Showing posts with label abstract. Show all posts
Showing posts with label abstract. Show all posts

November 16, 2016

Artist of the week: Susan Rothenberg

My first artist crush, Susan Rothenberg

Ah the simple pleasures of painting. All those gorgeous painterly brushstrokes! You feel and see her every movement on these canvases. When you stand in front of a Susan Rothenberg painting you become a witness to her very personal viewpoint, making it an experience rather than just a painting. She sets a stage for you to feel you are a participant in.

Thomas Micchelli
Rothenberg begins with negation, cleaving away all that’s inessential, then reaches forward and backward in time, gathering whatever she needs, probing inward toward formalism and outward toward experience, one hand in the clay and the other in the air.
In a career that spans over 40 years, expectedly there are some paintings I am much more in love with than others so here I present some of my absolute favorites...

Susan Rothenberg Dogs killing rabbit
Dogs Killing Rabbit, 1991-92, oil on canvas, 87 x 141 inches

"A lot of my work is about melodrama. I wait for Bruce to fall off a horse and then I go, 'Oh, okay, the horse’s legs were there, the fence post was there, his hat flew off there...'"

- Susan Rothenberg

Susan Rothenberg Accident #2
Accident #2, 1993-94, oil on canvas, 66 x 125 inches
Susan Rothenberg Calling the dogs
Calling the dogs, 1993-94, oil on canvas, 69 x 65 inches

Susan Rothenberg With martini
With Martini, 2002, oil on canvas, 76 x 87 inches

Susan Rothenberg Blue Flip
Blue Flip, 1989-90, oil on canvas, 55 x 46 inches

Susan Rothenberg White deer
White Deer, 1999-2001, oil on canvas, 91 1/2 x 112 inches

Susan Rothenberg Blue u-turn
Blue U-Turn, 1989, oil on canvas






Susan Rothenberg Galisteo creek
Galisteo Creek, 1992, oil on canvas, 112 x 148 inches

Susan Rothenberg Falling
Falling, 2001, oil on canvas, 84 x 72 inches


Susan Rothenberg Four color horse
Four Color Horse, 1976, acrylic and flashe on canvas, 67 x 112 inches

Susan Rothenberg 4 Kinds
4 Kinds, 1991, oil on canvas, 52 x 88 inches

Susan Rothenberg Dog and snake
Dog and Snake, 2004-05, oil on canvas, 49 3/4 x 36 1/2 inches
Susan Rothenberg Untitled (geese)
Untitled (Geese), 1999, Etching, aquatint, and sugar-lift aquatint on chine collé, 13 11/16 x 20 1/2 inches
Susan Rothenberg the corner
The Corner, 2008, oil on canvas, 71 x 57 inches
Susan Rothenberg Crying
Crying, 2003, 5 color lithograph/screenprint, 34 x 35 inches

Steak and Wine, 2000, oil on canvas, 81 x 91 inches



Susan Rothenberg painting
[I've searched all morning for the title of this painting. If anyone knows the image details please let me know]





Susan Rothenberg Hawk
Hawk, 1993-94, oil on canvas, 37 5/8 x 63 5/8 inches

Susan Rothenberg
Susan Rothenberg in her studio


Further looking and reading:
Sperone Westwater Gallery
art21
BLOUINARTINFO
MutualArt







Current Exhibition at Sperone Westwater Gallery
4 November – 20 December 2016
Susan Rothenberg




November 2, 2016

Another Artist Dilemma

P A T I E N C E

I just watched a video of Eddie Martinez claiming to be one of the most impatient people in the world. Maybe that's one of the reasons I like his paintings so much!

I'm an oil painter who does not have the patience (or the time) literally, to sit and wait for the paint to dry!

P A T I E N C E . . .
Not a new concept, definitely a virtue, and for me a never-ending challenge inside the art studio and out.

Maria Popova's recent musings on the seven greatest things she's learned as the creator of brain pickings include:
#7. “Expect anything worthwhile to take a long time.” 
... As I’ve reflected elsewhere, the flower doesn’t go from bud to blossom in one spritely burst and yet, as a culture, we’re disinterested in the tedium of the blossoming. But that’s where all the real magic unfolds in the making of one’s character and destiny.
Although she was referring more to success in life, I'm talking about patience in the studio. My work may be process oriented, aka 'the tedium of the blossoming', but that doesn't make me any more patient. Lately I've been forcing myself to think about it more and more. 

For the most part I'm a fast painter and I like to work on human sized canvases like four to five feet. Since I've been working on a much smaller scale lately, this patience thing has become a lot more relevant. Painting small is really tough for me. Those canvases fill up fast! There's a moment when you're painting, you get a feeling that if you don't walk away from it right that second you'll destroy it and never be able to get it back. 

Samantha Palmeri art
one of four smaller paintings still very much in progress
I've never had much success working on one single piece until I drop. I've always worked on several things at once and this is exactly why. I have to remind myself, this will not be resolved in 4 hours, or 8, or 12, just let it do its thing!

In the mean time I have a real need to keep going, be busy, keep moving, so... on to the next canvas, and the next, and back around again. If I'm in a good place and things are moving quickly, I can finish a 5 foot painting in a week or two.


Needless to say, I have a lot of paintings piled up. What I'm suddenly realizing, though, is this pressing need to slow it all down. I need to be more consistent, more cognizant of what's working and where it's all going. It's like when you (well I don't know if they even give typing tests anymore) take a typing test for a job and you can type a thousand words a minute but half of them are spelled wrong. It's time to slow down and get it right.

 
Of course if I could apply this idea to all the other tedious everyday things I have no patience for, I'd be in really good shape! I am a counter of days, counting back to the past and ahead to the future. I am very aware of the time and the date. I clock my hours. I write lists and letters and blog posts and journal entries. I keep track of things. Sometimes I wish I could go to bed and wake up a week later, problems miraculously resolved. Like going on a diet, you expect to lose 10 pounds in a week and suddenly every day is dragging on like it'll never end. There's a part of me that can't help it and says, but if time is the great healer, let's go already!


Patience would mean slowing down a lot, and being perfectly happy with that. Patience would mean standing still long enough to let the moment have its moment. That seems useful... and good. Some moments need more time. How long does this one need?

Some paintings need more time, and that's what I'm trying to appreciate. In the meanwhile I'll just keep tacking those new canvases to the wall... 
 t a c k 
t a c k 
t a c k



Here's an interesting article for further reading: Patience and Painting


October 17, 2016

Philip Guston, Who The Hell Wants Paint On A Surface?

Philip Guston painting
Philip Guston, Alchemist, 1960, oil on canvas, 61 x 67 inches

Philip Guston in an interview with Joseph Ablow 1966

"For reasons which I did not understand at the time... when I went into nonobjective painting or at least non-figurative painting, I felt I was even then involved with imagery, even though I didn't understand the imagery, but I thought it was imagery.

For some reason that is not quite clear to me yet, and maybe I don't want to be clear about it either, I was forced and pushed into the kind of painting that I did. That is to say that the demand, in the dialogue of myself with this, was that I make some marks.
It speaks to me, I speak to it. We have terrible arguments going all night for weeks and weeks.
"Do I really believe that?" I make a mark, a few strokes, and I argue with myself. Not "Do I like it or not?" but "Is it true or not?" And "Is that what I mean? Is that what I want?"

But there comes a point when something catches on the canvas, something grips on the canvas. I don't know what it is. I mean, when you put paint on a surface, most of the time it looks like paint.
Who the hell wants paint on a surface? 
You take it off, put it on, it goes over here, it moves over a foot. As you go closer, it starts moving in inches not feet, then half-inches. There comes a point, though, when the paint doesn't feel like paint. I don't know why. Some mysterious thing happens. I think you experience this, maybe in parts of canvases or something like that. If you can do it by painting a face or an eye or a nose or an apple, it doesn't matter. What counts is that the paint should really disappear. Otherwise it's craft or something like that."
Philip Guston painting
Philip Guston, Portrait I, 1965, oil on canvas, 68 x 78 inches







July 8, 2016

FREE INSPIRATION

There are certain artists I can never get enough of. No matter when or where I happen to stumble upon them, their images never fail to fascinate and inspire.

Here are three of my favorites, Bill Jensen, Gerhard Richter, and Richard Diebenkorn. With one extra by Will Barnett.

Bill Jensen Art
1. Bill Jensen
Gerhard Richter
2. Gerhard Richter
Richard Diebenkorn
3. Richard Diebenkorn

Gerhard Richter
4. Gerhard Richter

Gerhard Richter
5. Gerhard Richter
Bill Jensen Art
6. Bill Jensen

Richard Diebenkorn
7. Richard Diebenkorn
Will Barnet
8. Will Barnet

Richard Diebenkorn
9. Richard Diebenkorn
Richard Diebenkorn
10. Richard Diebenkorn

1.  Bill Jensen,

2.  Gerhard Richter, "Sinbad" (series), 2008, enamel on back of glass, 11 x 9 inches
        Follow the link to view the entire Sinbad series of 100 paintings

3.  Richard Diebenkorn, "Untitled", c. 1952. Gouache and graphite on paper, 11 x 8 1/2 inches
4.  Gerhard Richter, "Sinbad" (series), 2008, enamel on back of glass, 11 x 9 inches
5.  Gerhard Richter, "Abdallah" (series), 2010, enamel on back of glass, 12 x 12 inches
6.  Bill Jensen, "With Color XIII", 2009, egg and oil tempera on paper, 20 1/4 x 15 inches
7.  Richard Diebenkorn
8.  Will Barnet, "Untitled", c. 1957. Watercolor on paper, 7 x 4 7/8 inches
9.  Richard Diebenkorn, "Untitled", c. 1952-53. Watercolor and graphite on paper, 12 7/8 x 18 7/8 inches
10.  Richard Diebenkorn, "Untitled", c. 1952-53. Gouache on paper, 17 1/8 x 14 inches




FREE INSPIRATION

There are certain artists I can never get enough of. No matter when or where I happen to stumble upon them, their images never fail to fascinate and inspire.

Here are three of my favorites, Bill Jensen, Gerhard Richter, and Richard Diebenkorn. With one extra by Will Barnett.

Bill Jensen Art










































Gerhard Richter Sinbad
Gerhard Richter, "Sinbad" (series), 2008, enamel on back of glass, 11 x 9 inches.                                                            Follow the link to view the entire series of 100 paintings. 













Gerhard Richter, "Sinbad" (series), 2008, enamel on back of glass, 11 x 9 inches








































Richard Diebenkorn, "Untitled", c. 1952. Gouache and graphite on paper, 11 x 8 1/2 inches






Gerhard Richter Abdallah
Gerhard Richter, "Abdallah" (series), 2010, enamel on back of glass, 12 x 12 inches

Bill Jensen Art
Bill Jensen, "With Color XIII", 2009, egg and oil tempera on paper, 20 1/4 x 15 inches











































































Richard Diebenkorn
Richard Diebenkorn, "Untitled", c. 1952. Gouache and graphite on paper, 11 x 8 1/2 inches
Richard Diebenkorn
Richard Diebenkorn, "Untitled", c. 1952-53. Watercolor and graphite on paper, 12 7/8 x 18 7/8 in
Will Barnet
Will Barnet, "Untitled", c. 1957. Watercolor on paper, 7 x 4 7/8 inches

Richard Diebenkorn
Richard Diebenkorn, "Untitled", c. 1952-53. Gouache on paper, 17 1/8 x 14 inches



June 20, 2016

Artist of the Week: Philip Guston

Philip Guston
Philip Guston, Alchemist, 1960, oil on canvas, 61 x 67 3/8 inches
Philip Guston
Philip Guston, Position I, 1965, oil on canvas, 65 x 80 inches

Since I'm moving to a new house next week my time at the studio, or anywhere else for that matter, has been temporarily taken over with packing. Thankfully last week I was able to take a slight reprieve to go and see the Philip Guston show at Hauser & Wirth. Although I needed to climb over a few boxes to write this to you I wanted you to read it before the show closes next month.

Seeing this exhibit couldn't have come at a better time for me. While I'm at the cusp of an important address/life change, my work is also having a moment. It has reached its point to change directions.

With that, I think I can safely say this show has changed my life! 
Although it has left me with more questions than I know what to do with, I'm inspired to dig deeper within myself to find the thing that most interests me.

Philip Guston
Philip Guston, Portrait I, 1965, oil on canvas, 68 3/8 x 78 inches
I need to know why these paintings work!
How they work. It is baffling me. I've never been so perplexed by an exhibition. Why not paint to the edge? Why the same size brush throughout? Why the color choices? Why the muddy grey that's somehow not muddy at all? How is it possible for that black to work so well as a figure? How is he pulling this off? A line here, a gesture there and somehow we know exactly what he's trying to say. I don't know how he's done it but I'm determined to find out! 

Philip Guston
Philip Guston, Inhabiter, 1965, oil on canvas, 76 1/8 x 79 1/4 inches

Guston believed artists don't always choose the kinds of paintings they inevitably end up making. That might go without saying. Guston was an artist who changed his course more than once and at no small cost to his professional career. 

When I consider that, it makes me wonder why I am making the kinds of paintings I'm making...


Philip Guston
Philip Guston, Untitled, 1962, oil on canvas, 66 x 73 inches
Philip Guston
Philip Guston, Group II, 1964, oil on canvas, 65 1/8 x 79 1/8 inches
The show at Hauser & Wirth highlights the period smack in the middle between Guston's pure abstraction and late figuration. It's interesting that you can almost see his wheels turning, each brush stroke transporting him from one important moment to the next. Perhaps this work would look wholly different if we weren't able to place it so effectively in its historical place. But perhaps it would have succeeded just as well. I'm not sure about that, but I am sure that his mode of expressive painting seems to have chosen him rather than the other way around. No matter what, Guston was open to finding his absolute truth and the best way to represent it.

Philip Guston
Philip Guston, Painter III, 1963, oil on canvas, 66 x 79 inches


Philip Guston
Philip Guston, The Wave I, 1967, Brush and ink on paper, 13 7/8 x 16 5/8 inches

I'd say that's kind of where I'm at: I'm searching for my absolute truth and the best way to represent it.