Final Thoughts

It's hard to believe I had my last meeting with Julie Graham, my mentor, a week ago. I know this post is slightly delayed-my laptop has been in the shop due to a Wifi issue, much to my frustration, but is better now! This semester has flown by! I feel like Julie and I have connected well during the last few times we met. It's sad to know we won't be meeting as regularly now, though I am hoping to keep in touch! I brought several work prints for us to talk about, and our conversations were quite insightful. One of the things I appreciate most about Julie is that she asks the right questions. She knows how to probe and help me realize what exactly I'm trying to say. These first two were more to demonstrate that I'm trying different things. Neither of them are complete, but both have aspects that are interesting.

This next one I labored over for such a long time! I feel in conveys the right mood and setting. I wonder about extremely long format. (I might rework it a little to shorten it. I haven't decided if that's entirely necessary.)

This last one is my most recent, and perhaps even the most interesting. I am really pleased where I got with it.

Julie was also very intrigued by this one. She suggested the crop I have here, with the top edge flush with the frame of the window ( We also talked about cropping the upper corners, which I plan to do in the final presentation.). She also suggested centering the carousel. There were a couple technical points I have to look at closer before the final prints, but that's the point of work prints--to see what needs adjusting. The nature of this style is that it requires a high degree of nitpicking. I enjoy it though. It satisfies a certain degree of obsessive compulsiveness I possess. 

As we spoke, Julie asked about my interest in history. I lean heavily towards this specific historical architecture, and she wondered about the purpose of that. I know I find it interesting. So far, many of the buildings have been libraries or churches. It reminds me of the Age of Enlightenment, and these grand intentions our ancestors had. I wonder what they would think of these spaces now, often occupied by the homeless. The cathedrals, similarly built to convey the very presence of God, yet now are mostly empty, save the tourists. The ideals are gone, but the buildings remain.

We began to talk about history and historical references I seem to make in my work. It's interesting that these reference are still there. In my original body of work I brought into the program, I was very interested in places having layers of history we can't see. I think about time traveling in circles, where things seem to reoccur throughout history. The idea of myths came up in our discussion as well, and I mentioned my interest in anthropology during my BFA studies. Perhaps there is something worth pursuing in this.

I left the meeting feeling much more confident in my intentions and content from this series of work. I feel a surge of nerves in anticipation for the upcoming residency. It will be interesting to hear what sort of feedback I receive.

"Poetic Faith"

Recently, when I was contemplating my art and my motivation, I felt strongly that I wanted the spaces I have been creating to be empty of people. It seemed appropriate that the viewer could feel this sense of taking a journey, embarking on an adventure, and going to a vacant place. I recently wrote a paper about the suspension of disbelief, in photography specifically, and a came across a quote that said the viewer must have "poetic faith." That phrase is appealing to me, and I began to think about faith being a step you can only take alone. I know that regardless of the support I have when making a decision, it ultimately is on me to take the step, and belief it will be alright. We associate other people with security and safety, so to wander into a place without other people presents a certain risk. This is the edge I hope to explore farther.

New York

I wish someone had insisted earlier that I go to the galleries in New York. Maybe they did. Maybe the lessons I learn on my own are the ones that stick. I feel like my perspective on art charged dramatically each hour this past weekend. I started at the Guggenheim, somewhere I've been desiring to go for a while now. I wish I could have seen the Francesca Woodman show. Christopher Wool is currently up. His work intrigued me but did not speak to my own work in any direct way. He created large, non objective screen prints and paintings. I traveled with a friend who frequented the Guggenheim in the past, and she suggested to start at the top. I'm glad we did. His latest work is enormous, easily 15 or more feet tall, on canvas, and standing in front of one gives a strong somewhat physiological experience. One in particular utilized Benday dots and once I looked away, the dots still lingered in my vision, and projected onto the other works for several minutes. Many of the shapes read like a Rorschach in blot test. The last image read “You Make Me” in large, rough stenciled letters. Ultimately, Wool seems to take the easy way out by making interpretation the viewer's responsibility. Perhaps that's harsh. The ink blot shapes do already indicate the phycological nature of the work, and the idea of a “right answer” has long been dismissed.

After The Guggenheim, we ventured to Chelsea. I knew galleries were in that area, as well as the High Line, a path made on former train tracks above street level. The High Line has beautiful, an a refreshing break from the city, though somewhat crowded. I enjoyed the juxtaposition of nature and urban. Then we ventured to the galleries.

I felt as if I had been searching for these galleries my whole life. I'm not even sure I scratched the surface this trip, but I stayed until my feet threatened to fall off and it was exhilarating. We walked on West 22^nd St and were blow away. There was such vibrance and life in the art. It was such a different experience from the stuffiness of museums. Initially, we started on that street because I saw a sign for Robert Serra, a sculptor I've research. Everything felt fresh. It reminded me of the first time I had feta in Greece, and have never been able to eat the american version again. Seeing some of the work seemed to prove to me I'm on the right track. I'm not there yet, but I'm getting there. I don't need to be scared.

Sunday, we went to Dia:Beacon in Beacon, NY. It is probably one of the most beautiful spaces I've ever been in, and continued to expand my understanding of art. It is lit with primarily natural light, which alone made it just breathtaking. Each piece of art seemed so ideally displayed and presented. Helpful guides were provided on each artist, and the write ups were excellent: they provided wonderful context for the work without being heavy-handed. The work itself had such amazing presence. Most of it could be walked around and through. I felt I could really engage each piece, get to know it, and respond to it. The work was primarily Modernist, which I feel makes it idealistic, but in this space, I could really embrace that ideal.  

Magic Realism

I had an excellent meeting with my mentor on Monday. I felt a little on the light side as far as artwork goes, but mostly because I spent a more time on these newer pieces. We ended up talking longer than usual though, and she brought up some pertinent questions on the direction of the work. In particular, she discussed my work in terms of magical realism, a phrase I wasn't very familiar with. Looking at examples of work from this style however, it's easy to see the relation. I plan to do more research on this. Part of me is slightly hesitant about this direction. Perhaps it's my background at an extremely traditional program where I did my BFA, but it starts wandering close to Sci-fi/fantasy genre work. There's a stigma in my mind saying that is not "serious art." There's a part of me that thinks art should be serious. I'm over-thinking it though. These somewhat "supernatural" events in a clear reality is something I am looking to achieve. So for now, perhaps it is best to embrace it.

Questions to consider:
Do I want the viewer to feel like they can enter?
Is this a threatening or safe environment?
What is the edge?
Consider sense of place, sense of space, and memory.

As I talked about my work, I realized many of the buildings I have used to far deal with enlightenment (such as libraries) and spirituality (churches). I think about these buildings also falling in to disuse, or, more accurately, separating from their original intent. In one library, the books had been removed and the rooms were empty to allow tour groups come to see the architecture. A similar story held true for the church. I want to recapture the wonder that caused these buildings to built, the confident authority of the grandiose details, and the utopian ideals of these structures. The viewer should feel like they could enter, but perhaps with apprehension.

Julie encouraged me to not only use "pretty" images, but to find the edge. She suggested blending many time periods together as well, and incorporating modern elements--this was mentioned at our last meeting and I think it is a great idea. Julie warned not to become to formulaic, which was already starting to happen ( though I think that tendency came, in part, from my efforts to understand how things were working together.) She also encouraged me to go really bizarre, to see how far this could be pushed yet still make sense. There is a lot of possibilities here. I feel excited about this emerging series. Now all I need is more hours in the day.

Print Success and Digital Cuts

It took about a week to get my new-to-me printer running. It must've sat for a couple months, and on my first few attempts, I was only able to one of the eight colors to show up. After reading a couple of online articles, and using a little bit of patience (and a fair amount of expensive pinter ink), I got it to work beautifully! Below is the first nozzle check vs. the last. I jumped for joy when that magenta finally showed up!

 I did a print on canvas afterwards, something I've been looking forward to doing. I used my own raw canvas, and coated it with a Golden inkjet ground product I used in the past successfully. The results were descent, though not as exciting as I expected. The fabric is too delicate for this project I think. It was distracting from the realism I'm attempting to create. The contrast was also a little lacking, but that's something I could probably improved with a heavier application of the digital ground product. The picture below lacks the clarity needed to see this, but the grain of the canvas I used was also a little heavy. Something that is thicker with a smoother surface would be a better medium probably. Initially, I was thinking having a texture would be more...clever, having a greater emphasis on the artifice, but now it seems redundant and slightly excessive.

I also recently completed another cut picture piece. I like thinking of them as "digital maps," because the grid I've used reminds me of strands of information I imagine exist in a computer. The idea of jumbling up a digital picture is funny to me, and severs to remind the viewer to the fragility of information. I introduced circle cut outs in this piece as well, which might work. The square shapes enforce the grid pattern more, but the variety is interesting too.

Panarams

As suggested by my mentor, I started taking some photographs specifically for some more surreal panoramas.

These are some panoramas from recent shoots I did in Copley Square, the Concord Conservation Center near my house, and the Maine coast. I plan on putting a few together soon, and cleaning up some of the ones I've already started to make them more convincing.

 

This week, I really want to print one a little larger. My models were about 5" by 17" or something. Varying sizes. I am extremely excited to printed because I was just given a 24" Epsom printer!!!

This is the same type of printer I've used previously, but this one is mine! So beautiful! Anyways, Julie, my mentor, suggested trying different materials, such as fabric, and seeing what works best. I love experimenting with printing, so I am excited to try this.

One of my friends showed me this image today:

It's by Ben Heine. He does the pencil vs. camera drawings which are interesting enough. Clever, but ultimately I feel are a little shallow.

It is interesting to see someone else's take on the cyclorama idea though. I like seeing his shadow when he's drawing, and the scale of his body as he works closer and farther away from the camera. Definitely takes a level of skill to get that perspective right.

Photography in the Digital Age, Geoffrey Batchen

Notes from my reading of Photography in the Digital Age,  by Geoffrey Batchen:

Photography started with death. People had to pose, unmoving, as if dead. In it's early days, it was used to commemorate the dead. Some feared photography would steal their life. Early photography struggled with life and death as photographs needed light to be seen, yet the same light also caused them to fade.
      All photograph is a manipulation. Digital photograph is entirely fabricated, but even darkroom photography involves invention and manipulation. Yet it also carries the impression of its subject, as if the objects reached into the picture plane. The object, however manipulated, had to exist at one point to be photographed. Computerized images however can appear as photos yet never exist. Digital images are in time, but not of time. Photography, however, does not have to be threatened by the digital. Photography has always involved different techniques. As long as the human survives, human value and culture will also survive. The machine will always be guided by human desires. Photography's dilemma coincides with philosophers' ponderings: photography represents a reality but reality itself is comprised of representations. By challenging the death of photography, one must also challenge what it means to be dead or alive. Photography's passing will coincide with another way of seeing--and of being.

My own thoughts:
This essay was published in 1999, and since then, digital photography has exploded. As a photographer in a photo studio, what I see is an over saturation of photography in the market. Cell phones, laptops, tablets, MP3 players, and almost any electronic device seems to include a complimentary camera. "Prosumer" equipment is cheeper and more accessible to people. I wonder what Batchen makes of it. To me, I feel as if it will reach critical mass. After that, who can say? People are less likely to come to my studio for a family portrait, because even though I can take "better," more crisp and professional images, the sheer quantity of images parents have of their children on their iPhone makes up for the quality of image I can produce. I am not concerned about this however. I am an artist first, and a photographer second. I am an image maker, and photography is merely a tool. Just as the earliest humans made images in caves, the most futuristic humans will have images around them. I create things and will continue to do so until I die.

Mentor Meeting

I met with Julie Graham, my mentor, today. It was an excellent meeting. We discussed my most recent developments, and the possibilities for future development.  This is the work I brought:

The first three were experiments I did with physical cutting. The first one, which is probably familiar by now, was done by cutting the illustration board. The middle two were done by cutting the transfer film first, and then transfer it. The middle two aren't as interesting to me at this point. It was a good experiment, but not worth too much more pursuing. Julie really enjoyed the top piece, and we talked about different shape to cut out, as well as the importance of imagery. It's kind of interesting to see the relationship of geometric and organic, but what does it mean? What am I trying to say? I told her how I began to see it as a digital map, and then we talked about maybe using an urban scene as the base image. Then we also talked about the grid being like perspective lines, and the black and white checkered floors used in Renaissance paintings, and that might be interesting to look for.

The bottom image is some model cycloramas I made. I simply pinned two pieces of foam core together to form a corner, and then attached the printed panoramas to the foam core, creating a soft curve. 

The above image is one that, from a technical stand point, seems to be working well. Julie was impressed by the seamless blend of images, and it's one of the ones I'm happier with. The ones that Julie said she felt worked the best however were the ones that more thoroughly showed a morphing of indoor/outdoor space, like the one below:

When she mentioned that, I had to agree. These images are more imaginative, and not something you could find somewhere. Julie suggested looking for more locations with the architecture I'm interested in. She also brought up the idea of making the images perhaps even stranger, by incorporating more modern elements or other pieces that don't fit in this kind of romantic scene I'm making. This is something I feel is worth exploring. I recently finished the novel, A Hard Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World. It was suggested to me during the residency, and it was a fantastic book. It is set between two worlds: a familiar, yet somewhat futuristic version of our world; and an imagined world of a city with unicorns and no memories. One of the links between the two worlds is paperclips. This was an enjoyable link to me because it's so familiar, so common. Something like that, to link this world to my created world, might be interesting to see.

Digital Maps and Cycloramas

This image shows some of the progress I've made on that transfer I was working on. This picture is actually a little old now.Since this photo was taken, I now have cut a lot more squares out, and layered the piece between four pieces of plexi. I was thinking of work my mentor showed me by Steven Baris. He paints on plexi and uses shadows to contribute to the work. The shadows come into affect on this piece as well, in a pleasing way. I will do my best to get pictures of it soon. I am still working on securing the pieces of plexi together for display. One of the things I am enjoying about this piece is how the squares almost read like pixels, and makes me think of streams of digital information. When arranging the pieces, I think about maps, and layers of roadways.

I used to intern at a photo studio in Manchester, and recently the owner wrote a post about building a cyclorama. A cyclorama is used by primarily portrait photographers to create a rigid, seamless backdrop. The cyclorama has a subtle curve where the wall meets the floor, thus eliminating a seam. The few I've seen are usually white or black. When I was looking at the white cyclorama, I began thinking of what an interesting canvas that would be. Then I began to consider how one could create a space that would have depth but would not allow the viewer to fully enter.

As part of my own photographic practice, I often create panoramic images at different locations. I've been considering presenting these panoramas in a cyclorama form. I don't want them to represent an actually place, so I combined different panoramas to create a new world. It's world you can see, but cannot access.

Here are a couple still in progress:

I enjoy the one on the left more at this point because the pieces blend together more successfully. I ordered paper so I can print them somewhat larger. Eventually, if this idea continues to show potential, I would love to display them on a large scale, perhaps 8'x10', or something. If I used my transfer method, I could make the substrate for the print out of a variety of materials, enforcing the idea that this is a created space. Perhaps combining the cut pieces into this work would be interesting as well.

New Transfers

I had my first meeting with my mentor last week, and it went quite well. It's so helpful to be able to talk to someone about what I'm doing, and to get an objective view. I think I'm in a good place overall. I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing, but I'm not completely lost, thankfully!

One of the things my mentor recommended was to gather different materials and do some physical collaging, verses my usual practice of combing things digitally. I just did a transfer today onto illustration board. I have never used this process this way before. I knew it was a possibility, but I always just assumed if that's what I wanted, I could just stick a porous substrate through the printer. This affect is actually quite beautiful though. The pigments sit above the surface in a luminous way that I just love!

These photographs don't show the luminance, but the idea is there:

 

I also drew a grid pattern on the board before I preformed the transfer. My original plan was to cut out parts of this grid to layer with other images, but now I'm hesitating because I enjoy the surface so much. I'll go for it still though. I can always repeat the process if I prefer it.

Voyage to the Moon

It was kind of like an epiphany. The past month has been frustrating for me. I've been experimenting with different approaches to my art making, but nothing has been striking a cord, so to speak. I sat down with my laptop and decided just to put a couple things together. I almost immediately created an image I was excited by. In the past, the digital aspect has always driven my work, so it should be little surprise to me that I was suddenly struck with several different ways to present the image.

It's a definite step towards simplicity. Often my composite images are over fifteen layers, and this one is about three. I originally was thinking of using it for a large mirror I have. Then I began to think about doing the image on several pieces of glass to fragment it, and layer the glass over the mirror. I haven't made a decision yet. I'm considering the moon as a motif. It has appeared in my art several times. In this image in particular, it relates to the tides, and conveys the sense of change, of things being in flux, and showing a sense of time.

This is a second image that came together quickly. Usually, this is a good sign for me. Art that comes together quickly is more intuitive, and less overworked.

The moon also reminds me the 1902 film, Voyage to the Moon, which was referenced in the 2011film Hugo. Hugo is a narrative about a child who lives in a clock tower in Paris, and through a series of events, discovers his past is tied to that of the early French filmmaker and illusionist George Melies. 

Glass Painting

During the residency, one of my crits yielded the idea of accidental paintings. I've been contemplating this idea. I started painting on glass. I've done it before, but not with photography integrated into the process. I think the photographs are interesting, and might turn out to be the final product. We'll see. The tricky part about painting "through" the glass, is that as I apply the paint, I hide the view I'm looking at.

This first photograph is of a small transfer. I wanted to see if it communicated with the environment in an interesting way. Not as interesting as I hoped.

A practive piece of glass where I did a small study of transclucent acrylics (left) and oils (right) with colleged paper scraps.

Setting up to paint by looking through the glass. The set up worked better than expected.

A view of the painting in process.

Little Sun

Artist Olafur Eliasson created this optimistic project about bringing light to people without electricity. I just watched a video interview here.

Another exciting discovery today was Berndnaut Smilde. He creates clouds inside of a room, and photographs serve to record the display. During an interview with Avant/Garde Diaries, he said about his own work:

     "A lot of my work deals with the situation of duality: questioning inside and outside, temporality,
     size and function of materials. I’m really interested in work that exits between reality and
     representation in a way that it doesn’t really function in the end. So, as for the clouds, they’re just
     there. They’re building up, at the same time they’re falling apart."

I find myself returning to this idea of the temporal, that nothing last forever and everything is in a constant state of change. I started overlapping images of clouds and water, things that fluid. It's not getting me where I want to be yet, but this idea of clouds...it intrigues me. You can watch them shift and change. Smilde's images are elegant and thought provoking and certainly had inspired me.

Sea Cloud

First painting of the semester! Probably more of an exercise than anything, but it was enjoyable to paint. I used the time to mull over some ideas and I feel like I have a little more clarity now.

For this painting, I was thinking about perspective. Part of it is looking down at a sea weed cluster and the other half is looking up at sky. I wanted it to be a little abstract and a little confusing even. I like to trick the eye, play with the mind. I'm not sure this is quite doing that yet, but I'm working on it.

Get to Work

Studio day today. I've been feeling a little immobilized after the residency. The critiques I felt so inspired by while I was there are now haunting me. Each time I try to make something, I keep feeling pressured by the voices of future viewers, asking me why I'm doing this, why it matters, how is it relevant. So, I'm going to paint something for a little bit. I haven't done a pure painting for a while. I'm not going to ask myself anymore questions today. Right now, it might just be more important to make something, and it doesn't matter what. A favorite Chuck Close quote I like to think of at times like this says, "Inspiration is for amateurs. The rest of us just show up and get to work..." So that's what I'm going to do.

A little kick start came from this article by Arno Rafael Minkkinen. Read it here and enjoy!

Jenny Holzer

At one point during the June Residency (how is already half way through July? Didn't I just finish the laundry from that event?), Jenny Holzer's name came up as someone to possibly look at. Her large scale projections and bold use of text is powerful. (I can't quite remember why it was discussed in relation to my work though. Perhaps it was because I mentioned using lights. Probably.) Anyways, I was really captivated by the images of her installations, and did a little reading up on her. I stumbled upon an article on the blog Aesthetica, that reviewed a 2012 survey of her work in London's Sprüth Magers. The author, Karla Evans, makes a point half way through that I think is very relevant to the current art world. She was surprised by the smaller works included in the show and says:

      "The initial disappointment, which although very quickly faded, nonetheless asks the question, 
      what do we expect from successful modern artists? And, are we only in it for the awe-inspiring 
      and the epic? The recent London exhibitions that have provoked queues and great hype are 
      undeniably bold; Damien Hirst’s gilded butterflies and severed cow’s head; Lucien Freud’s 
      thickly layered and uninhibited portraits. When it comes to modern artists, do we yearn for 
      them to be extrovert and when they’re not, see them as unaccomplished?"

I find myself asking similar questions when looking at my own work. I am awed in a sense, by work like Holzer's, that can make a point so strongly. At the same time, I know that's not a place I can take my art. Not because it's not allowed, but because it would be conforming to what's in style, or rather, to a style I have no personal motivation to conform to. It would be insincere. In order for art to stand the test of time, it can't be trendy. The problem with work that relies on shock value is that is like a surprise attack: once the surprise has been made known, it looses its advantage. Perhaps I'm holding to an archaic convention when I think that in order for art to survive its inception, it should offer the viewer a new perspective each time it it visited.

Holzer's work does that. When Evans continues to write about Holzer's older work in the eighties, she comments on how it is still able to make an impact, decades after its creation. To me, that is a significant signifier of quality.

Art at AIB

This was the work I brought to my residency. Better representational photographs can be found on my website, but this shows the space, and how I display the work generally, using a thin shelf.

Photography is so interesting. My work is strongly photo based, yet the photographs of it barely convey the presence the work possesses. A photo can never take the place of an actual experience. I think that's an idea I want to explore more. I just watched Hugo today. It's more of a children's film in some ways, but with very rich imagery. It was recommended to me during the residency, and I found it quite interesting. It shows some early film techniques, before the days of computers, and some of the ways illusions were created. It was interesting to me that the idea of cinema came up a few times in discussions of my work. It's something to consider.

I also just read an article on Jeff Wall published in the New York Times a few years ago. It was extremely interesting to learn about his approach, recreating events he sees in real life. He constructs his images in the way a painter would, and indeed, mimics the compositions and subjects of historcially important paintings. He was origanlly recomemended for me to look at because of his light box displays, something I might be interested in working with. Upon reading this article, I found many of his ideas resonating with my own. What I find most appealing about his work, however, is how it's accessable on several levels. A passerby can appreciate his work at face value, while an art historian could see the deeper nuances in the composition and subject matter. Photography in general has democratized art, and perhaps that's why it was inticially scorned in the art world. Because of this, photography has work harder to be sophisticated as art. The following quote by Wall shows his understanding of this:“Believing in the specialness of what you are photographing is a disaster,” he said. “Then you think the photograph will be good because of what is in it. Cézanne taught me that that is not true. An apple is not very interesting. He expunged any attachment to the subject matter, except what he brought to it. In the painting he would bring it back to life. Only by believing that his painting it is what would enliven it could he make it happen.”