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Posted on 3/31/2012 4:08:35 PM
By Donald Fox
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Blue Heron
I enjoy thinking about things. I recognize that the word ‘thing’ is one of those vague words with multiple meanings that can make a statement unclear. Whatever meaning we might attach to the word – idea, act, entity, being, effect, situation, affair, possession, individual, activity, etc. – in this case I would say, “All the above.” The thinking can be preemptory coming as is does before an action or occurrence. The result might be preventive so that something undesirable does not happen, or it may be affirmative ensuring that something does indeed take place. The thinking may be during an action or activity, which in effect may guide the outcome for better or worse. Of course the thinking may also come after the fact as a way of understanding what has occurred: to process errors in order to make corrections for future gain or to create a larger context with which to analyze significance. Thinking is a very useful activity available to almost everyone.
We often categorize people as certain types of thinkers: creative thinkers, original thinkers, analytical or critical thinkers, global thinkers, narrow thinkers (even narrow-minded), positive thinkers and their opposite, perceptive and insightful thinkers – the list could go on. Those in creative fields like the arts will utilize a range of different thinking skills as they practice within their general category of creative thinkers. Artists by and large are more than just thinkers; they are also doers. They put their ideas into action. The process of thinking and doing results in the creation, the artwork. I know I just compressed two activities into one process, and this was intentional. I believe the artist thinks by doing and does by thinking. These are like the Yin and Yang principles at work in the cosmic Tao. Neither exists without the other and together explains the continual process of creation.
In any given moment we might separate thought from action as a way of trying to more closely observe one or the other. I expect this is a futile attempt not unlike trying to stop a river in order to understand the flow of water. To be a river doesn’t the water have to flow? Is there a river anywhere that isn’t flowing? We can experience the flow by watching the water’s movement, by plunging a hand into the river and feeling the resistance, or by observing the effect of the moving water on objects. Our awareness, our consciousness, is much like the flowing river – it is always in motion from moment to moment. As we think, we are doing, and as we do, we are thinking. Whether one directly follows from the other is a different question. We might think about something else while doing a repetitive task, for example, but it was thinking that initiated the doing of the task.
Artists focus their thinking on the doing. Observation informs insight informs choice of line, shape, or color. More observation leads to more thinking and doing until the process draws to completion, itself a product of critical thinking and doing. As the viewer approaches the artwork, the process begins anew for now the viewer is recreating the work in his own consciousness.
There are those that might argue that some artwork is spontaneous and does not come from observation. That flash of insight and the process through which it manifests into a work of art is observation, seemingly brief though it may be. The artist has to observe and feel the inspiration in order to express it. The timing of thinking and doing are different from that in which the artist observes and contemplates before actively creating. The creative process, however, is essentially the same. Thinking enables us to express creatively and in turn to understand that creative expression. A favorite quote from the philosopher Henri Bergson says, “Think like a man of action; act like a man of thought.”
Posted on 3/30/2012 7:44:23 PM
By Donald Fox
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Junior High School included the seventh through the ninth grades where I grew up. In some states the ninth grade is considered the first year of high school, but, generally, the years from age thirteen to sixteen are very tumultuous for many teenagers regardless of the grade. Growth spurts, rapid emotional and physical changes, shifts in priorities, dealings with frequently clueless parents, incredible peer pressure, and, for many, the first steps into adult responsibility and maturity are all part of those teenage years.
When I was in the eighth grade, I took a part-time job assisting an older boy from our church with his morning newspaper route. He serviced about three hundred customers, a manageable number, although tricky on Thursdays and Sundays when the papers were particularly thick with ads and extra features. He was saving money to buy a car, but since he had also started several extra-curricular activities in high school, he needed someone to help him make the most of his time. Those two mornings I would help him with deliveries and also assist with collections two nights per week.
Bobby was very responsible and had established excellent relationships with his customers. He took me with him on collections the first few weeks and introduced me to everyone. After that, we could split up and do the job in half the time, or, occasionally, I would do it on my own. We worked deliveries the same way. As soon as I learned the route, I could even substitute for him once or twice a week.
Sunday mornings were always interesting and fun. The drop off point for the papers was a drug store on Princess Street very close to Smith Creek - many of us boys, and old black men, often fished in the creek for carp and catfish. Several other businesses were located close by: a service station, a small grocery store (where we bought Lik-um-aid, a powdered confection that would allow the imbiber to flash a green or purple tongue at some unsuspecting girl, and various other candies to secretly consume in class), a print shop, and directly across the street from the drugstore, the infamous Hideaway Club. West of this area was an undeveloped park on one side of the street and an old cemetery on the other. A block east began residential neighborhoods that extended for several miles.
The first Sunday I was to help Bobby, he told me to meet him at the Hideaway Club. It seemed an odd request, but he said we could get a hamburger before we started out. So I got up at 4:15 in order to dress and ride my bike the six blocks to the club and meet him there by 4:30. I had no idea what to expect since I had only seen the club during the day when it was closed. I could hear the music from just over a block away. As I approached, I could see that the parking lot was full, and the club was lighted like a ship at sea. It was cold out, and very few customers were in their cars. I did notice a few smoking exhausts and steamed-up windshields. I saw Bobby’s bike was parked next to another – several carriers picked up papers at the same drop point - and I felt relieved I wasn’t the first one of us there. Still, it was unnerving to walk into the noisy, smoke-filled club that reeked of beer, grease, and cheap perfume. Downstairs small booths lined the walls, and tables were placed erratically around the heavy wooden posts that supported part of the upstairs section. The single upstairs room was above the kitchen and bathrooms, but a walkway balcony encircled the remaining inside of the building. This left the downstairs main room open to the ceiling, and patrons in the lower room could see those seated close to the upstairs railing. The rest of the upstairs room was dark except for the slowly spinning mirrored globe light suspended above the small dance floor. The narrow, steep steps leading up and downstairs would have challenged the bravest of sober customers.
I grew to love the Sunday sojourns into a netherworld my parents knew nothing about. The remoteness of this little oasis of degradation from the ordinary world of families, school, and domestic commerce, unobtrusively silent by day and slowly crawling to life by night, was not lost on my budding creative imagination already teeming with curiously conflicting visions.
The owner, Jim, a hefty ex-marine, ran the club with his wife Kay. He cooked, managed the bar, and acted as bouncer if someone became too rowdy, a not infrequent occurrence. Kay was hostess, assistant manager, sometime waitress, and spotter for potential troublemakers. Jim stayed mostly behind the bar. He supplied drinks and food to the upstairs waitress by means of a counter-weighted tray that could easily be raised and lowered by the waitress. Kay circulated among the patrons, took their orders, and kept her ever-watchful eye peeled for trouble. Both of them looked out for us as well. Patrons quickly learned not to mess with us, although I’m sure the temptation must have been great for some of the inebriated clowns.
Bars in North Carolina could only sell beer and set-ups. Hard liquor could be consumed in any club with a liquor license, but patrons had to bring their own liquor – thus, brown-bagging was the popular phrase of the day. I’m not sure if it was legal for us
to be at the club, we were all under the legal beer-drinking age of eighteen, but the few occasions we saw policemen there they never said anything to us or to Jim. Mostly we would hang out in the back corner by the shuffleboard and bowling games, eat our hamburgers and drink Sun Drops, play a few games, gamble for who bought the hamburgers, listen to bad jokes from a drunk or two, and then head off to our work. Some of the regulars got to know us and would sneak us shots of liquor or sips of beer. Even the ladies could get a bit frisky and liked to tease us. For adolescent boys, this was a dream come true.
The customers were similar to those found in waterfront bars and back street clubs anywhere in the world. Many were alcoholics and winos or well on their ways to becoming so. They all had the pale, haggard expressions of hard living and sleepless nights. Even the prettiest of the women looked much older than their years, wore too much make-up in effort to hide their aged appearances, and sported gaudy colors to make themselves stand out in the dim atmosphere of their haunting. They converged on this spot from all around Wilmington for there were few other public places available at those hours in that part of the state much less the city. These people were not like the neighbors that I knew or the newspaper customers that we serviced. Perhaps that is why I liked them so much.
The jukebox played continuously - Elvis, The Drifters, and Mo-town romantic tunes. Each booth had a small selection machine so choices could be made right from the table. The jukebox itself stood close to where we usually sat, and the solo men and women gyrated around it. This gave us the most opportunity for banter with some of the customers without Jim or Kay feeling worried. Only twice was there any serious trouble, but neither affected us directly. Once we heard there was a knife fight in the parking lot that Jim broke up. By the time we got outside, it was all over. Jim had run off the culprits and barred them from the club. On a different occasion, a man was upset with another for supposedly stealing his girlfriend. Jim ran him off as well. He came back awhile later drunker and louder than before. Jim ran him off again and threatened to have him arrested. He came back a third time so drunk he barely made it through the door. He pulled a small pistol but shot himself in the foot. The club emptied in a flash. The police came and took the man to the hospital and then to jail. No one came back, so Jim closed early.
Eventually, local residents began to complain about the noise and the accumulation of trash and the rumors of violence. The club closed for a few weeks and reopened as Jim’s Supper Club. Jim scheduled earlier evenings to catch a dinner crowd, but the all night Fridays and Saturdays remained most popular. Several businesses in the area were renovated, a few new ones were built, and Jim’s was finally run out of business.
Those few years when I was fourteen and fifteen gave me some of my strongest memories. I have been in many bars and clubs since in New York, Texas, and California and several countries in Europe, but no honky-tonk, dive, juke joint, bar, tavern, pub, café, gin mill, saloon, lounge, dance hall, roadhouse, or nightclub has ever equaled The Hideaway for atmosphere, color, or depth of experience. Maybe this is just because now I am a legal patron wherever I go (and I rarely go into bars anymore), but, for me, it was a sad day when that small institution ceased to exist.
Posted on 3/29/2012 3:50:11 PM
By Donald Fox
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Good Best Buy
When I was in graduate school I worked in a fabric warehouse and drove a tow-motor used to carry bales and rolls of textiles from delivery trucks to warehouse and from warehouse into the plant. One winter morning I turned the corner from the warehouse while being careful to keep the flat, sluggish tires on the sidewalk so as not to bog down in the dirt. My eye caught the faint shimmer, as the ghost of my breath trailed out in the cool air, of the trembling gossamer miniature net revealed by the dampness of the dew, stretched artfully as if some tiny aerialist were about to perform a few practice turns to perfect the death-defying, gravity-negating soar that in actual performance would have no safety factor built in. I knew that as the day gradually warmed, the web would all but disappear from view, the better to ensnare some hapless wandering insect absently minding its own business.
Someone’s astute observation of a spider’s web may have originally led to the development of the net. We cast our own nets far and near much like a fisherman with hopes that the longed-for prize will be hauled in. There is faith, hope, desire, and, perhaps on occasion, a bit of desperation behind the tossing out of the net, time after time, repetitive action that knows no other means to hunt beyond the wisdom to cast at the right place at the right time. The fisherman learns from experience where the right places are and then seeks them out repeatedly. Large scale commercial fishermen use sonar tracking and nets so vast that the innocent (turtles and dolphins especially) fall prey along with the intended victims. Unintended consequences are not the goal of any business person.
The solitary spider spins its web, delicately but diligently, often spanning great spaces with its lacework snare. And then it sits and patiently waits like some detached Buddha confident that the universe will in time provide. Just waiting for someone to wander past with the hope of ensnaring them may work for the spider. After all, it is the spider's intention to deceive by making its web nearly invisible. But this is not an effective tactic for someone in sales. The traffic must be directed with enticements and incentives. This requires careful planning, information about the market, access to the market, and specific means for delivering the necessary message(s) to the market. We can learn a great deal from observing nature, but sometimes we must rely more on inner nature to solve the problems with which we are faced.
Posted on 3/28/2012 8:36:00 PM
By Donald Fox
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Bird in Tree
My family lived in a garage apartment until I was about five years old. It was located on Keaton Avenue behind a two story white frame house with a brick porch in the front. The owners, Mrs. Yopp and her spinster daughter Naomi, also rented out the upstairs of their house as an apartment. The dirt and gravel driveway leading to the back ran past a huge magnolia tree at the rear corner of the house. That tree remains massive in my mind, taller than the house and spreading its long sturdy limbs nearly the width of the house as well. I could easily crawl out onto a lower limb and sit like a little squirrel, but remain hidden by the large overlapping leaves. Inside the tree canopy reminded me of a circus tent – to me it was that spacious – with curving poles and wires and spotlights that smelled like magnolia blossoms. From my bleacher seat, I could observe the world, at least the part of it that came down the driveway or carried on in the neighbor’s back yard.
Memories are delicious, rich, and very real. The power of them is often quite stunning, and their impish, jocular nature reveals a devil-may-care attitude that can be mocking, tongue-in-cheek, or quite serious. Memories exist in graymatterspace, a mysterious zone that predates cyberspace by many millennia. A memory can be a faint shimmer in time, partial and incomplete like a Polaroid image on defective film that arrests its slow realization well before fruition. Strain however he might, the viewer can’t quite make out the details, and, eventually, the image fades from view. Or, with thunderclap power, a memory can instantly dominate the most interesting experience, grab consciousness by the throat and demand, “You will look at this now!”
Memories are the keepers of the dearest, most revered events and experiences. They create continuity and connection between then and now and enable us to see how we arrived as well as where we have been. Memories enable us to move forward with confidence or hold us back when we obsess over how something should have, could have been different. We also, through memory, have the power and luxury of revisiting significant occurrences in order to more deeply study and learn from the experiences. Everything that we know is the result of memory in action, the constant recreation of knowledge to produce continuity and understanding.
As we remember something, we are not unlike a skilled surgeon reattaching a severed part to restore wholeness and function. We do re-member some part of ourselves that has been severed by time. The skill to do this may seem automatic and even taken for granted, but it is a highly complex skill nonetheless. We recall the past as though literally calling forth some Lazarus from the darkness of suspended life. We bring that memory into the light of consciousness and recognition. We recollect from a vast museum of recorded thoughts, feelings, emotions, and experiences that is portable and constant and only requires a minor admission fee, some trigger to access the collection.
Artists call on memory as they utilize experience, observation, recollection, feeling, and sensitivity to mold the creative urge into palpable expression that may serve viewers as something worthy of contemplation and sometimes serve as a launching pad into their own memories. The past merges with the present and forms a new experience that may one day be a memory in its own right. Artist and viewer are enriched in the process.
Posted on 3/27/2012 3:26:01 PM
By Donald Fox
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"Still Life with Fruit, Walnuts, and Insects on a Marble Ledge" by Willem van Aelst
Something that the human mind is good at is recognizing and creating structures. We see structures throughout the natural world. Being able to see them also helps us learn, adapt and survive. Structures are fundamentally part of nature. The smallest visible thing is composed of even smaller structures that enable it to be. There are minute physical structures, chemical structures, and electromagnetic structures that underlie everything. A brief walk in the woods will reveal to the observant person all sorts of structures: ant hills, nest of birds or squirrels, flowers, fruits, a seemingly endless variety of plant forms. Many small structures echo larger ones. Some leaves mirror the shapes of the trees that produce them. Because there is so much variety, it can be easy to overlook the larger structure that is the composite of all the smaller parts – sort of like not seeing the forest for the trees.
A painting is a finely tuned structure that is more than simply a collection of parts. Many students, though, approach a painting as if it were only the accretion of one part after another. They don’t fully consider the whole entity and that the parts must be unified in order for the entirety to hold together. Detail is one of the big distractions and the downfall of many paintings that have promise but never deliver.
Recently I attended an opening of paintings by the 17th century Dutch painter Willem van Aelst. His work is incredibly detailed with practically every hair of an animal’s fur, every strand of a bird’s feather, every striation of a leaf or petal so carefully rendered that the result seems to surpass what the finest digital camera could record. I heard many comments from viewers remarking on the minuteness of detail and intense observation on the part of the artist. The paintings do draw one in and almost demand one to look as closely as the artist had to in order to do what he did. On the other hand, I didn’t hear anyone mention anything about the intricacies of the compositions, i.e. the structures of the paintings – how they hold together in a way that displays the remarkable skill of the painter to organize such an array of accumulated details.
Tempted as one might be to look closely at each small part, if the viewer can stand away and view the entire painting, something else adds to the overall experience. The painter has deftly and often very subtly orchestrated one complex arrangement after another. In a painting of a vase of flowers, for example, the artist highlights a portion to the left or right of center and gradually shades surrounding flowers and leaves until those at the extremes drift into partial or full shadow. The graduation of color is best observed from a distance where the entire structure of the composition can be seen. Up close it is too difficult to connect one side of the painting to the other since the eye is captured by individual flowers, petals, and leaves.
Impressionist painters seemingly ignored structure based on detail, but they didn’t abandon structure in the least. They simply utilized it in a different way. If there were no structure, impressionist paintings would simply dissolve into indistinguishable spots of color. These painters had to be very selective in where the color was placed in order to focus on the effects of light while downplaying form. The form is definitely there; it just isn’t delineated in the way it is in a Dutch still life. Side by side a Dutch still life and a French impressionist still life or landscape will look very different indeed. Some people will be drawn to one more than the other, but it will be obvious that both styles of painting succeed largely because the artists have dealt effectively with the structure that makes the paintings what they are.
Posted on 3/26/2012 4:42:24 PM
By Donald Fox
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Car Shop
I’ve been driving for quite a few years, and in that time have experienced the interiors of many different types of cars. I turned sixteen in 1962. My parents owned a 1956 Buick Century four-door coupe and a Goliath (a tin box on wheels). My dad also bought a 1949 Oldsmobile from an elderly neighbor after her husband died. She couldn’t drive, so my dad took the car off her hands. The interesting thing about these three vehicles primarily is the difference in driver accommodation.
The Goliath was a small station wagon, very compact with a flat, vertical dashboard, barebones controls, and was an early example of an economy car. The Oldsmobile was heavy, slow, and had one of the early automatic transmissions that took a long time shifting from first to second gear. This it did with a loud wind-up and a clunking shudder as it jolted into second and finally into third. The dashboard was mostly flat, much like the later Goliath, but the Olds had a large steering wheel that was typical of most cars until the late sixties. Even though the Olds was large compared to earlier cars, it was a very snug fit for three people on the front bench seat. The Buick, however, as with most American cars in the 50s and 60s, was quite spacious. The dashboard had the sleek, modern roundedness that combined with the wrap-around windshield gave something of a space-age feel, there was plenty of headroom, and it was a great car for date nights and drive-in movies.
The design of cars changed dramatically from 1950 to 1970 and beyond. There was the period of long bodies, massive fins, increasingly more powerful engines, and more spacious cabins in the days when gas was cheap and plentiful. I remember gas being 25 cents per gallon when I was in high school. Gradually, though, cars became more streamlined for efficiency rather than looking like rocket ships on wheels. Those who lived through the gas crunch of the mid-seventies understand the motivation for design changes.
As the cars began to shrink in size, they also changed noticeably inside. The interior, especially for the driver, increasingly began to resemble a cockpit in both look and feel. The ergonomics changed to place the driver in a lower position compared to earlier cars. Even that 49 Oldsmobile with its split windshield seemed spacious by comparison to cars of the late 80s and early 90s. Many cars today are only five passenger, and those passengers in the back seat are far from comfortable.
I could give more specifics, but I think the point is made that car design has changed dramatically in the last fifty years just as it did in the first fifty years. We sometimes don’t think so much about design changes that come on gradually, but we do see the difference when comparing something new to something much older. Significant changes that affect the market will be quickly adopted and adapted by most manufacturers in order to stay competitive. Certain markets change more rapidly than others.
Art is a strange market compared to manufacturing. There are so many varieties of artistic expression that create a wealth of products plus the reasons people buy art are nearly as varied as the number of people who do the buying. These factors make selling art particularly challenging. Mostly people buy cars from a basic need for flexible transportation. The type of car they buy may depend on other factors like economy, reliability, personal status, and so on. Art is rarely bought from need. Whereas the car manufacturer is designing for his particular market, artists often approach their market with more hope than design. The typical artist creates for personal expression, and sales are an afterthought. Every artist will eventually have to ask and answer hard questions about both making and selling the art that is so dear to them.
Posted on 3/25/2012 4:34:07 PM
By Donald Fox
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Paints and Palette
Something I hear frequently from students is “I didn’t see that until you pointed it out.” Usually this is in response to a comment from me about one part of a picture being too high or too low in relation to another part. A relatively simple adjustment of height or width could change the proportions of a vase or bottle or tree. To the trained eye, the adjustment will seem obvious and necessary. The untrained eye, however, perceives quite differently because the individual’s focus is on something else entirely. Thus, the person does not see the inconsistency or disproportion.
In a way this situation is similar to the very common experience of someone “losing” a set of keys. The keys are exactly where the person placed them, but other thoughts and concerns distract the person from noticing what is in the immediate surroundings. The person simply does not see the keys even when they are in no way obscured. It is only when the individual’s awareness is fully present that the keys become obvious and are recognized. They have become visible to consciousness.
Artists and art teachers often talk about learning to see. Generally they mean seeing in order to understand visual and spatial relationships. To be able to draw or paint, the artist must focus on specific cues within the visual field that are comparably placed within the picture space of the paper or canvas. These cues may include specific shapes, relative proportions, intervals and distances, lights and darks, specific colors and color shifts, and the effect of light and shadow. These elements are necessary for the visual artist to render a successful image regardless of medium.
The average viewer is generally not thinking about these properties. He or she may notice objects and backgrounds, but they are being identified as specific things and not as visual cues that can be utilized to make a picture or painting. A scientist or engineer may consider volume, for example, as a specifically measurable quantity of so much liquid or solid substance. A measurable amount is contained by a vessel. The mathematician may conceive of volume as measured or derived by a specific formula that is expressed in numbers. In both cases a precise answer is provided. The average person will also think of volume in a utilitarian manner. What kind of utensil is this – a cup, a bowl, a vase, or a bottle?
A visual artist, on the other hand, considers volume as something occupying a certain portion of observable space. The volume must exist in relation to other volumes and to the surrounding space. Exactness is less important than believability of the volume rendered and the space it occupies. This concept is too abstract for many people to initially grasp. Once it is illustrated, and once they can practice it, the idea takes on more meaning for students. They begin to see in artistic terms rather than ordinary, everyday recognition terms.
Posted on 3/24/2012 8:48:36 PM
By Donald Fox
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Dorothy's Place
Today began with fog and seemingly overcast skies and temperature in the low sixties. The forecast called for partly cloudy with the temperature topping out at eighty-eight. Today was also scheduled for our annual trip to see my friend Dorothy, a former painting student who lives in the country north west of Houston near Waller. Dorothy turned ninety-six recently (same age as my dad), and every year about this time my wife and I visit her and go with her to see the wildflowers. Dorothy also bakes the best Texas pecan pie in the state, and since there is no pecan pie better than that from Texas, then Dorothy’s is the best there is period.
Late heavy rains have fueled the growth of wildflowers this year. For several years in a row there has been a dearth of bluebonnets and paintbrush, but this year proved more than promising. As the weather cleared early, we soon discovered we weren’t the only ones out enjoying it. Many people just cruise along major highways or go to specific towns like Chappel Hill or Navasota. Dorothy and her daughter take us along numerous back roads crisscrossing through the heart of bluebonnet country.
Even so, part of our route coincided with that of a bicycle rally. We found ourselves sometimes behind dozens of bikers huffing their way up the rolling hills. We decided to take a detour to Washington on the Brazos State Park to use their facilities. In the past when we had come mid-week or on a Friday, the park was usually sparsely attended. This Saturday it was the meeting place for antique car enthusiasts. At least a hundred vintage Fords and other unknown makes lined the park’s roads. Model A’s, model T’s, and later models of roadsters, convertibles, and pick-up trucks, all immaculately restored and brightly painted, continued to converge on the park from every possible direction.
Soon we left there and headed back into the country, passed through Chappel Hill where the bicycle rally officially ended, and went on to Navasota for lunch. For most of the morning and early afternoon, though, we explored numerous fields of bluebonnets, Indian paintbrush, wine cups, daisies, blooming huisache trees (sweet acacia), thistles, and varieties of unknown wildflowers. Plus I got to explore an old cotton gin and several dilapidated barns, a country staple almost anywhere. From macro to panoramic, I shot well over a hundred photographs, some for future painting reference and some for photographic experimentation.
An artistic sojourn that can be combined with friends and family sharing is a blissful treat. A day in the country for a city dweller is also a most welcomed respite. Thirty minutes on a front porch swing with only the sounds of birdsong, cattle lowing, and the rustle of windblown boughs will soothe my dreams for many weeks to come.
Posted on 3/23/2012 9:39:28 PM
By Donald Fox
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Sims Bayou
Less than a mile from my house Sims Bayou cuts a winding path through the neighborhood. One section of the bayou runs behind a number of large homes that are unusually located rather high up, elevated perhaps thirty feet or more from the highest water level. This is unusual since Houston is predominantly flat, part of it being below sea level. Probably centuries of rain, water flow, and subsidence pushed the bayou bed lower and lower rather than the area where the houses are located having been artificially built up.
Years ago it was easy to observe the process in action. With heavy rains the bayou would rise rapidly since it and others that wind through portions of Houston serve as natural drainage systems. The banks, however, were continually eroding and floating debris would sometimes create blockages thus worsening erosion in certain places. Drainage, or the lack thereof, is an ongoing problem in Houston. Being close to the Gulf we have frequent rains that often cause flash flooding, and man-made constructions mean nothing to nature and flowing water.
I used to paint along the bayou in several lovely spots and still have record of how the bayou used to look. The Corps of Engineers, however, transformed a lengthy section of Sims Bayou throughout the neighborhood as part of the city’s flood control program. The bayou was deepened, straightened, and in some sections lined with brick and concrete substrate specifically to reduce erosion and control water flow. The whole character of the waterway changed. During times of heavy rains, more water is carried through this area, but the effect on street flooding has been minimal. In a few places floating debris and silt have created small islands, several of which now have trees and brush growing on them. Nature will have its way regardless.
Any landscape painter who has visited a location repeatedly for years no doubt has an interesting record of natural (and man-made) changes that have occurred. Most artists, of course, don’t paint for the purpose of creating a graphic record – compositional adjustments are often required or preferred – but the paintings can certainly capture the essence of a place. The artist, too, may change through the years and that also will be reflected in the images.
Even though some purists may criticize humanity for its impact on nature, often rightfully, nature also has an impact on humanity. This can happen on a grandiose scale far surpassing – at least at one point in time – the effect of humans on nature. Witness the tsunamis in Japan and Indonesia. On the other hand, consider the impact of the Second World War or the current controversy over Global Warming. Perhaps we should work harder to promote the arts as a vehicle for understanding both nature and ourselves. We might be surprised and even pleased at the outcome.
Posted on 3/22/2012 4:42:43 PM
By Donald Fox
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"The Tub" by Edgar Degas
My sister lives in Boston, actually just outside Boston, but she works in the city and plays there often. One of her favorite places to play is the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. Frequently I’ll receive some magnificent catalog in the mail that she and her husband have sent from an exhibition they had just seen. Day before yesterday she sent me a catalog of the show, Degas and The Nude, a comprehensive look at Degas’ treatment of the nude figure throughout his entire artistic career. Of course the wealth of reproductions is most welcome. It includes all the best known drawings and paintings of nudes Degas executed plus a wealth of re-worked monotypes where the painter either painted over or drew on them with chalk. A very interesting interview with the late Lucien Freud prefaces the text. Freud emphasizes Degas’ influence on artists of his own time and many artists working today.
During his lifetime Degas was highly regarded for his draftsmanship. The two biggest influences on his development were J.A.D. Ingres and Eugene Delacroix although Degas’ work as a painter or draftsman shows little direct influence of either. His paintings are sometimes restrained but not nearly to the degree of Ingres with his highly polished classicism. There is a sense of energy in Degas’ paintings of horses, dancers, and in some of the nudes but nowhere near that of Delacroix with his romantic flair for energetic exuberance. Yet underneath the dense chalk pastels or the heavy black lines of many drawings and monotypes, there are precision and thoughtfulness and energy that relate to the work of both painters.
One pastel work in particular that I find myself drawn to is The Tub (pictured above) from the mid-1880s. Like many of Degas’ works from roughly 1875 forward, this piece is an intriguing combination of sharply observed realism and carefully contrived abstraction. It is in this work that we can see elements that show up later in artists like Picasso, Matisse, Braque, and Lucien Freud. A full two-thirds of the composition is taken up by the crouching figure of a woman taking a sponge bath in a waterless tub. The far right third is an extreme view of a table top on which is perched two pitchers, a hairbrush, shears, and what may be shorn hair. Like many of Degas’ nude pictures, the mystery is unexplained. Who is the woman? Where is she exactly? What are the circumstances? Who is viewing this intimate scene from such close proximity?
The composition is literally divided into thirds by the woman’s left arm that is stabilizing her body in the tub and the edge of the table to the right. The viewpoint is as though one were standing right up against the table edge and looking down. Oddly, though, the hairbrush and shears are the only parts that are drawn in proper perspective. The two pitchers are seen from a slightly lower angle, the larger white one in particular creating curvilinear counterpoint to the curves of the woman’s body. She faces to the left, and the pitcher faces to the right and is partially cut off by the edge of the frame. Ochre-ish yellow is echoed in the design on the white pitcher, the hairbrush, part of the floor, and the sponge. Reddish-orange colors the woman’s hair, what may be the shorn hair on the table, and the small pitcher. As is characteristic of a Degas chalk drawing, portions of the woman’s figure and the two pitchers are reinforced by dark lines while other edges are faint or lost. The handle of the hairbrush acts almost like a spline holding the severe angular table shape to the round tub near the bottom of the picture. The handle of the small pitcher does the same thing at the top of the design where it overlaps the table and the floor. Without either of these shapes, the right third would not fit the design at all. As a study of angles and curves, this composition was well ahead of its time. Even today the extremes at play here would be difficult for an artist to pull off successfully.
Degas continues to challenge us and educate us with his subjects, points of view, and consummate skills. How fortunate we are to have such a great teacher.
Posted on 3/21/2012 5:52:30 PM
By Donald Fox
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On the Fence
I killed a bird today. I’m not a hunter, nor do I aspire to be. I suppose it was a mercy killing, a case of animal euthanasia. The situation is one that many cat owners will have to face at least one time in their lives unless, perhaps, their cats are strictly indoor ones. Mine are not. In fact, five of them are semi-feral and have been adopted – neutered and spayed – and given a loving home rather than left to fend for themselves. If they were doing so, they would face serious injury or death on a regular basis, or they would be killing many birds and small animals to survive.
Two of the cats, a year-and-a-half old male and a six-month old female, were playing with a small bird, a wren. At first I thought they had one of the rag toys we’ve given them. As I was leaving for work, however, I noticed the ‘toy’ erratically hopping. That was when I discovered the badly injured bird. Wild-eyed, it was bleeding from the throat and gasping for breath. It was pretty clear its throat was damaged and it also probably had a pneumothorax, a collapsed lung. One leg and both wings were broken. My wife suggested I put it in a tree, but I knew it wouldn’t stay there, and what’s to stop the cats from climbing after it? Also, it would suffer a prolonged and painful death even if it weren’t attacked again by the cats. To avoid this I decided to drown it in a pail of water.
I don’t fancy playing god. I prefer to think that I was being a compassionate human and doing the right thing to put the bird out of its misery. I talked to it, soothed it as best I could, and then held it gently but firmly under the water. I literally felt its transition from life to death in the palm of my hand. I did not feel much better knowing that its suffering had ended.
For much of my life I have been a friend to cats, and many of them have been my companions. I have fed them, groomed them, rescued them, protected them, and nursed them back to health when sick or injured. They have been great companions, and some have been particularly special friends. There have been a few that have been so ill it became necessary to euthanize them. A vet has done this, but I’ve always been with them and either held them or petted them as they made the transition. Two in particular purred contentedly in my lap as the vet administered the deadly dose. It is difficult for me to see any creature die, more so to watch a friend transition. These animals mean a lot to me even after many years of separation. I visit them frequently in my thoughts and dreams.
I do not begrudge cats their predatory nature. I would not try to punish them for expressing that although I would interfere and have intervened as I did today. Unfortunately, the little bird was too far gone to rescue. I have seen cats do extraordinary things while in hunting mode. The male cat today, Obi, I once saw leap four feet off the ground and snatch a flying bird from mid-air. He immediately ran away with his prize when he saw me coming towards him. He is a semi-feral cat who is slowly being domesticated, but I doubt that some behavioral traits will ever be amended. Cats simply do what they are designed to do, and sometimes they do it in ways that we find wonderfully quirky and endearing but also other ways can be disturbing or even disgusting on occasion.
Artists are at choice as well as creatures of habit and intuition. We metaphorically hunt for that which best expresses our experience of and sensitivity to the world in which we live. We sometimes make choices in the moment that can seem like life or death decisions (the success of failure of the artwork). We even hone our skills in playful ways by sketching, researching, and imagining ‘what if’ scenarios. Although what we do at one level can be thought of as being done for survival, we create in ways that nurture at much deeper levels of sustenance: philosophical, meaningful, and spiritual. I like to think that art is as much a natural response to being and aliveness as that of any other creature that fulfills whatever its role is in the greater whole of life on this planet.
Posted on 3/20/2012 3:47:14 PM
By Donald Fox
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In the Park
Today is the first day of spring although in Houston it has felt very much like spring for several months. Winters here are relatively mild, but lately we’ve had quite warm ones that even to us feel unseasonable. This day, though, the spring-like experience was disrupted by a band of severe thunderstorms that blew through this morning over a two-hour period. West of us there were tornadoes. We had heavy rain and strong wind gusts. Weather like this distracts from the eventful date when night and day are of nearly equal length, the vernal equinox. More interesting to me is that for people living equidistant above and below the equator, the length of night is exactly the same. Galactically this is the result of the earth’s axis being aligned with the center of the sun, but in our hectic pace of living we’re likely to overlook such a balance in nature unless we are reminded by the calendar or the weatherman.
Balance, of course, is a good thing. I used to marvel as a kid at tightrope walkers when we’d go to the circus. How one could walk a rope or cable and even do tricks like backflips or headstands thrilled me no end. The Great Wallendas were among my heroes, more so perhaps because of the tragedies they endured. I also remember reading about the young Frenchman, Phillipe Petit, who strung a cable between the towers of the World Trade Center when it was still under construction and then spent almost an hour walking across that gigantic space (nearly a quarter mile high). Some years later a documentary about that famous exploit was aired on public television. It won an Academy Award for Best Documentary in 2008. Not all balancing acts, though, are life and death situations. Still, we are encouraged to keep things in balance in our lives for health and happiness.
Balance in art is of a different kind. Symmetrical balance that a tightrope walker would need is not effective in artwork unless one is throwing a pot on a wheel. Most art utilizes asymmetrical balance where a small component may effectively counterbalance a large one if it is well placed within a given space. Designers, architects, painters, and sculptors all utilize this concept to make a design dynamic and feel right to the viewer or user. When balance is lacking or unresolved, the work is perceived as awkward or unfinished. A viewer can actually feel off balance when viewing a painting that has not been resolved effectively. If, as the painter, you’re not sure whether a painting is properly balanced, turn it upside down and observe whether it feels properly organized as an arrangement of shapes. Most balance problems can easily be resolved in this way. Sometimes changing a color, enhancing a shape, adding a light or dark accent is all that may be needed. Whatever the case, always check the balance so that the viewer isn’t put off by the design.
Posted on 3/19/2012 3:25:22 PM
By Donald Fox
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The Blue Road
It’s hard to imagine what my understanding and experience of art would be like were it not for museums. Certainly art books with their fine reproductions, art classes with good projected slides, and art reproduction posters have, in the days before the internet, given me a strong background in varieties of images from rock paintings to sacred temples to paintings by the masters. It has been museums, though, that have solidified my understanding of some of the greatest images that have been created in the history of art. You simply cannot know a painting from a reproduction no matter how finely focused the details and carefully balanced the color. Museums provide the opportunity to see what many of us would never see first hand.
I have been fortunate to visit many of the world’s greatest museums, and many others that I haven’t been to I have seen some of their masterworks while on loan to other museums. There is absolutely no substitute for seeing a work of art up close and personal, being able to study it, grasp its scale, delight in its texture, note the subtleties of surface, and understand something of the artist’s touch. I can easily remember my surprise at how small seemed the first Vermeer painting I saw in Washington’s National Gallery, or wandering with inspired fervor through room after room of Van Gogh paintings at the Guggenheim in New York. I was stunned by the vast hall of Rembrandt paintings in Russia’s Hermitage Museum and thrilled with the decadent modernist paintings acquired by the wealthy Sergei Shchuckin that had been appropriated by the state and hidden away for years in upstairs galleries: they were too revolutionary for the children of the revolution. The major museums of Atlanta, New York, Washington, Chicago, Houston, Dallas, New Orleans, San Francisco, Los Angeles, St. Louis, and other American cities have contributed enormously to my experience of American and European art along with Asian, African, South American, and Polynesian cultural expression.
Since moving to Houston in 1977, I have been a member of the Museum of Fine Arts and privileged to have many of the world’s artistic treasures visit me there. I’ve traveled to Dallas and Fort Worth often to see additional work that didn’t make it to Houston: Boucher, Fragonard, Remington, Russell, Bonnard, Monet, Picasso, Gauguin, Eakins; the list could go on and on. My gratitude to these public institutions and generously open private collections is boundless.
In recent years, maybe for some time now, museums have been dealing with challenges that in some ways are reshaping what they are and how they respond to the public trust with which they are charged. An online article in The New Criterion by James Panero addresses some of these issues – financial challenges, public engagement, long term viability, focus on the public or on the artwork – and also places them in historical perspective. Here is the link to the article, which is too lengthy to adequately discuss here. If you live near a museum, by all means support it with every opportunity.
http://www.newcriterion.com/articles.cfm/Future-tense--VII--What-s-a-museum--7298
Posted on 3/18/2012 4:55:41 PM
By Donald Fox
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We tend to think of many things as fixed and immutable. Other things are dynamic by nature and given to change. The change can be regular like the course of a day or erratic like weather patterns. Whether fixed or dynamic, these phenomena are often best understood by measurement. We note that days are longer or shorter depending on where they are within the annual cycle. Builders carefully measure angles and lengths or widths so that buildings are properly and soundly constructed. We understand much of our world by measuring distance, temperature, density, atmosphere, height or depth, and many other observations. In short, we measure all those things that impact us directly and many things that impact us indirectly.
Painters also make many measurements in order to create paintings. Choice of the size and format of the painting surface can affect the composition and possible outcome. Should it be vertical, horizontal, square, round, or some unusual shape? Paintings done on classical Greek pottery are wonderfully fit to the round and tapered surface of the particular vase. The pictorial design fits the volumetric design of the object. A vertical landscape subject has a very different feel from a horizontal one. Psychological response may also be part of the painter’s concern.
Many painterly measurements are made through comparisons. Something is nearer or farther away. One object is taller or shorter than another. Colors are brighter or duller, warmer or cooler, lighter or darker than other colors. It would seem, in fact, that these things are obvious and readily observable. In one sense that is true, but on a basic level we learn to discern these differences at an early age in order to make sense of our world. We learn to recognize people and objects. We incorporate this ability at an unconscious level so that we can respond without thinking. We become able to function in the world without crashing into things while maintaining conscious awareness on other priorities.
Painters must bring awareness to the elements utilized to make paintings. When painting a bottle, it is less important what kind of bottle it is than its color, relative size, and specific shape. Also important is its relationship to other objects and the surrounding space. Consideration of these factors is quite different from the casual appreciation of the bottle as a specific container of some particular substance. In a similar way that understanding figure-ground reversal is important for creating an image on a flat surface, so is understanding design elements (and perceiving them) for the artist more important than the functional elements that the ordinary viewer would see.
Painting is a special way of seeing and measuring that occurs on several levels at once. It may be a gift to the artist, but it is one that must be cultivated and utilized. The artist is able to express his or her vision, and the viewer gets to appreciate the result.
Posted on 3/17/2012 9:43:56 PM
By Donald Fox
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Blue Cactus
Being an artist is at some level a choice that one makes. Without debating the finer points of distinguishing between an artist and a craftsman, I’d suggest that being an artist is also a state of mind. I have heard many say that they didn’t choose art; art chose them. Personally, I wouldn’t anthropomorphize something like art, but I do somewhat understand what the speakers are suggesting. Some force, perhaps emanating from deep within rather than externally, motivates them, maybe even compels them to express their experience of the world in creative gestures.
The noted psychologist Abraham Maslow theorized about one becoming a fully realized and mature human being. He suggested several stages in the process whereby one becomes self-actualized. This person lives life by doing that which he or she can’t not do. External forces do not make this happen although it’s possible circumstance may hasten the process. The motivation, the choices, and the actions all come from within. The self-actualized person may do anything for which there is passion and desire.
Should you be an artist, I feel sure that you are as grateful as I am that you feel compelled, inspired, motivated, directed, chosen – whatever verb or verbs you might use to express it – to do that thing that you can’t not do. In short, you create art.
Posted on 3/16/2012 7:54:13 PM
By Donald Fox
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Downstream
Today I attended a teambuilding gathering for employees of the school where I work during the week. This event was recreational with the idea that the team, as we’re referred to by management, that plays hard and works hard together is a more effective team. We had reserved private lanes in a bowling alley for an afternoon of bowling, eating, and camaraderie. Never mind that I haven’t been bowling since Saturday morning league games when I was in high school in the middle 60s. Fortunately, somewhat like bicycle riding, bowling is something that you don’t really forget how to do; it’s just that skill levels drop off dramatically after fifty years.
Not having been in a bowling alley for these many years, I was quite shocked to be blasted by rap music upon walking in the door. The lighting was quite low, almost like being in a bar. Even more surprising was that at the end of each lane directly above the pins, were adjacent big screen televisions with the same MTV-style videos illustrating the music in a seemingly endless line, much like a hall of mirrors. This wasn’t exactly bowling on steroids, but it was like bowling in a disco club. Obviously, Friday evening is not league night. I suppose the jazzed-up atmosphere is to encourage casual bowlers to buy more drinks, or maybe bowl more games to make up for the ones blown by the distractions.
Overall the event was fun, and it may actually stimulate my long dormant interest in bowling. What was most noticeable, though, is that there is much in our culture by way of distractions. Stores of all sorts play background music. From grocery stores to department stores, fast food and regular restaurants, even some hardware stores utilize blaring music supposedly for the purpose of making the shopping experience more pleasurable. Some restaurants, though, like the bowling alley, play music so loudly that it becomes difficult to carry on a conversation with friends. Add the visual elements, and it’s likely the common result is a splitting headache.
To do something well, it is important to focus on the task at hand. Some people say that they can multitask, but studies have shown that productivity and accuracy are impaired by interference from background stimulation, what is often referred to as white noise. As the decibels rise, the productivity levels fall. If someone is intent on bowling, as many of us were today, it becomes necessary to tune out as much of the distraction as possible. Professional athletes who perform in large arenas and before noisy crowds have to be able to do this. They must concentrate on their teammates and the game at hand. This takes a lot of practice and focus. Drivers should be concentrating on the road, traffic, and visibility rather than talking on a cell phone or texting. I’m sure we could think of other common examples.
For artists to work well, they learn to control distractions as best as possible much like athletes. The studio is arranged with the most effective lighting and use of space. All the necessary materials are at hand. Soft background music may set a creative mood, but it isn’t likely that loud, raucous music will be heard in many studios. Other daily distractions – kids, family, pets, nosy neighbors, solicitors, whatever – must be controlled or eliminated. If this requires strict scheduling; then do what is necessary. Artists know what to do, and what works best for them. Maybe it’s up to us to help inject some common sense back into our over stimulated culture.
Posted on 3/15/2012 4:05:58 PM
By Donald Fox
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Metro Stop
Anyone reviewing primary and secondary teaching literature will find a fair amount of emphasis on multiculturalism. Reading texts in particular are far more inclusive these days: Hispanic, Asian, Middle-eastern, and African authors and stories rooted in these traditions are easily found. The attempt, of course, is to acknowledge diversity, and to encourage students to think beyond their own cultural boundaries.
If one studies the history of a particular country, there will be a point where external influences on that country are discovered. Very few cultures, except for small isolated ones, are without influence from others. People tend to move for trade, wealth, war, or in response to cataclysmic events. Movement is bound to create contact with others and subsequent influence.
The study of prehistoric periods pre-dates nation states, but cultures were small and spread, if at all, very slowly. There was no xenophobia, per se, just mistrust of those aggressive or warlike. It wasn’t until more sophisticated civilization developed that the real culture wars emerged. Even then, certain leaders showed the very real benefits of cooperation.
What I remember from art history and art appreciation courses is that the earliest art was more universal. The small, carved Venus figures, for example (Venus of Willendorf and others), were found spread across Europe and shared many characteristics: obviously feminine, large breasts, accentuated hips suggesting fertility and possible use in creation rituals. Cave paintings and rock paintings also tend to show similar characteristics even though the makers would never have encountered each other because of the vast distances separating them. Anthropologists believe that the creative urge was, and is, a universal trait – one that would unify rather than divide.
With the rise of the great civilizations, something else begins to happen. In many cases, the will to power dominates, and the stronger vanquishes the weaker. The desire to impose values and ideas is great. Even so, there is cross-fertilization, so to speak. Influence tends to move both directions, willfully and unwillingly. The idea of power also leads to persecution and xenophobic fears.
There is much irony in the history of art. The great civilizations created magnificent monuments that far outlasted the cultures themselves. In some cases, nothing is known about the makers of the mysterious artifacts. We can only speculate on the how and why of their construction. The artistic expression was often at the expense of the weak: slave labor, the poor, the disenfranchised, and the uneducated. Even the idea of civilization – communities built on cooperative effort – often had built-in inequalities where everyone did not share in all of the benefits. The concepts of truth and beauty, two major contributions of artistic achievement, were not always manifest in the creative work. For example, there is epic literature that deals with characters’ propensity for sowing death and destruction or that chronicles the decline of characters who cannot overcome fatal flaws.
If we consider that art’s influence is to create cultivated individuals, those who are educated, sensitive, open-minded, curious, understanding, and temperate, then art has and should have a place in any society. If, however, art is used as it sometimes was in the past, for the gain of the few at the expense of the many, then art is simply a tool of the oppressor, and it is propagandistic at best.
Posted on 3/14/2012 8:42:21 PM
By Donald Fox
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City Glass
A recent article (Feb 21, 2012) found on Inc. Magazine’s webpage focused on eight qualities of remarkable employees. The author, Jeff Haden, is a writer who also works in the manufacturing industry. Geared to employees in corporate and business settings, the article suggests traits that separate remarkable employees from good ones. With a bit of adaptation, I thought the ideas could easily apply to artists, especially when they put on their business hats.
- “They ignore job descriptions.” This is about thinking in the moment and doing whatever is necessary to get the job done. How can the customer, client, or patron best be served?
- “They’re eccentric.” Artists, in clichéd terms, are already seen as eccentric, but this is about being different in a good and productive way. Certainly artists who are passionate about their work can convey that to others. This is also about seeing things from a unique perspective and empowering others to do the same. Isn’t that what we try to do with our artwork?
- “But they know when to dial it back.” Unless you’re politically motivated, you wouldn’t want your work, your presentation, or your actions to provoke or alienate someone, especially a potential buyer. Mature artists understand appropriateness. You don’t wear sandals to a business meeting or gallery presentation.
- “They publicly praise.” What artist doesn’t like to be praised? Why not praise prospective buyers when they ask questions, make comments, or show interest in particular pieces? Acknowledge someone for the way he/she is dressed or for style of hair. This is good common sense rapport building.
- “And they privately complain.” This is about speaking with an employer in private on sensitive matters rather than in public meetings. At first this might not seem to apply to artists, but never bring up a sensitive or controversial issue with a customer. Should a customer raise such an issue in conversation, tactfully redirect to the artwork. The game most of us know as “Ain’t It Awful” doesn’t have any winners. It tends to spiral into increasing negativity.
- “They speak when others won’t.” In meetings some people never talk, even when they may have questions. The perceptive artist will listen carefully to customers and try to hear underlying questions they may avoid asking or not know how to ask. The artist can always ask questions first. Jack White has often said to ask people about themselves. Get them talking, and then direct them to the art.
- “They like to prove others wrong.” This is not about making people wrong or confronting them in any negative way. This is about showing what you can do and who you really are. In essence, you’re presenting yourself as a successful professional. You’re not the stereotypical starving artist. You’re a highly creative, perceptive, and intelligent person who loves to share the work you do. Be that.
- “They’re always fiddling.” The Total Quality Management process that many Fortune 500 companies utilize has an underlying catch-phrase: ‘continuous, never-ending improvement.’ Remarkable employees are continually looking for ways to make things better. Artists strive to improve their work, hone their skills, streamline their working methods, and find ways to expand their creative output.
As I read the article, I simply jotted notes that I thought pertained to artists generally. I’m curious to know how others might respond to these ideas.
The original article can be found here:
http://www.inc.com/jeff-haden/the-8-qualities-of-remarkable-employees.html
Posted on 3/13/2012 3:57:25 PM
By Donald Fox
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Rocks Mid-stream
Massive in more ways than one, the central stone that will make up the giant sculpture titled Levitated Mass by Michael Heizer has come to rest at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art after an 11-day journey that spanned 105 miles and 22 cities. The 340 ton piece of solid granite when installed will be elevated (levitated) about fifteen feet so that visitors can walk under part of it – safely, according to museum officials. Although, how safe is anything in California, sitting as it does above the San Andreas Fault? The media attention in this age of social media was, as expected, massive in its own right. People came out at all hours to watch the painfully slow trek of the shrink-wrapped stone lovingly cradled beneath a gargantuan two-hundred foot long specially built carrier on 176 wheels.
Many have questioned the purpose and sense of such a project especially in light of its $10 million price tag. Inevitable questions have also been raised about spending the money on more worthwhile projects: housing, healthcare, food. Firstly, the funds were private, not public, and not at all unusual for a museum to spend on acquiring art. Tens of millions are often spent on a single artwork. In 2011 Paul Cezanne’s The Card Players was acquired by the Royal family of Qatar for $250 million. Secondly, the cost of Levitated Mass mostly has gone towards quarrying the stone, funding the transport, permits from 22 cities through which it passed, thousands of workers who assisted with various phases of the project, engineering for the site, and an undisclosed amount to the artist. The artwork will give back to the public for as long as there is a public to see it. But, is it art?
History is filled with monumentally scaled artwork of questionable value. What, for example is the Sphinx worth? Or any one of the great pyramids? These were monumental construction projects in their own time. When completed, they were available for all to see, but they were intended for a relative few. The slave labor surely didn’t benefit except to stay alive while working. Levitated Mass is intended for anyone and everyone. Part of its purpose, then, is to be a public piece of art, impressive in scale and concept. It invites questioning and contemplation, which the best art always does. The process involved also makes reference to the challenge of moving such a massive stone to a specific location, much as ancient monument builders were challenged with their constructions. Being elevated, there is built in irony and perhaps a touch of whimsy to a 340 ton rock hanging in the air. A somewhat unexpected result is the media attention, and the many people who have been powerfully affected before the work is even complete.
More often than not art does challenge our expectations and leads us to see in a different way. Perhaps it even jolts us out of our ordinary mindset. The sculpture will remain as a monument to our quest for achievement. And then, unheralded, there is the massive hole from which this gargantuan sculpture was quarried that remains for the moment unfilled and unfulfilling.
From the Los Angeles County Times, an article and brief video of the unique transport:
Posted on 3/12/2012 5:46:27 PM
By Donald Fox
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Bellfort Evening
A while ago I did a series of blogs on “Why I love art.” Since I am primarily a painter, when I think about art I’m thinking in painterly terms. Mostly, though, I think that art has no limits. Art can be anything, come from anything, and end up going anywhere. I’m not simply referencing the Dadaist idea of the artist self-proclaiming – if I say it’s art, then it’s art. This concept has led to a fragmentation of the art world and all sorts of schisms, cliques, pretenders, hoodwinkers, and outright charlatans. For example, given the strong hold of commercialism – why does one do art except to make money – all those who make money at whatever in order to make art are relegated to the status of amateurs, hobbyists, or failures. I like to think of art as inclusive rather than exclusive.
Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that artistic expression is about something other than commerce. Certain purists, typically abstractionists, might claim that art is about nothing other than art. It should not represent things outside of itself. It is only about the artist and his/her struggle with the concept of art. The medium may change, but the underlying expression is the rarefied, perhaps spiritual, process of creation itself. The artwork is simply the ghost image of that process. To appreciate the art, the viewer must somehow enter that artist’s experience via whatever clues are manifest in the work. The viewer’s re-creation of that experience thus simulates the original process of creation, and the viewer ‘gets’ what the artist intended.
Classical theater as envisioned by the early Greeks includes the catharsis where the audience via its proxy, the character, reaches some sort of emotional crisis or realization that leads to resolution. Even contemporary drama follows this formula as does most literature. Painting, too, embodies the idea at some level although it typically isn’t referenced in criticism. I suppose one could think of art from this perspective as a kind of game or puzzle. Identifying the key that unlocks the riddle and leads to solution – how one comes to understand the visual work – could be comparable to what is experienced in theater.
If, however, one tends to focus on a single mode of expression as being the way art is or should be, certainly heard within many artistic camps, then one is editing out vast possibilities of experience, potentially rewarding experience at that. I grow impatient sometimes with pronouncements made by one faction or another: art is this or that or something else, and can be nothing else. If we were to do that narrowed thinking on a daily basis, we wouldn’t appreciate very much of the wonders of the world. To be a creative person, isn’t it important to be open and sensitive to possibilities? If one begins limiting the possibilities, won’t that also limit the potential responses? Don’t we use art as a means of understanding followed by communication of that understanding to our audience?
An artist may develop a particular style or master a particular medium. This is the avenue for the expression to come through. As the artist delves deeper into the medium or style, he or she should also be developing a deeper understanding of the process itself thereby increasing sensitivity to nuance and choice. In my experience, this makes one more perceptive with respect to other forms of expression. Mastering the violin requires mastery of music, which in turn makes one more aware of musical styles that may be different from one’s own choices. Appreciation can grow rather than narrow. This is where, in my opinion, art has one of its greatest impacts.
Posted on 3/11/2012 4:51:48 PM
By Donald Fox
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On the Fence
Back in the 60s a number of social movements were underway. The Civil Rights Act was passed in 1964, but years preceding that the struggle for racial equality had been waged throughout the South. Vietnam was an unpopular and divisive war that was rooted in inequality for young men, both racially and economically. College students had deferments from the draft as long as they maintained adequate grades and remained in school. The burden of military service tended to fall on the poor and the less well educated.
During this time also was the birth of the environmental movement. Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring (1962) brought awareness of the dangers of DDT and hazardous pollution. Many turned their attention to information about nature’s cooperative workings, and the study of ecosystems became an expanded branch of science. The counter-culture movement spread first among the young and then throughout society. The publication of The Whole Earth Catalog had a major impact on environmental awareness and the nascent concept of sustainability in those days before personal computers and the internet. Information spread through different kinds of social networking: publications, television news, radio, college campuses, underground newspapers, and face to face contact.
The Whole Earth Catalog introduced the ideas of Buckminster Fuller, Noam Chomsky, and other social and science writers interested in Gaia, the Earth Mother. The Human Potential movement was born, and increasingly scholars and social thinkers looked at larger systems and their components – microcosm and macrocosm became frequently used terms.
Philosophers and artists noticed and utilized basic forms upon which our world and universe are built. The spiral, for example, prevalent in nature and found in many ancient designs, had been mathematically considered by ancient Greek thinkers in their concept of the Golden Mean. A rectangle proportionally divided produces a spiraling set of smaller rectangles contained within the larger. Much later, botanists noted the spiraling growth of all manner of plants around a central axis from seedling to mature structure. A weed, a tomato plant, and a towering sequoia tree all followed similar spiral development. Biologists observed growth patterns of animal horns and other body structures, and eventually discovered the double helix structure of our own DNA. Whirlpools, cyclones, hurricanes, tornados, and even larger weather patterns follow spiraling energetic movement. Astronomers observed the spiraling arms of galaxy after galaxy including our own galaxy, the Milky Way. Again, from microcosm to macrocosm, a collective sense of unity appeared built into the very core of life.
Poet William Butler Yeats in the early 20th century developed an arcane philosophy centered around what he called gyres and cones. He applied this to historical movement in time, essentially a spiraling upward momentum that intersects with another spiraling movement, and ultimately an infinite number of spiraling movements that energetically represent individual expressions in a continuum of life. The Chinese concept of Yin and Yang expresses a similar idea of energetic movement between opposing yet symbiotic forces. Yeats has basically taken artistic inclination for imagistic and symbolic thinking into a complex explanation, or attempted explanation, of creative energy. Not all artists will philosophize in such a way, but they do make use of their affinity for images and symbols. That most of these symbols are found in nature should not be surprising when we consider that we are nature expressing itself through imaginative thought and action.
Posted on 3/10/2012 10:49:40 PM
By Donald Fox
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Still Life with Fruit, Walnuts, and Insects - Willem van Aelst
Last night my wife and I had the privilege of attending the opening of an exhibit of paintings by the Dutch Golden Age still life painter Willem van Aelst. Entitled “Elegance and Refinement: The Still-Life Paintings of Willem van Aelst,” the show contains about fifty of this Delft-born but well-traveled Dutch artist who was one of the most successful painters of his generation. On different occasions he lived abroad in Italy and in France before returning to Amsterdam where he lived the rest of his life.
17th Century Dutch painting is recognized and known for a style of painting that is crisp, clean, highly polished, and very refined. Some of the greatest painters of all time, notably Rembrandt and Vermeer, worked in this period along with many lesser known but always adept painters. Dutch painting of this period is also represented by both large and small scale painting, but it is the small scale painting made to appeal to a growing middle class that has influenced thousands of artists since that time. Prevalent subjects were portraits, both individual and group, still-lifes, interiors, landscapes, and seascapes. Willem van Aelst was a still-life painter who focused on paintings of flowers and paintings of game (spoils of the hunt).
What is most striking about the paintings at first sight is the richness of color along with exquisite detail. The painter’s carefully refined technique practically invites viewers to count the hairs on a rabbit or the striations of a feather. Notes on the exhibit refer to the slow, painstaking painting process that the artist would not allow even the most ardent and impatient collector to hurry. The result often is a hyper-realism that puts later trompe l’oeuil painters in a position of envy. Personally, I don’t care as much for the meticulousness of this kind of painting when compared to more impressionistic renderings. However, I do admire the consistency of result, the craftsmanship, and the sparkling quality of the paintings on view.
The flower paintings in particular stood out for me, and among those several that contained irises were especially remarkable. The subtle tones of clear blues and purples from lighted to shaded areas totally pulled me into the pictures. It is in these subtle areas that I feel the paintings succeed best, but these areas can be missed because of the crisp edges of many of the flower shapes, which against a dark ground boldly stand out. I later learned that van Aelst had been a teacher of Rachel Ruysch, one of the few well-known women painters of this period who also became a master painter of flowers.
One lesson among many worth pondering from these works is that van Aelst painted for a specific audience. His carefully developed technique, which emphasized clarity of image, and his choice of the finest materials, often expensive pigments like ultramarine, made his paintings desired by the top collectors. He would never sacrifice quality for quantity nor would he rush his work. His patrons knew that he would supply the highest quality work, and they were drawn to him for that reason. Likewise, he understood what his patrons wanted, and he gave that to them. The exhibit is on view at the Museum of Fine Arts Houston until May 28, 2012.
Posted on 3/9/2012 9:25:20 PM
By Donald Fox
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At Tuolumne
If someone feels inspired to become a doctor or a lawyer, what is needed is a certain level of intellect, the desire, and specific numbers of years of schooling. Then, the person must pass tests, and, in the case of doctors, spend an amount of time in a form of apprenticeship – internship, residency, and so on. Dentists, like doctors, spend many years in undergraduate school before going on to Dental School. Nurses generally attend nursing school of some kind before becoming credentialed. Public school teachers in most states have to become certified to teach. These professionals additionally will acquire specific skills along with their education.
In various trades, there may also be specialty schools or either official or unofficial apprenticeships through which the future tradesman can hone his or her craft. Eventually the candidate meets requirements or passes exams that lead to a title of Master Electrician, Master Plumber, or whatever. Pilots must acquire a pilot’s license and accumulate specific numbers of hours of solo flight time. Commercial pilots must be certified to fly specific aircraft. Policemen, firemen, many state and city employees must be certified before working in their respective areas.
Writers, musicians, artists, and others involved in the creative arts may follow traditional educational routes by obtaining undergraduate and Master’s degrees. Anyone, though, who feels creative inspiration, may choose to become an artist. No special training or certification is required. Anyone at any time could choose to call himself an artist, and who’s to deny that person the title?
Of course, those who do creative work know that to do it consistently well requires commitment and continual practice. For some this will mean attending workshops with professionals, submitting work for critique whenever possible, joining organizations, finding a mentor, or creating a support group. The opportunities are many and varied depending on the size of the local community. Feedback is abundantly available, sometimes from the closest and most unexpected sources. Everyone, it seems, has an opinion about art and often is unhesitant to give it.
Also, unlike many areas where strict guidelines control quality and effectiveness, the arts are more open and sometimes forgiving. With more subjective than objective criteria, response to the arts has a tendency to fluctuate, occasionally wildly, in various directions. An artist who is admired today my not be so well received tomorrow. Though opinions may certainly vary widely, there is general agreement that the test of time is the best arbiter of artistic taste. The work that endures through time often is the work the greatest number of people consider to be the best. Then again, superlatives in the arts may not lead to work that is personally appealing. For this reason, artists are often advised to develop a thick skin, and, if they truly believe in what they are doing, stick with it no matter what. Conviction may lead to success. Conviction, though, may also not be far from delusion, for the artist or the audience. An old friend of mine years ago wisely said, “Art’s a tough racket.” This statement rings true on many levels.
Posted on 3/8/2012 6:06:50 PM
By Donald Fox
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Cook's Meadow
Today’s post has developed from a response to Jack White’s article in yesterday’s Fine Art Views titled “Hungry Wolves.” I’m writing here not to be argumentative but to address a couple of thoughts. Some think Jack’s post is just about artists while using wolf characteristics as examples. This is mostly true – good examples, by the way – but there’s also an element of controversy as Jack himself said. People do tend to take one side or another on issues related to wolves, wildlife management, and other environmental issues as they do on political issues, economic issues, and creative issues. The controversy may also say something about why artists don’t always act cooperatively, at least in my opinion.
Wolves are wild animals. Humans have a tendency to personify things, inanimate and animate. We also tend not to think of ourselves as animals, but we are. We are domesticated animals with self-awareness. In stressful situations, our animal nature comes to the fore. Soldiers will kill children and rape women while thinking they are justified in doing so. They will say it is war and call it collateral damage. Some may even think of this as sport. People in mobs will commit barbarous acts that otherwise they would not do. Sometimes people feel remorse for their actions and attempt to make amends.
Wolves and other pack animals may sometimes kill rampantly and seemingly for no reason. Sharks in a feeding frenzy will sometimes attack each other. No one would call what sharks do sport. Yet, the actions of wolves in certain situations are described in human terms, and they are accused of killing for sport. This is projection.
Many misunderstandings are bred by language usage that gives different meanings to the same expression. One immediately assumes the other is wrong when there may simply be misinterpretation of terminology. Look at how quickly people come to blows over religious ideas. This happens in spite of practically every religion having peace and love as central tenets of the faith.
I think that artists often come from a position of limitation – there are only so many buyers, so many resources available – we’re all competing at the same trough. If I help you, there’s less for me, and other variations on this idea. For there to be true cooperation, there has to be a common goal. A team, for example, has the goal to win. If there isn’t cooperation among the players, the team is dysfunctional and can’t achieve its goal. Michael Jordan was a great player, but he could do nothing without the team. It was the team that won championships, not any one individual, and everyone on the team shared in the victories. The real question for artists if cooperative effort is desired is whether each individual artist is willing to participate as a member of a cooperative group. Egos can be powerful motivators, but they can also be strong blocks to interactive initiatives. How do we get past the ego long enough to allow cooperative effort to realize the success that the ego so strongly desires?
If the actions of wolves are partly intuitive and partly learned behavior, can the ravaging beast that sometimes expresses itself be tempered or controlled? We tend not to think of animals as rational creatures. They act on instinct even when there is the appearance of rational behavior. Soldiers, on the other hand, are rational and are taught discipline and teamwork and still, in extreme conditions, the teamwork can break down. If wolves and caribou have cohabited for thousands of years, how is it that wolves now have suddenly become such a threat to caribou herds? Has human encroachment played a role here? Where do individual concerns and group concerns meet? How we answer these questions will determine the future of wolves, of nature itself, and of humanity. The small part that artists play in the fate of the earth, not just the world of art, may be enhanced through cooperation rather than competition.
Posted on 3/7/2012 7:50:10 PM
By Donald Fox
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Happy Isles
John Muir called the area Happy Isles because he felt it impossible for anyone to walk among the spaces between the bubbling, gurgling streams splashing over and around the abundant rocks and not feel happy. The cold mountain water itself seems playful and full of laughter as it divides into flowing fingers that tickle the edges of tiny islands now connected by footbridges. Dappled sunlight dances among shifting shadows here at the far eastern end of Yosemite Valley.
Spring is the best time to appreciate the full free flow of the snowmelt rushing down out of the high mountain walls. Aptly named Glacier Point is directly above, and close by is the base of Half Dome, one of Yosemite’s most famous landmarks. But surrounded by trees and swiftly running water, it is easy for the entranced visitor to forget the two thousand foot cliffs that nearly box in this small corner of the valley.
From several vantage points, the curious observer can look upstream and see the stair-step of massive boulders and smaller rocks that through the ages, aided by the restless cascade of water, have arranged themselves into a natural sculpture garden. One could almost forget that these gargantuan stones once resided atop those walls that are largely hidden from view in leafy summer. In fact, the entire perimeter of Yosemite Valley is peppered with these silent giants, mute testimony to the powerful vagaries of nature in process. The landscape is indeed ever changing although on a time-scale not concerned with human impatience.
The spring of 1996 I enjoyed one of several visits to this delightful spot on the valley floor. I was visiting artist for a week and took interested visitors to various sites within the valley for watercolor classes. Three times that week we painted at Happy Isles. On two other occasions during the week, my wife and I returned to simply enjoy the space unfettered by the needs of others.
Just after crossing one of the footbridges, I caught a glimpse of a large bird heading upstream behind me. I turned just in time to see its huge shadow pass among the leaves before disappearing. I hurried back to question the lone figure leaning against the bridge railing as he gazed into the mesmerizing water. “Did you see that?” I shouted above the roar of the rapids. “Some kind of big bird,” he said. “Maybe an owl.” It was late in the day, and he could have been right. But my impression was of something larger than an owl.
My mind sorted through images of possible birds that might be in the area as I followed the path in an upstream direction. Every bird I could think of seemed too small. Scanning the trees, I could see only sunlit leaves and branches. The insistent sound of the water off to my right echoed the excitement I felt in my search for this unique creature. Somehow I felt it was calling to me.
I stopped on the path but still could not see any sign of a bird of any kind. I did feel a sense of something, a kind of magnetic pull coming from the stream on the other side of the narrow island. Cautiously, I moved in that direction.
Large and small trees filled the narrow strip of land, about fifty feet wide at that point. I kept glancing up into the trees, but I also had to watch my footing on the uneven ground. Within ten feet of the stream I stopped just a few feet from a large tree. Some ancient wisdom told me to move softly as I took another step to the right of the tree.
Before I could look up again, my eye caught that of the heron who, standing motionless on a rock in the middle of the swift stream, was staring straight at me. It commanded me to be still. Then, ever so slowly, the elegant bird turned its head back to
the stream. For several moments it didn’t move. Abruptly, with one lightening flash of its long neck, it shot its beak into the water and came up with a small fish.
I’m not sure how long we remained in our respective positions. I could observe every detail of its stately posture, the yellow beak, dark circle around the eye, the black atop its head and on its shoulder, the bluish gray body and belly, the unkempt roughness of the feathers on its chest. Finally, the heron spread its wings and, with a few powerful flaps, soared gracefully further upstream. I had seen one or two Great Blue Herons back east, but they were much smaller. This one’s wingspan must have been nearly seven feet. As it stood fully erect on its rocky perch, I judged it to be at least four and a half feet tall.
I followed in the direction of the tip of the island. The heron continued to forage in short hops and eventually moved beyond where I could go. But those moments that it allowed me to observe its private life in a mountain stream have remained as crystal clear as the water that provided it sustenance.
As I left the intimacy of that encounter, it felt ridiculously absurd to walk past the ice cream stand that had been built many years before beneath the towering fir trees close to the first bridge. John Muir would surely have felt the same had he seen such an intrusion. I did not know then the tragic irony of events to occur later that summer.
It was late in the day on July 10 when two massive pieces of rock broke loose high above the valley floor and came crashing 2,400 feet down the mountain wall. A half-mile long path was carved as the two hundred-foot stone monoliths, an estimated 80,000 tons of granite, created a wind blast of 174 mph that tore through hundred-year-old trees, smashed into the ice cream stand, killed a tourist sitting nearby, and injured a dozen others. A huge cloud of dust and debris swirled up that blocked out the sun in this part of the valley. It took more than an hour for the dust to settle. Survivors emerging from the area were coated with fine gray powder, as was much of the valley floor. Happy Isles remained closed for much of the remaining season.
The magic, majesty, and beauty of nature enthrall us and often inspire reverence. Nature invites us to reflect on who we are and where we have come from. She also reminds us through her awesome displays of power that regardless of how expanded our vision of self may be, we are quite small when compared with the breadth of the ancient past, the distance to the nearest star, or the question of where we may be headed in an unpredictable future.
Posted on 3/6/2012 5:07:01 PM
By Donald Fox
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Temple of Hatshepsut
In the history of art, women are often relegated to secondary positions either as creators or subjects. Women frequently were objectified to represent fertility, sexuality, sensuality, or beauty, but it is rare that women took positions of power. Queen Hatshepsut of Ancient Egypt’s 18th Dynasty is an exception. I remember her from art history courses taken back in the 60s before new discoveries upgraded her reign. Most art history texts pictured her mortuary temple that was partially carved into solid rock.
What is now believed, though, is that this daughter of Thutmose I and wife of Thutmose II actually was ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt for over twenty years. She was co-regent with her husband (she being of primary royal blood), and he remained head of the army. After he died, she became co-regent with her nephew, Thutmose III, but she soon declared herself pharaoh, an unusual action for a woman. The vast majority of pharaohs were male since the king was linked to the god Osiris. But, in some of her surviving statues Hatshepsut is depicted in pharaonic regalia including the false beard worn on ceremonial occasions. Her reign established a lengthy period of peace and prosperity for Egypt, and she instituted a building campaign that glorified both herself and Egypt with some of the grandest monuments of ancient times. One of her obelisks remains as the tallest surviving obelisk of the ancient world.
Someone, either her nephew Thutmose III or his son Amenhotep II, made a cursory attempt to eradicate Hatshepsut’s name from history. Many of her monuments were destroyed or buried, her visage and inscriptions were removed from parts of her temple, and she is not found among the traditional lists in the hall of pharaohs. Nevertheless, she had created so many statues of herself that most major museums today have one or more of her stone images in their collections. It is unfortunate that so many details of her reign have been lost since the stories and intrigues would surely make as entertaining reading as tales of another great Egyptian ruler, Cleopatra, or more recent powerful women Catherine the Great or Elizabeth I.
Posted on 3/5/2012 3:48:52 PM
By Donald Fox
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Color is one of, if not the most, attractive factors in painting. There are some people whose instant attraction to painting is its texture, a few may be attracted to shapes, but most viewers are likely enthralled by color. It draws them in or it pushes them away. Certainly one of the biggest complaints I’ve heard from novice painters is that color is so complicated. They initially thought that just mixing a particular green or blue would be easy enough, but then they see that there are many possibilities. Add to that the problem of hitting the right color value or temperature when mixing, and the frustration level quickly rises.
Visit a library or a bookstore and you’ll easily find dozens of books on all aspects of color, from basic color theory to specific color recipes to the physics of color and light. Every painter probably has his or her own system of working with color based either on careful observation followed by experimentation or on structured classes through an art school or perhaps a master painter. What any experienced painter will probably tell you is that learning about color is a lifelong project.
Most art schools save color for advanced design courses. Students will take several semesters of basic design, which deal generally with color, shape, and form in the context of two- and three-dimensional design. Only then do students focus specifically on color courses, which again may cover several semesters. Generally these courses are systematic studies of color characteristics through applied problems and also through generating color charts that illustrate color interaction with regular intervals of change in value, intensity, and temperature. Much of this derived from the work of the German artist Johannes Itten who taught at the Bauhaus during the early to mid-1930s. One of his star students, who also became a Bauhaus instructor before fleeing Nazi Germany for a professorship at Yale, was Joseph Albers. Itten tended to stress emotional response to color and that each person has a particular intuitive color palette expressive of their personality. The fashion color schemes of Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter tones are based on Itten’s work. Albers focused on the visual interaction of colors and clearly demonstrated in his own reductive paintings the contextual effect of colors on each other. Both artists wrote interesting books about color that are readily available. Their studies make interesting reading, and I return to them from time to time.
The basic principles of color are relatively simple to comprehend. The problem is that paints and colored pigments don’t directly relate to the ideal conditions represented by the color wheel and its diagram of analogous and complimentary colors. Paint pigments are always a bit off from basic primaries or secondaries – they are “tainted” colors. Just any red mixed with any blue won’t always create a rich purple. This is where color gets really interesting and a bit challenging. Ultimately one has to learn to see specific color in terms of its properties – what may be tainting it (or tinting it slightly). The painter training his/her eye to see color clearly is not unlike the musician training his/her ear to hear notes clearly. Practice, patience, and persistence will pay off for the dedicated student of color.
Posted on 3/4/2012 7:51:21 PM
By Donald Fox
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Construction
For many generations it was thought that one quality that distinguished humans from animals was the ability to make and use tools. However, the noted chimpanzee researcher, Dr. Jane Goodall (in her pre-PhD days), observed these apes in the wild making use of simple implements like sticks to probe into insect mounds in order to collect termites for a meal. The apes would use found sticks of appropriate length in this tool-like manner. Beyond this, though, she also observed some apes actually break off a thin branch, strip it of its leaves, and then use it to fish for insects. This was definitely a case of fashioning a tool however simple. Further research has shown that chimpanzees have been using tools for over four thousand years.
Prior to this, the only other known early toolmakers were stone-age men who shaped wood and stones into weapons and other implements. Obviously there is a vast developmental process involved to move from wood and stone tools to shaped metal, fabricated metals, and the ultimate in crafted metals for weapons, utensils, and, eventually, machines. By tracing the development of tools, we can see civilization in all parts of the world advancing by leaps and bounds. More advanced tools gave one society advantage over another. Empires rose and fell according to the quality of their tools. Mechanization, industrialization, and modernization (electricity, electronics, computers, and so on) all were and are dependent on increasingly sophisticated tools.
Today we are so used to computers it is a bit sobering to consider that humans made it to the moon and back before we had desktop computers, let alone laptops, I-phones, and MP3 players. What has proven true, though, at every stage of evolutionary tool making is that the right tool makes a job easier and its outcome more assured. Ask any carpenter or plumber or car mechanic and he or she will tell you that the right tool is necessary to do the job well and in many cases to do the job at all.
There would be no Chinese brush painting or calligraphy as we know them without the confluence of brush, paper, and ink. Each is a tool, and each is also dependent on specific tools to make those painting tools so that they function harmoniously together. The history of Western painting is also the history of the tools that have enabled artists to develop the craft from cave paintings to painting on animal skins to papyrus, parchment, paper, wood, canvas, and other substrates. A peek into the history of these tools and the art which they made possible is a journey that any artist would find fascinating, and perhaps a bit humbling. It would certainly be impossible to master any craft without first mastering its tools.
Posted on 3/3/2012 7:56:20 PM
By Donald Fox
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Boot n Shoe
Sculpture in the traditional sense is addressing the relationship between solids and voids. In the 20th century some sculptors began exploring sculpture as process, which shifted concerns from individual forms within a single unit or units in relation to other units to considerations of objects within a space changing over time. Some pieces literally grew over a period of time.
Representational painting can only suggest solid and void through color and value contrasts. Color (or tone) and area are the proper concerns of the painter. All painterly effects are basically derived from manipulating these two questions: what color is it and how much area does it cover? The various experiments with shaped canvas (Frank Stella, for example) or disrupting the paint surface (the slashed paintings of Lucio Fontana) are more akin to sculptural relief than painting per se. The big concern with painting in the 1950s and 60s, especially in American painting, was with being true to the flat surface of the canvas. Illusionistic space was considered old fashioned at best and an outright lie at the worst.
Actually, though, how one considers the operation of color, subject, and form might affect the argument more than whether the end result is truthful or not. Color is simply color. Paint is paint. No one truly believes that paint transubstantiates into a thing once it is wedded to a particular recognizable image. The colors are still only colored pigment on a surface representing both themselves and whatever image is intended. To say that a painting with no recognizable image is more truthful than a painting of a landscape is erroneous. Even the abstract painting is a painting, a collection of colored brush marks that creates some sort of pictorial design. The painter has simply chosen to make his or her subject about the self-referential image. It is what it is, so to speak.
Just as abstract paintings can emphasize or diminish the presence of the artist in the final product – brushstrokes show or they don’t – so do representational paintings. A painting by Renoir, for example, is recognizable by the brushwork that is characteristically visible. A painting by J.A.D. Ingres is also recognizable as by that artist even though the brushstrokes have pretty much been hidden from the viewer. These stylistic differences between two realistic painters are a matter of choice. Painting abstractly instead of realistically is also a choice. The only effective way to discuss any painter’s work is to consider the choices that he or she has made and to determine how well the choices fit the execution. Appreciate a painting for what it is including the ideas that it may contain, but to force an idea on paintings in general seems like a waste of time and energy.
Posted on 3/2/2012 11:54:19 PM
By Donald Fox
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Predictive Dream by Aoki Katsuyo
Here it is about 11:40pm and I haven’t done my daily blog. It’s been a long, busy day with no time for computer stuff, so the blog didn’t get done earlier. I did manage to finish reading The Help. Strongly recommend it. This evening my wife and I went to the Museum of Fine Arts in Houston for an opening of an exhibition titled Shifting Paradigms in Contemporary Ceramics. This is a huge show filled with exquisitely crafted work from the size of a small cup to sculptural environmental pieces that fill a room. The swing from traditional utilitarian ceramics to free-standing sculpture covers practically everything imaginable in between. I remember Peter Voulkos’ work from my graduate school days back in the 70s. He was one of the leading ceramists who was forging new pathways for the ceramic arts beginning in the 60s. He’s represented by several pieces in the exhibit. Also, two interesting pieces by Betty Woodman who was recently featured in a PBS special titled The Woodmans are included: one a wall piece and the other a more traditional but modern cup and saucer. The exhibit was quite crowded, so many of the pieces weren’t easily seen. This is one exhibit that will have to be taken in over a number of viewings. Anyone close to Houston should definitely put this on the viewing list. The exhibit officially runs from March 4 to June 3, 2012 at MFAH.
Posted on 3/1/2012 5:36:40 PM
By Donald Fox
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Mirrored
If I see an arrangement of objects within a landscape, a cityscape, or a corner of a room that have not been consciously placed by anyone as a composition or design or any sort of premeditated gathering to create any sort of effect – there may be components of these groupings that were consciously structured for some specific purpose like a car, for example, or a glass or bottle or even flower or tree, but together these objects have accumulated in some random fashion, brought there by numerous people over a period of time or simply sprung up according to some unseen natural process - I just happen to pass by and in passing notice that the collection is actually making a very interesting visual statement, then I have a number of choices in representing these things caught in the web of that moment in space and time with me being their discoverer, their chronicler, possibly their creator in that I am the one perceiving them as containing artistic value, and so I ask myself, “Should these be painted, photographed, or drawn, and wouldn’t doing so alter the experience of the discovery that was initially made, or should they just be remembered as a unique experience among so many others?
This reminds me partly of Wallace Stevens’ poem “The Blue Guitar” and its repetitive line “things as they are changed upon the blue guitar.” Isn’t this the inevitability of creative work? We speak of creative vision as though the artist sees something, feels something internally or externally and then transforms that experience into the artwork that is supposed to convey the experience to the viewer, but – and this is a big but for me – isn’t the making of the art always changing the experience into something that is now seen only for itself and not the original experience that motivated the making in the first place? In other words, the art has now become the experience, and it is only a shadow of the thing originally experienced.
Some would argue, of course, that the artwork is supposed to be the experience. Through the artwork, the artist teaches that anyone may perceive experience in various ways that are different from the mundane experience of simply getting along in the world. It is the momentary and momentous recognition of something exciting and extraordinary that shifts our thinking about ordinary things, transforms them via that magical thinking called creativity into a life-altering eternal moment. Thus are we transformed in the process. So then, aren’t we the artwork as well as the artist since we take from what is given and create our own experience imperfect though it may be?
