Process

Process
Oil on Panel
24 x 48"

I'm teaching a class at Lake Tahoe Community College called 'Portfolio Development', which is great for me to do because it's forced me to take stock of my portfolio, resume, artists statement, etc. I've deliberately taken a step back from the more 'commercial' aspects of making art for a while to focus on painting for the sake of painting - which is a luxury. However, I felt that in order to teach the students, I had to undertake all the exercises and assigments I'll be giving them myself.

It's been good, it's helped me to verbally crystallise what I've been working through visually. I still felt like a rabbit in the headlights when I had to give them a Powerpoint presentation of my work, as a model for their final. Eww, I hated it, I have to say.

I've given presentations before in all kinds of different environments - usually a tipsy crowd of rock climbers, or other artists. I 'opened' for climber/author Paul Pritchard at the Ape Index lectures many years ago. Niall Grimes had organised this cool series of lectures at a pub in Sheffield, and it was a big honour for me. I was nervous as hell and drank several strong G&Ts before I went up there. It probably showed, which was bad, but it took the edge off. This time I had no such veil, and the experience was startlingly real.

Details of The Illusion

The Illusion

The Illusion
Oil on Panel
24x48"

I haven't been posting much of my art lately because I've been working on paintings I wasn't sure I was ready to share yet. But I am now, so here's the first of three I'll share over the next few days. I've become very interested in mark-making as an expression of the inner workings and experiences of the mind. I wrote this in my sketchbook:

History is indelible:
It is written in hard lines on our bodies
and on our faces.

I'm using a combination of oil paint and pencil, with sandpaper to scratch or expose layers. I'm also using a knife to distress the surface in parts. It's an interesting process, moving between layering and revealing - pushing and pulling the medium until I'm satisfied with the surface - and then standing back to assess the results - perhaps then going back in to rework.

From a distance, the paintings look quite smooth and traditional; closer inspection reveals flaws, scars and unsightly marks.

Also - this is handy - I think I've found out what kind of art I'm making...it's called Expressive Realism. I found a lengthy description by another artist, and although my work looks nothing like his, the ideas are the same. It's about treading the fine line between realism and expressionism. I'm a big fan of the German Expressionists, but I was never entirely happy with that extra step away from representation. I love abstract art, and the Renaissance is the root of everything I feel about art, but I've never been entirely comfortable with either of those schools either...so a combination of everything I love about all of those styles is what I'm working towards.

Body Image

I found a really interesting blog this morning, by film maker Jesse Epstein - The Body film Project.
She produced a video op-ed piece for the New York Times called Sex, Lies and Photoshop - well worth checking out. It's about how magazines re-touch models bodies in Photoshop, and are actually aware that they are damaging people's perception of body image. Sinister stuff.

Also, this short documentary on making mannequins I found fascinating - especially the interviewee's comments on fashion being the 'new religion'.

Meditations

End
Oil on Panel
12x24"

So I am reminded again that timing is indeed everything. It turns out that when I was painting this earlier this week, that my lovely artist friend Melissa Gregory died. Melissa was my first artist friend here in Tahoe, and she introduced me to almost all the artists I know here. I will remember her through my relationships with my women friends, my continued commitment to art, and through a critique group with other artists to share ideas and support each other.

I can think of no more fitting tribute to our friendship.

Melissa's sudden death has come as a wake up call to make more effort to not allow everyday busy-ness to interfere with the important contact you have with the people who love you.

I've been thinking about all the women I have been friends with over the years, and how geography, life, work and family has been allowed to divert our contact. I want to let any of you know that I haven't spoken to in years, that I still think about you, and that my paintings are embedded with memories of you and the fun that we had.

If Karen Rozier, Alex Franklin, and Sophie Hold are reading this, or you know them - please get in touch.

Timing is everything...

Jill Bolte Taylor gives a talk on TED about what her stroke taught her about how her brain hemispheres function.

The Price

The Price
Oil on Panel
12x24"

I'm not going to explain, or reveal the full title of this piece, I'd rather leave some room for imagination.

Lately, my poor old brain has been working overtime, even when I'm painting - which is sometimes a rare respite from the 'mind monkeys' throwing around ideas and dialogues. It's nice to have artist friends who I can talk to about this, who go through similar mental assault courses in the pursuit of art.

It's funny, I Googled 'busy brain' recently, and found that lots of people from all walks of life have an internal theatre going on, which they can't really control, but can result in lots of creative energy and ideas.

When I'm a bit calmer, doing Yoga, meditating, climbing, that sort of thing - I still tend to have an internal monologue giving me a running commentry on what I'm seeing, hearing and remembering. This is annoying when I'm meditating - something along the lines of "I'm concentrating on my breathing, oh yes I'm, I'm not thinking about anything, yay that's great, I'm not thinking about anything..." which defeats the object really.

Right now, it's less of a monologue and more of a forum. I wake up with a different song playing in my head every night. It's like someone left the TV/s on and I can't find the remote. My heart races and my neck aches.

However, I'm feeling artistically charged in a more consistant way than I've ever done. It's a common thing among artists, and I can take a stroll down the corridors of art history to confirm that I'm not alone. Lots of creative people have 'mind monkeys' of some kind, to greater and lesser extents, and this is what fuels the restless urge to make art. I know I should be grateful - when I'm too content and calm, my art goes down the pan. A quiet night's sleep would be nice though...