I did not expect that peculiar, miraculous thing that happens sometimes with painting, drawing or sculpture, where you surprise yourself and “what this is about” expands exponentially right before your eyes. This may be because I have no experience with theatre, and on account of there being lines and such, assume that there is little room for surprise. We had a loose script, we rehearsed, and everyone involved was capable and committed.
Perhaps I am giving too much away here, but I believe that what made the performance was actually what I didn’t plan and couldn’t expect. I did not, for example, plan for a drum circle to be in the gallery prior to the performance, right next to the installation. I did not expect people to not realize I was a real person underneath the dark purple fabric. And I definitely didn’t plan to mimic my episodes, periods of time when I am disoriented, dizzy, etc.
That’s what makes it exciting for me, all the things I did not expect. I am grateful for the interaction that I had with the audience, even in moments of discomfort. When people debated what my gender was under the fabric, when someone dared another to “punch it in the face”, when a child asked someone, “Do you want to see the person?”, or when people became alarmed at realizing I was sitting there, able to hear their conversations — all of it was really fascinating. Even the drum circle, which I was admittedly not thrilled about, played an important role.
And thankfully, I’m not the only one who felt that fascination and impact. Really. Thank you.
Speaking of, I’d like to thank our performers — Katharine Hache, Jennifer Culp, and Myranda Kreyenbuhl-Porterfield. Each one performed perfectly, despite not being paid (though a “thank you” brunch is in order), and they really brought themselves to their roles whole-heartedly. I appreciate that a great deal.
I’d also like to thank Liz for working with me because without her work and her presence, I’m not sure I would have thought of doing this on my own. She an illuminator, both literally and figuratively.
More pictures are available at my Flickr account, as usual. Also, Liz has prints from the show’s work in her Etsy shop. (Kate Bush!) I’m planning to put together a zine with images of the work in the show, artist statements, short essay(s), and hopefully an interview. So, that’s on the way.
The exhibition — including our paintings and the installation — will be up in Nelson Fine Art Center until the end of March.
This ended up being mostly a prep night, though Liz worked on her super fabulous leotard, and made quite a lot of progress with it. It’s nice to have an excuse to collage. Not that one actually needs an excuse, it’s just that I’ve had weird hang-ups about it for years. (If this doesn’t make sense now, it will once the installation is up. Hopefully.) I’ll get into this more later.
This is a post that I started quite a while ago and forgot about, but I didn’t remove the information because I’m still interested in it. If you’re the type of person who doesn’t care about anything older than two days on the internet, then you should probably skip this entry. Or my whole blog, really.
On Sunday mornings, I usually lay in bed reading until mid-afternoon. Since what I read often pertains to my work, I thought I’d start sharing it, if nothing else for my own record should I feel the need to come back to something later. It’s not that different from the process of collecting and responding to information in my sketchbook, except perhaps some limitation on how I can respond, which is mostly self-determined.
This is an unintentionally painter filled post. In the future they’ll be more varied, but I guess I’m focusing on painters right now because I have so many questions about my own paintings. Plus, I just love looking at paintings.
New American Paintings Blog: In The Studio: Q&A with Susanna Bluhm
Studio Critical: Julia Schwartz
Huff Post: A Conversation with Julia Schwartz by John Seed
A combination of working in the studio on three new paintings and reading the articles about Julia Schwartz helped me to realize that the way I think about painting — actually, visual storytelling as a whole — is experiencing an editing process where I ask more critically, “Is this necessary?” My impulse has always been to add, add, add, but as I worked (and later read) there was this building sense that what I really needed to do was cut away.
Update: Months later, I had already forgotten this shift, and set myself to other painting problems. (To be fair to my memory, I had stopped painting again for that time.) It was re-opening this draft that reminded me of what I feel was an important moment for me. How it will play out, I’m not sure. That’s what makes it fun, though.
Painter’s Table: Jan Muller
Structure and Imagery: Jan Muller @ Lori Bookstein by Paul Behnke
City Arts: Albert York: A Memorial Exhibition by Maureen Mullarkey
New York Times: Albert York, Reclusive Landscape Painter, Dies at 80 by Roberta Smith
Boston.com: Lurking in the MFA’s basement… by Sebastian Smee
Review: Q & A with Ryan Mosley by Joe Miller
The Independent: Talent issue – the artist: Ryan Mosley by Michael Glover
(The above article is a little obnoxious, but whatevs.)
Berlin Art Link: Ryan Mosley: Archaic/Futuristic
I’m not sure where I came across Simone Pellegrini‘s work. I feel drawn to it similarly to how I feel drawn to Martin Ramirez — in an almost mindlessly magnetic way, that is more pleasurable and internally stirring than thoughtful or verbose. (Though to some extent, all of the above paintings are immediately attractive to me without necessarily knowing why. The attractiveness undulates or altogether flattens and the meaning comes later.)
And last but not least:
New York Times: Heart-Pounding Art, Seen Solo by Dorothy Spears
Can I get a “duh”? Though at least now there’s an article to point to and nod.