The following set of thirty-three 5 x 7 inch [12.5 x 17.5 cm] watercolor and gouache on inkjet prints are the next step for the images in the previous post, Drawing After the Fact. With these paintings on paper I returned to an earlier process developed with the persona, Petra Nimm — see all posts containing the name Petra which can be found in the Guide posts. Although I am applying process from Petra I view these paintings as done ‘on my own’. Just like the drawings they are based on these paintings were made quickly over the course of a few days. Aside from their relationship to the previous drawings, I discovered while painting these a relation to the most recent oil on canvas paintings as well as the smaller panel paintings completed this past winter and spring, an underlying fluidity, layering, and disruptive sensation which appears to transcend the media, size and other surface factors of both the original and resulting images. I limited the paint to white and black designer gouache, Danial Smith Autumn and Pale Gold powdered watercolor pigments with additional gum arabic for transparency, and water. All additional color is a result of the reaction of the inkjet printing ink to the paint, water, and heat — after painting I misted the back of each piece of paper with water, sandwiched between paper towels and pressed with a hot iron to flatten, a few of the paintings took on a pattern as some of the paint was removed by this step. The inkjet prints were done on ‘inherited’ cotton rag, weight unknown, hot press postcard stock. The images were color prints of the photos in the Drawing After the Fact post, which being of graphite drawings are primarily black, white, grey-toned. The following photos were taken under cloudy light conditions in the studio greenhouse at 1/100 and have not been color corrected or otherwise adjusted.
The following 33 drawings were completed within a period of six days at the end of May/early June. A number of factors contributed to their completion. First, I had recently completed the paintings in the previous post as well as a group of paintings viewable in process in the post Both Sides Side By Side [a posting in the current state to come …]. Second, the weather had finally shifted from the cold and rainy to a consistently warm and sunny mid-to-late Spring hospitable to the oleander and geraniums that winter over behind my easel being moved outside meaning I was ready to conduct my semi-annual deep clean and reconfiguration of that half of my studio which in turn freed up the basement half of my studio after I moved the paintings/crura into the greenhouse to play with and photograph. Third, I hadn’t begun the next paintings yet, nor was I driven to do so or even to finish the one, smaller painting I began during painting What Comes Next . Fourth, both my recent viewing of the exhibition of drawings Terry Winters: Facts and Fictions at UMass Amherst as well as the death of painter Thomas Nozkowski, whose own drawings came after the paintings, were fresh in my mind. Both of these painters have impacted my own painting and drawing practice since its beginning. Finally, most of the past month I have been re-immersing myself into writing, originally for the written component of this project’s dissertation. However, this past week my writing veered in unexpected directions. I felt the need to make visual work as a balance to the mental work I was also doing and the following drawings are the result.
In the basement half of my studio throughout the past Fall and Winter I have had one table dedicated to making smaller scale drawings. On this table I have collected a pile of paper - also residuals from other parts of my practice, both writing and painting. Throughout this time I made approximately 30 drawings simply because I felt the need to draw. There is little coherency to those drawings other than the period in which they were drawn. My process during the time was when I felt like or when I did not feel like painting but felt the need to make I would sit down at the table and draw. When I was done drawing I would throw the drawing onto a pile with the previous drawings on a shelf. But something happened when I sat down last week and began these drawings, a coherency began to emerge. What's more, the drawings seemed to relate to the recently completed paintings in ways I had not set out to do. And, they picked up on some drawings begun by Petra Nimm this time last year but put aside as other events got in the way.
The first 29 drawings are all made on 20LB, 96 Bright, 8 1/2 x 11 inches (21.25 x 27.5 cm) multipurpose copy paper that happened to find its way onto my studio table this winter. This is not my preferred standard printer paper so I began to put it to use for writing, taking notes, sketching out ideas on, and lifting paint off of the paintings I was making in the greenhouse. Although I tend to paint in thin layers there are times when I want to make them thinner, doing so by removing some of what I have painted on the surface as if I were making a mono-print by placing a sheet of paper gently on the area I want to thin-out and using a Japanese bamboo buren gently rub the back of the paper to remove the paint. Of the paintings I was painting this winter many of the sheets of paper that were put through this process of removing excess, mostly Mars black paint, after drying landed on the drawing paper pile on my table.
The drawings I have been making were a mixture of media, at times using paint markers, colored pencils, Sharpies, conte crayon, gesso, ink stamps, and graphite pencils/sticks. I also dabbled in collage by tearing apart and re-combining some of the drawings in the process of their making. However, with this group of drawings I used only the graphite pencils and sticks and worked with a Staedtler plastic and a kneaded erasers to blend, remove, and make marks. The drawings were made in rapid succession, I spent less than 10 minutes on each focusing on making quick decisions rather than overthinking. An additional technique I applied was frottage. My table is covered in rosin paper that is ready to be changed. Over the past months it has developed a bumpy surface and areas covered in blue painter’s tape. Using a broad graphite stick I began each drawing by rubbing the thin piece of paper at various spots on the table. The accumulation of eraser dust also contributed to the character of the marks that formed on the surface of the drawings.
Now for the drawings. Photographed on the studio wall in mid-day sunlight with sunshade on.
The final four drawings done immediately after the last of the above differ in the size, type of paper, and the paint that was printed on to them. The paper is 11 x 14 inch (27.5 x 35 cm) light weight tracing paper from a pad, the paint on all four sheets is an 8 x10 inch rectangle of Titanium white. Otherwise the drawing materials and process was the same, however the results contain less detail and emphasize the field of marks more than the shapes and marks emerging from it.
The four large, 36 inch square black and white oil canvases photographed outside in direct sunlight 9 AM EDT today, 1/4000; background has been cropped out.
And a few detail pics …
Two canvases, 36 inches x 36 inches x 1 1/2 inches [90 cm x 90 cm x 3.75 cm], oil paint.
Begun March 27, 2019 on the heels of the residuals. These canvases were fresh, not previous paintings. The forms originated from the sketchbook of images I have been using for the past year. The approach taken was the same as in the two larger canvases in the previous post. Full painting process is documented but here is how the painting with paint part ends. Next step is to play with the presentation of the canvases some. Possibly have Franzi produce another blue painting, there is still one ‘fresh’ canvas left and I am uncertain how he will do working on a canvas that has not been previously painted on by someone else.
A remark out of the mouth of a babe upon his inquiring (first off!) if they have a title: “it’s like spilt milk or the milky way, a nebula - where the stars are born, or bird poop on your car window.”
For now, some informal iPhone pics taken in natural light with the sun shade on. Light coming into the studio from the west (upper left corner) and reflecting on the white mobile wall opposite the paintings sitting on the ledge.
This post is primarily about the paintings I have been considering positioning upon the crura.
The paintings themselves were begun in late Summer - early Fall 2018, and although I have documented their development with photos over the past six months I have not devoted any postings here to them until now.
Briefly, the seed for the idea to begin working on canvases was planted in late June/early July with the idea that they might be given some sort of pedestal or leg, like the crura. Unlike the other paintings and drawings I (and the others) are working on the shapes and images in these paintings are not directly derived from the process developed over the past two years and do not originate with the Good Witches of the Between. Instead, I am beginning new paintings using a combination of unused and older, previously painted canvases I have stored in my studio. In these paintings I am taking parts of the processes used in the other work and applying in different ways, using different materials and/or allowing myself or one of the other persona to try her (his) hand at working in the way if another. For instance, Franzi’s blue is brought in as oil crayon or thin, oil washes instead of acrylic. Petra uses the hair dryer and I cop her tendency toward poured, drippy white paint and watercolor-esque transparency with oils. The previously used canvases - all painted with acrylics and oil-based enamel paint markers - were first coated with thick layers of acrylic medium and sometimes thinned gesso. In contrast to the brand-spanking-new canvases, the textures and paints of the previous painting push thru and impact the new painting’s development by providing me with something to respond to. This is similar - in the sense that I am responding to what is there - but different from the process of responding to the subsequent iterations of the other work. With the unused canvases I can only respond to what develops as I paint; there is no other history than that which I am making in the moment.
I am ready to put these six canvases aside for now and begin another group. I am considering working with some slightly larger canvases (36 square inches, 30 square inches, and 40 square inches) and, possibly, a few smaller (12 square inches). The 36 and 30 inch canvases are new, the others are previously painted. I am still considering what the ‘cannibalization’ of the older work means in the context of what I am doing, or if it means anything at all.
Now for the images.
First I will post a few snaps made in the studio of the paintings as I worked on them. I will end with images of the paintings taken in natural light (around 9 AM), standing in front of the white wall hanging on a single ‘leg’ - only an inch or two of the leg is visible as this is about ‘the painting’ and not ‘the object’ … writing that makes me realize this is something - a difference - I will need to articulate further, but not now. There is still more painting to be done and further attention to the legs.
And now the six paintings.
A few details.
Continuation of, or better an aside to Both Sides Side By Side.
The panels on the right side of the images posted in that post were inkjet prints on a standard 98lb multipurpose paper glued with glue stick to 8 x 10 inch canvas board panels. I printed on the lightweight, cheap paper because it is cheap and I wanted to play around with materials on the copy in a way that I know I would not do if I had printed them on the 300lb hot press paper I prefer and had mounted them using the acrylic medium. I knew I wanted to experiment building up transparent and semi-transparent ground layers on the images on the panel using acrylic mediums that I have or rarely have used in my painting practice. I also knew I wanted to play with thicker layers of oil paints in combination with the acrylic layers. Because I had mounted a lightweight paper using standard glue stick to the panels I also knew as soon as I introduced a wet substance to the paper any areas that were not sufficiently glued … of which there were guaranteed to be many … would bubble up. The bubbles would create a texture on the surface that would catch the layers of paint I would apply to the panels, adding more shapes on top of the images printed on the paper, and I would have to figure out how to deal with these ‘blips’ in the process to resolve these not quite copies. Finally, I knew I wanted to heavily work both sides of the panels with paint and I still hadn’t (and still have not) figured out how these panels will be presented so that both sides are viewable. Unlike canvases and panels on stretchers or frames these panels are thin and the edges with the heavy, uneven clumping of paint not only needs to be seen but also gives very little material for a support to hold on to. I am hoping as I work through the painting issues the display issues will also be resolved.
Below are quick studio snaps of the panels to date. The first layers were a mixture of Golden acrylic tar gel mixed with a Golden heavy body acrylic pigment and/or Lukas fluid acrylic. Tar gel was chosen for the transparent, stringy qualities, its glossiness, and it is a medium I have never used before. The blues come from Franzi but are worked in almost the polar opposite manner of how he applies acrylic paint. On the side of the panels with the shapes in addition to the blues mixed with the tar gel I also applied thinner layers of slightly tinted matte acrylic medium, allowing it to collect in the ridges created by the tar gel. I also applied a thicker, brushier layer of blue on top of the areas Franzi had worked in the original version (and slightly beyond). After working with the acrylics in the basement I sanded panels with 150 grit paper and then I moved back into the greenhouse where I have begun adding areas of oil paint. The first layers were Caput Mortuum, Prussian Blue, and Zinc White thinned with Liquin and applied with a flat synthetic brush. And this is where I am at. The images of the panels are posted in the same order as in Both Sides Side By Side.
Back to Two Sides to the Story.
Each photo was printed on standard, 98lb multipurpose paper with the inkjet printer. The prints were glued with glue stick to the same type of 8 x 10 inch canvas board panels. This is a test version and these copy panels will be worked further. Another set, using a higher quality paper, print and mounting process - possibly with the image slightly enlarged to crop out the pushpins that peek thru at the edges - will eventually be printed in order to exhibit alongside the originals. I am still contemplating ways of exhibiting that will enable viewing from both sides. One thought is creating a ‘prop piece’ (think Richard Serra) that echos the Concertinaed piece. In the meantime I decided to photograph both sides, side by side, propped on a white Ikea picture rail screwed into the side of my studio wall. The photos were taken in indirect daylight at 1/400, cropped to show the space just beyond the edges, with slight adjustments to the color (tint bluer) and exposure (increased ever so slightly).
Melusine playing with the ghostly prints on Vellum (25% rag) and the refrain from ‘Not Fade Away’; scanned again, slightly adjusted for better viewing on the screen.
A fluke that furthered the process. While scanning the works from December: Petra Nimm discussed in December Scanned I inadvertently printed instead of scanning one of the images. Fortunately (?) I still had a sheet of vellum (25%) in the paper drawer from the previous day. I thought it might be interesting to scan the print of the scan that printed too. Then post it along with all the other versions of the same work I have posted to date. Following the instructions given in the December Scanned I encourage you to look at each image for what you see differently in each version. I am not labeling the process by which image is made - other than to say the first is the scan of the printed scan - leaving it to you to discover (by looking back through previous posts) how each image was generated.
The following ten images are flatbed scans of the mixed media works posted in December: Petra Nimm. In the process of scanning each image has been cropped to highlight the mid-section of the image, measuring approximately 8 inches x 10 inches/20 cm x 25 cm, although the original work extends to the edges of the page (10 inches x 14 inches/ 25.40 cm x 35.56 cm). The images in the previous post, also cropped slightly, were photographed in daylight and the color was adjusted slightly in Photoshop (cooler). The purpose of scanning the same images was to detect the differences in what was digitally captured by the fixed and 100% artificial light of the scanner camera and how this appears on a screen compared to the images made with the human operated DSLR camera, daylight, and editing software.
Important to note is my work with two linked monitors - the screen of my five year old 13 inch MacBook Air and an older, free standing 19 inch ASUS monitor. In the year I have worked with this set up the differences in color, brightness, and clarity of the two monitor (despite adjustments) has been obvious to me however, as my eyes move back and forth between the two screens my brain adjusts to what it is I am seeing so that the differences become less obvious the longer I look at the image I’m dragging from one side of my expanded digital desktop to the other. During the process of scanning these ten pieces I became more aware of the differences in the images from one screen to the next. In part I believe this is due to the subtle nature of the work, the not quite monochrome whiteness, and the way the scanner has captured the different surfaces and textures of the paintings compared to the DSLR camera.
Whenever I post images of work to this or my other website I try to view the images on as many different screens as I have access to in order to check the range of variation in appearance. Each screen projects a slightly different image just like each of us physically sees the world differently due to variations in anatomy (not to mention how the information captured by the eye might be processed by the brain) and while this might seem obvious enough it is something that tends to not be considered as much as it probably should - just like I eventually stop noticing the differences between my two monitors and simply make the ‘adjustment’ to my seeing inside my brain. However, I believe it is important for us as viewers, as well as, in this instance, myself as the maker, to keep this important fact in front of our eyes (so to speak) at all times. Lest we forget what we are seeing might not be all there is to see of what we are looking at in this digital realm. This awareness makes it more difficult to brush aside the differences and, importantly, to begin confusing the image for the object it represents or, maybe better said, replicates on the screen when we can see for ourselves the change in appearance of the image from a projector to our laptop to our tablet to our phone.
With each change of our viewing context the work we are looking at changes, even if the changes are quite subtle. I argue, the singularity of each viewing experience transforms the image (the replication of the object or the copy of previous replications) making it unique - a copy that becomes an original.
Beginning when I first began to photograph my paintings as part of a documentary process - making prints on various papers and Ektachrome slides for the purpose of applications, dissemination and archiving - and always being disappointed by how of the work much was ‘lost’ in the process. Changing equipment, techniques, employing professionals, transitioning from the analog to the digital world I have tried and failed to capture that which I found to be the essence of the painting I was trying to document. When I thought I had come close to getting that which I sought on film I would then turn around and do something (foolish) like change my painting process - materials, techniques, location, you name it and I’ve changed it even if what I ‘paint’ has not changed. In turn this always skewers the result of the documentation process. What I once came close to capturing is further away than before. Until, one day I finally realized I’ll never be able to document, to archive, to capture that essence of the painting I could see when I look at it because I am trying to translate from the language of painting to another language (photography, film)!
Accepting this ‘untranslatable’ quality for myself as a painter has been a nearly thirty year process and I am not always sure I always accept it, still. This is likely due to my continued presence in a position of needing to document, to disseminate, to archive the paintings I am making. My need fuels my want, and my want is my desire to capture the essence of painting that can only be expressed in the language of painting itself. As a non-monolingual who has lived between two languages almost as long as I have painted, who has translated both spoken and written words in formal and informal situations, it is clear to me that between two languages there is always a gap that one must bridge in the translation in order for the meaning to cross between the two. This does not mean that what is said on one side of the gap will emerge in a state of wholeness on the other side of the bridge. What has been said my not be translatable between the two languages, Instead, what may arrive is a fragment of what has departed. Yet, however small (and even opaque it might seem) the fragment can contain the essence of what was said on the other side of the gap. When this happens even the untranslatable can be understood.
When I sat down to write this I did not anticipate writing the above - I realize much of the vocabulary in that last analogy comes from a talk I attended yesterday evening at MIT by David Joselit, primarily on the work of American sculptor Rachel Harrison, titled Untranslatable: Conceptual Art Since the 1990s. Joselit’s thesis circulated around the notions that the ideas of conceptual art need not (and since the 1990s no longer) be expressed (communicated) via text and documentation but can come directly from traditional means of making - painting, sculpture, and performance (which has fallen for Joselit into the realm of the ‘traditional’). Joselit stated that abstraction is essentially ‘untranslatable’ (and vice versa) in that it occurs in the present tense and is impossible to capture. Knowledge, in this case the ideas of conceptual art, is not always transparent, knowledge can be opaque. Important is that agency is placed in the hands of the receiver (spectator) by the artist. Artist, work, and viewer have the right to remain opaque - untranslatable. - a right to ‘radical otherness’ without having to sacrifice a relationship to all else. Opacity - the untranslatable - merely requires a slowing down of observation (and making). This runs counter to the speeding up of the instant translatable, digitized culture we are accustomed to today; but, as Joselit pointed out, there is the other, older, slower, untranslatable ‘digital culture’ we have known forever … the culture made by the five digits contained on each human hand. This is the digital culture he is speaking about and to as a means to broaden the scope by which the conceptual is remediated (a word whose use was challenged in the post-talk discussion with Caroline Jones and Judith Barry). I had intended to write about this talk and the ideas expressed by Joselit, and probably will write more later, because I was intrigued by the notion of the untranslatable and abstraction and the need for opacity as a mechanism for slowing down the remediation of the idea; but it seems my hands and the scanning process this morning in the studio drove my head here quicker than I anticipated. This might be a good example of the intermingling of thought and process that happens between the making and the writing in the studio.
But, as usual, I’ve digressed.
So, back to the topic of this post and to quickly conclude with how the fragment of the essence of painting I seek to capture is the mutability of work which occurs not just across each context it is viewed in but the process of a single viewing. In most galleries and museums the conditions under which a painting is viewed are highly controlled, regimented. In the studio, in a private home, this is less the case. In the process of making the painting in my studio the light and conditions under which I am working change as I work and, in turn, I work with the changes as they occur. When a painting is displayed in my living space - something I do for the same reason I look at images I post online on as many screens as possible - I like to observe how the work changes over time by the changing of the conditions of light it is viewed in. Even if I stuck a video camera on a painting for 24 hours a day for 365 days a year I still would not be able to capture the essence of the painting that I would capture if I sat a few minutes now and then, or just glanced at the work for a swift second as I walk by it. And still this is something that I still try to seek and include somehow in that little but of what I am offering the spectator (of the image) when I post or submit online, or print out onto a piece of paper.
In Joselit’s talk he gave an example of how the untranslatable might still be communicated to the recipient (viewer/spectator) in early conceptual artist Lawrence Weiner’s Declaration of Intent. Key being, for artists working with ‘traditional’ means and media the work should through itself and not thru extraneous text or documentation declare to the receiver the intent. But here, as this is a text with documentary images, I shall take Weiner’s approach and describe with words the steps you, the viewer, might take to view the following images in a way that might further the agency you have of receiving the essence of painting through whatever screen you are viewing them on.
Open a single image in lightbox.
Look at the image on the screen from a straight on position.
Look away. Then beginning with your focus to the left of the screen slowly move your eyes to the right side of the screen at different angles to the screen as you glance across the image. Repeat, beginning from the right moving to the left, from the bottom to the top, and from the top to the bottom. In other words, look at the screen as if you were looking at, walking around a painting, displayed on a wall.
How does your movement, the speed you move your eyes, your head, impact how the image on the screen is received? Do you see things at one angle that do not appear at another? How does changing the screen you are viewing this on impact what you are seeing? Have you tried looking at this in a darkened room?
The same images from December: Petra Nimm with the color removed … as if they were drawings in black and white; similar to the drawings Petra has been working on from the frottages she did this past spring.
Each image will eventually be printed on vellum and on hotpress watercolor paper with an inkjet printer.
What Petra sees.
The ink jet prints on 100% rag vellum from See Thru, mounted on Stonehenge Aqua Hotpress 300 gsm/140 lb 25.40cm x 35.56 cm/10 inches x 14 inches. Acrylic Matte Medium, Acrylic Gesso, white China Marker, white Conté Crayon. Photographed in daylight 1/100 f3.5; cropped slightly.
Prints of photos of one side of the story on 100% rag vellum, laid together on scanner bed and scanned. Slightly crop and adjustments to exposure, contrast, added sepia (for warmth), and sharpness made in Preview program. One hundred variations possible. Here are the first ten.
There are similarities between these paintings and the personas. For instance, their existence is not entirely in a physical space and they are comprised of parts of what exists in deeper layers. And they are brought together here on the website.
Photos of each side. Inkjet print at 100 percent [8 inches x 10 inches] on 100% rag vellum [8.5 inches x 11 inches/21.6 cm x 27.9 cm]. Laid together and scanned. Images cropped slightly and minor adjustments made in color/contrast/sharpness.
Each image has been printed again on the same vellum paper to be worked further off-screen.
Must we conclude that this lie is the very essence of art? I shall say instead that the attitudes I have been describing are lies only insofar as they have but little relation to art. What, then, is art? Nothing simple, that is certain. And it is even harder to find out amid the shouts of so many people bent on simplifying everything. On the one hand, genius is expected to be splendid and solitary; on the other hand, it is called upon to resemble all. Alas, reality is more complex. And Balzac suggested this in a sentence: ‘The genius resembles everyone and no one resembles him.’ So it is with art, which is nothing without reality and without which reality is insignifcant. How, indeed, could art get along without the real and how could art be subservient to it? The artist chooses his object as much as he is chosen by it. Art, in a sense, is a revolt against everything fleeting and unfinished in the world. Consequently, its only aim is to give another form to a reality that is nevertheless forced to preserve as the source of its emotion. In this regard, we are all realistic and no one is. Art is neither complete rejection nor complete acceptance of what is. It is simultaneously rejection and acceptance, and this is why it must be a perpetually renewed wrenching apart. The artist constantly lives in such a state of ambiguity, incapable of negating the real and yet eternally bound to question it in its eternally unfinished aspects. …
There is no need of determining whether art must flee reality or defer to it, but rather what precise dose of reality the work must take on as ballast to keep from floating up among the clouds or from dragging along the ground with weighted boots. Each artist solves this problem according to his lights and abilities. The greater an artist’s revolt against the world’s reality, the greater can be the weight of reality to balance that revolt. But the weight can never stifle the artist’s solitary exigency. … That’s just it and yet that’s not it; the world is nothing and the world is everything - this is the contradictory and tireless cry of every true artist, the cry that keeps him on his feet with eyes ever open and that, every once in a while, awakens for all in this world asleep the fleeting and insistent image of a reality we recognize without ever having known it.
Camus, Albert. Create Dangerously. Justin O’Brien, translator. Penguin Random House UK, 2018. pp.21-23
Eight works on paper after Camus’ speech ‘Create Dangerously’ given shortly after he was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature, The University of Uppsala (Sweden), December 1957.
Watercolor, acrylic gesso, acrylic medium, collaged monoprint fragment of oil paint on yellow drafting paper, gel ink, on 300 gram Stonehenge Aqua Hotpress, 10 inches x 14 inches/ 25.40 cm x 35.56 cm.
Photographed in daylight.
The crura have been standing in the center of the basement half of my studio for about four months; the paintings, that together with these ‘appendages’ form the work Chamber, sitting patiently on top, waiting for what comes next.
I know how they feel.
Each day I navigate around them. It is pretty chaotic.
Chaos is not a circumstance that I freely chose.
However, it seems to be the one I currently find myself in.
Being someone who tends to work with what is before her, and the crura are continually catching my eye, I can’t help but look at the canvases I’ve been painting in the greenhouse
the blue paintings of Franzi’s hanging on the wall
and wonder how might the they all come together?
The expression that keeps coming to mind is ‘does this story have legs?’
Underlying narrative has also been on my mind but more on that to the other paintings in other postings.
Unlike the paintings of Chamber these are all single sided paintings on stretched canvas. Some are 1.5 inch gallery wrapped, others thinner 7/8 inch. The thicker stretcher bars enabled me to balance the canvases on top of the crura, the thinner stretchers I hung on the bars jutting out, this makes the legs appear shorter.
Some are paintings that are being painted over older work which is allowed to peak thru in spots, others are ‘fresh starts’. Oil is what is currently being applied. With the exception of Franzi’s blue paintings all the work shown is still in progress.
Thoughts on refinement include how to treat the backside of the paintings, how to attach the canvases so they are removable, how to construct the crura so they can be disassembled, reassembled, and varied in height.
Thoughts on how this work differs from Chamber and the approaches taken by other artists such as Dona Nelson and Laura Owens.
And what part does the research with personas as tools play in arriving at this point?
Playing with what is standing around I took these pics and video.
To this painting of ten panels I added thin layers of oil paint, mostly using a variety of blacks and whites. Some sanding occurred between layers. Eventually I taped off some areas to create slightly solid geometric shapes to connect the panels. I had laid out the panels in two rows of five panels each, taping across the panels and then cutting them apart with a razor blade.
After thin layers of titanium white mixed with some marble dust to make the surface more matte I re-taped select areas and painted a blue black (50% Prussian Blue, 50% Mars Black with some Liquin mixed in) shape which I then removed the paint from by pressing scraps of drafting-sketch paper onto the wet surface. I did this two times for each shape.
The previous postings showed the painting panels in a landscape format. I realized most of the time I painted with oil on these, and while I had them propped on the ledge drying, I was viewing them in a portrait format.
So I am posting the scans of the current state of the painting panels in a vertical orientation here now. Next step will be some final contrasting glazes (black and white with a glossier sheen), after which I will begin playing with the installation. Similar to the painting Black, White and Blue these panels will be mounted directly on the wall using 3M Velcro picture hanging strips. Currently I envision a single line … what Concertinaed would be if stretched out, viewed without the folds and not sat on a mirror shelf. Petra is still slowly working on the drawings she began from the Frottages she began this past summer. One hangs on the wall in the greenhouse studio and I constantly look over to it as I paint on these panels. With there shared origins they are moving closer together but the same can be said for the other paintings on canvas I have begun without the direct input of Franzi or Petra this past month and a half - a brief glimpse.
Finally, here are the scans.
This is the continuation of what Petra and I were working on in May.
The mixed media work was mounted on 8 inch x 10 inch canvas board panels using acrylic matter medium. A brushstroke texture was left visible. The paper was taped off and then Franzi applied his layers of thin blue acrylic paint, rapidly drying each layer with a hairdryer. The next day the tape was peeled away to reveal both the hard edge and the thin, feathery blue that had seeped through the tape and collected in the wells of matte medium brushstrokes. Here is a scan of each panel. Next up will be me and some oil paint. TBC