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For the past
couple of months, I have been enforcing a 'closed studio'
policy toward visitors. No one has been allowed to view
the new work.
This work direction
is very tenuous during process, the painting development
fragile. The process in birthing these new paintings has
been private, intimate - a personal journey of development
- the paintings and my own. Because the work is a relational
and intuitive process, where there is no predefined finish
point, the paintings require me to be present with them
and to listen as well as feel as to the direction we are
taking. It can become tense as any relationship, when understanding
shifts for lack of presence - and presence requires attentive
energy. That focus is best served undivided.
For another
to come in and be in the studio while I am present is to
diffuse the tension of creation. Praise, criticism, or silence
- the presence of another is an adultery. The process of
development gets corrupted. When this occurs, the paintings
whose processes were tainted, are left alone until our previous
relation is forgotten. Crazy as that sounds, the painting
needs to be reintroduced fresh. There have been a few paintings
that I had to destroy completely and restart - an overall
coat of paint and a belt sander. The new relationship is
sometimes better as the old one is forgotten.
Harsh?
I wrestle with
these works. Some I wrestle with more than others. There
have been several times that I have triumphantly delivered
the finished stroke, only to hear the painting whisper,
"unfinished." This is a time of tense and dislocated
deliberation, for the needs of the work, to be properly
born, are not known.
Pace -pace -
pace.
If I smoked, I would feel beneath my feet, the crush of
butts, so many exhausted cigarettes - lighting up another,
relying on my tobacco mantra: inhale deep / exhale, my nicotine
meditation - awaiting a menthol enlightenment.
If I drank,
quick splashes of throat burning amber might stimulate a
testosterone charge into the studio, where a canvas assault
might loosen the stalemate - or worse, perhaps enough of
an offering of spirits, would entice an inebriated muse,
upon whose back I would rise from unconsciousness to animated
consciousness and gypsy passion - a tortured soul dangling
between enlightened being and density.
A bit dramatic
in metaphor, I agree. Still, it is this relationship I face
when I enter the space only occupied by myself and these
works. In attending the requirements of the paintings to
finally breath, as ideas made tangible - what is difficult
in these works is that the idea is less tangible as identifiable
image, and more tangible as an energy that attracts, engages,
and becomes alive in the mind of the viewer. In our dance
there comes a point where I am no longer in the lead. The
painting will then at that point, inform me in my quandary,
what it requires to move from inert medium to an infusion
of expression.
So I have kept
a closed studio until a week ago, when I began inviting
select friends and associates to view (only) the finished
work. The previews netted unexpected results.
August
continued -
"...With Redemption Coming In From The Sides.."
>> 8.11
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