Category: My Art

#450 Some day we shall be free

#450 Some day we shall be freex

32×25″ Acrylic on canvas. This began as an image I saw in a dream–or in the hypnagogic state just before sleep. That mass on the right–like floating against a blue field. I began with  blue underpainting over the whole canvas, then roughly brushed in the contours of that mass. From there, is was the usual back and forth, responding to what I saw on the canvas, not trying to reproduce the dream image.  I only wish I’d left the edges and corners as bare canvas, like a torn section of a map.

View GALLERY HERE.

#447 Subsummation of the Human.

This comes as a feeling that pressed to become a thought, or a thought that sought to become an image. I sketched a face in soluble ink. Efaced with watercolor. Still there. Subsummed

#447 Subsumation of the Human
#447 10×8″ water soluble ink, India ink, water color.

I seldom do figurative art. Not in my finished pieces. I draw the human figure… obsessively, from bones to flesh and back to bones–images of the human. But that isn’t what they are–the drawings. It isn’t there, the human, and in my finished work, what is human remains, not quite invisible, most often as little more than an unintended suggestion. Broken into fragments. Or traces and debris of our passing.

That isn’t a plan. I’m not rendering some idea I have… I don’t know what it is, other than it emerges from some primal conflict, deeply, inexorably personal. It permeates my art–how I work, how I think about it. I know that it has to do with how or why I spend so much of my private, internal conversation explaining, justifying–as though I stand before some perpetual tribunal–that has demanded, without asking (I just know)–that I’m called to account for what I make, for the very need I have to make art, in these conversations where I go endlessly back to the beginning. Do I even have a right to call it… art? To permit myself…?

How this is connected with using the human figure, I don’t know, but I know that it is. Had I all the years of a younger man ahead of me, I don’t think that a lifetime of analysis would be sufficient to uncover what lies buried, something powerful enough to have kept me away from the one thing I’ve always wanted to do–for almost 40 years.
But it’s more than personal… or should I say, more than my private demons. As though this most private struggle has reformed itself into the one subject central to everything I make. How I can feel human figures in the most abstract pieces that come from my hand. Has become their struggle. Something pressing to emerge, pressing toward freedom. Or is it the subsummation of the human back into that state from whence we came? My not distant death linking itself to the coming extinction of our species?

Silverpoint

This is such a natural, inevitable transition–from my ink and ink wash drawings to SilverPoint. I’m too old, the learning curve is too long, and I’ll never have access to press and facilities, the acid baths … no way, or I’d be into etchings. But SilverPoint opens to the kind of effects I’ve been in love with since I first saw reproductions of Piranesi’s prisons.  Work I’ve done with pen and ink are suggestive in this direction. I especially like the Silverpoint will endure for centuries… when there’s not much hope human life will be around even for another 100 years. Kinda like, Fuck you, capitalist pigs! I’ll just make up the “posterity” you’re working so hard to kill off. #396

 

#399

#335 Sidewalk 2Or from my pavement series
#347 12x9 pavement pen & ink

So I spent my food money for Silverpoint ground and a stylus. I have more than enough excess weight to get me to my next SS check!