Artists Safari

Artists’ Safari… OK, so I’ve pinched the blurb off the official Artists’ Safari site – why re-write something that sounds just fine?

The objective of the Artists’ Safari is to enable us and our fellow visual artists to enlarge our skills by going out into many different environments and setting ourselves the challenge of “making art” from what we see before us. As a group we can learn from each other and enjoy each others company. This is all voluntary so there is no cost apart from perhaps what it will take to get where we are intending to go.

We have in mind many locations and activities. It is not just a “Sunday Painters” group and potential participants need to think out of the box about where we might end up. In fact despite the intro the Safari will also be running sometimes on other days than Sunday – particularly in summer when it may shift to the evenings. Having said that there will be plenty of landscape and cityscape subjects. We are open to suggestions.

This week we’re off up into the hills to Bell’s Rapids – which is where the Avon River ends and the Swan begins. Come join us if you fancy a challenge.

Bells Rapids

Pinched the picture too. Oops.

Amanda

 

Mindarie win…

Phi II closeup
<pIt’s all over and I’m happy to report that Phi II was awarded a Highly Commended at the Mindarie Boardwalk Sculpture Festival a couple of hours ago. It was a tough contest against a field of awesome professional and emerging artists. I was happy just to be asked to put together a proposal – getting a nod is a huge bonus.

A bit stoked…

Now all I have to do is go hire the rickety trailer again and drive all the way back to bring him home – very slowly over the rough roads – the reverse of Friday’s nail biting escapade. I just hope I can yet again find three strong men and a trolley. And pray that I don’t jack-knife the trailer this time. Oops.

Amanda

Mindarie Sculpture Festival

Phi II

Phi II on the way

After months and months in the planning and making Phi II was this morning delivered to Mindarie Marina for the Mindarie Boardwalk Sculpture Festival & Awards 2008.

No chips, no dingles, no damage. Amazing. It’s not that fragile, of course, being concrete and stainless steel but after a snail pace drive (at less than 60kms per hour) all the way from Chittering to Mindarie… cos I was worried that the rough roads and the ancient hired trailer MIGHT do damage. That’s over two hours folks. Not a nick to be seen. Oh ye of little faith.

Phi II at Mindarie

Phi II at Mindarie

Phi II holds blood (scratches making the frame for the moulds), sweat and tears in addition to the more visible materials. Oh, and it froze my fingers working oxide into the wet concrete sometime after midnight on a series of really cold nights… I couldn’t start until I got home each night and it took that long to get the concrete to just the perfect state to work. Yes, with my fingers. OK. I’m fussy.

So what’s the story with it. As Phi II – it’s obviously a next step on from Phi (which brought home the City of Melville prize last year). Hang on, why repeat myself, here’s the official version:

Phi II belongs to a series exploring the golden ratio in three dimensional geometric forms. Sometimes called the divine proportion, and denoted by the Greek letter phi, this ratio is a natural phenomenon which has fascinated scientists, mathematicians and artists since it’s discovery over 2400 years ago.

The outer shape of this work is an icosahedron which is a regular polyhedron with twenty faces each an equilateral triangle. On Phi II these faces are implied by the lacing of stainless steel rope. The golden proportion is found in the more solid rectangles on the inside, crossing at right angles through the centre.

Tension, rhythm and balance are sought between the airiness of the implied space and the rough surface of the concrete and the repetition of line and plane. Phi II is not all serious, watched carefully there’s a fascinating play of shadow traced by the pattern of light.

My interest always in finding something more than the obvious while exploring something that might have been made with a purpose in a time and place unknown. This gives us the most teasing question, simply “What is it?”. That can only be answered by our imagination.

“Without mathematics there is no art.”
Luca Pacioli (1445–1514 or 1517)
Italian mathematician, Franciscan friar and mathematics tutor to Leonardo da Vinci

If you want to go see, you’re going to have to be super quick – the exhibition is this weekend only – with winners announced at 5pm on Sunday May 4.

Amanda

Art Rodeo

Art Rodeo

If you live in or around Perth, Western Australia you might like to take a toddle down to the farmers market held on Sunday mornings in Midland. On the third Sunday of each month you’ll find a bunch of artists alongside the fruit and veg. You should be able to tell which is which. Squint if you have to – then we’ll know that you are one of us. (For those, not in the know, artists squint in lose some of the detail – it makes it easier to paint.)

In fact if you are an artist bring your easel and join us. If you actually live around the Midland area and happen to get the local paper (The Echo) – try this week’s page 7 for the run down – they ran a little story on us and, yes, that is me in the picture (to the left) pretending to work… snapped last time we were there.

Run by the Midland Art Group with joiner-inners from everywhere we get together and talk, and make art, and talk to the public. OK, so we mostly talk. The idea behind it is to get us all out of studios to show the public that we exist and see what we do.

I take a long a woodcut each time – actually it’s the same woodcut each time. It’s pretty big for a woodcut and fairly fine work. It’ll take a long time to do, especially since I talk so much. In fact since I talk so much, I think it’ll never get finished. When I’m not talking and actually start cutting someone inevitably comes along to ask a question – usually something like “Is that a sculpture?”… Welcome interruptions, always welcome, after all I don’t mind talking. The downside is that, I get into what I’m doing and when interrupted suddenly, tend to slip and stab a finger. My own finger, of course, not the person asking the question. The member of the public then gets to see what woodcutting is really all about – it’s not an art form at all it’s a blood sport.

So that’s it. Sunday morning’s, bring your easel and paints. Or charcoal. Or whatever… and join in. We set up between 6.30am and 7am. (Aargghhh…) and work til around 2pm. Don’t forget to bring your flask and lunch. And yes, you can bring a few pieces to show and sell, as well as show and tell.

Otherwise, if you’re a watcher rather than a doer – welcome.

Amanda

Advice to Young Artists

I haven’t reviewed a book in ages – quite simply because I haven’t read one. Swamped with study unfortunately, and as enlightening as it may be, it has it’s downside, in what I get to read. That’s not to say that required reading is bad or boring (did I imply that…), no, no, no. It’s just acknowledging that you don’t want to hear about text books. Today’s waffle is about a book that has been mentioned here before. This time, however, since I’m finally getting near the end of it, I can say something more complete. Three months to read a book is something of a record for me – it used to be like three each week…

So here we go with Advice to Young Artists in a Postmodern Era. The author, William V. Dunning, is a professor in fine arts at Central Washington University and his book is published by Syracuse University Press. Now normally, as you may know, I don’t bother with that sort of formality, I just give you a link to Amazon or somewhere, so you can go find the boring bits yourself if you’re interested. OK, I have still gaven you a link to it but that’s only because if anyone buys a copy I get a 6 cents credit or something like that. Which I then put toward the books I buy which keeps me supplied with things to write about. I promise I won’t spend it all at once. Alright, don’t let that stop you buying a copy – I’ll keep writing anyway – just to spite you. Oh, I forgot, my point in giving you the dull details was to say that the guy has cred.

You can, in fact, be grateful the commission is so small because it stops me reviewing books that are no good. Can you imagine the rant? That’s because I don’t bother to finish reading books that are no good (unless the lecturer makes me…) and thus I have nothing to say on them. So there.

I also don’t do proper book reviews, there are lots of those out there. I just tell you what I think and then ramble on about irrelevant stuff. If you’re looking for a normal book review – try Google. I promise you there’s nothing normal on this site because… OK, we won’t go down that side track either because that one was covered last week…

A few posts back, I praised Mr Dunning for bagging writers who re-hash stuff they’ve read without bothering to check their facts. It happens a lot, especially in rose books – I know a lot about books on heritage roses. I also grow a lot of heritage roses (mostly hidden under weeds at the moment…sniff) but in growing them I know about them. Some things become darned obvious when you grow a particular rose: like how big it is and whether or not it has a scent. An author might make a mistake and say that Monsieur Tillier is a puny thing that struggles to make three feet and the Dark Lady doesn’t smell good. Shame on you on both counts. Monsieur Tillier in my garden makes a good 12ft in all directions and The Dark Lady will perfume a entire room – no need to stick your nose in that one. What’s criminal, however, is all the other authors who come along and repeating it! Where’s their credibility? What does all that have to do with art books? Aside from “not much”, of course. I’m getting to that.

The similarity between rose books and art books is in all in the description. A with roses you can find out an awful lot about a painting by standing in front of it and looking. One thing you may learn when standing there looking is that what you see may not be the same as stuff that has been written and copied ad infinitum by writers who didn’t go and stand in front of the paintings they wrote about…

Mr Dunning blew the whistle on lots of books that describe Seurat’s work… I could kiss him. Colour theory is a pet interest. Seurat’s work likewise. The difference between what Seurat did and what we are often told he did is, well… amazing. Go back and read what I wrote on that or better still go find a copy of Advice to Young Artists to read for yourself, check the library. Or, even better still, if you’re really lucky go look at La Grande Jatte with a fresh eye. It’s in the museum at the Chicago Institute of Art. Look for the red, yellow and blue dots that are supposed to mingle in the eye…

OK, so what else does he write about? Mostly about how to get the most out of being an art student. He also has a fair bit to say to and about being an art teacher. Or how to be a better teacher. He doesn’t bag teachers, not good ones anyway, but he does point out interesting things that might raise a collection of eyebrows. Things like: good teachers are those that spend more time learning about their subject area rather than learning about how to teach. In fact he thinks that too much education theory makes them worse. Oo wah.

He also reckons that crap is a technical term. I might just use that in an essay some time seeing as I can quote an authoritative source.

On art students too he has radical thoughts. There’s one where he tells the story of a guy going off to art school already a pretty accomplished realist painter. (I think, I can’t find the page, details don’t matter, the message is the same). The school wasn’t teaching much that he could learn. Ignoring the cries of his fellow students that he was selling out, he thought about it long and hard, picked up his brushes and knuckled under to study the abstract painting being taught. What the… At the end of doing his time (yeah, I’m well aware that makes study sound like a sentence…) at that school he was able to combine what he had learned with what he’d already known to make something entirely new. He didn’t sell out. Nor did he waste his time. An interesting thought for any student faced with a seemingly irrelevant class. (OK I could learn from that.)

For me however, William Dunning’s most important message was right up front in the first few pages of the book. He talks about what makes it likely that an art student will make it as an artist. It’s not the ability to solve problems – as we are often told – it’s in the rare ability to ask questions and find problems worth solving. That’s the difference between good and great.

And that’s something worth thinking about. Amanda

Seurat & errant authors

The bulk of this post is more or less a copy of an email to an artist friend a few days ago, slightly edited to suit a blog post. My feeble excuse for such a shortcut is that the pressure of study is such that I’m lucky to be able to do this much!
What has me so excited is partly the new light on Seurat’s work, partly a new way to think of colour usage but most importantly a fine example of writers writing what they have read, not what they know. Enough to make me rant…

Another words, it’s about the perpetuation of fiction peddled as facts. For students the continuous regeneration of errors in book after book is a serious disservice to their learning and that of the students some of them will go on to teach. I don’t for a minute blame those teaching, now or past, they too have been hoodwinked by books written by those claiming to be expert. It’s simply of matter of those who would be published making reasonable effort to check their facts. Please.

Rant over. The story begins (quoting directly from my email, as stated above):

Right now I’m reading (for myself – not uni – in between the crippling loads of required reading…) a book called Advice to Young Artists in a Postmodern Era by Williams Dunning. Don’t let the title put you off – no way is this book for truly young artists. It would be completely wasted on them. Besides which, we are all young artists – if not might as well give up.

I’ll quote, rather rather than paraphrase, in case I miss something (aren’t scanners wonderful!)

Context:

Studies of students from all fields consistently indicate that art students in general have read less than those in most other disciplines. But when successful people in all fields are compared to successful artists, the artists register as among the best and the broadest read of all the professionals. The implication for artists here is quite clear: don’t read, don’t succeed.
Gilmore also argues convincingly that “the higher the level of creative activity involved, the more compelling the need for a cohesion of studio practice, awareness of art history, and critical analysis, as well as [a] general education” (Gilmore i991,37)•
Furthermore, those who read little can seldom discuss art intelligently, and an ability to discuss the ideas in your field is indispensable…

Now, the good bit:

But never allow what you read or what you know to blind you to your own vision, and never allow what you have read or heard shape what you see or experience. During my years in art school I read in several books, and I heard from several art history instructors, that the pointillists, especially Seurat, mixed their pigments additively. I was told that when Seurat and the pointillists wanted a green, they did not use green out of a tube; instead, they placed small dots of blue and small dots of yellow next to each other and let the color fuse additively in the eye to create a green that was livelier than any that could be mixed subtractively.
Josef Albers, the patron saint of color, wrote an inspired book, Interaction of Color; I believe this to be the best method ever devised to teach color empirically rather than theoretically. But on the mixing of green in pointillism, he made the same mistake everyone else was making. He tells us what he has read rather than what he has seen, and noting what he has seen is usually his strong point. About the impressionists (pointilists were originally called impressionists) he wrote: “Instead of using green paint mixed mechanically from yellow and blue, they applied yellow and blue unmixed in small dots, so that they became mixed only in our perception-as an impression” (Albers 1963, 339). Albers has just reiterated the classic misconception about retinal (actually partitive) color mixing.
When I was working on an M.EA at the University of Illinois, I visited the museum at Chicago Art Institute. I specifically wanted to see Seurat’s La Grande Jatte, the painting that is usually named as exemplary of the theorizing mentioned above. I stood in front of that painting and looked carefully for tiny intermingled dots of blue and yellow that would mix additively in the retina to make green.
There were none!
There was no place on that canvas that I read as green where I could find blue and yellow dots intermingling. Seurat had used dots of several different shades of green to depict the lawn and the foliage and those areas he wanted green (which generated a more vibrant green). Among these different shades and colors of green dots, he placed here and there a dot of red, which tends to make the green seem even brighter and more vibrant.
He chose red because the impressionists and the pointillists still used Brewster’s by then outdated red, yellow, and blue primary colors to construct their color wheel; hence they believed red was the complement to green, and they had learned correctly from M. E. Chevreul’s Laws of Simultaneous Contrast that adjacent complements create supersaturated color that is perceived as brighter (more saturate) than any pure color alone.
In the bright sunlit areas on the lawn, Seurat interspersed dots of yellow to make those areas yellower (lighter and warmer); and in areas of deep shadow he interspersed dots of blue, which made the shadows darker and cooler.
This came as a shock to me. I wondered if those writers and art historians had ever looked at pointillist paintings.

A bit of an eye opener? The guy who wrote this is professor of fine arts at Central Washington University. The book is published by Syracuse University Press. Another words: he has cred. It is certainly enough to have me off looking for decent reproductions of Seurat’s work.

Amanda

Richard Murdock

Richard Murdock is a contemporary artist with an ageless style. I have watched his work for a number of years, quietly cheering his successes from the sidelines. Clearly I’m not alone in my admiration given his recent interview in the March 08 edition of American Art Collector magazine, part of which, I’m delighted to be able to post an excerpt. More of Richard’s work can be seen at http://www.richardmurdock.com. Enjoy.

Richard Murdock

Richard Murdock recent exhibition

Tell me about your own take/approach to the still life genre
My paintings involve both formal and informal elements, an abstract composition married to quotidian subjects. That is, I consider carefully how shape, color and placement suggest the less tangible aspects of time and space. This might seem an insurmountable task in a small still life, yet the challenge intrigues me. Moreover, since I paint subjects that are simple, ones often overlooked when more elaborate perspectives are considered, connoting a strong presence is compounded. Yet, I am aware that this can be accomplished, and here, I am reminded of the Dutch masters. Like them, I seek the simplest means, transformed through art, oil and dirt really, and attempt to reveal life, love and existence.

Tell me about this piece that you have provided? inspiration, style, idea behind it, etc.
For example, magnolias represent the evanescence of life. Each year, they come, bloom with a frisson with color, yet fade. For me, they are a vanitas, a reminder of life’s shortness. I combine them with marble, a more permanent feature, which I hope amplifies this theme: we are, after all, equally short-lived when compared to the age of the earth.

Aside, though from the thematic issues here. I am enamored with the subtle colors of each flower, broken by a staccato of brilliant red-purples. The creaminess of each petal resounds again in the color of the marble. Yet this distinction, a fraction of a difference in hue and chroma, recalls, symbolically as well, our entrenched yet hardly understood relationship with nature itself: we are so distinct from it yet so dependent on the world around us.

Likewise, we modify the world around us, in life as well as art. Perhaps we never quite pay attention to an eggshell, unless a poet points out its frangible beauty. When I paint them, I am moved by their geometry, a sort of Platonic experience, while the jagged edges recall for me, life’s irregularities. Yet how can such a perfect form be so delicate as to allow light to penetrate? Here, light too becomes a means to investigate contradictions between order and disorder, the permanent and the delicate, what we can control and what we must accept.

Finally, in my painting of roses, I sought a subject that perhaps is more familiar. Roses mean so much today, from a celebration of love one to a reminder of those passed. By wrapping them in muslin, I wanted to suggest both. Like my previous two painting mentioned here, I continue to remind my audience of life and time. Often happy moments and sad ones repeat like waves: one high moment is mirrored by a low one. Here, the undulations of the muslin, wrapping the roses and embracing them, reflect this truth about life’s ups and downs.

Give me a general quote about your work
I am continually inspired by simple objects and use them as a visual metonymy for life’s obvious complexities. In this way, I am something like a late student of John Ruskin who examined the minute in nature with great reverence. Moreover, my artistic predecessors include, most certainly, the Dutch flower painters Rachel Ruysch and Jan van Huysum. You see, I have no problem delving into the art of the past with a vengeance, since I cannot escape my time. No matter how much an artist strives for eternal verity or blinkered modernity he or she will always be of a moment. So, like my predecessors, I filter nature, something common to all humanity past and present, through my unique perspective, that of a living, contemporary thinker and painter.

Kinetic sculpture

Kinetic sculpture is like mobiles and stuff, right? Art that moves with motors or steam or clockwork. Or rot – I made a still life animation based on rotting fruit – it certainly moved by itself. Among the famous would be Marcel Duchamp with his Bicycle Wheel in 1913 – probably the first. Then race forward to the 50s (which became something of a golden age) with Alexander Calder and Jean Tinguely. All pretty good. For their time. Nowadays we have Theo Jansen. Take a look…

The Inscription

Amidst much needed housekeeping around this website, I remembered a linocut (among many other items… oops…) that hadn’t made it to these pages for dissection and discussion among the printmakers who read here and possibly of interest to those much appreciated souls who appear to be collecting my prints (thankyou!!!). My gallery, such as it is, hasn’t seen much updating in the last two years – the work on show is old and early. Ask any artist how they feel about work that is old or early… Wouldn’t most agree on the dubious merit of early work until such time as the artist is famous or dead? Usually both.

My excuse for gallery neglect is that I’ve busy making stuff, reading stuff and writing about making and reading said stuff. I promise I’ll fix it properly as soon as I’ve finished reviewing the stack of books to the left of my desk which, from what I have heard, are the primary interest of visitors (other than diehard printmakers and print lovers). Priorities and all that. That said, the print under discussion has been hurriedly added to the gallery to make larger images available straight away.

The Inscription, linocut, oil based inks on Velin Arches

 

The Inscription, linocut, oil based inks on Velin Arches, 105cm x 60cm

The forgotten linocut, “The Inscription”, is unusual – in both making and meaning. We’ll have a quick look at both to some extent or other before I (hopefully) leave you with more questions than answers!

The Inscription is big – comprising four lino blocks printed on a single sheet of Velin Arches in the largest size I could find – a huge 105cm x 60cm – the sheet started out slightly wider than that but needed to be cut down to fit the width of the press, the length allowed to hang over. Thankfully there was balance to be found between the constraints and harmony achieved.

Inking four blocks and having the first remain damp enough to print before the last is ready isn’t easy on a day when the mercury is pushing 45°C (113°F). I quickly realised, I needed a second pair of hands, one set to take each block to the press while the other inked the next. After many, many proofs worth of practice – we made a workable team – and decided that the temperature was not going to drop nor the crit-day deadline move further away. Fingers were crossed and just three were printed on the Arches – all of which will be considered artists proofs (fine for critique purposes). The edition can wait until the temperature and humidity are considered more co-operative for good printing.

The building in the image is mythical but I will admit that it’s inspired by the beautiful old stone church about five minutes south of the tiny town of Bindoon in Western Australia. The remaining elements are fictitious. Sort of…

Now for the cryptic bit. The inscription on the final panel reads “lorem ipsum dolor” and no, I didn’t make it up. These are the first words in a block of text famous among typesetters and designers for use as meaningless filler text. Traditionally lorem ipsum was available in galleys or Letraset blocks ready for pasteup but these days it’s generated by software – it’s even standard issue in layout packages such as In Design. In this context lorem ipsum is text used as a placeholder at the layout stage of a design. One could say that it talks about emptiness, being without meaning or merit or true worth.

In contrast to this modern use, “lorem ipsum” is in fact derived from Cicero’s (106 BC – 43 BC) book called About The Purposes of Good and Evil The original passage began:

Neque porro quisquam est qui dolorem ipsum quia dolor sit amet, consectetur, adipisci velit

Which translates as:

“Neither is there anyone who loves grief itself since it is grief and thus wants to obtain it”.

H. Rackham’s 1914 translation is also of interest:

“Nor again is there anyone who loves or pursues or desires to obtain pain of itself, because it is pain, but because occasionally circumstances occur in which toil and pain can procure him some great pleasure. To take a trivial example, which of us ever undertakes laborious physical exercise, except to obtain some advantage from it? But who has any right to find fault with a man who chooses to enjoy a pleasure that has no annoying consequences, or one who avoids a pain that produces no resultant pleasure?”

Meaningful words worthy of thought. Would you not agree that these sentiments are a striking contrast to the modern one of no meaning.

So what does all that have to do with The Inscription?

Why would a gravestone be inscribed “Lorem Ipsum Dolor”?

That, unfortunately, can only be answered by the person asking the question.

Amanda