A painting that whispers and echoes, like something brushing past you in the dark.

A painting that picks its toenails.

A painting that rolls up its pants to cross a stream.

A painting like this film.

A painting like this song.

A painting that can’t figure out how to hold its hands. Just shove them in your pockets, painting!

A painting that swells and heaves a little, in anticipation of birth.

A drawing that is not far from blush and mascara.

A drawing that traces the path of the eye from a page into the room (a conjuring of space inside space).

A drawing that hits the zenith before going for true plumb.

A line that turns gravity into gravitas.

A line that is the body shuddering slightly under the chill of sea air.

A line that sticks a carrot out of the cage in lieu of a finger.

A line that had something to say, but just forgot what it was.

A line that is a dancer with blisters.


workshop roundup

Are you a high school student in Seattle, or do you know one who wants to draw up a storm this summer? I’ll be teaching a workshop for 15-18-year-olds at Cornish— a one-week intensive at the end of July. It will be an immersive and experimental experience, using traditional drawing tools and techniques at the start, and branching out as the week progresses. What can a line do today? Where can it exist? What can it describe?

There is also still space in the book-making workshop I’ll be teaching in Oregon in June!

Linda Hutchins

Study for "Lineal Silver (Pool)"

I am enamored by Linda Hutchins’ thoughtful, elegant drawings and sculptures. She’ll be giving a performance tomorrow in Portland, that can also be seen live online. More below:

White Out: a performance for Low Lives 4 Networked Performance Festival
at Portland Institute for Contemporary Art, 415 SW 10th Ave. #300, Portland, Oregon
April 27, 2012, 5:30 – 8:30 pm (White Out is scheduled for 6:06 pm)

White Out combines drawing and percussion in a four-minute performance that weaves repeated strokes of silver from ten thimble-clad fingers into a rhythmic pattern on the walls. The performance is scheduled for 6:06 pm Friday, April 27 at PICA. It’s one of sixty live performance-based works being transmitted over the internet and projected in real time at twenty-five venues worldwide. Come and go as you wish while PICA screens all the performances live Friday, April 27, 5:30 – 8:30 pm (Pacific Daylight Time) and Saturday, April 28, noon – 3:00 pm (PDT). You can also watch the festival live online at www.lowlives.net.

archetypes and viscera

I, again, found myself recently talking about the “problem” of the figure in my own work. I put this in quotes, because I have to say that I don’t mind the human figure being more implied than explicit, even if the body is a central locus for thought. But I am especially interested in uncovering why I feel this way. Because I love the figure in others’ work…

The question becomes intent.

Alice Neel "The Family (John Gruen, Jane Wilson and Julia)" 1970, Tate Collection

Just got done watching a documentary on Alice Neel last night (stream it on Netflix if you’ve got it!), and am so entranced by her ability to uncover the particularity of her sitters. She was a master portrait painter for that reason– as she teased out the idiosyncratic and hidden layers of a persona, her images became so different from the momentary surface capture of the ubiquitous photograph. Robert Storr describes the effect of the lapsed time within a painting as “inhabited time.” In the film, Alice talks about the shock of leaving the painting space, because she’s been virtually living inside this other body for a series of hours. And that visitation is felt in her work. In an interview with Patricia Hills in 1983, she had this to say:

Art is a form of history. That’s only part of its function. But when I paint people, guess what I try for? Two things. One is a complete person. I used to blame myself for that, do you know why? Because Picasso had so many generalities. And mine were all– mostly a specific person. […] A good portrait of mine has even more than just the accurate features. It has some other thing. If I have any talent in relation to people, apart from planning the whole canvas, it is my identification with them. I get so identified when I paint them, when they go home I feel frightful. I have no self–I’ve gone into this other person.

Portrait painting seems like something Alice Neel was made to do. She lived a long life full of stark sacrifices before she became celebrated as an important artist, raised two sons in a small apartment in Spanish Harlem, and painted like it was her lifeline. As much as I admire this chutzpa, my passion has never angled toward the portrait. In truth, I’ve always been critical of my inability to get striking likenesses. Watching Alice paint on film makes me want to try live drawing or painting again, but it’s not really where I am right now.

Another approach to the figure that has been prevalent through history is the archetypical figure. Especially within mannerist traditions, the figure becomes a specifically designed model for an artist’s stage, and a world is populated through almost interchangeable characters. Maybe this is what Alice Neel was describing when speaking of Picasso’s “generalities.” I think of people like William Blake

William Blake: Job's Evil Dreams

…whose God and Job and demons all share close to the same features. (Click the link above to see more images and scout out what I mean.)

In a contemporary setting, I think of people like Mel Kadel:

Mel Kadel "Hold Yourself Up"

Or Edward del Rosario:

Edward del Rosario "Creationism I"

Or even fellow Neddy nominee, Stacey Rozich:

Stacey Rozich

…and just like my fascination with the particularity of portraiture, I find the work of all of these “archetype” (or “prototype”?) artists to be rich. They end up becoming studies of situations and tensions, rather than of specific personalities. As such, this approach is closer to my own aims, since I am more concerned with existential strains and the universal weirdness of living in a body, the relationship of humans to the earth and to an unseen world, and our tangly urbane habits. But it may come down to the fact that I haven’t invented a body that works for me. I have secret little tiny people that have been creeping into my pieces… in part because they emphasize the vastness of the rest of the scene, but also because I am quietly testing whether a whole corporeal frame is called for in the pursuit of my goals. Maybe strands of hair and dripping fluids are just as well in the capturing of a visceral conundrum.


Rick Beerhorst

Psalm to Be Read with Closed Eyes (D. Nurkse)

Ignorance will carry me through the last days,
the blistering cities, over briny rivers
swarming with jellyfish, as once my father
carried me from the car up the tacked carpet
to the white bed, and if I woke, I never knew it.
Rick Beerhorst

Sandra Cinto circles in

I came across this Sandra Cinto drawing by chance today, looking for something else:

© 2009 Sandra Cinto, courtesy Tanya Bonakdar Gallery, New York. Photograph by Jean Vong.

And when I swooped in for more research I found that she is installing a new piece at the Olympic Sculpture Park here in Seattle in a matter of days. The event that includes her presence is sold out, but I look forward to seeing it installed in the pavilion. In past work, I like how Cinto’s drawn line traces the edge of objects and then creeps up walls or over limbs. A welcome invasion of re-configured edges; a new ecology spun from thin wandering lines.

Also, I visited Mark Bradford’s website. A dense experience, layered and demanding, not unlike his paintings.