What Were You Thinking? [David’s blog on KS Friday]

The flakes hitting our faces felt like needles. We’d ventured out to get some photos of the lake-in-the-snow-storm. After snapping a few photos the sideways wind drove us back home. Stepping into the warmth of the house, we agreed, “That was enough!”

A few weeks ago we completely re-visioned the upstairs of our home. We repainted a bedroom. We carried sack-after-sack of discards out of the office and into the trash. We installed a repurposed bookshelf at the top of the stairs. I was amused when Kerri went to my basement archives to pull a new painting to sit atop the bookshelf. She returned with a canvas that I was preparing, an under-painting of broad grey strokes and splashes – not a finished painting. “I love it!” she exclaimed, placing the canvas atop the shelf. “Don’t you love it?”

“But, it’s not a painting yet,” I replied.

“Yes it is!” she chirped, proud of her new acquisition.

“I would have done better in my life as a painter had I not taken myself so seriously,” I said, shaking my head. “I would have saved myself some serious struggle had I learned sooner to stop at the under-painting.” She agreed to add a stroke of white to the…composition…so it would be a piece by both of us, though, to date, the…painting…remains mine-all-mine.

This morning it occurred to me that “the painting” bears an uncanny resemblance to the view of the wet snow raging just outside our sunroom window. The tones are similar. Tip the window on its side and it would be a sister piece to the canvas sitting on top of the shelf. Maybe I should title “the painting” Buh-Buh-Blizzard. Or Opus 25 In Winter Window Tones. Or, perhaps, Kerri’s Choice.

Or maybe I’ll leave it unnamed, a mystery piece for future guests to ponder. They will politely ask (as they always do), “What were you thinking when you painted the piece at the top of the stairs?”

I’ll look at Kerri and smile, saying, “Maybe you should answer this one.”

WATERSHED on the album AS IT IS © 2004 Kerri Sherwood

Kerri’s albums are available on iTunes and streaming on Pandora

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE STORM

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Gain Some Perspective [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

If you’ve not yet bumped into Piet Mondrian’s paintings of trees, this is your chance. Not only are the paintings beautiful but if you’ve ever scratched your head at his more famous abstract/geometric paintings, you will find the forest through his trees. Things are not always what they seem and, in the era of contemporary art, it is necessary to grok the context in order to fully appreciate the content. Of course, that rule also applies in this age of info-tsunami: content rushing across the screen is regularly embraced whole-cloth – sans context – so truth and lie have equal standing.

In the art world, placing content (an individual painting) into context (the historic era, the long-body-exploration of the artist’s work, the source of the exploration) is called “gaining perspective”. Because things are not always what they seem, it is drilled into every artist to regularly stand back, to clear their eyes, to get perspective on their work-in-progress. It is also (or used to be) drilled-in to offer the same courtesy to the work of other artists. Stand back from snap judgments. Check the sources. Understand the exploration. Grasp the historical context. It is never as simple as “liking” or “not liking”; appreciation opens a vast color palette beyond the numbing mindset of thumbs-up or down.

Gaining perspective and learning are the same thing. The most well-educated people I know are not lawyers or doctors. They are actors, directors, dancers, and painters. Gaining perspective takes a lifelong dedication to questioning and researching and double-checking. It is to peek behind the curtain of popular and not get caught in the current reality spin. It is to know that things are not what they seem. It is to know that reactions are easy answers; questions take time. Gaining perspective takes time.

Sometimes she stops so quickly that it propels me forward a few stumbling steps. While I tumbled forward she knelt at a puddle and aimed her camera at a leaf. Or so I thought. I have learned (daily) that she sees things that I do not. I have learned that my assumptions are almost always wrong. She smiled when she stood up. “Look,” she said.

I gasped. I was terrifically wrong. The leaf was nowhere in sight. The reflection of trees in a puddle on the asphalt trail. A festival of texture. A masterpiece of illusion. Piet Mondrian must have knelt at a puddle reflection just like this! “Trees through an icy window,” I said.

Things are rarely – if ever – what they seem.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE TREES

share it. like it. support it. comment on it. research it. question it. doubt it. grok it.

buymeacoffee is exactly what you make of it.

Choose The Lesser Chaos [on DR Thursday]

“If I choose abstraction over reality, it is because I consider it the lesser chaos.” ~ Robert Brault

And what isn’t an abstraction? Dealing with ideas rather than events? Not-the-thing-but-is referential-to-the thing?

Every word in every language is an abstraction. Every thought that zips through every brain is an abstraction. Not the thing but referential to it. The word “chair” is not a chair.

I caught myself in a sticky net. Not once, several times. I’ve tried again and again to paint “abstractions” only to whine, ‘I can’t abstract!” [insert laugh track]. A painting of something is, by definition, not the something. Picasso had a heyday playing with people’s minds around this idea, this abstraction.

After an unexplainable medical event, my doctor shrugged and said, “Sometimes there is no explanation. People like to rationalize things. They think if they can explain it, they can control it.”

Explain Pollock or Rothko. Diebenkorn’s Ocean Park series. Ellsworth Kelly.

And who wouldn’t rather spend time pondering the sense of Richard Serra than anything we read in the news?

read Kerri’s blog post about ABSTRACTION

earth interrupted © 2012 david robinson

Ask The Question [on DR Thursday]

palm tree copy

a morsel of Tango With Me. Kerri calls this one ‘Palm Trees.’

I’m proud of Skip. He decided that learning to paint with a palette knife was the best way this year to work on his soul. In my eyes, it is a sure path. He sent photos of his first efforts. Luscious in color and texture, they are abstracts. He showed his efforts to his wife and received the single question that no artist can answer yet it is the first question that every viewer-of-art asks: what is it?

It is the assumption of representation. The need for location. The desire to be told what “it” means. No one wants to be wrong or offend so they ask the artist to provide the interpretation – which will rob the viewer of their own experience. It will short-circuit the relationship between viewer and painting. As Joseph Campbell quipped, ” If the artist doesn’t like you, he (or she) will tell you what it means.”

Color, form, composition, and movement. Art. Abstraction. In a world of individualism, abstractions are capable of telling a different story unique to each individual. They refuse to locate you and, instead, ask you to participate. Make meaning. Don’t seek what is expected, bring to the painting what is evoked.

It creates a tension. It calls us to sit in the paradox of our times. Is there one meaning or many? How is it that people so devoted to self-expression believe they can best express their individualism by shopping together at The Gap?

At the center of potent art, at the bottom of great learning, is the same question: what is it to you?

 

TangoWithMe-Final copy

Tango With Me, mixed media, 39 x 52IN

 

read Kerri’s blog post about PALM TREES

 

 

cheers! shopping in chicago website box copy

tango with me/palm tree ©️ 2018 david robinson & kerri sherwood