Thursday, July 22, 2021

July 2021(b)

July 2021(a)

expanded artist statement

For me, art-making is not about language. It is not about concepts, personality, society, history, memory, commentary, story-telling, none of that. It is pure play. The simple creation/manipulation of shapes, colors, patterns, textures, and light effects. The sheer wonder and delight of the visual is more than sufficient. I have this sense that my own world is already oversaturated with the above-mentioned human elements and art-making is a welcome refuge from that. Some might call it escapist or childish and I would not necessarily disagree.


My process is very slow and thorough. It often takes five years for me to feel that a piece is finished. Intentionally or not, many of my pieces seem to aspire to a sense of flow or subtle movement, usually based on rhythms found in the natural world, such as wind, clouds, flames, sand formations, water flow/fall, bird flight, insect crawl, and the gradual growth of trees and erosion of stone. To capture some sense of movement or permutation, however brisk or glacial, in a fixed piece of art is hugely satisfying. I also believe that carefully wrought still-images play a special role in a world increasingly given over to screen/machine culture and the frenetic pace it fosters.


After the basics of a piece are in place, I usually put it away in storage and forget about it. When I return to it, I discover new ways to explore it, either in the directions already established or something entirely different. I do so, and then return it to storage, until its turn comes around once again. In the meantime, there are other pieces to attend to, at all different points in the cycle. In this staggered manner, I am gradually developing a lifetime's body of work, much of which I am certain will never be finished.


My materials are almost entirely paper-based. Old books with varying degrees of mottled/yellowing paper, atlases, indexes, reference books, books of photographs, magazines, junk mail, craft paper, newspaper, tissue paper, illustrations from children's books, old drawings / photographs / watercolor paintings of my own, instruction manuals, magazines, musical scores, etc. Basically anything I can get my hands on which has colors or patterns that promise interesting juxtapositions. I sometimes add crayon or ink to the papers. Most of the time the original materials are cut up and spliced to such a degree that their former identities are no longer discernible. Because of this I tend not to be too worried about copyright issues. 


In terms of process, I would liken it to the old-world crafts of stained glass and quilting. The individual papers within a single piece are connected with tape and laminate on one side, usually what I consider the back side. However, because the pieces are designed to hang in windows / from ceilings / from racks, both sides need to be attractive. I tend to work in sets (2, 4, 8, 16, 32) because I am combining material from different sources simultaneously. For example, say I want to make something with a blue-tan-white-black color scheme. I will first prepare 4 "backgrounds", each one dedicated to one of those colors. The blue could be taken from maps, photos, craft paper, or paper I have rendered blue via crayon or ink. The tan is usually taken from old books. The white is usually taken from newer books. The black is usually taken from photographs, craft paper, or crayon work. Once the four backgrounds are ready, I begin cutting identical shapes out from each and start mixing and matching them. Homemade stencils help enormously with this. For instance, the blue triangle goes into the white, the white into the tan, the tan into the black, the black into the blue. Then a different shape and a different juxtaposition, etc. I usually have a vague idea of composition when I begin, but it often morphs as more elements are combined. So in this way four pieces are created simultaneously. Sometimes I limit myself to the four original "backgrounds" and sometimes import additional elements.


One question that I sometimes think about as I am making these collages is to what degree are they fine art or craft or design? And how does this affect the way I should go about explaining / exhibiting / marketing them? Some are very elaborate, some are very simple/austere, some are very chaotic, some are very symmetrical and precise. I have learned that different people have strong preferences regarding each of these styles, which is good, because I enjoy alternating between them.


For the last few years, most of the pieces I have constructed I am choosing to regard as original handmade window shades. The majority of them are sized 2x4 feet. It helps that I work in sets, because many people have 2 or more windows side by side and want them to match to some degree. My main target is windows facing directly out onto scenes that are not necessarily appealing, such as alleyways, garages, other buildings, etc. In most homes windows like that are permanently shaded, much like windows where privacy is desired. People want the natural light, but they don't want the view. My collages are highly translucent, so windows such as this are a particularly good fit. They are sturdy enough that they can be rolled up from the bottom and fastened with string at the top if a direct view outside is desired. They are lightweight enough that paper clips and binder clips are sufficient for hanging purposes.


Another obvious natural rhythm that my window collages embody is that of sunlight slowly shifting throughout the day, both in terms of angle and intensity. Some materials are intensified by direct light, others are washed out. As evening sets in, and more lightbulbs are turned on indoors, some pieces metamorphose significantly. The cracks turn from light to dark, the color relationships shift, the translucent quality transitions from inside to outside, and certain designs and patterns come into sharper focus under the harsher glare of artificial light.


Other display ideas I have entertained is creating a sort of hedge-maze, except instead of hedges I would hang my pieces on racks, or from the ceiling, side by side, up to perhaps 8 or 10 feet high. Or if I had a big picture window at my disposal, attaching many pieces together in a kaleidoscopic mural. This would introduce a kind of fractal component into the art by using the pieces themselves as elements in a larger mosaic. Other ideas include: smaller circular pieces (6 to 12 inches in diameter) which could be hung in or near windows as ornaments; floor pieces, which could be walked upon undamaged if the taped side was facing up; pieces combined and hung/mounted on stage for dance/theater events. 


These ideas are realistic because of the large amount of work I have in storage, in varying degrees of completion.