Understanding Abstract Art

"Phi" 

Are you one of the people who "get" abstract art or do you need a little help? Well, if you need help, don't feel bad. You are not alone. I have felt your pain. Landscape painting is easy enough to understand. A large rendition of a mountain landscape can be an awesome statement piece. But not all wall art is so easy to understand is it?

So if you need help with abstracts, I'd like to share a brilliant article from the Huffington Post written by Priscilla Frank entitled:

"Your Definitive Guide To Reading A Piece Of Abstract Art"

"Abstract art can be a doozy. We’d be lying if we said we’ve never approached a daunting canvas buzzing with indiscernible colors, shapes and stripes and, on the verge of a panic attack, grasped for the nearest museum guide. It’s hard to shake the nagging desire to solve the puzzle at hand, parse through the images and figure out what it all means. But, in our hearts, we know abstract art is no Sunday morning crossword puzzle, and should not be treated as such. On that note, we’re diving in.

"Abstract art is a beast all its own, and as such requires our utmost attention, patience and imagination. “Abstraction is staggeringly radical, circumvents language, and sidesteps naming or mere description,” Jerry Saltz writes in his wonderful manifesto on abstraction. “It disenchants, re-enchants, detoxifies, destabilizes, resists closure, slows perception, and increases our grasp of the world.” And so it may, but how do we actually engage with it?

"We’re taking it slow and attempting to navigate the perilous waters of abstract art one step at a time. Consider this a beginner’s guide to a lifelong relationship between, you, art, and your spirit guide Jerry Saltz. Here are nine things to consider next time you approach a seemingly impenetrable work of abstract art.

There’s no code to crack.

"As human beings, we take pleasure in solving problems. While this is useful in many aspects of life, the realm of abstract art is not one of them. Take a deep breath and let go of the desire to align every brushstroke to a symbolic meaning, every color to an aspect of the artist’s biography. While “getting” an artwork brings a momentary feeling of victory, bathing in its mystery brings enjoyment for far longer.

Don’t look at the clock.

"How long should you take to digest and fully experience a work of art? While the average time spent in front a museum artwork is around 30 seconds, truly taking in an artwork can take years. (Remember when Saltz said abstraction slowed perception?) Kitty Scott, director of visual arts at the Banff Centre, likened learning an artist’s visual language to learning a new written one. “Over the years, you may see 20 works, and then you start to understand their language and what their subject is,“ she explained.

Don’t talk about your five-year-old.

"You know, and have likely felt the urge to recite, the old “my five-year-old could do that.” And yes, sometimes it’s hard to reckon how a white canvas can sit in the MoMA and not in the “before” pile of an artist’s studio. One artist whose work is often looped into this category of the “childhish” is Cy Twombly, whose loopy scribbles often resemble youthful nonsense. But this passage by Roland Barthes may change your mind:

“It is not childish in form, for the child applies himself, presses down, rounds off, sticks out his tongue in his efforts, the child works hard to join the code of grown-ups. [Twombly] draw away from it, loosens, lags behind, his hand seems to levitate — as if the word had been written with his fingertips, not out of disgust or boredom but out of a kind of caprice open to the memory of a defunct culture which has left no more than the trace of a few words.”

"Now, could your child do that?

Don’t think of a picture, think of a thing.

"When we look at a picture, there are certain questions that immediately come to mind. The simplest being, What is it a picture of? When you shift gears a little, you’re free to open your mind up to the many questions that could make their way into your brain. What is this thing? What is it made of? What’s its speed? Its texture? Is it peaceful or cacophonous, heavy or light, open or closed? These questions, unlike the first, have no definitive answers, but may help you locate a starting point from which to navigate the artistic world before you.

"One easy place to start is color. As Wassily Kandinsky, one of the first abstract artists, wrote: “Color is a power which directly influences the soul. Color is the keyboard, the eyes are the hammers, the soul is the piano with many strings. The artist is the hand which plays, touching one key or another, to cause vibrations in the soul.” Perhaps start there. What colors do you see, hear and feel?

Ditch the questions completely.

"If asking questions feels too much like a cross examination, focus on affirmative statements instead. It may sound cliche to think about how the painting makes you feel, but the sentiment isn’t actually too far off. After all, abstract artist Agnes Martin did say “Abstract art is the concrete representation of our most subtle feelings.“

"In his book “Pictures and Tears“ James Elkins perused a guest book at the permanent display at the Rothko Chapel. From reading the visitor comments, one would expect the viewers had just witnessed a supernatural event or a religious epiphany rather than sat before an artwork. Comments ranged from “This makes me fall down,” to “The silence pierces deeply, to the heart. Once more I am moved — to tears.” Sometimes asking questions only proves to be a distraction.

That being said, don’t stress about getting emotional.

"We know few things are more frustrating than watching a fellow museum-goer weep uncontrollably in front of an artwork you think is just okay. You don’t have to love or even like every piece. Don’t be afraid to move on and find one that speaks to you.

Read the wall text.

"Here’s the part where you get a clue, if you’re so inclined. While the title will not, and should not, explain the piece, it could illuminate an aspect of it or an angle from which to view it you hadn’t noticed before. Let the work’s verbal and visual components bounce off each other, and harmonize. You may not get closer to understanding, you may even wind up more confused. It’s all part of the process. Also, you could wind up with an untitled piece.

"Along with the work’s title, knowing the era and geographical origin of the artwork will also help acclimate you to the atmosphere from which the piece emerged. To again quote Kandinsky, art and literature reflect “the dark picture of the present time and show the importance of what at first was only a little point of light noticed by few and for the great majority non-existent. Perhaps they even grow dark in their turn, but on the other hand they turn away from the soulless life of the present towards those substances and ideas which give free scope to the non-material strivings of the soul.”

"What would a work like this say about the world from which it came? The essence may be so radical it couldn’t yet be put into words.

Remember, some artists don’t even know, or care, what their work means.

"This is the part where you take a deep breath and fully accept the fact that you’re working outside the realm of answers and explanations. Even the artists themselves sometimes don’t dwell over why they’re making what they’re making. In a talk at MoMA, famed abstractionist Ellsworth Kelly was asked about his iconic “Chatham Series,” which dates back to 1972. “It’s hard to remember. I’m quite impressed with them now!“ He said, gesturing to the works and sighing. “But it’s always a mystery looking back.” If Ellsworth himself is content to marvel at the mystery of his own works, there’s no reason you shouldn’t be also.

Think about the fact that all art is really abstract art. And let your mind be blown.

"There’s an old art lovers’ tale about an American soldier telling Picasso his artworks aren’t close enough to life. He pulls out a photo of his fiancee and says: “This is what a picture should look like.“ Picasso, in typical Picasso fashion, responds: “Your girlfriend is rather small, isn’t she?” Point being, all art is abstracted from reality, or else museums would take up a lot more space.

"Whether this assuages your anxiety or throws you into a downward spiral of panic is up to you. To again quote Jerry’s infinite wisdom: “Abstraction is as old as we are. It has existed for millennia outside the West. It is present on cave walls, in Egyptian and Cypriot Greek art, Chinese scholar rocks, all Islamic and Jewish art — both of which forbid representation. Abstraction is only new in the West.” Abstraction was around way before your pretentious art school friend showed you his dot experiments and expected you to be impressed.

"This is where our brief foray into the wonders of abstraction comes to a close. While this short list may not help you understand your next trip to your local modern art museum, it may alleviate some of the pressure to understand it in the first place.

Chi

"Chi" (18" x 36")

Beginning an abstract art piece, is very different than beginning a landscape art piece in that I never, ever know what it will look like when complete. But I am learning that an abstract art painting will "tell me" when it's done. It's really great therapy -- divorcing ones mind from forced structure and let the structure of the painting form alongside the randomness of it. The place a landscape painting comes from is concrete most of the time: a picture either in my head or from a photo, usually of a western North Carolina or Asheville scene. But an abstract art piece comes from inside.

There is a short essay by Rainer Rilke I'd like to share. It's beautiful, and though written originally with the writing of prose or poetry, it applies so well to creating any art, and definitely applies to creating abstract art...

“Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write.

This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple “I must,” then build your life in accordance with this necessity; your whole life, even into its humblest and most indifferent hour, must become a sign and witness to this impulse. Then come close to Nature. Then, as if no one had ever tried before, try to say what you see and feel and love and lose...

...Describe your sorrows and desires, the thoughts that pass through your mind and your belief in some kind of beauty - describe all these with heartfelt, silent, humble sincerity and, when you express yourself, use the Things around you, the images from your dreams, and the objects that you remember. If your everyday life seems poor, don’t blame it; blame yourself; admit to yourself that you are not enough of a poet to call forth its riches; because for the creator there is not poverty and no poor, indifferent place. And even if you found yourself in some prison, whose walls let in none of the world’s sounds – wouldn’t you still have your childhood, that jewel beyond all price, that treasure house of memories? Turn your attentions to it. Try to raise up the sunken feelings of this enormous past; your personality will grow stronger, your solitude will expand and become a place where you can live in the twilight, where the noise of other people passes by, far in the distance. - And if out of this turning-within, out of this immersion in your own world, poems come, then you will not think of asking anyone whether they are good or not. Nor will you try to interest magazines in these works: for you will see them as your dear natural possession, a piece of your life, a voice from it. A work of art is good if it has arisen out of necessity. That is the only way one can judge it.”
  

Process: Rocky Mountain Commission

I love working large. Large artwork is commanding. Whether it’s intended as entrance art to grab you as soon as you enter a house or just a large wall piece, a sizable painting is artwork on a grand scale. I am currently working on a large commissioned art project for some nice folks in Austin, TX. The composition is triptych, and is based on a scene of the Rocky mountains -- mountains and birch trees reflecting in a lake. I just finished applying the metallic leaf to the textured surfaces of the panels yesterday and I was ready to go home -- turned off the lights and went to the back of the studio to get my keys, and when I turned around, I saw the panels reflecting back the late afternoon sunlight and I had to get a photo. Sorry. I get excited about stuff like this. One day, I'll have to just do a painting with no paint at all -- just metal covered with resin. I think that would be cool. Anyway, this one is ready for paint now, and by the end of the day, I'll have that first layer of paint applied. 

Sometimes, when I get into a piece, it's cool to explore the background story. This scene from Glacier National Park required just a bit of research so that I'm not just painting a painting, but I'm depicting a place. I want to capture the "spirit" of that place. Throughout time, people have sought out Glacier National Park's rugged peaks, clear waters, and glacial-carved valleys; its landscape giving both desired resources and inspiration to those persistent enough to venture through it. Evidence of human use in this area dates back to over 10,000 years. By the time the first European explorers came into this region, several different tribes inhabited the area. The Blackfeet Indians controlled the vast prairies east of the mountains, while the Salish and Kootenai Indians lived in the western valleys, traveling over the mountains in search of game and to hunt the great herds of buffalo on the eastern plains.

The majority of early European explorers came to this area in search of beaver and other pelts. They were soon followed by miners and, eventually, settlers looking for land. By 1891, the completion of the Great Northern Railway sealed the area’s fate, allowing a greater number of people to enter into the heart of northwest Montana. Homesteaders settled in the valleys west of Marias Pass and soon small towns developed.

Around the turn of the century, people started to look at the land differently. For some, this place held more than minerals to mine or land to farm…they began to recognize that the area had a unique scenic beauty all to its own.

By the late 1800s, influential leaders like George Bird Grinnell, pushed for the creation of a national park. In 1910, Grinnell and others saw their efforts rewarded when President Taft signed the bill establishing Glacier as the country's 10th national park.

This painting has a way to go before completion, but I love the process: texture, aluminum leaf, paint and finish. More to come on this one...

"Summer Path Thru the Birch Trees"

Already Longing for Summer

Introducing...."Summer Path Thru the Birch Trees" (18" x 24") This was a revisiting of an older oil painting I did a couple years ago. This time, I went smaller and added more texture and trees. And rather than finished with a thick glossy coat of resin, I finished it with a softer, more subtle finish (satin varnish) which seals it all but still leaves all the texture visible. This composition reminds me of an awesome summer back when I was a young teenager. My brother had a best friend who had a family cabin and many, many acres of property on the north shore of Francois Lake in northern British Columbia, Canada. The deal was that he would spend a couple months there on the lake, and then we (my mom, dad and sister) would come visit for several days and pick him up. We meandered up the Pacific Coast Highway, visited my uncle on Bainbridge Island just off the coast from Seattle, crossed into Canada at Vancouver and drove north up the Fraser River Valley toward Francois Lake.

Francois Lake was a remote and awesome finger lake, very deep and very clear. The water was so pure that the locals had to ADD minerals to it so they could drink it and still get the minerals they needed to be healthy. Crazy. And the old farm (complete with rustic log house and cool old barns) was amazing. I'd never seen a place like it before. The old dirt roads and fields were mostly overgrown (it had been a while since it was a real working farm) but I clearly remember exploring along the road to the upper field, birch trees and wild flowers surrounding me everywhere. The sound of birch trees in the wind is unforgettable. 

Anyway, I can't paint a landscape featuring birch trees and not remember that spectacular summer holiday. We've since visited Canada many times (from coast to coast) and never tire of the spectacular beauty of that place.

"Daybreak"

Light in the Darkness

"Daybreak in the Pines" (22" x 14") Here's the latest oil painting to roll off the line -- and you'll notice it's NOT a winter scene. I'm dreaming of summer landscapes already. This does not bode well for my sanity over the next couple months but dreaming of and painting scenes reminiscent of places here in North Carolina I hike with my wife Joy over the summer months -- that helps take the edge of 8 degree lows. :p

"Daybreak in the Pines" (22" x 14")

The West Wind
by William Cullen Bryant

Beneath the forest's skirts I rest,
Whose branching pines rise dark and high,
And hear the breezes of the West
Among the threaded foliage sigh.

Sweet Zephyr! why that sound of wo?
Is not thy home among the flowers?
Do not the bright June roses blow,
To meet thy kiss at morning hours?

And lo! thy glorious realm outspread--
Yon stretching valleys, green and gay,
And yon free hilltops, o'er whose head
The loose white clouds are borne away.

And there the full broad river runs,
And many a fount wells fresh and sweet,
To cool thee when the mid-day suns
Have made thee faint beneath their heat.

Thou wind of joy, and youth, and love;
Spirit of the new wakened year!
The sun in his blue realm above
Smooths a bright path when thou art here.

In lawns the murmuring bee is heard,
The wooing ring-dove in the shade;
On thy soft breath, the new-fledged bird
Takes wing, half happy, half afraid.

Ah! thou art like our wayward race;--
When not a shade of pain or ill
Dims the bright smile of Nature's face,
Thou lov'st to sigh and murmur still.

Revisiting a friend

Water and Light

"Morning on the Sound" (24" x 12"). When I create wall art, I sometimes start by experimenting with a brand new idea for the piece. Other times, I revisit an older idea I've already completed but look for ways to create a new oil painting that is both like and unlike the original (hey, Monet did that all the time). "Morning on the Sound" was such an effort. I did a painting similar to this composition awhile back and really enjoyed it -- but the scene depicted was of a coastline on a misty morning. This time, I wanted to go back to the same basic idea but...I've sent a strong east wind and blew the fog away.

"Morning on the Sound" (24" x 12")

The Trial Run

"Rainbow Falls" (18" x 24")

Waterfalls

I'm about ready now to apply aluminum leaf to my largest painting to date: Cullasaja Falls, and it occurred to me it would be a really good idea to practice on another waterfall so that I get this down. I don't want to "experiment" on this big one (it's just too large a statement piece to practice on and maybe mess up). So I chose one of my favorite waterfalls around here (about 45 minutes from my studio) and definitely one of the local landmarks. So I experimented on a much safer size (18" x 24") and I am REALLY happy with the way this one turned out and yep...I feel ready to tackle the big one now. 

Asheville Channel Interview

Asheville Channel Interview

Last week, and again yesterday, some really nice folks from the Asheville Channel came out to my studio for an interview (so I tried to sound like I was super interesting) and to take photos and video. So if you're interested in my work, or interested in practically anything to do with Asheville, check out the Asheville Channel: https://ashevillechannel.com/blog/st-claire-studio/. And...thanks Mario! You're team is awesome!

"Big Mamma" begins to sing....

Sealing of "Cullasaja Falls" 

Attention Please

My son Gerin and I hauled my painting "Cullasaja Falls" (affectionately known as "Big Mamma") across the street to do the final sanding and sealing (seen here). Now, the composition is complete and it's ready for the application of aluminum leaf. This painting is begging to be a major statement piece or entrance art (eventually) and it's been exciting seeing it beginning to "come to life" and I can't wait to begin the color application. More to come...

An Experiment with Moonlight

"Moonlight Sonata"

By the Light of the Silvery Moon

"Moonlight Sonata" was a bit of an experiment in that I don't usually paint a "moonlit" scene, mostly because I don't want the overall tone is too dark (simply because for my paintings to work, I need light being able to reflect off the aluminum leaf background and back through the paint I've applied. So for this painting to work, I had to play with the darkness of the color, the thickness of the paint, and the judicious placement of white paint (the most opaque paint I use). The result honestly is what I saw in my head, so I'm really happy with the piece. Three cheers for experimentation!