The Stewart Street Gallery of Vanderhoof, BC, will be having its Grand Opening this weekend. Please be sure to drop by - its on Stewart Street, next to Canada Post.
I will unfortunately not be in attendance for the opening as I will be at the Burns Lake Kennel Club Dog Show, but the new owner, Pat Zappone, will be happy to show you around.
April 30, 2008
Earth Month
I have always been a "green person", or thought I was a green person... at home certainly, but in the studio?
April is "Earth Month" at Aspen Grove Studio. Earth Day and Wildlife Week are celebrated this month, and I've expanded them all to a month long. In the past, I've had studio sales where I've upped the donation percentage to conservation organizations, had various sale themes and it is the last chance to buy artwork at the posted prices. Usually, on May 1st, the prices go up, although not every year.
But this year I decided to do something different. This year I made a significant change, a commitment even. And a personal one - that will change the way I make art. I have painted in acrylics and oils for many years: acrylics in the studio, and oils outside or with extreme ventilation. As an asthmatic, and an artist who has children and pets, I could not use mineral spirits or solvents in the house. Even the so-called odourless ones left us all with headaches though the windows were wide open. And as much as I didn't want to admit it - it even occasionally bothered me painting outdoors. So, I looked to alternatives, most notably using cooking oil for cleaning brushes (not for painting!). A solution, but not as easy as solvents, as you need to massage the oil into the brush and repeatedly wipe, dip, massage. Or else carry tons of brushes. Of course I LOVE acrylics in the studio, but outdoors they dried too fast - or I wasn't fast enough!
While I have always used painting knives for accents in a painting, I've never used them for the whole painting before. An internet search showed up very few artists who used this method. And a book I have by Kevin McPherson states that you can't get the range of marks that you can with a brush. Many artists have tried it and given up almost immediately because it felt too foreign, too clumsy and just too darn hard to give it a real run. What can I say, I can't turn down challenges like those, especially in the light of going solvent-free!
I have played around for the last couple of months with my knives - some of which I gave to my Opa (grandfather) for his birthday when I was nine. That was a LONG time ago and they are still as good as new! I have played around in oils and acrylics and while I still struggle for ways to create marks on the canvas like I used to, I must say I am hooked! The marks they DO make are very interesting and with practice I think they will be up to par with brushes. And in the mean time, one gets creative. Another thing I love about them, maybe even more than the lack of solvents, is the ease of clean-up! So easy, so fast - one wipe with an old rag and you are on to a new colour. No more washing brushes! Even though it was quite easy with brushes and acrylics - 2 tubs of water. One for the first rinse and one for the second, with the soap and water ritual saved for the end of the session. Now, I live in British Columbia, Canada, which has loads of fresh water - still. And it wasn't until I switched to painting with knives that I realized just how much water I was using! One painting may have been a week's worth of water for an entire family in Africa.
So, this past April, Earth Month, I have made a commitment to "go green" in my art. I now use metal knives (never plastic) which don't wear out (= less old brushes going to the landfill), no solvents (= no health problems for me, my loved ones or the planet), very little water (= none for cleaning, only for moistening the palette), and I use and re-used old rags for clean-up. I also now carry less equipment to the field, saving my back. And there are also no concerns over airport security with solvents, or worrying about where to find solvents once overseas.
I welcome your thoughts and experiences with knife painting!
April is "Earth Month" at Aspen Grove Studio. Earth Day and Wildlife Week are celebrated this month, and I've expanded them all to a month long. In the past, I've had studio sales where I've upped the donation percentage to conservation organizations, had various sale themes and it is the last chance to buy artwork at the posted prices. Usually, on May 1st, the prices go up, although not every year.
But this year I decided to do something different. This year I made a significant change, a commitment even. And a personal one - that will change the way I make art. I have painted in acrylics and oils for many years: acrylics in the studio, and oils outside or with extreme ventilation. As an asthmatic, and an artist who has children and pets, I could not use mineral spirits or solvents in the house. Even the so-called odourless ones left us all with headaches though the windows were wide open. And as much as I didn't want to admit it - it even occasionally bothered me painting outdoors. So, I looked to alternatives, most notably using cooking oil for cleaning brushes (not for painting!). A solution, but not as easy as solvents, as you need to massage the oil into the brush and repeatedly wipe, dip, massage. Or else carry tons of brushes. Of course I LOVE acrylics in the studio, but outdoors they dried too fast - or I wasn't fast enough!
While I have always used painting knives for accents in a painting, I've never used them for the whole painting before. An internet search showed up very few artists who used this method. And a book I have by Kevin McPherson states that you can't get the range of marks that you can with a brush. Many artists have tried it and given up almost immediately because it felt too foreign, too clumsy and just too darn hard to give it a real run. What can I say, I can't turn down challenges like those, especially in the light of going solvent-free!
I have played around for the last couple of months with my knives - some of which I gave to my Opa (grandfather) for his birthday when I was nine. That was a LONG time ago and they are still as good as new! I have played around in oils and acrylics and while I still struggle for ways to create marks on the canvas like I used to, I must say I am hooked! The marks they DO make are very interesting and with practice I think they will be up to par with brushes. And in the mean time, one gets creative. Another thing I love about them, maybe even more than the lack of solvents, is the ease of clean-up! So easy, so fast - one wipe with an old rag and you are on to a new colour. No more washing brushes! Even though it was quite easy with brushes and acrylics - 2 tubs of water. One for the first rinse and one for the second, with the soap and water ritual saved for the end of the session. Now, I live in British Columbia, Canada, which has loads of fresh water - still. And it wasn't until I switched to painting with knives that I realized just how much water I was using! One painting may have been a week's worth of water for an entire family in Africa.
So, this past April, Earth Month, I have made a commitment to "go green" in my art. I now use metal knives (never plastic) which don't wear out (= less old brushes going to the landfill), no solvents (= no health problems for me, my loved ones or the planet), very little water (= none for cleaning, only for moistening the palette), and I use and re-used old rags for clean-up. I also now carry less equipment to the field, saving my back. And there are also no concerns over airport security with solvents, or worrying about where to find solvents once overseas.
I welcome your thoughts and experiences with knife painting!
The Road to Spring
It's the eve of May Day. As I write this it is snowing. With many sighs I hopefully post my newest work, The Road to Spring. This scene is located south of Fraser Lake, BC, looking west. The snow is melting fast and it looks like spring is finally (!) on its way. But is it?
April 7, 2008
The Real Reason We Paint
When I read this, it resonated with me so much that I just had to post it!
The Real Reason We Paint
By Jerry Fresia
Why painting is a miracle and what happens to us when we put brush to canvas.
It was the first day of class, a Monday morning. Bill Schultz, my teacher, was about to begin. He picked up his brush, then hesitated. He turned to the class and asked, “What is it when a human being makes a mark on a canvas?” We waited somewhat expectantly. Then he replied, "It’s a miracle."
In that answer is not just a truth, but an important truth. A truth that challenges a common assumption: that the most important thing about making paintings are the paintings. The painting is not the most important thing. Yes, it may win us a prize or even make us a living. It might even make us famous. But even more important than the painting we make is what happens to us when we make it.
What Happens to Us When We Make a Painting?
So let’s get back to that assumption: why do we think the painting itself is the end-all and be-all of our work, as opposed to what happens to us when we make the painting? A lot of it has to do with culture we have inherited.
The contribution of the modern era – that is from the Renaissance forward – was that we became free from an understanding of the universe where we were defined in terms of some larger cosmic order which in turn, as was the assumption, manifested the word of God. The new modern view was, instead, that we are self-defining.
But there in lies the rub: this enlightenment view we still share is one where we, as subjects, picture the world as a set of neutral objects, which we then observe or measure or manipulate. As artists, we became self-defining subjects – a historical accomplishment indeed. But we also became creative subjects that are separate from the objects which we paint, and that is the part of the achievement which is still troubling, for it means the task of the artist is rooted largely in observing or commenting on the world and recording our observations or commentary on canvas (or not).
The ‘miracle’ or important truth I’m talking about pushes this self-understanding of ourselves as self-defining subjects a very important step further. In this understanding, our lives are seen as expressions where we realize in our work something we feel or desire by virtue of the activity itself. Or to put it more sharply, in our expressions we realize and become who we are because it is only through the effort of expressing that we clarify and make distinct who we are and who we are becoming.
The Real Reason We Paint: To Create Ourselves
In this view, when we make a mark on a canvas, it becomes possible not just to create a thing, but to become a human being. It becomes possible, then, not simply to make a picture of something, but to create ourselves. That is the miracle. That is the reason we paint.
If we were to look at a painting by Cezanne, for example, we might see apples; but that is the superficial thing. No one cares about the apples or the sunset or the thing called a painting except insofar that it might move us, in a way that is rather inexplicable. The value of the painting – and here I am not talking about the market value or investment value – is that through it Cezanne continues to speak to us.
So this is the important truth: to make a mark on a canvas is to open the door of possibility of being moved profoundly and to move others. That is what painting is all about. That is the heart and soul of painting.
This approach to painting, of course, does not originate with me. It comes directly out of what can only be described as a golden age of painting. It was the approach central to the Impressionist rejection of the academic demand that artists skillfully record the world or in a detached fashion create visual propaganda. Certain American artists who found their way to Paris in the late 19th century returned home to pass along this set of beliefs as well as a set of practices and techniques expressing this view. The students of Robert Henri, perhaps the most passionate writer among them, captured much of these thoughts in The Art Spirit, a compilation of Henri’s thoughts and admonitions.
Why painting is a miracle and what happens to us when we put brush to canvas.
So, Where Does That Leave Us?
Well, for one thing, it compels us to be very cautious about careerism, the market, productivity, entrepreneurialism, and other features of our way of life.
I am not suggesting we ignore the fact that our work circulates in a market and that our ability to have a career turns on the realities of exhibitions and curriculum vitae. My point only is that we might want to be clear about the ways in which the career sometimes advances while the art recedes. One way of getting clear about these things is to keep in mind a fundamental question: why do we paint?
Answering the Question: "Why Do We Paint?"
There is the obvious – that we may wish to capture the experience of seeing something to which we respond, in some way, on canvas. But there is another – more important – reason. Our visual experience continues further, becomes richer, deeper and fuller as we paint it. A dialogue, a conversation begins. Our marks on the canvas are our response to the voice, the tastes, and the touches we see. I know that sounds odd, but the real mistake we make as visual artists is to assume that what we see when we paint is something separate from us, that we simply observe or measure or record with our eyes. However, when we touch back or respond with our brush we begin something sensual, a dance of sorts, and a conversation.
The Miracle of Painting
We make a mark on the canvas and when we look back, we see something that seemingly was not there a moment ago. And there is that miracle: by virtue of making marks, we have created ourselves a tiny bit more – and we actually can see more, feel more, because we have become more, by that tiny bit.
Were we not making marks we would not be able to see much at all, except that which we are supposed to see, that which everyone sees – the expected, the names of things, trees, sky, house, person, the facts, the obvious. You must see past these things. Taste with your eyes. Listen with them. Understand that the activity of painting is about the thrill, the enhanced moment you might realize. Then you will see. Then you will become.
About the author: Jerry Fresia (view website) left academia to pursue a career in painting. Jerry has taught at numerous US colleges and universities, as well as privately, and runs workshops at his studio on Lake Como in Italy.
The Real Reason We Paint
By Jerry Fresia
Why painting is a miracle and what happens to us when we put brush to canvas.
It was the first day of class, a Monday morning. Bill Schultz, my teacher, was about to begin. He picked up his brush, then hesitated. He turned to the class and asked, “What is it when a human being makes a mark on a canvas?” We waited somewhat expectantly. Then he replied, "It’s a miracle."
In that answer is not just a truth, but an important truth. A truth that challenges a common assumption: that the most important thing about making paintings are the paintings. The painting is not the most important thing. Yes, it may win us a prize or even make us a living. It might even make us famous. But even more important than the painting we make is what happens to us when we make it.
What Happens to Us When We Make a Painting?
So let’s get back to that assumption: why do we think the painting itself is the end-all and be-all of our work, as opposed to what happens to us when we make the painting? A lot of it has to do with culture we have inherited.
The contribution of the modern era – that is from the Renaissance forward – was that we became free from an understanding of the universe where we were defined in terms of some larger cosmic order which in turn, as was the assumption, manifested the word of God. The new modern view was, instead, that we are self-defining.
But there in lies the rub: this enlightenment view we still share is one where we, as subjects, picture the world as a set of neutral objects, which we then observe or measure or manipulate. As artists, we became self-defining subjects – a historical accomplishment indeed. But we also became creative subjects that are separate from the objects which we paint, and that is the part of the achievement which is still troubling, for it means the task of the artist is rooted largely in observing or commenting on the world and recording our observations or commentary on canvas (or not).
The ‘miracle’ or important truth I’m talking about pushes this self-understanding of ourselves as self-defining subjects a very important step further. In this understanding, our lives are seen as expressions where we realize in our work something we feel or desire by virtue of the activity itself. Or to put it more sharply, in our expressions we realize and become who we are because it is only through the effort of expressing that we clarify and make distinct who we are and who we are becoming.
The Real Reason We Paint: To Create Ourselves
In this view, when we make a mark on a canvas, it becomes possible not just to create a thing, but to become a human being. It becomes possible, then, not simply to make a picture of something, but to create ourselves. That is the miracle. That is the reason we paint.
If we were to look at a painting by Cezanne, for example, we might see apples; but that is the superficial thing. No one cares about the apples or the sunset or the thing called a painting except insofar that it might move us, in a way that is rather inexplicable. The value of the painting – and here I am not talking about the market value or investment value – is that through it Cezanne continues to speak to us.
So this is the important truth: to make a mark on a canvas is to open the door of possibility of being moved profoundly and to move others. That is what painting is all about. That is the heart and soul of painting.
This approach to painting, of course, does not originate with me. It comes directly out of what can only be described as a golden age of painting. It was the approach central to the Impressionist rejection of the academic demand that artists skillfully record the world or in a detached fashion create visual propaganda. Certain American artists who found their way to Paris in the late 19th century returned home to pass along this set of beliefs as well as a set of practices and techniques expressing this view. The students of Robert Henri, perhaps the most passionate writer among them, captured much of these thoughts in The Art Spirit, a compilation of Henri’s thoughts and admonitions.
Why painting is a miracle and what happens to us when we put brush to canvas.
So, Where Does That Leave Us?
Well, for one thing, it compels us to be very cautious about careerism, the market, productivity, entrepreneurialism, and other features of our way of life.
I am not suggesting we ignore the fact that our work circulates in a market and that our ability to have a career turns on the realities of exhibitions and curriculum vitae. My point only is that we might want to be clear about the ways in which the career sometimes advances while the art recedes. One way of getting clear about these things is to keep in mind a fundamental question: why do we paint?
Answering the Question: "Why Do We Paint?"
There is the obvious – that we may wish to capture the experience of seeing something to which we respond, in some way, on canvas. But there is another – more important – reason. Our visual experience continues further, becomes richer, deeper and fuller as we paint it. A dialogue, a conversation begins. Our marks on the canvas are our response to the voice, the tastes, and the touches we see. I know that sounds odd, but the real mistake we make as visual artists is to assume that what we see when we paint is something separate from us, that we simply observe or measure or record with our eyes. However, when we touch back or respond with our brush we begin something sensual, a dance of sorts, and a conversation.
The Miracle of Painting
We make a mark on the canvas and when we look back, we see something that seemingly was not there a moment ago. And there is that miracle: by virtue of making marks, we have created ourselves a tiny bit more – and we actually can see more, feel more, because we have become more, by that tiny bit.
Were we not making marks we would not be able to see much at all, except that which we are supposed to see, that which everyone sees – the expected, the names of things, trees, sky, house, person, the facts, the obvious. You must see past these things. Taste with your eyes. Listen with them. Understand that the activity of painting is about the thrill, the enhanced moment you might realize. Then you will see. Then you will become.
About the author: Jerry Fresia (view website) left academia to pursue a career in painting. Jerry has taught at numerous US colleges and universities, as well as privately, and runs workshops at his studio on Lake Como in Italy.
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