) This has to be on of my most long winded titles. Long titles put a strain on data management systems and this piece often gets shortened to Tree Telepathy or something like that. But its important to understand it as a proof in the mathematical sense. A proof written in a math so foreign to hour human minds  that it ends up looking to us like Surreal Art.

Variations on a Theme; Painting Quasi Triptychs

Cool Sky, Warm Earth, variations 1, 2, 3, each 22.5"  x 30 " Acrylic on waterford 300lb paper, 2003.

 

(There are  larger versions of these pantings at this gallery)

Sometimes when I paint, I'll set up three easels with surfaces the same size and then use the same pallet to paint the same basic composition. I started doing this because of acrylic paint. I would load up the pallet with lots of wonderful paint and then have to throw so much out because acrylics just dry to fast to make saving them overnight practical.  Tired of wasting so much paint, I figured why not paint three at once! It was just a whim at first, but I soon became fascinated with the process.

This strategy caused me to hesitate because I feared  I would end up repeating myself. How wrong I was. Even if I tried really hard to repeat myself, it seemed almost impossible. What I did find was that I was able to get wonderful variations on a theme. This process generates results that  remind me of musical variations in jazz or Bach.  Essentially you lock down some of the  elements of the art and let the other vary.  With these paintings, I have locked down the size and aspect ratio of the surface;  the colors being used; and the subject matter.  That leaves  the placement and shape of the objects in the composition.

I should back up here and discuss the way I  work in this type  of painting. I actuality have a fairly improvisational style. I sometimes do not know what I'm going to paint until I put the first mark down. I then let that stroke inform the next, and so on, until the basic subject matter and treatment emerges. At some point I shift to a refining stage where I try to improve the expression of what's emerged, and this is largely technical exercise. I usually do the first phase in one day and then the  refinement over another day or two.  Now given this improvisational style,  and the variation strategy described above, we have a situation where the 'first stroke' on each piece will be different even if I try to make it the same, which I do not. This means that for each painting  the  sequence of  strokes will immediately begin to head in different directions.  The final pieces, though following essentially the same 'road map', end up looking pleasingly different.

Also consider that these are water media, Acrylics being water based . My use of water here is heavy, more like watercolor than oil painting. When working wet into wet the water behaves randomly in an almost mystical way. The chaotic way the pigments drip and blend  in the ground of the sky for instance, could not possibly be repeatable. So in some way, the vibrations of the cosmos dictate the direction each painting will go. I know that  sounds pretty Woo Woo, but it does cause one to think. When I  sit down to paint just one painting, instead of three, what small seed in the environment will change the course of  the work, a gust of wind or the bark of a dog could end up changing the size of the sun. 

I don't consider these to be a formal triptych. For me a triptych would probably mean having a single composition run across three separate surfaces. In case your wondering, I don't have favorites. I suppose its like your children, you love them equally, flaws and all, they're just different. If I was asked to put just one in a show? I would hope someone would have curatorial input for me. On that note, why not make a comment below and tell me if you have a favorite and why?

Waimea Canyon: Talk about the edges

I took this image of lower Waimea Canyon, on the island of Kaua'i, in Hawaii.

 

The Waimea river starts in the tropical rainforest at the top of the island and then cuts down through the calderas and slopes of the volcanic peak, carving a path toward the sea and the dry side of the island. As you drive up the road you see a progression from dry scrub lands to lush rainforest. This Panorama was taken near the bottom where the climate is much drier. But you can see the Jungle clad mountains in the B.G.

This has been a challenging  print for me because the feeling of the day, with the cloud shadows had so much depth and was   very dramatic. I'm not sure this B&W print is getting all that across. But today I want to share some thoughts on borders for photography, particularly the panoramas. I am still forming my philosophy around this so please comment below with your own opinions and help me clarify my own thinking. The first version you see here has no borders at all just a straight crop.

 

This version however displays the latent edges of the original strip up for the panorama. I like it for two reasons. First it communicates a truth about the image that is otherwise quite hidden––that the print was created from multiple shots from the camera. I like giving hints about process in the art. Secondly, its a form of deconstruction to show the ragged edge like this, and adds a visual interest that takes the piece beyond the traditional photographic print. This type of edge creates a self-reflexive quality in the media itself  by calling our attention to the transition from the pure experience of the image to the physical elements of the paper and frame, commenting on and revealing the illusory aspect of  the photograph.

Then again, I often find myself disliking the ragged 'real' border for the same reasons, it can take the attention away from the image  and distance the viewer from the pure experience of the landscape itself. So perhaps the tension between these two paths can be described as: commentary on process vs. Purity of statement.  If you look at the finished prints of my panoramas in mass you'll see that I go either way on this question, leaving it to a gut decision for each particular case.

 

A third option is to add a matt type border, such as this black one. This question is more simple to me. I tend to use the black border when the edge of the photograph itself does not separate well from the matt or background it is presented against. Images that have big swaths of white in them fall into this category. It should be noted that this is separate from the  black border created when you show the exposure edge of the processed film itself.

 

This is often done by photographers when they want to show that they are composing in camera, as opposed to cropping in the printing phase. I don't care that much to show off my in camera cropping abilities which are often not all that effective.  However I will sometimes leave this type of black border on for the same reason as I might add an artificial one, to clarify the edge of the composition. 

The Zen Wave: Art and Processing Disaster

 

Zen Wave, Sumi Ink and Pigment on rice paper, 2005

When the Christmas Tsunami hit, I was as appalled, amazed, fascinated and in the end, pretty much disturbed by the whole event. It remained intellectual to me until I heard a bereaving father tell how he could not keep a-hold of his children in the flood tide, and lost them forever. Suddenly the emotional grief welled up out of me. As with earthquakes and volcanic eruptions, it is strange when the world that nurtures us suddenly becomes so violent.  Its hard to imagine living a peaceful existence by a sea that provides fish and warm sandy beaches, and then having that consistent friend and provider well up and smash your whole life into ruin.  A few days after the Tsunami event, I found my self compelled to paint images of waves. At first They were large and terrible, dark pigments and overwhelming shapes. I put crude calligraphic figures in the water, people trying to get away.  As I painted the waves began to tame, the colors became rich and luminous again, and the victims turned into body surfers and  happy swimmers. In the end, like my paintings, I too had regained some sense of peace with the world. The painting you see here, The Zen Wave, happened toward the calm end of that creative arc.

Everyone processes grief in different ways, Perhaps for some people the process of depicting traumatic events with art, becomes therapeutic and healing.  I went through a similar experience right after 911. Perhaps I can share some of those images one day.

Bandon Beach: The foreground counts

I had a beautiful mid morning shoot at this beach on the southern coast of Oregon.

 

The rich grasslands with the flowers in the foreground make the picture. Some big panoramas from this shoot coming soon. 

Chromatic Junkyard; Abstract Painting

 

Chromatic Junkyard, Acrylic on 300lb arches C.P. watercolor paper, 2003

 

I was browsing through my painting archives when I saw a thumbnail of this painting which I did in 2003. I remember I had several paintings going at once at the time and one of them, this one,  was going quite poorly. I gave up on it and  for the next few days it became the depository of all excess paint. Hence the title, Chromatic Junkyard. I kept beating on it and eventually began to warm to it again.  I'd completely forgotten about it until I saw it again the other day. It felt like seeing an old friend, so I guess I like it now. I've always wondered if there might be no bad paintings at all, just unfinished ones.  Of course some of them need a lot of 'finishing'