this is giving horror head

When I was a little boy and my parents watched the movie Halloween and disallowed me to watch it but kept the sound up high so that the disturbing music and screams haunted me in my room, I began a fascination with horror movies that lasted through high school.  I still like a good scare every now and then, and love dark movies and noir cinematography (off the top of my head movies from last year I'm thinking of Martha Marcy May Marlene and Drive).  But when I had to dismantle my current sculpture, a portrait of a lovely model named Sherry, I had no intention of creating this odd story.  But I stumbled on some creepy lighting, and the rest, as they say is herstory.  I will tell Sherry's story in my next posting, but for now, in honor of Sharon Needles, and Halloween junkies everywhere, I present this story of the macabre.  Goodbye, Mr. Hitchcock, where ever you are.  If you can guess that reference without Google, I'll buy you dinner.

this is the new painting

She just needs to be shown in better light.  Edit May 23: I've actually decided that this painting is not quite finished.  I think she needs a bit more structure to her face in relation to the bottom portion of the painting, which I find ethereal and harmonious.  Until she's finished, I will leave you with her name: Our Lady of Navigators (Pigeon).  Most people think this image is decapitated, limbless, gruesome, and while this may be true from some perspectives, I believe she's being put back together again through cleansing.  I think the title might help with this idea.  And, as a digression, I believe that these paintings are a series of self-portraits.  Perhaps the last one will be an image inspired by my own person, as opposed to my spirit, which is reflected in all the models that I sculpt and then mold into a new shape and finally formed into a new role on canvas.  I keep harping on my process because I believe it to be a good one, a brave one, a patient one.  This process to me is art itself.  The paintings are just the residue.

these are steps of my painting process (part one)

I've been using these phases as I complete these paintings.  Who knows how long I'll be working on these images, but I think it might help to explain the process and then map it out.  Maybe I'll make a collage one day.  For now I'll add the first two categories to my eventual flowchart glossary.

Phase Q: when you look at a painting in a different way, and it proceeds in a new direction.

Phase A: when you buy a new canvas.

de Kooning's stopping by later

I had to shout my love to the world:

And from the ashes,
I'll attempt to rise again.
I die for my new painting.

It's done.  I even signed it, but you can't see it really in the photo...it's in black...and smudged.  I hope one day you'll see it in person.

This one...I'm calling him The Rise of Lazarus (Gustavo de Kooning) is really my first true painting.  I think my "first painting" was really a study.  This one was a journey.  And I remember almost every step.  To have it complete makes me see the true intention of art, which is ineffable.  If words had to be put into its mouth, it's like your insides being readjusted while your brain and heart hum together and attempt to recreate the dial tone chord.

this is Phase J

Changing two little things have made a big difference to me, and brought me to phase J.  Of course I have no true idea what these letters represent . . . solely a feeling . . . but perhaps one day I'll be able to effectively communicate them to you. 

For now I'm excited to proceed with Pigeon 2.  One of my favorite people said to me last night, "Pigeon is becoming Swan."  After my mini-makeover (had her hair did), today I'll give her facial reconstruction and work on her body.  And soon the outside world will want to peek in.  I'm so excited I could just spit.

phase H

I'm returning to a familiar figure.  Pigeon was used for my first painting and I'm using her again for a new one.  I started this painting a while back but as the one previously in Phase Q (now he's in Phase U) is almost done, I've been spending more time with her.  In the beginning copying the first one on a bigger canvas was important to me, but now I'm exploring and letting things happen more.

Phase H is when you have almost all of the elements up, but something is missing, or something is too much, or the elements need some connection, or, or, or . . . and that problem needs to be solved before moving on.  It's unsettling but exciting, like exploring a new territory.

Until the answer arrives, I'll share my beautiful predicament with you.

giving head

Today is my Mom's birthday.  In honor of her birthday, I'm presenting Sherry (not to be confused with Cherry).  This is day four of working on her portrait.  My armature broke so I decided to try something new.  I decided to fold it up and build the head around it.  So it's still a part of the journey.  My sculpture mentor Barney applauded the effort and says I'm almost finished.  He looked quite surprised.  Sherry didn't.  Happy Birthday, Mama!  Thanks for having me!

    



this is phase Q

Numbers are tedious to me right now, so I've changed up my naming system.  This is the start of the next phase of one of my new paintings...this is the biggest.  The details feel tough on this one, so I've put him on his feet.

Let's see where he leads me.

cherry's last dance

This one was a hard one to deconstruct . . . I was very sad.  I really enjoyed my connection with Cherry.  I just saw her in the hall the other day, and after I said hello she covered her mouth and giggled.  She gets an extra large layout.  Great working with you, Cherry.

this is cherry

Meet Cherry: she's the young adult version of a living baby doll, a cross between a Cabbage Patch Kid and Daria.  She's adorable, but you know she has some dark secrets.  We have two more days together, Cherry and I, and then she'll be deconstructed into something different, a reflection of myself.  That's what goes down between the models and me.  They offer me a piece of myself that I have either forgotten about, neglected, or never fully realized.  While she's nude, I too am exposed, as I create a version of herself in front of her.  When I take the sculptures apart, and then put them back together again in my paintings, I'm exploring that minute relationship that existed over 30 days: a connection that evenutally breaks down but never completely.  Our correlation carries on in the art, which, while not permanent, does its best to capture that moment.  This is my process for now.

this is a candle

Today is my birthday.  Instead of wishing for something frivolous for myself, I'm putting up this image so that you can make a wish.  Of course you'll just have to pretend that the fire goes out.  It actually did go out.  And the proof is my Barbie mascot, as you can see above.  She's still happy.  Like me.  And tonight, when I blow out my candle, I'll wish for all your wishes to come true.  And by the way, it DOES count if I tell you my wish before my actual candle is even lit.  So wish well.

this is my hero

No, it's not Saddam Hussein. It's my dad.

And while my cigarette toting, beer guzzling, fishing father was my hero as a small child, it changed when the world's superficial context consumed me as a pre-teen. He was a blue collar worker, and I suppose the polo images frolicking on classmates' shirts made me wonder why my father didn't make enough to afford me that small luxury. 

My bitterness towards Dad stuck through the years, until just recently when I took up art school and understood that my talent came from him.

You see my father was a painter, but he didn't pursue it. And perhaps my bitterness was just my unconscious lashing out at my father because he didn't put a brush or pencil in my hand to encourage me to make art.

So, be kinder to your parents. Teenagers are assholes, so this isn't really meant for them. But, when you come of age, perhaps it's time to let go of those small (quite possibly bad) choices made by your parents. And own it. It's your life really. Not theirs.

I have this painting hanging in my studio to remind me of where I came from: Joseph Hubert (sounds like a great artist's name, right?). It's curious that his painting has very similar unintentional coloring to one of my collages that features a photograph of my father. It's also quite a coincidence that I'm a bull. My birthday is on Wednesday.  Thanks Dad.

pauses of perusal: woman asleep at a table (this is reassurance)

I've been thinking that the dark area in my new painting might be a problem. I want to paint a sort of matrix over it in another color. My mentor told me that would be a problem. He said I could use white, and then paint on top of that with the new color (red). He also said the red would turn brown in 50 years, and then proceeded to tell me I'd probably be dead by then anyway so who cares.

Today I went to the Met, which I've grown to love simply because of its amazing modern art collection in juxtaposition to a wonderful array of world art history, and landed upon Picasso's Woman Asleep at a Table. The only thing that struck me was the use of white over black and vice versa. Who cares if you can see it. It's wonderful actually, to see the artist's plight and his use of layers. While I'm not a huge Pablo fan, he just received a couple of points from me today.

this is the start of my new painting

I've only really worked on it for three or four days.  It's big....five feet by four feet.  It doesn't intimidate me, but it does feel slightly overwhelming.  And not only that, it's hypnotizing.  I love the ghost outlines I've made next to the head and I fear losing that piece of brilliance.  Happy accidents.  And I love the black and white, but an addition to the palette keeps swimming in my forethoughts.  My intuition led me to make the black area.  I trusted it and that part feels right, but it also made me make that marking next to the crook in the arm above.  And I kind of hate that.  But maybe it wasn't the painting or my intuition speaking to me.  Maybe it was me just reaching or rushing.  Now what I'm trying not to be is ambivalent because ambivalence will kill an artist.  For now I just live with it and watch it and listen.

And wait.

pauses of perusal: the whitney biennial part two

The only other part of the 2012 Biennial I thought necessary to share were the sculptures of Vincent Fecteau. At first glance, I thought the four pieces were typical amorphous sculptures. The color drew me closer and upon inspection I found the objects dancing in front of me like titanic amoebas covered in Easter egg dye. I was transfixed with the architectural yet organic feel of the sculptures. I wanted to run my fingers along the grooves and inside passages. They were both figures and places . . . so exhilarating and very hard to walk away from. So I took photos and then they just became flat objects I could carry with me. Writing this makes me want to revisit. I learned from the museum description that Vincent starts with the figurative, and after some heavy reworking, and casting, and reworking, and painting, his pieces are born. I'm having a little boy crush right now.

this is my process

Currently working on a series of paintings.

I work with a nude model for 30 days (about six hours a week) and create a figurative clay sculpture.

Then photograph the sculpture as he or she is deconstructed.

Finally, I create a painting from one of the images. The colors and composition are reflective of my relationship with the model and the experience of sculpting.

this is full fool fuel

Ever have your tarot cards read? The Fool card is a good one. When you get it, it means a new beginning. It's like starting over again. You get a do-over. Sort of like exiting Plato's cave and being astounded at the remarkable world and its possibilities. Most people these days are concered about age and time. But perhaps neither really exist. And if that's the case, then you can really start something at any age. And if you want to do it, you better do it because if you don't you'll end up being bitter, which makes you hunched over, and frail, and weak.

Pretend that was a moderately long April-Fools-Day-themed essay that inspires you.

Below you'll find my totem for April. I think I've moved on to Phase III, whatever that is, as I float higher and become closer to my creator, or whereever my creator intended me to be. I'll turn these twisted sculpture photos into their own story . . . still working on how. For now, this is my inspiration for my new painting.