Two New Prints, and the Learning Process

The Red and The Black, ed 3; 16 x 18 in., image size 8 x 10 in.

Each time I begin a new medium or a new way of working, it takes me months to figure it out, to see where I'm headed with it. When I started painting on parchment rather than gessoed panel I had to decide on the format and whether or not to stretch; when I decided to stretch the parchment over a panel, how would I mount it? And that's the technical stuff; at the same time I was adjusting image and scale. And I'm still changing. So, it's not surprising that learning relief printmaking would take some time. The Red and The Black is my fourth print (see the first three here), one that's a little more ambitious with the use of 2 colors, but one that gave me enough technical trouble that I only got 3 decent prints in the edition. I've been using Daniel Smith's water soluble relief printing inks, which are very easy to clean, stay wet a long time since they are oil based, and have very rich colors. But with this print, I had trouble with the black ink, which seemed to be very tacky and dry. Because I'm such a novice, I don't know if it was me or the ink. I'm sure I'll find out in time. I used a brush for the red ink because I had only one small brayer (I ordered more). If you click on the image you'll see the unevenness of the ink surface, so I must do better.

Kazimir Malevich, Painterly Realism: Boy with Knapsack––Color Masses in the Fourth Dimension, 1915; oil on canvas, 28 x 17 1/2 in. 

The idea for using red and black on white paper (the paper is Sekishu natural) came from Russian Constructivism, or in the case of the Malevich above, Suprematism, with the use of bold, simple shapes.  

Ghost Square, ed. 5; 16 x 16 in., image size 8 x 8 in. 

When I pulled Ghost Square, I began to feel as though I was finally getting a sense of how much water to add to the ink to make it a good consistency for rolling on the cardboard plate. Here I mixed a dark red because I wanted a strong color for the dark tan paper, Akatosashi, which is a gorgeous paper. The color gives the print something of a solemn feel. I'm also getting better at centering the block so the paper isn't crooked, and at keeping stray splotches of ink from marring the print. 

Ghost Square, different orientation

The study I did for Ghost Square had the two squares in this placement at lower right, but then I thought I liked the image better with them at upper left, as above. Now I'm not sure. A main reason I use even borders around the image is so that it can be hung any way. With The Red and The Black there's really only one way it looks good, but this one works differently. Do you have a favorite of the two?

Another thing I've discovered is that this triple thick cardboard, some of which I had lying around in the studio, is great to use for printing. It is stiff and sturdy so the corrugations hold up well to inking and to the rubbing of the brayer. It has two different widths of corrugation, so I can choose which to use. I've cut plates for my next project from ordinary cardboard, but from now on, I'll be using this for any new plates. It's nice to feel that I'm making progress technically, now let's see what images I can come up with.

The Romance of Worn Surfaces

How much of our response to the textures of old surfaces is colored by sentimentality, an excessive longing for the past, or is something else part of it? To me, these patches of rust randomly scattered across paled red and orange paint are beautiful.

Beautiful too, is wrought iron on weathered wood, a more appealing subject. Am I, are we, able to separate a purely visual response from all the feelings old things call up: a sense of loss, thoughts of the people who used these objects and left their imprint on them?

Perhaps there is less sentiment involved when looking at objects not ordinarily thought beautiful; but then again, the aged surfaces, the variation of colors and textures can transform the ordinary into something extraordinary.

Words and letters are subsumed into the general surface, becoming ghostly.

Subtle shifts of warm rusted colors react richly with the cool blue and green of more freshly painted areas.

To be honest, I can't quite tease out my own feelings about this. The reds wandering across the cool metal touched with rust, alongside the incredible intensity of the mottled orange, give me joy in color and in tactility. When I go out looking for painting motifs, I am usually repelled by the reflections  of shiny new farm machines, which seem cold and hard, so I look only at older machines. I think of myself as responding purely visually, but perhaps there is also the sense of life lived and worked, a feeling of history that is embedded in old things that adds to their meaning; maybe that feeling is not sentimental.

Potato Prints!

details of three prints

I've been having fun like a kid playing in a sandbox full of the best toys and finest sand in the world. Not satisfied printing with low tech cardboard (see this post), I thought I'd go even further back into childhood art projects and ink up some potatoes that I cut into simple shapes. 

Three Plus Three, ink on Akatosashi paper, 6 x 15 1/2 in.

After my last two printing sessions of editioning cardboard plates I used some of the ink left on the glass slab and starting stamping shapes on left over pieces of Japanese paper. Three Plus Three is from my first session. This is all seat-of-the-pants work; no planning, no measuring. 

Diagonal Circles, ink on Nishinouchi paper, 17 1/4 x 15 in. 

During my second session, I took out some handmade paper that I'd bought from McClain's that didn't work for my cardboard prints but is just gorgeous for potatoes. The surface of the paper is rich and sensual; the variations in the inking work beautifully with the variations of the hand made sheets. Photographs give only a pale imitation. Can one fall in love with paper? because it seems that I have, and it's quite an expensive affair. 

Five Circles Four Squares, ink on Nishinouchi paper, 17 3/8 x 15 in.

Because I'm just winging it as to composition and color and density of ink, the pieces are not even or symmetrical. It seems to be okay with the casual nature of these. 

Circles Over Squares, ink on Masa dosa paper, 12 1/4 x 10 in.

I love the way the potato carries the ink unevenly, so that each repetition has a different character; using thicker and thinner ink also gives different results, allowing for a lot of variation from one shape.

                             

Green Chevrons, ink on Masa dosa paper, 10 x 9 3/4 in.

I discovered the lovely results from transparently layering color, putting one stamp atop another. 

Three Shapes, ink on Masa dosa paper, 10 x 9 3/4 in.

Here I'm trying for my lighthearted minimal best. In all these prints from the second session I tried not to add too much, tried to keep them very simple, but it was hard. In Circles Over Squares for instance, I wish I hadn't added the yellow circles top and bottom, but just left the line of shapes across the center. So Three Shapes is a kind of antidote. Of course these are all loose and playful, with none of the rigor of most precise minimalist art.

Vertical Three, ink on Nishinouchi paper, 11 3/4 x 6 1/4 in.

Vertical Three, detail

I tried to keep this one simple. Now I just have to learn not to get the paper smudged with ink as I work. I hope that in this detail of Vertical Three you can see some of the beauty of the layered inked shapes. I have no idea where I'm heading with this work; all I know is that it's tremendous fun and seems to satisfy another aspect of my aesthetic sensibility, which seems to be gaining facets as the weeks go on.

Flowers and Furbelows in Ocean Grove, NJ

Last week when I was on the Jersey shore I had a chance to take a ramble through Ocean Grove, a small community with an interesting history. What most attracted me as I looked at the closely packed houses were the carefully tended gardens in the thin strips of ground between house and sidewalk. 

The complexity of the plant forms were more than matched by the shapes and details of the architecture. Ocean Grove is full of fanciful Victorian houses, colorfully maintained. When I was thinking of a title for this post, the word furbelow came up from the recesses of my brain; its sound with flowers or foliage was lovely. Since the meaning comes from frills or ruffles on clothing, my use of it is a bit of a stretch, but it's such an amusing word. The porch railings provided inventive backgrounds to foliage, whether like dancing figures....

or decorative crisscrosses...

or more simple circles in a square.

A variegated leaf hydrangea looks like lacy froth above the solid round finial...

while an elegant iron gate gives a glimpse into a back garden, with a porch railing showing another whimsical design using hearts. I wonder how the builders of these 19th century houses thought of their porch railings and other details; did they value their imaginations? think of them as art? or were they gifts from God?

Ocean Grove was established in 1869 as the Ocean Grove Camp Meeting Association by a group of Methodist ministers. It is still an active camp meeting site, though no longer the strictly observant place I knew from my childhood summers in next door Bradley Beach, when cars were banned and the beach closed on Sundays. The magnificent auditorium, seating 6,000, was built in 1894.

It is a beautiful wooden structure with a vaulted ceiling and is a place for both secular and religious events.

One of the most charming architectural elements of Ocean Grove are the tents lining the green and streets around the Great Auditorium. They are two room structures on a wooden platform, with the tent in front and a seemingly flimsy wooden room behind which contains kitchen and bathroom. Since the camp meeting association owns all the land in Ocean Grove, all houses are leased to their owners with 99 year renewable leases; the tents are also leased and house the same people year after year, who are expected to support the mission of the Camp Meeting Association.

Like the Saint Johnsbury Athenenaeum, Ocean Grove is another place out of time, where you can imagine yourself in the late 19th century, enjoying the charm and calm of a small religious community by the sea.

Morning Dew

I stepped out this morning onto a bright, wet lawn, and saw circles of light scattered about. These "fairies' handkerchiefs" are one of the visual treats of a dewy morning as small droplets of water are caught in round spiderwebs close to the ground.

The creator of this fanciful web is the grass spider, who is sheltered in a funnel within it.

Beads of moisture rise up in fine strings from the weedy lawn, making it into a tiny light show.

A translucently clothed snail wanders across a wet hosta leaf, sipping as it goes.

Water droplets hang from a hosta bud, carrying their surroundings within their globes. The sun soon dries this errant moisture, but it will return another morning with its glistening light.

A New Painting: "Centered", and My Confusion Moving Forward

Centered, egg tempera on calfskin parchment, 6 1/2 x 5 in.

I enjoyed making this painting, except for the detail of the chain, which made me drag myself kicking and screaming (I hate doing this!), forcing myself to work with calm and patience. It's odd to say this, considering the precision of my paintings, but I'm not at heart a patient person. All the details in my work are there in order to push the sense of an actual physical presence, not because I love them for themselves.

Centered, detail

When I can be calm and focused, I'm able to approach painting this kind of small machine part with pleasure. The quality of light, the color, and the basic simplicity of the composition appeal to me in this image.

But when I began to work on the next painting, which was the black image at right (the blue one was to follow), I had an eruption of rebellion, and deep uncertainty. The image seemed too fussy and too full of small things. Ditto the other image. (Of course you have to take into account that these photos are studies, and the paintings that come from them will be greatly simplified and in some parts changed.) There I was, painting this picture while also thinking about my upcoming print projects and a textile in progress. (You can see my three recent prints here.) I began asking myself why I can't make an abstract painting, like I make abstractions in my other mediums. 

The answer I think is that my decades long involvement with representation still pulls at me; it makes me feel that I can find much more interesting compositions out in the real world than I can invent. Using wool, or now cardboard for prints, sets me free from custom in a way that I am not in paint...though that may change over time. The image above, shot this spring, is one I will attempt in paint instead of the blue and black pair. The way forward, instead of giving up on painting for now (which sometimes seems attractive I have to admit), is to continue to make the images more abstract.

After spending lots of time photographing on farms, then choosing, cropping, and printing out images, I tack them up on boards where I can contemplate them over a period of weeks and months. A lot of winnowing goes on; I may start with 70 images and end with 35. Right now I'm feeling that I have to go out and find more images which will fit my desire for simplicity. I still feel confused, but I guess we all have to move ahead even with tremendous uncertainty. Ah, where is the assuredness of youth?!

Happy Birthday, US of A!

Wishing all my friends a Happy 4th, with the red of poppies....

the white of filipendula....

and the blue of an old fashioned lawn chair....

Childe Hassam, The Avenue in the Rain, 1917; oil on canvas, 42 x 22.25 in.

with flags waving....

Utagawa Hiroshige, Fireworks, Ryogoku Bridge, 1858; color woodcut, 14.2 x 9.25 in.

and fireworks bursting. Have a wonderful day!

My Madeleine: Honeysuckle at the Jersey Shore

Japanese honeysuckle 

The scent and taste of honeysuckle at the Jersey shore this weekend sent me to find Proust's description, in In Search of Lost Time, of the unleashing of memories with the taste of a madeleine:

....after the things are broken and scattered, taste and smell alone, more fragile but more enduring, more immaterial, more persistent, more faithful, remain poised a long time, like souls, remembering, waiting, hoping, amid the ruins of all the rest; and bear unflinchingly, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection. 

honeysuckle nectar

I remember myself as a child, in my sand-covered feet, my father teaching me how to pull the pistil from the deliciously scented flower, slowly and carefully so as to preserve the tiny drop of nectar that emerges, which I would taste with delight. It was such a tiny little pleasure, but one that seemed to have outsized magic: sweets coming from a flower! It was part of the summer's joys: swimming in the ocean, bare sandy feet slapping on slate pavement, the outdoor shower, barbecues on Sunday evenings. 

Honeysuckle Goldflame

I grow honeysuckle here in Vermont, but as beautiful as the plants are, and as sweetly scented, as Goldflame is, they don't have that special drop of nectar.

Honeysuckle Dropmore Scarlet

Dropmore Scarlet is a tall and vigorous vine that grows beside my front door, adding vivid color almost all summer long....but it too has no sweet liquid, although the hummingbirds love it and I often watch them dipping into the flowers. It is only when I visit my family down at the shore that I can relive the surprise and delight of sipping nectar from a flower.

Thanks, Dad, for teaching me the secrets of the honeysuckle, and those of "riding the waves". I can't resist trying to body surf any time I see a small curled wave, and it's still a thrill to feel myself carried along by the energy of the water. And thanks for instilling in me and in my brothers and sisters a solid moral compass, a way of living with kindness and compassion, humor and love.