Garbo Cafe/Bar Tables & Chairs

So, Tuesday night after a long day at Hadrian’s Villa (in Tivoli), which was amazing – out in the country, way away from crowds, with 30 some major ruins of an elaborate palace and gardens, I got home was exhausted.  So I took a shower, headed out to dinner, and then grabbed a drink at a small bar in the hood.  The place is called Garbo (as in Gretta Garbo – hmmmmm?), and it was small and charming. However, there was nearly no one there.  So I sat and had a drink.   After reading all the local papers, which I could barely decipher because of the Italian, I thought I’d pull out my sketchbook. I did this to continue developing my own observational skills, since it’s been so long since regular practice.  I focused on the collection of chairs in the room.

Interior: Santa Maria degli Angeli

The Ohio University Architectural Drawing in Rome Program is now fully underway.

San Nicola in Carcare

I found I needed to draw myself during these sessions, both to help illustrate what I was talking about as drawing approaches, and because I really wanted to.  It was so great to sit, look and draw – it really took me back to a good place. After our critique session, we headed to more ancient ruins, and drew for a few more hours before calling it a day.

Jumping off the blackboard, onto canvas over panel, a new sketch (or possible painting) is underway.  This could either become really interesting, or a total disaster, but that’s the whole point in starting something new.  I’m very excited about the idea of two overlapping grids, set at a 45 degree from each other.  This geometry, the base of the octagon, is what started this exploration.  In the initial idea, I decided to create two random grids, rather than equally measured grids. Due to the randomness in the spacing, it it nearly impossible to find or plot an exact octagon.  Irregular octagons are the norm in this exploration and the irregularity becomes more interesting with the unusual geometric shapes that emerge around, between and inside of them.

Additionally, this work has become an opportunity to revisit an old medium I haven’t touched in years.  When I started my BFA at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, one of the early courses required the use of oil bars.  Oil bars are basically oil paint in stick form, and they feel like a giant wax crayon, due to all the extenders in the mix.  I’ve had this collection of oil bars tucked away in box since that time (10 plus years….but whose counting).  They are a great way to start an idea, and then you can add turpentine with a brush, or other oil mediums to melt, blend and manipulate them like regular oil paint.  I’m planning to further manipulation the surface here.  Mark making over blurred edges and forms, with potential drips and marks is the goal. The rather odd palette in this work has been determined by the old inventory.  If I add yellow, I’m doing an homage to the early grid painters……might happen, let’s see where this goes.

January 6th marks one of my most favorite days of the year. It’s one of those days on which a few very close friends share greetings.  Known as the feast of Epiphany, or Little Christmas, or the Feast of the Magi, this day marks the end of Christmas in the Roman Catholic Calendar (it is the 12th day of Xmas), and it is Christmas in the Eastern Orthodox Churches.  As a child, I remember, we would occasionally receive or exchange gifts on this day and it was the day after-which my mother would take down the Christmas decorations and lights.

These days, two wonderful Armenian-American friends and another dear buddy in NYC  share greetings and good wishes with me regularly on this day. In years past I have used this day as an opportunity for a greetings card, because to most the day comes as a surprise.  One of the great things is that its not commercialized, so greetings and correspondence on this day seem to embody a warmth and sincerity which escapes the grasp of Hallmark. The sad thing about the day is that upon passing I feel obligated to take down the Christmas lights.  In this bleak month of January the lights add to the ambience of the house at night. But their removal prompts the sense of anticipation for the cycle of another year, and the knowledge that their refulgency will come round again.

Happy Epiphany!

But like many of the panelists, I found that the more traditional ideas of journey and transformation (as components of pilgrimage) were part of my interest and project.  Barnet Newman’s “Stations” are an interesting historical use of a Christian “type” or “form,” in a non-religious context (the art-world/gallery/museum). Newman’s works are very complex in their seemingly minimalism, and quite grandiose in scope (as many art critics would claim about Newman himself).  Grand, in that they were a long term project (approximately 8 years in completion) and are a meditation on the Holocaust.  Newman, a Jewish artist and conceptual abstract painter, used the Christian tradition of the “Stations,” normally a mediation on the passion of Christ, as a type of frame or lens to contemplate the Jewish Holocaust.  The key to the work, according to Newman, is that the entire set of fourteen paintings are a meditation on the final words of Christ, “My God, My God, Why have you abandoned me?”  The ultimate sense of loss/horror/abandonment symbolized in Christ’s passion and death is used to help frame/understand the ultimate sense of loss/horror/abandonment in the Holocaust.

Why this work for me?  As anyone who reads my blog can put together, Catholicism and Modernism are the two greatest paradigms which have shaped my world view, and are the framework to which I find myself always reacting/responding.  These responses are grounded in a Post-Catholic/Post-Modern (or post-post…depending on your view of the whole post-modern thing) present.  Newman has always been a significant painter for me.  His use of minimalism as expressions of philosophical ideas, combined with his pop-cultural awarenesses, as in the naming of his “Zip” paintings, made him someone of note for my own painting development. But “Stations” became a strong curiosity for me, because of the rich texts and subtexts, pulling from religious narratives for the sake of expressing loss.

My experience of the “Stations’” and this whole pilgrimage are currently part of a paper undergoing review along with the other panelist from this conference. In addition to the paper, part of what I had hoped to do in this journey to see Newman’s work, was to respond to his work, and to the idea of creating a set of “Stations” that might have some relevance now.  And by relevance, I mean a sort of relevance where this “form” could be presented in a non-religious space, and still hold some sense of intention, or meditation like what the “Stations” are meant to do.  Be a frame for considering and experiencing loss, but with an eye to hope.  This studio experiment has proven to be very complicated, as I knew it would.  During the summer, fall and winter months, I have had many ideas as to how I might respond to the idea. What really has proven to be poignant in my thinking is that the emptiness accomplished by Newman in his work, would not be possible to replicate, nor would it hold the same meanings in the current historical moment.  Given the shift away from Modernism, and all the criticism of its sweeping assertions, I have consistently been feeling that the work might be better expressed in busyness, or cacophony.  Another association I keep making is related to the “Via Dolarosa” (the way of grief), and the association of loss/grief with roses.  Roses are found at funerals, and a haunting use of silk roses are found on crosses in the highway in the landscape where I currently live, marking those places of loss of loved ones.  So as a starting point, I have been playing with rose collages.  The photoshop collages are made with photos of roses from my garden and manipulated to become patterns of lines or shifts into bands of color variation, etc.  In my work, when I use photo-collage as a starting point, the final work often varies greatly, as these simply act as an initial idea study.

When considering this idea, I then print out several line/value variations which I project onto paper or canvas for the initial sketches.

Sometimes the variations become different drawings.  Since this is an idea I am really just starting to work with, I have no idea where it will end up.  It might end up being a failure completely, but as for now, it is underway as a starting point in my response.

These are the initial rose drawing lines.  Pink and orange ink on bristol.  Not sure where these will go, but my hopes are that they will become a more organic sort of grid, based on the repetition of the roses.  This repetition will then become richer with the application of washes, drips, marks, and perhaps eventually redeveloped in oil on canvas.

This is a detail view.  Stay tuned for progress on this project.

One of my favorite parts of the new studio space at FVRC is the blackboard in the room.  My studio is half of an old classroom that was divided with a wall down the center.  I get half of the original blackboard, made of real slate, exposed along the far wall of the room.  During my week of studio set up this became a great place to make lists and think about laying out the workspace.

Sketches on the board have included lists and planning of the actual space.  As I measured the space, it was helpful to consider how many easels, work tables, and chairs to bring.

In a more significant way, the board has functioned as a notebook. My work usually first begins with words, lists, association diagrams, etc.  Sometimes it begins with process drawings. There is nothing better than chalk on slate to do quick sketches. If you like the sketches, you can photograph them for documentation, then erase and move on.  I also have a love of the chalk on black slate because of the work of Cy Twombly and William Kentridge who have both used these materials in dynamic ways.

Getting started back in the studio has taken some time as I knew it would.  The last few years, my studio has been in the basement of my home, which has sever lighting, spatial and chemical restrictions. The new studio feels the opposite with its large windows and good uninterrupted space. Warming into the new space, and wanting to begin a new body of work, I have experienced the typical initial phases of ideation. I have two things I’m working on.  The first is somewhat represented by this octagonal form.  As anyone who knows my work is familiar with, the grid, or mapping systems play an important role.  More recently, I’ve had a desire to work with grids or mapping systems of architecture, particularly of ritual spaces that I’ve been to, or am interested in getting to.  The geometry of an octagon requires two sets of grids laid over one another at 45 degree angles.  This historic presence of the octagon in both Christian and Muslims structures and patterns is of interest in this exploration.

In this center detail you can see how chalk, water and eraser are quick tools to realize ideation sketches.  The thick dark black lines, which resemble ink, are made with wet paper towels over a dirty board. Previous drawings now erased are ghosted as part of the ground.

Chalk and water on slate can be as delicious as big juicy oil paints.  And oh, so much faster!

One of the architectural sights that I have been thinking about is a small ecumenical chapel on the campus of Ohio University known as Galbreath Chapel.  Several years ago I spent a good deal of time in this chapel with students from a drawing course.  The course I taught was focused on architectural drawing and rendering. This chapel became our focus because of its modest size.  The chapel has an octagonal floor plan, and because of the complexity of the geometry, required students to use two sets of vanishing points in a 2-point perspective system.  This doubling of the grid in space is what has prompted my own thinking.

Moving off the black board onto an initial canvas, a double grid allowing for the formation of octagons.  I began loosely drafting this double grid on a set of four panels, each panel at 1 x 2 feet.

Simple drafting tools allow for an easy start.

This layer of grids is just the starting point.  I also can’t wait to see where this goes…..Stay tuned!

You may have noticed that the last few headers of this blog have contained Chinese block stamps.  The stamps were something I had made while traveling in Beijing last year with the Design Asia program run by my colleague David Matthews. They are my name translated into Chinese characters.  Traditionally, I believe the characters would have been associated with the meanings of the name of the person.  For a westerner, the stamp carver works phonetically, translating the sound of the name into equivalent Chinese sounds used in the characters represented.

The stamp as a signature has significant history in China.  It has ben used to sign artwork, documents, etc….  How common the usage of the stamp is today, I do not know.

I have always been drawn to beauty of these stamps in Chinese calligraphy, landscape painting, and drawings.  I had the pleasure of seeing a great deal of actual work in museum collections in China, and had been familiar with much of this work as presented in collections in the US.  The combination of the character/figure is really an example of a living pictogram.  Formally, I have always been drawn to the abstracted marks used in the formation of these stamps, as well as the square format, and the bright red ink.  In a drawing, or work of art, this geometric square compliments the more traditional combinations of black ink on raw rice paper.  It gives a chromatic and graphic contrast to the artwork, becoming part of the overall visual read.

When I had these made, I had the fantasy that I would use these as a signature for my own work.  There is one problem however:  I’m not Chinese.  Nor is this my culture or my tradition.  I have been playing with them as a texture in drawings, and they are a great graphic to integrate in a blog, but the actual honest use of these seems precocious to me.  I can’t decide if the desire to use them remains simply formal (which is a bad thing to many), or if I suffer the typical travel fantasies of a contemporary western traveler who wants to own or in some way commodity my desire to take part of my experience back to my own personal work.  One might argue that I am simply appropriating, but I fear this would be another red flag.  My appropriation would most likely reinforce all the post-colonial conversations so ever present in art speak today.  Alas…..no justification in sight I fear. But they sure are cool!  and for now, will remain part of my blog header.

The stamps are carved out of decorative marble posts.  I picked out the posts with my good friend and travel companion Anna (a GA on the Design Asia trip who proved to help keep me sane).  Via a game of charades, we communicated with the Chinese shop owner and calligrapher to have them carved.  The next morning they were ready for pick up.

The calligrapher signs the side of the post, validating the stamp.

I had a great lunch with Laura Larson, Chair of Photography at Ohio University, a few weeks back, and at that time she told me of a building where she rented an in-expensive studio space for awhile near Athens.  There is a campus of old grade school buildings located in Stewart Ohio, about 10 miles outside of Athens.  The buildings are no longer being used as classrooms, but are run as a community resource center by a non-profit organization.  They rent out some of the available rooms for use to individuals.  I was happy to find they had a room available.

The room has five large windows that face north.  The diffused light makes for great working space.  The one catch to the inexpensive rent is NO HEAT!  This of course means bringing electric space-heaters and wearing layers of cloths while there working.  I have spent the last few days moving furniture and materials out to the new space to begin working.

Last night, I finally got everything in place, and started projected and tracing images onto paper to work out a few new ideas.  Notice my studio-mate Audrey (my favorite little Scottish-Terrier).  She didn’t quite know what to think of the space, but eventually curled up and fell asleep in front of one of the space heaters while I drank HOT tea, listened to audio books, and worked for many hours into the night.

Another  feature of Federal Valley Resource Center are the empty, somewhat creepy, Christmas-lit hallways at night.  For access to sinks, restrooms, and kitchen, I have to depart my studio space and go through the building to get to the amenities.  In this long hallway, there is a motion-sensitive Christmas tree that begins rocking and singing whenever you pass by.  I always forget it’s there, and jump out of my skin when heading to the sink for water.

One of my dearest friends, and writers, Jeff Essmann shares with me the Post-Catholic experience of continuing the practice of Advent on some level.  Advent, one of my favorite times of year (and I believe his) marks the four weeks before Christmas, which of course in Catholic/Christian practice symbolizes the thousands of years of waiting for the Messiah.  I prefer to think of it as a period of light, or a period of light changing colors over many weeks. This is very dramatic particularly in a northern winter climate, where the hours of sunlight diminish, and where the angles of the sun’s rays (on non-cloudy days) are sharp and active in a barren landscape. In this starkness, the lighting of a candle, particularly one of violet or blue colors conjures the warmth and hope I remember from years of Catholic liturgy, where a darkened church was lite by one single candle, then another, and another, as the weeks of Advent moved towards Christmas.

On a side note, Christmas always seemed anti-climatic against the rich barrenness of Advent. Advent seems focused, austere, hopeful, whereas Christmas breaks in with a cacophony of color, light, sound, and over-crazed commercialism.  I think it was St. Francis, according to legend, who initiated the original idea of a nativity scene, and with it  perhaps, also began the origins of saccharin nostalgia, specifically of the kind attached to small babies that populate the Christmas landscapes both liturgically and otherwise. This always seems a missed opportunity to me, in that it directs attention away from a greater unspeakable, incomprehensible idea, of eternity becoming, momentarily, un-eternal;  infinity becoming finite; finding the potential/possibility  in the NOW. But these are my Post-Catholic musings…..

As for this Advent, Jeffrey prompted me with an excerpt from his Advent readings by Meister Eckhart. “I say that god is neither being nor rational, and that he does not think this or that.”  I find this abstraction complimentary to my contemplation of colored light this time of year, especially since it seems to coincide with a new productivity for me.  On Dec 1st, I submitted my Dossier to Ohio University for tenure. The drive that enabled the production of those documents, on top of a full quarter of teaching, has yielded in its wake a focused continued direction of energy which I am applying to work in a new studio space this December. Watch for upcoming posts which will share that space and work produced in the month of Dec. Happy Advent! or Happy Season of Colored Lights!

While visiting the Lincoln Memorial, this shot was taken from the interior looking out through the colonnade.

Rotundas are a popular motif in DC.  I was surprised by the small and modest scale of the rotunda commemorating  WWI, especially in contrast with the scale of the surrounding memorials.  This is the ceiling of the WWI Memorial rotunda.

The WWII Monument was just completed.  It is beautiful and immense.  This is a detail of the star laden fountain which commemorates Freedom.

The Washington Memorial: daytime.

Washington Memorial: Night-time.

The cold light on the Jefferson Memorial creates an interesting, almost erie effect against the warm lights of the city reflected above on the cloud canopy.

Looking up at the warm clouds through the cold lit columns at the Jefferson Memorial.

The Jefferson Memorial facade.

The Jefferson Memorial interior.

Ernesto sits on a bench observing Thomas Jefferson’s statue at the Jefferson Memorial.

The Supreme Court Building.

The US Capital Building Rotunda.

A detail shot of the fresco painting in the top of the US Capital Building Rotunda.  Here you see George Washington enthroned in the clouds, with Ladies Liberty and Freedom seated at his left and right hands.

Shutter Interface, 1975, by Paul Sharits, on display as part of the show “Color Form,” Hirshhorn Museum, Washington, DC.  It is a series of four projectors which project various solid colors on the wall.  The overlapping colors creates interesting color interactions, and this piece is responding to the color-field paintings of the 60′s and 70′s.

I spent several days wandering the collections of the Smithsonian.  On this happy day I stumbled into a temporary exhibition of Rothko’s black paintings in the East Building.  This collection was set up in a small room in the Museum’s Tower, curated in the same spirit at the Rothko Chapel in TX.