I spent the week in NYC, swimming through an ocean of art, my visit a combination business with pleasure. The business . . . exploring opportunities for my work. The pleasure . . . a delectable cornucopia of art, architecture, cuisine, and socializing with friends, all drenched in the dynamic energy of the city.

Back in December I wrote about the book Tantra Song, published by Siglio Press and by happenstance Feature Gallery, NYC had exhibited a group of these amazing paintings just prior to my being in New York. But with a phone call, the gallery was kind enough to extend an invitation to view a selection of images from the show, and I welcomed that opportunity . . . I find these simple anonymous paintings incredibly beautiful.

The New Museum’s Triennial Exhibition “Ungovernables”   was also well worth seeing. As excerpted from the promotional blurb, “The New Museum Triennial features thirty-four artists, artist groups, and temporary collectives—totaling over fifty participants—born between the mid-1970s and mid-1980s, many of whom have never exhibited in the US. The exhibition title, “The Ungovernables,” takes its inspiration from the concept of “ungovernability” and its transformation from a pejorative term used to describe unruly “natives” to a strategy of civil disobedience and self-determination. “The Ungovernables” is meant to suggest both anarchic and organized resistance and a dark humor about the limitations and potentials of this generation”. Following are a few of my favorite pieces from the show . . . two installations by the Mexican artist Jose Antonio Vega Macotela, a projection piece by Argentinian artist, Amalia Pica, and Thai artist Pratchaya Phinthong’s money sculpture.

In Vega Macotela’s “Time Divisa” (2008-2010). The artist attended and video taped significant events in the lives of prison inmates families. In exchange for his acting as their substitutes, the inmates tracked smuggling distribution methods, documented patterns of movement within the prison, emphasizing areas where they were under observation by prison guards, and collected the refuse of everyday prison life. The work examines social and financial dynamics in a hyper controlled environment as a metaphor for the political system of his country. In Vega Macotela’s second installation, “Habemus Gasoline” (2008), he explores the politics of oil. Mexico exports one million barrels of crude oil to the U.S. every day. After being refined into gasoline, here in the states, it’s then sold back to Mexico, an arrangement that enormously benefits the corporations controlling U.S. refineries. In this installation piece, Vega Macotela altered an apparatus for distilling tequilla, into one for processing crude oil and set up a makeshift refinery in the gallery, highlighting the potential in which Mexico could regain control of its natural resources.

Amalia Pica’s “Venn Diagrams (under the spotlight)” (2011). Is a poignant commentary on the capricious and absurdist exercise of absolute power. During the military dictatorship in Argentina, the Venn Diagram’s intersecting and overlapping circles were banned from primary school curricula because they were feared to encourage “seditious models of collectivity.”

Pratchaya Phinthong’s piece “What I learned I no longer know; the little I still know, I guessed”  a square multicolor patchwork of stacked bricks of Zimbabwean bank notes, assembled through an exchange between the artist sending euros to residents of Zimbabwe, and receiving bills “worth” trillions of Zimbabwean dollars rendered worthless by inflation and bad monetary policy. Re-contextualized as art the Zimbabwe notes begin to regain their “value”.

What I found equally interesting about Phinthong’s piece, was its juxtaposition to another exhibition taking the opposite tack. Rather than turning money into art, turning art into money. Gagosian Gallery’s presentation of Damien Hirst’s “The Complete Spot Paintings” . Gagosian is simultaneously exhibiting Hirst’s spot paintings in New York (three locations), Beverly Hills, London (two locations), Rome, Geneva, Athens, and Hong Kong. I saw the show at one of the Chelsea locations and not only were the paintings on view, but from the Gagosian Gallery store one could purchase “I spot Damien Hirst” coffee mugs, t-shirts, wall clocks, key chains, iron on patches, skate board decks, cufflinks, and for the affordable price of one dollar the DH “spot” pin (all available in your favorite spot color), plus one can register and qualify to receive a limited edition “spot” print, in the “Complete Spot Challenge” by visiting all Gagosian Gallery locations during the exhibition’s run (with the proper government ID, no joke). For the record, I believe it’s essential for artists to make a living through the sale of their work. I like spots. The New Museum gift shop does sell  “Ungovernables” t-shirts.

Thanks for reading.

Charles

Some days are inescapable regardless of every attempt. They occur with startling regularity, steamrolling everything in their path, propelled forward through honest convictions and deceptive intentions and today is one of those ubiquitous days . . . Valentines, the day of the color red . Red is the symbol of courage and sacrifice, of passion and violence, the color of love. Red clothing gets noticed. Red encourages action and confidence. Red is the highest arc of the rainbow and the longest wavelength of light. Red is supposedly the first color perceived by man. The color of cupid, and the color of the devil. Brain-injured persons suffering from temporary color-blindness start to perceive red before all other colors. The red rose is the symbol of love and fidelity. Red makes muscles move faster and with more force. Red is the symbol of life and the color of luck. Red is the color of Tuesdays, and the zodiac sign Scorpio. Red is the color of this Siren’s song, and at the moment, I’m doing my ever loving best to answer its plea.

Thanks for reading.

Charles

1.  “Cartes De Fantaisie “ (1804). The Queen and Jack of Heart, from a set of playing cards re-issued by Baptiste Paul Grimaud in 1848. These images were photographed from a commemorative set published in 1984.

2. “Matador” playing card set, produced by Astor Playing Card Co. Date unknown.

"Untitled #30"- Richard Diebenkorn (1981)

Since November when I emptied the studio, sending the recent work off to Perimeter Gallery, it’s all new beginnings. For the past several IHET entries, I’ve chatted up my processes for starting a painting, but another component of going forward is looking back. I have my art heroes, artists whose oeuvres I’ve long admired, and beyond simply reacquainting myself with the work they created, it’s the artist’s personal articulation of their processes I find both fascinating and instructive. One of my favorite painters is Richard Diebenkorn. Back in 1998 I went to see an exhibition of his paintings and drawings at The Phillips Collection in Washington DC. The exhibition, organized by the Whitney Museum of American Art, traveled from New York to museums in Fort Worth, DC, and San Francisco. Accompanying the exhibition was a fantastic book titled, The Art of Richard Diebenkorn*, a comprehensive tome of his life and work. Included in the bibliographical notes for the essay, Leaving Ocean Park by John Elderfield, and taken from Diebenkorn’s studio writings, was “a listing of artistic intentions” titled, “Notes to myself on beginning a painting“  This is Richard Deibenkorn’s list, printed exactly as it appeared in the book.

Notes to myself on beginning a painting

1. attempt what is not certain. Certainty may or may not come later. It may then be a valuable delusion.

2. The pretty, initial position which falls short of completeness is not to be valued-except as a stimulus for further moves.

3. Do search. But in order to find other than what is searched for.

4. Use and respond to the initial fresh qualities but consider them absolutely expendable.

5. Dont “discover” a subject-of any kind.

6. Somehow don’t be bored-but if you must, use it in action.Use its destructive potential.

7. Mistakes can’t be erased but they move you from your present position.

8. Keep thinking about Polyanna.

9. Tolerate chaos.

10. Be careful only in a perverse way.

Thanks for reading.

Charles

* The Art of Richard Diebenkorn – by Jane Livingston, with essays by John Elderfield, Ruth E. Fine, and Jane Livingston. Published by – Whitney Museum of American Art in association with University of California Press.

I wish I knew where it came from, the urge, the need, to put a particular color down or flowing line across but the longing is palatable. Even after relentlessly going forward and finding an exploration ill-fated, necessitating harsh measures (a hosing, scrubbing, then sun-dried and returned to the studio) the miracle is in the ability to withstand the assault. But this is a go-south requiem, and to knowingly follow paths toward unexpected endings is more than worth the effort. Refreshing even. Put things to right. Some things change, some stay the same. But not so simple as it sounds. So until the next time I make the trek out back, bucket, brush, and canvas in hand, I’ll follow this path, wherever it might lead.

Thanks for reading.

Charles

I never make preliminary drawings for my paintings. An occasional week or two of quickly executed works on paper, and regardless of the media involved, I think of these “one a days” (as I affectionately call them) as mechanisms to loosen the joints, a brisk wind to clear away the cobwebs, rather than starting points for new paintings.

In my family, I was known as the destroyer of all things mechanized, expertly disassembling any properly functioning mechanical device and promptly turning it into a mass of random pieces, then assembling the remnants into who knows what. Less functional than originally intended for sure, but fashioned into objects I thought profoundly more interesting. And to this day I still take apart and put back together, and it’s these objects constructed from parts, scraps, and the detritus collected during my adventures, that beget the paintings, and within the paintings I strive to illuminate the shadows that surround words, ideas, desires, deeds, impulses, and memories*.

Further on from the middle . . . Last week I posted a short video showing the development of one of the new canvasses. I’ve pushed it a bit onward, and the image on the left is the last frame from the video, the image on the right, where it is today. Plowing ahead, it’s giant steps, progressing toward small and quiet gestures, into moments of subtle refinements . . . and then . . . well . . . we’ll see how it all ends up.

Thanks for reading.

Charles

* My apologies to Elie Wiesel and his eloquently articulated truth about shadows. His words were instrumental in expressing these thoughts, words I shamelessly appropriated. A selection of his quotes can be found here.

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Forrest Bess - Untitled, 1967

I really don’t remember how or when I first came across Forrest Bess, but I do know it was sometime back in the early eighties, and he’s been on my short list of favorite painters ever since. Forrest had a unique perspective that guided his work, and while I don’t share his philosophical bent, his unwavering commitment to his vision and the paintings he made because of it, both resonate with me. I hadn’t thought about Bess for a while, but this past week, I stumbled on this video segment taken from a January 9th airing of Antiques Roadshow featuring one of his paintings. In 1962 Bess had given a painting to a neighbor as a wedding present, and now the neighbor was curious what it was worth.

A mini-exhibition of Forrest Bess’s paintings will be included in the Whitney Museum of American Art’s 2012 Biennial. More of his work can be seen here kirkhopperfineart.com.

One of my new paintings, from near the beginning to the middle in twenty three seconds.

Thanks for reading.

Charles

A simple view of why I love the Southwest. Hiking the Upper Sonoran Desert, in January.

Beginning is a haphazard affair. This one starts in graphite and charcoal. Spritzed with water to get the charcoal in motion, and a wash of Aureolin Hue (an earthy yellow). These last few canvases have blasted out with a profusion of color and decidedly active compositions. An exciting jump into the exploration they promise to provide.

From last week’s post . . . another red . . . that makes a total of five. This canvas titled “Sparrow Field . . .” is from two thousand six , and I have to say, another painting with a decidedly active composition.

Thanks for reading.

Charles

Molly Teardrop, from pup to young cattle dog. She’s a wild, headstrong, heat-seeking fetch machine, climbs like a mountain goat, rails the trail, a dervish in the house and as I’m often reminded when she exhibits less than acceptable behavior . . . it was I who picked her out . . . and in our world, she’s the perfect companion, another of our kind.

A bit of red always finds its way into my canvasses, but almost never as the dominate color. Actually going back and taking a look, there are only three other paintings I can recall, featuring this much red. “Curtain of finite sin . . .” was in the recent show at Perimeter, and completed in late 2011. The second example, a canvas from 2008, “Oh my sweet cantankerous mistress . . . “. And the third “Wound up . . .” from 1998. Now this one. Twenty twelve, a red hot year?  I’m thinking I’ll find that out in due time.

Thanks for reading.

Charles

One of my favorite avenues for finding new music is NPR.org Music and my absolute favorite section on this site is: “First Listen: Preview New Albums”. It’s exactly what’s promised and always features three new releases (prior to commercial availability) by artists from the spectrum of musical idioms. Pop, classical, reggae, gospel, world, punk, thrash, rap, ambient, jazz, electronic, salsa, big band, and . . .  Simply put ”FirstListen” will preview anything and everything. Listen to an entire album, or just selected tracks, which brings me to another favorite of mine “Guided By Voices”.  ”First Listen” is currently previewing GBV’s new album “Lets Go Eat The Factory”. GBV is impossible to pigeon-hole. Songs that are sharp, concise, humorous, poignant, melodic, and obtuse.  My two favorite tracks . . . “Hang Mr. Kite” and “We Won’t Apologize For The Human Race” .

As the year falls off its end, this past week and next are basically lost. I’ve joyfully given in.

Thanks for reading.

Charles

A bit of an anomaly . . . my traditional orientation tends toward the vertical, but every now and again, one of my canvasses just wants to go sideways, and who am I to argue. The jumping off point for this painting, a late afternoon while watching raindrops drip from the boughs of a fir tree. It was after a hard days efforts, under a sky the color of bruised skin, and as the afternoon slid toward evening, and happenstance would have it, into night illuminated by a full moon.  It all begins somewhere, and the adventure from start to where ever, is the wild ride . . . over under sideways down . . .

Thanks for reading

Charles