A Man and his Beer Van is almost ten years old. My general person has seen so much evolution over the course of the making of this blog. The past two years have been filled with, “I’m backs,” “I’m going to get around to its,” and, “I’ve accepted its.” Ten years is a significant amount of time. This blog has changed immensely and it is obviously reflective of me.
As my son and I were sitting in the Pidgy Park, Congress Square Park in Portland, ME, last night, I glanced across the square to the Portland Museum of Art, where they were hosting Free Friday. I scooped up my boy with relatively little resistance and we scampered across Congress and Free Streets and into the museum. After stowing our bag in a locker I set my boy on my hip and we proceeded to read the curators statement on the exhibit, “Women Modernists.”
As we walked into a a colorful wall of Torr and O’Keefe paintings, I was taken by the naturalistic shapes. My boy, however, cried out, “green bite,” at the top of his lungs. We were standing in front of a rather dark Torr image, with strong geometric shapes surrounding a single and exquisite green leaf. My son would apparently eat this painting, but only if everyone else had a bite at the same time. We turned the corner to a wall of Georgia O’keefe. Her works were splendid; more grand and colorful than I’ve ever been able to imagine from color reproductions. Austin was also quite taken with her work. While many, I’m sure, were thinking about the seductive nature of the pieces, Austin was more taken with their edible characteristics once again. “Ice cream,” he cried, in front of each O’keefe painting in the first room. After 6 years of academia I was having a little trouble at first seeing what my son saw, but after a bit I realized that her Jack in the Pulpits did indeed bear a strong resemblance to a sugar cone, the flowers, white and pink and rich browns. They were lavish and smooth and looked immensely tasty if you blurred your eyes a bit.
On to the third wall we strode to a wall of Florine Stettheimer, a painter who I had never heard of before. As we stood in front of her busy scenes I was taken by her textures and warm color schemes, but my son was mostly taken with an object in a painting at Asbury Park that looked an awful lot like a boat. “Boat,” he screamed to the disdain of the gentlemanly dressed “art viewer” next to us. You know the kind, my friend Melissa would describe them by very demurely removing her glasses and resting the bow on her bottom lip, wagging her finger up and down, side to side, while offering a slight head shake. This was the moment that I realized that I was in a museum with a two year old and all bets were off. You do what the two year old wants if you want to escape Vesuvius in the Galleria.
We passed to another wall. This one had rocky looking landscapes, interesting in their abstraction perhaps for an adult, but reason for getting off of Dadoo’s hip for a two year old. Austin bolted into the next room. We stood in front of a portrait of a woman on a very teal background. His mother loves teal. “Mama,” he cried, and made a quick escape to another wall with more architectural and industrial looking pieces on it, and it was here that I realized that two years of graduate school had taught me nothing that living day to day listening to a two year old would not have.
“Chicken,” he screamed, crawling out of his own skin, “Bok, bok, bok, bok, bok. Dadoo, CHICK-EN.” I looked at painting of a corrugated tin roofing taking up the lower two thirds of the picture plane. Two pieces of industrial scaffolding were in the background just poking over either side of the roofing. Upon closer inspection, the roofing looked like a large chicken wing structure and the red scaffolding looked like the very top of the chicken’s head. My son had trumped me. I feel humbled and excited. We rambled around the rest of the museum, mostly looking for paintings with boats, and I felt happier looking at art than I had in a long time. My son had reminded me of Rene Magritte, “Ceci n’est pas une pipe.” It is all illusion. The metaphors and allegories there for the taking or the leaving. We were looking at art and it was fun. We broke my masters degree in a forty minute trip to the museum and that is just fine with me.
Peace
-Mike
Everything seems different right now. Life is not going as planned and so I find myself fighting the urge to delve further and further into self. I’ve started reading more as a way to ground myself. Social media and personal interaction seems to exacerbate my feelings of indecisiveness. With this lack of stability in my daily life comes a more clear idea of what it is that I want for my work and my work goals, however. More specifically, I’ve been thinking about the way that I work and the way that I prioritize. These are two things that I have had issues with for a little over a decade.
A Wisp and a Flourish
Watercolor is really trendy. At least that’s what my wife tells me. She says its in. I think that it is probably always kind of in. There is something to it, much like old Eastern brushwork pieces, that truly transcends an “other” from the individual painting.
My world has become so full. I am doing more design work and illustration than I’ve ever had before. I have had at least three shows and a couple extra projects each year to work on and I now have a family to take care of and a son to raise. I’m finally starting to feel okay with it. This is it. I’m living now. Whatever that now is, I’ve got to live it.
I’ve been working on a watercolor of a bug every day this year. Until about a week ago they were straight forward watercolors. I’ve never used watercolor very much. It was too unforgiving and I used a heavy hand. I really just didn’t have the patience. Enter toddler. I suddenly have so much more patience than I ever thought myself capable. The watercolors have advanced though, and I knew that sooner or later I would find myself adding myself back into the project. This past week I started adding some geometric elements into the pieces. I really like them. Here are a few of the best ones.
I have also started another small side project. I’ve always collected a number of sketchbooks. One of my favorit types is called Dept. de Poche. I have a small square book that I’ve started making simple graphics of whatever imagery I’m into on a daily basis. I’ve started thinking of them as Squares of Vitality. I hope to fill the whole book with foundation pieces of my vitality. Here’s one of Mingus and some lettuce that is growing in my garden.
I hope this blogpost finds you well. I’m wrestling with myself to get back into this space. It used to be so good for me and I think that now more than ever it could be that outlet that I am not finding in other ways.
Peace
Mike
The Process Has Changed
It is easy to fall behind. It is easy to feel as though you are not doing the things that you are supposed to be doing. As creatives we have our studio practices, our own marketing through social media and snail media, pricing and selling, applications to shows, events, and jobs, and most of the time we also have a day job, families, and friends. It is easy to fall behind.
I work a lot. I work on lot on my brand and my work and I work especially hard to try to be the father and husband that I have hoped I could be for years. This space has become next to dormant. There are several reasons; instagram, the lack of what seems a valid thing to say, and a shift in my daily necessities. Before I had a family I could aimlessly work through my day, facing one challenge after another rather fluidly. Now I live a more rigid life on a sometimes unforgiving schedule. The fact remains that I still make the work. I have just started posting it to instagram and I feel like I have less time to talk about it. Then I think back to my older posts and realize that I never said much until graduate school came along and I determined that I couldn’t write. I determined that I couldn’t write and then I started to try to write like everyone that I was forced to read in order to tread academic waters.
I teach now. I would say that I do not speak this idiom, still. One of the major reasons I have trouble posting here is that I expect too much out of what I write. But don’t people just want to see my paintings and sketches anyway? I’m going to try to get myself back here with less expectation. We’ll see what happens.
Peace
Mike
My idea eludes me. I have been reading such a variety of sources, but I can’t discern what it is that I am searching for, conceptually. I have two projects on the horizon. They seem inextricably linked. The one; an group exhibition focused on explorers. The desire of this show is to begin a dialogue on imperialism, disparate cultural histories, and the validity of historical accounts while trying to capture the excitement of the unknown. The second; a relatively loose project concerning Lewis and Clark, the “Indian” Wars, and Western expansion. My colleague and I wish to retrace some of the steps of Lewis and Clark through South Dakota, where he lives, in order to discuss what we see and to find what is at the edge of our knowledge.
I’ve been reading books by naturalists and historical accounts of explorations. Both seem relevant, as the majority of what was reported back when discoveries were made were accounts of flora and fauna and cultures who lived in particular areas. While cultural studies and naturalist studies are far from the same thing, they require the same sort of keen observation. I was reading an interesting passage quoted from Reaumur in Mary Terrall’s, “Catching Nature in the Act,” yesterday:
“The spirit of observation, the kind of spirit essential to naturalists, and commonly assigned to them, is equally necessary to progress in every other science. It is the spirit of observation that causes us to perceive what has escaped others, that allows us to grasp the relations among things that appear different, or that causes us to find the differences among those that seem similar. We resolve the most difficult problems of mathematics only once we can observe relations that do not reveal themselves except to a penetrating and extremely attentive mind. Observations make possible the resolution of problems in a physics as in the natural history– because natural history has its problems to solve; it even has a great many that have not yet been resolved.”
This passage struck me as particularly poignant as it described to me not only how a scientist or a biologist might approach a problem, but also how a creative person might approach a problem. I always feel that the job of the artist is to observe that which is not observed by the average person, to re-present that information in such a way that it draws attention to the unnoticed.
I’m finding in my reading that nearly all of the old naturalists were both artists or draw-ers as well as scientists and whatever other position they might have held in society. It is interesting to me to think then, that we have “progressed” as a society to a point where we often think of the arts as superfluous. However, if we take the time to really look at the things we are studying, and drawing the things we study certainly requires this heightened level of looking, then perhaps we actually will learn and know more.
I suspect that that is what I feel like is missing in both the study of explorers and the fur traders. While we may, perhaps, understand what the respective parties were doing. We don’t understand where they were, and while it is quite obvious that we can never return to the level of “wild” that our planet was in prior to its discovery by “modern civilizations,” we can still only understand the urgency in these discoveries if we see for ourselves what the trail, flora and fauna must have looked like. In order to do this, you must be there as much as you are capable, for reading is only as good as the observations of the person before you. To understand the whole picture is to develop an educated opinion.
Here are a few of the sketches that I am muddling through as I attempt to become better versed in “looking.” Hopefully taking this level of looking with me to South Dakota will help me understand the idea of discovery.
I went to lunch by myself today, a Chinese American restaurant. I was kind to myself and ordered off the menu instead of indulging in the buffet. The regular menu is too much food as it is, but my will power does not match the power of a buffet. All I wanted was some lo mein and that, I am proud to admit is what I got. When I received my tab, my fortune cookie was a lift that really epitomized my week. “You will conquer obstacles to achieve success,” it read. This week has definitely presented its obstacles, a visit from the fire department and their ensuing ire, a trip to the emergency room with my son, but these events paled in comparison to two talks with old art colleagues who I am again working with and a new routine, which has been life changing.
I’ve spent some time trying to figure out what it is about extinct birds that has me so intrigued. For a little while I suspected that it had something to do with an environmental consciousness; sort of an extrapolation of the climate crisis that we aw experiencing. But to be honest, while I am very concerned with our climate, the effects we as a species have had on it, and most prevalent in my personal world, Maine’s complete lack of winter thus far, I have to admit that this series is not because of sense of responsibility to the environment. It’s the same sort of trope I would find myself falling into while I. Graduate school as for the reason that I prefer found materials.