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November 30, 2005 (Wednesday) - A Particular Kind of Heaven
Yesterday I stopped by the de Young with my friend Janet Rosen (a painter, and seamstress.) You may have noticed I'm keeping these visits short. Works better for me that way - go often, take in a little bit, go somewhere quiet to think about it. Only tourists have to do the marathon see-it-all visits.
Yesterday's Chronicle had a piece by Kenneth Baker that ripped Ed Ruscha's painting,"A Particular Kind of Heaven."
"The de Young asked the Los Angeles artist to turn the painting so titled - which it already owned - into a triptych. Now the central panel, a generic ocean sunset over which the title runs in dropped-out white, hangs flanked by two equally large canvases that continue the panorama. But like overlapping snapshots of a landscape from the same vantage point, the side panels repeat letters at each end of the title phrase. Ruscha has thinned further an already thin performance. Never mind that we can view the original picture and its expansion as a California landscape, nature seen through a catch phrase. The expanded version enriches very little the play of word and image for which Ruscha is renowned. The de Young hoped to bootstrap a work it already owned into something three times as important, and it shows." K. Baker in SF Chronicle, 11-28-05
So we went there first. We spent a long time looking, up close and from across the lobby. For whatever it's worth, Mr. Ruscha, your triptych gets two thumbs up from Janet and Anna. I get the feeling that the original painting was about California and the new work is about the Pacific Rim. The new panels open up the piece, and change the point of view from standing-on-beach-looking-west to over-the-ocean-looking-both-ways. Plus the new panels add some interesting elements... there's a big coastal rock formation on the left and wooden planks along the bottom... not sure what it all means, but it's well painted and I'll have plenty of opportunities to contemplate the piece on future visits.
If a work of art is well crafted, or at least good enough not to insult me, and if it will hold my interest for long looks and repeated viewings, then it's a successful piece, in my book.
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November 29, 2005 (Tuesday) - SF Artists take note
The SF Arts Task Force, a separate body from the Arts Commission, was established by the Board of Supervisors late last year. It has met a few times and its regular meetings (open to the public) will be held on Wednesday, December 7; Tuesday, January 3; Wednesday, January 18; and Tuesday, January 31at 5:30 in City Hall, Room 201.
Its agendas and minutes are posted at the city web site. <>
A report on the July Meeting is at ArtNewsExtra.
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November 28, 2005 (Monday) - just thinking....
I can't believe it's Monday already. I haven't been near the computer in days. Got a zillion emails to read & other things to catch up on....
...this past weekend I visited painter John Paul Turnage. It was the first time I'd seen his work in person. Like the work of a lot of realists, especially those that paint on bigger canvases, John Paul's paintings seemed crisply photographic in reproduction, but quite painterly when you're standing in front of them. Flat little areas of color are defined by the width, length and shape of his brush. It's mesmerizing, at first. The first thought that came to me after looking a few of his cityscapes, is that his work reminded me of Chester Arnold's, but I wasn't sure why. It's not the subject matter, or the force of personality behind the brush. So what is it? Finally it came to me that it's the brush strokes. I'm sorry that there are no photos (that I know of) that can show this quality of paint. It's very subtle - you have to be there.
I don't come across too many people who follow what I'm talking about here, and that's OK (I don't know much about model railroads or fly fishing.) It's the nature of obsession, that the deeper you go, the fewer fellow travelers you encounter.
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November 24, 2005 (Thursday) - feast day paintings
November 23, 2005 (Wednesday) - Ruth Asawa sculptures at de Young
Ruth Asawa is an example of what it means to be an artist. She's one of the most inspiring examples we have. She has used her talents, training and life experience to enrich her community, and certainly most of the people in San Francisco are grateful for her presence here. I've been thinking about her body of work (artworks as well as activism) since seeing her hanging wire sculptures at the de Young recently.
The 15 works are made of copper, brass or Montel wire and are crocheted or hand-woven. They hang in the vestibule of the tower, casting reticular shadows against the concrete walls. One of her untitled circular tree pieces (I think of them as tree mandalas) is mounted against one wall. If you've lived in San Francisco any length of time, you've certainly seen one or more of her fountains or sculptures and heard about her work with local school children. Sometimes I wonder why we hear so much about young artists who act like (are treated like) rock stars, when there are artists like Ruth Asawa quietly working in their communities, year after year. There must be many more like her, out there in other towns around the country. I hope they're valued by their communities.
In case you're new in town, or reading this from elsewhere, here are some links about Ruth Asawa:
Her own, excellent, comprehensive webpage, with great scrapbook photos.
An upcoming show (December 1, 2005 - January 14, 2006 - Sculpture and drawings) at Rena Bransten Gallery
A story from the November '05 Noe Valley Voice (Asawa's neighborhood paper.)
KQED's recent Spark video (downloadable) about Asawa and her influences.
Her exhibit 3 years ago at the Oakland Museum.
A DVD documentary about Ruth Asawa
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  James Turrell's skyspace sculpture at the de Young - at left, view from inside the skyspace; at right, view from the tower. From the de Young press release:
"Created specifically for a site in the new de Young’s Osher Sculpture Garden, it is a gift of Mr. and Mrs. Osher. This "skyspace," titled Three Gems, is the first work by Turrell to enter the museum’s collections. It is a subterranean installation that will feature a view of the sky altered by L.E.D. lighting effects, and that highlights changing light and weather conditions outside. "
November 22, 2005 (Tuesday) - de Young Sculpture Gardens
 The new de Young is too big to absorb in a single day. I've been taking my time, visiting again and again, focusing on smaller areas during each visit. So that's the way I'm going to be telling you about it. Today I'm focusing on the outdoor sculpture gardens at either end of the museum. They're both free to the public, and part of the transition from park to art. The children's sculpture garden at the tower end of the building was the biggest surprise to me. It's big, but it's full of intimate spaces. There are three arbor enclosures (one each of Jasmine, Passion Flower and Eucalyptus) and plenty of benches and other seating. The turtle pond is back, and it's about twice the size of the old one. Kid-sized bronze sculptures are tucked around the garden, almost hidden, awaiting discovery. By next year, when the brand-new plantings have filled out a bit, this will be wonderful. I'll bet this place is going to figure prominently in the memories of local children who get to visit on regular basis.
  Click on the tower view of the children's garden (at left) to get a VERY BIG version of the image.
On the other side of the building, just outside the cafe, is the Osher Sculpture Garden. It's also free and open to the public, but it's less accessible - you have to get to it from inside the museum (you don't need a ticket until you enter the galleries.) An eclectic mix of sculptures sits on the lawn, including: a Henry Moore reclining figure, Robert Arneson's "Minuteman", the Claes Oldenburg diaper pin, some giant apples, some strange figures in bean bags, and the James Turrell skyspace.
 I'm not sure if it's ever going to be possible to experience the skyspace in quiet contemplation. It seems to have been intended for that kind of appreciation. But during the times I've tried to sit there quietly and wait, there have been shrieking, laughing, talking, filming folks arriving every 10 to 30 seconds. They usually do a 2 second glance around, then up, then they leave. You can hear them as they make their way all the way back down the tunnel. Plus, those creepy security cameras embedded in the walls make it difficult to go within (there's something about being overtly observed that makes it harder to shake the sense of self.)
Ah well, I'll keep trying.
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November 21, 2005 (Monday) - More about new de Young director
Links to stories about Harry Parker retiring and John Buchanan being hired as director of the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco:
- Tyler Green at Modern Art Notes will post an exclusive Q&A with John Buchanan on later today.
- Gregg Chadwick at Speed of Life has some advice for John Buchanan.
- "Director of Portland Art Museum steps down" from Ron cowan at the Oregon Statesman Journal
- "Fine Arts Museums pick new director -He hopes to build on buzz from de Young" from Jesse Hamlin at the SF Chronicle
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 November 18, 2005 (Friday, extra) -
de Young update
At a press conference today, in the Piazzoni Murals Room at the de Young Museum, Dede Wilsey announced that John Buchanan of Portland was hired as the new director of the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco. But first she gave retiring director Harry Parker an effusive thank you, and described how she had to talk him out of retiring on at least two previous occasions. John Buchanan took the podium and gave a brief talk about his past experience and his future goals for the FAMSF. He still has a smooth, soft southern accent (he's from Tennessee) mixed with an energetic delivery. He's been in Portland for the last 12 years and is known as a skilled fundraiser. His main goals for the FAMSF are to "maximize the investments in the structures" and to "go on a journey to collections development." Sounds good to me. He starts on February 1st, 2006. Harry Parker retires Dec. 31st, 2005.
Image left: Harry Parker, listening to John Buchanan talk about his plans for the FAMSFS.
Image below: John Buchanan introducing himself at the de Young press conference.
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November 18, 2005 (Friday) - de Young News; more about Nursing & Art
 News from the de Young: They scheduled a press conference for Friday morning, "Announcing changes in the leadership for the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco." I assume that means they found a replacement for outgoing director Harry Parker. He got more than he bargained for when he took the job in 1987, but he sure came through for San Francisco. He not only got the Legion of Honor renovated and the de Young rebuilt, but the collection has improved tremendously since he arrived. In 1987 the collections at the Legion and the de Young were dowdy, weak and second-rate in a lot of areas, and worst of all, they were divided up and exhibited in ways that were hard to make sense of. Now, European art, Ancient art and works on paper are at the Legion. American art, African and Pacific Island art, and Textiles are at the de Young. (The Asian Art Museum moved across town.) Both museums look great, and they're visitor-friendly. What will the next director focus on - beefing up the thin areas of the collections?
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From another ex-nurse artist, Janet Rosen:
I found that the emotional demands of nursing were such that, even nursing part time, 3 days per week, it was very difficult to paint the other days. The last thing I wanted was to "go inside," which for me is a prerequisite for painting. My impulse rather was to distract or numb myself, with walking, birdwatching, going to the movies, and so on. My more commonly turned to creative outlet during the nursing years was sewing; I made almost all of my own clothing for several years, as that was purely an artisanal process that did not require the inward state.
I was never moved to express my nursing experience in my art. The "I Stopped Breathing" series was about dealing with my husband's hospitalization, and I've done several assemblages in honor of dead friends and family, but the profession never did feed the art in any productive way.
(This was in response to my post on Monday about the same topic.)
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 November 16, 2005 (Wednesday) - Hawkesworth on Painting
I realize I'm probably the last one to the party here, but this morning I took advantage of my new DSL and downloaded some of Vince Romaniello's artist interviews. (Thanks to Chris Ashley for the reminder.) The iPod version of Timothy Hawkesworth's talk about the response of the body to painting, gets a rave review from me. He talks about "creating the hospitality" (in the body) for the art to come through, as an "amazing alchemical" process that is "constantly being interrupted by the conscious mind." He says to get to that space, that, "it's really an issue of engagement and immersion. It's time with paint, it's exploring, building up that knowlege." Check it out.
(Image still from Vince Romaniello's video)
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November 15, 2005 (Tuesday) - Odds & Ends
Well, I'm almost a 21st century blogger - I finally got a DSL line. My roommate talked me into it (thanks, Allyson.) I no longer have to say to people, "DON'T email your photos to me - send a disk." I can listen to podcasts! Maybe I can even make some... I want to figure out how to do the kind with pictures. Now, if only I could get Wordpress up and running.
Congratulations to Franklin and Tyler for mentions in Terry Teachout's WSJ pieces last weekend:
"While a few artbloggers, including myself and the New Yorker's Alex Ross (www.therestisnoise.com), are professional critics, most are passionate amateurs like Canada's Jaime J. Weinman, whose "Something Old, Nothing New" (zvbxrpl.blogspot.com) is one of the wittiest surveys of pop culture on or off the Web. But a fast-growing number of artbloggers are "professionals" of a different kind -- professional artists who blog on the side, some of whom, like the Miami-based painter Franklin Einspruch (www.artblog.net), cover their local arts scenes as incisively as any print-media critic. ... As for Tyler Green of Washington, who writes "Modern Art Notes" (www.artsjournal.com/man), the most influential of all visual-arts blogs, his work has recently appeared on this page."
If you participated in SF Open Studios this year, as a visitor, as an artist, or any other way, be sure to take the on-line survey - (HERE) only a few days left - to let Artspan know how they can improve it for next year.
.. back to searching the wide new world of broadband...
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November 14, 2005 (Monday) - Chemistry, Nursing, and Art
Last week, Carole Es wrote and asked me:
"You know your resume on your website is really interesting! I was just reading it and was really intrigued with your nursing and chemistry background. Do you think the two have met in your work ever?"
 No one has ever asked me that question and I hadn't really thought about it. So I took a few days to think about it...
Studying chemistry was just a step on the path to a nursing degree. I retained enough of it to help me understand pigments and how they react with various solvents, mediums, and environments. And I still have an odd fascination with the Periodic Table (density, mass, oxidation rates... it's weird how much it interests me) but I was never interested in Chemistry for itself.
Going into Nursing and quitting Commercial Art was my attempt to live a more authentic life. Because designing ads for Mr. Coffee and his brethren made me feel like I was part of the problem. I wanted to be part of the solution (this was the 70's.) I've thought of myself as an artist since childhood but being an Artist (as in, Fine Art) never occurred to me at that time. I didn't know any personally; I was in a small town in upstate New York; and having come from a working class family, I considered "making a living" to mean "drawing a regular paycheck."
 Nursing seemed like a hands-on, no bullshit, straightforward, positive contribution to the community. Of course, nothing is ever as simple as it seems. I soon discovered that hospital nurses are just pawns in the "Health Care" business. It took me years to extricate myself, and during that time my painting really suffered. I was only able to complete a paltry 2 to 4 paintings per year. By the time I finally broke away, I was living in San Francisco and all things seemed possible. Plus I had survived a series of crushing personal disasters and I figured, "What the hell, I'm just going to make art - it couldn't be any harder that what I've already been through." Which has turned out to be true.
Back to the original question, if I understand it correctly: are nursing and art completely separate worlds, or do they come together in some way, in my life? In terms of art projects, there are only two examples, from the beginning and the end of the temporary sidetrack called, "Nursing." There was the mural I painted in the nurse's lounge at Albany Medical Center, in 1977 (images above). And there was the painting I did in 1996 (image below) that commemorated the expiration of my nursing license (meaning, there's no going back.)
For whatever it's worth, there are definite similarities in how I approach art-making and care-giving:
1. Study the issue, the problem, the territory - learn as much of the received wisdom as possible.
2. Practice the skills until competency is second nature, and then keep practicing.
3. Observe. Observe. Observe, and stay open to intuition.
4. Use creative problem-solving to keep solutions unique to each situation, person or painting.
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November 10, 2005 (Thursday) - Interview with collector, Amanda Janes
 Last week I wrote about how I met San Francisco art collector, Amanda Janes. She had already been collecting SF art from SF artists for some time, but luckily for me, she wasn't done. Luckily for her, she has a second venue for displaying her collection - her cafe, the "Corner Cup" takes the overflow. Actually, she's constantly moving the paintings around, changing the exhibits to accomodate new pieces or just to see how they look in a new arrangement. If a regular customer happens to walk into the cafe after she's changed the art around, they'd better take notice, or she'll say, "Hey! Notice anything new?" After a while everyone gets the hint. When entering the Corner Cup, you look at the art, make a considered comment, and then you can order your cappuccino.
(A painting of the Corner Cup, at left, by Anna Conti)
I've watched her cajole the most unlikely customers into thinking about and talking about the paintings. She's turned many of them into art appreciators and a few of them into beginning art collectors. It's an amazing talent - one that many galleries would probably like to borrow.
 
(Images above are etchings of old San Francisco by Barbara Shermund, Amanda's great aunt.)
 I've spent a lot of time at the Corner Cup, but for this interview I went to her house. She showed me around, pointing out the paintings that were up, and mentioned more that were in storage or at the cafe. There were too many to count, but as a rough guess, I'd say there were about 20 artists represented, with multiple pieces by each artist. As far as I could tell, they were all San Francisco artists. She has a great collection of early 20th century etchings and drawings of San Francisco, most by her great aunt, Barbara Shermund. Every room in the house is filled with art, including the baby's room. She says, "We didn't want to do the traditional Disney figures and commercial art." We sat in the kitchen while she fed her son, Eoghan. First, I asked her how she got started, collecting art. From here on out, it's Amanda talking.I left out my questions, because they didn't seem necessary.
(Images of the baby's room and living room below, with paintings left to right: David Steinhardt's dunes, Anna Conti's "Cold Potatoes", Steve Dehlinger's "Love is in the Air", Veerakeat Tongpaiboon's cityscape, Dale Erickson's "Bedroom Window", Veerakeat Tongpaiboon's cityscape.)
 
Amanda Janes:
Well, the very first piece of art I bought was a black and white landscape by an unknown painter. I was at Lucky's (a supermarket on Sloat Avenue.) Every now and then they'd have these art sales where they'd sell art for $100 and they'd frame it for free. There was something about that one that I really liked - it was peaceful, but eerie.
 Then, in the early 80's, I was working as a waitress and bartender at a place on Lombard. My girlfriend Mary, who worked with me, lived at Lombard & Franklin, and the downstairs tenant was Peter Brownlee. I'd go over to her house after work, we'd hang out together, she'd watch the kids for me once in a while, so I got to know Peter. We'd go down into his studio and he'd show us what he was working on. He was just this crazy, no filter between the brain and the mouth, did whatever, paint everywhere... I guess it was the chaos of how he lived and how his studio looked, that... juxtaposed to what I saw in his artwork... he was so frazzled, but I loved what I saw in his paintings. I was a single mother and I said to him, "Peter, one day I'm going to come back and buy one of your paintings." He said, "Well, I'll give you a good deal." Sure enough, I went back years after that and bought "Playland at the Beach," and then later I went back and got the "Palace of Fine Arts." It's a very playful kind of painting, the way the trees bend, with the purple, and the textures... you can feel the wind blowing. I'd always liked that one but at first he said he wouldn't sell it because he wanted his daughter to have it.
(Image above is Peter Brownlee's "Palaceof Fine Arts"; below left is Browlee's "Playland at the Beach"; below right is Conti's"Laughing Sal and Change" - Laughing Sal was a fixture at the old Playland.)
 
 My next big project was opening the coffee shop. I was building the coffee shop, at the time, and also working as a private investigator. One day I was tailing this guy all day, from 5am until 4 in the afternoon. I ended up following this guy into Golden Gate Park, which ended my day, pretty much. So I really needed a cup of coffee, a bathroom, and something to eat. The Canvas (a gallery/cafe) was right across the street from the park. I had never been in there, but I went in.. mind you, I had been on surveillance all day, so I was grubby and disheveled. I got a cup of coffee and ordered a salad and started to walk around the gallery, looking at the artwork. I saw "CAR" and I looked at it for a few minutes, and I walked away, then I went back. I went back 3 or 4 times, while I waited for somebody to tell me something about this painting. But I believe, because of the way I looked, nobody in the art section was going to talk to me. Finally I went up to somebody and said I wanted to know about the painting, and they told me the price, and I said, "OK, I want to buy it." They kinda looked at me, and I said, "But I don't have my checkbook with me," and I'm sure they thought, "Of course." But I came home, cleaned up, got my checkbook and went back to the gallery. I said, "OK, I'm here." They fell over. But then they wrapped it up and off I went, knowing full well that it was going to go right into the coffee shop, on that back wall where the ceiling is so high.
(Image above right is "CAR" by Anna Conti; images below are also by Conti, from the Trickster series - left is "Venus and Mars", right is "Beginning")
 
It fit absolutely perfectly. I didn't start out having a theme for the art, but I was looking for things that would work in a small neighborhood cafe - the kind of place where you have a lot of native or long-time San Franciscans, and long-time Sunset residents. The Doggie Diner in "CAR" was something I remembered from when I was a kid. And so it began. That's how I met you. You were very sly when you came into the coffee shop and said, "Does anybody ever ask you about that painting?" I said, "Yes, all the time," and you said, "Because, I painted it." Then I found out about so many other local artists... you took me out to my first Open Studios, and then I went out on my own.
(Image below left is photo by Katia Fuentes, right is painting by David Neri)
 
Somebody once commented on the artwork I was starting to accumulate and said, "all of your artwork is darkness into light." I hadn't noticed that, but when I go back through and look at the paintings, it's very clear to me. With Veerakeat's work, the darkness is not just absence of light - it's movement, it's change, it's time, it's really life. I love his work. There's no people in most of the work I've collected. Maybe I haven't evolved enough to appreciate figurative work - maybe that's yet to come.
(Images below: left is Rebecca Gates' stormy sky, right is Veerakeat Tongpaiboon's nightscape.)
 
Stories (about paintings) are good - like the story I have for "CAR." I kind of joke at the coffee shop that, "it's always about the story." You gotta have a story. For instance, I like the painting by Rebecca Gates of the stormy sky, because she told me that she was organizing an art show in Hawaii, and she was really stressed. She woke up in the morning and saw the threatening skies (the one that she painted) but the art show went great. When I look at that painting, I think about how she felt that morning and how things turned out.
(Images below are both by Bill Rhea)
 
I like to purchase art directly from the artist, in the studio, because it's a more intimate setting, less pretentious. It's a better way to get the actual story. Usually, when I buy from a gallery, I know what I'm going in there for. I've already collected the story, and it's more of a hard target. Go in, get it, get out.
The art makes me happy. I'm not a television person, so when I come home I find a quietness in my paintings. My paintings are my friends, I guess you might say. I know that some people might say that it's a frivolous expense, but I don't have a hi-fi system, I don't have a flat-screen TV, I don't have a fancy car, I don't have labels on my clothing, so art is my entertainment system. Even when I'm not directly looking at it, I can feel it in the room.
(Image at left is by Veerakeat Tongpaiboon) 
When I was a kid, I drew pictures. I liked to draw, but the art that was most prevalent in our house was music. I played the violin, my brother played the violin, my sister played the flute, my mother played piano, and my grandmother sang. But my life, before I started to build the coffee shop... I was kind of lost, and not very happy. Some people go to therapists, but my way was to build a coffee shop, and in the process, and the art was a big part of that process, I was broken open. And everything I had inside me just shined out. I think that the art is everything that I had inside.
I'm definitely in a different place now, but it hasn't changed my appreciation for art. It's actually increased it. Now, it's a little bit harder for me to go to shows with the baby, and money is a little bit tighter, but... I just recently found a new artist I like - Hye Seong Yoon - I'd like to get one of her paintings. When I was building the coffee shop, my art buying was more impulsive, but now it's a more reflective, thoughtful way of looking at art.
You know, maybe I'm going through another period of change.
Cars don't last, clothes don't last, stereos break, computers become obsolete, things don't last, but art does. I'll always have my paintings.
 
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A special request from Amanda Janes to readers: "I just wanted to mention this one (below,) an ink and watercolor of San Francisco, corner of California and Mason, Nob Hill; it's signed Erha, or Erka 1950. My stepmother gave it to me and every now and then I try to go to AskArt.com to try to find out about the artist, but I haven't had any luck yet. Does anyone know who this artist is?"
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November 9, 2005 (Wednesday) - Jennifer Ewing at Cafe Ajatea
Saturday, after visiting the Shooting Gallery, I stopped by Cafe Ajatea (835 Geary). It was "meet the artist" day in this new spot in the slowly renewing edge of the Tenderloin. Owner Katie Morales purchased the big painting by muralist Jennifer Ewing and then had the cafe decorated to go with the art. She also bought some smaller pieces from Ewing - they hang behind the counter. Ewing had a big portfolio prepared with step-by-step illustrations of the process she uses to plan and execute a big mural. The customers were fascinated - the photo below is Ewing showing the portfolio to the guy who manages the building across the street.
Speaking of anti-war art (I mentioned Charles Krafft yesterday, and though he doesn't admit to any political or spiritual leanings, other people tend to see some of those qualities in his work) the "Anti War Medals" show has returned to San Francisco and is on exhibit at the Velvet da Vinci Gallery on Polk Street.
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I'm still working on the transcription for the interview with a collector... maybe tomorrow.
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November 8, 2005 (Tuesday extra) - Jed Perl in town
 Yesterday I picked up a copy of Jed Perl's "New Art City, Manhattan in Mid-Century." He's going to be giving a talk (with book signing) tonight at the Hackett-Freedman Gallery. What a great cover - see the photo (by Rudy Burckhart) in the image at left? I was debating whether to buy the book or not (how much more do I want to read about mid-century Manhattan?) but the photo on the cover sold me. It implied an artist-centric point of view. I could be wrong... Obviously I haven't read very far yet, but it looks promising.
Jed Perl - 5:30pm-7:30pm
Hackett-Freedman Gallery
250 Sutter Street, 4th Floor
San Francisco, California 94108
Call (415) 362-7152 for more information.
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November 8, 2005 (Tuesday) - Shooting Gallery
 I went over to the Shooting Gallery/White Walls on Saturday, to see the opening of the "Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse" show. They were still getting the place ready for the reception that evening. Yndres Guerrero (at left) was doing touch-up painting on the walls. On the White Walls side of the gallery they had a group show with too many artists to mention, but it looked great. My favorites were the cityscapes by Kim Cogan and the little allegorical paintings by Mike Davis.
Kim Cogan's cityscapes were very loose, brushy, expressionistic - like the brushwork of Larry Morace or Veerakeat Tongpaiboon, but Cogan's use of color was completely different. His scenes are blasted, bleached and drained - the way the city looks on one of those days when the midday sun is coming through a thin layer of high fog. They're almost monochrome, reduced to simple form. (Images below)
Mike Davis' paintings are likely to remind you of Hieronymus Bosch, and the examples in this show were also mostly monchrome, very detailed, beautifully rendered work. (images below, right)
 Also worth mentioning is a collection of tiny child's skull paintings by Shawn Barber. They were  about 5" square, just the skull, with an "on second look" double-exposure effect, showing the baby's face.(I didn't get a good photo - here's one of his other paintings, at left.) These reminded me of some of Gottfried Helnwein's work. Right next to the skulls is a couple of carved, painted skateboards by Jeremy Fish that made me stop in my tracks - just the level of craftsmanship is worth a long look. (image at right) On the back wall was an amazing stencil painting (plus stencil) by Adam 5100. (image below, left)
Over in the Shooting Gallery side, I was disappointed by the Robert Williams paintings. I like his work, but I didn't think these were very good examples of his stuff. They almost seemed like studies. (Which is a pet peeve of mine - it's OK to sell studies out of your studio, or the back room, but I don't think studies should be exhibited except in museum retrospectives.) Winston Smiths' montages, on the other hand were classic - they looked better than the reproductions, and the witty titles were scrawled along the borders in the artist's hand.
 The ceramic work by Charles Krafft was the stand-out in this show. Imagine a ceramic skateboard (!), guns, bunnies smoking, switchblade cutlery... all in blue delft ware. Better yet, imagine that the pottery is made with human bones. (Not that these particular pieces were... I think.)
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November 4, 2005 (Friday) - The Story of A Painting
One day when I was visiting the studio of a friend, she gave me a big stretched canvas that she said she was never going to use. It had belonged to another painter she'd known and he had died before he could use it. I thought it'd be perfect for an image I'd been thinking about.
There was an old semi-abandoned, cream-colored Cadillac in the parking lot of a hotel out by the beach. It was across from the former Doggie Diner (now called the Carousel Restaurant, but still referred to by locals as the Doggie Diner.) I'd taken several photos of this Cadillac, but still didn't have what I was looking for. I wanted a higher, more removed point of view. I thought the solution would be to view the car through a window, but from where? I'd already painted the Doggie Diner a few times, and went back to shoot a few pictures from inside the place. I still couldn't get the angle I wanted.
Now that I had the canvas, the proportions were set, but the composition was still fuzzy in my mind. I woke up about 3 am with the solution. If I was on a ladder, in the street, I'd be at the perfect angle to look through 2 windows of the diner to the car in the parking lot beyond. It would have to be shot in early morning to avoid glare on the windows.
My roommate at the time was a musician, and his hours were pretty flexible. He also had a truck. I asked him if he'd drive me and my 8 ft. stepladder to the Doggie Diner at sunrise. He was game, so off we went. There isn't much traffic along outer Sloat Avenue at that time of the morning, so we were able to park right in front and set up the ladder in the back of the truck. I got exactly the shot I'd been looking for.
When I was painting the image of the diner, I considered changing the "Carousel" sign to "Doggie Diner," but decided instead to stretch the letters so that only the "CAR" of the name was visible. It served the double meaning of pointing to the Cadillac that inspired the scene and it stood for Contemporary American Realism, which was a big interest of mine at the time.
I finished the painting and it was consigned to a gallery. A few months later, I got a check from the gallery with contact info on the buyer. The address listed for the buyer was a new coffee shop that had just opened a few blocks from my house. I went down there for a cup of tea and that's how I met Amanda Janes, who went on to become one of my favorite collectors. She's also the first collector who's agreed to let me interview her. (The interview will be ready next week.)
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November 3, 2005 (Thursday) - The Postcard Sells
 The image on the postcard always sells. In my experience, this is not an absolute law but it happens more often than not. In the past, I've sometimes poked fun at the people who come in, give the entire show a 30-second glance and then say, "Where's the one on the card?" And boy, are they upset if it's sold already. At some of my shows, I've had people call as soon as they receive the card (before they've seen anything in person) and want to put a hold on the painting they saw on the card. Once, at an opening, I saw two people get into a fight over who was going buy a particular painting (naturally, it was the one on the card.)
I thought it was a peculiar phenomenon. I didn't really get it. After all, while you certainly would like your best work on the card, what looks best on the wall doesn't always look best on a postcard. Offset printing reproduction has its own laws of attractiveness. The artist or gallery chooses a piece from the show that will reproduce well on a card.
Not too long ago I got a postcard announcement in the mail, about a show by an artist I wasn't familiar with. The image intrigued me. They had a web site listed, so I went online to see more of the work. I decided to visit the show after it opened, so I stuck the card on my desk, and put the date on my calendar. For two or three weeks, I looked at that little jewel-like image several times a day. I grew quite fond of it. I imagined how much better it would look in paint. I couldn't wait to see the show. When I did, I had to force myself to slow down and give each piece its due, but I was really antsy to see the piece I'd become so familiar with. It wasn't there! I went to the desk and couldn't believe the words coming out of my mouth: "Where's the one on the card?" It had sold - and it was gone. Bummer. I went back and looked at everything else again, but the sense of disappointment colored my response to the other paintings.
Now I get it.
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November 2, 2005 (Wednesday) - The Inspired Heart
  My recent post about artists who destroy their work, prompted a response from Jerry Wennstrom, one of the artists I mentioned. In 1979 he destroyed all of the paintings in his studio, gave away all of his possessions, including money. He became a modern version of the wandering mendicant, trusting in an unknown and formless spiritual path. He ate when he had food and fasted when he did not. He entered into and exited the lives of many people, as a gentle catalyst, channeling his creative energy into the dynamics of living, rather than producing a physical object.
(One of Jerry Wennstrom's early paintings, "Holocaust", at right)
 Eventually, he did start making art again. It began when he picked up a discarded envelope from the sidewalk and drew a body to go with the head on the stamp. This is what he had to say about that moment:
"The tiny act of drawing on the found envelope was the beginning of creation's return flight into my life, sanctified. I was doing what I wanted to do in a new way. Since art was what I knew best, I brought it with me as a gift when I went somewhere to work with people, or when I stayed in someone's home. the offering of this aspect of my life was not any sort of barter, a word people often use in trying to explain my life. Instead, it was a spontaneous act with no strings attached..."
 (One of Jerry Wennstrom's recent paintings, "Holy Fool", at left)
He moved on to the west coast, joining a community on Whidbey Island in 1987, where he still lives. He started making what he calls "interactive boxes." I haven't seen these in person, but from the photos and descriptions, they look like a combined automata and mummy case. They're extremely complex - many photos are at his web site. (One of his boxes, "Birth Death", opened, is at right. ) He says on his web site about painting:
"Painting is no longer my medium of choice. It simply doesn't hold the mystery for me the way creating the interactive boxes does for me now. What I have learned from years of painting in the studio has been absorbed into the larger whole and incorporated as a component in the creation of the boxes. "
"The Inspired Heart, an Artist's Journey of Transformation" is Jerry Wennstrom's book about his experiences as a "holy fool." He sent me a copy last week. It's written as a series of stories, not necessarily chronological, but more the way a work of art develops - with revelations, which come along at their own time and pace.
"The Inspired Heart, an Artist's Journey of Transformation"
Sentient Publications, ISBN 0-9710786-9-6
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November 1, 2005 (Tuesday) - Interview with artist Laura Ball
I got to the gallery a little early and had a chance to look at Laura Ball's work before she arrived. On entering the gallery, you can follow her large oil paintings and smaller watercolors down the longest wall of the gallery, to the back of the space. The imagery is a female fantasy war-games narrative, with fluid, mostly abstract backgrounds, overlaid with precisely rendered figures. The figures are all female, and they're shooting at each other from (carousel) horseback and from behind fantasy landscape elements.
She started out talking about a recent video interview that had made her feel, "like I had showed up for mid-terms and wasn't prepared for it." I told her I was just another artist, who was curious about her process and content.
LB: I haven't seen the work up since the opening... it's so nice to see it all up together... in a clean space.
AC: Yeah, I hear you - I don't know about your studio space, but mine's really small. It's hard to even get back away from a painting, never mind seeing them all together.
LB: Oh gosh, yes. My studio space is really, really tiny - maybe 12 ft x 10 ft. I work on one big painting at a time, because that's all I can fit.
  AC: Do you have a wall easel for these (indicating one of the bigger canvases, "Celebrationland," 66" x 54", image at left.)
LB: No, I have an easel that can hold a canvas like ("Fixed Race", 40" x 30", image at right.)
AC: Well then, how do you work on the bigger ones?
LB: Those, I just nail up on the wall. I do a lot of layers of glazing so I have to take it off the wall frequently - it's up and down, up and down. I lay them on the floor , do a glaze, wait a few hours or overnight, then it's back up on the wall.
AC: This is oil, right?
LB: This is acrylic and oil.
AC: Oh, okay, that explains it. You've got an acrylic undercoat, and then you work the figures in with oil?
LB: Yes, and this one ("Celebrationland") is on raw, unprimed canvas. The acrylic undercoat protects the canvas. In the past I've painted it all in oil, starting at one corner and painting everything as I go (moves her arm across the canvas to opposite corner.) The whole canvas would have the same quality of paint. But I've been trying to get away from that and have things on the surface of the canvas have depth... the undercoat soaks into the canvas, so it's a different level.
AC: It also gives the image a dream-like quality, and it's a very similar to your watercolors. There's a real consistency between your watercolors and your oils.
LB: I've been working on that... to bring those closer together. At first the watercolors seemed more like studies because they looked so different from the oil paintings. That's because I was painting the whole surface of the oil paintings, so there was no way to make them look like watercolors. The oil paintings were always my primary focus. I feel like the oil paintings actually adapted to look more like the watercolors, in the last year.
 AC: Does that mean the watercolors are not studies?
LB: No, no. They're not. Sometimes I do studies, but that's more my own... I obsess over one scenario until I work it out. It seems like the more I get a grasp on it, the bigger I get with it. Because I'm not quite satisfied when it's small, and ultimately I'm not satisfied until something is large enough that I can move my arms in circles when I'm working on it.
AC: Well, since you've worked to get the watercolors and the oil paintings more in line with each other, and one is not necessarily a study for the other, how do you decide if you're going to do a scene in watercolor or in oil?
LB: It has to do with time. I can finish a watercolor in 8 or 10 hours, and know if it's a scenario that's going to work or not. An oil painting takes me two to three months to finish, so I'm not as likely to take risks with a specific interaction. The watercolors I can take greater risks with, do crazy things, and hide it in a drawer if it's too crazy.
AC: So if you have an idea that you're positive is going to be fabulous, you'll go straight to oil?
LB: Yes, sometimes I do, because it does take a little of the spontaneity out of it, if I've worked it up. I normally get a composition that works, and I"ll be happy with the figures, but if you're putting it down for the first time, there's always that level of surprise. You're not relying on what you know, you're figuring it out as you go along. It depends. If I have tons of time, I"m more likely to jump into something big and not worry about ruining it. But if I'm a little more strapped for time, I'll go the safe route and work out some watercolors, get some crazy stuff out of my head.....
AC: Do you paint full time?
LB: Right now, yeah. I'm not teaching this semester. I do spend more days of the week now working on the watercolors. I'll spend 3 days on watercolors and 2 days on oils.
AC: And you work on both in that same studio?
LB: No, I usually do the watercolors at home because it's more clean. I have big desk, and there's less distraction at home. I think a lot of people have the reverse situation. but my studio's in a warehouse, so there's always people around, wanting to chat. I have shelves that I set up to try and create some privacy but.....
AC: Is your studio near your home?
LB: No, it's in Vallejo - Mare Island.
AC: Where's your home?
LB: I stay part time with my boyfriend in Davis, or my sister in San Francisco. The only space I rent is the studio in Vallejo. I'm without a permanent residence.
AC: Is it just a coincidence that your studio is on Mare Island and you're painting all these horses?
LB: Yes, completely. I've actually been interested in horses since I was a very young girl. But I had never considered using horses or animals as focal point like this. I had been working with my sisters and playing games. The games often echo things that are happening in our family or happening socially and politically. One of my sisters is in Germany right now - her husband is in Iraq. He's a gunner in the army, so he rides around on top of a humvee that isn't armored, shooting at people in the desert. The carousel horses came out of that. I was working through my sister's trauma of him being on these big metal objects with no armor... the carousel horses are a kind of castrated version of a horse, not alive, a replica. The girls are riding around on them with fake guns, so ... it was tied to his experiences at the time.
AC: Did you take your sisters down to the carousel and shoot pictures of them with guns?
LB: Yes - in fact, we're going there again today. I've always toyed with the cowgirl imagery, the hats and the boots.
AC: When you're preparing to do a painting, do you have a sketch, a specific composition in mind, or do you just start with a canvas and see what happens?
LB: I do have a sketchbook that I work in all the time. It's more like a journal/sketchbook - everything's in it. I do kind of work things out as far as knowing which girl is coming from which picture, but it's really more like circles and words... and then I just work it out in the painting. That was easier to do when I painted everything in oil paint because you can cover it up. Now the way I'm working, I can't cover everything up because I'm leaving the background. So it takes a little more planning or sketching before I jump into it. I don't wat to cover up too much.
AC: Do you ever wake up in the middle of the night with an idea?
LB: All the time - I keep a notebook by the bed. Or I lie in bed and can't get back to sleep until I get those ideas out.
AC: Do you write them down in words?
LB: Yeah. I do diagrams too, but usually words are enough.
AC: Another thing about your watercolors... I've noticed that a lot of artists in the last 6 to 8 years are putting isolated imagery on white backgrounds. I always wondered when I see a lot of a particular thing at the same time, if it's just part of the collective...
LB: Yeah, or you see it and it becomes part of your visual vocabulary, and you just do it. I've done both - filling in the background and not. But I feel like if I don't have a background I can isolate these figures and their interaction. Whereas if there's a background, you then have to deal with, how is the figure involved with the background? It complicates it. I have that problem with the oil paintings, because I don't do the oil paintings on a white background. Or very rarely.
AC: How important is it that the viewers understand your intent?
LB: Not at all. I figure, I have a statement in the book, at whatever show and if somebody was really interested, they could read it. But I try to come up with imagery that can be interpreted a lot of different ways. I try to leave it open enough, yet get enough of my urgency into it that somebody may feel drawn in... I look at (other artists) work all the time and don't get it, and if it's something that I like, I won't read the statement because I'll get a kick out of it myself. And, honestly, I don't care what their intent was, because I got so much out of it.
AC: Have you been working on this particular theme for a long time?
LB: I started with the "ambiguity of play" idea and the active poses in about '98. I didn't always use my sisters - I started using them fairly recently, as specific models. I used to generalize the models, because I felt that if I generalized them, anybody could identify with them. But I think I was wrong. I think now that the more specific I make the model, the more she becomes someone people can identify with. I know my sisters really well, and it doesn't really have anything to do with family or how siblings react to each other... it's mostly that I really know these people and I can better get their facial characteristics down, and I think it makes it a lot more genuine.
AC: Is there a lot more to this series? Do you have lot more work to do?
LB: Oh, yes. It just keeps evolving. Things overlap. I'll start working with a new idea way before I'm tired of the old one. My last project was "Twister" - the game. And I'm still working with it. I had a big explosion of "Twister" imagery, and then I moved on to this. the carousels and war explosion, but they always lead into each other. They have the same kinds of movements. Each game seems to have it's own weird thing that comes out of the work. With "Twister," I was overlapping movements, so that it was accumulating the whole game in one image. It was really confusing, but it was a web of people. With this one there's the movement. Other games I have coming up are the "Lava Monster" game, where you believe that this person can hurt you - they're lava, they're hot. You believe this so strongly while you're playing that you'll do these crazy contortions that you could actually only do if you believed that that hand was hot and could hurt you. So, it's the power of play... it keeps coming up, how you get so emotionally involved with it, in that other reality.
AC: Does your lack of a permanent home affect your work in any way?
LB: You know, I never thought about it. Work is where I'm really grounded. It's always here, in this mental plane. There's a lot here, of Disneyland, and I've never really figured what that's all about.
AC: Did you go to Disneyland a lot?
LB: I grew up in L.A. - I used to go to Disneyland all the time, and I know that someday it'll hit me. There's some kind of connection with what used to happen when I went to Disneyland, and... the way I really believed that "Pirates of the Carribean" was real. That those were real gems. I wanted to get out of that boat so bad, and touch 'em. Just to touch 'em. There's something of that experience that keeps happening with this. So. I don't know what that has to do with living in a place, or whatever, but this (pointing to her paintings) is always the same kind of place, in my head. And it's very, very, weirdly real. And easily accessible.
Laura Ball's show at Bucheon Gallery is up thorough November 13th.
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Previous entries:
October 31, 2005 (Monday) - From a collector, about Bechtle's "Sunset Intersection"
October 31, 2005 (Monday) - About Collectors
October 28, 2005 (Friday) - Jerzy Kolacz at Newmark
October 27, 2005 (Thursday) - Day of the Dead at SOMARTs
October 26, 2005 (Wednesday) Mushbrain
October 25, 2005 (Tuesday) Depth
October 24, 2005 (Monday) Readers Response
October 21, 2005 (Friday) Rembrandt, Norman Rockwell and Walt Disney
October 20, 2005 (Thursday) The Giclee Can of Worms
October 19, 2005 (Wednesday) Let's take a break for Opera (Dr. Atomic)
October 18, 2005 (Tuesday, again) Open Studios Report, part 5
October 18, 2005 (Tuesday) Open Studios Report, part 4
October 17, 2005 (Monday, again) Open Studios Report, part 3
October 17, 2005 (Monday, again) Open Studios Report, part 2
October 17, 2005 (Monday) Open Studios Report
October 12, 2005 (Thursday) Come out and see us this weekend (SF Open Studios)
October 12, 2005 (Wednesday) Louise Gilbert, Museum of the future
October 11, 2005 (Tuesday)Run-up to Open Studios
October 9, 2005 (Sunday) Planning to visit the de Young today? Don't.
October 7, 2005 (Friday) tidbits
October 6, 2005 (Thursday) Interview with Tina Lauren Vietmeier
October 4, 2005 (Tuesday, again) Wago Kreider at SOMA Artists Studios
October 4, 2005 (Tuesday) Interview at SOMA Artists Studios
October 3, 2005 (Monday, again) Gallery Siano installation shot
October 3, 2005 (Monday) Fall shows update
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