Process

Pictures! LA!

2012-01-26T21:25:00.007-06:00

Chilling out before teaching

Busman's Holiday

I gave a lecture and worked with students at LMU. All girls.

Holy crap, yes, I ordered both the mac and cheese AND fries at Ray's and Stark Bar at LACMA.

Me with the appropriate Ai Wei (Chinese) Zodiac Head at LACMA. I'm not one to usually pose with art. And yet.

Chris Burden's "Metropolis" at LACMA.

You can see the Hollywood sign from here, if you know what you're looking for. Zoom in. It's at about 12 o-clock.

Soutine at LACMA

Damn, I can't remember.... Ok. It's Maurice de Vlaminck. I had to cheat and look it up.

Detail of an old school painter trick.

Argh, Another one to look up. tap, tap tap. I got this.... George Grosz.

Bet you never noticed the creepy Modigliani eyeballs.

Forbidden photo of the Eames room at the California Design Exhibit

Drawing I started after getting busted- because you know, that's the real advantage of drawing- no one tells you you can't do a drawing of an exhibit. My friend, Cole, took over and drew a few things before handing it back over to me, so really, it's a collaborative drawing, but luckily it's in my sketchbook. My new F3 pen is magic.

Some of David McDonald's smaller work at Carter & Citizen in Culver City

Raffi Kalenderian at Susanne Vielmetter

Raffi Kalenderian at Irvine Fine Art Center's Portraiture and Still Life show. Excellent show.

Dan McCleary

Greta Waller

Roger Herman

NOT PICTURED: The freeway at dusk from Irvine to Torrance. I listened to the hip hop station and drove 100 miles roundtrip to see two shows on one night, one of which I was in. NEVER, ever do I want to hear someone's lame-ass excuse that they couldn't make it to a show that's 5 minutes away. Never. See the people in the pictures? They drove on a freeway to see the art. Rant over. Where was I? Oh yes,

"To Live and Paint in LA," at the Torrance Art Museum

Yvette Gellis' painting in the background

Tomory Dodge with a Rebecca Campbell in the background.

Tomory Dodge

Thomas Whittaker Kidd

Tom and I taught together at El Camino.

Nano Rubio

I finally figured out why my work looks like a black hole in photos from a distance. Optical color mixing.

Julia and I almost knocked the wall down. Never lean against a false wall. Not even for a second.

Mary Addison Hackett

The ever so lovely, Michelle Carla Handel with an Iva Gueorguieva in the background.

Get this, it was cold and rainy one morning.

Not to worry.

2012-01-24T17:51:00.001-06:00

10-year anniversary show of LA artists that did the residency program at Foundation Kaus Australis in Rotterdam, Netherlands. I was there for 2 months in 2004. For some weird reason, Rotterdam reminded me of Chicago, but nicer, and with amazing design and even better architecture. I enjoyed working there.

To Live and Paint in LA at the Torrance Art Museum

2012-01-18T00:07:00.010-06:00

The Torrance Art Museum Proudly presents

To Live and Paint in LA

Curated by Max Presneill and Jason Ramos
Opening reception Saturday, January 21st, 6-9 pm

A broad survey of current and emerging painting trends and talent from Los Angeles

Jonathan Apgar, Rebecca Campbell, Daniela Campins, Alika Cooper, Noah Davis, Tomory Dodge, Asad Faulwell, Jon Flack, Yvette Gellis, Iva Gueorguieva, Mary Addison Hackett, Carlson Hatton, Thomas Whittaker Kidd, Andy Kolar, Constance Mallinson, Allison Miller, John Mills, Aaron Noble, Antonio Puleo, Alison Rash, Nano Rubio, Conrad Ruiz, John Seal, Ryan Sluggett, Comora Tolliver, Chris Trueman, Miller Updegraff, Grant Vetter, Ben White

* * * * * * * * * *

This is a wonderful roster of painters. I'm honored to be included. A catalog accompanying the show is available.

Mary Addison Hackett

"The Walk," 2011

oil on canvas

10 x 8 inches

Handy indeed. I lubed my palette scraper.

2012-01-17T09:52:00.002-06:00

Report from the train car studio:

2012-01-14T10:16:00.001-06:00

I had a super productive day in the studio yesterday. Like heightened sense of awareness productive. At first I was going to attribute this to my car being in the shop and being marooned at the studio on a freezing cold day. I was also going to attribute it to having left my glasses at home, so I was unable to check emails etc. But no. The mechanic called just after a few hours, so I retrieved my car, went home to get my glasses, shot myself up with an Americano, stopped at the art supply store on the way back to the studio to pick up white paint since I was also marooned without white paint, and painted out everything I had done to date on that painting- at which point it was looking to be a prehistoric landscape in a cave with a stripper pole to heaven. Perhaps that theme will be occur in another painting, but the scale was off this time. So when I reworked everything, the scale changed by maybe 100 and it turned into a more or less observational still life, present day. I worked until 4:30ish on only one painting, taking my grilled cheese, ff, and coffee break at 2:30 pm. The deli knows to put mustard packs in my bag. I like mustard with my fries.

I'm trying to refrain form posting these works until it's closer to the show (131 days) but I like it for reasons I am embarrassed to admit: it doesn't look like I painted it. I mean it does, given the direction of the last couple of years, but theoretically, I have eschewed having a recognizable style, because I like being uncomfortable. On the other hand, there are only so many places I'm interested in exploring/mining at present.

I'm chomping at the bit to post some recent works. I'm in one of those places where I'm really excited about them and I don't know if I've lost touch with reality.

One more thing regarding productivity. I made a playlist called Studio Repeat. It contained only a handful of songs and I played it maybe 30 times. I'm too embarrassed to tell you what the songs were.

2012 is a Off to a Great Start

2012-01-13T19:10:00.000-06:00

Two solo shows on the books and a few group shows, which I'll be announcing as they hit. The tricky part is that everything happens before the end of May. It's under control. I am prepared. The group shows have taken care of themselves thanks to a fairly prolific studio practice. I'm terribly excited about the solo shows of course, and the crazy good news is that some of the new work has already sold, so even though my MO is to show up and make the work no matter what, I have the additional goal of a personal quota to fill. You might recall I love pretending I am a factory and have quotas.* If I am lucky, it's the closest I'll ever get to having an office job, so sometimes I enjoy role-playing as CEO, disgruntled employee, and overachieving ass-kisser all at the same time.

*Sometimes it's hard to look up old posts. So much has changed. It's all good, just different.

list. v2

2012-01-09T12:50:00.000-06:00

I should be-

in the studio
doing yoga
running
writing my syllabi
clearing out a corner of the house
ferociously selling crap on ebay
none of the above
all of the above

It looks the same as the last list, no?

I'm pleasantly calm and busy. 2012 hit the ground running. I don't ask questions. Within the course of 5 days, I met a curator, had a studio visit, and just watched several paintings leave bundled up in a van. The show opens in March, but they wanted to install some work earlier.

The studio smalls like oil paint. This is good. For a couple of days it smelled like Mop & Glo.

list

2012-01-08T11:44:00.000-06:00

I should be-

in the studio
doing yoga
running
writing my syllabi
clearing out a corner of the house
ferociously selling crap on ebay
none of the above
all of the above

I was in the studio this morning, working on 2 paintings, but felt rushed knowing I have the other things to do. I can't wait until school starts. That will be two more things to add to the list. Note the slight hint of sarcasm. I'm tired already. I mailed off my pieces for _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _, the anonymous auction at _ _ _ _ _. I like them. I showed a picture of them earlier, but you didn't see these here, because the whole point is that one buys the art w/o knowing the artist. I wanted to do something with watercolor and gouache that's more like what I'm working on in the studio now. I did a still life and a a slackerish abstract, but bailed at the last minute on the slacker abstract and did the bottom one instead.

"Lucky Bamboo," gouache and acrylic, 10 x 8 inches

"The Artist/Critic," gouache, 10 x 8 inches

I had a studio visit here in town with a perceptive curator. She noted that in my current statement, I defend the work less than I did several years ago. So true. I still have both statements on the website. I mean, why not?

2012-01-06T22:45:00.002-06:00

I had to work on some watercolors this evening. I missed my 3 episode fix of Breaking Bad.

2012-01-06T12:19:00.001-06:00

Some Paintings From the End of 2011.

2012-01-02T22:45:00.000-06:00

"Den," 2011, oil on canvas on panel, 7 x 5 inches

So basically my winter holiday went something like this:

Catch up on accounting.

Paint.

Mainline 2 to 3 episodes of Breaking Bad.

Happy New Year.

2012-01-01T16:00:00.000-06:00

"Suitcase Painting" oil on canvas, 9 x 7 inches

Whenever I get nervous about THE FUTURE, I remember that I have a roof over my head and oil paints in the pantry. Like, literally, in the pantry. 2011 was a good year. Much better than 2010, and 2012 looks good on paper so I am entering it optimistically. I bought a money plant.

minima, I will never leave you again.

2011-12-31T19:25:00.001-06:00

Day 22: Rally Forth

2011-12-30T19:27:00.000-06:00

Friday. I'm behind on titling some paintings. When I settle on titles, I will post them.
Started a new painting. Stocked up on collard greens and black eyed peas. Documented finished paintings. Worked more on a painting I thought was finished, but obviously wasn't satisfied with. I go out of my way to make things hard.

Day 20, 21. Crap, it's almost over.

2011-12-29T19:12:00.001-06:00

Wednesday. I went for a run and had to go to a funeral today. Studio hours moved to evening. School starts in about 2 weeks.

Thursday. Worked on an impromptu grant app. Completed it, but it took the better part of the day. I should be able to knock these things out blindfolded, and yet, there I sat, tapping away and selecting images.

"Hollywood Drifting" 2011, oil on linen, 10 x 8 inches

Day 16-19: studio

2011-12-24T17:29:00.000-06:00

Saturday.
It was sunny today so I pulled the painting out of the living room and into the studio to see what it looked like in daylight. I worked on it a bit more. I swore I wouldn't, but I did. Then I swore AGAIN that I wouldn't work on it anymore. I repeated this process at least twice today. I'm done with it. I've got a gnawing feeling that if I switched over to oils, it might look like what I thought it should like and I could continue this madness ad infinitum.

Sunday.
Xmas music, followed by Mission Impossible and Chinese.

Monday.
Long day in studio. Worked on 2-3 paintings over and over.

Tuesday.
Visited with cousin. Discussed handguns and rifles.

Day 15: studio

2011-12-23T20:46:00.001-06:00

Friday. I couldn't help myself. I worked on the bathrobe painting one last time. Then I put it away. Again. Gessoed 4 canvases. Began grant application. Sat and starred a paint wall. Stared hard. I think I need a diversion.

Day 14. studio

2011-12-22T09:04:00.001-06:00

Thursday. 100% chance of rain. I was going to stay in bed until I could either get a visual on what I might paint today or picture myself grabbing a large trash bag and emptying out a closet. The dog knows nor cares not of my daily dilemma. I got up and let him out.

I stopped working on the bathrobe portrait. Fin. I took it out of the studio and threw away all the associated palettes. The china cup broke at the end of the next to last session. I worked on it one last time and then declared a moratorium. There are parts of it I like and parts of it I— oh how shall I say this— don't feel like concerning myself with in terms of 'accuracy.' There. I said it. Sue me. When a painting become about 'accuracy,' it's times to move on. The fact that I even obsessed about this as much as I did has irritated me to no end.

Day 13. Studio

2011-12-21T23:30:00.000-06:00

Wednesday.
Have decided to wear mascara for no good reason. Stopped by a friend.'s house for a quick spot of tea. Took a wreath to the cemetery. Had planned on applying for grants. Built 2 stretchers instead. Painted. Had a rough day in the studio. I'm always afraid I'm going to run out of ideas of what to paint and have to rely on abstraction as a fallback. That's the beauty of abstraction: There is no what. I'm still figuring out the beauty of representational work. Killed a small painting. Brought another one back to life. Such is the cycle.

~~Possibly~~ probably still in progress.

Day 12. Studio

2011-12-21T00:30:00.000-06:00

Tuesday. Rain. My studio lockdown is almost half over. I have successfully ignored paying bills until the last moment and my freshly washed sheets have been in the dryer for about 3 days now. Worked on bathrobe painting while having coffee.

A friend's mom passed away yesterday.

Discovered this essay on the painter, Edwin Dickinson, by John Perreault this morning.

If you do not bring anticipations to the sight of an object when drawing it, anticipations which are connect with associations in your lay life, it is easier to get it right then to get it wrong.

When asked about his influences, he replied: “I suppose being alive and awake.”
When queried about the meaning of his art, he replied: “I wouldn’t be able to say.”
-Edwin Dickinson

White acrylic paint finally attached itself to the cuff of my actual bathrobe. I will attempt to remove it. I also discovered dark green and brown oil paint on my down jacket. I came in from walking the dog and had to make a few strokes before hanging up my coat. I am not going to attempt to remove this. I fear turpentine will make it worse. It's mostly dark on dark, though there is a small barely perceivable smear of white mixed in. It's like a micro palette smear. I assume it happened while cradling a small painting in my arm while painting. I work like that sometimes.

I went to the train car studio. It's been almost almost a month since I've worked there. It felt nice to be in the white cube studio space again. Made headway on a painting. Cleaned my palette cart. Capped as many tubes as I could. I even scrubbed my slop sink. Sometimes it feels good to start fresh.

I'm starting to wonder if social networking is the equivalent of reality TV. For instance, I accidentally watched Survivor the other night.

It's been interesting to work on the same large painting every morning. Discipline. Focus. There's something zen-like about the process now. When I get to a point where I don't know exactly what to do next or a place where I want the suspense to linger, I wash my brushes and call it a session, make more coffee and move over to work on the smaller paintings.

DETAIL of "The Walk"

Day 11: Studio

2011-12-19T23:30:00.000-06:00

Monday. Dr. Evil died. Some other stuff happened. I was still asleep.

I didn't take the day off yesterday. I may have decided to stay with acrylic for the bathrobe painting. I like the watercolor-like washes I'm doing. It's possible I may finish this painting without knowing that I started it. Noticed right before bed that 3 linen canvases had to be re-stretched after priming caused the linen to wrinkle. Woke up and had coffee while restretching canvases and wondered if building my own stretchers was really worth it. Yes, just need to take my time.

DETAIL

Studio shot. Still in progress.

Ran/walked. Calf still injured. Not bad, just pulled a muscle, but it's been a month. Worked on bathrobe painting. Am not really tracking my hours anymore but I worked on it most of the day- as in daylight. It's a funny slow painting. I like working with washes. I like that they dry fast and I can do more washes, but slowly. I step back a lot. I stare a lot. I try things. I wipe things out. I try again. After working really thick lately, it's a nice break. Like doing a large watercolor. I'm enjoying it in a different way than the oils. I'm always amazed at how painting can still be fresh for me just when I think I've figured it out. I'm getting closer and closer to that Charles Burchfield studio lighting look...

Day Ten: Studio-ish

2011-12-19T00:00:00.000-06:00

If you just tuned in, I'm documenting the month of December in the studio. I have one month off before spring semester begins. I want to get as much work done as possible so that I'll have time to second guess myself on everything I did this month and either continue to work on them or remove them from the studio so I don't overwork them. It can go either way.

It's Sunday. I may have stated this before but my dad died when I was in my 20's and most of the life advice he gave me was dispersed before I was capable of fully appreciating such advice. I remember a few things though.

"Walk with your head up, don't look at the ground." This was hard for me to understand. I needed to look at the ground in order not to trip. I still do. Yesterday while running, I looked up for a moment and as I looked back down, I almost tripped over a shadow cast by a sign post.

"Winners never quit. Quitters never win."
I was in grade school. This advice was given to me at night before bedtime. I was standing in the doorway of my parent's bedroom saying goodnight. I don't remember the context. I was probably dejected, nervous, or unhappy about some activity- a race, a piano recital, ballet class, and wanted to bail.

I'm going to paraphrase this one: "Set aside Sunday to rest. Work really hard 6 days a week, then rest one day and gather your strength for the next week." My dad and I were standing in the living room by a window. I was in high school. Maybe college. I think he was worried about my future.

"Get a good job with good health insurance." If my dad uttered anything after this, I don't remember. This was the last thing I remember my dad ever saying to me. He was in the hospital and died 3 days later. I was waiting tables after having received my BFA a couple of years prior.

There was also some advice about when to change my oil, check my fluids and such.

I wasn't going to work at all today. Nothing. No housework, no office work, no painting. I worked a bit more on the bathrobe painting before I caught myself working. I'm nearing the edge of committing to acrylic or switching to oil.

I'm taking the day off. I'm going to putter.

Day Nine: Studio

2011-12-18T00:30:00.000-06:00

Saturday. I like Scott's Simon's voice.
Notice I took the word, lockdown, out of the title. I don't know how I thought I would paint 24/7 AND continue to manage a home, non-related work, art-related work and still attempt to deal with everything leftover from my parent's and grandparents lives. I'm making headway, but yesterday, I came across vintage Theodore Seuss Geisel wrapping paper. If I have a spare second, I'll scan. And flattened bows. Honestly, if I had unlimited time, I would make a large sculpture out of some of this stuff, but I feel pressure to just paint and stay focused as it is.

In Progress

I'm still only at about 10% paint mode on this one. It's currently acrylic, but I'll switch to oil eventually. Once I do, there's no turning back. It's tricky, too, because if there's anything I like, it's hard to keep, so it becomes a whole new painting at that point and I have to hope for the best. The longer I wait to switch the harder it will be because by then I'll be attached to certain idiosyncratic passages that will feel stilted if I try to recreate them. I could keep going in acrylic, but I'm experiencing paint drag and I'm a bit half-assed in my brush handling. It's like not painting while I'm painting. Right now, the most important thing in the painting is the position of the affected pinkie finger, which isn't affected all all. I innately hold cups like this. I can't wait to paint the cup. Sounds silly but I am looking forward to the painting the china pattern.

I began painting self-portraits last spring after seeing the Alice Neel documentary. After a lifetime of painting other people, Neel painted her first self-portrait at age 80, naked- save her glasses and a paintbrush and turp rag. It's a great film and this was the part that affected me the most. I thought it was a brave statement. On one hand, you're 80, so maybe you've made peace with the physical attributes of aging at that point, but do you ever make peace with yourself, or get over being vulnerable? I'm sure some people do. Some, maybe not. At 50, I'm just coming to grips with aging. I'm not 100% at peace with myself and chances are I have a pocket of vulnerability with me at all times. I decided to add self-portraits to my oeuvre.

Day Eight: Studio Lockdown

2011-12-17T00:30:00.000-06:00

Friday. Chana Joffe-Walt's voice irks me. Rain. Am trying to knock out some holiday shipping, but inexplicably Fed Ex had not activated the ground portion of my account. If I use FEDEx I will receive a Starbucks gift card. I know it's a break even thing, but it's all about the coffee. No bathrobe painting today. Stretched and primed 2 more canvases. Kept working on 2 small paintings. My hours have been erratic this week.

Having an off time with the paint. Feeling a bit cluttered and and chaotic. Still need to finish booking travel plans, clean house and send some requested materials to someone. Started a new painting. Titles are coming easy now. I've been writing them down. Usually the paint comes before the title, but every now and then the title comes first.

Why is painting hard?

Day Seven: Studio Lockdown

2011-12-16T00:30:00.000-06:00

Thursday. Perhaps I've misused the word, 'studio' and 'lockdown.' Perhaps paying bills, juggling office tasks, and worrying about the economy and my future while mixing paint is what I meant to imply when I said "studio lockdown."

Still ignoring my 5:45 AM alarm. Sometime around 6:15am I heard the war in Iraq was officially over. A horn sound effect made me think of Carl Stalling. The federal government is scheduled to shutdown tomorrow. Chance of rain is 100% today. Today is an emergency office day. I have to document work, prep images, write a statement, and update my bio for 2 shows in January. It's all due right now- as I am writing this, right now. Circumstances beyond my control prevented me from getting this together earlier. I could blame Mercury in Retrograde- "Mercury...turns retrograde at 20°06' Sagittarius in the sign of the Archer, sending communications, travel, appointments, mail and the www into a general snarlup." It's possible. Not really, but why not.

Fretted over what painting to include. Felt like the stakes were high due to communication errors noted above. I angst a lot. Sometimes I have to remind myself I have a decent track record with painting. Most of the time I fear there's some highly perceptible scale of 1-10 and I'll choose the painting that ranks a 5 or less every time. As a rule, few people like my favorite paintings as much as I do. I chose a painting that was still wet, and that I either loved or hated, and dashed out a simple heartfelt statement about it. I forgot how long it took to dash off a simple statement. A lot less than usual. I didn't have time to overwork it. I hit send, got up, and walked the dog. The phrase, "Never look back" occurred to me. This saved me from potentially obsessing. I decided to make this my new motto. It will save me time. It will also increase my odds of typos. I wondered if anyone would cut me slack on typos.

Went for a run. Received enthusiastic thumbs up on image I sent. Continued researching travel plans. On the other coast I received news that another painting had sold. Concluded that good things happen to people who secretly whine and feel sorry for themselves for a few moments when the going gets tough, and then get over and on with it. Silently thanked some distant friends who listen to me whine every so often. Promised myself I'd whine less.

Two paintings. First or second coat each. My general MO for starting a painting varies from painting to painting. It was the end of the night and I didn't want my palette to go to waste.

Day Six: Studio Lockdown

2011-12-15T06:00:00.000-06:00

Today is Wednesday. The federal government is going to stop minting $1 coins. I thought of my mother and her collection of quarters. And dimes. And pennies. Made coffee and went to work on the bathrobe painting. I had trouble. I was off. The strokes felt lame, the paint, murky. I checked the mail and received a notice of something that annoyed me the first time I saw it, so it annoyed me again. I washed my brushes and ran some errands. I received more disappointing news. I considered changing my Facebook network to Purgatory just to see if anyone else was in my network. My studio hours were consumed by the desire to sell everything and move. Ate chocolate babka. Stared hard at painting I've been on the fence about. Worked more on said painting. Walked dog. Went to bed. Studio hours were touch and go.

Day Five: Studio Lockdown

2011-12-13T10:15:00.005-06:00

Today is Tuesday. I should quit setting the alarm.

Coffee. Worked on bathrobe painting from 8-10. Uncanny how it's nearly to the minute, the amount of time I work on this painting every day. At first I was happy with it, then I became aware that my eyes were wrong. More wrong than tolerable. My coffee gets cold while painting and I have to warm it up.

Ran errands, made more granola, thought about Christmas and discovered a box of vintage wrapping paper in the Christmas closet.

Today was a run day. Cold, dreary, foggy and damp. Still have calf injury. Walked after 1 mile.

Evening studio hours. Possibly finished up a couple of paintings.

Day Four: Studio Lockdown

2011-12-12T22:00:00.000-06:00

Monday. Day Four: 5:45 am. I didn't hear the alarm and I don't know what happened in world events this morning. The dog's alarm clock goes off a bit later than mine, so when I hear voices in the distance I know I've overslept. He has an alarm clock specifically for this reason. It allows me to sleep a bit later without him thinking I'm dead. Made coffee, worked on bathrobe painting for about 2 hours before running errands and making—

The Same Salad I Have Been Making Every Week For About 5 Months Now

lentils

shredded carrots

quinoa

edamame

toasted sesame oil

vinegar or Bragg's amino acid

I worked a bit more on a holly tree painting last night. I'm conflicted. I like it, but I don't like it. I don't like it because it looks fine and I haven't mucked it up. I do like it because it's oddly geometric and pristine and I like looking at it.

I didn't consider yesterday a studio day even though I worked about 3 or so hours in the studio. It was Sunday. I pretend not to work on Sunday.

The painting from a few days ago that was a complete disaster has evolved into something radically different. I opened up an old and dusty book and saw "The Coiffure" by Van Dongen. I had every intent on ripping him off.

Kees Van Dongen, "The Coiffure"

Day Three: Studio Lockdown

2011-12-11T12:54:00.000-06:00

Day Three: 5:45 am. I can handle Rick Steves' voice (Travel with Rick Steves). Today I learned about agritourism while half asleep. Made coffee. Started medium-large self-portrait in Beacon bathrobe, while brewing coffee, while listening to NOA weather radio repeat itself endlessly, while waiting for temperature to warm above 30 degrees. Worked in studio from 7am-10am. Went for a run, but strained calf again at .25 mile. Frustrated. Walked instead. I'm not so good with injuries.

I had this very same Beacon robe in Chicago. I paid $3 for it at the local thrift store. For some reason, I let it go in a yard sale some years later. Every time I saw a TV show or a movie with someone wearing a Beacon robe, I would wilt a little. No more. This summer I saw the same robe in a vintage store and paid 21 times what I paid for it back in Chicago-on the condition I would paint a self-portrait featuring this robe. Coincidentally, I was with an old friend who remembered my bathrobe from Chicago and convinced me this was a good plan. She may have in fact, suggested it. I couldn't have possibly appreciated the first bathrobe as much as I do the second one. Money well-spent. I've been waiting until winter to paint this self-portrait. It's 41 x 38 inches. I'll only be working on it first thing in the mornings while I have coffee-about 2 hours. Painting Vérité. And now you also know how long I dawdle over coffee.

Aside from the bathrobe painting, I seem to be settling into an afternoon-evening schedule. Six hours, uninterrupted is good for me in the studio. That doesn't count priming and building stretchers or any prep work- just painting and staring. Usually, I'll end up tacking on at least another hour later in the evening. I have to walk through the studio to get to the kitchen. Because of this conveniently obtrusive set up, odds are, I will also pick up a brush while I'm cooking, mindlessly drinking coffee and solving mysteries of the Universe, and while I'm playing with the dog.

I made a large batch of my kick-ass, homemade granola to give to the matriarchs in the neighborhood and a couple of granola heads I know. I also obsessed abut not being able to run due to calf injury. The calf injury happened before my trip to New York. I thought I was back to normal. Obviously not. I can feel the chocolate babka taking over my body. Bad call on that. So good, but bad.

But back to speaking of the end of the semester, Charles Saatchi's piece for The Guardian via Two Coats of Paint: "If I stop being on good behaviour for a moment, my dark little secret is that I don't actually believe many people in the art world have much feeling for art and simply cannot tell a good artist from a weak one, until the artist has enjoyed the validation of others – a received pronunciation. For professional curators, selecting specific paintings for an exhibition is a daunting prospect, far too revealing a demonstration of their lack of what we in the trade call 'an eye.' They prefer to exhibit videos, and those incomprehensible post-conceptual installations and photo-text panels, for the approval of their equally insecure and myopic peers. This 'conceptualised' work has been regurgitated remorselessly since the 1960s, over and over and over again." Or as I like to call it, Rehashed 90's Conceptualism. They declared painting dead, why not this? Rhetorical question, I might add.

I reactivated my Netflix account for December and received some good suggestions for aprés-paint viewing.
No one suggested Mulholland Falls, but I wanted to see LA in a film.

Day Two: Studio Lockdown

2011-12-10T12:53:00.000-06:00

Day Two: 5:45 am. Keep meaning to change alarm and radio station on the weekend. Getting annoyed with both Glynn Washington's Snap Judgement and Mike McGrath's voice on You Betcha Garden, though I am learning gardening tips in my sleep. I woke up feeling like I thought I might be feeling like crap. Sure enough, I felt like crap. My first thought was that I was poisoning myself with a CO2 leak. I can never remember whether the logs are vented or ventless. I always have to look for the paperwork. I open the vent occasionally, nonetheless. I drank coffee, felt ill and went back to bed. Got up, still felt ill, took a hot shower, and went back to bed again. Finally gave in and took some aspirin. Eventually felt better. Went to store, picked up woolly clothing from the dry cleaners, conveniently located next to the place that sells chocolate babka. Ate chocolate babka. Moved palette table and oil paints in from freezing garage to den, officially securing den as winter studio. Pushed dining room table aside and dragged large easel from garage to dining room, thereby securing dining room as winter studio V2. I began working in studio at 3:00pm and worked uninterrupted until about 7:30pm. Took a painting I almost liked to a place I couldn't stand. Obliterated it. Felt like I'd never be able to paint again. Gave up. Cleaned brushes. Started new painting because I don't give up. It's better, I think, but I'm not sure. I'm not sure of anything. About a 4 hour day. Cleaned up, ate dinner, watched Cave of Forgotten Dreams.

I don't know how I'm managing in this studio home setup. It's driving me bit crazy, yet I'm getting work done. I really want a white space studios bathed in natural light. It's possible. Everything is possible. It would cost money though. And time. Two things I always feel short on. The train car residency will be ending soon. I'm getting a head start on the transition.

Detail of self-portrait I didn't like, so I reworked parts of it.

Detail of painting I fear is boring and that I am uncomfortable with.

And of course, now I worry that my details shots are more exciting than the actual whole painting. The endless battle of me vs. me.

Day 1: Studio Lockdown

2011-12-09T11:54:00.000-06:00

The semester ended last week. Back to the real world.

Friday: Day one. I anticipated waking up at the usual time (5:45am) and getting to work by 7am. I did not anticipate the overwhelming urge to mop my floors or do other neglected chores. I snacked on peanut butter, paid bills, and did some other household chores and things. Ran 3 miles. I began working in the studio at 2pm and worked uninterrupted until about 7pm. Cleaned up, ate some dinner, and had to make just a few more strokes before cleaning up again. Gave dog attention. We're practicing some new tricks. All in all, about a 5.5 or 6 hour studio day. Worked on 2 or 3 paintings at various stages. Built a couple of stretchers. Primed linen.

During Studio Lockdown, I'll post some details of works in progress and or finished paintings. I'm cycling in and out of that fear that I can't paint or that I've lost all ability to know what's "good." I should accept this as part of my process by now. I'm so used to struggling with a painting that I am suspicious if a painting comes with only somewhat of a struggle. And as always, I find myself stuck between abstraction and representation. Even though I have finally decided they are the same, I'm uneasy.

Detail of small painting.

Cornucopia

2011-11-24T06:56:00.001-06:00

Hudson, NY. View from my room.

My packing job was an art form in and of itself.

Bruce Gagnier at John Davis Gallery

I love this painting hanging downstairs at John Davis Gallery. I can't remember the artist's name right now, but I will find out.

Waiting for the train.

Dia: Beacon.

NYC. View from my room.

On rainy days he gets the towel rubdown treatment. He seems to like having a towel on his back. He wore it for awhile.

Ok, this is a total re-edit. I started feeling the need to be very private and not share my art-related comings and goings so far in advance. On the other hand, it's not that far in advance and I'm sensing I'll be full throttle in the studio. Plus I need to remind myself I have a good year ahead. My trip to Hudson was fantastic. I dropped off some small paintings with John Davis Gallery and he offered me a show next spring/summer. It was a lovely visit and I had a chance to see some wonderful work by some of his gallery artists. In general, the New York trip was energizing. I like solitude and I like to work alone, but I need to feel connected. NY and LA do that for me, as well as visits with other artists with whom I share common ground. I came home to a good review of my solo show here and a couple of emails regarding some shows next year. Two in LA and one back here. Really all very good stuff, and no reason not to share the good news.

After staring at a couple of paintings going nowhere fast, I managed a breakthrough. I have 2 solos scheduled about the same time next year, so I am switching into my ultra disciplined studio mode. That means I show up on time, wear my Bulwark coveralls, and stay in the studio no matter what until my studio hours are over. I haven't decided whether I will post pics as I go along or hold back until the exhibit. I'm past knowing what's a good strategy-do I try to build hype by posting new work? I don't know. Hype is not my forte.

Compression

2011-11-15T17:55:00.001-06:00

First thing this morning, I saw a huge, say half-dollar size, including legs—spider on the kitchen floor as I was sweeping. I like spiders and usually release them, but this guy was too big and I hadn't had my coffee yet. I stepped on him and the crunchy sound made me jump. I injured my calf again. I might have jumped too high. It was the sound that made me jump. I simultaneously thought of spider rolls.

I have to take a week off running for it to heal.

I am looking forward to getting back on a precise studio and running schedule. It's been rather hectic lately. Yoga would be a good idea too.

My morning run

2011-11-11T18:38:00.000-06:00

I was excited to get back to a regular running schedule after slacking off for a few months. I injured my calf on day two. Did the RICE thing and took a day off. Thought I was better today, but calf started hurting, so I walked up and down the hills.

What I miss the most.

2011-11-10T16:45:00.001-06:00

A Sense of Family Aesthetics:

I'm guessing I made this abstract sculpture in the mid 80's. I came home one Christmas to find that my mom had co-opted it into a holiday coffee table arrangement by spray-painting pine cones and sticking a candle in the middle of it. I found the box today as I was clearing out the closet containing holiday decorations. I'm going to paint this.

A video tour.

2011-11-06T12:53:00.000-06:00

Mary Addison Hackett
"Acts of Moral Turpentine"
Track 13 Gallery
Open on Saturdays from 12-4pm, and by appointment at 615. 259.0999.

I forgot about using horizontal format. I'll reshoot and repost later this week.

Showtime

2011-11-04T13:07:00.000-05:00

I'm still getting over the coldy flu thing. I finally broke down and bought some over the counter cold meds, and thanks to my local meth labs, I had to show my driver's license, which the druggist promptly recorded. Tweakers aren't the sharpest knives in the drawer, but if I were buying amphetamines for my DIY meth lab and the druggist asked for my ID, I might bail on the transaction and take my business out of state. But since I am a woman with a 8-day head cold, they have my DL number and address on file.

Possible day job:
~~meth lab operator~~
***

The show install went really well. It's been tough working in a different city and I've felt more isolated than usual. I did a lot of second-guessing myself, but plowed through anyhow. As soon as the layout began, the angst fell away. The show unfolded nicely after being tethered to me for a year. It felt good to release the work and see it function on its own. The moderately large-scale works mingle with the small works. The abstracts inform the representational works and vice-versa. Conceptually and visually, it looks to be a good mash-up. I hope I feel that way at the reception. A couple of paintings I assumed would be in the show didn't find their way in. I had about 47 works to cull down. Editing is a funny thing. I could have hung another version of the show- not better, not worse, just an alt version.

The opening is ~~tomorrow~~. tonight. The show is tucked away in a train car-cum-gallery on a portion of the old L&N tracks. I wish it were a traveling show, Wild Wild West style.

I usually google my titles to make sure 5000 other artists haven't used them first. Somehow Jimmy Durante's catchphrase, "Dat's Moral Turpentine" eluded me, though I find it quite funny.

***

Also funny and coincidental is that this morning I stumbled across Keith Mayerson's portrait/self-portrait. His is '83. Mine's '79.

Keith Mayerson
Me in '83, 2010
Oil on linen
30 x 22 inches

Mary Addison Hackett
Static Cling (I still smell the polyester) 2011
Oil on canvas
10 x 8 inches

Mary Addison Hackett: "Acts of Moral Turpentine"

2011-11-03T06:00:00.000-05:00

"Intervention," 2011 ©m.a.hackett

oil on linen

10 x 8 inches

Community Arts Program

at Cummins Station presents

MARY ADDISON HACKETT

Acts of Moral Turpentine

Nov 5-Dec 4, 2011

Opening Reception

Saturday, November 5, 6-9pm

Artist Talk 5:30pm in the gallery, prior to the reception

wine and hors d'oeuvres

Cummins Station, Track 13 Gallery

209 10th Avenue South, First Floor

Showing by appointment

DZL management at 615. 259.0999

and Saturdays, Noon-4pm (310.463.9101)

Validated parking in Lot A

Needed: assistant.

2011-10-28T17:48:00.000-05:00

In addition to my family documenting every day life in the most banal way possible, my aunt and uncle travelled quite a bit and left behind images. They lived up the street. No kids, so it was like I had a second set of parents. I spent maybe 15 minutes checking out 1970's Istanbul, Tokyo, and a few dinner parties before overwhelming myself in the sad room today.

I install in 2 days

2011-10-27T09:56:00.001-05:00

I am still under the weather. I "napped" for almost 2 hours when I got home from school yesterday.

The kind of nap where you wake up not knowing what time of day it is.

The kind of nap where you feel like you fell out of the sky and the world is really strange for a moment.

The only reason I got up was to take care of the dog.

I can fit 17 paintings in a vintage leather suitcase. carryon.

2011-10-22T13:48:00.000-05:00

I did a dry run for an upcoming trip. I don't like to check baggage. I'd rather drive, but its too long of a trip. I found a nice leather suitcase with linen dividers in the attic. Appropriate to transport linen paintings, yes? It still had the Eastern Airlines luggage tag on it.

Unrelated to the suitcase drill, my show here opens in two weeks. I am titling the latest paintings today. It's going slow. 50% of the titles are rather mundane and seemingly obvious. The others desire to be insightful without feeling contrived.

I have a sense of smug satisfaction with my suitcase achievement. There's something about a hard-shelled suitcase that makes me feel more together and orderly, if not an anachronism.

This painting is hard to shoot and I need to quit obsessing about it

2011-10-16T10:15:00.001-05:00

There's a lot of detail and I am clueless as to how many layers are in this painting. I vaguely remember that the stump and the tree growing out of the stump have always been present in the painting, as in real life.

This is the painting before it reached 98 degrees in the studio.

After a cool spell, I had turned the ac off in the studio thinking it was fall. Not. Temps rose and the train car studio got really hot. Like upper 90's, and when I walked in, the paintings that were on a table by the window looked like they had been sitting in the desert. They weren't cracked or anything- but the oil had been sucked out of them. If I were to personify them, I would say they were parched and screaming for oil, but being parched, their throats were too dry to actually scream. After a moment of shock, I decided to glaze them. I'm not a glaze painter. Consistent glazes are too slick for me, but I'll throw down a haphazard glaze when I want to push some colors or build thin layers.

After glazing, and shot under lights

Shooting glazes under lights is tricky and I start to wonder what's real. The painting under lights, the painting in the studio or the painting outside?

The Tree Within a Tree Never Gives Up, © mahackett, 2011

After deglazing in some areas, but shot in daylight.

I went back in and dulled down some areas hoping it would shoot better- but this time I shot under natural light, changing two variables instead of one. Too flat. I went back in with some more glazes after I shot it trying to match the painting to the photograph. At this point the painting about a tree that keeps growing out of a stump no matter how much it is pruned, is becoming more meta than usual for me. In real life, the painting is a reasonable facsimile of a combination of all of these shots. There's a lot of detail. It's not as shiny as the 2nd shot, and by glazing, I brought out some areas that were baked away in the first. If I'm to adhere to fat over thin, I legally can't go back in and add paint out of the tube in order to flatten it out. The painting is 7 inches by 5 inches on linen. I need to stop working on it before it comes to life and drags itself out of the studio.

On the bright side, I have finally figured out the secret to shooting the small work is the highest aperture number. This might seem obvious, along with using a tripod, a remote, and shooting at the lowest ISO, but I've never set aside the time to do some aperture tests. About fours years later, I did that this morning. So much for using the automatic setting...pffft.

The work is nearly all shot.

2011-10-15T20:37:00.000-05:00

36 paintings properly documented today. Nice, big, juicy tiffs files. I still need to reshoot the bigger paintings from earlier this year. Still have some organizing to do. Lots, really. I'm tired. I worked a solid 9am to 4:30pm today managing the photo shoot and processing all the raw files. I feel like I've probably posted most of the paintings at various stages, but when the show opens I'll repost some images. Two paintings are at the framers. Big thanks to one of the photography students who shot my work this weekend, and to the framer at Plaza who I know is doing a stellar job on a frame for a couple of works on paper.

The show title and dates are official. I'll reveal shortly. My announcement email for stuff will go out soon. If you are not on my email list and want to be, please sign up.

Being a painter is isolating. Some days the people behind the counters are the only guys I see. I'd like to give a shout out to all the locals in my community who have had a positive impact on my life at the studio, simply by being pleasant. That might not sound like a lot, but you'd be surprised. I'm hooked on coffee you know, so my 2pm coffee break has become a social activity since my studio is away from home. And by social, I mean that I order it to go.

The staff at Plaza Art supply. Totally nice and super helpful. All of them. All the time.
The staff at the Turnip Truck in the Gulch. I've practically OD'd on the biscuits and I love the Drew's coffee they serve. Coffee is 50¢ if I bring my own mug. The lemon curd has pulled me through many an afternoons.
The staff at Fiddle Cakes, my other coffee spot. The staff here is small. I usually see the the guy who I discovered is also a painter, but the others are nice too. Had I not discovered 50¢ coffee and those Gruyére cheese biscuits at Turnip Truck, I'd be more loyal. These are my go-to peeps for brownies and cookies. Vegan options when I feel like being 100% vegan instead of 10% vegan like I am now.
The guy who takes my order and rings me up at The Morning Glory Deli. He might own the joint. Whenever I become freaked out that I'm spending all my money on fancy Gueryére biscuits, Americanos, and Lemon Curd, I order a grilled cheese, french fries, and a cup of Joe for lunch. (I'm getting better at carrying my own mug around.) He throws in my mustard packs without asking. I like mustard on my fries. .

I'll have printed postcards that should look great. If you want a hardcopy, email me your address and I'll add you to my list.

I wrote the press release, the statement, and an updated bio in like 4.5 hours flat. That's a record, for me. This is one of the first shows that I feel like I'm working up until the deadline, not because I'm behind or don't have enough, but because I still want to keep painting. I've got at least 3 paintings and titles backlogged in my head right now.

I don't feel chatty tonight. I want the spaceship parts to hurry up and arrive. Change is hard.

2011-10-14T12:34:00.000-05:00

The electronics are dying. In pairs, I might add.

2011-10-08T12:54:00.001-05:00

Honestly, I don't compose these things. They just happen. Innate formalism, such a cross to bear.

Studio Stuff, Prep work, etc.

2011-10-07T18:34:00.000-05:00

[31 34 paintings. Not pictured: 15+ works on paper, 6 large abstract paintings, 1 large representational painting, a few mid-size paintings and all of the alter-ego's work. I haven't done the exact count but I'm in the neighborhood of 60 or 70 works completed in the last year.] It doesn't really look like a lot, but numbers don't lie.

I have like 48 hours to pin down a show title that I won't regret. I'm usually pretty good with show titles, but I'm tired, I have a headache, and my glasses make my eyes and neck hurt. I'm shooting all of the work tomorrow, then it's onto mailing list, titles, checklist, framing, plus I need to tweak a couple of pieces. I hang the work in 2 weeks and have another two weeks to edit down the show to kick ass and exceptional. Oh, and the statement for some comprehensible press release is due on Monday. People on southern time are a bit more loose. I'm better with advance deadlines.

When I told a friend about my upcoming show, they said, "fun." My idea of fun is being comatose on a beach in a lounge chair on a hot day with warm saltwater lapping up beside me. I think 1986 was the last time I experienced that.

I love what I do. I love being in the studio, It's challenging, physically and intellectually. I'm cool with getting messy. Lately, the dog hair and lint annoy me and I find myself making a concerted effort to cap my paints. Mixing paint is fun, but after that, I think being a painter person and trying to make a living holding down a couple of other jobs is challenging work, especially on your own. The carrot at the end of the stick is subconsciously that beach scene. To be exact, my beach scene takes place at The Pier House in Key West, Florida. Someone took me there a long time ago, circa 1986. It was actually the worst vacation of my life for other reasons, but I'll never forget that day in the lounge chair. I want that again. Screw therapy. I just want three days in a lounge chair at the edge of the ocean.

Like I said, I'm usually good with titles. It may be time to scrap my usual cadence for something more direct.
Let's backtrack:

1992 Chromosome Paintings and Small Collages (My pre grad school feminist paintings)
1995 Songs About My Mother (My thesis show of quirky video work supported by fem psych theory and a Maysles Brothers-like doc that bombed with my thesis panel.)
2002 Series 100 + Spare Parts (I'm in LA and back to painting- The show was an index of watercolor cutouts that would later be seen as the vocabulary for my abstract painting.)
2003 New Roles For Spare Parts (took the index and gave it a narrative. introduced narrative abstraction.)
2004 Klusje Van Niks (Rotterdam. I was totally overcome by Dutch design and architecture.)
2005 Scramble: A Series of Unruly Paintings and Drawings (Back in LA and showing the architecture and Dutch influenced work. still abstract. still chaos and order.)
2006 The Tornado Face Drawings ( I went on a manic tear and fervently made 33 Tornado Face Drawings. I rearranged the whole studio and bought some bargain-bin-castoffs from IKEA to accommodate this. Factory worker mode.)
2008 I Forget Now What All This is About (After reading Modern Painters, I fell in love with Ruskin's writing and reinterpreted his take on landscape and painting for my own diabolical purposes. The title was from a footnote of his.)
2010 Fluid: Elusive Chapters From the Passage of Time (Also known as the Pool and Flower Paintings and The Lost Months. Small paintings the size of paperbacks that were about losing my mom and watching my marriage dissolve all within the manageable distance of 3000 miles. Introduced representational work and fixation on singular image.)

And here we are now. A year later in Nashville I've been waking up every day to NPR and stories about the economy, revolution, natural disasters, more death and destruction, selfish, evil people, and watching the newscasters report about the locally depraved before bedtime. I cycle through my daily routine and try to achieve some balance as I go through stuff from my parent's estate all while maintaining a studio and teaching. I'm still interested in abstraction, but my approach is becoming more aloof. Abstraction is slow now. Like molasses. I need to capture things, document them as they cross my mind or before I forget. Sometimes I feel like a channel. I wonder what I'm going to paint next and become anxious. What if I've covered everything there is to paint? What then? It hasn't happened yet. I usually find something the next day, but still, it's a concern. When I was in Indiana I was talking with Carla about this need to paint things as some kind of evidence of my existence. I think I said something like that, only as soon as I said it, I thought it sounded like a Twilight Zone epilogue, so I told her not to tell anyone and immediately forgot what I said.

Here's the brainstorming list so far, feel free to comment.

~~I Don't Know What I'm Waiting For, But It's Not You, and Other Frustrating Narratives~~
~~Shape Shifters~~
Moral Turpentine
An Act of Moral Turpentine
~~Mondrian is My Visual Safe Word~~
and going back to a fictional note in Camus' The Plague, "Come in, I've Hanged Myself."
and finally,
Come In, I've Hanged Myself, and Other Acts of Moral Turpentine

The Camus reference has been on the backburner for a few years. It seems pitch perfect for a painting show, but my world of references lend themselves toward narrowcasting.

Ok, so that's not a lot of brain storming. I'll add more over the weekend.

2011-10-06T10:02:00.000-05:00

Lady Painter was on my door step last night and as I listened to Steve Jobs' Stanford address, I cracked open Joan Mitchell's biography by Patricia Albers. The two moments coincided poignantly.

When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: "If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you'll most certainly be right." It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: "If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?" And whenever the answer has been "No" for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.

Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure - these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart. -Steve Jobs in his commencement address to Standford

My sister is always putting the past behind her—Well I use the past to make my pics and I want all of it and even you and me in candlelight on the train and every "lover" I've ever had—every friend—nothing closed out—and dogs alive and dead and people and landscapes and feeling even if it is desperate—and anguished—tragic—it's all part of me and I want to confront it and sleep with it—the dreams—and paint it. -Joan Mitchell from Joan Mitchell Lady Painter by Patricia Albers

I don't know what word transcends 'urgency' but I felt it last night.

October is a good time to support the arts.

2011-10-04T08:09:00.000-05:00

I'm pleased to be a part of Against the Tide, an exhibition curated by Sharon Butler/Two Coats of Paint featuring the work of sixteen contemporary painters whose work references water.

Links:

The catalog with an introductory essay is available online at the Two Coats of Paint bookshop.

The exhibition is online at http://www.twocoatsofpaint.com/2011/10/inaugural-exhibition-against-tide.html

Catalog excerpt:

2011// Not all contemporary (or modern) artists dismiss water as a subject simply because Henry James rolled his eyes at Winslow Homer. Perhaps an artist returned to her family home in Nashville where the pool she remembered as a child lay drained and crumbling in the backyard. Or it could be that the reference to water is completely subconscious....This exhibition, organized by Sharon L. Butler for Two Coats of Paint, presents paintings by sixteen contemporary artists who have been drawn, perhaps against the tide, to the power of water. Artists include Joel Adas, Sean Anderson, Mark Barry, Barbara Brady, Jenny Zoe Casey, Emilia Dubicki, Mary Addison Hackett, Sara Klar, Rachelle Krieger, Magnolia Laurie, Joanne Mattera, Mott McCampbell, Claire McConaughy, Wendy Small, Cary Smith, Robert Yoder and Elizabeth Zans.

A small portion of each catalog sale goes to support Sharon's blog, Two Coats of Paint, a valuable resource covering contemporary painting. And if you want to support both Two Coats and an artist featured in the catalog, inquiries about the paintings can be made to twocoatsofpaint@gmail.com with the artist's name and "Against the Tide" in the subject line.

2011-10-01T10:26:00.000-05:00

In the middle of the night in my dream it occurred to me that my grandmother had not been out of her room or even out of the house in a very long time and I thought she might like to go to my opening only when I was getting ready to go into her room to ask her, I realized she had been dead for about 30 years and it suddenly kind of freaked me out as though 30 years had slipped by silently and I had trouble knowing if I was dreaming or not.

I'm working on titles and framing stuff today.

Redirecting

2011-09-26T19:39:00.002-05:00

I've been giving the blog and my penchant for the mundane and irreverent some thought. I've decided to be less funny, less chatty, more painty.

Van Gogh
The Flowering Orchard, 1888
Oil on canvas
28 1/2 x 21 in.
Image © The Metropolitan Museum of Art

Studio to Studio Correspondence Report

2011-09-23T14:44:00.000-05:00

I'm leaving the studio wearing my paint overalls, carrying a canvas under one arm and a bucket of paints in the other when two guys in suits asked me if I knew where the mixer was.

I don't even know what I would say at a mixer. "Hi. I finished painting a hillbilly grifter today, worked on two abstract paintings, and am wrapping up a large painting of my dead dog, Fang. So, what do you do?" 

43 days till show time.

I was so impressed with my selection of unmentionables today that I had to mention them

2011-09-20T20:36:00.003-05:00

Something about wearing my Bulwark coveralls all day prompted me to go for plaid and chartreuse underneath, proving once again, it's what on the inside that counts.

I worked at the home studio today, out in the garage, since it wasn't flooding, sweltering or freezing. My only moment of distraction happened at the very beginning when I thought about swapping the boring but very functional Bombay Company desk in my office, for the antique writing table that's been haphazardly stored frozen in time for the last 60 years. I didn't get very far with the swap. I opened the drawer to find it untouched from 1940 something. I won't bore you with a list of all the contents, but sheet music, typing ribbon tins, a newspaper headlining a flood, and an elegant brochure and dinner menu from some fancy-pants aviation dinner event my grandfather had attended were a few things I found.

I thumbed through the contents and set them aside and then started painting. I thought about how nicely illustrated things were back them. I thought more about this and decided that photography not only attempted to kill painting, but that it was responsible for the demise of a cultured society as well. The desk needs a little TLC. Since it's a writing desk it only has two drawers. I'm not sure if that will work for me in the office, so I also considered making it a paint table by adding another 4 inches and some casters. Either way, it was too much work for a studio day. The garage is dusty. I had to scrape down the palette on my existing paint table. I found myself getting irritated with the dog hair and lint that I was inadvertently dragging around the paintings and I'm not OCD, not really. Not much. Maybe sometimes. It was a good and productive studio day.

Someone was a little behind on dog grooming.

2011-09-19T22:34:00.001-05:00

2011-09-14T19:58:00.001-05:00

I'm getting closer to visualizing change. Sometimes I'm referring to physical change, other times I am referring to a mental attitude or a way of life. Every now and then if I get depressed I like to imagine anything is possible. I'm bizarrely attached to my hardwood floors, but in reality I would like blond wood floors. But then I wonder if I would have to clean my blond hardwood floors more often. My dark hardwood floors hide dirt. They also attract dirt. Tough call.

I also like to imagine I could sell every single thing I own, except the dog, and except my supplies. I could then easily move anywhere in the world and live in a white rectangular studio with natural light and blond wood floors and the dog, and a mop. I breathe easier knowing it's possible. I'd like to make up a number, like 12— and tell myself I can't have more than 12 pieces of furniture. It seems doable. Even reasonable, maybe. The room I'm in now has 9 pieces of furniture: 3 bookcases, 3 desks, 2 chairs and a floor lamp. There's another bookcase in the closet. I am in the office. I need to work on this. I'm getting closer to visualizing change.

I'm still painting things that have names.

Mary Addison Hackett

Intervention, 2011

oil on linen on wood panel

10 x 8 inches

2011-09-11T19:08:00.002-05:00

Speaking of luxury goods, I watched Gosford Park last night, Altman's last film. I had seen it when it came out. Netflix thought I might like it and was kind enough to suggest it to me. I had forgotten how beautiful the set design was. I concentrated on the palette used throughout the film and various lighting schemes.

This painting was from a few month ago. I can't remember if I posted it or not. I've been rather scatter shot in my image posting.

Mary Addison Hackett, Company in the Living Room, 2011

oil on linen on wood panel

I've been building my own stretchers from scratch. Nice, yes. I'm happy with them. I admit feeling content knowing I've labored over them. For the really small paintings, I experimented with making some wood panels and stretching linen over them. I think I will continue to do this. I'm trying really hard to develop some consistency. I'm rather slow to the draw on this matter. So slow, perhaps, that it might not be detectable for another 50 years.

This painting below is in progress, and the usual caveat: it was shot with my iphone in the studio. It almost felt good to paint it. At first. And then it became difficult. When I look at it and look at the one above. I almost see the same thing, but not quite.

Mary Addison Hackett, [Not yet titled,] 2011

oil on canvas

PS. I'm thinking about going to Miami this year. Anyone else?

Anti-relational aesthetics

2011-09-07T18:01:00.001-05:00

2011-09-07T16:46:00.001-05:00

2011-09-05T14:05:00.001-05:00

2011-09-05T10:31:00.001-05:00

I thought I loved my staple gun until I met my table saw.

2011-09-02T09:05:00.001-05:00

It's true. I'm a little over the initial infatuation phase and I know eventually I'll take him for granted, but right now it's the real thing. I am cranking out my own bevel cut stretchers like a pro. The three components of being an artist I gripe about the most are the prep phase of obtaining stretchers and panels, and the shipping and packing finished artwork, and the office work part. Like most artists, I just want to make the work. I don't have an assistant. I have thought about hiring one when I get really busy, and have had a couple of offers in the past, but have justified that it's not THAT much additional time to do these things. It is of course, but I digress. Plus, my studio's never been that conducive to having a second person work with me. I move around a lot. I stumble over the dog sometimes. But my point being is that suddenly building stretchers is fun- enough. Not like OMG exhilarating super fun, but the dread is gone. Office work will never be fun. Theoretically, shipping and packing could be more fun now that I can build my own crates. Again, not like OMG exhilarating super fun, but the dread is gone kind of fun.

I'm about a month and a half out from my residency show. Normally I do not like to work up until the last minute before a show. I like breathing room to think about the work and study it while taking a step back. I don't want to understand the work while I'm making it. This show's a bit odd because it's in the residency gallery space, so although it's a solo show, it's more like a... actually I don't know what it's more like. I've never been in a show where the space is so linear, and it's been a while a few years since I haven't been thinking in terms of a solo show a year ahead of time. During the residency, I've been thinking in terms of showing up to the studio and painting, which is what I'm still doing and I suppose this is how I work. It's not random by any means, but the work has evolved organically in a non-linear way. During their making I wasn't bothering to force them into some overarching theme, though of course an overarching theme is evident. They fall into categories, so there is underlying logic at work. I was asked if I needed more time. I think they're worried that since my work is small I need to make more in order to fill the space, but that's not my MO. If it were, I'd probably need another year or two to let the work multiply and group itself accordingly. In normal world, I should have enough work for two solo shows. In train car world, it might look like crazytown. So be it. When I look at all the work from the past year, it looks like a good start to a retrospective. I was thinking of titling the show "Introspective" using a mod 70's font as a play on the concept of retrospective, but it reminded me of one of those jokes that no one gets. I'm either ahead or really behind the curve right now. Or off the curve completely. That's possible, too.

Pick 4.

2011-08-23T16:01:00.000-05:00

If I don't post for awhile, I'm either:
painting
teaching
dealing
busy
or sad

Susanna Coffey

2011-08-22T16:45:00.000-05:00

I met Susanna Coffey very briefly years ago when I was up at OxBow one summer doing a work-study fellowhsip. She was teaching a figure in the landscape class. Someone suggested I take the class, but for some reason I didn't, or couldn't fit it into my schedule, or perhaps I was reluctant to venture into representational waters at that time. No matter, I rediscovered her work recently and am in love with the night paintings, and her self-portraits, of course.

It's funny how moving into a different time zone has affected what makes it onto my radar nowadays.

I love painting. Really, I love all of it. I wish I had at least one more lifetime to keep painting. Perhaps I do.

Susanna Coffey, night paintings

Postmodernism is dead. Discuss.

2011-08-19T19:37:00.000-05:00

I ripped this directly from Prospect Magazine based in the UK.

Postmodernism is dead

EDWARD DOCX

20th July 2011 — Issue 185

A new exhibition signals the end of postmodernism. But what was it? And what comes next?

I have some good news—kick back, relax, enjoy the rest of the summer, stop worrying about where your life is and isn’t heading. What news? Well, on 24th September, we can officially and definitively declare that postmodernism is dead. Finished. History. A difficult period in human thought over and done with. How do I know this? Because that is the date when the Victoria and Albert Museum opens what it calls “the first comprehensive retrospective” in the world: “Postmodernism—Style and Subversion 1970-1990.”

Wait, I hear you cry. How do they know? And what was it? Postmodernism—I didn’t understand it. I never understood it. How can it be over?

You are not alone. If there’s one word that confuses, upsets, angers, beleaguers, exhausts and contaminates us all, then it is postmodernism. And yet, properly understood, postmodernism is playful, intelligent, funny and fascinating. From Grace Jones to Lady Gaga, from Andy Warhol to Gilbert and George, from Paul Auster to David Foster Wallace, its influence has been everywhere and continues. It has been the dominant idea of our age.

So what was it? Well, the best way to begin to understand postmodernism is with reference to what went before: modernism. Unlike, say, the Enlightenment or Romanticism, postmodernism (even as a word) summons up the movement it intends to overturn. In this way, postmodernism might be seen as the delayed germination of an older seed, planted by artists like Marcel Duchamp, during modernism’s high noon of the 1920s and 1930s. (Seen in this light, the start-date that the V&A offers for postmodernism—1970—is quite late.)

Thus, if modernists like Picasso and Cézanne focused on design, hierarchy, mastery, the one-off, then postmodernists, such as Andy Warhol and Willem de Kooning, were concerned with collage, chance, anarchy, repetition. If modernists such as Virginia Woolf relished depth and metaphysics, then postmodernists such as Martin Amis favoured surface and irony. As for composers, modernists like Béla Bartók were hieratic and formalist, and postmodernists, like John Adams, were playful and interested in deconstructing. In other words, modernism preferred connoisseurship, tended to be European and dealt in universals. Postmodernism preferred commodity and America, and embraced as many circumstances as the world contained.

In the beginning, postmodernism was not merely ironical, merely gesture, some kind of clever sham, a hotchpotch for the sake of it. It became these things later in lesser works by lesser artists: Michael Nyman, Takashi Murakami, Tracey Emin and Jonathan Safran Foer. Rather, in the beginning artists, philosophers, linguists, writers and musicians were bound up in a movement of great force that sought to break with the past, and which did so with great energy. A new and radical permissiveness was the result. Postmodernism was a high-energy revolt, an attack, a strategy for destruction. It was a set of critical and rhetorical practices that sought to destabilise the modernist touchstones of identity, historical progress and epistemic certainty.

Above all, it was a way of thinking and making that sought to strip privilege from any one ethos and to deny the consensus of taste. Like all the big ideas, it was an artistic tendency that grew to take on social and political significance. As Ihab Hassan, the Egyptian-American philosopher, has said, there moved through this (our) period “a vast will to un-making, affecting the body politic, the body cognitive, the erotic body, the individual psyche, the entire realm of discourse in the west.”

Architecture is perhaps the easiest way to see some of these ideas in practice. In London, the Sainsbury Wing of the National Gallery (1991) is typical: the classical facets all stand in counterpoint to one another, offsetting and undermining and re-emphasising other more vernacular features like the gaping warehouse-door style entrances and the high non-windows; some of the columns are visible from one direction only; there’s redundancy; everything is over-determined and mannered; styles clash, mix, mingle.

The most contentious example of postmodern design, however, is the AT&T building in New York which was completed in 1984. The story of its reception is symbolic. In essence, the AT&T was considered a betrayal of everything positive and progressive that had been achieved since the war. It was a dissent from the implicit modernist notion that we would all march forward together into those bright and boxy skyscrapers glinting so functionally in the sun. What was this classical pediment with a circle shape cut out of the centre? What were the vast arched entryways and the pink granite detailing? The architect in question was the great Philip Johnson, the same Philip Johnson, it should be remembered, who was previously America’s most celebrated champion of modernism. Johnson died in 2005 but I met his artistic collaborator, Judith Grinberg, the woman who worked on the original drawings with him, and she recounted the impact of the building as we walked through its mighty halls.

“The terrible roar of objection centred on the top—the broken pediment,” she explained. “They hated it. There were people fighting each other in the pages of the press: aggressive, personal, vindictive, often nothing to do with architecture. Some people petitioned. Others denounced us. A lot of people attacked the authorities that had allowed construction… it went on and on.”

The AT&T building in New York (middle), completed in 1984

Grinberg remembers Johnson coming back from a trip to Italy with pictures of Florentine buildings and recalls the fundamental change in his thinking. “With all that reflection and refraction, modernism creates the illusion that there is an illusion when in fact it is a straightforward statement of money and power. But we wanted to get away from that. We wanted to say something else. There was a return to ornamentation—and there was a frivolity—something over and above the brutal structural form of the old modernist designs. You could say that the AT&T legitimised postmodernism to the whole world. The building became a lightning rod for what was happening, socially maybe, as well as architecturally.” This was a building that challenged the modernist premise of functional power by referencing other older, European styles, a building that collated and collapsed previous strictures, but was also something entirely new and radical and, in this, subversive. It was a provocation.

***

Thus apprised, we can now begin to identify postmodern artworks elsewhere in the period. The ceramics of Betty Woodman, are one example. In her work, the object and the image cohabit and references are made to both the history of colour and the history of ceramics. But no style or shape is privileged—or not for long. The Memphis-Milano movement (an Italian design and architecture group founded by Ettore Sottsass) also generated strongly postmodern work. One such example was the Casablanca sideboard from 1981, which is made out of plastic laminate so as to imply that design itself is theatrical, skin deep, kitsch.

But the attack against modernism was not merely negative. Perhaps the most positive and compelling example of postmodernism—postmodernism at its best if you will—is to be found in the world of dance; specifically, the truly amazing 1981 work, Drastic Classicism, choreographed by the great dancer Karole Armitage. The show begins when four electric guitarists and a drummer come on stage, and begin to crank out a voiceless punky cacophony which has no exact rhythm or melody. Oh Christ, we think. But then on come the dancers and suddenly the performance explodes—detonates—on the senses. Whatever dance was doing before, we realise, it won’t be doing it in quite the same way ever again. There is so much raw energy on stage: classical ballet combines with street dance, punk with folk, hip-hop with moments of ballroom, and then back again to ballet. There are leaps, grimaces, erotic posturing, ballons,brisés, bourrées. Sometimes the dancers dance alone, sometimes together. We begin to see classical ballet in the light of punk and punk in the light of hip-hop and hip-hop in the light of folk…

And thus, through powerful juxtaposition, the constituent parts of the performance, each of which is individually familiar, are renewed in front of our very eyes. We see them in fresh and startling ways. They garner new meanings and suggestions and resonances. That energy, that detonation, that de-favouring of one form over the other, that dissonant reassembly, the reappraisal that must follow, all of this taken together is pure and, yes, beautiful postmodernism.

The pop culture of the time deals in similar ideas. The classic example is David Byrne singing “you may ask yourself: how did I get here?” in the trailer for the Talking Heads film Stop Making Sense (1984), which then asks “why a film?” while he wears that famously huge suit (a statement about over-statement) and the images are interrupted by another question “Why the Big Suit?” and he begins to dance, but doesn’t really, until the next interruption “Why the odd movements?” and so on. Or again in, say, the 1988 video for Neneh Cherry’s song “Buffalo Stance,” which tells us that “no money man can win my love” while Cherry wears a gold dollar sign around her neck and the tune is stopped for her to say “know what I mean?” in an English accent.

The apogee of postmodernism pop, though, is of course Madonna. She is Marilyn Monroe at one moment, Marlene Dietrich the next; she is sadomasochist, virgin, material girl, wearer of the cross; she is the iconoclast feverishly invoking iconography, the eternal shape-shifter obsessed with her body, the image maker; she is brilliant; she endures; and yet she is a terrible actor, a clumsy and effortful dancer and an unexceptional singer. The over-styling, the celebrity-from-scratch, the referencing, the collation of images, the intensely self-conscious mediation with the audience, the whole stopping-making-sense-while-saying-something-about-sense-itself—that’s postmodernism.

So, let’s now turn with a little more confidence to the quagmire of sociology, politics and philosophy—Baudrillard, Derrida, Foucault and so on. Postmodernism first appeared as a philosophical term in the book The Postmodern Condition (1979) by Jean-François Lyotard, the French thinker. Lyotard drew on Wittgenstein’s idea of the “language game,” which had pointed out that different groups of people use the same language in different ways, which in turn can lead to their looking at the world in quite separate ways. So, for instance, the priest might use a word, say “truth,” in a very different way to the scientist, who in turn would understand the term in quite a different way to the policeman, the journalist, the philosopher, or the artist. In this way, the notion of a single, overarching view of the world—a dominant narrative (or to use the jargon, meta-narrative)—vanishes. There is no single narrative, no privileged standpoint, no system or theory that overlays all others. Hence, Lyotard argued, all narratives exist together, side by side, with none dominating. This confluence of narratives is the essence of postmodernism. (Lyotard was an adherent of Marxism, one of the most potent meta-narratives of the modern age. But he turned his back on Marx. In this way, the origins of postmodern thought can be seen as, in part, a rejection of the totalitarian impulse—also, and not coincidentally, at its most powerful in the 1920s and 1930s.) Sadly, 75 per cent of the rest of the stuff written about postmodernism is nonsensical, incoherent, self-contradicting or otherwise emblematic of the crap that has consumed the academic world of linguistics and “continental” philosophy for too long. But not all.

There are two important points. First, that postmodernism is really an attack not just on the dominant narrative or art forms but rather an attack on the dominant social discourse. All art is philosophy and all philosophy is political. And the epistemic confrontation of postmodernism, this idea of de-privileging any one meaning, this idea that all discourses are equally valid, has therefore lead to some real-world gains for humankind. Because once you are in the business of challenging the dominant discourse, you are also in the business of giving hitherto marginalised and subordinate groups their voice. And from here it is possible to see how postmodernism has helped western society understand the politics of difference and so redress the miserable injustices which we have hitherto either ignored or taken for granted as in some way acceptable. You would have to be from the depressingly religious right or an otherwise peculiarly recondite and inhuman school of thought not to believe, for example, that the politics of gender, race and sexuality have been immeasurably affected for the better by the assertion of their separate discourses. The transformation from an endemically and casually sexist, racist and homophobic society to one that legislates for and promotes equality is a resonantly good thing. No question.

The second point is deeper still. Postmodernism aimed further than merely calling for a re-evaluation of power structures: it said that we are all in our very selves nothing more than the breathing aggregate of those structures. It contends that we cannot stand apart from the demands and identities that these structures and discourses confer upon us. Adios the Enlightenment. See you later Romanticism. Instead, it holds that we move through a series of co-ordinates on various maps—class, gender, religious, sexual, ethnic, situational—and that those co-ordinates are actually our only identity. We are entirely constructed. There is nothing else. And this, in an over-simplified nutshell, is the main challenge that postmodernism brought to the great banquet of human ideas because it changed the game from one of self-determination (Kant et al) to other-determination. I am constructed, therefore I am. But here we come at last to the trickiest question of all: how do we know postmodernism is over and why?

Let’s go back to the arts, the front line. It is not that postmodernism’s impact is diminished or disappearing. Not at all; we can’t unlearn a great idea. But rather, postmodernism is itself being replaced as the dominant discourse and is now taking its place on the artistic and intellectual palette alongside all the other great ideas and movements. In the same way as we are all a little Victorian at times, a little modernist, a little Romantic, so we are all, and will forever be, children of postmodernism. (This in itself is, of course, a postmodern idea.) All these movements subtly inform our imaginations and the way we discuss, create, react and interact. But, more and more, postmodernism is becoming “just” another one of the colours we might use. (Lady Gaga uses it, for example; but Adele does not.) Or, to switch metaphor, just another tool in the artist’s kit. Why? Because we are all becoming more comfortable with the idea of holding two irreconcilable ideas in our heads: that no system of meaning can have a monopoly on the truth, but that we still have to render the truth through our chosen system of meaning. So the postmodern challenge, while no less radical, somehow feels less powerful to us. We are learning to live with it.

Perhaps the best way to explain the reason for this development is to use my own art form: the novel. Postmodernism has informed literature for as long as I have been alive—Margaret Atwood, Julian Barnes, Italo Calvino, Don DeLillo, Umberto Eco and so on through the alphabet. Indeed, the way I have written this article—self-consciously mixing both a formal and informal tone—is indebted to its ideas: the high style and the low style coexist for purposes of creating moments of surprise or unsettlement, or obscenity, or insight, in an effort to engage. But—and it’s a big but—the problem, which has been getting worse, is what we might call the postmodern paradox.

For a while, as communism began to collapse, the supremacy of western capitalism seemed best challenged by deploying the ironic tactics of postmodernism. Over time, though, a new difficulty was created: because postmodernism attacks everything, a mood of confusion and uncertainty began to grow and flourish until, in recent years, it became ubiquitous. A lack of confidence in the tenets, skills and aesthetics of literature permeated the culture and few felt secure or able or skilled enough or politically permitted to distinguish or recognise the schlock from the not. And so, sure enough, in the absence of any aesthetic criteria, it became more and more useful to assess the value of works according to the profits they yielded. Capital, as has been said many times before, accommodates all needs. So, paradoxically, we arrive at a moment where literature itself has become threatened, first by the artistic credo of postmodernism (the death of the author) and second by the unintended result of that credo, the hegemony of the marketplace. What then becomes sought and desired are fictions that resonate with the widest possible public: that is, with as many discourses as possible. This public can then give or withhold approval measured in sales.

In other words, increasingly, artistic success has become about nothing except money; and, increasingly, artists have come to judge their own success that way, too. This is the reason today that we feel the genre writer’s cry “I sold millions” so powerfully, even though in truth it can say little about the art form other than “it sold millions.” Changing disciplines, if we take this commoditisation of art to its natural limit, we arrive at Damien Hirst’s diamond encrusted skull,For the Love of God (2007). Commoditisation has here become the only point. The work, such as it is, centres on its cost and value and comprises also (I would say mainly) the media storm surrounding it: the rumours that it was bought for £50m, or that Hirst himself bought it, or that he offset his tax bill by claiming diamonds as tax deductible artistic materials, or that he didn’t buy it at all, or that nobody has bought it… And so postmodernly on. The paradox being this: that by removing all criteria, we are left with nothing but the market. The opposite of what postmodernism originally intended.

And, of course, there’s a parallel paradox in politics and philosophy. If we de-privilege all positions, we can assert no position, we cannot therefore participate in society or the collective and so, in effect, an aggressive postmodernism becomes, in the real world, indistinguishable from an odd species of inert conservatism.

Looked at in this way, it’s easier to see why its power has been diminishing. The postmodern solution will no longer do as a response to the world we now find ourselves in. As human beings, we avowedly do not wish to be left with only the market. Even billionaires want art collections. (Interestingly, that’s often one of the first things they want.) That conversation between artist and the public is therefore changing again, hastened by and in parallel with the dawn of the digital age.

Certainly, the internet is the most postmodern thing on the planet. The immediate consequence in the west seems to have been to breed a generation more interested in social networking than social revolution. But, if we look behind that, we find a secondary reverse effect—a universal yearning for some kind of offline authenticity. We desire to be redeemed from the grossness of our consumption, the sham of our attitudinising, the teeming insecurities on which social networking sites were founded and now feed. We want to become reacquainted with the spellbinding narrative of expertise. If the problem for the postmodernists was that the modernists had been telling them what to do, then the problem for the present generation is the opposite: nobody has been telling us what to do.

If we tune in carefully, we can detect this growing desire for authenticity all around us. We can see it in the specificity of the local food movement or the repeated use of the word “proper” on gastropub menus. We can hear it in the use of the word “legend” as applied to anyone who has actually achieved something in the real world. (The elevation of real life to myth!) We can recognise it in advertising campaigns such as for Jack Daniel’s, which ache to portray not rebellion but authenticity. We can identify it in the way brands are trying to hold on to, or take up, an interest in ethics, or in a particular ethos. A culture of care is advertised and celebrated and cherished. Values are important once more: the values that the artist puts into the making of an object as well as the values that the consumer takes out of the object. And all of these striven-for values are separate to the naked commercial value.

Go deeper still and we can see a growing reverence and appreciation for the man or woman who can make objects well. We note a new celebration of meticulousness, such as in the way Steven Wessel makes his extraordinary handmade flutes out of stainless steel. We uncover a new emphasis on design through making in the hand-crafted work of the Raw Edges Design Studios, say, with their Self-Made collection, objects that are original, informed by personal stories and limited edition. Gradually we hear more and more affirmation for those who can render expertly, the sculptor who can sculpt, the ceramist, the jeweller, even the novelist who can actually write. Jonathan Franzen is the great example here: a novelist universally (and somewhat desperately) lauded, raised almost to the status of a universal redeemer, because he eschews the evasions of genre or historical fiction or postmodern narratorial strategies and instead tries to say something complex and intelligent and telling and authentic and well-written about his own time. It’s not just the story, after all, but how the story is told.

These three ideas, of specificity, of values and of authenticity, are at odds with postmodernism. We are entering a new age. Let’s call it the Age of Authenticism and see how we get on.

“Postmodernism: Style and Subversion 1970-1990,” will be at the V&A Museum from 24 Sept 2011 to 15 Jan 2012. The exhibition is supported by the Friends of the V&A with further support from Barclays Wealth

Good news

2011-08-18T21:29:00.004-05:00

Professionally speaking, it was a good week. An invitation came out of the blue Wednesday night and an acceptance letter came in the email Thursday morning. I can't share either of these shows openly because I am a superstitious person. Things fall through, go south, peter out, lose funding, space out, close down, skip town, go bankrupt, die, walk away, and go crazy all the time. No need to get excited just yet. They're still a ways off.

[Content edited... something about convictions, isolation, sanity and smaller cities.]

I really like the painting I just finished, which is good, because the painting before was so wretched I've blocked it completely out of my mind. Dammit, not only did I just remember what it looked like, I remember that it's serving as a doorstop for the kitchen door because I was too lazy to move it out of the way. Failures keep me humble.

I'm going to be busy this fall. Super powers unite.

Fall Semester

2011-08-17T19:50:00.000-05:00

My imaginary sabbatical is over.

"The art is worth seeing, though."

2011-08-13T20:02:00.000-05:00

You know that scene in the horror film where the girl is trapped in the basement of a serial killer's home and the police come knocking on the door because the neighbors complained about a disturbance and you think the girl's going to be rescued but the serial killer answers the door and smiles and says no everything's alright I cut myself shaving and the cops go away?

This review made me feel like that.

Fairfield Porter

2011-08-12T12:34:00.004-05:00

Wish list:

Fairfield Porter: Catalogue Raisonne of the Oil Paintings, Watercolor, and Pastels

Fairfield Porter (1907-1975)
Apple Branch, 1973
Watercolor on paper, 20 x 25 in.

Fairfield Porter (1907-1975), Girl Reading Outdoors, 1963, oil on canvas, 45 x 40 inches. Purchased in 1964 by the Commerce Bancshares Fine Art Collection

I think it's downright fascinating when I come across someone who almost simultaneously shares my enthusiasm for another artist not currently in the limelight. I've checked out every available book my library system has on Fairfield Porter (hence the wish list above). Meanwhile, I see a link on Painter's Table for Dan O' Connor,

Dan O'Connor

which lead me to the blog Painting Perceptions, and I get this gem of a post about Mr. Porter.

My reason for reinvestigation of Fairfield Porter was a painting I finished about 2 weeks ago. It's in the show at Herron. At first I was concerned I had ventured off my familiar path and into the dark space of ~~little old lady~~ prosaic painting. Maybe it's the crepe myrtle. I wondered if I needed to be more vigilant and keep myself in check. And then I remembered Fairfield Porter, breathed a little sigh, and gave a silent thank you to my surroundings.

MAH, Every Morning I Drink Coffee and Wonder, 'Is This Really Me?', 2011

oil on linen panel

Painting is Hard, still

2011-08-09T12:48:00.000-05:00

So while staring a freak flower painting I'm working on— which for some insane reason I've put in an elaborately cut crystal vase, and even more mind-boggling, decided to make it vaguely look like it's a cut crystal vase, which is way more OCD than I am prone to be— I spotted a book on Velázquez and opened it up. Out comes this copy I made of Snoopy as a kid. He looks like he's trying to sleep one off. The bloated stomach reinforces my suspicion. Woodstock's probably lecturing him.

And of course there was the Velázquez I happened to be thinking of.

Welcome Brooklyn and Thank you

2011-08-07T14:14:00.004-05:00

Tonight ZieherSmith, a Brooklyn gallery will open a pop-up gallery in Nashville, TN. The exhibition, BNA: Brooklyn to Nashville, will present a selection of top emerging artists who work out of the borough of Brooklyn, home to the largest and most diverse concentration of art studios in the world. Though young, these artists have already been acquired by top museums and collections across the globe. They work in a variety of mediums and styles.

Featured artists include: Samuel T. Adams, Caroline Allison, Patrick Brennan, Andy Coolquit, John Copeland, Jess Fuller, Kate Gilmore, Denise Kupferschmidt, Liz Markus, Eddie Martinez, Sam Moyer, Rachel Owens, Javier Piñón, Matthew Porter, Sara Greenberger Rafferty, Mariah Robertson, Vadis Turner, Sara VanDerBeek, Chuck Webster, Wendy White.

-press release, BNA: Brooklyn to Nashville.

It's as if my message in a bottle drifted to the shores of Manhattan and an exhibition of 21st century work appeared here in Nashville.

I don't mean to whine, which is what I've secretly been doing since I landed here last summer after living the life of an expat for two decades, but it's reassuring to know that I'm not the only one that thought something was missing from the contemporary art scene in Nashville. There's been a serious void, to the point where I was beginning to worry that maybe it was the rest of the art world that was behind, so I am freaking elated that ZieherSmith has delivered a slice of the current art scene with their pop-up gallery at Icon in the Gulch. I'm also just a little dismayed that it's taken a Brooklyn (Manhattan, actually) gallery to bring this type of work to Nashville. Although most of the works in the show date 2011, some go back to 2008, but that's just to say this type of work has been showing in NYC, LA, et al., for at least a few years.

Eddie Martinez, Untitled, 2011 (photo credit: ZieherSmith)

Liz Markus, American Scream, 2011, (photo credit: ZieherSmith)

John Copeland, "Wake Me When It's Over, 2011 (photo credit: John Copeland)

Wendy White, Burger FF, 2010 (photo credit: ZieherSmith)

André Pretorius, Rich Girl Undercover (photo credit: andrepretorius.com. This one was not in the show.)

My current favorites are John Copeland's, gushy and stoically funny portrait, Wake Me When It's Over; André Pretorius's untitled figurative paintings of skateboarders caught in a sort of filmic time-slice effect of calamity and bedazzlement; Wendy's White's airbrushed and graffiti like abstractions with hard-edged lettering on subtly-shaped canvasses, and Eddie Martinez's raw and quirky painting of what looked to be a pawn/gumball dispenser of personal iconography staring me down. The show contains over 40 works by about 20 artists, runs through the end of August, and is walking distance to my studio, and across the street from my new BFF coffee, Drew's ~~Gravel Springs~~ French Roast at the Turnip Truck in the Gulch, which means I'll be having coffee and taking a closer look at the show's salon wall this month.

I'll stop short of hawking The Icon's condo loft living, but I admit, I eyeball them on my way home and the vacant ground floor space would make a fabulous gallery for someone with a vision. And thank you again ZieherSmith for bringing some contemporary art to town, especially painting.

ZieherSmith
BNA: Brooklyn to Nashville
Pop-up show at Icon at the Gulch
Nashville

For my next ~~trick~~, post I will deconstruct the regional art world in one paragraph causing both my social and professional life to disappear.

Nashville Downtown Arts Crawl. August 6th. Collector's Night

2011-08-06T12:35:00.002-05:00

I've been in Nashville a little over a year now. I don't know if artists actually go to art crawls. I try not to. In my experience art crawls are for the civvies. Collector's Night thins down the swarm of urban hipsters to a smaller crowd interested in hearing the artist discussing their work in brief. This is more my speed. I like hearing artists discuss their work. Sometimes I've even been persuaded to change my mind about a work after hearing an artist talk about it.

The Rymer Gallery presented works by Charles Clary, Jason Worsham and Natalie Andrews. I'm not certain, but I believe all three have southern connections and are fairly recent MFA graduates.

Charles Clary with his meticulously cut paper concoctions at The Rymer Gallery

Jason Worsham works with found objects at The Rymer Gallery

Natalie Andrews at The Rymer Gallery

The 5th Avenue of the Arts celebrates it's 5th birthday this weekend. Susan Tinney of Tinney Contemporary mentioned the five year anniversary as she presented Claire B Cotts, a San Francisco based artist. Déjà vu. I was one of the artists exhibiting at the gallery's Grand Opening show five years ago when it was part of a partnership with TAG gallery (Note: no connection to the Santa Monica TAG gallery). I had actually forgotten this as I silently did the math and retraced my last 5 years in a flash. I was an Los Angeles-based artist then. How time flies.

Claire B Cotts at Tinney Contemporary

Claire has been working as an artist for about 25 years. The show consisted of abstract works with one representational work in the atrium. She talked about the abstract works, citing gardens, fireflies, and a host of other influences. She mentioned evoking feelings about the work rather than intellectualizing the work. I would have liked to have heard more about her figurative works since my head's been wrapped around that in my own practice lately.

Claire B Cotts

This painting was not in the show, but I like it. This being a blog, not a critical review, I feel it's acceptable to speak about works I didn't see in the show. She also has a blog though we didn't connect about that. I think when I try to be social I come across as someone who's never picked up a pen or a paint brush, much less articulated a sentence. My social skills are painfully awkward.

Unfortunately my driving skills are not painfully awkward. I was pulled over on the way home for going 11 miles over the speed limit on a hill. I was pretty sure I was keeping up with traffic but Metro's finest pointed out that the car in front of me moved out of my way. No one goes 35 mph here. It was a bogus bust.

The next post in queue will be about the pop-up show presented by ZieherSmith, a Brooklyn gallery importing works into the local art scene this month. According to the press release, "Though young, these artists have already been acquired by top museums and collections across the globe. They work in a variety of mediums and styles."

Being a Collector's Night post, I felt that an apropriate sentence to end on.

Art Road Trip, part 2.

2011-08-04T19:18:00.006-05:00

So, after all the fun of doing an alla prima wall painting and socializing with my hostess and curator, Carla, I had return home. It was recommended if I had time, I stop in Louisville and check out the 21c Museum Hotel, which I did. Perfect timing too. You may surmise that my arrival coincided quite nicely 2 pm Espresso Break. On the dot. CST.

Wallpaper commission at 21c Museum Hotel, by Virgil Marti

But back to the museum- I was impressed with 21c Museum Hotel. Admission to the museum is free, no purchases are required and thus it makes art available to the public. One could argue that at $300 a night on the low end, the environment of an upscale boutique hotel could be more intimidating to "the public" than a museum, but at $8, my lunch of tuna confit was a generous portion (Slight lack of vegetarian choices on the menu) and I was surrounded by art that highlighted the art and artist rather than being pushed to the background. This is not a dig or a judgement, it's a call to raise the bar of presenting art to the public. I have a couple of commissioned paintings gracing the walls of an upscale hotel, but the museum hotel concept takes the idea of art, patronage, public, and hotel to another level. Patronage would be the key word. I would love to see something like this in Nashville.

21c Museum Hotel was founded in 2006 by Laura Lee Brown and Steve Wilson, philanthropists and arts patrons who had a vision for supporting the revitalization of Louisville's downtown and engaging the public with contemporary art in a new way. Understanding that art drives commerce and enriches people's lives, they created 21c Museum Hotel to help make Louisville—and its historic downtown arts and theater district—an even more vibrant place to live, work, and visit.

Born out of a love of contemporary art; a desire to create livable downtown spaces that prevent urban sprawl; a belief that art should be accessible, interactive and without pretense; and the conviction that art drives commerce, 21c has proven to be a critical and financial success and has established itself as market leader in the hospitality industry in Louisville and a nationally recognized destination. Following the success in the bluegrass, the 21c Team is looking towards opportunities to enliven the cultural and civic life in urban centers across the country. 21c Austin, 21c Bentonville, and 21c Cincinnati are three unique projects that will work towards fostering the revitalization of each city.

I'm choosing to highlight a few paintings from the exhibition, Cuba Now, because 1) I'm an elitist who wants to highlight painting and 2) It was a moderately-sized exhibit. That said, the non-paintings held my attention as well. Conspicuously missing from the exhibition was abstract painting out of Cuba. (Which makes sense, so I felt compelled to dig little deeper on Cuba and abstract painting to confirm some of my theories. I also discovered Cuban Art World, which as its name suggests, is rather encompassing.) But back to the Cuba Now. I encourage you to check out the links to the museum.

Yoan Capote, American Appeal (Bridge), 2009. Paint, fish hooks, nails, canvas on plywood. Artwork © Yoan Capote. Courtesy of the Pizzuti Collection.

Carlos Caballero, Alone, from the series "Les bulles de l'amour" (homage to Rene Magritte), 2009. Oil on canvas.

Guerra de la Paz, The Four Seasons, 2004. Mixed media sculpture with assorted clothing.

Okay, seriously, this is not art, it's a real guy prepping one of the gallery spaces. But you have to admit, the wall text makes it look pretty convincing.

Frothy. I watched video art while supping.

And stared at the pet portraits which was a fundraiser by artist Micki Thomas. Otto is rather difficult to paint w/o photographing him. I may yet accomplish this, though.

Then it was back to driving. Only not really. I went through some time warp where traffic stood still on I-65. At first I chilled, but then I almost panicked when I realized I hadn't moved in about 45 minutes. My car has a low-clearance and medians are deceptively steep and rocky.

Right after I shot this, a few people started getting out of their cars. You haven't really lived until you've been stuck in traffic at a standstill for hours on a freeway. I was caught in a snowstorm once back in the 80's and was asked by a police officer if two women who were trying to walk to an exit could stay in my car since they were on the verge of hypothermia. We ate leftover Chex Mix from Christmas and spent the night in a diner.

I observed other people bailing.

I finally made it to a place with a level cut-through and backtracked to the last exit. From there I took back roads about half way home before jumping back on the interstate. Long travel day, but a great trip.

I'm tempted to start reviewing boutique hotels as a side gig. Especially those with art collections.

That was a long post. I should have been in the studio, but I needed to stretch canvas here today and organize some mail list stuff. I'm excited to get to the studio tomorrow. I spent a solid day there yesterday and have a painting waiting for me.

Art Road Trip, part 1.

2011-08-03T22:25:00.000-05:00

Asynchronous Salon at Herron School of Art and Design opens tonight and runs through August 26th.

The show includes Steven LaRose's, The Barely Comprehensible Realm,

Carla Knopp's latest work,

Nomi Lubin's, Not Paintings,

Carla hanging Nomi's work

My Pool Paintings from Fluid: Elusive Chapters from the Passage of Time with the addition of a couple of new ones, and the alla prima wall painting I did while listening to Arcade Fire's "The Suburbs." The album is 64:07 in length, so according to my rules, the painting took 64:07 minutes. It was videotaped. The video will run throughout the exhibition.

Mary Addison Hackett, "The Suburbs, 64:07"
alla prima wall painting

Mary Addison Hackett

Carla Knopp penned a curatorial statement about the impact of social media on artists and communities:

Independent artists are creating pockets of meaningful dialogue across the internet. They make art which continues the tradition of individual artistic discovery, and they post their findings on personal art blogs. These artists are quite familiar with current art considerations, and their work and their conversations reflect these broader concerns. They also quite relentlessly follow their own art intrigues. As blog hosts they create 21st century art salons, where they and their guests use new media to find and develop vibrant, interlinking art communities.

Asynchronous Salon brings together one such pocket of blogging artists. I have invited Mary Addison Hackett, Steven LaRose, and Nomi Lubin to join me in this show at my alma mater, Herron School of Art & Design. I have been art blog buddies with each for a few years now, and while we have not all met in person, I felt a deep desire to see our work together. It seems relevant to have this dialogue show at an art institution, where many of us first experienced these supportive relationships with fellow artists, albeit through traditional time and space parameters.

My enthusiasm for the work these artists produce is intertwined with my strong personal affinity towards each as an individual. Our art shares certain similarities, though they tend to reflect parallel coincidences more than direct influence. These often occur as an after-the-fact recognition, or as a vague sense of familiarity. When Nomi pushes round shapes to their most ludicrous physical limits, or when she negotiates coyly with visual logic, I feel kin instincts. I'd like to stage a battle between Steven's halfway-incarnated creatures and my own. I'd also like to adopt his fluid approach to painting. Mary Addison's abstractions are visually complex layerings, which echo a common tendency amongst this group, to steer hard towards the incomprehensible. Her more figurative work poignantly grasps life's transitions. As a group the work is similar formally. The color palettes, object shapes, scale, size, wry wit, and density of surface all cavort within a certain tactile range. This sets up an interesting tension for the show....a battle-dance perhaps.

As our separate artist statements reveal, we each share a strong desire to form or find meaning from unknown places of the imagination; we are the primary instigators of our own art experience. This also makes us cultural vagrants of sorts. The individual artistic meander is often a difficult process to justify; to one's community, and even to oneself. It's very inspiring to encounter artists who make this leap of faith without compromise. I believe these artistic investigations matter. I believe it is an integral part of being human, and must continue, regardless of how our means for making and sharing may change.

Asynchronous Salon is one small group show of art, but it also suggests a possible framework for self-determination
within the arts community. We can use our media technologies to find and create intimate environments. We can foster and share our most profound thoughts and discoveries. We can bypass institutionalized arts programming and cultural management, and can instead foster authentic dialogues. We can form communities of individuals who celebrate in each others' freaking amazing discoveries.

- Carla Knopp, curator

Stay Tuned for Art Road Trip, part 2. I'm a few days behind in general. Lots to post. Lots to paint.

FYI, Process got booted off G+ and I'm on the fence about it as a networking tool.

2011-07-25T08:32:00.001-05:00

Process's G+ account was deleted a few days ago due to some mass action deleting going on. I have appealed. There was no objectionable content and I had just begun to post some links. I was hoping G+ would enable the blog to gain exposure and turn into forum for discussion.

Supposedly they're going to roll out a business account thing, but the blog is not a business. If it is, then I need to revamp my mission statement. " art. documentation. details.  studio. painting. life. copious amounts of cash and fame." But in all honesty, I'm more concerned about my landscapes and representational work, and my alleged rejection of abstract painting. I'm locking up all tubes of green today and barring contact between yellow and blue.

insight

2011-07-24T15:18:00.003-05:00

Today as I was painting the crepe myrtle by my bedroom window, I thought, OMGWTF am I doing?!!!!! I've lost my mind. It's over.

Meanwhile, being the true flagship of our enterprise, M. Thackston Addie, visionary, keeps his nose to the grindstone with three new works as seen here, here, and here.

I Have a Sad Story to Tell You

2011-07-23T20:16:00.003-05:00

I was in the studio spray painting something today. I had the exhaust fan on. I didn't spray that much. Maybe 5 minutes, maybe seven. After spraying, I saw that I had neglected to hook my motorcycle up to it's trickle charger. As I was connecting the charging system, I heard a flapping sound, but it didn't quite register until I realized it was a large flapping sound, like one Mothra might make. I backed away from the bike and noticed on the other side of the bike there was a butterfly or killer moth on the ground unsuccessfully trying to take flight. His wing span was maybe about 4 inches. It's hard to say because rigor mortise has now set in and I can't straighten him out. I picked him up while he was trying to get off the ground and felt guilty, wondering if the fumes had crippled him. I opened the garage door and set him in the driveway. He was trying harder to take flight, furiously flapping, making some small take-offs, but mostly just trying really hard to leave the ground, over and over. I have tried to identify him to no avail. In a rare instance of not having my iPhone with me, I left him so that I could retrieve my phone and take his picture. When I returned, he was dead. Exhausted, I suppose.

The more I think about it, the more I don't think I killed him with the fumes. For one thing, he was already on the floor. I think he was too heavy to fly. The fumes may have done him in, but I don't think so. He still had his caterpillar body and was top heavy. By the time rigor mortise set in, he tilted down head first, like a heavy statue that toppled down. He's in my studio now. It was hard to watch him be so desperate for flight. I thought he was going to make it. I really did.

Just expired.

Totally top-heavy and stiff a few minutes later.

Today I packed paintings for shipping them to the Asynchronous Salon show in Indianapolis. I ate too much sugary stuff because I had to bribe myself. Packing works is NOT that big of a deal. I don't know why I perceive it to be one of the most loathed tasks of my job. It's not. No matter, I get fidgety and anxious and have to have treats and coffee nearby. It went smoothly of course, but I took breaks.

I tried to paint. I made several futile attempts. I tried painting the dog, and I tried painting the butterfly. Hashtag Fail on both accounts. Distracted. Stuck.

Groups and Movements.

2011-07-21T20:34:00.004-05:00

I came across the Stuckists a few years ago after getting an email from Detroit Mona for an exhibit called Unplugged @ Mona featuring Stella Vine.* Detroit appeared on my radar because I was in a small show in Detroit that same year. I checked out her work, saw her connection to the Stuckists and became interested in doing more research about them. I'm easily excitable. I'm not a group person, but every now and then I long to join an art group. I've been this way all my life. As a child, Christian bookstores had the same effect on me.

At the time most of my paintings were predominately abstract. What little figurative work I did was on the down low, and mostly little drawings. I drew a lot in 2005 and 2006. I just looked at my image folder. I scanned over 348 drawings from those two years. 2007 was a slow year for drawing but I did 72 paintings. I've since destroyed a lot of the drawings and a few paintings before moving. Moving under duress will do that. I left my 12-pound weights back there too, because I started freaking out about how much moving all my cargo was going to cost. Twenty-four pounds was the tipping point for me that day.

Mary Addison Hackett (me)
The Norwhal, Ogden Nash and The Parthenon, 2005,
ink on vellum

Mary Addison Hackett (me)

Untitled, 2005

ink on vellum

What little figurative work I did was on the down low:

Mary Addison Hackett (me)
Double Portrait Self-Portrait, 2006
graphite on found stationery (modified for Internet use.)

Every now and then a figurative painting would occur.

Mary Addison Hackett
"Balloon Man," 2006 (?)
acrylic on canvas
20" x 16"

I forgot about the Stuckists for awhile and then the other day I met Susan Constance online through a conversation with Steven LaRose and discovered she had been a Stuckist at one point. I got all excited again.

As of late, I'm pretty much 20 for 20 with their manifesto, and over the last few years have been drifting over to the whole idea of Remodernism, though I personally wasn't calling it anything. The further away from the centrifuge, the more I have in common. I'm considering starting a Nashville group. The only requirement is a founder. Perfect.

I was at the Train Car Stdio early this morning. I needed to finish my left eye.

Mary Addison Hackett
"Self-Portrait with Two Selves," 2011
oil on canvas
20 x 16 in.

* Stella Vine is an ex Stuckist. According to wikipedia:

In June 2000, Stella Vine went to a talk given by Childish and Thomson on Stuckism and Remodernism in London.^[49] At the end of May 2001, she exhibited some of her paintings publicly for the first time in the Vote Stuckist show in Brixton, and formed The Westminster Stuckists group.^[48] On 4 June, she took part in a Stuckist demonstration in Trafalgar Square.^[49]^[50] By 10 July, she renamed her group The Unstuckists.^[51] In mid-August, Thomson and Vine were married.^[52] A work by her was shown in the Stuckist show in Paris, which ended in mid-November, by which time she had rejected the Stuckists,^[48] and the marriage had ended.

Long live short attention spans.

I mourn the loss of the printed word.

2011-07-20T20:55:00.000-05:00

There are no bookstores here in town. None. Okay, there's one, "Books a Million" or something, and they don't carry art magazines. There are a few used bookstores, but unless I buy an iPad or do something radical like subscribe, there's a good chance I'll go through the rest of my life never seeing another art magazine unless I plan a vacation around visiting a city with a bookstore.

I live in the capital of Tennessee. One bookstore. I could cook organic meals, parent toddlers and get the latest on Southern fashion and guns, but it's been a year and I'm worried I'll never read an intelligent article about art in print again. When I called to see if Books A Million carried Flash Art, they asked if it was a comic book. I weep. Gently, I weep.

Today I worked on the computer doing stuff I dread doing, but do anyway since it gives me a sense of purpose now that I can't thumb through picture magazines. Plus occasionally I think about a jailbreak. It's been awhile since I've actively pursued a gallery and I'm also looking for grants.

Yesterday was a studio day. I went to the train car studio, worked listlessly on four paintings in the sweltering heat, and discovered 4 jars of capped and sealed acrylics had not survived the summer. They were the consistency of dried mud. I systematically went through the rest of the jars and discovered they had thickened but were usable. A few showed signs of pigment separating from binder. I stirred those, and think they'll be okay. Last summer the acrylics were stored in the home studio, aka the garage, Still not climate controlled, but not a metal boxcar either. I moved them to a dark corner.

I discovered Henry O. Tanner's online exhibit at the Smithsonian the other day. He's a mystical painter.

And this is a fingerprint of mine I found on a painting after shooting my work. It's not that obvious in real life. I only noticed it when adjusting the contrast and looking at it blown way up.

The nature thing still freaks me out with amazement. He/she was outside my bedroom room window.

And a catalog arrived in the mail. 2008 seems so long ago.

Studio Envy, Landscape and Flow.

2011-07-16T12:04:00.000-05:00

I forgot how exactly I came across Michael J. Abrams work, but artists, galleries and posts about the Hudson Valley have been filtering into my life lately, particularly since my trip to NY last spring. My next trip to NY will include a trip the the Hudson Valley. I love this image of his studio and the statement about his work from Emily Amy Gallery's website. It's currently my screen saver. I figure if I look at it every day, my living room will miraculously turn into THE working studio, though I still have a couple of hurdles to overcome.

I'm not complaining about lack of space or formidable studio conditions. Somehow it's working for me. If I had a posh studio, maybe I'd sit around and eat lemon tarts from Trader Joe's all day, so maybe unconventional has been good. I think about that. Like seriously, what if the only thing I had to do was paint? Would it work? What would drive me if I had nothing to maintain?

Based upon the recent review about Leon Kossoff's cherry tree paintings and Michael Abram's landscapes of the Hudson Valley, I think I'm seeing a fantasy group exhibition develop. There's a shared sensibility having to do with Place, a specific or particular place, as opposed to a scene. And since it's a fantasy exhibition, I'll be curating myself into it. I've known people to hobnob for worse.

Desk Jockey

2011-07-15T10:21:00.000-05:00

I managed to haul my bag of tricks over to the studio last night and patiently document the new work. Today I am uploading and editing via Aperture and Photoshop. I haven't had a chance to look at all the images, but I am prepared to have to reshoot if there's a problem. I've had my light kit for 25 years. Technically I should know what I'm doing. It's just not my favorite thing to do. Allow me to whine. The professional rates here in town are no where near competitive enough to consider farming this task out. I could probably get married and have my entire wedding shot for the price of shooting a few artworks here. I treated myself to chocolate moose from The Turnip Truck as a perk. If I need to reshoot, I'll treat myself again.

File under Games I Play to Get Loathsome Work Done.

Yard work is magic.

2011-07-12T20:24:00.002-05:00

I'm filling the cavity with Great Stuff and then painting it with Montana Spray paints to match the tree. It's rather obscene looking at this stage with this thing oozing out. I need to buy a couple more cans of Great Stuff and do the process again until I fill the cavity. It's home improvement, not art, and it's tucked away in nowheresville, not visible to anyone really, but I still want to do a nice job. Maybe I'll add googly eyes to it. I suspect insects have been nesting in there. Insects of the prehistoric, hard-shelled, diemuthrfckrdie-and-stay-out-of-my-home variety.

This weekend, I worked on paintings at the home studio in-between some yard work. I stayed away from the train car studio all weekend. Yesterday I was at Home Depot and ran into one of the guys responsible for giving me the residency. I was buying gutter guards after having my gutters cleaned. I heard a voice behind me at the check-out jokingly say, "You should be painting." I tuned around and jokingly said, "This is what I do in my spare time." Neither one of us was really joking. My solo show in conjunction with the residency is in mid-October. I should be painting a lot.

Today though, I was once again a genius in the studio. First off, I walked in and was greeted by 3 paintings I had forgotten I finished last week. I love when that happens. It's like having friendly amnesia. They need a bit more work, but more or less they're done. I then took a large canvas that was directionless into an unexpected direction. I'm liking it and it's surprising to me so I'm not questioning it. I also started another self-portrait which by end of day was coming along nicely. Just a few more things needed but the paint needed to dry a bit before I could go in again. A full and respectable day at work, and another day of grace and ease. When I left the house this morning I was anxious about stuff in general, but I was okay after a few minutes at work in the studio. Yard work is magic.

“Everyone has talent at twenty-five,” said Degas. “The trick is to have it at fifty.”

2011-07-10T15:27:00.000-05:00

Better late than never in discovering a good review.

Late Spring: Leon Kossoff at Mitchell-Innes & Nash via Art Critical. Franklin Einspruch reviews the octogenarian British painter's recent show.

Leon Kossoff, Cherry Tree, Early January, 2004. Oil on board, 56 x 48-1/4 inches. Courtesy of Mitchell-Innes & Nash

May 5 to June 18, 2011
534 West 26th Street, between 10th and 11th avenues
New York City, 212 744 7400

I'm sorry to say I was within walking distance of this show and yet missed it while visiting NYC back in May. Actually, I'm crushed. I identify with this on so many levels.
More images via the gallery site.

Today, I am sick of green paint.

2011-07-08T17:46:00.000-05:00

Awkward day in the studio. I chopped off about 3-6 inches of hair this morning. Gauging how the rest of the day went, I suspect my painting powers were stored in my tresses. I'm also sick of green paint. It was inevitable. I need to use color again. Dammit. I thought I was on a nature roll. I have to fill a tree cavity. Dammit again. Home Depot owns me.

Field Trip

2011-07-07T16:34:00.004-05:00

Super great art day today in Nashville. Met a friend for coffee and some bastardized version of biscuits and gravy that was so very wrong. Biscuits and Gravy are perfect as is. Two components. One conjunction. The end. I don't care if some backwoods troglodyte subculture slathers eggs and cheese on a perfectly respectable plate of biscuits and gravy, it's still wrong. What's the point? I know wtf cheese tastes like. Repent, Sky Blue Cafe, repent. I muddled my way through it, but I should have ordered the granola. We are gathered here today because a perfectly good plate of B&G died for a wheel of cheese. A moment of silence please.

After which we went to The Carl Van Vechten Gallery at Fisk and received a generously informative personal tour of the Stieglitz collection. I'm a sucker for modernist watercolors, and in addition to the Marins, there's a beautiful Grosz, which you may or may not remember me gushing over a Grosz on my last trip to NYC. Later back at my studio while thumbing through the essay, An art that eats its own head by Barry Schwabsky, I came across Greenberg's: ‘Whereas one tends to see what is in an Old Master before one sees the picture itself, one sees a Modernist picture as a picture first,' and realized that whenever I see a Grosz watercolor, I am seduced into looking at how it's painted before I look at what it's about.

(The gallery does not allow pics for various reasons, but the Nashville Arts link below includes few pieces as part of their article. )
For more about the Stieglitz collection:
http://nashvillearts.com/2010/07/29/the-alfred-stieglitz-collection-at-fisk-university/
http://www.wnpt.org/productions/thegift/index.html
And a host of links on the fate and controversy surrounding the collection via Lee Rosenbaum at Art Journal.
Supposedly a decision will be reached this summer.

Had a decent day in the studio. Coffee break at 3 (late) with a coffee from the shop across the street. The kid at the counter asks me what I'm painting today, which caught me off guard, because although I stop in there at least once a week, looking totally disheveled in my grungy paint clothes, I've never been asked by anyone "what I'm painting today"- as if I would be painting something I could call by name on a particular day. It's a funny question, or so I thought. The funny part is that it's not really that funny anymore because I realized that I could tell him exactly what I was painting today: I was painting the view outside my studio window. When he didn't say anything, I thought I needed to clarify that I was a painter of the artist variety rather than the house painting variety, because truly I've lost count of how many times people still need further distinction when they ask me what I do and I say, "I'm a painter," so I explained I had a studio across the street and that I was painting the view outside my studio window. He said yes he knew I was a painter and that he was a painter too and he would love to stop by sometime, so I said sure. Then I asked if his art was up in the coffee shop, because what coffee shop would be complete without paintings and he said he had had just taken the one down that had been hanging over the sugar and creamer station and installed it at Fido, another coffee shop, as part of a solo show. I was genuinely excited and simultaneously relived because I liked the painting above the cream and sugar station. He should jack the prices up and get a show at a gallery around here.

Just when I think I'm tapped out: my new life as a dropout.

2011-07-04T20:38:00.003-05:00

Mary Addison Hackett, The Battle of Lost Hope, 2011
oil on linen
7 x 5 inches

Caveat: okay, maybe I'm not really a dropout and I once read that anyone outside of NYC was an outsider artist, but I struggle a lot. I've had people- other artists and people of art world stature, tell me maybe I shouldn't struggle. They usually say this to me when they happen upon one of my watercolors or a painting which I've tucked away in the studio or unceremoniously hung in my bathroom—one which I've dismissed simply because it came to me with great ease, and therefore I did not trust it. Struggle has been my main MO for years. To a certain extent I still believe in struggle-mainly because it makes me feel good, like I've earned a good painting. Ironically, it's the abstract paintings I struggle with- not because I'm confused, befuddled, or can't paint my way out of a paper bag, but because I like making them difficult. I find it engaging. Correction: I used to find it engaging. Lately though, I sense I am past struggling for the sake of struggling. A couple of banner days in the studio interspersed with a couple of days of getting my ass kicked by ennui and I am now a convert to the No Struggle No Fear way of being. I worked in the home studio over the holiday weekend. It was a holiday after all, so work encompassed lollygagging, reading, and watching a doc on the Reverend Albert Wagner on Netflicks. I also rearranged the furniture in the living room, in an effort to will it into being THE studio, but in the end, I moved everything back like it was and continued drifting in and out of the the den and the dining room studios all weekend. Yesterday, for no apparent reason, a sailboat appeared in my painting. I was suspicious of course, because I had not planned on placing a sailboat in a painting and for the life of me would not have considered painting a sailboat, but there it was, a sailboat on a deep blue ocean. Why, it almost looked like a maritime painter had painted it. There was something pleasant, dignified, and sweet about it. It would have looked amazing in an upper-crusted little boy's room, but I am not a maritime painter, and I sold my kayak earlier this month. I let the sailboat sit in the prussian blue water overnight. This morning after returning from a 1.5 hour hike at the park, I turned the deep blue ocean into murky algae. It now fit into my oeuvre of a pool paintings. Not a huge leap and I felt good for performing that kind of logistical magic, but then I was faced with the Now What? The thing about abstract painting is that there is no Now What? You walk in the studio and paint and eventually the painting reveals itself. Eventually. Since I am now working on images from my surroundings and my somewhat visionary paintings, I encounter moments of Now What? It's because I am being judicious. Visionaries need to channel energy. For a split moment I thought maybe it's all over. For real this time. I am tapped out. There is nothing left to paint. I will never have another idea. I will have to get a real job, one with a ID badge and a timecard. I will think back on the first part of my life with fondness, and then I will die. But then with grace and ease, I picked up my paintbrush and two new paintings presented themselves to me and I got to keep "painter," rather than "loafer" or "ne'er-do-well," as my job title for another day. Sometimes it's hard to be here because after being an urban dweller for so long, I miss the inherent vitality that comes with big city living, but other times, nay, most of the time, I admit that I secretly like being a dropout and that being a dropout is okay. I've picked a great place to live the life of a dropout: an enclave within a suburban enclave in the South. As a recent dropout, I think I'm doing my best work, which can be a little unsettling if I think I'm only one who has access to this info, but on the other hand, I feel good about trusting myself now. Being a dropout isn't about being trendy, and I'm okay with that too. I've arrived at a place that interests me without struggling about it too much. Grace and ease. Plus I have a confession: I had an aha moment the day I clicked on the link AThousandLivingPainters. As I scrolled through the painters, some familiar, some not, I thought, oh my God, (a) I'm in painting link heaven, (b) but it all looks the same (c) am I contributing anything new to this dialogue? and (d) if not, then why am I still doing it? Ok, perhaps I was contributing to the dialogue of abstraction, and maybe I still can, but if I had been in a funhouse, I would have run screaming into a mirror trying to get out. Which is exactly what I did. Not literally of course, but metaphorically.

wind. caution. throwing.

2011-06-29T20:28:00.003-05:00

The day before yesterday was a disaster in the studio. Nothing stuck. Paint went down, paint wiped off. Paint went down, paint wiped off. I am reluctant to walk away from the studio, without anything to show for it, so I guilted myself into staying and and repeating this sad cycle over and over until I could no longer take the defeat. In reality, nothing is ever wasted. These kind of days happen. I don't know why and I am grateful not very often, but I know that that do. As a precaution though, I took yesterday off. My mind needed to wander. I did some yard work until I either killed my weedeater or ran out of line. Hopefully, the later. I forgot what else I did yesterday. Oh right, yes, the other side of the coin: some business, lite. And lemons. Fresh lemonade and a run.

Today I was back in the studio. No, I did not paint all of these in one day. Today was simply a productive, calm, and clear-headed day in the studio- and with relative ease, I deemed all of them finished today. Weed-eating is apparently a twofer.

There is a symmetry to the work. I think it's obvious, but then again, I'm on the inside, looking out, looking in.

Proposed titles:
First Winter, 2011, oil on linen, 10 x 8 inches
Mirror #1: We Can Hardly Contain Ourselves, 2011, mixed media on canvas, 20 x 16 inches
Mirror #2: Leitmotif, 2011, mixed media on canvas, 20 x 16 inches
Mirror #2: Obfuscation, 2011, mixed media on canvas, 20 x 16 inches
Self-portrait with Plates, 2011, oil on linen, 10 x 8 inches

The usual disclaimer: shot with an iphone. I need to make a date to document the recent work.

What I've been reading and looking at out of the corner of my eye.

2011-06-28T13:00:00.002-05:00

I love books. I have bought, and then later donated or sold, hundreds over the years. I've moved a lot. Moving books is easy on one hand- they fit in a small box neatly and are quite efficient to pack, but OMG, the weight, the number of boxes, and the wall space. I've done books as coffee table bases with glass tops, stacked as molding along the perimeter of a room, poised as columns, and strewn about as though I was in a reading frenzy. You name it, but in the end, I've had to let go of some. To my credit, I have repurchased only 2 or 3 titles.

I go to the library now.

I forgot what prompted me to pick up a book on self-taught outsider art. I'm clipping through things in the studio at a rather fast pace. Maybe it was my self-portraits. It could have been the visionary work my alter ego has been doing. The nice thing about having an alter ego is that you don't know what they're really thinking. They don't write artist statements. They don't over think the work. They just make the work. Sometimes they go to the library.

Here are a few paintings from The Anthony Petullo Collection. I saw it in the library while picking up the monograph on Alice Neel. An interesting fact I discovered about outsider art has nothing to do with the art per se, but it's rise to prominence. The entire field is a construct that was brought to the public attention through its collectors.

"By focusing less exclusively on artists and more generously on the myriad of other shapers of taste, we allow the collector more visible place on the stage of art history. At the same time, our eagerness to embrace a host of unconventional artistic traditions has given new legitimacy to self-taught art. And, most curious of all, there seems to be a subliminal connection between these two phenomena, for the recent surge of interest in self-taught art is almost entirely a collector-generated initiative."

Petullo, Anthony. Self-taught & Outsider Art: the Anthony Petullo Collection. Urbana: University of Illinois, 2001.

I'm posting strictly for the images, but I'll admit the accompany text about the role of the collector is a good read for those who are not initiated in the art world dialogue or who prefer to ignore those things as if they don't exist.

James Dixon (1887-early 1970's)
"Loving Cup," 1964
oil on paper
20 x 14 in.

Sylvia Levine (1911-1998)
"Cornish Landscape with Donkeys, 1987
oil on board
13.5 x 14.75 in.

Sylvia took art classes at the West of England School of Art and was well-aware of the professional art world and the galleries and museums in London. An employee at the local art supply store sold her a palette knife, and the rest was history as they say.

James Lloyd (1905-74)
"Girl with Horse"
Gouache on paper, 15 x 10 in

Alfred Wallis

"Cottage in the Woods, St.Ives"

oil on card

39.5 x 47.5 in

Justin McCarthy
"Freddie Trenkler, 1963
oil on board
22 x 14 in.

Last summer I found the above painting up in the attic. It was rolled tightly and as I unrolled it, it started to crumble. It's painted on brown paper. I thought it was tempera paint, but the back looks like the figure might have been painted with oil or maybe oil pastel. The face does have a mouth, but the lips are dark and do not stand out. There are reddish tones and cross-contour lines in the face and neck. It's fragile and I used regular scotch tape on the back to keep it intact. Not exactly archival, but it worked in an emergency. I'm certain I did not paint this as a child. I have no recollection of it. A highly educated guess would be that it was done either by my mother or my grandfather, though it's all speculation. I'm clueless. It could be a portrait of someone who worked for my grandparents, or it could have been a classmate. The outfit looks like it may be a uniform, but again, speculation. I suppose if I were to take a few decades off, I could read through all the letters in the attic and see if there were any mention of this occasion, but no, I am not going to do that. Someone cared enough about it to keep it, pack it, (albeit we are not exactly a family of archival conservators) and move it from my grandparents' house to the house I currently live in. Out of all the things I have unearthed in this house, it's one of my favorites. They're are a few other portraits in the house, family members and ancestors, but they appear to have been done by professional artists. One day I will post the family tree ´a la artists' renditions.

Merlin James,
"Empty Lot & Building, New York" 2002-04
acrylic on canvas
14.5 x 20.75 in.

Yesterday during an interview I was talking about my pools and flower paintings and/or my smaller scale paintings, and Merlin James' name came up.

On a separate note, it was brought to my attention that my micro-residency, while a generous plan, was best kept as just MY micro-residency. Possibly more about that later. Or not.

Interlude, The Cryptic Post

2011-06-26T15:35:00.001-05:00

I had an interesting conversation today. If I told you more than that you'd send the funny bus to my house. No matter, I've got some points to ponder. Number one on the list: I have to clean the attic.

I'm doing a mini-residency today at my micro-residency.

2011-06-25T20:31:00.003-05:00

But not really as I already had to go to the grocery store, after which I came home and prepared homemade cream of broccoli soup. Perhaps I am doing the work-study version.

This is all to say that I need unfettered think time, some time to play around. I have a solo show coming up this fall as part of the residency program, but now I hear it's loosely scheduled for October. It's hearsay at this point, but once I confirm it, I need to start thinking about a title and what to show. I've been making work of course, but residencies- for me- are about exploration. A place to experiment and let the work take on a life of its own with no agendas. This is quite different than production mode for a show which is sometimes extremely focused: the goal is to have X paintings by X date; they fall under the show title/concept of X. etc, etc. My production MO for the last 4 months since having the TC studio has been more in the line with that of a Circus Ringmaster only instead of orchestrating freak shows and trapeze acts, it's self-portraits, abstracts, plants, more pools, and some still lifes. Natch I did a wiki on ringmaster and discovered the term, "Monsieur Loyal" which is another term for the ringmaster taken from, "Anselme-Pierre Loyal (1753-1826), one of the first renowned circus personalities." After discovering Monsieur Loyal, which I prefer to pronounce as Loyale, as though I'm Vincent in Pulp Fiction explaining to Jules that in Amsterdam the Quarter Pounder is a Royale with Cheese, I started throwing Monsieur Loyale around as a possible show title. Only no one would get it. The end. God, I hate when I'm so clever that only I can understand the intricate complexity of such a fantastic title. A crying shame.

Anyway, I need to make more work. It's a rather lengthy linear space and my original idea of inviting others to participate might not be the best fit now due to the possible red tape of organizing such a show with relatively little time, especially since I'm not in charge of the space and all the exhibition details. But I'm thinking of it.

***

I was going to take it easy today at the micro-home residency and read, but I ended up working on another small self-portrait. I'm conflicted by my desire to be accurate, yet intrigued by how difficult it is to work from a mirror and keep the same pose with the same perspective for a few hours. I caught myself distorting a self-portrait on purpose this past week, or rather exaggerating some features in order to capture a particular mood, and wondering if it was too soon to break away from my self-imposed structure. (Self-imposed structure for a self-portrait. How fitting.) Plus you know, the paint, always the seductive paint. Other times, I struggle to nail some particular feature, like the eyes for instance. I obsess over the eyes and my dark circles. I loathe the fact I can't see close-up unless I wear my glasses, so there's this ongoing battle with looking, seeing and painting—with and without my glasses. Criminy, I don't know anymore. A friend offered up some Lacanian Mirror Stage BS as a way of explaining the difficulty. I was pretty sure it's because I never studied figure drawing. But hey, I'll throw the Mirror Phase around if it helps. After grad school, you'd be surprised at how difficult it is to slip psychoanalytic theory buzzwords into your daily conversation.

Oh, and I almost forgot. "Couillarde." Picked that term up from a book on Cezanne's self-portraits. Derived from couille, and roughly translates as balls or guts.

When it rains, it pours

2011-06-22T22:28:00.000-05:00

I mean this in a good way. Time to play the lottery.

Day Job

2011-06-22T00:28:00.001-05:00

http://daisyrandom.blogspot.com/

facebook

I could go into details, but why spoil the fun. Click on the links to find out more. The pool is serving double duty as a backdrop. The house is good to me.

The Frog Story

2011-06-20T21:21:00.003-05:00

Bullfrog #1

I think he's trying to communicate with me, and no, I did not kiss him.

Meanwhile on the other side...

Bullfrog #2

I'll be jumping around and backtracking, but the first line of reportage is an update on the pool and its inhabitants, which means that in order to tell you about that, I need to explain that a long time friend of mine from back in the UT painting days, OxBow, and then Chicago, came in town last Thursday for the night. Coincidentally, another friend of mine from Chicago asked if I would host a friend of hers who was in town doing the American Artisan Festival, and I said of course, since I consider hosting visitors in keeping with the spirit of my micro-residency. I sort of forgot they would overlap one night, but all was well. I had a clean house, the lawn was cut and of course, drum roll......... the pool was in full swing.

Let me explain. About a week ago, I was giddy when I discovered that the snapper, who I now call Tyler Durden, was scrambling out of the water one day, checking out dry land, also known as the deep end of the pool. I was seriously mesmerized. I went to get my camera, but when I came back, he sensed me and quickly scrambled back in the water. The two bullfrogs, as you may recall, are masters of camouflage, so when I walk out, I don't see them at first, and by the time I spot them, they spot me, squawk, and jump back in the water. And thus, the status quo of life on the back 40 wetlands. Until today.

I was showing Kate, my new hatmaker friend, the pool. (Here's Kate's facebook page called Strong Wear). We took pictures, of course. The lichen and moss are lush so we decided to climb down the shallow end, and low and behold Bullfrog #1 is sitting quietly off to the side. He does not jump when we descend, which is totally unusual. Bullfrog #2, also a master of disguises, goes undetected. He squawks and splashes into the water. Bullfrog #1 is still sitting, unfazed. Kate does this Laurie Anderson-like performance thing where she's moving closer to the Bullfrog #1, but in imperceptible increments. He does not move. She gets about 3 feet from him and starts taking his picture. He's just sitting there like no big deal. She wraps up the shoot, inches her way back up and then it's my turn to sneak down doing the same stealth performance routine.

So here's the scene: Bullfrog #1 is on the far left side of the pool by the waterline, I am on the far right side. My plan is to descend to the waterline on the far right side and then do a crab walk over to the left side to cozy up to Bullfrog#1. I am about 1/3 of the way across when Bullfrog #2 jumps OUT of the water and lands maybe 3-4 feet from me. I am tripping. At this point I have both bullfrogs about equal distance on either side of me. Bullfrog #1 is more photogenic, so after a couple of shots of BF #2, I keep making my way toward BF #1.

It may not sound that exciting in prose form, but it was one of those special moments.

I also sold the kayak today. Kate took it back to Chicago, from whence it came. Strange, huh? That kayak has seen Lake Michigan, Lake Superior, a few rivers, the Pacific Ocean, Lake Havasu, Mono Lake, and a few other lakes out west. It has some good stories. So long and enjoy.

One for the road.

2011-06-15T14:36:00.001-05:00

Mary Addison Hackett, "Self-portrait with Volunteers," 2011
oil, graphite and interference acrylic on paper
30" x 23"

It seemed apropos to set up shop in the den again. Sometimes I fantasize about the open loft, white cube studios of days gone by, but realistically, even in manic mode, I can only work on so many paintings at a time. I gessoed all the paper at the train car space because I don't have much accessible wall space here. What's that joke about sculpture? "Sculpture is something you back into while looking at a painting." Furniture, sculpture, same thing. After I run out of paper and linen, I'm afraid I'll be working on found wood and cardboard if things don't pick up. Not saying that would be a bad thing, but it might be the point of no return. That, and when I start doing "street art" on the side of the house.

Speaking of which, some new works are posted over at the doppelgänger site.

It makes perfect sense if you think about it.

2011-06-13T13:55:00.005-05:00

Mary Addison Hackett, "Pontiac," 2011, oil on linen on panel, 10 x 8 inches

Mary Addison Hackett, "Zombie Paintarm," oil on linen on panel, 10 x 8 inches

My work has always been diaristic at some level or another, be it the abstract paintings, the videos, or the blog. Self-portraits are the ultimate form of self-scrutiny. Just add paint. The studio tendrils are coming together again. I bought some large paper yesterday and gessoed 10 sheets. I'm excited. All I want to do is paint. I'm ignoring some of the obvious problems with this obsession to be in the studio non-stop— however, the great thing for me about being an artist is the seamless line where art and life come together. When I get whiney about having to do chores or work on the business side of things- I just need to remember these things are fodder for the paintings, and without my experiences I wouldn't have the work. Pontiac, above was taken from a mirror from the old Pontiac we had. The car was an engagement present from my dad to my mom. When they finally sold it, they kept one of the mirrors. I found it last summer in the garage. The abstract work is still going on but at a lower volume. Background noise. Kind of like the electrical hum of unknown origin here in the house. This is my life.

There's been an interesting series on Nashville Public Radio called Transitioned, "stories of Tennesseans who are learning to survive and adapt to an uncertain marketplace, and an economy in flux." It's an engaging program. People of various professions, including a few creative professionals, have shared their stories about having to get second jobs or switch careers altogether in order to live the lifestyle they want or make ends meet.. Everyone has different priorities and different necessities. It's interesting to hear how people define themselves. There's lots of talk about leaving egos behind and breakthroughs that can occur when this is done. I think I left my ego in a two-car garage studio back in Culver City, California. The ego thing has given me pause on a few fronts, including why I chose to hide behind an alter ego to sell affordable work done in a style that I actually embrace. I have no cause for shame here. One of my peeps back in LA who played arm chair psych with me suggested I drop the alter ego, claim the paintings as my own, and work bigger—and if I was hard up for petty and not so petty cash I should just do T-shirts or graphic design. I'm slowing heeding portions of that advice.

In 2 days, I will have been in Nashville for one complete year. I don't really know what to say about that other than it's been a milestone, for sure.

[*credit to Sherie' Franssen for the term, 'paintarm,' which I stole to use as part of my title in the Zombie Paintarm painting above.] Here's what Sherie's paintarm does:

Sherie' Franssen, "Blood Muscle Meat," oil on canvas, 78" x 78"

Killing Me Softly

2011-06-11T13:18:00.003-05:00

In progress. I was going to crop the image, but I always think it's funny when something outside of the canvas lines up perfectly with a mark on the canvas, so I left it in situ.

I also think it's funny that it looks like a small painting. It's 52 x 43 inches. It's killing me to remain true to local color and a limited palette. TRYING to keep a straight line at that scale and TRYING to keep the background in the back is mentally hard. I want to deviate. Blame it on the paint. I like rules, but it's driving me crazy. Yesterday, I imagined throwing out every tube of green, along with all my blues and yellows after this is over. I suspect it will continue to morph, but my rule is that it must represent the plant clipping. Less some unsuspecting visitor think I'm just painting a plant for the helluva it, I mentioned earlier that it is a plant clipping from a 100-year-old plant that died. I don't make sketches on the canvas beforehand, so in that sense it's like the abstract work with constant negotiations. I keep swearing I will never work like this at this scale again, and yet, I'm thinking of torturing myself and doing a series of them based on the concept of propagation, though I doubt I have the stamina. Whoever said telling the truth is easier than lying was lying. Maybe it is a lie, maybe that's why is so hard. I'm telling a lie and I have to keep covering up my lies. This all begs the question of why I'm even back with representational work, or perhaps to better phrase the query, why the deviation away from abstract again. I don't know. That's a lie, too.

I went far outside my comfort level today and had a friend, a civilian, sit for me. A little over an hour later, I threw in the towel. At a certain point, I felt like a 2-year old. I just wanted to play with the paint. I wanted it to be over and felt guilty for asking someone to sit for me when it became obvious it wasn't going anywhere fast. How is it that I can remain interested in a lamp, a plant, or a swimming pool, but not a face? She was sitting in half darkness so half her face was in dark shadow. I had no real lighting to see my canvas. It was a disaster on all fronts. I get why people strive to paint representationally- immediate gratification- plus the pats on the back for making something look like something. You never get that with abstract painting. Abstract painting is an intrinsic activity. Representational painting is an extrinsic activity. Painting shouldn't be a chore. It's 92 degrees. I wish I had a functioning swimming pool. That's all I'm good for today. Idleness. And whining. I'm also tired of house chores and the computer. And food. I'm bored with food.

X, A, and M: another discussion on abstraction and representation.

2011-06-09T12:07:00.002-05:00

I'm working on a large scale painting. One that swings decidedly to the representational side of things. I'm wondering about brain activity and how I engage in the act of painting when I think I already know something. Simply put, it's oh, how shall I say this, boring, to paint the "background." Before you smirk and act like I haven't thought this through, rest assured, I have. I understand that it is not simply a "background." I understand all the fundamental and relative aspects of what I'm doing, but what I find disengaging is the struggle to keep to my plan, the one which states that this will look like that, and that will exist in some sort of known perspective, and adhere roughly to the palette and value system I have imagined ahead of time. It's not there isn't any wiggle room- it's that this a priori way of working is tedious for me. I have to take frequent breaks, but when I step back, I feel gratified differently than I do with the abstract work. Not better, not worse, just different. Maybe my OCD is not strong enough to battle the monotony of a large patch of canvas painted roughly the same color. At a smaller scale, I am engaged, perhaps due to the abstract nature of the individual brushstrokes and my proximity to the canvas. I'm wondering if abstract painting, the act of, is more of a brain-teaser. It's possible I need to paint faster and more furiouser. That might solve The Last Year In Marienbad state I find myself in when working on a large-scale representational painting. Is it truth? Is it fiction? Didn't I do this before? Haven't I been here? I could have sworn I worked that area before. I'm here again? No, Yes. Welcome to my château.

I may ask myself, well,

2011-06-07T18:04:00.000-05:00

I had to buy a couple of new brushes today. The 0's have been getting a workout, but as I took a brief look at all of my brushes I realized some of those guys have been with me a long time, 30+ years. How did I get here?

Process

Pictures! LA!

To Live and Paint in LA at the Torrance Art Museum

Handy indeed. I lubed my palette scraper.

Report from the train car studio:

2012 is a Off to a Great Start

list. v2

list

Some Paintings From the End of 2011.

Happy New Year.

minima, I will never leave you again.

Day 22: Rally Forth

Day 20, 21. Crap, it's almost over.

Day 16-19: studio

Day 15: studio

Day 14. studio

Day 13. Studio

Day 12. Studio

Day 11: Studio

Day Ten: Studio-ish

Day Nine: Studio

Day Eight: Studio Lockdown

Day Seven: Studio Lockdown

Day Six: Studio Lockdown

Day Five: Studio Lockdown

Day Four: Studio Lockdown

Day Three: Studio Lockdown

Day Two: Studio Lockdown

Day 1: Studio Lockdown

Cornucopia

Compression

My morning run

What I miss the most.

A video tour.

Showtime

Mary Addison Hackett: "Acts of Moral Turpentine"

Needed: assistant.

I install in 2 days

I can fit 17 paintings in a vintage leather suitcase. carryon.

This painting is hard to shoot and I need to quit obsessing about it

The work is nearly all shot.

Studio Stuff, Prep work, etc.

October is a good time to support the arts.

Redirecting

Studio to Studio Correspondence Report

I was so impressed with my selection of unmentionables today that I had to mention them

Someone was a little behind on dog grooming.

Anti-relational aesthetics

I thought I loved my staple gun until I met my table saw.

Pick 4.

Susanna Coffey

Postmodernism is dead. Discuss.

I ripped this directly from Prospect Magazine based in the UK.Postmodernism is dead

Good news

Fall Semester

"The art is worth seeing, though."

Fairfield Porter

Fairfield Porter: Catalogue Raisonne of the Oil Paintings, Watercolor, and Pastels

Painting is Hard, still

Welcome Brooklyn and Thank you

Nashville Downtown Arts Crawl. August 6th. Collector's Night

Art Road Trip, part 2.

Art Road Trip, part 1.

FYI, Process got booted off G+ and I'm on the fence about it as a networking tool.

insight

I Have a Sad Story to Tell You

Groups and Movements.

I mourn the loss of the printed word.

Studio Envy, Landscape and Flow.

Desk Jockey

Yard work is magic.

“Everyone has talent at twenty-five,” said Degas. “The trick is to have it at fifty.”

Today, I am sick of green paint.

Field Trip

Just when I think I'm tapped out: my new life as a dropout.

wind. caution. throwing.

What I've been reading and looking at out of the corner of my eye.

Interlude, The Cryptic Post

I'm doing a mini-residency today at my micro-residency.

When it rains, it pours

I ripped this directly from Prospect Magazine based in the UK.

Postmodernism is dead