the lichen-ness continues, though not that much further on in the process...
lichenscape I (a working title) has suffered some surface erosion, in the manner of the real elements - i am not scared. many years ago a tutor at art college said that that one had to push the image-making to the point of almost losing it, right to the critical edge as it were, and then resurrect it - it would then embody some of the passion, tenacity and spirit of its making. this method of working is not for every artist; it is risk-laden and sometimes stressful, but ultimately liberating. for myself, the secret history of the surface, the discreet (or discrete) signs of erasure or slow accumulation of layered matter over time is at the core of what i do. it also denies the sterile nature of cool, perfectly-rendered abstract paintings. i have a rough plan, a road map, an agenda even, but i will take the necessary diversions to fully explore the territory of my own making.just what is it that makes artists such as twombly, kiefer and hodgkin so different, so appealing? (to quote richard hamilton's work entirely out of context) - answer - they lay bare the messy truthfulness of the painting process. i was reminded too of the two works of sequeiros and reigl in the tate modern - there is some evidence of denudation or guano here, not entirely out of place within the environmental context of lichens...
a very close-up detail of eroded surface textures...my interest in surfaces continues even within the documentary process - i discover more found paintings. of course these are just reframings but they exhibit the same concerns and qualities that i seek within my abstract photography.a few years ago i applied for a grant to support a found paintings project. i wanted to re-present my small paintings as found, or 'reframed' in the conceptual sense as large abstract photographs - which, i thought at the time, would question the authenticity of the photograph (its source) and the creation (or reproduction) of a painting. in short, i would create the paintings, but would disseminate the photographed, found surfaces as the final artwork, images that i had re-authorised through my own photography...i made a brief reference to this idea in this blog post from february 2006 and earlier in december 2005 i wrote a little about my feelings on the rejection letter. yes, they politely declined my request for funding my research & development. it was, on reflection, probably a fair decision. the idea was just that, one in perennial incubation, it was not clearly mapped out how i would do it and why - but, now there are the means to create large prints and canvases on demand, which makes the idea still a possibility, albeit a costly one; it's always a matter of time and money (of which i have little)...and so, progressing on to lichenscape II...
which i contemplated and scrutinised quite closely today... here are a couple of close-up images of the surface textures...
i hadn't, during the process of painting, referred directly to my photographs for compositional elements, but looking at them now i can see that i am edging closer to an impression of a colony of lichens...
but i wasn't sure about the scale, the number, the shapes, the placement - it just looked a little busy, too cluttered... so, with a little jiggery-pokery i quickly manipulated the photograph to edit out a few elements of the painting... such a simple idea... here is the result...
then a quick play with a little digital effecting... a simple inversion and i uncovered some fungal mould spores, or is it bacteria, some rogue pathogenic cells, a deadly virus..? who knows what it is, but i'm not scared...
this reminds me of the dissolved, blind landscape photographs and the digital image transfers that i experimented with a while back - needless to say, those particular ideas are in cryonic suspension while the lichens take hold...
Curiouser and curiouser!
I've just sent an email to a student in art and design, in reply to the following questions. It is apparently to help with her visual research journal (perhaps that is how she found mine). I've received a few emails like this from time to time and I thank her curiosity or interest in my work for helping to add a new entry to my journal...Why do you choose to work in mixed media?I am not sure it's always a conscious choice to use mixed media, it's more intuitive than that, based on what seems right at the time. However, I am very concerned with the physical presence and tactile qualities of materials and the creative possibilities contained thererin. I did my Masters Degree in printmaking and learnt how to grind pigments for ink, pulp paper and use chemicals to alter the physical surfaces of things. I began to enjoy more the experimenting with raw materials (copper, wood, paper, etc) than merely visualising finished images for prints, which could be made by knowledge of a particular process. In my degree show, I did a series of cast paper reliefs on the thirty-six longest rivers of the world and constructed very large composite prints from contour lines of maps using deeply bitten copper and etched linoleum - even then the theme in my work was to do with the topography of the landscape. I still use a lot of basic printmaking methods in my work, such as transfer, surface engraving and monoprinting but these tend to be embedded within the layers of the finished work. Sometimes I am uneasy with calling them paintings since I rarely use a brush!How does your photography link to your paintings?Photography is often (but not always) more immediate in terms of realising an interesting image than painting. On some occasions I have been back to a location at particular times to take more photographs so that I get the image I want - light plays a big part. Whilst they are standalone images they do influence my other work to a degree - as ongoing visual references. Photography definitely provides a clearer narrative (its a real situation not reconstructed), but mixed media has a unique visual language of its own - a strong physical presence through the combination of media used - straight photography sometimes lacks these more emotive and visceral qualities. I do not consider my photographs to be artworks in themselves since they are so easily arrived at - but they do provide a complementary glimpse into my artistic concerns. A big influence on me has been the work of the Boyle family - their painted constructions are breathtaking, living photographs in 3D, if that makes sense. I would absolutely love to get a glimpse into their working methods! However, in my paintings (as mentioned above) the materials seem to take control, and so none of them are a direct copy or facsimile of a location, though of course I could not paint them without having first observed some object or detail in the landscape.Why do you title many of your paintings edgescape with a number but the photographs have different titles?It's a word I made up (though it may already exist!) - edge refers to locations or places which are marginal, peripheral, and to the physical edges of materials (even a simple line has two edges), scape signifies the lie of the land (as in original meaning/origin of landscape). Together they seemed to sum up my feeling of being both an observer of something real and yet also to do with the visual perception (and memories) of such subject matter and the finished artwork. As mentioned above, although derived from landscape, something changes in the translation from looking through to making so that I end up with something which only hints at its origin, which could also be perceived afresh when pictorial logic is removed (ie, a representational image). I also didn't want the works to be misinterpreted, rather they are very open to interpretation (to illicit a more intuitive or abstract response). So, the numbering system began - they link in many ways - in timescale usually (date started or completed) but also it helps to see them as an ongoing series. I've often felt duty bound to add a subtitle but these usually refer to the influence or use of a particular material in the making of it (as in Sylte for silt). Leonardo Da Vinci said in his Treatise on Painting, to look at the mud on walls, ashes from a fire, for here you will see beautiful new things - pretty advanced thinking for the time, but he was a scientist of sorts too. Regarding the photographs, as mentioned above, they're real, truthful, so the title is merely descriptive and are not intended to influence any reading or interpretation of the image.Which artists have inspired you and why?Da Vinci, as mentioned above for starters. Rothko was one of the first modern artist's work I saw in the flesh at the tender age of seventeen - I was astounded that pure colour could generate so much contemplation! Pollock too at this time since I really connected with the physical making of the work and the heartache behind it - not everyone gets it of course, but I think it's quite lyrical in essence. Over the years, I have been inspired by the work of many artists but perhaps more recently I would definitely say late Constable and Turner for their abandonment of formality, Schwitters, Tapies, Burri for their unconventional or unorthodox use of materials, Twombly for sublimely poetic works which have a genuine, unadulterated touch of hand, and now Anselm Kiefer - whose work is brutal and visually arresting but also quite intriguing and beautiful to look at on a formal level, despite the quite deeply moving subject matter. I suppose I must also thank Picasso for using collage in his Cubist painting period - prior to this, painting had very much followed a trajectory of pictorial illusion.Thanks for your questions - it's been good to sit down and answer one by one - I almost feel like a student again too - validating my work to my tutors!P.s Anyone reading this, feel free to email similar (or different) questions. They make for easy journal entries!
For seasons and reasons...
It's been just over a week since I started my experimental "blog", and I haven't managed to keep up one entry a day. I've had one piece of feedback. This experiment is not showing the signs of fruit just yet. I think it is timely to look at some other artist's blogs, and I've still to google "blog" as a term. The weather has been changeable too - we were all set for the big freeze which seems to have just passed us by. Yesterday, which was mainly dry and breezy, was interspersed with short flurries of sleet soon followed by episodes of sunshine. Even the talk in the village shop is how weather forecasts never quite come true; we have come to accept that we can and do have four seasons in one day.Nature's quartet has been a muse for many artists from Vivaldi to Twombly, usually and understandably as a series of four distinct works. As I write, the sun has slipped away yet again, a heavy lead grey sky slides in, indicating its arrival by the tinkling of raindrops on the window pane. Now, how to encapsulate this daily changeability, both visible and felt, in only one piece of work? Someone is telling me I should return to the humble sketchbook - remember, those small works of Constable and Turner? Haven't you got a book somewhere? Yes, but I see the sun has come out again, and I really should tackle the garden pruning before it changes back again. Alas, the sunshine was only fleeting, reason calls, and so endeth this "blog" for now...