Category Archives: my own work

resistance: a value or a trap

It’s a subtle thing, and lately I’ve been pondering my reasons for resisting as I’ve been examining some motivations. There are days when working or when in difficult relationships where I can feel this drag right under my skin. What is that? Time to take a careful look under my hood. And then time to study the manual. I take some care here, for resistance improperly applied can disassemble; it can destroy gradually like rust. Or, it can save lives like the firm pressing on the brake pedal when required. My difficulty (and yours) this side of Eden is discerning when resistance is good (which leads to Good) and when it is bad, leading to worse. Religions set up codes, or rulebooks to follow so one can “stay on the straight and narrow”. But creative life is much more complex than that. And in fact, in my own life there are times when “no, I wont go there” was very good, and other times when “I must face this head on”. Read Solomon on this, his words are in the middle of the Creator’s manual.

Recently I listened to a podcast by a Harvard trained Psychiatrist who now coaches artists. She does an effective job exposing the false ideas that hinder us such as “I cant” “I shouldn’t” “It’s all good” I’m all bad” (there are thousands more and we all have pet ones to which we we resort). Here’s an example “this hurts, it can’t be good for me” and I noticed I was fighting on the inside something I have no control over. Mine was not an active rebellion, but more a passive sulky resistance. Once I saw the potential in the manual for exactly this difficulty turning into something valuable I had very good reason to stop resisting and cooperate.

In my art practice, there’s often a negative resister: “I don’t have what it takes” but when I activate what I do have, little steps taken against my pet resistance can reveal something new.

Complex situations aren’t only black and white. And I’m a free agent who has the opportunity to negotiate through them: to select and to take into action. Time is one of the things I have, and materials, and a drive on the inside that I believe my Creator placed there. I’ll resist wasting these things.

Here you can see some studio exercises this week as I was thinking on all this. I started with ink. And then overlaid with oils in some more subtle values. Each one of these small maquettes could be translated to more formal work. As I still have time, I will.

“Time is what defines our lives” says Paco Seirulo, Leo Messi’s coach, on how the champion soccer player employs his brain and his legs during split second decisions.

work in progress

Process involves time (a gracious given) and developing skill with steps (mine to do). I like quick. That tends to mitigate against process. But, I don’t like junk and that requires better process. Do you catch my working tension?

This is a quick start I’ll example today. I respond to the mark making, the palette, and this idea I’ve been mining of rock faces and what’s on the inside of those cuts. But something stops me from being satisfied that this is “done” visually and maybe even conceptually. It needs some work.

Sometimes Miss Quick needs to slow way down before next steps can complete the visual whole. I want to be done, but I need some careful time. This is partly why: it’s just startling to my reasonably trained eye that I can’t see flaws when they’re staring me in the face sometimes, and can’t see good when I’m ready to toss or cover up something. My judgment, needed and free, has inherent flaws. I bring some unseen filters or blind spots often. A different day sometimes gives a fresher view.

This blog is about the intersection of what is seen visually and what is being referenced from that which is not seen. Both the seen and the unseen are why I work visually. And when I move in to work I bring with me unseen concerns. Sorting out what is precious from what is worthless is part of this tension. That’s really part of the fun too, but it is humbling: for knowing the difference is bigger than my eyes can often see. The hindrances in my vision may at least have to do with a vested expectation or a prejudice which clouds my seeing.

That’s precisely why I need to step away, and come back looking with clearer eyes. One of the tricks of seeing is to divorce, even repent from a settled orientation by rotating the piece while working. I’ll do that here. Another is to hold the piece in a mirror. Either trick forces the evaluator to look for the bones and balance apart from other attachments.

I have a pile of starts waiting for a finish. Some will get covered completely over, some will get interestingly repaired and some will get trashed. Not everything in my stack of un-dones shows promise, but then I’m not sure of that yet, so I keep them around. Time reveals, and time allows for better practice.

a surprising birth

Today I’m highlighting a piece that popped out rather quickly last November. It was like a sudden birth with little pregnancy, and it encourages me with anticipation. I have it propped in my studio right at eye level where I can reference its effect. In fact, this image is the screen saver on my phone (with apologies to my grandkids). The painting might mean little to most except as a pleasing arrangement of color and strokes. But for me to date, it’s one of the best things I’ve done, and an emblem of where I want to go.

Let me explain just a bit:

When things happen quickly and strongly I am alert and curious. The color palette here was unintended, rather more intuitive, and the subtlety of some of the cool and warm hues in the upper section interests me particularly. If you squint, the pinks, grays and warm whites link together into one predominant value mass. Moreover, the unity in the whole of those lighter hues is probably what gave me an immediate sense that this was something to stand back from even as it was so quickly brushed out. It’s the particularity melting into a surprising harmony that intrigues.

There’s direction in the piece as well, though it’s just a still point in time. There’s a lifting going on that speaks personally to me. The image can’t be tied to any certain locale but clearly there is ground and then atmosphere. So it’s a landscape, and the darker hues are limited to the grounded area, which is a theme of concern in a lot of my work. But, by the palette and the mark making there is something new here also which I find entirely refreshing. In other words, there’s no yanking didacticism going on, no forcing of meaning but rather just a sense of a beckoning call. Do you start to get why has my attention? I was in a duet when making this.

I reflect on this simple gestural work and it reminds me of a conversation that happened 2000 years ago. They were talking about a mysterious birth then too. You can read the dialogue in John’s gospel, 3^rd chapter. And after some very pointed words, Jesus adds rather obliquely: “The wind blows where it wishes and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it is going…” He was shifting very deliberately from the direct to the abstract. He was talking to a studied theologian when he said this. The man stayed curious “how can these things be?” That man was being invited to step up into another plane of understanding, to enter the birthing beyond the limits of what he knew. So it is with what I sense and somehow referenced here. T.S. Elliot speaks of this same imagined surprise in the first quartet of a poem “where past and future are gathered”. That’s what this feels like to me.

Abstraction done well (and oh may I be able to continue) is how I can begin to picture that. When I was in grad school, this was this kind of work I wanted to do, but my skill level wasn’t there yet. That was all preparatory. It’s been a good long engagement, toward this very quick birthing.

facets

Gem cutters get close. They begin with raw material: rough rock-bits from the earth. They’ve been trained in sensing how to recognize potential, what signs to note from the faintest of glimmers. Not everything picked up holds promise, but in the working of the stuff sometimes there is reward. And then they cut. They don’t leave it alone either. They cut again. For it is in the facets where the value multiplies. The light dances, the shadows bend revealing color, and then someone’s breath gasps for the catching of something…

Have you ever noticed how folks sometimes put their hands to their mouths when being overwhelmed? Is it because we just know our outer expression will be paltry in the face of something much grander, or scarier, or livelier?

But I can’t stop trying. This is one of several sketches I’ve worked out recently in an effort to understand and articulate this grander thing going on. The photo images I took in May were only a beginning. Facing some cut rock I felt as if I was at the edge of a very rich mine.

And reading Jesus, I see he even deliberated out loud before his disciples about “how to picture” something which to us is only mystery. He spoke many parables, “figures of the true” that some would catch and others would completely miss. T.S. Eliot said “human kind cannot bear too much reality”

capturing “it”

I was in the Salvation Army thrift store this week fishing through stacks of old frames, ignoring the pictures. But one small piece started me thinking about why folks make representations and hang them on walls. The prompt was a rather darkish watercolor of a flower stalk. It wasn’t badly done, the artist set it up on paper, selected a muted palette, articulated petals, signed it carefully, then framed it for some wall. I imagine she was proud of it, wanted it seen. Now, I reckon that the real flower stalk was more stunning however short-lived. The panting remains. It’s a token or a signifier of something. What motivated the artist to capture this stalk on a piece of paper? What gave her the impulse to copy what was before her? Was it some kind of sentiment? Or was it something else that would move her to set up and spend time? Is she still alive? Would the painting have prompted a rich memory of a moment? Or was her composition just a thing, a stand alone, made for adornment without any reference?

I muse on this because I wonder about the drive to “capture it” when I am working and when I am thinking about what it is I want to work. It is not representation that moves me. The references, the things I see with my eyes, hear with my ears and am moved by are only jumping off points. To render anything precisely for me misses the point of why I want to fill a frame. To perfectly imitate something on a board presents only a false stand in. It’s a pacifier. For the real material thing I first experienced is way more lovely than the best of copies. There is rather for me something in a glimpse or a suggestion which better captures the mindful “it” so many beautiful moments only allude to.

In C.S. Lewis’ lectures series The Weight of Glory, he uses words to try to explain: “Pictures are part of the visible world… and represent it only by being part of it. Their visibility has the same source. The suns and lamps in pictures seem to shine only because real suns or lamps shine on them; that is, they seem to shine a great deal because they really shine a little in reflecting their archtypes…it is a sign (these representations) and also more than signs for the thing signified is really in a certain mode present”.

The “it” I aim for, what I hope is rendered as “present” here, is the cut-away revealing of something solid. It’s getting the chance with some material stuff to see the gem like exposure planes, the multi facets in common things of earth. This rock wall used to be covered with dirt, but now we can see what is underneath, strong and exposed. It’s also the contrast between illumination and cavernous shadow. It’s in contrast and color planes where forms are distinguished and understood. And for me the “it” is the suggestion of a different dimension that cannot be precisely laid forth on any 2 or 3 dimensional material aspect. Case in point: Jesus prompted his closest followers privately that what they were seeing right in front of them was more than what prior prophets and Kings wished to see.

In other words, even the seeing cannot grasp full import. We need time and thought. The gestures therefore leave you looking, studying, connecting dots, and I hope desiring to apprehend more of what all these beauties are pointing toward.

drawing to discover

Blasted rock face breaks off according to the composition of the material being forcibly disrupted. Some rock just crumbles at impact, like so much hardened sand. Other rock, having been deposited by volcanic flow or metamorphic heat reveals these jagged architectural planes and lines when blasted. The visible cuts un-bury the evidence of long-term history in the making of the substrate.

I have a good number of wonderful (to me) photos of cut-faces as we recently drove around Lake Superior. Since a little kid, these broken faces have always drawn my eye. All I could say was “these are beautiful!” to the casual glances of others. Now I am trying to understand why these have so magnetized my attention.

From burst photos taken in the car, then on site: en plein air, I have been drawing and begun painting — not to replicate, but to discover. This posture takes the pressure off, and opens doors for freed up investigation. For it’s not about the rock/lines/planes/color though that has captivated first. I use those as jumping off points. It’s more about the nakedness of the cuts and the beauty therein exposed. Oh to be able articulate that! It’s like this solid rock thing with its cut contrasts is a signifier of something else being expressed to me.

In his dreamy, harsh, philosophical novel “The Island of the World”, Michael O’Brien says early on that “people always seem to fall in love with the image first, never the substance…”. It’s pictures that draw us originally, but if we get hooked and we want to know, organic things can lead us so much further.

A good number of artists spend time endeavoring to go deeper, like cave artists. And ‘going in’, underneath, behind the surface of things is where so many spend dogged time. For example, the subject of “beauty” has long been recognized by artist/thinkers as having a component of fear attached to it. It’s strange but sure. It’s something really important to discover.

“Poets are dreamers, Josip. They scribble their subconscious onto paper in order to connect with food sources.” O’Brien brings in characters to help his protagonist Josip along in this search. And that’s exactly what I am doing here: connecting to some food sources of a deeper hunger.

learning from some elders

I recently finished an autobiography of a little known Canadian artist: Emily Carr, entitled: Growing Pains. Emily was Canada’s equivalent of Mary Cassatt, at least in terms of era, European training and singular focus. But Cassatt never left us with such an articulate journaling of her struggle. I learned of Carr when in the Northwest of Canada last year. I’d already loved the amazing modernist landscapers of the Northern wilds called the Canadian Seven; but Carr’s name, or her work, is not usually included in general groupings amongst them.

To have come from the provincial west of Canada, not far removed from pioneering times — to endure the scoffing of family and the pursuit of suitors for her singular desire to study — then to travel to San Francisco, London and Paris so that she could get art training — and to live through Victorian attitudes, poor housing and bad health while working hard is Emily’s life. She was spirited, rebellious, sensitive and diligent and for a good portion of her mid-life she fell back in discouragement, running a boarding house back in British Columbia. It was later in life when she was recognized and included by Lawren Harris. He was one of the Seven, and insisted on including her in some exhibits back in eastern Canada. More important is the record of his thoughtful mentoring of her progress by mail. Her own articulate words tell this tale.

She says early on, having discovered her love of the woods as important to her voice: “sketching outdoors was a fluid process, half looking, half dreaming…as much longing as labour…these space things asked to be felt not with fingertips but with one’s whole self”. Then later after Harris’ encouragement: “…help was a little notebook I carried in my sketch sack and wrote in while intent on my subject. I tried to word in the little book what I wanted to say…I stopped grieving.” Lawren responded: these “represent vital intentions…unusually individual and (are) soaked with what you are after more than you realize…then we approach the precincts of Great Art—timeless—the Soul throughout eternity in essence.”

So, mentored myself by her words and his, I have started easing back into what I’m after in my own onging sketchbook. Here’s one recent entry.

synergy

There is so very often in my own practice what feels like a long incubation period before the bursting out into the open. It always takes longer than I expected to see the fruition. And then I hear this in my head “anything worth doing needs time and thought, planning and prep.” We all kind of get that. But here’s my problem: I’m impatient. I have ‘visions of sugar-plums’ or dreams of resolutions planted deeply. I don’t even know how they got there, but they’re there. Actually, I do know how they got there: lots of Bible reading and then lots of active prayer based on the clear promises I see. I get excited when I sense the glimpses. But then comes another corner to go around, another hindrance, and another disappointment. And these are incubators which take time and thought…I think maybe I just summarized my own internal life. You might see this in my work: for both the good and the bad of it all.

I bring this up for two reasons. The painting here happened quickly last month. It was kind of a surprise as I was working up several panels one day. I stood back and thought “hmmm, I may have just seen this pop to a finish. How did that happen?” The long incubators probably had something to do with it.

I was in Israel this month: a surprise trip, which also happened quickly. It was amazing in so many ways: friendships, learning, sensing the blooming going on there, some puzzles I’ve had suddenly clicking together… it was synergistic. I brought my watercolors, paper pads and brushes. They just took up space in my bag as I had not one minute to sit and use them. But oh my cameras were busy. I caught door frames and the wares of spice sellers. I caught the patterns on ancient marbles, and the blooms on a fig tree. My eyes reveled at the mustard yellows on the close hills and the sweet purply dimness on the far mountains –the planted rows of almond trees and date palms, and then had lunch overlooking the very hills where Abraham grazed his flocks. These things are all incubators. The fruition follows.

one sign of coming things

It’s not just the hints in the air, it’s much much grander and it’s in my spirit! “The times they are a changin” Who can plan or engineer these things? Certainly not me! I’ve spent many a frustrated season trying to pull things out of a hat, trying to make things happen, confident in my own chutzpa, only to find the results pretty paltry.

So, I can’t tell anyone what makes magic. Except for this: what the angel illustrated for the prophet Zechariah (who didn’t get the imagery and needed more words:) “not by might, nor by power, but by My Spirit says the Lord of Hosts.” Can He get an amen?

This piece has been sitting half finished in my studio for about 10 years? Maybe longer. I keep juggling things around to make room and pieces show up and make me discouraged (“how come I never finished that!” or “what a piece of junk, but the board is good, I’ll just paint over it…”).

I can tell my practice is improving because I am getting bolder and finding better results. There’s no magic in that except perseverance. My visible gray head is testimony of that!

But I am studying Revelation, that most ominous of books, and incredibly finding great hope in it. I know how the story ends and I can see how it is all being choreographed with meticulous thoroughness. Someday I’ll make a study plan of it for others. That is if I live that long. That will be with words on paper, but first come the images. The book of Revelation is chock full of imagery!

The energy and the urgency in the words is what is moving me forward. This is chapter 15, “Moses’ Song and the 7 Bowls” Finished February 26th, 2019. It is 12 x 15″, encaustic wax on cradled panel, with embedded collage, then cold wax mixed with oil color.

sign of the Fig Tree

It’s the time of year when buds are emerging. It’s also the time of centuries, long awaited, of Israel’s coming to fruition. The re-born nation is celebrating 70 years back in her land. “Can a nation be built in a day?” exclaimed the royal prophet Isaiah at the very end of his grand vision. I am convinced we are living in the time of Israel’s glorious denouement. The evidence is obviously visible: the land is blooming. Many trees, besides the broad-leafed fig, show the fruit of Israel’s 70 year cultivation of the land on the eastern edge of the Mediterranean. They are back where they started. This monotype is a reflection of that further becoming.

Like mirrors which echo imagery down a long corridor, has the fig tree been a watchword in every age for those who have read the Jewish prophet Jesus. Many have longed to see what we are seeing now with our own eyes. Many prophets promised it, and many more eager for the fruit yet to appear.

Before the Roman devastation of the 2^ndtemple in Jerusalem, Jesus, from the tribe of Judah, used a fig tree as a metaphor for his nation. It was not the time for harvest. And so the “sign of the fig tree” became a sad precursor to the Roman ruin of the Jewish homeland just decades after Jesus. The tree’s unfruitfulness at that time was a prophetic illustration of what was about to come down.

Now that nation is reborn, and fig trees are blooming again. There is reason for anticipation.

The fig is the third tree mentioned in Genesis, after the tree of life, then the forbidden tree (knowledge of good and evil) that was nonetheless sampled by Eve then Adam. The Fig was the fall-back, not for eating at that point, but for the more desperate need for cover-up. Its broad leaves were grasped and stitched together for now there was an instinctive knowing of inadequacy, a need for costume-ing. It was the first masquerade.

But for the gracious kindness of a seeking God, that is not where the whole story ended, though it could have. And that is precisely why this sign interests me. It wasn’t the poor tree’s fault to be a sign of leafy futility. The fig tree that Jesus spoke of remains a metaphor of what was and what is yet coming: Isael’s long term future toward fruitfulness. He finishes everything He began.

Fig trees are blooming again in the land. And the God of Abraham is still walking around. He’s still asking any who want to care the very first question he posed to mankind in another garden: “where are you?”

hidden and plain view

Like me, you’re probably metering out what you’ll make visible, and what you happily keep to yourself. Social media has us all learning and adjusting in this balancing act of exposure vs. privacy. And visible international reach offers so much more exposure too, for good and for ill. I can see the stats on who views this page and it is worldwide. So, here I’ll just say “hello!” to those of you who read this out there in the great beyond.

I highlight today a piece I made several years ago. It’s sister is in a big current show in our University museum. But this is the quieter of that duo and I want her to get some time in the electronic sun as well. For you see, this piece is visualizing something hidden yet promised.

I am digging through the book of Revelation, that last book of the Bible where the recorder is told to write down “the things you’ve seen, the things which are and the things which shall take place”. This book has me and I’m paying particular attention of late to Jesus’ words to the historical church. He has warnings, direct rebuke in specific cases, and words of penetrating comfort in others. Jesus knows the score. He is the coach. And He is about to end the game in time, “I am coming quickly.”

After the rebuke words, there is instruction and promise given to the “overcomers” who hold fast in their particular struggles. Jesus, with eyes of flame, promises in one case to give certain overcomers “some of the hidden manna”. What in the world is manna? Exactly. Manna literally means in its original Hebrew “what is it!?” Manna was a historical miracle of provision for the tribes of Jacob in the wilderness of Exodus. The stuff came down from heaven, landed like dew, and fed them continuously for 40 years. Now, in that case it was a public feeding, everyone went out and gathered it.

In Revelation the manna being promised is hidden, and it is given individually. For Jesus addresses a singular “He who has ears to hear…to him who overcomes, I will give some of the hidden manna”.

This much is clear from both instances of manna’s provision: The stuff is mysterious and it is given to sustain. It comes from God to us. In this later case of Revelation it is a private provision and very precious. The receiver would likely keep it that way.

But I am making this known, by displaying this beckoning visual. Did you know there is such a thing as manna available from God? Here’s the upshot about it from the text in Revelation: such a thing as manna is promised to certain ones. Jesus is the one who promises it. Such a thing is real and on the table; it will be fulfilled by Jesus. And whoever is fed by this will be sustained in the times to come. This is a picture of private assurance.

Mary Barton Nees

Conceptual Landscape