Archives for posts with tag: Painter

Day Three/ Image Three

“Afloat” image. Ceres Gallery, New York. My solo show. I am building a new studio and have been dealing with sub-contractors now for two months. While this is going on, I see the new blank walls and I feel the need to reflect on work completed.

An artist’s show unearths the artist’s psyche. Changes the person. Especially a solo show as massive as my show, “Afloat.”

This piece includes a tornado. Striking an innocent village in the snow. Blue sky. Another one of my collages cut from magazines. (“Afloat” used no computer imagery or manipulation.) Perhaps I choose to talk about change and beginning anew because of this image. And, of course, what is going on in my life.

Day One/Image One

“Afloat” image. Solo show of mine in New York in March 2013. An installation at Ceres Gallery, comprised of 100 images floating across the gallery walls. This one shows a swimmer lying on his back in one of the binocular lenses. With a black and white tidal wave about to swamp the stalker.

Mondays Are Blue. Are Your Tuesdays Maroon?

Do you see the days of the week in colors? Do you hear notes of music and assign a smell to each note or series of notes? Or hear raindrops and see cubes of water falling from the sky?
Do you give the months of the year sounds? Do you give words flavors? Like the word “sacrifice” tastes like licorice? Do you blur the senses?

If any of this is true for you, there is a name for this: It is called synesthesia. And the people who enjoy this kind of sensory life are called synaesthetes, sometimes spelled synesthetes. (without the a)

I, personally, am a synaesthete and according to numerous articles written about this condition, most of us are artists and female. I see January as the color white. February as a dark red. When Friday rolls around, there is the color bright green in my mind. Saturdays, tan. July a bright light green, etc. Number three is pink. New York is gray. Detroit, purple.

And some synaesthetes don’t like colored fonts because they see black fonts in color anyway. Perhaps the shape of the serif in the letter or the boldness of the font may conjure up a color. I suffer from this form of synaesthesia as well.

I really had not thought about this as something special (I thought everyone mixed senses up this way), until the “condition” was brought to light and articles were written about it. Then I started asking around and I was surprised at how many people do not experience this. Do you?

Let's fly!

A bench at The University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill

A Four Year Old's Artwork

Beautifully Painted Junction Box

Ran across this; Just had to post!

If You Stayed On Your Side Of the River You Would Not Need A Bridge

When a person works in an advertising agency, this person has the opportunity to work with probably the most intelligent and creative group of people in an office environment. I had that opportunity: at Cargill, Wilson and Acree, a subsidiary of Doyle Dane Bernbach (DDB), New York.

When I was working at Cargill, in Atlanta, I started something that turned out to be more far-reaching than I had intended. Eventually, an article was written about it in Adweek.

This far-reaching act on my part was called The Wall.

I set up “The Wall” as a place where coworkers, passersby and friends could come into my office and write one or two line quotations on the large blank pieces of paper I had tacked up on my office walls.

These large drawing papers on my office walls soon grew in numbers, enough to cover my entire office. Every time I changed offices, so did The Wall.

The “quotes” were not those of famous people. But some funny anecdotes. Things that happened during the day. Things that had made everyone present laugh. The agency would talk about The Wall in terms of “having a wallie.” (Then they would come rushing into my office and scribble it down.)

The Wall was so popular among everyone, including the principals of the agency, showing it off was a part of agency tours. (Even to perspective new clients.) The Chairman would stand there and read off selected lines and everyone on the tour would laugh.

A book containing quotations from The Wall was published.

When I left the agency, The Wall was taken down and rolled up. It is now yellowing in my basement. Vibrating with good times, stress relief, brilliant creativity and sometimes things that just don’t make any sense; I am absolutely positive that those folks who were working at or associated with Cargill, Wilson and Acree during those years remember it fondly.

Bad Work Into Good

This is about painting bad work.

As painters, we know it is disheartening to paint, day after day, trying to get our actions to meet our goals. What we see in our minds is fluid, a wise professor once told me, and cannot be translated into an image on the two or three dimensional surface. Ever. But it does not stop us from trying.

We are constantly surprised by what comes about, sometimes good, sometimes not.

When we paint tirelessly everyday, we keep going. It is so hard to spend, as David Lynch would say, most of the time looking at the work and very little time altering what we have done. It is hard enough just using that part of our mind which is non verbal. It puts us in a different world.

When we see that we have produced bad work, we are inclined to give up.

I learned through experience, that it is in those very bad paintings, the truth: That, we have reached a higher level. And we need this challenge to break through. When we do, we create something better. Better than all the work we have done before.

I see it this way: We practice (a plateau where nothing changes and we are satisfied with our work), we rest (giving ideas time to develop), and we learn. It is in the learning that we create bad work. And that is a very good sign.

Tiny Drawings

Refrigerator Art.

There is really nothing creative about people tacking things up on their refrigerators. It’s so common, it’s boring.

But I wanted to share some tiny little drawings I unearthed while cleaning our space out. (Still have not found a home for those Martha Stewarts I have collected since the first issue. Prison years included.)

These drawings are done by my family. some by my daughter when she was very little, some by me and one very odd and indescribable animal head drawn by my husband. I put them on the refrigerator in a little grouping, not really knowing where else to put them: They are so small.

A person could look at them as similar to those words that were popular years back. Those words you could string together and make a poem.

Maybe my collection of tiny drawings is like that.

Abandoned Roller Coaster

I have photographed this site before and have posted it on Facebook. But I love it so much, I wanted to put it here on my blog. The moving vehicle passing by gives you an idea of the scale.