Small Splendors in the Grass

When the lawn gets long and disheveled (I don't like to mow often), there is a bonus: small wildflowers blooming in profusion amid the grass. I can think of dandelions as wildflowers rather than weeds because they are truly quite lovely when blooming in great golden sweeps across lawns and fields, as they are now. Since my lawn is mostly weeds––witch grass (or maybe it's crabgrass, but they call it witch grass around here) and a variety of other plants, with very little actual grass––I don't worry about dandelions; their leaves are green, after all.

The warm yellow of the dandelion flowers sings loudly next to the more delicate purple of violets.

The violets can seem grand next to the tiny flowers of wild strawberries.

There are also tiny delicate white violets scattered about.

Big white, soft, cloud-like masses appear in a couple of places in the lawn, made up of fluffy-headed flowers nodding on gray-green stems. I don't know what they're called, but one of my readers can probably let us know. I took these photos yesterday and this morning, knowing I'd be mowing and many of the flowers' heads would be lopped off. But they are survivors and many will pop back up again soon; some of the dandelions even manage to grow low enough to evade the cutting blades. Now my lawn looks very orderly, though not quite as festive.

A New Painting: "Red Curve", Thinking about Image and Scale

Red Curve, egg tempera on calfskin parchment, 6 x 8 1/2 in. 

Sometimes I fall in love with a painting I've done right away, sometimes I feel wishy washy, and sometimes downright hostile. All these feelings––I should really call them assessments––can shift toward a positive or negative direction over time, or shade into indifference. It is usually not the quality of the paint or anything technical that forms these opinions but the image in the painting, the thing depicted, which includes its composition. I'm someone who doesn't like repeating herself, which is why I never made prints of paintings; I always want to start something with different arrangements of shape, color, and light. Although the images I use go through a continual winnowing process, I still don't like them all equally. I'm sure this happens to you when making things, or writing etc; I wonder if this is easier for those painters who work with a more defined format. So, Red Curve is in the wishy-washy category for me right now, though I like it better after repainting the rust-red color, which was originally too transparent so not weighty enough.

Here is Red Curve hanging on the studio wall along with six recent works that I'm still happy with. As you can see, although they are all frontal in composition, they are fairly different one from another. My problem with this new painting is that I thought it might be too different. It's not so much the composition, since I have been moving towards greater simplicity; it is more the scale, the relationship of the size of the shapes to the size of the panel, which here are larger than usual. The panel size is similar to those of the other paintings, but the forms within it are larger.

I hung two older paintings from 2011 alongside the new work. Both are smaller in size, but also smaller in scale: there are more forms and they are smaller. It's possible that Red Curve is too simple for me to adjust to right now, even though I know that's where I want to be heading. Or perhapst the image just isn't interesting or strong enough; I suppose I will see in time, as I make more work that has pared down imagery. What I do know is that I don't want to go back to more complex compositions, as seductive as they are; I want to move closer to a more non-objective vision, to a mysterious "what is this?".

Red Curve detail

At the Met: Egyptian Vessels

Black-Topped Red Ware Jar, ca. 3650-3300 B.C.; pottery.

Vessels––jugs, vases, bottles, jars, bowls––can have great beauty in their form and color. Perhaps some of their power comes from their function of holding liquids, leading to rounded forms reminiscent of body shapes, inviting tactile appreciation. I enjoy my ordinary objects at home, but when I'm at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and can see brilliant examples of pots from many cultures and epochs, it makes me especially happy. I've written about pots at the Met before: on Chinese porcelain here, American pottery here, and Korean ceramics here. On my recent visit to the Met I wandered the Egyptian wing, a favorite place, and was very drawn to photographing some of the vessels on view. What could be more satisfying than the grand curve of this large pot, its balance from a full shoulder to narrow stand, its polished red color topped by black?

Stone Jars, ca. 3300-2900 B.C.

The difficulty of making stone vessels, which would hold liquids better than ceramic, made them into luxury goods.

Jar Imitating Stone, ca.1353-1336 B.C.; pottery, paint.

It is fascinating to see this jar after reading about the stone jars, but still its rounded shape is elegant, and the paint free and expressive. It looks like "faux" decoration has a long history.

Hieroglyph Rendered as a Bowl with Feet, ca. 3700-3450 B.C.; pottery.

This amusing little bowl actually has a very serious purpose: for "sacred water used in rituals" as the wall label puts it. The hieroglyph for pure or clean is the same as the shape of this small bowl.

Jar with Flamingos, ca. 3650-3300 B.C.; pottery, paint.

Some of the ancient jars are painted with patterns and I find this one charming, with long-necked birds lined up in a row, their heads little curves and their legs repeated angles.

Long Necked Bottle, Large Jar, Dynasty 18, ca. 1353-1336 B.C.; fired clay.

The color of the blue in these vessels is particularly beautiful. The blue pigment that was used for ceramics was cobalt. The shape of the graceful long neck of the smaller bottle is an elegant note in front of the larger jar. 

Large Jar, detail of decoration

The decoration on this jar is very fine, with elaborate detail. The wavy lines on the neck indicate water.

Drinking Vessels and Cosmetic Jars, and Mirrors, Dynasty 18 (ca. 1479-1425 B.C.)

Seeing this array of small vessels let me enjoy the differing shapes, all beautifully balanced, and the range of color and material, precious and luxurious.

Glass jars, Dynasties 19-20, ca. 1320-1085 B.C.

The color of these jars is so rich; translucent, almost opaque glass seems to deepen color.

Fragments from Mosaic Bowls, ca. 1427-1400 B.C.; glass

Seeing these colorful shards makes me thankful that we have as many whole, fragile, ancient objects as we do, and are able to admire and learn from them in our museums.

A New Textile: "Sixteen Circles"

Sixteen Circles, hand dyed wool on linen, 12 x 12 in.

I think that the idea for this piece came from safety treads on stairs or on the edges of train platforms, but it was an oblique or unconscious influence; after doing the piece and then standing on a subway platform, I thought "ah yes, this must be the origin". I had sketched out various patterns of circles, then had the idea to work with the same wool for the entire piece and cut some of the loops to differentiate the shapes. 

Tantric Painting, Anonymous, 2003, Udaipur, India; 13 5/8 x 9 7/8 in. 

I do know where my idea for the colors of the wool came from: the variously colored backgrounds of Tantric paintings. I thought to have a basic warm color, yellowish in hue, and to add other colors to it. 

The easiest way to dye wool to achieve my color aim wa to scrunch it up in a wide pan and then drop different colors here and there on top of it. This way the colors show up in a random fashion.

Here is what the dyed wool looked like when it was dry.

Sixteen Circles, detail

This detail shot will give you a better idea of the effect of the cut loops. Not only does it make the piece into a kind of low relief, it also creates different textures on the surface. It's a really interesting technique that I've used before––see this for instance, and this––and think I should use more often; as a matter of fact, I'm working on a four part piece right now that uses this technique. And, in case you're interested, I did think of the song Sixteen Candles when titling this work.

At the Brooklyn Botanic Garden: Blooms of Early Spring

I had a glorious visit to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden a few days ago, and got to see the great lanes of cherry trees in full bloom. They were enjoyed by masses of people––families in circles, children playing, folks relaxing in sun or shade––taking in the ephemeral beauty. This garden is a place of my childhood, full of memories, and which always delights me when I get a chance to go there, which is not often enough. It's wonderful to see so many people taking pleasure in the gardens, though it makes me sad that there is now an admission charge, making the place less affordable for many. The last time I visited was in the very early spring of 2010; I wrote a blog post on the early blooms here, and on cactus in the greenhouses here. 

This was a perfect spring day, with bright sunlight showing off the carefully modeled forms of shrubbery in the Japanese garden. Different hues of green intermingle brightly with reds. 

A fish floats in the green water of the pond...

...and cherry blossoms delicately hang like a lit screen in front of it. 

Long violet tubes ending in swirling ball gowns gather in large groups.

But what gave me the most pleasure that day were the masses of tulips blooming, of all different colors and shapes, compellingly gorgeous. Even though some had gone past their peak bloom, their brilliantly colored flopped-over petals were still beautiful. 

Red flames decorate the bright yellow tulips, capturing the warmth of the sun.

 

Viridiflora tulips have a green stripe along each petal; this is a particularly wonderful example with intense pink against the green. 

The delicate double flowers of Angelique are one of my favorites, looking almost like peonies. In my garden these tulips are much shorter and smaller; the BBG grows all its plants to perfection. 

These are small, perky flowers growing close to the ground, so I assume that they are a species tulip, related or even the same as, the wild tulips from which our modern hybrids were developed.

This stunning tulip stopped me in my tracks. The crimson and white, the frothy petals, the large size, made it a grand and luscious flower. It is pictured on the garden's website and is called Carnival de Nice, a perfect name when I remember the lively, colorful parade in Nice during its summer carnival. When I see these tulips I can almost understand the tulip mania that overtook Holland in the 17th century. The Polish writer Zbigniew Herbert wrote a wonderful piece on this strange occurrence titled "The Bitter Smell of Tulips", which you can read here. It begins: "Here is a story of human folly."

Lastly, a fat tree peony bud, one among many that will soon bloom. I wish I could be there to see them, for tree peonies are the most extravagant of all the peonies, and peonies are my favorite flower.

Blinky Palermo on Paper: At Play with Minimalism

I & II Gelber FluB, 1976; watercolor and graphite on two sheets of drawing paper mounted on cardboard, 12 3/8 x 9 5/16 in. (drawing, each)

Blinky Palermo has been one of my art heroes for a long time (I even named one of my cats after him); I love the way he stretches, lightens, deepens, loosens, a minimalist aesthetic. There is a buoyant energy in his work and a sense of free invention that raises my spirits and makes me feel: "I want to do that!". So it was a great treat for me to see a show of Palermo's works on paper at the David Zwirner Gallery in their beautiful new spacious building; there's also a great show of early Richard Serra works on the main floor.

1-4 Tageszeiten, 1976; acrylic on drawing paper mounted on cardboard in four parts, 

9 1/2 x 7 in. (drawing) each

The works on view were mainly done in series, such as the one above. Palermo took an idea and worked variations on it. In the yellow paintings above, he just played with two variations on a formal theme, a jutting triangle, and bars of solid and empty space; visual responses shift with the changes, as they do with the more expressive marks of this four part piece. 

1-4 Tageszeiten, 1976; acrylic on drawing paper mounted on cardboard, detail

There is a balance in all these drawings between a rigorous composition and a paint handling that is more open, that takes advantage of levels of transparency and of the energy of an uneven edge.

1-4 Tageszeiten, 1976; acrylic on drawing paper mounted on cardboard in four parts, 12 3/4 x 9 3/8 in (drawing) each

Red and black are very dramatic in combination and Palermo makes images that are almost emblems or flags, strong and simple.

1-4 Tageszeiten, 1976; acrylic on drawing paper mounted on cardboard in four parts, detail

The edge of the red is not smooth or fixed, but has a floating, wavering quality, reminding me of the softened edges of a Velazquez portrait, which gives life and solidity to a form.

1-4 Tageszeiten, 1976; acrylic on drawing paper mounted on cardboard in four parts, 12 1/2 x 9 3/8 in (drawing) each

In this series, we see variations on blue angles, where one or two simple lines change the shapes presented, change their weights, their place in space.

1-7 Untitled, 1976; acrylic on drawing paper mounted on cardboard, 12 5/8 x 9 3/8 in (drawing) each

Some of Palermo's series had color and form variations, such as this one.

1-7 Untitled, 1976; acrylic on drawing paper mounted on cardboard, detail

Here again he was working with red and black, but also uses the paper as a formal participant. The sweep of red has such richness in its subtle irregularity of paint.

Das Gelbe Fenster, 1976; acrylic and graphite on two sheets of drawing paper mounted on cardboard, 

11 5/8 x 8 1/4 in. (drawing, each)

Yellow and black: shadow and light, but here a shadow with much going on within it. The upright yellow rectangle next to the tilted black creates a tug of war between regularity and imbalance.

Nevada, 1976; acrylic on two sheets of drawing paper mounted on cardboard, 12 5/8 x 9 3/8 in.

(drawing, each)

Nevada is another two part piece that sets up a bit of a contentious conversation between the parts. I love the fluid, transparent paint as it is set off by the more opaque reds. (as with all these images, you can see  details more clearly if you click on them to enlarge.)

1-12 12 Monate, 1976, acrylic on drawing paper mounted on cardboard in twelve parts, 

12 3/4 x 9 3/8 in. each (drawing), detail 

Finally, this is one part from a twelve part work. I love its simplicity, the perfectly balanced blue to yellow, the way the yellow shows through the transparent blue, the directness of the marks. There is a simple poetry in all these small works, and a lyrical understanding of form and color that brings deep pleasure to a viewer.


(Most of the photos in this post are mine, except for the 2nd and 7th, which is why they have reflections in them; I wanted larger images and some details that the gallery website didn't offer; but check out the website for more works and installation shots.)

A New Painting: "Yellow Peak"

Yellow Peak, egg tempera on calfskin parchment, 6 1/2 x 8 1/2 in.

This simple-looking painting gave me a great deal of trouble. One of my goals in my paintings is to have a convincing sense of light; what happened here was that I started off too dark, without enough light within the shadows. As I worked I got myself into a deeper and deeper mess; not only was the image too dark and devoid of a feeling of light and shadow, my floundering had caused an annoying amount of dust to stick to the panel, which then lifted and left white spots. 

The only sensible thing to do at that point, after 3 days of work, was to wipe it all off and start again. In this photo the parchment is still moist so it has loosened. When it dried completely, the surface was again flat and taut. It turned out to have been a very good decision: my second attempt was much much better because I had a clearer idea of the hues and values I was aiming for. 

Yellow Peak, detail

I also simplified the composition: there was originally an irregular band of red within the triangular shape. I decided that the painting was more effective with a clear demarcation of yellow and red. My only worry in doing this was that the image would separate into two parts, so I tried very hard to have the color intensities and values similar in the yellows and reds. I think it works....