Time for a New Narrative

Renowned Feminist Art Historian Amelia Jones Believes that the Discipline of Art History Should be Restructured to Embrace New Narratives and Diverse Voices

When the Hand Takes Over

What do we find when we're not looking? What happens if we let the hand take over from the conscious thought?

These were the pieces I ended up doing in the class 'Developing in a Series'. In my desire to not become tied to the finished item I gave these away to my dad who liked them. They are filled with so much more than I could express in words.

When I listen to some artists describe their work I am kind of amazed of all they can say. For me it's hard to articulate what the art I produce means, honestly, I don't know if it has any meaning or whether it matters. I just want the activity to speak for itself.

Echoes Through Time

Art as a Learning Process: The Legacy of Black Mountain College

Productive Fear

Thumbing through the new catalogue of art classes for Winter, I realized that the apprehension and fear of taking a class that I had two years ago has gone. I know the teachers and I feel I am able to make progress with the tasks given. That is the problem. I am not doing something new or something that takes me into the unknown. So what to do? The making of art, for me, is entirely about process but perhaps by disregarding the end result I am letting myself off easy.

In the class I took in the fall, 'Developing a Series', I bowed out of the final class, which was a mini show. The idea of people looking at my work was not at all appealing to me. Now I realize that is what I must do. Work towards a show. Not a show with the other students, something more official. Why? Because it terrifies me, because my work could be vilified or simply ignored, because it is a project and because I think I will learn a great deal. 

More to follow, if I don't lose my nerve.

New year Post: A Meandering

With every new year comes so much self-evaluation. We ask ourselves whether this is who we want to be and what we can change to make life perfect. I don't see anything wrong with this. In fact to strive and look for new projects to tackle is the definition of happiness to me. Years ago I read 'The Alchemist' by Paulo Coelho, I remember it only vaguely however there was one passage that has not left me. In it a character talks about his desire to visit Mecca and that, essentially, that desire, that aim keeps him going, because what would he do with himself if he'd already met his goal?

“It's the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting.” 

This time last year I was pregnant and waiting for my daughter to make an appearance. Now I am amazed at how time drags and goes quickly all at once. Having her has not diminished the desires I have for myself. Everyone said having a child would change my life, but I am not sure I agree. It has in some practical ways and not at all in others. I thought it would change me as a person, but instead it has revealed to me aspects of myself I didn't see before.  

Conversations with the Material

"I don't want to be here." My own thought surprised me. I sat in art class like had dozens of times before and instead of feeling nervous excitement or curiosity I just felt tired. I stared at the random objects I had brought in with the idea of drawing them: a toy car, some shells, a pine cone, a small lighter in the shape of a gun and the seemed awkward and uninteresting. Everyone else appeared sure and industrious as they set up easels or pulled out the pieces they'd been working on.

The paper I had brought in turned out to be for printing which meant that my ink would bleed and blot. Yet I like the paper's thickness and presence. What to do? After a brief chat about my materials with my teacher I decided to just go ahead with no plan. I have so little command or knowledge of art materials that I figured, at the very minimum, if the work was terrible, I would at least learn more about my paints, my paper, my pen and ink.

It became a conversation with my materials.
'What happens if I do this?'
'Well I react like this...'
Back and forth the wordless discourse continued, I navigated the grain of the surface and studied the lines and the blots. I experimented with my watercolors.

The result was a bizarre and fictional landscape.  A cliff crammed with line and pattern spreading to a dark sea. No plan, it just happened. I realized that the scheming and thinking involved in an idea can render it sterile because the execution rarely lives up to the fantasy, but if I act with only the vaguest of plans the results can be much more satisfying. It is something I need to explore more with my writing.

Return to the Mud Continued

This is perhaps the first class I got through without having anything tangible to show. Since we are focusing on painting a series, I spent the time rummaging through my neglected materials and trying to decide what on earth I should do. Conflicted as I was between the controlled and meticulous drawing I love and the spontaneous process driven work I also enjoy, I could not find a direction. In a sense working within limitations can be easier and so after some ruminating and discussion with my teacher I think I have come up with a plan that will give me freedom to play with a constraint that may give my work cohesiveness. That class time really did see me wade in the mud and I have to remind myself that is how process has to be sometimes.

In twelve months little has really changed in the building where I do my evening classes. The room itself looked pretty much the same, even down to the random objects used as subjects for painting and drawing that punctuated the space. The whole experience felt like time travel, even other students who I know I never met before passed me in the hallway and I expected them to acknowledge me. It wasn't easy to come; in the morning I had kissed my daughter goodbye as I always do and had to stop myself from saying 'see you tonight' since I knew she would be fast asleep once I got home. As we stood as a group in class and discussed our ideas for our series I put my hand in my jeans pocket and found the hospital bracelet that was given to my daughter when she was born. I must have been wearing the same jeans when I left the hospital with her and not worn them since. It seemed very large, remembering how tiny she was when she was born. It is still a little odd to see her full name written out. I took it as a blessing and I think I may take it with me again as a talisman.