Ephemera

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Studio Notes

Finished.  (Finished?)

 

Studio Notes

Even as my last days in this studio approach, even as my head is elsewhere, even as my heart grows heavy, the work continues.  It's good.  Different.  Again different.  Always different.  I think I may be incapable of repetition, incapable of proper serials.

 

Studio Notes

I am still surprising myself.  Paintings moving quickly from nowhere to complete.  I still maintain: let the paintings paint themselves.  This is the best method.  The materials generally know where to go.  I can only offer vague direction, like helping a lost tourist.  It is best not to give too specific a route; the city and their own instincts will guide them.  The same applies to painting.

There is an urgency to the work now.  Not yet a panic.  With my days on Lorraine St. numbered I have to be efficient, produce as much as I can before I close the space and lager everything.

 

Studio Notes

The diptych on the beautiful clear plywood seems to be done.  That was a pleasant surprise to walk in and see it smiling up at me from the floor.  I think it will be called "Red Hook".  That is where my head and heart have been lately.  It was finished Thursday, just as the flood waters from Hurricane Sandy were receding.

 

Studio Notes

I'm never quite happy when a painting is finished because there is nothing more to do to it.  I prefer that moment of "yes!", when I make that last tear or drip, when the final wash or run with the squeegee brings that sudden joy, that elation, the certainty - "this is done!"  I'm trying a more restrained approach, something less dense, less edge-to-edge.  This is causing me some consternation, because I don't know where I'm going; I don't know exactly what I'm looking for.  The confidence has gone missing.  Are these good?  Or have I gone off the tracks?

 

Studio Notes

Not sure what I'm doing, really.  It feels like perhaps I'm trying too hard.  Trying too hard to make it something, rather than just letting it be what it is.  I'm missing the looseness, I'm missing the all-over attack.  The attack.

My head is somewhere at the end, the last days.  I've already packed up the studio before the brushes are dry.  I've only got two pieces going because I'm afraid I won't be able to finish what I start now.

Snap out of it.  Do the work.  Make the art.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Studio Notes

I think I brought the large panel back.  I'd left it in bad shape, not bleeding or even bruised, but suffering.  I'd taken it somewhere neither of us wanted to go.  We both knew it.  I brought in some navy rain, let gravity push that around and it is interesting again.

These new paintings are off in new directions  - again.  I never seem to be the same painter.  There are similarities, certainly, a style.  But they seem to be cousins rather than brothers and sisters.  Maybe this is what frustrates gallerists; they see 14 different painters when they look at my work, rather than one.  Ha!  They've never looked at my work.

 

Studio Notes

I am perhaps trying too hard, bordering on manipulation, which is of course verboten.  Sometimes seeing really good work by other painters fucks with your head.  You go down roads you should never have entered.  All part of the process, I suppose.  But terribly frustrating.  Trying to reverse up a one-way street has its own peril.

 

Studio Notes

The three.  One (the largest) just stepped up this afternoon.  Suddenly it is asserting itself and I like it.  It's a little bit of control, and a little bit of chaos.  My favorite music pieces always sound a little bit like they are falling apart.  This painting sounds like that.  Oh!

Proceed with caution.  Fresh eyes.

 

Studio Notes

Back to it.  Strange summer in the studio.  6 paintings.  4 are gifts.  I love giving art as a gift.  I am less fond of creating art as a gift.  I feel less free to roam.  It is more of a performance and one wonders how it will be received.  The interesting part is how the subconscious works.  These 4 paintings couldn't be more different.  They were all begun and finished within a month of each other with large overlap.  Yet they have nothing in common, no relation.  Is it because in my head I knew where they were going, who would be getting them?  So even though they were painted over the same period with more or less the same materials they couldn't have any similarities because in my head they were all for different people.

So now 3 new pieces are underway.  The Autumn painting season begins.

 

Studio Notes

The ol' dirty bitch triptych is done.  She put up an epic struggle, fighting me all the way to the last stroke.  There were moments I truly hated her, when I thought discarding her would be a better end to her miserable life.  There was nothing I could do to make her beautiful.  Month after month.  She resisted.  Finally she succumbed.  And she looks good!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Studio Notes

The triptych is still giving me trouble.  Sometimes it seems it is getting close, then another look and...shit.  It has been at least 20 different paintings now.  I'm convinced it is the odd shape that is causing me to stumble and to question.  I hate this painting.  I'm pretty sure it hates me too.

 

Studio Notes

I have done battle with these two pieces.  They are not yielding.  Day after day, I go in, attack and come away defeated.  Such stubbornness.  The odd-shaped triptych is a real bitch.  I honestly hate this painting.  For months now it has given me nothing.  It has not even flirted with me, opened up a bit.  No.  It is an ugly bitch and wants to stay that way.  I've a good mind to toss it back in the dumpster where it was destined to end up before I rescued it.  Ungrateful cow!

 

Studio Notes

I'm clawing my way back.  Weeks and weeks of utter shit.  I had to destroy everything I was working on, tear it down and start over.  Trying to build on a toxic base will go nowhere.  The crap keeps bubbling up like tar.  Total destruction is necessary.  Sometimes violence is the only language a painting understands.  The painting will mock the painter if he is too soft.  They must be broken, like a wild horse.

 

Studio Notes

I'm just limping along now.  There is no direction.  3 paintings, 3 disasters.  These may never get finished.  No amount of peeling and sanding is going to make these look like anything.

Maybe I've stopped believing.

 

 

The studio after one year

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Studio Notes

The momentum is lost.  To my surprise I found two finished paintings.  That is the disconnect.  I don't know what is in the studio anymore.  I've got to push my head back into this.  Otherwise I might as well shutter the whole operation.  This is where I begin to question everything.  What am i doing here?  Why?  Oh mercy.

 

Studio Notes

You do this to a painting, then you do that.  You continue to do this and that until you are satisfied.  Painting is nothing more than that.  The key is to have the courage to keep pushing, and the intelligence to stop.  That is what separates a good painting from a great painting.

 

Studio Notes

I'm a bit all over the place at the moment.  The uneven diptych might be done.  An aquatic feel.  Shades of "Japanese Pacific" I did a few years ago.  The triptych was sitting around looking pretty, thinking it was done, so I tore it apart, washed it with an apple green and good ol' ultra-marine blue.  It is closer to somewhere.  The large canvas looks like African vomit.  I can't get a handle on this piece at all.  It just slides along the spectrum of ugly.  I had hoped a poster from my winter in Berlin so long ago might push it forward.  Alas, it is as ugly as ever.  I think my worry is coming out.  I need a grounding wire.

 

Studio Notes

The paintings have been trying to sneak into the stack of finished pieces.  I know they are not done, but they posture like they are.  They fear a violent attack.  Everyone got it today.  I was not in the mood for delicate gestures, finishing touches.  I want to bring these somewhere.  Too much dancing around, being nice.  They are all fakes, pretending to be finished paintings.  Ha!

 

 

Oriens (New York)

 

 

 

 

 

Studio Notes

My head is elsewhere.  A lot of staring, hoping for a dialogue.  They know when you aren't there, when you're going through the motions, sparse application of paint, lots of water, one brush.  They know.

 

Studio Notes

Painting is such a strange and wondrous thing.  You begin with a blank __________.  You add some paint.  You add some more paint.  Days and weeks pass and there is nothing, just layers of paint.  There are points when it is even quite ugly.  Then suddenly one day something appears.  It is not a miracle, like a saint or Jesus appearing on a potato or a bit of tree bark.  But something is there.  You can stop or you can try and coax more of it from the canvas.  Then it is done.  What was an ordinary piece of wood or canvas weeks earlier is now a painting.  It is a painting because you decided it is a painting.  You have brought it into existence.  Without being blasphemous, painting is next to godliness.

It's coming together.

 

Studio Notes

Feeling a bit lost.  Nothing is jumping out at me, giving me direction.  Laying on the paint and paper without growth.  Nothing is growing out of this effort.  Paintings are just moving sideways, not forward.

 

Studio Notes

Everything is really ugly.  Some days there is no helping that, no way to avoid it.  It's a phase.  They'll outgrow it.  Just keep at them, keep pushing.

 

Studio Notes

Today was good, old-fashioned dirty painting, throwing myself at the canvas and wood panels, paint flying, paper and glue, a godawful, hideous mess, something like the old days.  I've become too careful and calculated, measured, thoughtful.  Sometimes you just have to free yourself, stop being so precious, see what happens.  It's good for the soul.

 

 

Frieze New York 2012

 

 

 

 

 

 

Studio Notes

Oh man!  I'm shaking my head.  Where did these paintings come from?  Is this even the work of the same painter?  I don't know what to say.  Exciting.  Frightening.  It is sound, like feedback from a guitar.  These aren't paintings at all; they are visual feedback, a chord reverberating, echoes, screeches, screams.  Lush, deafening.  What the hell.  I've definitely left the highway.

 

Studio Notes

After a two week unplanned sabbatical I was nervous to return to the studio.  What had I left there?  I was surprised to find 3, maybe 4, finished paintings.  So the anxiety of trying to find my place was greatly diminished.  I stretched a new canvas, a good size, something to contemplate, something to fight with - that size.  I like stretching my own canvas.  It is so old-fashioned.  But it somehow connects me with the past, with hundreds of years of painting history.  I like the sound of it, something like a drum skin.  I like the smell of it when the first gesso or paint begins to seep in.

I've got to go full-on now.  Days are numbered; I can't waste time.  Push, push.

 

Studio Notes

I don't like to manipulate a painting.  If something beautiful happens by chance it is wrong to try and repeat it.  It is somehow a betrayal.  And I have found over the years that such efforts usually look forced, unnatural.  Paintings evolve as they will and one mustn't guide them.

 

Studio Notes

A new, quiet approach to the current paintings.  A slow, methodical attack, rather than the fury with which I normally begin a painting.  Patience.  Look for clues.  Let them breathe a bit.  More thought.  (We'll see how long this approach lasts.)

I like the early stages of the two long pieces - bold gestures, good movement.  Lovely chocolate brown.  

I think I am incapable of a deep prolonged series.  Part of it is boredom; part of it is never being too sure how I created each painting, making repetition or building on a style or theme difficult or impossible.

 

Studio Notes

I'm not making art for some select, insider cognoscenti.  If it only speaks to a small, elite circle of academics and intellectuals, aristocrats and the bourgeoisie, the art is a failure.  Art is for the masses.  Or don't bother making it.

 

Studio Notes

Have I hit a groove?  Paintings are coming together in unexpected ways.  Not without struggle, but the exploration seems to be paying off.  Keep pushing and see what happens.  Forward.  I must admit the color palette is lush, vibrant, delicious.  Oh man.  I just keep painting...for no one but myself.  Painting after painting, week after week, month after month.  I think they are good, but who knows.  (Who cares!)  They are good.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Studio Notes

The new pegboard piece took on a De Kooning feel today.  (Maybe it is just the lavender.)  Interesting.  But no where near finished.  An intermediary phase.  Good movement.  Almost figurative.  "What is it?"

The new plywood pieces are too young to even talk about.

 

Studio Notes

Every painting has to go through an ugly phase.  If it doesn't, it is no good.  If it comes together too quickly, it is no good.  Such paintings must be destroyed, a willful mutilation.  Create the ugliness if it does not come naturally.  Then slowly bring it back.  This is a test of your skills as a painter.  The reward is a more dense, deeper beauty.

Destruction can be as beautiful as construction.

 

Studio Notes

This is not a normal method for making a painting.

 

Studio Notes

The big canvas is finally beginning to heave and throw its weight.  If I keep attacking, it could be done in a week.  Oh, it's getting good.

Meanwhile... the mini-paintings are giving me trouble.  A bit of the ol' ultra-violence.  They will succumb.

 

Studio Notes

They've entered that ugly, awkward teenage phase.

 

Studio Notes

I think I finally broke the small "pond" diptych.  What a bitch!  Resistant to the end, like a wild horse or stray dog.  Persistence.

I'm attacking the large canvas without rhyme or reason.  The layers are beginning to grow.  There are some areas that could be a finished painting, lovely layers of paint, thin, thick, brush strokes and drips.  But alas, "areas" do not a complete painting make.  In the end they too will probably be obliterated.  Big canvases are definitely difficult, but I enjoy the freedom, the loose, the wild, something impossible with smaller pieces.  To look at this canvas in these early stages, I'm not sure one would ever guess it is the same painter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Studio Notes

There is joy in attacking a large canvas, the free, sweeping brush strokes, paint flying and dripping.  The thinking part of the brain is switched off.  Letting go.

This color pallet, these brush strokes, these drips will be obliterated.  No one will ever know that this is how this painting looked at the end of January, 2012.  But for the moment, for today, I like it.

 

Studio Notes

The huge blank canvas.  That's it.  Nothing more to say.

 

Studio Notes

It's time to go big.  These small pieces are beginning to bore me.  So tedious.  The small, careful gestures.  A return to the all-over canvas.  The improvisation and freedom, the glorious mistakes, the ugliness of a giant piece.  The movement.  My whole body rather than just my wrist and fingers.

 

Studio Notes

Blue and green are the colors of winter 2012.  It is a less aggressive pallet than my summer red.

But these paintings are mostly nowhere.    Sometimes a painting won't give that up.  It becomes a staring contest.  I stare at the painting; it stares back.  I wonder if it is finished.  It doesn't want to talk.  This once went on for two years.  There were three little devils.  They refused to talk.  I set them aside, worked on and completed a dozen other paintings.  Eventually I painted over them.  I even split one piece into two paintings.  "Vee have vays of making you talk."

 

Studio Notes

This is what a studio should look like: new paintings stacked up against older paintings, paint and debris covering the walls and floor, beer bottles, a coat and hat hanging.  There is no place in a studio for a computer, book shelves, a desk, a sofa, organization.  Comfort breeds mediocrity.  A level of discomfort is necessary.  Good art springs from these conditions.

Painting today with brushes that haven't any bristles left and stir sticks.  Pollock.  Not Pollock.

The cool room smells of paint and Mod Podge.  Finally!  Holidays and travel get in the way of art production.  Autumn was not particularly productive.  Winter needs to match summer in terms of output.  The short cold days make it difficult.  I have to attack like those last days in Paris, as if it is all ending.  Because it may end.

 

Studio Notes

Momentum is key to productivity, to quality.  Long pauses, interruptions in the routine (wake, breakfast, walk, lunch, paint, drink, dinner, sleep) result in a lot of sideways movement, rather than forward movement.  It's like picking up a novel that you set down for a month or more.  Where was I?  How did I get here?  Where was I taking this?  Starting over, really.

Then things happen, little accidents, and suddenly you are on to something new.