All set up in new studio. It has been overcast, so I am still getting a feel for the natural light. I was very pleased with both these pieces. The first two in my new studio.
“Two” 7×10 watercolor & cotton paper
“Facial” 9×12 watercolor & multi media paper
Honey Child wanted me to touch her face, the lines of her body, memorization as a blind man might.
I took one of the rooms higher up as I felt it safer. The trade off was that unlike some of the better rooms, my one window did not look out into the courtyard.
At night when not actively pursuing anything, the Hyenas walked softly, their paws crunched on the sand as if it were snow.
This did not seem to bother anyone but myself. To my shame, when the sun was at its most brilliant a pair of little boys would get the disregarded scraps of leather from the cobbler. They would then almost completely bury them in the sand, leaving them there until the end of the day.
They would then go back and dig up their treasure. Over the course of the day the sand became hotter and hotter. Each grain burnt the leather so that it became dimpled like a more expensive version of itself.
While drinking mint tea these would then be made into wallets to sell to tourists at the medina.
I had my pen and paper to keep me company but sometimes that was not enough. I would play my records but not too much as i worried of some misfortune befalling the player for which i knew I would not be able to get parts easily.
Mostly I played James Johnson, Willie the Lion, Fatha Hines. Their looping frenzy seemed of another world to the locals. No one ever complained as they were sure that it was part of some incantation similar to that of the men up in the mountains with their rams horn instruments.
“What do you call it?”
“Boogie.”
To them, the word had a deeper, primal, meaning and i think it was better.
Fini
“Boogie” (1st painting new studio) 5×8 watercolor & paper
Every true artist first works not at becoming famous but rather to create their own distinctive voice. This is a never ending process as even once established, there are things which add to it.
One factor, whether permanent or temporary is location. How does ambient light effect a piece? The actual walls & structure of a place, what one sees out the window and even activities engaged in when not in the studio. (For the most part not anything so literal as “I am in Paris so I am painting the Eiffel Tower”)
I do not think location should be the main factor dictating the timber of a piece. The artist’s voice is first and foremost, with location being akin to one of many spices thrown in the stew that further adds to the flavor.
After six fruitful years I am changing one of my studios. I em excited by all the new possibilities, grateful for all I got out of the old place (and hopeful that the walls can’t talk).
I am eager to get into the swing of things and it will be interesting to see what is added to my work.
(Last painting in old studio “Kristen” 7×10 watercolor & Cotton Paper)
“Calamari, some campari & soda. We will eat while listening to the surf smash against the rocks.”
She hoped the fishmonger still had some available as after a night of us all mixing drinks while throwing our arms around one another in song & passion she was getting a rather late start.
She would have asked me if I wanted to come with but there were things needing her attention as to mull over their true meaning. The added benefit was that she looked the better person for allowing me to work for several hours uninterrupted in my makeshift studio.
I noticed she put on the earrings she had been wearing last night, normally not worn except for on special occasions.
They were thick circles of shining gold that tightly hugged the bottom of her lobes the aesthetic for some reason making me think of long gone Romans.
It was a way to get an extra dig in to Gina who had not been invited last night and who had for years been refused the lone of the earrings regardless of the occasion.
There was every chance to believe that she would still be at the market, purposely waiting to run into her as to wrangle an invitation to whatever we had planned next.
Later we take a walk as she did not like the thought of me hunched over my drawing board all day.
“What do you call that flower, the pretty one with all the prickers on it?”
I tried to pronounce it several times, my tongue not complying with the dialect.
She laughed kissing my cheek.
The word was said again three times in quick succession.
“Ah, “friendship”.”
W.Wolfson’18
“Not Capri” 5×8 Watercolor & Paper
This is from a new series. I wanted to create a lyrical, delicate work. There will be five pieces in the series which will form a sort of loose knit narrative, with the paintings having the ability to be arranged/viewed in any order. The order dictating the narrative.
Black Lingerie 2 9×12 watercolor& multi media paper 98LB & face deatil
<metallic sound of film spool plinging as projector starts its lopsided spinning>
The screen is taken up by circle in which focus shapes in gray and numbers counting down from ten as clock like hands spin all accompanied by a beeping.
Slurred orchestra of Nino Rota is heard as an office comes into view.There are gilded edged books in green and red leather under glass barrister bookcase glass, a hat rack on which a trilby hangs at a steep angle as to indicate that its positioning an intentional joke. The camera Panning right, a large mahogany desk whose surface in only broken up by a green blotter and big mouthed ashtray in which two dead snake looking matches lay.
Viewed from profile as he looks out the window, a man awkwardly sits on the corner of his desk , one leg extended, foot on the floor while the ankle of other foot digs into its knee.
He turns towards the camera, taking his pipe out of his mouth, putting it in the ashtray:
“Oh hello, i didn’t see you there.”
The rumples in his cardigan are smoothed out. The music turns playful with the flute taking the lead. An image of rabbits or some other smallish animals rolling around in a tangled mass among the grass is conjured.
“Well…”
The music turns ominous but the reel has too much slack and so slurs which only adds to an abstracted danger.
“Notice the nostrils flare and quiver in anticipation of <inaudible>. Indubitably, the female of the species is the more deadly than that of the male. Even more so for the unwary for whom pleasure has become more than merely a matter of biology. Notice how the lips part just slightly as if to wordlessly say…”
A white hole appears at center of film getting larger and larger, the edges of frozen image becoming a mountainous relief map of burnt celluloid before retreating further back to allow more whiteness to appear. The unpleasant smell of something man made burning.
W.Wolfson’18
“Rachel” Watercolor & Cotton Paper 7×10
The idea of my works giving the effect for the viewer of ease dropping on a scene appeals to me. Even more so when what is being seen is sort of open ended, open to interpretation.
This piece was watercolor done on Canson Multi Media Paper 9×12 (98lb).
I have always drawn, doodled and painted but just as a way to burn off excess energy. I was originally solely (in professional capacity) an author. As I mulled over a paragraph or scene I would draw or paint.
Not too many years ago I became more serious about my visual work and also started putting real work effort into it.
I feel very fortunate to now have an audience into what I am doing and who are not even necessarily aware that I write.
Part of my daily work schedule is now specifically for visual work. Aside from the allotted time and the nightly woodshedding in my Midori, I do also still draw as I mull over the words.
Occasionally I have a cross pollination, the pen will inspire the brush or vice versa.
This is 5×8 image tied in with an essay I am currently working on.
Smaller works of art might be of ideal size for where it is going to be placed. There is resistance to this though, as on a subconscious level (at least), some people equate “more” of something with it being better.
It is faulty logic, unless a work’s size is an intentional component, bigger to near on point of domination of a space, is not better. Bang for your buck should never be a cultural consideration.
In the age of consumerism, a sort of forced perception resulting from faulty logic. Just as physically bigger books with higher page count are automatically deemed harder reads (most of the densest books I have read all have had relatively average page counts, it is ideas and style that create density) it is letting the wrong factors inform opinion.
More and more I lean towards smaller works. They lend themselves to lessening the “I am looking at art” sensation while furthering the “I am feeling something/something from this”.
It could be a generational thing, I am wary of deflated attention spans and lapsed concentration of gallery goers. People having become used to necks bent in worship of i phones or tablet will do a cursory look at larger piece, eyes flitting across the canvas to capture “the point” of it at cost of all the other things going on which contribute to a work’s tension & release. Smaller works, there is no dead space all the poetry and flavor is enmeshed with “the point”.
I do vary the sizes of my works but with the largest being 11×14, no one will ever call any of them big.
Seattle 5.5×8.5
I was safely ensconced in my hotel room and ready to work. There was heavy marble topped table on wheels atop of whose curved feet I put my own while painting.
In between, i would walk up the hill for drinks and let strangers make confessions to me as i swirled the cubes in my glass counter clockwise with my left hand.
No one here would call to see when i would be out and about which then delayed the process. Instead I would see on the peripheral, people who surprisingly quickly, had learned where I liked to haunt, waiting.
My first stop would always be the record store. Everyone was always telling me that they were willing to accompany me. While it might have been nice to have company on the way, I had a process. I had learned with Tania that it was not enjoyable for anyone but myself. The record store was too hot, to my surprise after having walked back and forth between several bins, upon leaving I had spent way longer inside than I had realized.
I showed up to the cafes and bars with my brown paper wrapped purchases, ready to build an empty glass cityscape upon the tabletop with whomever had been waiting for me.
I am not anti drama, but I think organic things and beauty have more power. A pleasure for me is the ability to take some thing from my daily existence and then conjure it into my work.
It is not necessary and also has the potential to become a trap if an artist uses their personal lexicon of totems and symbols for every piece. But once in a while, the organics of it make for art which resonates emotion. Not necessarily as upfront dramatic as an artificially induced thing, it is of a more lasting impression to the viewer.
Lion Alone watercolor & paper 5.5×8.5
