Abstract Musings

Tomorrow evening in my weekly Tuesday evening painting workshop we’ll be pushing paint around with the goal of creating what I'd like to call delocalized beauty. 

Delocalized (adj.): 1. To remove from a native or usual locality; 2. To broaden the range or scope of.

Modern art generally dispenses with the conventionally beautiful as unreal, uncourageous, outdated, superficial, sentimental, and an impediment to doing what modern art is supposed to do: Wake people up. Beauty as Western art has known it flees from tough-guy talk like that.

So we'll use a floral theme to try to get the jump on it.  We are going to let go of figuration (the element of image) and paint the feeling of appreciating flowers rather than painting the flowers themselves. 

My own abstract floral, "All the Sweet Tints," a 14" x 30 " floral abstract (the allusion is to a garden, actually)

“I want to express my feelings rather than illustrate them," said Jackson Pollock.

Is abstract art, then, about feeling? Were the abstract expressionists like Pollock just painting their feelings? No, they were also hurling themselves against a wall that Pablo Picasso had built right in middle of Western Art. After Cubism, where could "important" painting go? 

Jackson Pollock, Mural, 1943

They discovered new territories and how to get there; their work further widened the definition of art's possibilities, insisting, like the Cubists and the post-Impressionists and the Impressionists before them, that art could and should accommodate more than the conventionally beautiful and the serene, making room for big ideas about civilization, time, eternity, powerful forces of natural energy, and the relationship between the human psyche and the universe at large. Most art history books talk about all this in terms of the formal pictorial elements and the history of Western art, giving ordinary viewers of art very little to go on. 

The Swan, Ryan Cobourn, from a series incorporating classical mythology

How can we, tomorrow night, credibly present the feeling of seeing flowers without painting the flowers? 

I like Brooklyn painter Ryan Cobourn's answer. In this essay/interview he discusses the WHY of what he does and also incidentally hints at the how (I think you learn more from getting the "why" of what artists do than you do from the "how" in any case.)

I like what he says about illusionistic painting (realism) vs. what he does when he removes the representational image but leaves in shapes and colors that, to him, are associated with and suggest - allude to - the subject.


"In abstract painting you don’t have illusion—like illusion of space—but you have allusion. Allusion is way more interesting to me than anything else.” - Ryan Cobourn

This distinction strikes me as analogous to that between prose (illusion) and poetry (allusion). It’s what I like about Eric Aho’s recent landscapes too.

For me, paintings like these have an extra dimension of pathos and significance; because of how they're painted, they also allude to the act of painting itself - the very human need to explore perception and our relationship to nature by scratching our little images out on the wall of history.

I also think the work of a different Ryan, Ryan Coleman, has something relevant to say about our purposes this week (abstraction with floral motif). 

Season of Light, Ryan Coleman

Untitled (Commission for the Ritz-Carleton Wash. D.C.)

This painterly work is lush with the colors, textures, and above all the feelings associated with flowers and plant life - all without painting an image of a single leaf or petal. 

Perhaps you think some of this contemporary work doesn’t get much beyond the "Ab/Ex" guys, de Kooning, Pollock or Frankenthaller… 

.... should that matter? No, you say? Perhaps you’re very right. Just as it wouldn't matter if you're painting landscapes and not "going beyond" Aldro Hibbard. Yet, this was very important to the Ab/Ex guys - they did what they did specifically to "get beyond" the precedents set by the artists that immediately preceded them. Can we have it both ways?

To me, most of these paintings work just as well as much of what I see out there and in many cases much better. What do you think? 

Ryan Coleman, Limey

A lot of people, even painters, look at art like this and, because it puzzles them since it doesn't look like or do what they assume art is supposed to, they say “meh - my kid could do that.” But painting effective abstract art is probably more difficult than painting realistically; it demands that the artist approach all of the basic tools and techniques of painting with a super high degree of knowledge and sensitivity to their inherent properties and their raw emotional value.

At any rate, learning something of the language of abstraction cannot but help you as a painter, for I firmly believe you DO need both, the language of realism and that of abstraction, in your toolbox.

I also believe it’s not that some folks just “know what they like,” as they say, but rather that, in many cases, they really just like what they know. The general public didn’t really understand or like the French Impressionists as they do now until after at least 1950. By analogy, that would put the beginning of mainstream appreciation for abstract expressionism at about 2035. I'm convinced that we're well on our way.

Ryan Coleman

New Addition to My Studio

I just added this great new palette to my studio.

 

I know, it's not the tools but how you use them. Still, I have to speak up for the virtues of a "real" palette (as opposed to the standard oval art-supply type). 

The Mighty Palette, reposing atop an also newly acquired marble side-table.

I purchased this one, (branded by Richeson) for $20 at Van Gogh's Gear, my local, independently owned art supply store after one of my students walked in with one. Utrecht sells them and Blick too, etc., I'm sure.

What's great about it? It's big. It's like having a lap desk you can hold in your hand. 

You know you want one.

It's also great because it's light (you don't get tired of holding it) yet reinforced at the handle (weighted, actually- however, not quite enough to fully alleviate pressure on the thumb, I'm finding). It curls around your body "ergonomically" when you hold it, and it's slightly concave, which seems to make it easier to manipulate from side to side when reaching for a pool of paint.

Well-dressed Russians know a "real" palette when they see one.

In short, it's been a revelation to me, and it's probably still nothing like the exquisite pear-wood (or some other exotic-sounding hardwood) one sported by the gentleman (Konstantin Makovsky) above.

By the way, as these pics show, it turns out the cutout area near a palette's thumb hole isn't primarily for gripping; it allows you to hold several brushes at the ready as you work. I can't believe I didn't know this until now.


Most painter friends of mine don't use handheld palettes at all. I understand they're not employed in the vast majority of art schools today (where, apparently, representational painting isn't the first priority, to say the least).

But maybe that's partly because the only ones you ever really see in person are the little ones at places like Michaels and A.C. Moore, which I think are just too small for serious work.

I didn't sand, stain, weight, and seal it like some folks do (though I'm thinking about it). So far, I just anointed it with oil (olive and, as a second thought, linseed) and started using it. Either way, it'll stain itself into a lovely neutral gray-green patina. One of the advantages of wood palettes over glass or plastic is that you may enjoy watching them get better over time.

I guess there are some interesting handheld palette designs out there once you start to look... What do other folks use?

Bring back the full-size artist's palette I say! If all handheld palettes were like the bad boys in these pics, more of us would be using them more often.

Now does anyone know where I can get a 19th century smock like this guy's? Preferably linen, of course.

"Love me, love my smock...... Now go away." - Anders Zorn

Taking Photos in Museums

I'm bad about taking pictures in museums. I keep my phone camera on and ready in my coat pocket, tell-tale "click sound" off, watching for guards. Until publicly scolded I'll snap stealth closeups of brushstrokes,

From a Monet at the Museum of Fine Arts

Monet's brushstrokes!

how things look in frames, 

Corot in a period Barbizon frame at the Currier Museum, Manchester NH

Miniature William Trost Richardses at the Boston International Fine Art Show

how paintings relate to viewers, for scale,

Bierstadt in the National Gallery

Jasper Cropsey in the National Gallery

and various closeups and images that mean something to me. 

iPhone capture of part of a Corot of which I painted a copy

Nicholas de Stael at the MFA - my first introduction to this painter

Emil Carlsen of the Isles of Shoals, where I too love to paint

Detail of Wm. Trost Richards's deftly painted sea rocks

We're privileged among the painters of history to be able to take such images with us for careful study. 

Yet, rarely does the emphasis on "taking" photos feel so much like stealing.

Burned by art thieves, Boston's Isabella Stewart Gardner museum is neurotic about security. There are "don't touch" and "don't sit" signs on practically every stone bench and volute and security guards in every room and corridor (they're not all bored art school grads either). Mostly they're looking for phones The signs don't say "no photographs" they say "no cellphone use," period. For once, I didn't try any "funny stuff."

At this point, museums need to get over it. Are you with me?

No flash photos - fine, got it. But mobile pics of paintings on Facebook or blogs? The best free advertising a museum could ask for. It increases the art's fame, further inspiring more people to visit and snap selfies and pix of the real thing.

Some museums get it. The National Gallery in D.C. maintains an open-access online archive via which you can freely view and download some 32,000 high-resolution images of the most spectacular paintings in the museum's collections. Same is true for the National Gallery in London which offers a vast database of downloadable images and a complete A-Z list of the artists in the collection.

Where museums do allow photography, some find it gauche or downright harmful. The Washington Post took the opposite view, shooting down criticism about people with mobile phones stalking through galleries like bird watchers or hunters on the prowl, "plugged into their phones rather than interacting" with each other or, indeed, with the art itself. It's worth a read. For the negative viewpoint, here's the New Criterion's (IMHO stuffy) article, "The Overexposed Museum" on how smartphone use is "cheapening the art experience" and should be banned. And here's another one celebrating "the undeniably positive effect" of selfies and other mobile phone uses in museums,  "How Instagram is Keeping Art Alive."

I would never have known about Yayoi Kusama's cool NYC installation "Infinity Mirrored Room" if not for social media.

As the latter points out, social media is certainly intersecting with art's public presence in interesting ways:

"Banksy's October residency in NYC was largely driven by his use of Instagram, and (as the NY Times pointed out in a snarkily titled article "Art for the Selfie Set,") for better or worse, the chance to capture a cosmic selfie played a big role in drawing crowds to Yayoi Kusama's show at the David Zwirner Gallery. Larger audiences and increased awareness of their work is great for these artists, and they have the omnipresence of smartphones to thank."

I think that's true. I also agree with the Washington Post writer that there's something endearing about museum-goers so enamored of paintings that they long to come away with a small physical token (if digital images count as physical) of their personal experience. And even though you can buy (or indeed freely download) from the museum a superior image of the art, she writes, taking your own snapshot helps jog your memory about why you fell in love with it. 

Here's an excerpt from that one:

"the colors in the (photos) I took are more saturated, and when I look at them I see more easily some of the details I was focusing on in the museum, while the official reproductions force me to start a new dialogue from scratch. Also: My pictures are on my cellphone, in my pocket, in between two snapshots of my son.... When I flip through my photos I sometimes zoom in to see the butterfly-dance of light on the back of Madame Monet’s dress, or the elusive shadow at the lower right of the picture, which hardly shows up in the official reproduction. I’m still looking at them. And they’re mine."

Scandalous "photo bomb" from Tumblr.

What do you think?

10 Great Snow Painters (Mass. humanities article up!)

Thank you everyone for sharing your favorites from among the greatest snow painters of history!

I heard from a good many of you and loved seeing all the gorgeous snow-scapes you pointed me to. Below are a few late additions that really deserve to be seen. 

The Ice Pool - Andrew Wyeth

The article I wrote for the Massachusetts Humanities Council blog is online too - some of you will recognize your contributions there! I restricted The List to just 10 painters, with an admitted bias toward artists who painted in oils in and around New England (watercolors by Wyeth excepted.)

Enjoy.

Walter Launt Palmer

Peter Doig

Ivan Shishkin

Shishkin, I think

Shishkin again, I think

Ice Ice Baby!

Alpine and polar landscapes make up the core of a traveling exhibit called Vanishing Ice that you can check out online here.

Through the centuries, artists have demonstrated the limitless potential of alpine and polar landscapes to convey complex feelings, ideas, and messages… Despite diverse themes and interpretations, almost all of the artists respond, in some way, to the beauty of ice.

—Dr. Barbara Matilsky, Curator of Art, Whatcom Museum

Here are a few selections.

Ice Lens, Ackroyd & Harvey, 2005

Frederich Church, The Icebergs, 1861

And lest you think Church was making up those aqua shadows....

Camille Seaman photo from The Last Iceberg series, 2005

English tourists collide with a herd of goats in Landscape of Susten, Switzerland, 1824, Xavier Leprince 

And this cool image is by Gustave Dore, from his illustrations for Coleridge's Rime of the Ancient Mariner.

The Ice Was All Around, illustration for Samuel Taylor Coleridge's
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, 1877

And now there came both mist and snow,

And it grew wondrous cold

And ice, mast-high, came floating by,

As green as emerald.

And through the drifts the snowy cliffs

Did send a dismal sheen:

Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken-

The ice was all between,

The ice was here, the ice was there,

The ice was all around.

It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,

Like noises in a swound!

—Samuel Coleridge, Rime of the Ancient Mariner, 1798

{ To the silent legions of bookmakers out there reading this: somebody needs to republish beautiful yet affordable hardcover editions of Dore's illustrated books of poetry, esp. Poe & Coleridge.... Get on that please! }

Great Snow Paintings Again

Thanks again to everyone who sent in suggestions and images from artists who've excelled at the fluffy stuff. Here are a few more later entries that I wanted to share. (Scroll down for the first two posts and more gorgeous snow paintings.)

Suzor-Cote, Settlement on the Hillside

Suzor-Cote

Marc-Aurèle de Foy Suzor-Coté (1869-1937) was a Canadian who rose to such heights as to walk away with the Grand Prize at the Paris Salon of 1894. I think it's color harmonies that makes these simple, elegantly drawn and composed snow-scapes sing.

Next up, Danish realist Peder Mork Monsted (1859-1941) brought a bit more sentimentality to it, but the boy sure could capture the wet, spongy quality of the white stuff.

Peder Mork Monstead- love the tracks - you can feel the snow's wetness

Peder Mork Monstead - love the "stuff" on top of the snow

Peder Mork Monstead

Peder Mork Monstead

A.J. Casson (1898-1992) was another Canadian who'd seen plenty of snowy woods and hillsides which made their way onto his canvases. I don't know for sure, but I'd be willing to bet he was the oldest living member of the Group of Seven when he died at the age of 93.

A.J. Casson

Fritz Thaulow (1847-1906) was a Norwegian Impressionist who turned out these two moody winters-scapes:

Fritz Thaulow

Fritz Thaulow

Moving on, American century Impressionist John F. Carlson (1875-1947) literally wrote the book on landscape painting. Shame on you if you're painting landscapes without having read it (you can get it at the previous link, used, for 10 bucks)!

John F. Carlson

John F. Carlson

And finally, a reprise - one more by George Sotter and one by Frederick John Mulhaupt, both American late-Impressionists who appeared in the previous snow paintings post and who seriously brought the snow to the easel.

George Sotter

John Mulhaupt

Thanks again one and all! Now I've got to shovel out of this blizzard of beauty and select ten standouts for my article for the Public Humanist. 

Thanks to Donald Jurney for the Suze-Cote and Beaman Cole for the entries in this post.

Bonus painting by Lawren Harris