the days after an opening are strange... personally, i tend to drift a bit.
troy tecau of 210 gallery and michael brennan met me U in the afternoon before the reception. before they showed up i actually laid a little paint down. it had to be done...
the opening was an awesome experience. great, large, happening crowd including gary snyder, lilly wei, the artists james little, michael rouillard, don voisine, linda byrne, jerry thomas, wayne dobson, The Artist Without a Name (heroically slurring by 10pm),and of course, bjorn ressle and the beautiful denora... the wine flowed and when it stopped we took the party under the BQE to mojitos and kept it going a while longer. i think i drank my first 10 beers in about the first 5 minutes...
and today it's back to work...
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Monday, May 25, 2009
so, today i set up the lighting for the show and figure out any additional fine tuning... i'm actually thinking i might put a little paint down on one or 2 of the pieces... so hard to let them go.
last weekend bjorn ressle came out to the studio before i began installing the work in the gallery space. he was very positive on the large work and also the smaller work in the square format. i think with these large pieces finally behind me, i'm going to focus once again on the square (24x24) and my drawings. i'm going to go back into the large charcoal and graphite drawings of last year-- new layers, new insights...
last weekend bjorn ressle came out to the studio before i began installing the work in the gallery space. he was very positive on the large work and also the smaller work in the square format. i think with these large pieces finally behind me, i'm going to focus once again on the square (24x24) and my drawings. i'm going to go back into the large charcoal and graphite drawings of last year-- new layers, new insights...
Friday, May 22, 2009
so today i installed my paintings for the show at the gorgeous and enigmatically christened, U... This is my first 2-person show, fittingly, with a sculptor. the challenge of course was the reality of walls versus space. though it seems that reality has been met with aplomb. the sculptor is christine howard sandoval, an artist of intense focus and realization. i've been challenged by and interested in the pursuits of her work for over a year now. there is a ballsy, historical resonance to her recent endeavors and, at the same time a rather playful exploration of form and material. this isn't the "exploration" you might hear or read regarding some MFA discourse on culture and or what have you-- this is real exploration and real discovery-- the found object made real, if you will, etc, etc...
the work i've included in the show are paintings that have been worked and re-worked for years now. 2 of the pieces were started in 2002. the other 3 first saw the light of day in 2005. for any number of reasons they were set aside and brought back and set aside, etc. of course, today i actually laid some additional paint down after the installation... and then came back and put down some more. such is life. a painting is something that becomes what it should be. long ago, i gave up trying to "make" a painting. these objects are beyond us, they resonate of their own volition and our hand merely guides the motion. the painter comes to the canvas with an idea, perhaps with a compositional theory or possibility, but it ends with the painting itself...
the space is incredible. i stood there in the unlighted expanse surrounded by art and a weak raking light from windows shrouded in plastic. it was ghostly. a powerful way to end the day.
the work i've included in the show are paintings that have been worked and re-worked for years now. 2 of the pieces were started in 2002. the other 3 first saw the light of day in 2005. for any number of reasons they were set aside and brought back and set aside, etc. of course, today i actually laid some additional paint down after the installation... and then came back and put down some more. such is life. a painting is something that becomes what it should be. long ago, i gave up trying to "make" a painting. these objects are beyond us, they resonate of their own volition and our hand merely guides the motion. the painter comes to the canvas with an idea, perhaps with a compositional theory or possibility, but it ends with the painting itself...
the space is incredible. i stood there in the unlighted expanse surrounded by art and a weak raking light from windows shrouded in plastic. it was ghostly. a powerful way to end the day.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
so, back to james little...
color. yeah, what of it?? to start, it's rather overrated. white and black hold as much profundity as is needed in painterly expression. but, having said that, color, taken to it's apex, packs the weight of a bulldozer in overdrive. color can be tough. it can be lyrical... it can be anything in between. these are easy thoughts. no big deal. color makes for pretty pictures. it also makes for serious ass-kicking painting... the pink (or yellow) one artist lays down has nothing to do with the pink (or yellow) another artist lays down. in the end, it's about intent and an understanding of the material and nature of what it is that we do. the great colorists understand how one color (and, or hue) relates to the color (and or hue) laid next to it. the truely great, in this contemporary age-- so much history behind us-- twist our notions of color a bit to the side of what we think we know about COLOR... the color of james little is just that-- the color of james little. they are earthy and temporal when you want them to ground themselves in some sort of pastel definition. they are hard and bombastic when you want them soft and powdery... this is his strength, his mission perhaps...
and culturally, intellectually, we are all the better for it.
color. yeah, what of it?? to start, it's rather overrated. white and black hold as much profundity as is needed in painterly expression. but, having said that, color, taken to it's apex, packs the weight of a bulldozer in overdrive. color can be tough. it can be lyrical... it can be anything in between. these are easy thoughts. no big deal. color makes for pretty pictures. it also makes for serious ass-kicking painting... the pink (or yellow) one artist lays down has nothing to do with the pink (or yellow) another artist lays down. in the end, it's about intent and an understanding of the material and nature of what it is that we do. the great colorists understand how one color (and, or hue) relates to the color (and or hue) laid next to it. the truely great, in this contemporary age-- so much history behind us-- twist our notions of color a bit to the side of what we think we know about COLOR... the color of james little is just that-- the color of james little. they are earthy and temporal when you want them to ground themselves in some sort of pastel definition. they are hard and bombastic when you want them soft and powdery... this is his strength, his mission perhaps...
and culturally, intellectually, we are all the better for it.
Friday, May 8, 2009
yeah... paint in NYC.
this afternoon i hung out with troy tecau of 210 gallery in brooklyn. we discussed hunting, motorcycles, violence and art. and then i had to make some art.
but last night was a big night... i remember holly solomon's space on houston street. it still stands, more of less. of course, now, it's a clothes store, or boutique, if you prefer. i remember the scene, not so much the art. bad art is not a new phenomena, much as we'd like to think... but, yeah, SoHo. we would make the scene and the streets would be empty until you neared whatever gallery was having the show. there, a crowd would be hanging out-- smoking, drinking, getting ready for the next show a block or 2 away. even in the early 90's SoHo was vacant and alluring, cobblestones and firescapes and uneven sidewalks and hot chicks puking in the trashcans and turning to you with a smile... what i remember is how silent and peopleless it was, as the sun went down and especially in the darkness. and then, suddenly, it seemed, we were enduring chelsea... yeah. anyways, last night at june kelly gallery, the artist james little unleashed his latest work. to say it was good to be in a SoHo gallery is an understatement. that it was a james little show-- well, fuck it.
i've know james since 2000. we've shown together and been represented together. in chicago, we tore it up-- booze, food, strippers... it was ours. our town, our time... last night, it was all james.
there are 2 artists that i think of when i think of color; james little and pat lipsky. there's an irony there that i won't go into here. both artists deal out tones and hues of understood "color" and then take it a bit farther than most are ready to deal with. in james little's case, he takes it to places where (for me, anyways) you just shake your head and try to understand what (and why and or how) it is that makes it work. little is a hard-edged, unabashed painting machine. he doesn't give a shit. fuck you. he will do his vectors and lay his tape down and nail the wax and oil and leave you guessing about how the hell he came up with this blue next to this grey or orange (if it is an "orange"), or green or red... and the paint lays think and heavy-- flesh on bone, with all the implicit perfections and/or imperfections... i remember, in a bar in chicago, james discussing my own work, saying to me--"...all that shit means something, the drips, the marks...". yeah, you're right...
it's good to know there are masters at work...
it's even better if you've been able to drink away an afternoon or 2 with them.
i raise this glass to you, james.
thanks...
this afternoon i hung out with troy tecau of 210 gallery in brooklyn. we discussed hunting, motorcycles, violence and art. and then i had to make some art.
but last night was a big night... i remember holly solomon's space on houston street. it still stands, more of less. of course, now, it's a clothes store, or boutique, if you prefer. i remember the scene, not so much the art. bad art is not a new phenomena, much as we'd like to think... but, yeah, SoHo. we would make the scene and the streets would be empty until you neared whatever gallery was having the show. there, a crowd would be hanging out-- smoking, drinking, getting ready for the next show a block or 2 away. even in the early 90's SoHo was vacant and alluring, cobblestones and firescapes and uneven sidewalks and hot chicks puking in the trashcans and turning to you with a smile... what i remember is how silent and peopleless it was, as the sun went down and especially in the darkness. and then, suddenly, it seemed, we were enduring chelsea... yeah. anyways, last night at june kelly gallery, the artist james little unleashed his latest work. to say it was good to be in a SoHo gallery is an understatement. that it was a james little show-- well, fuck it.
i've know james since 2000. we've shown together and been represented together. in chicago, we tore it up-- booze, food, strippers... it was ours. our town, our time... last night, it was all james.
there are 2 artists that i think of when i think of color; james little and pat lipsky. there's an irony there that i won't go into here. both artists deal out tones and hues of understood "color" and then take it a bit farther than most are ready to deal with. in james little's case, he takes it to places where (for me, anyways) you just shake your head and try to understand what (and why and or how) it is that makes it work. little is a hard-edged, unabashed painting machine. he doesn't give a shit. fuck you. he will do his vectors and lay his tape down and nail the wax and oil and leave you guessing about how the hell he came up with this blue next to this grey or orange (if it is an "orange"), or green or red... and the paint lays think and heavy-- flesh on bone, with all the implicit perfections and/or imperfections... i remember, in a bar in chicago, james discussing my own work, saying to me--"...all that shit means something, the drips, the marks...". yeah, you're right...
it's good to know there are masters at work...
it's even better if you've been able to drink away an afternoon or 2 with them.
i raise this glass to you, james.
thanks...
it seems that paint is alive and well in NYC... it's nice to be able to say that.
a few weeks ag0, there was the paintings of michael brennan at brooklyn's 210 gallery, a great space with a strong curatorial program put together by the artist, troy tecau. last year i wrote about brennans' new work, as i saw it at the gary snyder project space. this is the kind of work where you look and, after the initial pleasures, you can't help but try to figure out how the artist does what he does... for me, part of the majesty of brennan's painting is that mystery, that and the firm commitment of the hard horizon line at the bottom of each piece. brennan brings oil to life and seemingly arrests it's motion, creating works that are both lyrical and rugged.
in chelsea, last week we had don voisine exhibiting new work at mckenzie fine art, just across the street from the madhouse scene of chuck close's opening at pacewildenstein. voisine is a master of black. there is a cold black, a warm black, a reflective black... all held tight by his hard edged line and the limited palette of (at times, surprising) contrasts. for my eye, the big thing with voisine's work is the surprise you get with each viewing-- that shape in the middle of the composition isn't what you think it is-- there's that tilt, that corner shaved off just so... at times a willful diagonal cuts across and stops short... and then there's that black....
that i've been so moved by these shows is no surprise in that i've been working black in the brooklyn studio for sometime now. there is an intensity is these labors that i believe comes from the force of the paint, of the black... there is the black of night, the black of water, of oil itself, the flat, sensuous matte of gesso, the grays that darken into tones of a black you just now discovered as you laid it on with the 4 inch brush... and now i get to bring these pieces together in a 2-person exhibit with the sculptor, christine howard sandoval, at the beautiful, newly renovated (and renamed, midstream) 124 performance and art space in brooklyn. and my long delayed solo show at roger ramsay gallery in chicago is set to be installed. and then, last night there was the opening of the james little show in soho's june kelly gallery.
more to come...
a few weeks ag0, there was the paintings of michael brennan at brooklyn's 210 gallery, a great space with a strong curatorial program put together by the artist, troy tecau. last year i wrote about brennans' new work, as i saw it at the gary snyder project space. this is the kind of work where you look and, after the initial pleasures, you can't help but try to figure out how the artist does what he does... for me, part of the majesty of brennan's painting is that mystery, that and the firm commitment of the hard horizon line at the bottom of each piece. brennan brings oil to life and seemingly arrests it's motion, creating works that are both lyrical and rugged.
in chelsea, last week we had don voisine exhibiting new work at mckenzie fine art, just across the street from the madhouse scene of chuck close's opening at pacewildenstein. voisine is a master of black. there is a cold black, a warm black, a reflective black... all held tight by his hard edged line and the limited palette of (at times, surprising) contrasts. for my eye, the big thing with voisine's work is the surprise you get with each viewing-- that shape in the middle of the composition isn't what you think it is-- there's that tilt, that corner shaved off just so... at times a willful diagonal cuts across and stops short... and then there's that black....
that i've been so moved by these shows is no surprise in that i've been working black in the brooklyn studio for sometime now. there is an intensity is these labors that i believe comes from the force of the paint, of the black... there is the black of night, the black of water, of oil itself, the flat, sensuous matte of gesso, the grays that darken into tones of a black you just now discovered as you laid it on with the 4 inch brush... and now i get to bring these pieces together in a 2-person exhibit with the sculptor, christine howard sandoval, at the beautiful, newly renovated (and renamed, midstream) 124 performance and art space in brooklyn. and my long delayed solo show at roger ramsay gallery in chicago is set to be installed. and then, last night there was the opening of the james little show in soho's june kelly gallery.
more to come...
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