Help! Marcel Duchamp ! Everyone's gotta get in the act!

This news blurb has been on my desktop a while now because I confess that I found it funny. Defacing ART in museums is obviously a serious concern for people who care about both ART and History so I'm not encouraging it by any means. In this case though it wasn't about defacing but adding eyes to a face. It happened in a museum in Russia somewhat recently. I could only imagine  some poor guy, (or gal) in a shabby uniform and absolutely bored out of his or her mind while standing  whole days at a time, month after month in a grey Russia with a dismal life. With a BIC pen in their pocket, did they suddenly think of this on the spur of the moment, or was it thought out over too much vodka one evening? 

Looking at it another way, isn't it possible that this act was an ironically subversive statement on the faceless quality of life in Russia? Maybe of everywhere? 

Wasn't the guard in question, acting more like a renegade artist than a bored employee of the state? Wouldn't Marcel Duchamp approve?

In any event, the poor soul was probably sent to a gulag in the north for a lengthy sentence. 

Below, is what happened to one of Wei-Wei's sculptures (Porcelain Cube) that was pushed over during the reception of his recent show at Palazzo Fav in Bologna Italy. Apparently, the saboteur snuck into the reception and tipped it over to everyone's horror. The fellow was identified as a Czech national and a wanna-be artist who was looking for attention. 

Ironically Wei-Wei himself smashed a 2000 year old ceramic vessel (but which he had bought himself) and documented it in photographs. His conceptual piece on that destruction is called 'Dropping a Han Dynasty Urn'. It was a protest against the violence and injustice perpetrated by those in power. Hmmm.

Well,,,,, I think the jumble of ceramic pieces laid out on a plinth looks pretty good as a project in itself.

Lastly, but not leastly, for your perusal from an advert on Ebay.au, I present nine John Deere bonnets from their L series lawn mowers. Somehow it speaks to me of the absurdity of not just Art but politics too. 

 

The wisdom of George Costanza's theory of the Opposite

Darkness Begets Darkness

Though I knew it was a real possibility, the fact of his re-election now sinks in like a slow case of diarrhea. I confess that I thought he was such a joke, I couldn't take it seriously and yet on a lark, I bet my brother a pizza one month ago that Trump would win. Such a cavalier attitude on my part comes back to kick me in the  gut. Oh well.

I actually saw a message from the sober crowd  amongst us, warning us not to drink or take drugs because of all this. Well, I'm no longer a drinker, but yes, if I were, I believe I would certainly have tied one on yesterday. I'm a realist and not too rattled by events so I'm going out to paint this evening because it's so clear, and a Bloom is likely. 

As we all know, the world will go on though it will be weird for sure, possibly it'll even be terrible for lots of people from Alabama to Kiev for variously diverse reasons. But I'm not going to lose sleep over these things that I cannot control. I voted, and that's that. But "It's a sure shame", as we used to say in the Kentucky of my youth. 

America is a complicated place and its menu is full of every kind of contradiction available. So the majority of Americans picked what they want, and apparently, they have the appetite for it. I am strangely relieved that Trump won the popular vote because if hadn't, it would be even more disheartening for us all. Somehow it's easier for me to accept our defeat like when our team loses badly to another and we cannot say that we didn't say get smashed. We just need to get up and go back to training harder for the next time.

So, for the rest of us who voted for Kamala Harris, let us take what little brilliance George Costanza ever offered up to the world and be the opposite of everything that Trump and Maga represents. 

Let's go on a diet and exercise, let us be kind to the less fortunate, let's dive into ART because we need it more than ever during these times. Let's write reams of poetry, paint big colourful pictures and let's make lots of music. But let's love too, and make hay! Let's not swear at others, or about them, and let's not demean others either. Let's educate ourselves to better understand how others live and think, and let's cherish our ability to be any kind of person we choose to be despite what MAGA will say. 

Trump is a miserable old man who wears an odd sort of tanning sauce that makes him look at times like an old pervert. Deep down, I think he even hates himself for not looking like George Clooney. With all that money and power he's still an insecure old man with few friends. So Let's get even by being as happy and fulfilled as we can. 

And let's also wish Kamala well in her new life wherever it will be. She will easily bring her skills to wherever they will be needed and appreciated in service to others. 

Let's be the opposite of everything that Trump stands for!  

These are from last night, a windy evening and a mediocre sky but I managed to have some fun. 

Evening Prayer Brunswick Heads, 6 November 2024 oil on canvas board, 30 X 25 cm

Evening Prayer Brunswick Heads, 6 November 2024 oil on canvas board, 30 X 25 cm

Evening Prayer Brunswick Heads, 6 November 2024 oil on canvas board,    30 X 25 cm

Takes one to know one

Evening Prayer Brunswick Heads, 21 October 2024 oil on canvas board, 30 X 25 cm

An old friend of mine, Micheal, is visiting the Gold Coast, here in Australia, about an hour from me, near Byron Bay. He came by for long lunch, and though he has been here many times, he continually marvels at these curious Australian people. For example, he recounted two wonderful anecdotes to prove his point. They both took place on a wooden walkway alongside the beach within days of his arrival. 

The first encounter involved a fit woman in an exercise outfit who was briskly walking towards him from the opposite direction. Because the walkway narrowed at just the spot where they were about to pass one another and one of them would have to give way to the other, the clever woman approached home gently clasping his arm and waltzed herself around him, twirling not once, but twice so they were each able to continue on their respective directions. 

Not bad. 

The second encounter occurred the following morning when on the same walkway he found himself approaching an older couple from behind walking the same direction. As he passed them on the left (which we do here in Australia like in Britain) he nodded with a smile, when the wife looked up at him and immediately said, "Watch out! my husband is farting". 

Whoa! Life is certainly a gas here in Australia! he recounted to me. 

But not to be out done by his stories, I had to tell him about an encounter from just the night that happened to me when I was at my small dune and setting up to paint. I began mixing colours on the palette which is placed horizontally upon the front of the easel. I was apparently using my palette knife with such vigour that when a retired couple that was passing below on the path, the husband shouted up to me; 

"You look like you are masturbating", 

"Come again", I said to him, because I didn't really believe I was hearing him properly. He repeated it then disappeared quickly up the pathway back to the car park. I wasn't shocked because in all fairness, it's usually me who shocks strangers not the other way around. But it did take me by  surprise. 

Recounting this to Michael, I confessed that it's rare that I find myself so disarmed that I cannot repost something quickly so speechless was I to hear a complete stranger say that.

Without missing a beat, he replied, "You could have said, 'Takes one to know one'".

Evening Prayer Brunswick Heads, 21 October 2024 oil on canvas board, 30 X 25 cm

But Australia is also know for its critters that live amongst us all. There are venomous snakes in our backyards, pythons in our roofs, and poisonous spiders that take over our shoes if we leave them out on the porch. In fact, when I first arrived about 25 years ago, I was terrified by all the things my brother and his roommate warned me about doing and not doing here. Of course, I soon realised that Australians do that to every tourist as a joke. But nevertheless, the nasty critters still abound  and one must take certain precautions. On the other hand, there are cute residents like koalas, and wallabies, kookaburras and wombats, etc, etc.. 

Painting has been good to me lately. I am moving through a new chapter because I am re-working studies that had never really pleased me. I take them out to re-paint after I've done a few new studies when the palette is slurpy and rich with paints. So now I often bring a few out with me when I show up at the beach.

Evening Prayer Brunswick Heads, 21 October 2024 oil on canvas board, 30 X 25 cm

  

El Greco and me

Unfortunately I don't remember who I gave this to many years ago. If i did I'd send them an insulting letter about why they would try to sell it at auction which is where I found it online. 

I guess it rubs me because I mostly gave thing away to friends and I cannot imagine why anyone would a gift. For for how much? Peanuts I'm sure from the look of the Online Auction House. 

Well, what are you going to do,,, as my aunt Molly from Glasgow used to say. I remember it as being one of the very first dry-points I ever made in France perhaps 45 years ago. I immediately fell in love with the process working on copper plates but only made a few because I wasn't set up. I think it was a couple whom I knew who had invited me to come into their engraving studio in Aix to try it out. 

It was a 'copy' of an El Greco reproduction I had in those days. A self-portrait he painted in 1584, so Google informs me. But because I was making was a dry-point, the image is reversed and thus the face is backwards so the expression turns to the left instead to the right.

Of course it looks a bit wonky because I didn't know what I was doing, I negligently didn't finish it by ignoring many of the details. The copper plate was the size of a matchbook and I remember being unable to manipulate it in my hand left hand I was also new to gauging into this soft metal. 

But those are excuses! The truth, is that I find it full of life today and I'm grateful to see it again after all these years. 

About 25 years ago I tried again to make dry-points but this time by using plastic postcards....! Go figure!... (I cannot remember why I didn't again use copper plates which make a real dry-point) 

Sometimes, I don't even understand my own thinking...!

But anyway, I fell in love with this El Greco self-portrait that I saw in my early years in France.

El Greco, (The Greek) was born on Crete in 1541, His real name was Domenikos Theotokopoulos, but only after his death did historians call him 'El Greco'. Why 'El Greco' when Crete was ruled by Venetians? It is Spanish because he spent so much of his life working there.

Enjoy!

Addendum- I was telling this story to an artist friend David the other night who wisely suggested another scenario for me. Perhaps the auction was part of deceased estate sale and whomever I had given the print had died? A mystery.

    

         El Greco, 1584 Self Portrait, oil on treated burlap  

Paintings as postcards and ready for the fridge door

Anyone familiar with my facebook or Instagram accounts would see these recent photos I've put up. I just started doing it for fun but I've also now realised that there was a reason of which I wasn't aware when I began. I see now that it was because I've always seen these studies as small souvenirs in an unpretentious  way that has been difficult articulate. By putting them in these little 'mise-en-scenes', I am declaring to the world that they are just 'part of the woodwork' of everyday life as it were. 

They are 'nothing special', an apt title of a favourite book of mine by Charlotte Jono Beck because they are really just reminders that the ocean is ever-present, no matter where one lives, even Utah. They are postcards, souvenirs of a particular instant in time reminding us of this moment. 

They repose standing up in the kitchen as well as on the bookshelves, and once in place, they are domesticated and at home, like small sleeping dogs in one's living room.

Enjoy!

 

 

Hiatus, and Uncle Boris.

Evening Prayer Brunswick Heads, 23 September 2024, oil on canvas board, 30 X 25 cm

Evening Prayer Brunswick Heads, 25 September 2024, oil on canvas board, 30 X 25 cm

After a long hiatus I got back to the dunes at the beach last week. I was nervous, and I had to push myself out of the house in order to get back into the routine. 

This top one came from the first session wherein I made four studies somewhat quickly. The skies weren't brilliant on either days but luckily I'm seem to able to pull something out of even the worst skies. 

I wasn't thrilled by any of them, but dutifully, I put them in the boot of my small Toyota. There were done on different nights. The next mornings when I pulled them out to take photos I was pleasantly surprised by these two in particular.

Towards the end of a 'bloom', I've always had a problem dealing with the thick stripe of colour that hovers over the sea as it steadily grows taller to eventually meld into nightfall. 

In the top study, the stripe arose from a somewhat dull-looking sky, its broken tint of purple appeared almost solid as it expanded upward. In the study below it, two evenings later, the sky had been a little brighter and thus the stripe appears brighter, though a little faded with more light Prussian Blue in it. 

It's strange zone, this thick stripe that widens gradually as the colourful 'Bloom' fades away and the sky returns to a more conventionally local colour before dusk. It can be any variance of violet as it rises into the evening. It's rarely the same hue of purple on any given night. It's confounding and troublesome. 

It's an androgynous sort of colour that befits our nuanced, gender-bending moment we all live in today. It can feel robustly masculine on some days and yet, (as in this first top study) it carries a feminine scent like an airy perfume on others. But I've come to appreciate this problematic space, one so delicate and nuanced, and one that survives the turmoil of a sunset that already presents me with such agony. Like a lynchpin it holds everything together, and I have so little time to see it, then find a solution for it. 

Maybe, for a civilian, it's too difficult to explain properly. But as my uncle Boris, back in the Bronx used to say when I was still a virgin: 

"Hey kid, you gotta do it to understand it,,,ya got it?" 

Anyway, Thank God for Uncle Boris, who also taught me how to stick with something until I finally understood it. And this motif always seems to open up new problems, (but solutions too) invisible to me when I started out just a few years back. 

Rain is scheduled for the next few days. 

 

Titian's daughter, Lavinia and other things

This photo is of Titian's daughter, Lavinia, who was his model for many of his pictures. It is but a headshot of a half-figure portrait. I saw it in Napoli at the Capodimonte Museum many years ago. I was staying on Capri in a funky old hotel in the unglamorous port side of the island. I used to take the ferry across to Napoli to visit this incredible museum. 

This photo, which I took of this portrait, I've had ever since and is currently affixed to an IKEA cabinet in the kitchen. Before that it lived in a Filofax agenda that I carried around for years before the arrival of the i-phone.

This portrait stops me in my tracks sometimes between tasks while preparing dinner. In fact, she has never been far from me. Butt she's not the only one. I have various other small 'crushes' scattered about my home. Marguerite Matisse is another one. Her father also used her as a model often but always as his daughter.

Titian painted Lavinia in various roles and many poses in so many different pictures. Though it's not officially noted I'm sure that the famous Venus of Urbino is Lavinia. But there are many others to spread out in grand museums all over the world. 

Upon walking into a palatial room at the top of the museum, the bay of Naples spread out through the large windows,  I saw her and was smitten immediately. It's complicated to explain because I loved her for the way she looked, but I also loved her for the way he painted her. Full disclosure: I have also fallen in love with other women simply by seeing their portraits. Goya made at least one, but there are others too. What does it mean to fall in love with a painted portrait? Is that so crazy? I mean, people today fall in love with photographs of their objects of desire, non? 

Another one was Titian's St Margaret, in the Prado, and may have also been one of Lavinia's  modelling jobs. I saw this large picture during my first year in France when I visited Madrid at the beginning of my studies in art. To be really honest, I had such a visceral sensation upon seeing this giant portrait that I was disturbed for weeks afterward. It was not by the picture nor the talents of Titian, but from my erotic attraction to the model in the painting. Whether or not it was Lavinia doesn't matter, though it might have been. I was just overwelmed by the emotion in her face and her voluptuously imposing body, because at 21, I was quite impressed by certain kinds of women, either painted or in the flesh. Indeed, it was considered at the time a risqué picture for Titian revealed her long naked leg which would have driven those priests mad. 

St Margaret, Titian, The Prado museum

According to legend, St Margaret of Antioch (4th century Turkey) was expelled from home by her pagan father priest when she was converted to Christianity by a local midwife. She then vowed to be virgin but her beauty was such that she bewitched a local Roman Governor whose advances she had spurned. He had her imprisoned and tortured, but while in prison she met the devil who took the form of a dragon. He then tried to eat her but the cross she held in her hand so irritated the dragon that he disgorged her. She  survived subsequent attempts by fire and drowning until she was finally beheaded. 

Being the Middle Ages, of course, there were spectators for each assassination attempt and the more she survived the bigger the crowds. She ended up converting thousands to Christianity after witnessing her ordeal, but alas, they too were put to death. She became a saint one thousand years later, hmmm. What is it with all these Men who want to hurt women, then years later venerate them? 

But anyway, she became a great fixation for me and I not only fell for her but for Titian too.

One anecdote about Titian I really love, because the Renaissance was not only time of greatness (for some) but a wonderful time to be a painter, (great or crappy). Like today, where families are held in high regard if there is a lawyer or or accountant in their brood, during the 15th and 16th centuries, a family would equally be celebrated for having a painter or two in their midst. Painters were revered everywhere in Italy. 

So the story goes that when Titian was painting Pope Paul III, he dropped a paint brush during the session and then waited for the Pope to get off his chair and bend over to pick it up for him. How times have changed.

      Pope Paul III, Titian, 1543, Capodimonte Museum, Napoli
 

 

  

Legoland

I really don't know what to say about this apartment building complex except that it looks so remarkable. I can't believe that I didn't know them while living in France. I had seen La Grand Motte from the autoroute many times from a distance and though it looked like just a large area full of 1960's apartments never did I imagine that it housed such imaginative architecture.

These images are taken from an article in the New York Times from last week. If you can get by their paywall, try to get in because it's a great article. I tried to see them via Google Earth but whole areas in La Grand Motte are fuzzed out for some reason, probably due to some military zoning. But what i could see showed many other apartment buildings laid out in symmetrical shapes as if designed from outer space.

Copacabana, Rio 

These buildings remind me of some many wonderful things I saw (in print) out of Brasilia, the capitol of Brazil. But in Rio, where I did once go years many ago, I saw that same playfulness everywhere in all sorts of small details around the city. Even seeing the mosaic patterns of the Copacabana from a hotel room high up, was a great surprise for me. It spoke to me of visual pleasure, and yes, a child-like visionary joy of urban living.

I haven't a clue what these apartments are like on the inside or what they are like to live in but imagine the pleasure it might be to just to come home after shopping at Carrefour to an apartment in one of these?

 

Arthur Boyd and the black sheep of Australia

These are wild images from the Australian artist Arthur Boyd which I believe were painted at the end of his life. I will let interested parties google him if their interest is piqued by these things. John MacDonald, the critic for the Sydney Morning Herald who has an astute eye and a rich cultured mind wrote a recent piece about him, also for the curious-minded.

I like very much the image above while I find everything else fascinating but maybe less engaging, personally speaking. 

I've always found that Australian artists back in the early part of the 20th century were on the whole, a determined lot of eccentric and original artists, and Boyd was no exception. 

In this wild continent so far removed from Europe they found themselves out of the loop and on their own. This was a good thing I believe, because it protected them from the conventional conformity of 'Modern Art' that raged through the capitals of Europe and America. There was a kind of proud defiance, a renegade streak, among many of these Australian artists.

Now, of course, in Australia, like most other countries around this shrinking cultural globe, Post-Modernist theory has infected all the art schools. This has sadly created an environment of pretty universally bland and conventional art despite possessing that kind of sizzle that appeals to Contemporary galleries and cool curators who themselves are also artists. This has created it own 'closed loop' of a system. Whoa!.... But,... tut tut, I'm being severe!... yet maybe you get my point.

So one could say that there have been two kinds of art in Australia since the Europeans arrived. One, authentically rooted in the ancestral coding of the land. The other (and newer one) was imported by the British settlers. 

The former is a large network of indigenous artists from all over this gigantic continent. I don't want to simplify a complicated idea, but their work, like all indigenous cultures around the world, spring up from their authentic experiences of living from this earth.

But the second art of Australia was a white art, not less valid, just foreign, and imported, its roots are colonial nonetheless. Again this is a subject I'm less equipped to pontificate upon, at least now anyway. As we say in the Bronx, "it's complicated".

Gradually, this early European tradition of painting evolved, and after a few centuries, it joined the global rush towards an 'expression of originality'.

But despite catching up with the arty trends of the rest of the world (and its mother ship Britain), Australian art of the 20th century maintained its own wild and rebellious defiance. 

I think it came into its own when it finally accepted Britain's snobbery towards Australia by owning it's reputation a bit like Queer became a defiantly proud slogan of the LGBQ community. Australian artists embrace their unique identity  in their unique land Down-Under. They said to Britain; Yes, OK, we're the smelly black sheep, and we're proud of it,,, so 'Sod Off' Pommies! 

Of course, all this is quite fanciful on my part but there might be a sliver of truth to it nonetheless.  

After all, Australia had been conceived as a penitentiary and established to receive its previous black sheep, the Irish, and the rest of poor unfortunates that Britain had wished to dispose of without having to execute them all. Australia would always be considered to the poor relation.  

But that was then, and now is now. These Australian artists of the 20th century have forged diverse paths as if slashing their way through the rough landscape of this rugged country with a machete. 

So, Arthur Boyd began like a European, but ended up as a wildly original visionary. Nice!

   

 

Disclaimer!

Disclaimer! Once in a blue moon I re-post older things when it suits me so just for fun, here is one from two years ago.

I find it fascinating because isn't always interesting to see another dimension to one's own work?

I confess that I am almost tempted to propose a show of these small intimate images in this vertical state because people might find them more interesting presented in this format. 

It's true, fewer people these days are interested in reality than ever before, and this of course, raises a lot of questions to explore for another time. Enjoy! 

,

09 October 2022

a pot pourri of the painter's psyche.

These Evening Prayers were all painted over the past few months, randomly chosen for their stronger contrasts perhaps, but quite simply, I just wanted to see how these paintings would look vertically, just for fun,,,, why else? It was easily done and they were rotated to the right or left without too much thought. 

They are interesting because quite suddenly, they seem foreign to me, standing up tall like gangly teenagers, while me, the middle-aged parent gawks with surprise.

Except one, are all rotated just one turn, but this image, upside down, feels more like something from an amusement park. 

 

By playing with all these images in this way, I was allowed to experience not only the light differently, but the colour too, notably, the way colours interact with each other so differently in a vertical format.

Also, the gravitational aspect of them pulls the eye a little bit towards one lateral side or the other and makes them feel a bit wonky, and this is also destabilising in a weirdly positive way for me.

This was an experiment solely for pleasure as I said because I wanted to experience these images in a new way and indeed, it seems apparent there are lots of stripes in this painter's psyche.