Cycle Forward And Back [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Last week I saw a suit in a store that was frighteningly similar to the burgundy tuxedo I wore to my junior prom. Fear not, there are photos of a youthful me in my clothing-abomination that you will never see. I refuse to blackmail myself. I generally avoid ridicule unless I’m in the mood to perform a prat-fall.

Beauty is not a fixed idea. Nor is it unique enough to be held in the single eye of any one beholder. Beauty is shared. Communal. And the community is restless. It cycles through contour and color and pattern expectation. Each year a new style born of reaction against the previous styles. When I look at photographic proof of my willing-wearing of a horrific burgundy tux, I shake my head and think, “What was I thinking?” A better question would be, “What were we thinking?” At the time, I thought my tux was cool. My pal, Oz, wore a powder blue tux and strutted his blue-ness all prom-long.

The fashion cycle always returns to itself. The fabrics are improved (less petroleum) but the style is textbook. What’s new is old and what’s old is new. I stood in the store utterly agog at a full rack of wine colored suits. Laughter-tears streamed from my eyes though I can’t be sure I wasn’t reacting to the shock of terrible print patterns on the stacks and stacks of shirts. Terrible to me; beautiful to the other festive and frantic shoppers.

I’ve spent hours staring at our tree. The fragile glass ornaments reach back into the 1940’s and 50’s. They mirror the shape of cars from the era. Appliances, too. Light fixtures. Do you remember the spaceships of Buck Rogers or the marionettes of Space Patrol? The ornaments are Shiny Brites. Massed produced but decorated by hand. They were all the rage in their time. The shapes and story inspire me. That’s how the cycle works.

This year the Shiny Brites are all the rage in our home. Beautiful in our time. What’s old is new. What’s new is old.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SHINY BRITES

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buymeacoffee is a blowback to a time when coffee was a thing that people drank from manufactured glass mugs while sharing the stories of their day.

Unearth Your Modtro [on Merely A Thought Monday]

Our latest late-night binge is Bad Hikers. An adorable young couple hiking the John Muir Trail. Never have two people hiked the JMT in such modtro style. Goth meets urban chic. They are at home in their style, comfortable in their bodies, so they are both unaffected and affected at the same time. Glimmers of Mad Max on the JMT. I love it. Their spirit inspires us.

William Blake is another in the canon of artists unrecognized during his lifetime but now considered a creative titan, one of the great artists of the Romantic era. His contemporaries thought he was crazy because he was not like them. He stood out and no amount of hammering would make him fit the mold.

In the dance between the conservative and the creative impulses, the conservative will always claim the safe ground, plant their flag in “normal.” Tradition. “We’ve always done it this way.” The creative will swim to the margins, climb to the tops of the mountains where they can see more clearly. “What’s over the next horizon?” All people are a mix of both impulses, conservative and creative. We dance between the poles.

One of the first lessons I learned in art school is that, in the western tradition, every era reacts against the previous standard (I laughed when it occurred to me that our tradition is to react against our tradition – no wonder we are always at war with ourselves!) Realists rise in response to the Romantics. Impressionism reacts to Realism. And on and on. The other side of that equation is that the artists are generally tuned into societal and technological advances. Picasso’s cubism and Einstein’s theory of relativity hit the world within a few months of each other. Reactivity holds hands with innovation.

And so it goes with clothes, too. To dress as is expected. To dress as a statement. To dress as is comfortable. To find your style. To define yourself within your era. Clothes are how we publicly locate ourselves relative to the two poles. “This is me!” We shop at the same stores, we buy the same brands, all to express our individuality relative to the expectation-of-the-day. Sometimes you find your style and sometimes it finds you. And, mostly, your style changes as you do. Tie-dye puts on a suit and tie.

And so, this long and winding road brings me to a caution: do not, when you unearth the box of sponge curlers in your basement, exclaim as I did, “Oh my god! Who on earth ever used these things! Why do we have these in our house?” My laughter fizzled the moment I realized that the obvious answer was standing right next to me.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SPONGE CURLERS

Flawed Cartoon Wednesday

a bit of humor on this hump day from studio melange

MASTER turtlenecks jpeg copy.jpg

I only need look at my prom pictures from the 1970’s to be reminded that what is “in” today will shock my eyes tomorrow. Apparently cranberry tuxedos and large lapels are not timeless. Who knew?!!!

My life in the theatre has prejudiced me to see all clothing as costume. Perhaps that helped along my current drop between the cracks of style. My closet is now filled with black t-shirts and jeans. I have a few black thermal shirts for variance. My move to black was not conscious. One day I realized that I’d simplified. I like to think of it this way: packing is a breeze. And, best of all, a future me will never look at a photograph, gasp and say, “What the heck was I thinking?”

TURTLENECKS ARE IN merchandise [cups, gift cards, pillows, wall art,…]

society 6 info jpeg copy

turtlenecks FRAMED PRINT copy

turtlenecks clock copy   turtlenecks iPHONE CASE copy

turtlenecks COFFEE MUG copy

 

read Kerri’s thoughts on this Flawed Cartoon Wednesday

melange button jpeg copy

kerrianddavid.com

 

don’t you know that turtlenecks are in? ©️ 2016 david robinson & kerri sherwood

Skip The Handbook

We walked some great beaches this summer. In this post are my three most recent paintings. Kerri calls them the start of my Beach Series. This one is called, They Draw The Sunset In The Sand

I just made myself laugh out loud. “Lol!” I’d have texted to myself had I not been breathless from my guffaw. No one can accuse me of needing to be entertained.

I was writing about my history with curators, galleries and their consistent criticism of my work: I am stylistically all over the map. And, it’s a valid criticism! I am stylistically schizophrenic. I was overcome with laughter by what I wrote after using the words ‘stylistically schizophrenic:’ If I didn’t know myself (and, most of the time I am the last person to see in myself what is obvious to all – so it is a solid argument to make that I do not know myself)…. Wow. I might have made a good lawyer had I not been so dedicated to seeing things from multiple points of view. My paintings reflect my dedication (as it should be).

When I was younger I tried repeatedly to squeeze myself into a stylistic box. I thought that the advice and feedback I was receiving from gallery representatives meant that I was somehow lacking or out of control. In the handbook of real artists it must say in bold print something about possessing a consistent style. The youthful me looked all over creation for a copy of the handbook but could find it nowhere. How could I call myself an artist if I had not first read the handbook?

This one is titled, A Day At The Beach

My attempts ‘to fit’ into the single style rule made me miserable and, worse, made my work stale. In my mind, achieving real-artist-status meant I must learn to contort myself yet the price of contortion was very high. Twice in my life I took a year long hiatus because my attempt to fit into a single-style-box left me with deep aches and no creative fire. Once, so burdened was I by the pain of my contortion, I burned most of my paintings.

Fire is cleansing. Creative fire is clarifying. I have learned through my fire that the real handbook is internal and uniquely personal. As John once said to me, “Your job is to paint the paintings not to determine how or where they fit.” The painters I admire and feel a kinship with are stylistic pantheists. They are more visual explorers than technical geniuses.

There is a bridge that every artist must cross. It comes in the moment when the inner compass is no longer at odds with the necessities of learning technique, when the well-meaning comments of teachers and mentors and agents and representatives are just that: well-meaning comments. The compass, your internal rulebook, will let you know without doubt whether the comment needs to be considered or discarded. Growth happens either way.

This one is untitled at the moment…

visit www.davidrobinsoncreative.com to see the full extent of my stylistic pantheism.