paint-stained sneakers
My day in Atlanta was beautiful and peaceful and full of connecting with people. It was good to see friends and to see how people continually are growing and growing up. Accolades are nice, I won't lie, but after all that it is time to put it out of my mind and work.
I ripped back into it tonight and it didn't come easy but it did come. I'm winding down as Winter approaches, I can already feel it. I wish there was a studio in Mexico waiting for me; a place to ride out the cold and paint by the sea.
Tonight I'll smoke a cigar and think about what worked and what didn't and what went down and wrap my head around how all this laying down of paint can be so flat and dull or so full of living energy. The trains are coming through this little town and there's jazz on the speakers. I'm still in a t-shirt so I can't complain yet. The stillness is a rich full wind for my ragged sails. I'm amazed how true I have stayed to my course, and now I feel that a long-sought after shore is near.
delivery day
Tomorrow morning I will rise early, as I do most days. I'll bag the three small paintings I just wired and signed, pack the van with one of the Forest and the Sea paintings, and drive to Atlanta. The work will be available at Nandina Home Design, and we will see if at last I am able to get traction in a market I have tried to find a way into for years.
It's strange for work to leave the studio unsold. But it is right that people will see it, -it should not live here like a captive. I feel I am nearly at the end of one journey and immediately beginning another. Time will tell.
My studio in Atlanta was subterranean; a vast, concrete tire warehouse in which I lived illegally for 4 days a week for close to a year. The nights were pitch black, cold and often uneasy. During that period, I broke away from working with metal and began the journey to paint on surface. I always found it symbolic that a block away was a historical marker for the surrender of Atlanta to General Sherman.
...and now I will drink another Sapporo and get ready for the day.
It's strange for work to leave the studio unsold. But it is right that people will see it, -it should not live here like a captive. I feel I am nearly at the end of one journey and immediately beginning another. Time will tell.
My studio in Atlanta was subterranean; a vast, concrete tire warehouse in which I lived illegally for 4 days a week for close to a year. The nights were pitch black, cold and often uneasy. During that period, I broke away from working with metal and began the journey to paint on surface. I always found it symbolic that a block away was a historical marker for the surrender of Atlanta to General Sherman.
...and now I will drink another Sapporo and get ready for the day.
time away
Life comes in; there you have it. Days turn to weeks at the blink of an eye in my life now, so weeks away happen and I feel that tense-empty feeling creep up and take me over. Time away is good, it has the ability to give eyes in a way. Frenetic pitch is good too, it leaves no time for doubt and questions and analysis...action has its own seduction.
I sit on top of a large body of work now. It was an ambitious process, a Dare of magnitude and significance and, in the end (but I'll leave that to others to decide) of some possible importance in the oeuvre of Rico.
In my angry moments (and there are some, yes indeed), I paint to kill Warhol, to kill Jasper Johns, to kill all that nudge-nudge-wink-wink crap that makes great poster art and feeds our cynicism and endless appetites for the so-called new. Burn it. Toss Koons and Hirst on the bonfire and let our vanities grow cold and hungry once again. This is about PAINT. What it can do, what it has yet to discover, unveil, instruct, alter and offer. Paint on surface; no pretty edges to offer up illusion. The Unclean, there for you to digest -if you can, if you have the stuff. I don't do it for me, and I am unabashedly spiritual and shamelessly in search of the Sublime. If these pursuits amount to a career death sentence, so be it.
When I look at the work in the studio now, the words of Motherwell haunt the space..."an art stripped bare," exposed, naked before you like Manet's Olympia. Approach it, -gauntlet thrown-, bring it if you feel you can. I do this shit, I don't play at it. I'm going to break it all open, and that is my word.
fostering creativity
A quick personal note today. Ever since they have been physically able, we have let our daughters dress themselves. I love watching them get ready in the mornings because it is an extension of play and develops their creativity. I've been keeping up with a lot of the fashion week coverage, watching the runway photos and so on, and some of the combinations they come up with rival anything I see in Paris or New York.
When I look at fashion street blogs, I often think to myself, "that person's parents let them dress themselves as a kid". My wife sometimes recoils at the color combinations, but to me it seems they are exploring an endless universe; that is what color is for me. I think it is so important to let children play, and part of that play includes playing with identity and personal style. Soon the social pressures of school will begin to shape what they wear, but hopefully they will have built a great sense of their own style by then and can weather trend and conformity.
They seem naturally gifted with an ability to create dynamic collisions of texture and pattern that I find tremendously exciting. (I mean, sparkly red slippers pretty much go with everything, right?) I know some parents view their children as extension of themselves, or at least comments on themselves, but I've always fostered autonomy in my children. Partially this is because they are twins, I suppose. Partially it is because I believe that a clear sense of personal autonomy and healthy self-love are the only paths to successful relationships later in life.
I'm fighting a cold and lost this week of studio work, and I'm traveling next week so I long to get back in there and get some closure. Things look promising for the new year and I look forward to where the work takes me.
two if by sea
of four o'clocks yet to come, oil on canvas, 24" x 24", Rico 9/18/11
Two shots tonight. Titles are something I generally go in and think about later. I've found that if I choose my titles randomly from good sources they tend to hit the mark. Honestly I get most of my titles from poetry, because poetry is the closest verbal language gets to visual language. There are times I have some specific idea, but I've found that dictating what people are supposed to think about a work only limits the work itself. Were I to title my paintings with half the political messages and opinions I sometimes want to, I would have no audience.
as yet untitled, oil on canvas, 24" x 24" , Rico 9/16/11
Tonight I had to come in and look. It's early; I may yet paint, I may not. There are times I have see the work again to know what it is. It a difficult thing to look at something you've been working on for weeks or months with fresh eyes, but that is exactly what you have to do.
I desperately need a proper vacation. I had to cancel my rock'n roll adventure with the CRB, and so went my best chance for a getaway for the year. As I'm typing this, there are ten canvases behind me wanting to come out of the last box. The vacation will have to wait.
remain in light
Picture and lighting woes tonight, but no matter. The studio time is becoming more concentrated as my wife's rehearsal season begins. I'm in here fewer nights a week, but the time is imbued with urgency and focus. My need for proper lighting is becoming acute as I break into the final case of canvases. The night is still and windless and there is a quiet that is oddly comforting. This work suffers in photo translation, but these blog posts are, and have always meant to be shorthand.
I'm waiting for the last half dozen or so to dry, there is little else I can do. I'll begin the final ten in the coming evenings, and then it is time to continue with the journey. My former professor hooked me up with with Prussian blue on Sunday morning; a life-saving act that facilitated one of the best of the series so far. Things are shifting, yet there is a cohesion to this body of work that is notable, -especially given the number of paintings. It truly feels as though I have found my voice.
My Proust Interview
1. What do
you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
Fear and ignorance.
2. Where
would you like to live?
In a Palladian.
3. What is
your idea of earthly happiness?
Doing what I love, surrounded by those I love.
4. Who are
your favorite heroes of fiction?
The Count of Monte Cristo, Siddhartha, Ellen
Ripley
5. The
quality you most admire in a man?
Integrity
6. The
quality you most admire in a woman?
Discretion
7. Your
favorite virtue?
Temperance.
8. Your
favorite occupation?
My own.
9. Who
would you have liked to be?
Picasso, but only for a while.
10. Your
most marked characteristic?
Tenacity.
11. What do
you most value in your friends?
Their hearts and their intellects.
12. What is
your principle defect?
Pride.
13. What to
your mind would be the greatest of misfortunes?
The death of my children.
14. What
would you like to be?
More of who I am.
15. In what
country would you like to live?
Spain.
16. What is
your favorite color?
Every color.
I love possibility.
17. What is
your favorite flower?
Black eyed Susan
18. What is
your favorite bird?
The phoenix.
19. Who are
your favorite poets?
O’hara, Lorca, Sexton
20. Who are
your favorite painters?
JMW Turner, Mark Rothko, Matisse, Miquel Barcelo, Velazquez, Caravaggio
21. What is
it you most dislike?
Belligerent ignorance.
22. What
natural gift would you most like to possess?
Charm.
23. How
would you like to die?
Gracefully.
24. What is
your present state of mind?
Peacefully determined.
25. What is
your motto?
“Be regular and orderly in your life so that you may be violent and chaotic in your work.”
a rare dedication
september 11, 2011 (for JAM); oil on canvas; 24" x 24"; Rico 2011
About two years ago, I had the pleasure of meeting a fellow painter while visiting NYC. During that time I've watched his work make a quantum leap, seen him get some important residencies, and some measure of success come his way. I have little doubt of his future success. He's one of the people I look most forward to seeing again when I go up next month, and I hope we can take our acquaintance to friendship in time. Last year, I also learned that he was a first-responder ten years ago today. As I learned his story, his work took on new resonance, and my own perceptions and opinions of the events of that day shifted. There will be a lot of chatter today; the news media is having a field day and I don't want to add to the noise. But it is good to remember the examples of humanity in the face of monstrosity, and to put faces and names with many unsung individuals who had courage and compassion then, and who live with love instead of bitterness and ideology now. James, this one's for you.
the woodshed
Leave it to an old musician friend to lay down a story that motivates me and pushes me into positivity. I started this year off consciously locking myself in the studio to work without concern for shows. I set a goal, and I will hit it. At times I feel an incredible sense of isolation and longing for my own kind, so to speak. But I've come here and I've done the work despite +100 degree temperatures, fiscal challenges and the pressures of familial responsibilities. I love what I do. I was at the cigar bar earlier this week to restock my humidor and one of the guys asked if I was staying for a drink. I said no, I had to go to work. He said, "sorry man," and I just laughed. I told him work was the studio and aside from loving what I do, I could smoke cigars on the job. What a life.
The story my friend hipped me to is about Charlie Parker, Bird. Seems he locked himself away for two years in a woodshed in the Ozarks and perfected his chops, then, when he knew the work was ready went to New York and changed jazz forever.
I've worked without distraction for years now. In a sense I've been on a private artist's retreat for close to five years, just doing the work and not worrying about scenes or the pressures of people asking for more. But in these years I've also pushed myself continuously. Somewhere along the way, I found my licks. Now it is time to take it to the City and find someone and make them understand so that they in turn can make others understand.
Somewhere in the last few weeks I had that moment where I looked at the work on the painting wall and I just knew. It's there. I think you just know it, and I'm not sure how to tell you I know. Every painting in here is not brilliant. But consistently they are damn good, and a few are something truly without comparison.
The 50 was always an open-ended project. In truth, I never saw it ending, even with canvas number 50. I always knew at about number 40 I would need to re-stock, re-load and push on through. But I never anticipated where the work has gone. Now I know the work is ready. Now it is time to bring it.
The story my friend hipped me to is about Charlie Parker, Bird. Seems he locked himself away for two years in a woodshed in the Ozarks and perfected his chops, then, when he knew the work was ready went to New York and changed jazz forever.
I've worked without distraction for years now. In a sense I've been on a private artist's retreat for close to five years, just doing the work and not worrying about scenes or the pressures of people asking for more. But in these years I've also pushed myself continuously. Somewhere along the way, I found my licks. Now it is time to take it to the City and find someone and make them understand so that they in turn can make others understand.
Somewhere in the last few weeks I had that moment where I looked at the work on the painting wall and I just knew. It's there. I think you just know it, and I'm not sure how to tell you I know. Every painting in here is not brilliant. But consistently they are damn good, and a few are something truly without comparison.
The 50 was always an open-ended project. In truth, I never saw it ending, even with canvas number 50. I always knew at about number 40 I would need to re-stock, re-load and push on through. But I never anticipated where the work has gone. Now I know the work is ready. Now it is time to bring it.
Day 202, Canvas 40
Frustrating night tonight. I got here later than usual and despite the wonderful pre-Fall air, I couldn't find my groove. It happens. I try to work through it, sit, look, see, go back in. Sometimes it isn't there and that's just all there is. I still worked, I laid some good paint.
No pics tonight, nothing looks anywhere close to what I attempted to document. Tonight I wish I were near civilization with its distractions.
I'm tired and Doubt is attempting to give me a lecture, so it's time to call this night and let fresh eyes come in here tomorrow.
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