As part of the "ArtStop" show in Des Moines, where you are provided a map showing galleries, public art, sculpture parks, and other individual installation pieces to drive around and see in your own time frame and at your own pace, I saw the installation piece by Judy Bales at the Central Branch of the DSM Public Library. My sons and I actually saw the art about a week before the ArtStop took place - we were at our weekly trip to the library and we saw it in the breezeway on the south side of the building.
From the entryway to the library, it looked like a frosty ice sculpture that once grew out of an old refrigerator that was in an apartment I rented. The pink appliance was from the 50's and had a separate icebox inside of the frig. The unit was so out of date and inefficient that the icebox was always full of frost. From the day I moved in, I could only slide a single ice tray in between the mound of frost on the bottom and the roof of frost on the top. I defrosted it once, but it filled up again within a week, so I never did it again. Consequently, the frost grew so rampantly that the icebox began staying open so the frost could continue to grow out of it and into the frig. Eventually, it was so bad, it kept me from getting the frig door closed.
As soon as I spotted the white, crystalline-looking sculpture I had a flashback of that old frig. Before we went into the library, we walked close enough to see that it was constructed of white zip-ties. Cool! Books were on our minds so we went in, made our returns, found some new treasures, and went out the same door so we could look at the sculpture closer.
It was installed beginning at the ceiling and tumbled to the floor in a few different columns in front of a glass wall. There were some lightweight, projecting brackets that had been suction-cupped to the glass wall to give the frosty-zip-ties something to cling to and grow on, and give it some depth. We all marveled at the fact that it looked like an ice cliff when you were twenty feet away from it, but up close, it was just a bunch of cheap plastic zip-ties. I thought it was well-placed, but rather delicate and wondered just how many kids who had come to the library had stopped and poked and prodded at it. Both of my sons reached for it and I told them not to touch it. I pointed out that even though there was not a sign saying "DON"T TOUCH", you shouldn't automatically assume that you can touch it.
My ten-year-old pointed out that there was no sign saying that it was art, either, and that maybe the "workmen" just had a bunch of extra zip-ties so they did this on their lunch hour. I couldn't argue with that!
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Public Art
Our class met outdoors at the Pappajohn Sculpture Park to review and discuss "public art". We could each pick specific sculptures to to do a little research on, but we were also given a little handout with questions comparing public and private art. I have to admit having the same question running through my head in this public sculpture park as I do in every other public sculpture park I have visited: What do you mean I can't touch it? What do you mean I can't climb on it?
I think it is completely absurd to think that you can put items like this in a public venue and not expect that to happen. Scott Burton's Seating for Eight and Cafe Table 1 are not only the only sculptures that do not have a sign warning us to stay off, but in the description of his pieces in the official brochure from the park, it says that his pieces only become "complete when visitors actually use the pieces. (They) are the only sculptures in the park that visitors are allowed to touch." Really? Are you kidding me?
This particular park was a big boon to downtown DSM - a huge bow to the city, given by John and Mary Pappajohn. The absolute cornerstone to a major downtown vision. DSM wanted to go back to a time and place where people not only stayed after they were done working downtown, but they wanted them to come back after hours and on the weekends, and bring the kids along with them. A number of events and buildings have since sprouted up and around this wonderful park.
Anyone who has been in attendance at an event at the downtown sculpture park, or have even just driven by on a sunny day, will tell you that kids are absolutely drawn to certain pieces and they certainly must touch them. Sometimes hug them. Gary Hume's Back of Snowman (White) and Back of Snowman (Black) regularly have children holding their hands against the smooth, enameled surface and running circles around them - giggling when they see their friends or siblings doing the same thing, running the opposite direction on the other one. Tony Smith's Marriage just screams for kids to climb up on it. I confess, I fight the urge to sit on it myself because the bottom, horizontal section of rectangular steel is just about perfect butt-height to me.
What about Martin Puryear's Decoy? It looks like an old merry-go-round to me. You know the kind that OSHA disapproves of now so they were removed from practically all active playgrounds in America? The kind that if someone pushes too hard and too fast, if you are not hanging on tight, centrifugal force will throw you off of it in a spinning, tumbling, terrifying fall. Once you stop rolling end over end, you can't stop laughing and can't wait to get back on it. The point with this sculpture is that the 108" diameter disc is only a few inches off of the ground - perfect height for toddlers to get up on it and stand up with an accomplished grin that runs ear to ear. If they start running around and fall off the edge, it is into the soft grass that they fall - there isn't even a concrete pad around the edge of this one.
Who hasn't seen a senior picture taken in the last few years that didn't use Jaume Plensa's Nomade? Certainly the most popular piece in the garden, it draws all ages, like kids to candy. Inevitably, there are small children using the letters as rungs on a ladder, inside and outside the sculpture. Fortunately, I have never seen anyone crawl too high on it. I keep expecting to see the same thing happening on Sol LeWitt's Modular Piece, but I haven't yet. That one also looks like a perfect jungle gym to me, but again, these are the types of things not allowed on a playground anymore. Not even the dome-shaped jungle gyms are present on school playgrounds anymore. It makes me wonder of kids are not drawn to that piece because it is more angular? It is not as large and you can't get inside of it - cave appeal is big with kids.
The artist I chose to do a little research on was Ugo Rondinone - he has two of his Moonrise series in this park. I chose him because I did not like the sculptures. These are the ones that when I drive by on the street I think to myself, "My kids could make those with clay". We were going to do that last year as part of my home school art projects, and I think I need to make it happen this fall before the snow flies. Originally, I wanted my boys to do that so they could know that they can make art, just like these famous sculptures, silly as it may seem. Now I want them to do it because after doing a little research, I have a new-found appreciation for them.
They are two of a series of twelve busts that are an homage to the moon and are named for the months of the year. I think the January one that we have is pure evil, which is another reason I didn't like it, but the August one is so playful and friendly, I was kind of amazed to see how very simple things like the tilt of the head made it so much more appealing. When I made the point to see them up close, I found I really loved seeing the texture of the fingers in the clay. Despite the fact that the signs say "DON'T TOUCH", I did it anyway. I put my fingers in the same paths on the surface that the artist's fingers had made when sculpting it. Silly as it may seem, it made me feel like I could make famous art, too.
I think it is completely absurd to think that you can put items like this in a public venue and not expect that to happen. Scott Burton's Seating for Eight and Cafe Table 1 are not only the only sculptures that do not have a sign warning us to stay off, but in the description of his pieces in the official brochure from the park, it says that his pieces only become "complete when visitors actually use the pieces. (They) are the only sculptures in the park that visitors are allowed to touch." Really? Are you kidding me?
This particular park was a big boon to downtown DSM - a huge bow to the city, given by John and Mary Pappajohn. The absolute cornerstone to a major downtown vision. DSM wanted to go back to a time and place where people not only stayed after they were done working downtown, but they wanted them to come back after hours and on the weekends, and bring the kids along with them. A number of events and buildings have since sprouted up and around this wonderful park.
Anyone who has been in attendance at an event at the downtown sculpture park, or have even just driven by on a sunny day, will tell you that kids are absolutely drawn to certain pieces and they certainly must touch them. Sometimes hug them. Gary Hume's Back of Snowman (White) and Back of Snowman (Black) regularly have children holding their hands against the smooth, enameled surface and running circles around them - giggling when they see their friends or siblings doing the same thing, running the opposite direction on the other one. Tony Smith's Marriage just screams for kids to climb up on it. I confess, I fight the urge to sit on it myself because the bottom, horizontal section of rectangular steel is just about perfect butt-height to me.
What about Martin Puryear's Decoy? It looks like an old merry-go-round to me. You know the kind that OSHA disapproves of now so they were removed from practically all active playgrounds in America? The kind that if someone pushes too hard and too fast, if you are not hanging on tight, centrifugal force will throw you off of it in a spinning, tumbling, terrifying fall. Once you stop rolling end over end, you can't stop laughing and can't wait to get back on it. The point with this sculpture is that the 108" diameter disc is only a few inches off of the ground - perfect height for toddlers to get up on it and stand up with an accomplished grin that runs ear to ear. If they start running around and fall off the edge, it is into the soft grass that they fall - there isn't even a concrete pad around the edge of this one.
Who hasn't seen a senior picture taken in the last few years that didn't use Jaume Plensa's Nomade? Certainly the most popular piece in the garden, it draws all ages, like kids to candy. Inevitably, there are small children using the letters as rungs on a ladder, inside and outside the sculpture. Fortunately, I have never seen anyone crawl too high on it. I keep expecting to see the same thing happening on Sol LeWitt's Modular Piece, but I haven't yet. That one also looks like a perfect jungle gym to me, but again, these are the types of things not allowed on a playground anymore. Not even the dome-shaped jungle gyms are present on school playgrounds anymore. It makes me wonder of kids are not drawn to that piece because it is more angular? It is not as large and you can't get inside of it - cave appeal is big with kids.
The artist I chose to do a little research on was Ugo Rondinone - he has two of his Moonrise series in this park. I chose him because I did not like the sculptures. These are the ones that when I drive by on the street I think to myself, "My kids could make those with clay". We were going to do that last year as part of my home school art projects, and I think I need to make it happen this fall before the snow flies. Originally, I wanted my boys to do that so they could know that they can make art, just like these famous sculptures, silly as it may seem. Now I want them to do it because after doing a little research, I have a new-found appreciation for them.
They are two of a series of twelve busts that are an homage to the moon and are named for the months of the year. I think the January one that we have is pure evil, which is another reason I didn't like it, but the August one is so playful and friendly, I was kind of amazed to see how very simple things like the tilt of the head made it so much more appealing. When I made the point to see them up close, I found I really loved seeing the texture of the fingers in the clay. Despite the fact that the signs say "DON'T TOUCH", I did it anyway. I put my fingers in the same paths on the surface that the artist's fingers had made when sculpting it. Silly as it may seem, it made me feel like I could make famous art, too.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Jazz Funeral
I really enjoy listening to a young man in our class who is named Saul. He has so much to say and is so invested in this experience, when he raises his hand and waits to be called on to add to the discussion he holds up the number of fingers that coincides with the number of comments he wants to make. If someone else is talking, he will sometimes change from holding up 2 fingers to holding up 3. However many ideas it is, they generally elicit more comments from the rest of the class.
He was so dejected the other day in class because he said the more he thought about it, the more certain he is becoming sure that it really IS the death of Art as we know it. He says we need to have an actual funeral with "Art" in the casket - and someone in the class added, "A New Orleans style funeral!" I think this is a great idea.
My friends at Wikipedia say that a typical jazz funeral begins with a march by the family, friends, and a brass band from the home, funeral home or church to the cemetery. Throughout the march, the band plays somber dirges and hymns. A change in the tenor of the ceremony takes place, after either the deceased is buried, or the hearse leaves the procession and members of the procession say their final good bye and they "cut the body loose". After this the music becomes more upbeat, often starting with a hymn or spiritual number played in a swinging fashion, then going into popular hot tunes. There is raucous music and cathartic dancing where onlookers join in to celebrate the life of the deceased.
We could start our procession for "The Death of Art" at the DSM Art Center and march to the Pappajohn Sculpture Park. That would symbolize beginning at the old school and ending at the new. I was discussing this with Tom and Jordan when we met at the Pappajohn Park today for class and Tom suggested that maybe it should go the other direction and end at the museum, because "that is where Art goes to die". Hmmmm.
"What would go in the casket?" asked Jordan. I think each classmate should provide something that represents what we think Art is, thereby treating the casket more like a time capsule. Tom thought we should each make individual headstones. Maybe we need to all make an "Art" effigy, a representation of a person, especially in the form of sculpture or some other three-dimensional form.
"No one is going to let us bury that," I said, thinking that we would not really be walking to a cemetery anyway. "Someone might, if it is on private land" pointed out Jordan.
"Maybe we shouldn't bury it, maybe we should burn it. Give it a roaring Viking funeral, " I said. Then I volunteered the fire pit at my house. Hmmmm - the existence of that (actually a Victorian fish pond) and the use of it for a fire is actually quite illegal in the city limits of DSM. The Fire Department has been to my house twice and forced me to put out my "cooking fire" (I always have hot dogs in my fridge). If they stop a third time I think I will be fined. I officially retract that offer so it has been documented that I do not approve of fires on my property in my Victorian fish pond or anywhere else outside of a Fire Department approved Weber grill.
We could paint on newspapers our personal images or definitions of Art and send them up as Chinese fire balloons - you know, you twist the four corners of the newsprint into a knot at the bottom, so it is puffed up like a pillow, and when you light the edges of the knot, the heat carries it upward while it burns into ashes that dissipate and vanish. Very cool thing to do at night when there is no wind and you have lots of newspapers and no large trees overhead (best in winter when there are no dead leaves on the branches).
On an obsessive note, Saul, you keep referring to it as The Death of Art and I have to point out the class is titled The End of Art. It may or may not mean the same thing to everyone, but "Death" seems so much more permanent than "End". If it is "death" then we should all be considered Art EMT's - we need to resuscitate Art and make sure Art does not die.
So what can we do as a class to keep Art alive in Des Moines? We could keep brainstorming on the funeral idea, as long as a celebration is involved and we aren't completely macabre. I ate at Zombie Burger last night - that might be a good place to host a party or end a processional. Hey, I know - we could have a WAKE there and focus our attention on letting DSM know that they need to WAKE UP TO ART!
He was so dejected the other day in class because he said the more he thought about it, the more certain he is becoming sure that it really IS the death of Art as we know it. He says we need to have an actual funeral with "Art" in the casket - and someone in the class added, "A New Orleans style funeral!" I think this is a great idea.
My friends at Wikipedia say that a typical jazz funeral begins with a march by the family, friends, and a brass band from the home, funeral home or church to the cemetery. Throughout the march, the band plays somber dirges and hymns. A change in the tenor of the ceremony takes place, after either the deceased is buried, or the hearse leaves the procession and members of the procession say their final good bye and they "cut the body loose". After this the music becomes more upbeat, often starting with a hymn or spiritual number played in a swinging fashion, then going into popular hot tunes. There is raucous music and cathartic dancing where onlookers join in to celebrate the life of the deceased.
We could start our procession for "The Death of Art" at the DSM Art Center and march to the Pappajohn Sculpture Park. That would symbolize beginning at the old school and ending at the new. I was discussing this with Tom and Jordan when we met at the Pappajohn Park today for class and Tom suggested that maybe it should go the other direction and end at the museum, because "that is where Art goes to die". Hmmmm.
"What would go in the casket?" asked Jordan. I think each classmate should provide something that represents what we think Art is, thereby treating the casket more like a time capsule. Tom thought we should each make individual headstones. Maybe we need to all make an "Art" effigy, a representation of a person, especially in the form of sculpture or some other three-dimensional form.
"No one is going to let us bury that," I said, thinking that we would not really be walking to a cemetery anyway. "Someone might, if it is on private land" pointed out Jordan.
"Maybe we shouldn't bury it, maybe we should burn it. Give it a roaring Viking funeral, " I said. Then I volunteered the fire pit at my house. Hmmmm - the existence of that (actually a Victorian fish pond) and the use of it for a fire is actually quite illegal in the city limits of DSM. The Fire Department has been to my house twice and forced me to put out my "cooking fire" (I always have hot dogs in my fridge). If they stop a third time I think I will be fined. I officially retract that offer so it has been documented that I do not approve of fires on my property in my Victorian fish pond or anywhere else outside of a Fire Department approved Weber grill.
We could paint on newspapers our personal images or definitions of Art and send them up as Chinese fire balloons - you know, you twist the four corners of the newsprint into a knot at the bottom, so it is puffed up like a pillow, and when you light the edges of the knot, the heat carries it upward while it burns into ashes that dissipate and vanish. Very cool thing to do at night when there is no wind and you have lots of newspapers and no large trees overhead (best in winter when there are no dead leaves on the branches).
On an obsessive note, Saul, you keep referring to it as The Death of Art and I have to point out the class is titled The End of Art. It may or may not mean the same thing to everyone, but "Death" seems so much more permanent than "End". If it is "death" then we should all be considered Art EMT's - we need to resuscitate Art and make sure Art does not die.
So what can we do as a class to keep Art alive in Des Moines? We could keep brainstorming on the funeral idea, as long as a celebration is involved and we aren't completely macabre. I ate at Zombie Burger last night - that might be a good place to host a party or end a processional. Hey, I know - we could have a WAKE there and focus our attention on letting DSM know that they need to WAKE UP TO ART!
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Devoid Des Moines
In class today we had some healthy discussion about how Des Moines, Iowa, and the midwest in general is not the most fertile soil for conceptual art. Great for corn and soybeans, not so great for modern artists. Rachel talked about how she was so excited to return to Iowa, was so pumped up and filled with ideas to start producing some conceptual art and rock the world between the Mississippi and Missouri rivers. Although she was able to secure three shows at once, nothing came of those shows. Des Moines is just not ready to support her art.
It reminded me of the time when I was a teenager graduating from high school and thinking about making college plans. I always knew I wanted to "be an artist", although I did not really know what that actually meant. I knew it would be my major, I just had to decide between Fine Art and Commercial Art. My biggest problem was that I really enjoyed both. I ended up declaring Commercial Art, because those are the people who stand a chance at making a living with their art. I wasn't too drawn (no pun intended) to the life of a starving fine artist, struggling to pay bills and being forced to take a "real job" while I painted when I could.
I also had to consider the fact that sports scholarships were going to help pay my way. Believe it or not, not all schools that have a women's basketball team have an art department. This was a very disturbing discovery for me. Also, like most teens picking life after high school, I wanted to get as far away from Iowa as I could. Distance was not in the "con" column, the further away from Iowa and the midwest, the better.
I was fortunate to have many basketball scholarship offers, and as a good student from a poor family with 5 kids (none having been to college), I was also going to qualify for academic awards, financial need, and art scholarships if they were available. In the end, I was able to work out full-ride offers at four different schools. My choices boiled down to New Mexico State, University of Alaska, Drake, and Grand View.
Alaska - out of the question. COLD is a four-leter word in my vocabulary, and not in a good way. Didn't even really consider it. The only thing in Alaska's "pro" column was that it did qualify as the furthest away from Iowa. I desperately wanted to go to New Mexico State - simply for the weather. I liked the coach, I liked the team members I talked to, and one of my high school teamates had already accepted an offer from them. The coach could tell me nothing about the art program. I couldn't get anyone in admissions to call me back and talk to me about their art program. This was long before email and websites were prevalent, so short of making a campus visit (which I could not afford to do), I just hit a brick wall in gathering information. I finally got one of the coaches to admit that they didn't really have an art program there. Huh? A state university in the United States of America without an art program? Again, I just assumed all bigger schools would have it. I guess that was not the case. I thought for one second about declaring a different major to be in a warm state, but it was gone like smoke in the wind. I had to be an artist.
I could have gone to another state and start digging the deep hole student loans, but I grew up poor and did not want to start my life tens of thousands of dollars in debt. I wanted to finish college debt-free.
My only choice was to keep telling myself that I had to pick a school for their art program, not for their basketball team's record. I was not going to play basketball professionally, but I was going to be an artist the rest of my life. I was going to have to eat some serious crow - I had been blabbing to anyone who would listen for years about how anxious I was to leave Iowa far behind. And now I had to choose between Drake and Grand View.
So I visited both campuses multiple times to see the art departments and talk to the instructors and see the students' work. I knew some of the students at both schools, and knew that if I lived on campus I could always imagine that I was a million miles from home on a new adventure in a large metropolitan city where things were happening in the art world.
This is what I saw at Drake: It was fine work. Technically proficient. It was clean craftsmanship. And every single piece of work showed the stamp of influence by their instructor, Jules Kirschenbaum. Every piece of art had a shadow or glint of his style. Some of them were close enough to look like knock-offs.
This is what I saw at Grand View's final student show in the spring: It, too, was fine work. Just as well done. But there was a major difference - it was all unique. They had a huge variety of style in all mediums. They showed a huge range of influence - and none of the student pieces looked like they were trying to emulate Dennis Kaven's or James Engler's work.
I knew the day I went to that student art show/competition that I needed to go to Grand View. It wasn't about how famous or successful the instructors were, it was about whether or not they could instruct. Kirschenbaum, Kaven, and Engler are all terrific artists in their own right, but Kaven and Engler were clearly the better teachers. They were clearly able to nurture the individual artist in every student. So despite my best efforts to get out of Dodge, I picked the school with the best art instructors, and they were right here in Iowa.
What I am trying to share with my young classmates, especially now in our internet-based world is this: don't be so quick to discount Iowa as a place to be an artist. You can't beat the cost of living and housing. You can be anywhere on the planet in a virtual capacity.You can sell world-wide online. You can use social networking. You can apply for grants internationally. FedEx, UPS, DHL - think world-wide, don't constrict yourself to the midwest. You have the ability at your fingertips to be successful at being creative right here.
It reminded me of the time when I was a teenager graduating from high school and thinking about making college plans. I always knew I wanted to "be an artist", although I did not really know what that actually meant. I knew it would be my major, I just had to decide between Fine Art and Commercial Art. My biggest problem was that I really enjoyed both. I ended up declaring Commercial Art, because those are the people who stand a chance at making a living with their art. I wasn't too drawn (no pun intended) to the life of a starving fine artist, struggling to pay bills and being forced to take a "real job" while I painted when I could.
I also had to consider the fact that sports scholarships were going to help pay my way. Believe it or not, not all schools that have a women's basketball team have an art department. This was a very disturbing discovery for me. Also, like most teens picking life after high school, I wanted to get as far away from Iowa as I could. Distance was not in the "con" column, the further away from Iowa and the midwest, the better.
I was fortunate to have many basketball scholarship offers, and as a good student from a poor family with 5 kids (none having been to college), I was also going to qualify for academic awards, financial need, and art scholarships if they were available. In the end, I was able to work out full-ride offers at four different schools. My choices boiled down to New Mexico State, University of Alaska, Drake, and Grand View.
Alaska - out of the question. COLD is a four-leter word in my vocabulary, and not in a good way. Didn't even really consider it. The only thing in Alaska's "pro" column was that it did qualify as the furthest away from Iowa. I desperately wanted to go to New Mexico State - simply for the weather. I liked the coach, I liked the team members I talked to, and one of my high school teamates had already accepted an offer from them. The coach could tell me nothing about the art program. I couldn't get anyone in admissions to call me back and talk to me about their art program. This was long before email and websites were prevalent, so short of making a campus visit (which I could not afford to do), I just hit a brick wall in gathering information. I finally got one of the coaches to admit that they didn't really have an art program there. Huh? A state university in the United States of America without an art program? Again, I just assumed all bigger schools would have it. I guess that was not the case. I thought for one second about declaring a different major to be in a warm state, but it was gone like smoke in the wind. I had to be an artist.
I could have gone to another state and start digging the deep hole student loans, but I grew up poor and did not want to start my life tens of thousands of dollars in debt. I wanted to finish college debt-free.
My only choice was to keep telling myself that I had to pick a school for their art program, not for their basketball team's record. I was not going to play basketball professionally, but I was going to be an artist the rest of my life. I was going to have to eat some serious crow - I had been blabbing to anyone who would listen for years about how anxious I was to leave Iowa far behind. And now I had to choose between Drake and Grand View.
So I visited both campuses multiple times to see the art departments and talk to the instructors and see the students' work. I knew some of the students at both schools, and knew that if I lived on campus I could always imagine that I was a million miles from home on a new adventure in a large metropolitan city where things were happening in the art world.
This is what I saw at Drake: It was fine work. Technically proficient. It was clean craftsmanship. And every single piece of work showed the stamp of influence by their instructor, Jules Kirschenbaum. Every piece of art had a shadow or glint of his style. Some of them were close enough to look like knock-offs.
This is what I saw at Grand View's final student show in the spring: It, too, was fine work. Just as well done. But there was a major difference - it was all unique. They had a huge variety of style in all mediums. They showed a huge range of influence - and none of the student pieces looked like they were trying to emulate Dennis Kaven's or James Engler's work.
I knew the day I went to that student art show/competition that I needed to go to Grand View. It wasn't about how famous or successful the instructors were, it was about whether or not they could instruct. Kirschenbaum, Kaven, and Engler are all terrific artists in their own right, but Kaven and Engler were clearly the better teachers. They were clearly able to nurture the individual artist in every student. So despite my best efforts to get out of Dodge, I picked the school with the best art instructors, and they were right here in Iowa.
What I am trying to share with my young classmates, especially now in our internet-based world is this: don't be so quick to discount Iowa as a place to be an artist. You can't beat the cost of living and housing. You can be anywhere on the planet in a virtual capacity.You can sell world-wide online. You can use social networking. You can apply for grants internationally. FedEx, UPS, DHL - think world-wide, don't constrict yourself to the midwest. You have the ability at your fingertips to be successful at being creative right here.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Thank you, Czechoslovakia, for giving us Andy Warhol.
I love Andy Warhol. He was a business genius with his art and created a wildly successfully financial empire that exists yet today.
Andy was the youngest of three brothers. His father died when he was only 14 years old. His father stipulated that the money he left was to be used to put one of his sons through college. The family decided that Andy would benefit the most from a college education. What an incredibly timely decision it was that sent Andy to The Carnegie Institute of Technology (presently known as Carnegie-Mellon University). He was the first of his family to ever go beyond high school. He almost failed his first year, but a sympathetic professor provided him with another chance by allowing him to enroll in a summer class. During that time, Andy helped his oldest brother, Paul, huckster fruit and vegetables from a truck. Every opportunity Andy had he would do quick, on-the-spot sketches of the customers. These sketches not only helped him to be readmitted but they also won him a small scholarship. How many of us as art students can say that we have been that blessed financially? Or that one professor was especially kind to us? Or that we would hustle some sketches to people who were buying vegetables off a truck?
He had the desire and the skill. He was an incredible graphic artist before he became the Pop Art icon that the world has come to know. He worked for Doubleday on some children's books and in them you can see his delicate, balanced, illustrative style. Beautiful. I was actually one of the fortunate children of that era who was able to see that series (Best in Children's Books) when it was first released. I think that Doubleday series was like a book-of-the-month club when it started. I am sure my mom bought them after they started appearing at yard sales and thrift stores, and we didn't have very many out of the 40plus books that were released, but I remember them well and am not surprised at all to hear some of the names associated with those books Leonard Weisgard, Feodor Rojankovsky, Ezra Jack Keats, Paul Galdone, Adrienne Adams, Peter Spier, Richard Scarry, Barbara Cooney, Ruth Ives, Don Freeman, Garth Williams ( I do have the entire Little House on the Prairie series illustrated by Williams - bought for me and my sister by our godmother, one book at a time on birthdays and other gift-giving holidays) to name a few.
I have nostalgically become a children's book saver, inspired by some of the amazingly illustrated books I read as a child. I have always been a reader, but the drawings and paintings - oh my! I am sure the colorful designs that filled those books fueled my desire to be an artist. It began a life-long love affair with bibliographica. Over the years of raising eight kids there have been numerous times that I have bought books simply for the illustrations. Some were never given to my children. Some had such an incredible story and art to go with it that I had to share it reverently with my kids. How could I not expose them to the same delights that I had when I was young?
My all time favorite is Animalia by Graeme Base. He created more books after this one, but none have quite the magic as the first one. They are obsessive and compulsive in a good way. Incredibly detailed and fine. Although the word "whimsical" is used way too often when discussing kids' books, his work is really whimsical. I was excited to hear that it had been animated into a TV show and was eagerly looking forward to seeing it. Technology had finally caught up with the skill that would be needed to move his intricate designs across the screen. I could just imagine those illustrations coming to life! I couldn't have been more disappointed. It is totally bland and benign. The book, however, is exquisite - buy it now!
A close second for me is Monster MaMa, written by Liz Rosenberg and illustrated by Stephen Gammell. If you ever moved paint around a surface by blowing through a straw, you will cheer when you see this book. Some of the illustrations appear to be just drippy and runny, but the use of a straw is clearly evident. Should be inspiration for any budding young artist reading that book. Take a happy paint accident and "breathe" onto it to create art. Simply stunning.
As I consider my artistic future and how I can make my own mark in the art world, I am sure it will show evidence of Warhol as a strong influence. It would be implausible for me to escape the influence of the many children's books I devoured as a child. I have some ideas bouncing around on the inside of my head - they've been there since I was 7 years old.
Andy Warhol was the cat's meow in the graphic design world at the time he illustrated for Doubleday. He went on to become almost unspeakably famous for far more than 15 minutes. He turned the art world on its head and forced us to look at ourselves through the window of PopArt. I only hope that my art will be able to speak to my generation, but in more than a Facebook kind of way. When they see my art, I want them to stop in the way they would stop when they see one of their childhood books in an antique store. I want them to catch their breath. I want my art to reach in and grab their hearts and guts and twist their emotions like a wet rag. But in a good way.
Andy was the youngest of three brothers. His father died when he was only 14 years old. His father stipulated that the money he left was to be used to put one of his sons through college. The family decided that Andy would benefit the most from a college education. What an incredibly timely decision it was that sent Andy to The Carnegie Institute of Technology (presently known as Carnegie-Mellon University). He was the first of his family to ever go beyond high school. He almost failed his first year, but a sympathetic professor provided him with another chance by allowing him to enroll in a summer class. During that time, Andy helped his oldest brother, Paul, huckster fruit and vegetables from a truck. Every opportunity Andy had he would do quick, on-the-spot sketches of the customers. These sketches not only helped him to be readmitted but they also won him a small scholarship. How many of us as art students can say that we have been that blessed financially? Or that one professor was especially kind to us? Or that we would hustle some sketches to people who were buying vegetables off a truck?
He had the desire and the skill. He was an incredible graphic artist before he became the Pop Art icon that the world has come to know. He worked for Doubleday on some children's books and in them you can see his delicate, balanced, illustrative style. Beautiful. I was actually one of the fortunate children of that era who was able to see that series (Best in Children's Books) when it was first released. I think that Doubleday series was like a book-of-the-month club when it started. I am sure my mom bought them after they started appearing at yard sales and thrift stores, and we didn't have very many out of the 40plus books that were released, but I remember them well and am not surprised at all to hear some of the names associated with those books Leonard Weisgard, Feodor Rojankovsky, Ezra Jack Keats, Paul Galdone, Adrienne Adams, Peter Spier, Richard Scarry, Barbara Cooney, Ruth Ives, Don Freeman, Garth Williams ( I do have the entire Little House on the Prairie series illustrated by Williams - bought for me and my sister by our godmother, one book at a time on birthdays and other gift-giving holidays) to name a few.
I have nostalgically become a children's book saver, inspired by some of the amazingly illustrated books I read as a child. I have always been a reader, but the drawings and paintings - oh my! I am sure the colorful designs that filled those books fueled my desire to be an artist. It began a life-long love affair with bibliographica. Over the years of raising eight kids there have been numerous times that I have bought books simply for the illustrations. Some were never given to my children. Some had such an incredible story and art to go with it that I had to share it reverently with my kids. How could I not expose them to the same delights that I had when I was young?
My all time favorite is Animalia by Graeme Base. He created more books after this one, but none have quite the magic as the first one. They are obsessive and compulsive in a good way. Incredibly detailed and fine. Although the word "whimsical" is used way too often when discussing kids' books, his work is really whimsical. I was excited to hear that it had been animated into a TV show and was eagerly looking forward to seeing it. Technology had finally caught up with the skill that would be needed to move his intricate designs across the screen. I could just imagine those illustrations coming to life! I couldn't have been more disappointed. It is totally bland and benign. The book, however, is exquisite - buy it now!
A close second for me is Monster MaMa, written by Liz Rosenberg and illustrated by Stephen Gammell. If you ever moved paint around a surface by blowing through a straw, you will cheer when you see this book. Some of the illustrations appear to be just drippy and runny, but the use of a straw is clearly evident. Should be inspiration for any budding young artist reading that book. Take a happy paint accident and "breathe" onto it to create art. Simply stunning.
As I consider my artistic future and how I can make my own mark in the art world, I am sure it will show evidence of Warhol as a strong influence. It would be implausible for me to escape the influence of the many children's books I devoured as a child. I have some ideas bouncing around on the inside of my head - they've been there since I was 7 years old.
Andy Warhol was the cat's meow in the graphic design world at the time he illustrated for Doubleday. He went on to become almost unspeakably famous for far more than 15 minutes. He turned the art world on its head and forced us to look at ourselves through the window of PopArt. I only hope that my art will be able to speak to my generation, but in more than a Facebook kind of way. When they see my art, I want them to stop in the way they would stop when they see one of their childhood books in an antique store. I want them to catch their breath. I want my art to reach in and grab their hearts and guts and twist their emotions like a wet rag. But in a good way.
Monday, September 12, 2011
What is Art?
What is Art? This is a question that has been asked constantly and repeatedly in my lifetime, and certainly much longer than that. The real question should be, "Do you care what art is?" How many of us really take time to make sure we have art in our lives?
I homeschool my 9 and 10 year old sons. My last two semesters in college I was taking Art Therapy courses with a summer internship in AT as well. As students we were required to keep our own art journals. We also made small art directives in each class period. That really gave me an opportunity to slowly break back into "art" after being out of school for 30 years. As I do with most of the homework I bring back from my classes, I engage my boys. They were happy to join me in all of the creative tasks I was able to share with them. I think some of what they created is great art, and not just because I am their mom. It is spontaneous, unrestrained, and very fresh. I yearn for some of those qualities in my own art.
As a class we collectively could not name any artists from the last few decades. We know who comes to our local art center. We know the artists we study in our classes. We know the artists that are displayed when we travel to other art museums. I still cannot come up with names of any contemporary artists. The most recent name I can come up with would be Jim Dine, and you want to know why? He was the headliner on one of the trips that I took as a senior art student to the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis. I went to the Richard Gray Gallery's website that was showing Dine and was very happy to see that he still paints robes, hearts, and tools - and I think he has greatly improved over the years!
I have been to many shows over the many years since then, but I couldn't tell you one of them. Have I lost my critical eye over the years? Probably. I looked at the Walker's website, just to take a peek and see if, perchance, there was an artist there whose name I might recognize. Nope. I did notice something I would like to add to the conversation, though. It was the titles of the shows that caught my eye - Baby Marx; Exposed: Voyeurism, Surveillance and the Camera; Nan Goldin's The Ballad of Sexual Dependancy.
That last title was a little different in that the artist's name was mentioned in the text scrolling across the top of the website. Is that what art has turned into? We don't have any "famous artists", so we need to come up with interesting titles? I think we have resorted to using the flashy headline grabbers to get people to come see the art in the museums.
So I went to the Art Institute of Chicago's website and looked at their current exhibition titles. Out of 15 shows, only five of them listed the artist's names in the header. About half of the titles did grab my attention: Belligerent Encounters: Graphic Chronicles of War and Revolution; Neither Man Nor Beast: Animal Images on Ancient Coins; and my personal favorite - Avant-Garde in Everyday Life (since we also discussed the meaning of avant-garde in class). Now can't you see some of these titles splashed across the top of the National Enquirer? Maybe a tabloid with a less colorful reputation, but you certainly can imagine one or two of these in newspaper headlines in the Sunday section of your local paper somewhere.
When it is tough for a senior seminar art class to come up with artists names culled from the last two or three decades, either nobody is making art or, or everybody thinks that the things artists are making is just not memorable art. What is art? I'm not entirely certain, but if we have no famous artists, does that mean there is no art anymore? That would take me back to the earlier post - is it the end of art?
I homeschool my 9 and 10 year old sons. My last two semesters in college I was taking Art Therapy courses with a summer internship in AT as well. As students we were required to keep our own art journals. We also made small art directives in each class period. That really gave me an opportunity to slowly break back into "art" after being out of school for 30 years. As I do with most of the homework I bring back from my classes, I engage my boys. They were happy to join me in all of the creative tasks I was able to share with them. I think some of what they created is great art, and not just because I am their mom. It is spontaneous, unrestrained, and very fresh. I yearn for some of those qualities in my own art.
As a class we collectively could not name any artists from the last few decades. We know who comes to our local art center. We know the artists we study in our classes. We know the artists that are displayed when we travel to other art museums. I still cannot come up with names of any contemporary artists. The most recent name I can come up with would be Jim Dine, and you want to know why? He was the headliner on one of the trips that I took as a senior art student to the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis. I went to the Richard Gray Gallery's website that was showing Dine and was very happy to see that he still paints robes, hearts, and tools - and I think he has greatly improved over the years!
I have been to many shows over the many years since then, but I couldn't tell you one of them. Have I lost my critical eye over the years? Probably. I looked at the Walker's website, just to take a peek and see if, perchance, there was an artist there whose name I might recognize. Nope. I did notice something I would like to add to the conversation, though. It was the titles of the shows that caught my eye - Baby Marx; Exposed: Voyeurism, Surveillance and the Camera; Nan Goldin's The Ballad of Sexual Dependancy.
That last title was a little different in that the artist's name was mentioned in the text scrolling across the top of the website. Is that what art has turned into? We don't have any "famous artists", so we need to come up with interesting titles? I think we have resorted to using the flashy headline grabbers to get people to come see the art in the museums.
So I went to the Art Institute of Chicago's website and looked at their current exhibition titles. Out of 15 shows, only five of them listed the artist's names in the header. About half of the titles did grab my attention: Belligerent Encounters: Graphic Chronicles of War and Revolution; Neither Man Nor Beast: Animal Images on Ancient Coins; and my personal favorite - Avant-Garde in Everyday Life (since we also discussed the meaning of avant-garde in class). Now can't you see some of these titles splashed across the top of the National Enquirer? Maybe a tabloid with a less colorful reputation, but you certainly can imagine one or two of these in newspaper headlines in the Sunday section of your local paper somewhere.
When it is tough for a senior seminar art class to come up with artists names culled from the last two or three decades, either nobody is making art or, or everybody thinks that the things artists are making is just not memorable art. What is art? I'm not entirely certain, but if we have no famous artists, does that mean there is no art anymore? That would take me back to the earlier post - is it the end of art?
Thursday, September 8, 2011
The End of Art
As my classes begin this fall, I am most looking forward to the art classes - the last art classes that I need to complete the Visual Arts degree I started 30 years ago. This semester one of them is a Special Topics in Art History class labeled, "The End of Art and Beyond, 1960 Through Present Day."
The first day in class I was energized when the very young professor made columns with decade headings on the white board, starting with 1950 up through 2010. She asked the class to call out famous artists and/or movements and she would write them on the board one decade at a time. I knew I could come up with a good collection for the earlier decades (I am sure I am the oldest person in the classroom), but I also knew that I was not familiar at all with what has rocked the art world in the last 10 or even 20 years. I've been busy with life - working, getting marrried, having babies, raising kids, restoring an old Victorian house, getting divorced, getting remarried, having more kids, restoring another old house ... I did not have "time" to be an artist or keep up on the art world.
We were a pretty animated and lively class and had no problem filling up the 50's, 60's, 70's, and 80's - but then slowed down appreciatively when it came to the 90's. I thought for sure that the younger generation of students would certainly have names of artists that they were currently studying, or had gone to their shows - these were art students for crying out loud. They are twenty years old and are supposed to be living, breathing, eating, and pooping for the sake of art! But when it came to the decades of 2000 and then 2010, not a soul had a thing to say. Nothing. Nada. Zip.
"That is exactly what I'm talking about!" the pretty young instructor practically yelled from the front of the classroom as she swept her marker filled hand through the air. "That is what I mean - is this the end of art?"
I was still. My mouth was dry, but I swallowed.
I have noticed how much the digital world has consumed many, many things that make me want to stand on a tree-stump and shout at passersby. In particular, books. I am very nervous about Kindle and Nook and all of the other digital readers that are readily accessible now.
I am an avid reader. I will never get over my love of books. I don't just mean reading a story, I mean selecting a bound tome off of the shelf simply because the spine was a lovely shade of green and the font "spoke" to me. I simply love opening a new book and feeling the pleasure of turning virgin pages. I have just as much appreciation and desire for an older edition, one that has been on the shelf for years and been opened and loved by many. The aroma that wafts up out of the heavy, ivory pages is singular and unique. Nothing else smells like an old book. I know you can already have the electronic "sound" of an actual page turning in some of these. If I can only get one of these techno-giants to package that musty aroma and somehow make it an "app" or a feature to be used with their modern contraptions, I might make some money on that idea.
I have the unique experience of working in the sign industry for thirty years, which spans the days of painting with pigments into the computer age. I started back in the day when we were all "signwriters". We all used specialty lettering brushes that were sold to us by a traveling brush salesman. He literally came to the sign shops and had a sales kit filled with beautiful hand-tied red-sable brushes. Signwriter brushes are different than ordinary paint brushes. They have certain shapes and sizes that allowed you to be the most economical with your strokes when lettering certain fonts. Why take three or four strokes to make a single character when you could do it in one or two? This could only be done with specific brushes. Now all sign shops have computers and generate nearly everything with large-format printers. We used to say that a budding young artist was good with a pen and pencil, or had talent with a brush. Now we ask what programs they are familiar with.
Is it the end of art? Did the computer world quash all of our individual talents? I can say that is certainly not true for everybody. There are definitely pros and cons for the old painted sign versus the modern computer generated signs, but the bottom line is this: if you have no artistic talent, you are not going to do either one very well. I think the computer has removed an entire generation's capability of using their hands creatively, and I am sad to see that disappear.A person who calls himself an artist because he knows the right keyboard strokes to create a flawless fade from blue to white in the background is sadly mistaken. If he can do the same thing with real paints and a real paintbrush, he has earned the right to call himself an artist.
Is it the end of art? What are the reasons that my class cannot come up with important artists contemporary to their lifetime? Do we have the next generation of America's artists sitting in the classroom next to me? I hope so. I would dearly love to say I was in a classroom with (insert future famous artist name here) and remember clear as a bell when they talked about (insert controversial artistic stand here).
This makes me want to shout from tree-stumps. This cannot be the end of art. It just can't be. Civilization cannot survive without it.
The first day in class I was energized when the very young professor made columns with decade headings on the white board, starting with 1950 up through 2010. She asked the class to call out famous artists and/or movements and she would write them on the board one decade at a time. I knew I could come up with a good collection for the earlier decades (I am sure I am the oldest person in the classroom), but I also knew that I was not familiar at all with what has rocked the art world in the last 10 or even 20 years. I've been busy with life - working, getting marrried, having babies, raising kids, restoring an old Victorian house, getting divorced, getting remarried, having more kids, restoring another old house ... I did not have "time" to be an artist or keep up on the art world.
We were a pretty animated and lively class and had no problem filling up the 50's, 60's, 70's, and 80's - but then slowed down appreciatively when it came to the 90's. I thought for sure that the younger generation of students would certainly have names of artists that they were currently studying, or had gone to their shows - these were art students for crying out loud. They are twenty years old and are supposed to be living, breathing, eating, and pooping for the sake of art! But when it came to the decades of 2000 and then 2010, not a soul had a thing to say. Nothing. Nada. Zip.
"That is exactly what I'm talking about!" the pretty young instructor practically yelled from the front of the classroom as she swept her marker filled hand through the air. "That is what I mean - is this the end of art?"
I was still. My mouth was dry, but I swallowed.
I have noticed how much the digital world has consumed many, many things that make me want to stand on a tree-stump and shout at passersby. In particular, books. I am very nervous about Kindle and Nook and all of the other digital readers that are readily accessible now.
I am an avid reader. I will never get over my love of books. I don't just mean reading a story, I mean selecting a bound tome off of the shelf simply because the spine was a lovely shade of green and the font "spoke" to me. I simply love opening a new book and feeling the pleasure of turning virgin pages. I have just as much appreciation and desire for an older edition, one that has been on the shelf for years and been opened and loved by many. The aroma that wafts up out of the heavy, ivory pages is singular and unique. Nothing else smells like an old book. I know you can already have the electronic "sound" of an actual page turning in some of these. If I can only get one of these techno-giants to package that musty aroma and somehow make it an "app" or a feature to be used with their modern contraptions, I might make some money on that idea.
I have the unique experience of working in the sign industry for thirty years, which spans the days of painting with pigments into the computer age. I started back in the day when we were all "signwriters". We all used specialty lettering brushes that were sold to us by a traveling brush salesman. He literally came to the sign shops and had a sales kit filled with beautiful hand-tied red-sable brushes. Signwriter brushes are different than ordinary paint brushes. They have certain shapes and sizes that allowed you to be the most economical with your strokes when lettering certain fonts. Why take three or four strokes to make a single character when you could do it in one or two? This could only be done with specific brushes. Now all sign shops have computers and generate nearly everything with large-format printers. We used to say that a budding young artist was good with a pen and pencil, or had talent with a brush. Now we ask what programs they are familiar with.
Is it the end of art? Did the computer world quash all of our individual talents? I can say that is certainly not true for everybody. There are definitely pros and cons for the old painted sign versus the modern computer generated signs, but the bottom line is this: if you have no artistic talent, you are not going to do either one very well. I think the computer has removed an entire generation's capability of using their hands creatively, and I am sad to see that disappear.A person who calls himself an artist because he knows the right keyboard strokes to create a flawless fade from blue to white in the background is sadly mistaken. If he can do the same thing with real paints and a real paintbrush, he has earned the right to call himself an artist.
Is it the end of art? What are the reasons that my class cannot come up with important artists contemporary to their lifetime? Do we have the next generation of America's artists sitting in the classroom next to me? I hope so. I would dearly love to say I was in a classroom with (insert future famous artist name here) and remember clear as a bell when they talked about (insert controversial artistic stand here).
This makes me want to shout from tree-stumps. This cannot be the end of art. It just can't be. Civilization cannot survive without it.
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