Today I took my valentine to look at some art, since he'd never before been to MOCA
Friday nights have become my norm for working on photos as it's usually empty-ish at the lab and I can totally space cadet out into my work undisturbed, with little to no socializing. Here's the photo bleach (potassium ferricyanide) that I use to achieve varied densities.
My set up. Working in batches, in multiples, allows for variation and for nuances to arise, as well as for progression. I feel, for me anyhow, the more I work an image, the more ingrained it becomes and the more intuitive and organic my markmaking is. Usually working in series allows for at least one or two strong pieces to emerge (which you analyze after, not in the midst of, hah, this I must always repeat to myself!). Anyhow, I'm doing work, so there will be at least some kind of outcome, yes? Be it a new idea, something that zings just so, some paper to sit and be glared at and then drawn over, or a technique discovered or perfected.
Speaking of progression, these butterflies were waiting to be unleashed from the torn out pages of magazines not too long ago, and now they are in flocks on a gallery wall. My, what our minds and hands can do.
Sarah has been kind enough to allow me to work with her and see the steps it takes to get a show ready and installed. In doing so, my mind repeatedly stumbles on to the same thought: context. How the context in which work is created differs so greatly from that in which it is viewed. How something generally private, the act of creating, transforms into something public, and in turn becomes strictly object/image-based. How most things tend to end up without context? I think is what I am trying to say? (Holy wow this Medieval Woman Author's class is messing with my view of perspective and context and the social lenses through which we view things). I know that art (any art) is a vehicle of expression. I know that the viewing of art will always be personal interpretation, regardless of what plaques on museum walls say about context and the supposed personal intent and meaning. But, I just love all of the baloney it takes to create something strong, something that resonates, all that unseen and unmentioned effort. I love the context, even though it disappears when it leaves your hands. Anyway, I guess this is encouragement for me, in my last semester of undergraduate work (and in life really? but especially now, so I can grind a rhythm of production into my soul while I still have some semblance of structure), to keep making crap in hopes of getting something glistening and alive to come from my two hands, because I can appreciate the work of others knowing that they probably have made as much crap as me.
I guess what I am trying to say is, the juxtaposition of these: the rawness of something physically coming into existance because of your mind and two hands! A cheese platter and wearing high heels! Point A to Point B. This I am pondering. Regardless of my (naivety? Nouveau view? what shall we call it?), Sarah's show looked beautiful and I am honored to have helped with it.
Friday nights have become my norm for working on photos as it's usually empty-ish at the lab and I can totally space cadet out into my work undisturbed, with little to no socializing. Here's the photo bleach (potassium ferricyanide) that I use to achieve varied densities.
My set up. Working in batches, in multiples, allows for variation and for nuances to arise, as well as for progression. I feel, for me anyhow, the more I work an image, the more ingrained it becomes and the more intuitive and organic my markmaking is. Usually working in series allows for at least one or two strong pieces to emerge (which you analyze after, not in the midst of, hah, this I must always repeat to myself!). Anyhow, I'm doing work, so there will be at least some kind of outcome, yes? Be it a new idea, something that zings just so, some paper to sit and be glared at and then drawn over, or a technique discovered or perfected.Speaking of progression, these butterflies were waiting to be unleashed from the torn out pages of magazines not too long ago, and now they are in flocks on a gallery wall. My, what our minds and hands can do.
Sarah has been kind enough to allow me to work with her and see the steps it takes to get a show ready and installed. In doing so, my mind repeatedly stumbles on to the same thought: context. How the context in which work is created differs so greatly from that in which it is viewed. How something generally private, the act of creating, transforms into something public, and in turn becomes strictly object/image-based. How most things tend to end up without context? I think is what I am trying to say? (Holy wow this Medieval Woman Author's class is messing with my view of perspective and context and the social lenses through which we view things). I know that art (any art) is a vehicle of expression. I know that the viewing of art will always be personal interpretation, regardless of what plaques on museum walls say about context and the supposed personal intent and meaning. But, I just love all of the baloney it takes to create something strong, something that resonates, all that unseen and unmentioned effort. I love the context, even though it disappears when it leaves your hands. Anyway, I guess this is encouragement for me, in my last semester of undergraduate work (and in life really? but especially now, so I can grind a rhythm of production into my soul while I still have some semblance of structure), to keep making crap in hopes of getting something glistening and alive to come from my two hands, because I can appreciate the work of others knowing that they probably have made as much crap as me. 
I guess what I am trying to say is, the juxtaposition of these: the rawness of something physically coming into existance because of your mind and two hands! A cheese platter and wearing high heels! Point A to Point B. This I am pondering. Regardless of my (naivety? Nouveau view? what shall we call it?), Sarah's show looked beautiful and I am honored to have helped with it.
