Showing posts with label George. Show all posts
Showing posts with label George. Show all posts

Monday, June 13, 2016

Mental dissection of an older painting

I made this painting, Llora y Llora, back circa 2009, before I'd started selling my art. If you've been following any of my recent work on this blog, my official art website, my Facebook Business Page, or my Instagram account (@LadydeanArt), you'll know that my style and composition have evolved quite a bit since this painting was completed. I don't even have this piece logged in my inventory, and I don't actively show it.

A few months ago, tired of the painting sitting in a corner gathering dust, I got the brilliant idea to re-purpose it while maintaining the basic composition. I'd bring it up-to-date by adding more bold shapes and colors and marks to it... I'd make the background more interesting... I even figured I'd cover the frame in foil to avoid having to break it out, thus enabling me to paint on the canvas as-is.

Since then, I've read a few internet articles regarding the different options available to an artist to deal with old inventory, including this interesting post on red dot blog. It got me thinking about my as-yet-unfulfilled plans for Llora y Llora, and I found myself questioning whether I really wanted to alter the work. I decided to hang the painting on the wall in my bedroom and spend some time with it... staring at it... contemplating it. The more I looked at it, the more I realized that I don't want to change a thing about it. I don't want to enhance the background, or add contemporary shapes, or brighten any part of it. To do so might threaten the charm that it already has; a charm that goes beyond the hand-built frame my dad made for it that I stained myself with a beautiful green.

This painting captures a moment in my development as an artist, in terms of use of color, placement of line, treatment of composition, etc. The brushstrokes have a particular boldness that I was trying on as I painted on this canvas; it may not immediately seem like I was pushing myself artistically as I made this painting, but the marks remind me that this was the case. Furthermore, the manner in which the subject matter was treated appropriately reflects a sadness I was feeling as I lost my cat, my romantic relationship, and then grandmother, and was in the process of losing one of my favorite friends, who I managed to show this painting to before he passed a few months later. He loved the wispy look of the tip of the nose, and the way those brushstrokes danced with the background. I suspect that to alter this painting would also be to compromise its emotional integrity...

Llora y Llora, 40 x 30 inches, acrylic on stretched canvas with hand-built frame. Photo by Steve Lundberg.

Thursday, April 21, 2016

Fall in love with the process

Recently, a friend was trying to explain to me his philosophy about making art. The term he used to differentiate a true piece of art from the noise out there was "flow". Does the work reflect the artist's flow? But how does one define this concept?

It's something I've been trying to describe to myself for years, ever since I watched George toss a gorgeous piece of in-progress bronze in the back of his car, unlocked with the window left down! If I had to take a gander at it, I'd frame it in terms of loving the process over loving the product. What do I mean by this? I mean allowing yourself (as the artist) to let go of the outcome, and focus on the mechanics that get the work done. This could include embracing brushstrokes you don't like; choosing not to work and rework a section of the piece in an attempt to get things "just right"; focusing on the qualities of the paint you are using instead of worrying about whether you rendered proportions perfectly; or letting the paint dictate the outcome of the session as one color grabs another while you drag your brush through space. And it certainly means believing in yourself along the way.

Such thinking allows the artist to be less invested in each individual piece, which should lead to better production and, in turn, a better body of work. It also allows for more freedom to be creative, because when you are less invested in a given outcome, you'll probably take more risks or perhaps be more playful in your execution. These actions should lead to more success overall. The more work you make, the better you'll get and, hopefully, the more work you'll sell.

But why is this so? I suspect that if an artist can decouple a certain subset of their emotions (mainly fear, pride, shame, hope, and love) from their actual work, and instead focus on executing the process with confidence, then they can achieve this so-called "flow", which will become apparent in their body of work as it becomes stronger. It's almost like you have to step back from yourself in order to bring out the best qualities of your art.

For the record, loving the process over the product and achieving flow are things I struggle with. I've historically been a lover of the product, and very rarely the process, which means that making art has at times been painful. So it has been in my best interests to change my way of thinking and learn to love the process, and to let go of much of the outcome in favor of, well, creating better art.

Pictured here is a new piece, Catwalk. 16 x 12 inches, acrylic on cradled panel. Painted with brushstrokes I didn't like, lines I wanted to clean up but didn't, and an energy that can best be described as... "flow". And I think it came out divine...

Thursday, March 3, 2016

How many artists does it take to paint a painting?

A friend once asked me, "How many artists does it take to paint a painting?" The answer, it turned out, was, "Two. One to paint the painting, and the other to yell: STOP!!"

One of the challenges every artist faces is knowing when to call a piece of artwork done. For some, such as Willem de Kooning, perhaps no painting is ever truly done, while others, such as Bob Ross, will confidently know their work is complete as soon as they've included all their formulaic elements. For everyone in between, the concept can be a bit of a moving target, and the real task at hand becomes learning how to play both the role of painter and the role of artist who yells: STOP!!

In my experience, it has become a lot easier with time to know when a painting can be called finished, so experience with one's own evolution as an artist will help. This can mean focusing on developing a certain style, exploring a specific theme, or simply becoming better at using your tools and materials, to give a few examples. I plan and sketch out a lot more of my paintings these days than I did ten years ago, so I'm usually working towards something in particular and I have a much easier time sensing when I have achieved whatever goal is driving the work.

However, I still have my moments of not knowing when to call a work done, particularly if I suspect that I'm not pushing myself to fully explore the piece, in which case I actually have to say, "Paint, Tara, paint!". The first step I take is to step back and observe, think about the painting, and consider what might be missing or causing unwelcome tension. If I come up with something specific that is bothering me, I go back in and work on it.

But, what happens when there is nothing further to address? How do I recognize when I'm adding paint simply for the sake of adding paint? My simplest gauge is this: If I am still putting paint on a canvas but no further value is being added to the essence of the work, then it's time to yell: STOP!!

In the case of the painting seen here (and also here), I knew that I needed to differentiate the male figure a bit more before calling it done, so my final session consisted of applying more quinacridone crimson to the actual figure, and working some titanium white into the background section to the left of the bodies, both with the goal of bring out the contrasts, as seen in the final photo above. After I did this, I stepped back and wondered if I was finished. My first thought was, "I could do more!", but to what aim? I had resolved the problem, so what else could be achieved by continuing to work? It turns out, there was nothing more to say. Adding more paint or refining another area would not have contributed to the composition or the energy of the piece. At this point, I was just being mechanical in the service of anxiety, and the risk of continuing to paint would be to run in circles in the pursuit of a solution to a non-existent problem. So I decided to paint my signature on and call it done, in effect yelling: STOP!!

The Dance. 26 x 20 1/4 inches, acrylic on rag paper.

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Website for the Columbian Artist Group

Here is the website for The Columbian Artist Group. It includes an In Memory page, where a blurb of George appears. Enjoy!

Personally, I need to submit something different for my bio, and hope to do that soon...

Friday, December 6, 2013

An honest woman's been made of her...

Bitch with Fish Hands and Dreadlocks has been on loan every since George passed away. We finally made things legit after another potential buyer expressed interest in the piece. She's got a good home. (Where does Art live?)

Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Signature Piece... SOLD!!!!!!



I've sold Bitch with a Wine Glass. I almost cannot believe it. Time to paint some more nudes on canvas board, me thinks...

I was unable to sell this painting for many years because it served as such a source of inspiration to me. I've finally been ready for her to have a new home for the past year and my feelings as I sell it today confirm that this is indeed the right thing. I'm so excited!

This photo is of George giving critique before I finally solved the conundrums of the upper right quadrant!

Friday, November 25, 2011

Art Rant Time!! (Selling "Art"...)


It's art rant time! This rant is about a few art-related topics, mostly centered on how art reaches the consumer. Sub-topics will be: markets, pricing, accessibility, and what I like to call the "don't touch, bitch!" factor (or, to put it more eloquently, interactibility).

A fundamental question for an artist to ask him or herself is, "Am I doing this for the sake of money and success? Or for the sake of art itself?" Many claim that if you are not doing art for the sake of art (i.e., "fuck money and success; don't be a sellout"), then you are doing art for the wrong reason. However if you can't sell your work, then how can you call what you are doing anything other than a hobby (plenty of inputs - i.e., costs of materials - and no return on outputs)? I happen to think that all artists should have some business awareness of their markets and that all artists should want their work to be in the hands of someone else, not stuffed in the back of their own closet(s). The mark of an artist does not have to be that s/he is starving! This means, to me, that if you are only concerned about art for art's sake, then your rationale is misguided; in that case, become an art curator and leave the creativity to those who do want to make money.

That having been said, there is the position of the buyer of art to consider. Not all people who appreciate art or who long to own a painting or sculpture have deep pockets. One of the side tennants of "at the end of the day, you should be doing art for art's sake" is "don't undervalue your work." Well... again, if your art is in the back of your closet and not on someone else's walls, how can you call yourself a success? As it turns out, markets fluctuate. And sticking hard and fast to one range of pricing values is silly to me (especially in "this economy"). If you can't move your inventory, why make more inventory? The way I see it, an artist should respond to the mechanics of supply and demand, but not in the manner of reducing production when demand slows so that prices can remain high (because, let's face it, a true artist has urges that cannot be ignored and thus s/he must continue to produce). By "respond to the mechanics of supply and demand" I do in fact mean lower your prices so that you start seeing sales. [And if you don't see sales? Well, then there's probably a problem with your art... either it sucks, or your available audience just can't relate. In that case, seek out another artist for continual art critique or move to a place where your art will be appreciated and purchased.] Also related to this point is the point about entering the market. There is a difference between an established artist who can continue to command high prices and an artist who is just starting out. One theory goes that the new artist will forever condemn him or herself to a given price range if they start out low. I argue that a new artist is like a new employee at a corporation; expect low wages until you actually gain some experience and you get better at your craft!! What true artist is not better at his or her own art five years down the road from today? Shouldn't you expect that the price a buyer is willing to pay for one of your coveted pieces would go up over time, relative to yourself? For that reason, it seems silly to me to price my paintings at triple the price my experience should reasonably allow for. After all, I'm still learning.

To now take the previous argument one step further, let us consider the buyer again. I myself have only ever purchased five pieces of art (2 paintings for myself, 3 sculptures as gifts). This is mostly because I use my walls as a temporary gallery space for my unsold and in-progress work, but it's also because... I can't really afford to buy art. There are two paintings that I hope to own someday, but until I have $1,500 just laying around to buy them, this will be just a dream. I don't have a problem with this because I do plan to eventually acquire them (that is the point of art, after all... the irresistible and often inexplicable draw to a piece of work, no matter the price), but it does bother me that I cannot access them now. And I know that others (including people who want to own a genuine Ladydean) can certainly not afford this type of luxury. Seeing as how I do not want to leave lower income people out of the world of art (beyond viewing art hanging in cafés and going to museum and gallery exhibits), I honestly do not see a problem with low-balling my work, at least not while I'm still gathering my legs. I.e., as long as I'm still new to the market, why not cover the lower-priced section of the market and offer discount art? After all, as George used to say, "Tara, it's worth $0.00 until someone actually buys it." The caveat here is that the person buying it had better truly desire the art and should demonstrate a willingness to haggle, or else it's not worth the artist's time (the painting might wind up in the trash!!). The buyer must feel a sense of value in the purchase or else "art" loses it's status. I guess what I'm saying is, the artist should set a price that is within reach, but not so low as to remove all the value from the art... for art's sake.

The final sub-rant of this post will deal with the interactibility of art. What do I mean by this? Well, to go back to George's comment about art being worth zero dollars until it has actually entered the market in the form of a sale, until it has been sold it's still technically a work in progress. It's nothing. It's shit. It's malleable. It's up for interpretation. But most importantly... it's profane. I use this term in the sense of an antipode of sacred. Art is not godlike; art is human. Art is corruptible, subjective, fluid, an idealized reflection of the everyday. It sits at the table with us in various forms. It's communal. Even though we place it up on a pedestal in the gallery world and even though some art commands millions of dollars, all art is still just a thing, just an object and it can catch fire just as easily as your paper cup or your trash can. I once learned from Terry Schmidt that a good drawing practice is to draw on the back side of the sketch you just did, even if you think it was the best sketch you've ever done. Why? To take the sacredness out of it. To disconnect from your own specialness as an artist in the process. I think she meant: to humble yourself. To acknowledge that you are not the best and that there is always room for improvement. It is for these reasons that I detest not being able to touch art in a gallery. Not only is some art textural (i.e., meant to be touched), but sometimes you just want to. The art draws you in, commands you to feel it. And yet some people freak out if you do! "Don't touch, bitch!" Art is meant to be interacted with... Yes, there is a risk that you might break it (for that, you should always know how much touching it might cost you; you break it, you buy it, right?), but that is a risk I have always been willing to take at art festivals, where people don't much care if you touch the art. Being able to touch a piece of art (texture on a painting, the smoothness of a bowl) puts it more in tune with the audience; brings it back down to earth from the lofty place in the clouds to which we launch it when we put too high of a price on it; when we overvalue it. Think of it this way: If I buy a $600.00 painting and take it home and jump on it, light it on fire, throw water on it to put out the fire, and then take a shit on it... it's all within my rights to do so because I own it, correct? Now, I hope I never do that to a painting, but I could if I wanted to. (I will admit that I have destroyed my own art, although not in that violent or disgusting of a manner.) The point is, why should we treat art as sacred prior to the business transaction? This interpretation stands in stark contrast to George's proclamation that all art has no value until the final dollar amount has been placed on it through the act of buying the piece. How can it be that we as a society treat unsold art as exactly the opposite of what it is? An unsold Picasso is technically no different than your child's crayon drawing on the fridge, no? Of course I am using hyperbole here [did I use that word right??] for dramatic effect, but I am being serious at the same time. The difference is the value we place on the artist her or himself and if an artist has stratospheric talent (like Picasso), then of course we are going to regard all production by that artist as sacred and not profane. But is that correct, philosophically speaking? If not, then it should be perfectly okay to erase a De Kooning... ;)

In conclusion, I am basically trying to say that, from both an economical and an artistic perspective, it is okay to price your work lower than everyone says you should, at least during the time you are attempting to establish yourself as an artist and especially if you deal in direct sales to the client! After all, you do want to get your work and your name out there, don't you? In that case, don't let your art gather dust in the closet; SELL IT AT THE PRICE YOUR MARKET IS CURRENTLY WILLING TO BEAR!!

The photo you see here is a canvas test piece with layering. The first and second layer are white gesso, the third layer is Quinacridone Violet, and the final layer is Naples Yellow Hue. The effect turns me on!!

Saturday, October 8, 2011

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Frame... Work in Progress!


Here's the frame with two coats of ebony stain on it and two coats of shellac. I have since put a third coat of shellac and wow does it look good! Time to seal her in the frame and post an updated pic to the blog!

Sunday, October 2, 2011

Bitch Gets a Frame!!


Bitch needs a frame... I painted her in three hours back in June of 2007 at the behest of George, who wanted me to paint and not stop to "fix" things. She's painted in enamel (motorcycle decal paint) on a piece of luan plywood that is four feet by four feet and part of the luan has splintered in the back, so she is getting a permanent home (maple frame she will be permanently set into) to save her structural integrity. I'm staining the frame ebony right now... gawd I hate the waiting between coats. I have zero patience for these types of things!

The title of this piece is Bitch with Fish Hands and Dreadlocks.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Bitch with a Wineglass


It has come to my attention that my seminal piece is not on this blog! Hence I present to you: Bitch with a Wineglass. She's on all my business cards (which I need to print more of, come to think of it...).

Now let me explain to you why the term "bitch" comes into play. Yes, this goes back to George. Years ago, I posed for a sculpture that George was working on. I was the second model to sit for that piece (which he did not finish before he died). He eternally referred to her as "the bitch," "the roommate," and other such things. She was something he just could not finish and for quite the while this painting you see here was something that I just could not finish. While his bitch never made it to bronze, mine did finally get her frame. I'm glad I perservered and finished her instead of throwing my hands up in frustration and then dumping her in the trash (although she did spend a year banished in a closet).

18 x 24 acrylic on panel canvas applied with brush.

Photo by Steve Lundberg.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

George...


One year ago today, George passed away. I think I'll go paint...
(Tara, George, and Danielle at Labco...)

Thursday, December 24, 2009

Sunday Conversation with Tara


Oh George... Sigh...

This was my Christmas present from George last year (a 2D work from a 3D artist!). It can pretty much be rotated in any direction and still make sense (but not make any sense at the same time). We laughed at the piece together when he gave it to me, but never actually discussed it; perhaps we should have, perhaps we didn't need to. All I know is that I love it and it seriously disturbs me at the same time! It seems to be a metaphor of all of our interactions over the 9 years we knew each other, and all the interactions we never had as well. They can be summed up pretty well in the title he gave the piece: Sunday Conversation with Tara. We constantly waxed poetic about all facets of life (otherwise known as blowing smoke up the other's ass), and this is the memory he leaves of that.

I loved Sunday conversation and coffee with George. Erm, I still do.

Thursday, November 5, 2009

George


So here's a picture of George, doing his thing in the foundry. He loved sculpture for the process, not the end result. I never appreciated the work that goes into creating a bronze piece until I began watching him at each step of the way. Sundays were when we spent most of our time together. In the years up until his death this summer, we would spend hours in the afternoon, barely talking and focusing on art, all while listening to NPR or a Puccini CD. There he was with his constantly lit cigarrette, hammering bronze, creating wax tubing, yelling at the clay, or watching me paint.

Here's a photo of him leaning over the crucible, heated to around 2000 degrees Fahrenheit.

But don't think we didn't talk. We usually got plenty of jabbering out of the way over coffee, before deciding to not let the afternoon go to waste.