Fwd: Year-end Reflections

 

 

In recent years, my Christmas Day tradition has been to walk around Stanley Park and its waterfront.  This year was different -- as we all know, in so many ways.  When Christmas Eve offered a sunny break in the endless rain, I grabbed the opportunity instead for a walk around closer-to-home Trout Lake.

 

Among my reflections that day, I decided to pull together the results of a made-at-home workshop I've been doing and make a splash for New Year's Eve.  The workshop idea came to me some weeks ago when I was looking through the gorgeous book that my artist friend Y gave me on the artist  Nicolas de Staël.  It's a very special book  indeed -- published in 1981 by a distinguished arts publishing firm in her native Switzerland -- edited by her gifted mother, designed by her artist father. 

 

 

I knew something of de Staël and liked some of what I'd seen -- quite different, in my view, from earlier abstract artists like Kandinsky who I had definitely NOT liked when I wrote a  paper on him in 8^th grade.   Maybe this was my nudge to learn more about some of these vital art movements that marked  the 20^th century.  So I decided to enroll in a self-designed Workshop on Abstraction to mark the end of 2020 and right up to January 6th, the traditional end of the holiday season in my family.  Here we go, with reference at the outset to a capsule summary on Abstract Art courtesy of the UK's Tate Modern. 

 

I started gathering supplies and tools -- realizing that my small experiments would not require buckets of paint or bulldozers.

 

Even though I knew I'd be working in small scale, I decided to play "Let's Pretend" -- and I invite you to join me.  The only rule is that we must all pretend that each work occupies a good part of the wall of a museum, like Picasso's "Three Musicians" that I saw and photographed at MOMA (Museum of Modern Art) in New York City in 2018.

 

As I poured my morning coffee before the first workshop, I looked out my back window and saw wonderful block-ish markings where the rain had stuck on the cement wall across the laneway.  This was my impetus for the piece that I've called "First/Most" -- because I spent the most time on this and learned a whole lot.

 

The outcome might not appeal, but what I learned from the process was significant:  Every mark counts.   At this starting point, I could only go by some of  the questions I routinely ask, as I work on a recognizable piece:-- Where does the eye travel?  Will this mark add or detract? Should this shape be larger or smaller?  Or maybe the same?  Or many more of them?  Colours?  Darker? Lighter?  Where? -- and on and on; dozens of questions with each potential move. 

 

At first,  I planned to focus on a different element of design and composition in each work -- texture, for the second work, and in a very definite blob.

 

Then I let loose with my inner Jackson Pollock to produce "Squeeze, Spatter, Pour."

 

This called to mind a stuck-together pile of paint remnants I couldn't bear to throw out.  It's normal for me to use the caps of little bouillon jars to hold my mixing sticks as I paint.  Every once in a while, I scrape out the bits that have collected and end up with colourful discs.   One of those cast-off discs was so pretty, I had to immortalize it on the lid of my jar of pushpins.

 

I glued some of the other cast-offs onto transparent plastic, and the finished piece is quite striking dangling from a hook in my studio with light behind it. 

 

 

Just imagine it ten feet high, with the title "Cosmos," hanging in a window of  the Whitney Museum of American Art.  (from My Historic Trip of 2018 -- what's New Year's Eve for, if not nostalgia?)

 

 

 Let's fast forward now.  Here's "Bullet" -- maybe a little reminiscent of Malevich who I don't like any more than I like Kandinsky.

 

And how about "Black Reef" -- which initially reminded me of Adolph Gottlieb's "Blast",   unforgettable from one of my first painting books.

  

 

Now to my favourites.  If these measured, say, 10 x 10 feet or thereabouts, I'd actually enjoy seeing them on my living room wall.  First, "Dream State."

 

And "Surf's Up." 

 

Whew!  What an exhibition.  ...as in "making an exhibition of oneself"?  Well, Jackson Pollock has the last word on this:--

 

"Painting is self-discovery. Every good artist paints what he is."

 

But I can't claim the Best in Show, which evolved entirely by accident.  Here's the dramatically gorgeous piece that revealed itself as I scraped down an old plywood palette -- layers upon layers of just-glimpsed old paint.    I've called it "Excavation."

  

 

Quiet season at the Zodiac Cafe

 

A few weeks back, I assembled the last of summer -- dried seed heads from my sizable alliums and my neighbour's graceful crocosmia.  Those with eagle eyes and a long-ago shared experience will realize that that perfect vase is lab glassware -- a Creative Packrat find from olden times at The Lab when, in about 1985, we had to clean out the storage room in a soon-to-be-sold building next door.

 

It's impossible these days for the whole Zodiac crowd to celebrate en masse, but that's okay.  My purpose all along has been to keep a hint of the cafe as I connect with different theme areas -- still lifes, interiors, maybe even some landscapes sighted from the outdoor patio.

 

I briefly considered painting the dried bouquet at almost full height, but what would be the point? (and besides, I didn't have a canvas large enough)  So I shortened the vase and focused on the widest part of the bouquet and got to work.

 

 

As I moved along with this, I thought about the teas and coffees that might be on the menu.  Then I realized that the drinks at the Zodiac Cafe are likely to resemble Mary Poppins' elixirs:-- they will taste exactly like each person's own favourite drink, regardless of what they're called.

 

This one steeped pretty quickly.

 

 

And by this time, in the spirit of Mary P, I decided to name my intended series of 4-6 with simply a number -- this one is "Beverage of Choice - #1." (copyright 2020)

 

 

If you fell in love with that lab glassware, as I did 35+ years ago,....watch this spot, where something is taking root in a charming sample of rectangular lab glassware. (And if you wonder what that was used for -- old-time lab folks turned up their noses when I asked):--

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Catch and release

 

Every time I visit VanDusen Garden, I can't resist taking a photo of one of my favourite denizens -- "Net Hauler".  Against all odds, he keeps trying with all his might to bring  in something more than the Garden's large carp.  And if he landed something? -- surely he'd open his net and let it go, for the sheer reward of doing his stuff once again.

 

As November got under way, I noted how swimmingly things have gone with "The Zodiac Cafe."  We were way ahead of schedule by the Zodiacal Calendar, which runs mid-March to mid-march, Aries through Pisces.   So I decided to take my time with Pisces and do a few studies using different start-up techniques suggested by several different artist-teachers.

 

First, here's Manly P. Hall's description of the characteristics of the Pisces native:

"Head broad, complexion pale; eyes light; neck short; hair dark; lips full or well-shaped; body heavy; shoulders stooped; walk unsteady; rather unhealthy appearance."

Think "fish" -- Pisces' symbol -- and this makes a kind of sense.  But just as I omitted "defective teeth" from my Aquarius portrait, there was no way I was going to aim for "rather unhealthy appearance."  The description reminded me somewhat of two real people -- the sweet-natured anatomy instructor in my on-line art course and the sweet-natured guy across the street who mows my strip of front lawn in the summer.  My previous quick study of the neighbour guy is shown beside a screen shot of the anatomy guy.

 

Determined to take time experimenting, I decided I'd begin my Pisces studies with the grisaille technique -- a time-honoured Shades of Grey approach that many contemporary realist oil painters use as their first layer.  Here's my Experiment #1, which had accumulated two greys by the time I shot the photo.

  

  

Despite much effort to bring the study to a kind of completion, it wasn't very satisfactory.  So, onward to a different artist who starts his grisaille with an absolute black/white delineation down the centre of the face.

 

Again, I took this to grey completion -- but neither of the finalists qualified for Catch of the Day.

 

 

Okay, it was time to summon the spirit of Mary Beth McKenzie, my revered teacher from the first time I read and then acquired her 1987 book, "A Painterly Approach."  She begins with a careful linear underpinning, and those bones are always evident in her finished painting

 

Here's an early stage of my "Pisces."

 

 And this shows how I moved along adding colour.

 

Verdict:  BOR-ing.  But there was a funny thing about this -- the face had begun to resemble Christophe, another sweet-faced guy, one of the session managers at the life drawing studio who took such pleasure in applauding the good stuff in each person's efforts.

 

I hemmed and hawed.  With this painting, I'd be at the end of the Zodiac portraits, and this was not much of  a finale.  As I considered next steps I thought, "Oh, I so miss something with PATTERN."   A lightbulb moment!   Christophe wears glasses -- so why not plunk some on his nose, jazz up his shirt, and let him sit against a crazy wallpaper -- with the whole representing a fishy environment?  Quick -- to the drawing board to turn out some templates.

 

And here he is -- at least he's not grey and boring.  ("The Zodiac Cafe - Pisces" copyright 2020)

 

I guess I learned a fair bit in this School of Fishes...even with the ones that got away.  Maybe the biggest lesson was remembering a quote I read long ago:

"Chance is always powerful.  Let your hook be always cast.  In the pool where you least expect it, there will be fish"

This counsel from Ovid came my way decades ago, before my lifelong friend AH rolled up her sleeves to master Latin and eventually ancient Greek.  Obviously, it's about chance (hey! that makes me think of a Schipperke pup I know).  But it's also about constantly doing the hard work to prepare yourself to be ready for chance when it comes.

 

And two of my "catches" gave me mega-goosebumps:-- In searching for links, I came across Irish Music to accompany "The Tale of the Fisherman."  You **MUST** turn your volume to half-strength, click on the link, click on "Show more," and scroll down just a bit to read the fisherman's tale.

 

As if that weren't enough in the goosebumps department, I learned...just by chance...that Mary Beth McKenzie, who teaches at NYC's revered Art Students' League, is offering on-line classes.  Better get my nets mended and my hooks baited!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Chop wood, carry water"

 

 

 

Whatever heals and soothes the spirit -- these days we need it in abundance.  As I've worked in my end-of-season garden, clipping and chopping overgrown shrubs and rampant bamboo, I've thought about the timely appearance of Aquarius, the Water Bearer, at the Zodiac Cafe. 

 

As I reflected on how nourishing are both water (consumed or observed) and physical effort, I remembered the Zen expression "Chop wood, carry water," which I first learned from the original "Tassajara Bread Book" of the 7os.  I have a couple of friends who have taken bread-baking and fine cooking to a celestial level -- and I can only believe that when they're engaged in their art, a positive energy is flowing. 

 

The original Water-Bearer of myth was male -- with not a very wholesome story -- but my own Zodiac Cafe sequence called for a female; someone who would embody Manly P. Hall's description of the sign's characteristics:--

 

"Head broad, eyes expressive and widely set; complexion good; teeth defective; hair grays early, mouth and chin attractive; considerable physical beauty; vivacious."

 

Defective teeth?  I think not!   Another mask might be required, as it was for Sagittarius.

 

For preliminaries, I auditioned some possibilities ....

 

...and then whipped up some I.D. for entry to the Cardboard Club. (a wonderful use for cardboard scraps and leftover paint).

 

When I got serious on canvas, I thought I was off to a good start -- until I reached a point where I realized her eyes were out of whack.  As I went back and forth, painting them out, painting them back in, I was reminded of "Serious Art Fails" -- which I've referenced before under similar circumstances.

 

I finally decided I'd done the best I could with quite a serene-looking Aquarian, untroubled by her greying hair.

 

 

And then I ran off to VanDusen Garden  to feel soothed and refreshed by the real thing.

 

You cannot make this stuff up

For Halloween week ….a spooky hand manifested on my living room wall, just as I was planning this post. (See it as an arm slanted downward, palm of the hand facing you, with big thumb at the top, and fingers curled into the palm).  It's all a trick of the sun's slant and reflection from car windows in the street below but it was kind of eerie, especially as I'd been thinking about the challenges of painting hands.

 

But it's heads we're still concerned with, here in the Zodiac Café, and this time Capricorn has made his own spooky appearance.  Manly P. Hall describes the typical Capricorn qualities as:--

 

"Head long; forehead high; eyes piercing; nose long; lips thin; chin strong but  narrow; body angular; general air of severity."

 

I'd recently been flipping through last year's sketchbook and came across a drawing I'd made of a weird and wonderful guy on the street -- with deep pink hair and a tangerine shirt.

 

Oooohh….irresistible to give him a try.   I whipped up a little study for the Cardboard Club, exaggerating some elements to match the descriptive text.

 

Here's an early stage of the painting.

 

  

As I worked on that bony forehead, I was reminded that Capricorn's symbolic animal is the goat.  Hmmm…..what do you think?  Any resemblance?

 

 

I might have been more successful if I hadn't been so fixated on his improbable hair.   Enchanted, actually.  Despite the problems anchoring it to his head, it never occurred to me to give him a haircut.  Here's the finale, with the hair much darker than in reality.

 

 

Did I say "reality"?  That's not the name of the game this week, is it?  OOooooOOOOoooo.

 

Earth Art -- it rocks!

 

 

One of my greatest joys has always been digging in dirt.  Dirt and rocks go way back with me, from my earliest pre-school days when a big dirt pile in our backyard was the envy of the neighbourhood, to my small first garden the summer that I was 9, to my first real gardens in early married days in Michigan, in Ontario, in successive houses in Vancouver.  Each of those homesteads always gave pride of a place to a rock garden.

 

My rock garden here at The Yellow House received a happy kick-start from friends L & B, who delivered chunks of  Galiano Island sandstone to form its base.   This August, it reached a glorious overgrown peak (as shown) -- complete with volunteer mini-pumpkin vine.

 

Meanwhile, in my back yard I continued my long-term project of replacing the small lawn with garden -- while next door, the young family continued their enduring project of renovating/rebuilding their house.  At last, in a big clean-up push, they decided it was time to get rid of the chunks of cement that had formed their original sidewalk.   Just what I needed for another rock garden base!

 

So over they came, like the Three Bears -- Papa with the enormous chunks, Mama with the medium ones, and Baby Bear (big kindergarten boy now) with the handfuls.  By early August, my dig was under way.

 

Please disregard, as I did, all the surrounding disorder and overgrown grass.  This was a task that needed focus.

 

 

And it was akin to hard labour.   That lusty grass had originally been laid as strips of sod, which is anchored by miserable and maddening plastic mesh -- virtually impossible for the likes of me to cut through with a shovel.  What's more, the soil beneath is an amalgam of dirt, gravel, small stones, rusty nails, and occasional oddments.  The only way for me to make any headway was to get down on my knees and hand-dig every square foot with my trusty trowel.

 

 

The two little pails of stones represent about a tenth of what I unearthed.  And the blue and yellow plastic bags are covering buckets of dirt, temporarily removed to be replaced later.  Did I say this was Really Hard Work?!  I could handle the chunks brought over by Mama and Baby Bear -- but for the big slabs, I had to channel the builders of Stonehenge and the Pyramids and summon up all I remembered from high school Physics class.

 

 

With the base complete, I made a ceremonial placement of L's Galiano inukshuk, still in the configuration she designed.  And planted right next to it is Twinflower -- also from Galiano, another wonderful surprise from L after she viewed Linnaeus' favourite flower.

 

This past week, with great elation, I completed the fall planting,  leaving space for next spring's annuals.   

 

And then I began to strategize about this post.  I've always said it's about "creativity" which most often means my art projects. 

 

WELL..., isn't this (and any rock garden) an example of Earth Art, or Land Art?  Okay, perhaps not as exalted as Christo's massive landworks, but there are small elements in the notion of "earth art" that are tempting. 

 

Most interesting, I came across artist Jakob Tylicki, who exposes papers and canvas to the elements and then "unearths" the results.  I've seen stuff like this before and it's alternately goofy and beautiful.  Irresistible, right?  -- especially with the promising oddments that came to light in my dig.

 

I wrapped these, along with some studio odds and ends, into a scrap of canvas and produced a small tribute to my friend Y.  Her art career has often involved transforming found objects into small sculptures and assemblages with bird shapes.

 

This little bundle I placed in the hole of the cement base of a long-gone fence post (see the right side of the garden as shown in the photos) and partially capped it with a special rock.  It will stay there through the winter and......hmm, maybe at the Summer Solstice 2021, I'll unwrap it and see how the canvas has re-created itself.

 

What did NOT go into the wrap was a special find I made coincidentally on this same day as I dug deeper in a less creative vein in my front garden -- a 1913 Canadian penny!!  Had it been buried in the earth since the year after The Yellow House was built in 1912?  It felt kind of like striking gold -- even if only corroded copper.