Late fall and winter have been busy months for me, with little blogging...but, here's a quick post with a link to the inaugural exhibit, Unscripted, at Fountain Street Fine Art.  I'm delighted to have 2 pieces in this exciting first exhibit at Fountain Street.  The show was juried by Katherine French.  Check it out.

Last spring when I participated in the Cambridge Art Association's portfolio review and I was busy doing the elevator speech for the reviewers, I described myself as a cannibal artist.  I've always known what this means to me, but I've started thinking more about the meaning for other artists who feed off their own work.  Is it a hunger/desire thing?  Is it a ritualizing of the creative process?  Is it self-destruction?  Or self-destruction with the positive spin of rebirth and regeneration?  Is it mirroring our world's self-annihilating tendencies?  Is it a disorder???  I'm intending to check out the Leonardo Drew "EXISTED"  exhibit at the Decordova this weekend with some of these thoughts bouncing around.

Here is a secret about using old bits of one's own work...at least it's my secret...I'm not sure how it relates to anyone else's process.  I think there is a child-like, magical-thinking tendency to imagine that bits and pieces of former work quiver with some unseen force...the way something from the past is like the portal to another place.  Re-working old bits of art for me is like starting out with a ritual, embedding the new work with a narrative, a presence, a quivering, unseen spirit.  And this search for that barely-there presence is related to hunger and desire I think.

There's also the visual element:  looking for that perfect fleshy pink with just the right dash of line while trying to evoke the overall feeling of decay, trauma, fragmentation.

What I hope to capture in work that's constructed with bits and pieces is absence and presence combined.  I think this is related to regeneration...like when you look at a baby's face and see a deceased ancestor in the shape of the baby's mouth...seeing the dead and living in one moment.  I don't know if this is how I'll experience the Leonardo Drew exhibit, but I hope it makes me quiver.

From Peter S. Wise, a participating artist, here's a wonderful video montage from the opening reception.

It's late, but before sleep I need to write a little bit about tonight's opening of In-Between at the Worcester State University Gallery.  It is very exciting to be a part of this inaugural juried exhibit of regional artists' work.  This show marks the beginning of the gallery's new focus on what the Worcester Telegram calls “expanding its role in the cultural landscape” -- highlighting regional artwork and contributing to the cultural vibrancy of the city of Worcester.

There was a big turn-out tonight with a lot of university folks present and a lot of enthusiasm about this show and the gallery’s new mission.  In this context, (despite my usual shyness) I was especially happy to accept a 2nd place award for my piece, What Ascends, What Remains.  I also got the chance to meet some of the other exhibiting artists, some of the fine arts faculty and the gallery director, Catherine Wilcox-Titus.  

My own vanity aside, there was something special about this exhibit.  Choosing 52 pieces from over 350 submissions, the jurors achieved not just a stylistic vision, but a palpable sense of honesty and authenticity.  I couldn’t help noticing how people pondered over these works, even in the commotion of an opening.  Maybe it’s something about the conceptual meanings of “in-between” that brought out true and open visual explorations.  Maybe it was in the jurors' eyes to try to find work that reveals as well as cleverly obscures.  Maybe a university gallery by its nature has a certain commitment to depth that can be a bit harder to find in the larger art world.

If so, this gallery brings quite a gift to Worcester and the rest of us. 

GREAT NEWS!  Ancestors was named an "exceptional work" in TLGUTS' (the little gallery under the stairs) exhibit, VOICES: Mothers Who Create II.  This was a beautiful exhibit, with an abundance of interesting work.  Describing her reasons for starting the annual Mothers Who Create exhibit, TLGUTS Director Jocelyn Almy-Testa writes:

All of the artists I have met through TLGUTS appreciate Jocelyn's vision, energy and ferocious commitment.

My daughter recently asked if I collect images for paintings.  She was describing how she collects phrases or groups of words for poems.  Sometimes she won’t know how the words will appear in her writing, but she’ll save them in a notebook knowing that they’ll someday reemerge in a song or poem

This idea of collecting was on my mind, when I recently went to see my friend, Lei-Sanne Doo’s two-person exhibit with Mary Tinker Hatch at Wheelock College.  It’s clear that Lei-Sanne has been busy collecting beautiful imagery over the years.  A lot of her paintings in the show contain layers of airy colors paired with delicately painted shapes reminiscent of flowers that float across the surface of the canvas.  I was reminded of a water strider’s legs making marks across the surface of pond water.  In fact, one of the paintings is called “Floating Garden”.

Yes, I think many artists and writers are collectors.  We are looking, listening, finding the images that speak to us and will become the story for the viewer or reader.  But besides collecting the imagery, the creative work is in putting it all together.  I think, too often, I can censor or edit the images before I’ve given them “room to breathe”.  Seeing Lei-Sanne’s work reminded me of the importance of a delicate hand and respectful approach to the images.  Notes to myself:  collect with an open mind, compose respectfully, and, occasionally, dance across the canvas like a water strider.

See Lei-Sanne Doo’s art here.

I've been thinking about writing this for a month.  (So, now I realize that it must be a challenge for me to write about joy and fearlessness.)  A month ago I went to see the Danish band,  Mew -- for the second time -- and I'm still carrying the feeling of open-hearted inspiration.  It's inspirational to see and hear such fearless creativity, such honesty and adventurousness in art.  My brother, who is a drummer and went to the concert*, too, called me a day later to say, "thank god there are people in the world making music with such honesty and emotion!"  He said he was grateful that he was a musician and grateful that I make paintings and grateful to all of the other people who struggle to put their creative work in the world.  So, I was thinking, why be grateful?  I'm grateful, too, because art, music, literature, any inspirational, creative work reconnects me to a feeling of aliveness.  Being joyful, alive, and open-hearted is the way to be...but it can be elusive.  And you have to be a little bit fearless.

I've also learned about fearlessness by picking up a new hobby: ice hockey.  It's not a sport for the faint-hearted (which I am at times -- I've even fainted in the past -- but not during hockey...phew).  For me, playing hockey is all about fear...and speed...and fear of speed.  I never took ice skating lessons before, so it's pretty difficult to be fearless when I put on those skates.  But, that's exactly why I love it.  (not to mention all that great gear!)

Last summer when I went to hear Joan Snyder speak about her work at the Danforth Museum of Art, someone in the audience made reference to her fearlessness as an artist.  (I thought to myself, "o.k., I love her work, so I'll try fearlessness, too.")  It's not easy.  But skating with a bunch of fearless, powerful women and listening to Mew for inspiration and reminding myself to experiment in the studio...all of these things help.  And they also lead to some moments of pure joy.

For some more on fearlessness read Mira's List: P.S. Be a Horse, Not a Tiny Fearful Thing.

* my sister went to the concert too -- and, dancing to Mew with my brother and sister on either side of me was a big part of the pure joy!

I went to two receptions this past week.  The first, at ArsenalArts, was the always intriguing Members' Show.  The main gallery was filled with eclectic art, the gift shop was hopping, and the cast of the musical, Hedwig and the Angry Inch was practicing in the Black Box theater.  It's clear that ArsenalArts is becoming a magnet for talented artists looking to display work in a gorgeous space.  We had fun wandering around checking out the art, listening to a little music, and then shopping with the kids (after they had combed the food table).  I ran in to C.J. Stevens and had a look at her delicate and lovely glass bead painting.

The other interesting show we went to was Effort At Speech, Gerry Bergstein at the Danforth Museum.  Bergstein is an amazing draftsman and colorist.  He is also a wag.  Before this show, I was somewhat familiar with his paintings from the late 80's, but I hadn't seen anything more recent in person.  In comparing the early work to the later work, I loved seeing how he refined the tone and iconography, and simplified his approach.  (Although using the word "simplified" is a contradiction -- the paintings are bursting with "stuff")  I love how he undermines the significance of "artist" and "art world", and presents that relationship with self-deprecating humor.  His work honestly and playfully presents the manic swings of the artist who understands hubris and humility.

A friend and I visited the Nan Tull exhibit at the Danforth Museum, and, as usual, witnessing another artist's journey gave me insight into some specific concerns of my own.  One thing I was struck by in Tull's work, was the difference between the pieces that relied on a strong sense of design and those that had a looser, more raw feel.  Some pieces had more overall balance and fluidity and were, at first glance, very beautiful.  But the pieces that I especially responded to, that had a voice that I was drawn to, were the ones with a little less perfection.  I felt that the beauty of Tull's craft occasionally drowned out the expressive voice in some of her more "perfected" pieces.

For me, this is a continuous challenge: how to enable the voice of the artwork to speak with pure grace and power (without the artist getting in the way).  Sometimes the craft of artmaking helps and sometimes it gets in the way.  ...sorry to bring up Diebenkorn again, but he has a nice quote about this... "I seem to have to do it elaborately wrong and with many conceits first. Then maybe I can attack and deflate my pomposity and arrive at something straight and simple."

I think I am also, at times, suspicious of extreme balance and beauty in art.  So much of contemporary art is meant to hide or repress the humanness of the artist and the humanness of the viewer, as well.  There's so much perfection, so much gloss.  I love fragile lines or a raw surface or an awkward element that reveals vulnerability and humility.

Going in to the exhibit, I knew very little about Nan Tull's work (except that she made encaustic paintings).  What I liked most about her work was the presence of what I can only describe as a kind of spiritual narrative.   I felt it most in three of the "inheritence" pieces (the ones with an overall darker palette).  I also especially loved her very simple amaryllis drawings in pencil.  The thin lines of the amaryllis reminded me of Giacometti's thin standing figures...and the thin presence of a spirit.