A New Painting: "Gray Circles"

Gray Circles, egg tempera on calfskin parchment, 6 3/4 x 9 in.

It's quite unusual for me to make a painting whose color is essentially a neutral gray; during the six years I've been painting on parchment, I've done only one other, in 2012, which you can see here. It's fairly easy to make a lively painting whose primary color is yellow or blue, but with gray it's something of a challenge. The many repeated circles, large and small, drew me to this image. I decided to keep the color close to the original grays of the galvanized metal, rather than invent a more brilliant hue. I think it's a painting that swings between reserve––because of the quiet color––and energy––in its many circles and its cast shadows. And I swing between thinking it's a good painting and one that's just ho-hum. 

Gray Circles detail

The Transitions of November

On Sunday we turned the clocks back, making us even more aware of the changing light as we move towards winter. The sun is lower in the sky, the days are shorter, and something I am very aware of as I look out my east facing windows at dawn: the sun is rising farther in the south as its arc in the sky lessens, and we move closer to the winter solstice.

The sunflowers have dried, but I've left them in the garden for the chickadees, who love their seeds.

In the orchard, one tree of winter apples is still festooned with fruit, though all the leaves are gone.

The Burning Bush has turned from leafy crimson to scarlet berries.

Grasses and perennials have a quiet beauty, very different from the vivid colors of summer.

In the woods, drying grasses are pale green against the warmer hues of fallen leaves, once bright but now dun.

The grays of November can be very beautiful in their subtle variations, which look softer at this time of year; once snow is on the ground, the contrasts of tree and field become more intense.

Although October's brilliant maple foliage is gone, there is still color in the woods: the golds and rusts of beeches glow in the duller light. When I drove to NYC last week, there were also the rich colors of oaks, which grow closer to the Connecticut river, but not near my home.

And, there are the tamaracks, a deciduous conifer, growing here and farther north, adding their color to the remaining dark evergreens. There is much visual pleasure during this month of change, before the world becomes white with snow.

Svenja Deininger: Shape and Surface

Untitled, 2015; oil on canvas, 90 1/2 x 59 in. 

Shapes which nod towards geometry, but are not bound by it, are strongly or subtly colored: rhythms flow and jump.

Untitled, 2015; oil on canvas, detail

Svenja Deininger's exhibition "Untitled/Head" at Marianne Boesky is a deeply satisfying one: there is a sense of exploration, of expanding ideas; there is also a wonderful sensitivity to the weights of color and shape. Each of 12 paintings in this show, large or small, has beautifully realized surfaces: they are smooth and glassy, or revealing of the canvas beneath the color, or richly textured.

Untitled, 2015; oil on canvas, 90 1/2 x 59 in. 

The work is all from 2015, and untitled. I learned from the gallery press release that with the title of the show the artist tips her hat to Philip Guston's paintings from the late 1960s, when he was transitioning from abstraction to figuration. The painting above has a balance between the density of shapes––with some having a feel of transparency––and the pale area to the lower right; somehow that light, with two additional small bands, supports the rest of the painting. Some of the works have thin bordering lines, calling attention to the boundaries of the image. Although there's that reference to Guston's figurative works, for me the paintings remain resolutely non-referential.

Untitled, 2015; oil on canvas, detail

Another fascinating quality that Deininger brings to her paintings is that of low relief, having shapes meet at different levels, and with great clarity. This isn't always evident unless we walk up to the painting and look at it closely, and our attention is richly rewarded.

Untitled, 2015; oil on canvas, 70 3/4 x 51 1/8 in. 

This subtly colored painting is primarily a relief....

Untitled, 2015; oil on canvas, detail

....with building layers of paint or primer creating the form. I love seeing the care and precision which Deininger brings to her work.

Untitled, 2015; oil on canvas, 90 1/2 x 59 in.

Here is another compositional idea: a simple curved shape, almost disappearing at its top edge, bounded by a thick black line and beside whitish shapes. (The mustard yellow is a flat color; the variation in the photo is because of the lighting, and my not-perfect photography; here's a link to the gallery photo.)

Untitled, 2015; oil on canvas, detail

Like the red area in the first painting pictured, the yellow reveals the texture of the canvas. Pointing to the raw canvas makes us more aware of the process of making a painting, its beginnings, its magical illusions.

Untitled, 2015; oil on canvas, 90 1/2 x 59 in.

A neutral colored shape outlined in gold floats above a blue-ish ground, a ground that is very much a textile.

Untitled, 2015; oil on canvas,  detail

We all know that many paintings are made on canvas, but it is usually covered over; it's a convenient, light, and durable surface that accepts gesso and paint well. Here, Deininger reminds us that canvas is indeed a textile, with its own nature, different from that of paint.

Untitled, 2015; oil on canvas, 23 5/8 x 18 1/2 in.

Lastly, two smaller paintings, one that is shaped, pushing off into the space around it. The black shape at the center is thickly textured, with a volcanic feel. The off kilter edges keep the piece in tension, and don't allow it to settle calmly into balance....

Untitled, 2015; oil on canvas, 19 5/8 x 15 3/4 in. 

....while this painting has a clear contrast between the linear edges at top and the more organic shape below, bringing them into an equilibrium which is enhanced by the quieter colors. There is so much invention and liveliness in this show that I look forward to seeing more from this young (41 is young to me) Viennese painter.

World Figures....at the Davis Museum

Tomb Figure of an Entertainer, Eastern Han Dynasty, China, ca. 25-220; gray pottery with remains of pigments. 

This fellow would certainly enliven the afterlife; it's no wonder a powerful person wanted him in his tomb. Seeing a figure like this is one of the reasons I love going to small museums that are new to me: there are always delightful surprises. I recently visited the Davis Museum of Wellesley College––I wrote about a Kathe Kollwitz show there––which had a mixed group of works from all over the world, very loosely tied to a theme of "Stories, Ideals, Beliefs". So this post gathers the images of objects depicting the figure that tickled my fancy, without a strong theme uniting them.

Tanagra Figures, Greece, 3rd century BCE; terracotta. 

These small figures have a range of gestures, some quite natural, some classically reserved. I love the saucy hands on hips attitude. From the museum label I learned that these works were highly coveted when they were discovered in the late 19th century. Unfortunately, there were a lot of forgeries, but the label doesn't indicate which pieces in this display are genuine and which are fakes; I couldn't begin to figure it out.

Haniwa Tomb Figure of a Soldier, Japanese, ca. 300-710; earthenware.

This figure is so simple that it looks like it could be a modernist sculpture, such as one by Elie Nadelman. A soldier with his arm raised may be saluting.....

Tomb Figure of an Astronomer, Chinese, Han Dynasty, 206 BCE - 220 CE; gray pottery with pigment. 

.....while an astronomer points to the stars.

Standing Noble with Feather Shield, Maya, ca. 700-900; earthenware with paint.

Beautifully idealized form enhances the proud stance of this figure, whose shield has the appearance of a large flower.

Tripod Vessel with Ballgame Scene, Maya, Early Classic, ca. 400-700; burnished ceramic.

This vessel has a very different kind of stylization from the noble above, one much more based on dense pattern.

Tusk for the Royal Benin Ancestral Shrine, Igbesanmwan Carvers Guild, Benin City, Nigeria; ca. 1851-88; ivory.

Elaborately adorned figures climb the cylindrical column.

Corbel with a Green Man, French, 1210-40; limestone.

From Wikipedia I've learned that a Green Man is a depiction of a face surrounded by leaves; it's a symbol that exists in many cultures, and across hundreds of years.

Capital, (Musician Playing a Vielle), French, ca. 1125-1150; limestone.

Here's another wonderful medieval architectural ornament, with a man soulfully playing his stringed instrument.

Gelede Mask, Yoruba, Nigeria, 20th century; wood. 

I am ending with this mask from Africa that has spectacular sculptural form. It is from a powerful tradition honoring the

primal creative force of women. The Gelede spectacle venerates female elders and is dedicated to Iya Nla, the maternal principle in the Yoruba cosmos, who unites culture with nature and the sacred with the profane. 

We can think of great art as having some of those magical properties.

A New Painting: "Blue-Green Rhythm"

Blue-Green Rhythm; egg tempera on calfskin parchment; 2 panels, each 5 x 5 in. 

When I was out scouting for images last spring and summer, I had a bee in my bonnet about finding some multi-panel compositions. I came up with ideas for two diptychs with fairly large panel sizes, and two others with 5 x 5 inch panels, one a four part and one a three part painting. Well....what you see above is what remains of the four panel idea; it did not work as four, but did as a diptych, I think. The diptych is painted on two of the three panels of a failed triptych, which I wiped away. In this painting I like the horizontal and vertical movement of the wide bars, and the repeated verticals on the left of each panel. The angles of shadow set up a different movement; I added the diagonal shadow and light on the lower part of the left panel to emphasize that tension (it was entirely shadowed in the source photo).

Blue-Green Rhythm panel 1

The color changed many times while I was painting this, always in this range, but going lighter or darker, bluer or yellower. The primary pigment was Phthalo green, a cool, bright green. The space of this panel is quite flat....

Blue-Green Rhythm panel 2

....while this one has some depth, so I'm not sure that they work perfectly well together. Is the contrast a good or bad thing? I tried switching the panels around, but didn't like that arrangement: I felt that the right side of the painting needed the exclamation point. So it often goes: making art is full of uncertainty.

Käthe Kollwitz's Krieg (War): The Power of Images

Frontal Self Portrait, 1922-23; woodcut

The horrors of war are unfortunately ever present; Käthe Kollwitz's images of the emotional and physical ravages of WW I could represent many wars, and they are harrowing. A large group of Kollwitz's drawings and prints associated with her series of seven prints––Krieg (War)––is now on view at the Davis Museum of Wellesley College, and I was very lucky to have had the opportunity to see them. I had previously seen one or two, and many in reproduction, but standing in front of actual drawings and prints on the theme of war was very moving. You can see from her self portrait that she has an uncompromising vision.

Pensive Woman, 1920; lithograph

Pensive Woman is a heart rending image, so simple yet speaking so clearly of hopelessness. The evening before seeing this show I watched the Netflix film Beasts of No Nation, an overwhelmingly horrifying view of war in an unnamed African nation, and the child soldiers forced into that war. Still shaky from that experience, the Kollwitz works struck me even harder than they might have otherwise.

The Widow, 1918; soft-ground etching with hand additions in graphite, charcoal, and brush and gray wash.

The slightly open mouth, the sunken eyes, the large open hands, all express grief; that expression is heightened by the depth of black of the widow's dress.

Three states of The Parents, 1922-23; woodcut

Kollwitz's youngest son was killed at the beginning of WWI, in 1917, on a battlefield in Flanders. A few years later her grief became art: two parents supporting each other in their mourning. The exhibition was interesting in that it presents various states of the final prints for the series, plus drawings. They are a worthy companion to Goya's Disasters of War.

Trial proof for a discarded version of The Parents, 1922-23; woodcut

I love this deep deep dark version of this image. In her diary she noted that "pain is very dark".

 The Parents, 1922, Plate 3 from Krieg; woodcut

However, the version Kollwitz chose for the series was more open, though still powerful.

Mothers Protecting Their Children, 1918; charcoal on laid paper.

Another strong theme was mothers trying to protect their children. In this drawing the composition is spread outwards.....

The Mothers, 1921; india ink and opaque white watercolor.

.....but we can see how Kollwitz intensified the image by having the women huddle together, trying to form an impenetrable mass.

The Mothers, Plate 6 from Krieg, 1922; woodcut

In the final woodcut, the whites highlight the fearful faces, the enclosing hands.

The Widow II, Plate 5 from Krieg, 1921-22; woodcut

This is the most awful image of all....

The Survivors, 1922-23; charcoal on laid paper.

....and for the survivors, pain and grief, though with a steadfast will to survive. Why oh why do we do this to ourselves over and over and over again?

A Show of My Textiles

It is always wonderful to see your work on a wall outside your house and studio, where it takes on a life apart from its maker. I'm so pleased that my textiles are being featured in a solo show at David Hall Fine Art in Wellesley, MA, from Oct 16 - Nov 20. You can read the catalog essay and see images of work at the link. I was there on Saturday and took these not very good installation shots so as to give a sense of scale, since on this blog I usually show works individually. The image above shows the wall of the gallery facing the entrance, with one fully hooked work flanked by two hooked wool drawings.

The wall jogs out, where a four-part piece is hung, then three more on its continuation.

Here is the side wall.....

....then the wall opposite the first shown. Here there's a table with three on my book paintings on view.

2015 #12 is hanging above another table.

This wall is to the left as you enter, and the hooked wool drawing on the left, with its bouncing circles is in witty conversation with the bubbles of seltzer below.

This triptych from 2007, Primary Colors, is hanging to the right of the two hooked works in the photo above.

2012 #3 is hanging alone on a small wall.

And here is David, a wonderfully enthusiastic art lover. I am very grateful to him for being so supportive of my work. He's put together a mini retrospective of sorts: the piece on the left is the first art textile I made in 2006, and the work in the show spans the ten years I've been working with textiles. That first piece was inspired by having seen the show of Tantra Drawings at the Drawing Center in 2004-5. After making some rugs for my old house, I was poring through the catalog from that show and realized that rug hooking provided a perfect medium for my to explore abstraction. The medium has continued to be a rich one for me.