Art & Life by Sue Davis

I was not aware that Mondrian painted pieces other than the colored squares for which he is famous. His landscapes are serene, flowing and quite beautiful.

As I watched a movie cataloging his works, I began to wonder if he went mad later in life. Not that I dislike his geometric pieces. It’s more the fact that he seemed to be obsessed with perfecting the mathematical designs. He created countless variations on the same theme. I understand that he was attempting to simplify art to its “truest” form, paring the elements down to the essentials.

He believed that a line is infinite and complete, unlike positive and negative shapes which are finite and disjointed. He was a solitary man, expressing this isolation in his art: a single flower, one individual and landscapes focused on a particular point.

Mondrian stated that “Intense involvement with living things is involvement with death. Let us recognise the fact once and for all: the natural appearance, natural form, natural colour, natural rhythm, natural relations most often express the tragic . . . We must free ourselves from our attachment to the external, for only then do we transcend the tragic, and are enabled consciously to contemplate the repose which is within all things.”

Perhaps he felt that he was protecting himself from “tragedy” by painting geometric shapes and applying color safely within their boundaries. I must say I find the compositions interesting, but I far prefer the quiet landscapes. I guess there is something for everyone in the art of Mondrian.

Sue

Yes, Max is at it again. This time it is a caricature of David Tennant, the 10th Doctor.
We caught a glimpse of the latest incarnation of the time lord when we watched some You Tube episodes which are not yet being broadcast in the U.S. We connected the laptop to the television and watched it. Almost like the real thing! When you need some Who, it’ll do. Of course, I still like Eccleston (what a great nose he has). But, things change.

By Elisabeth Vigée Lebrun
This portrait jumped out at me from the pages of an old art book
I recently acquired. It’s amazing, don’t you agree?
Sue

Salvador Dali
Group of Women Imitating the Gestures of a Schooner
“Intelligence without ambition is a bird without wings.”

I recently saw a trailer for “300″, the movie based on Frank Miller’s (Sin City, Daredevil) graphic novel. It appeared to be an artistic rendition of war. I was suspicious. I thought
to myself “great, another guy movie lusting for blood and battle, heads popping off and limbs being severed.” As it turned out, my suspicions were unfounded. While there were plenty of decapitations and other atrocities,  the artistic approach to the film was more than a veneer used to glorify the ferocity of human kind.

Yes, it was a violent movie depicting a violent society. Viewed in context of the era in which it was set (480 BC), perhaps this way of life was necessary for survival. This idea is reflected in the philosophy of moral relativism, in which each culture maintains their own set of morally correct behavior. What is acceptable in one society might be frowned upon or even abhorred in a different part of the world.

The display of violence was no worse than most of the video games that kids play today. In other words, not entirely realistic. The very color palette of the film ensured that this was understood: sepia colored skies, golden ochre fields and blackish umber tinted blood. For me, the main attraction of the movie was not the fighting, it was the message. An important idea expressed was the need to bear witness. In the midst of battle, Leonidas, the main character and leader of the Spartan “army” commanded one of his best soldiers to return to their village and relate the events of their journey. Leonidas knew the demise of his army was eminent and chose to use his soldier as a messenger. The need to “tell the story” was overpowering. If no one knew the details of the Spartan battle, would it matter? Did relating the tale serve a deeper purpose? Without the messenger, the story would have been lost. He served as the unifying force behind the entire production. The film is narrated in parts by an anonymous person, who turns out to be this messenger. The end of the movie shows him relating the tale of the battle, spreading the word to thousands of people.

To me this notion of bearing witness was very powerful and brought to mind other instances of similar situations in which injustices were proliferated. Some prominent examples are the holocaust and slavery. What is gained by retelling tales of disaster? Extolling morally correct actions, acts of bravery, heroism, and perhaps the need to express indignation are among the motivations for keeping the stories alive.

I believe that a film is worthwhile if the ideas presented encourage you to connect those concepts to other experiences and reflect on their meaning. This may be thought of as “learning”.  At any rate, I did enjoy “300″. The colors, the creatures, costumes, creative photography and message all coalesced to produce an experience worth 117 minutes of my life.

Thanks for taking a few minutes of your time as well to read this. If you have you seen the movie, tell me what you thought. Or comment on any aspect of this post that appeals to you.

 Sue

I decided to run today as opposed to going to karate. Fridays are slated for “review day” in which you basically work on your own, trying in vain to remember various forms and routines. Maybe I have learning deficits, or old age has siphoned off my memory, but I find this type of independent learning extremely frustrating. In fact, a few weeks ago, I actually walked out of class, (guess I blew my mild-mannered Clark Kent cover) mumbling some obscure epithet. Yes, I came back after expelling my negative energy and practiced rolls and falls for the remainder of class. Interestingly enough, I started something. It seemed as if no one else had been exposed to rolling and falling, and the following week was dedicated solely to these endeavors. Fancy that.

So, getting back to the activity of the day – running. I find that when I run, a myriad of thoughts and impressions drift through my mind, not unlike free-association or stream of consciousness writing. I find it rather interesting and thought that you might too. Maybe this happens to everyone engaged in a repetitive, somewhat hypnotic activity. You’ll have to let me know. Warning: the following account is full of incomplete sentences, musical references and other grammatical nightmares. Read on if you do not shy away from such things.

“Some Beach.” That’s what was playing on my mp3:
Driving down the interstate
Running thirty minutes late
Singin’ Margaritaville and minding my own
Some foreign car drivin’ dude with the road rage attitude
Pulled up beside me talkin’ on his cell phone
He started yelling at me like I did something wrong
He flipped me the bird an’ then he was gone
Some beach, somewhere
There’s a big umbrella casting shade over an empty chair
Palm trees are growin’ and a warm breezes a blowing
I picture myself right there
On Some beach, somewhere

I like how he says “Some beach” with that country twang. Say it out loud. Sounds like it could be mistaken as another phrase, yes? Now that’s down-home humor!

The road was a Paul Klee masterpiece: thick black lines of tar. Looking down at yellow leaves on textured asphalt. Pretty darned hot out here. Just keep going. Further on to my right a Constable landscape. Serpentine running, aiming for an extra inch of shade. Hoping for a slow song to walk to. Good, another country tune, stop running. Oh no, the tempo is increasing. Feet get a mind of their own and take off. Water fountain up the hill. Decision time: Do I want water enough to trudge all the way up that hill, or will it only make me thirstier. Go for it. Surprise! A breeze on the way up. Had I passed this by I would have missed that. Deep. What! The water fountain is not working, oh there it goes. Down the hill to the halfway point.

The sign says STOP. So I do. Oh. Turn around and head back. “Looking For You” comes on. Seriously funky, stop running, time to strut. Hope no one sees me. To a chipmunk I recite Kirk Franklin, “You there, in the back now, lets go now. LADIES!” Chipmunk runs for cover. I laugh. Thinking about blogging my run. And how thoughts made manifest by any means are susceptible to editing. The directors cut remains in the mind.

I pick up my pace and enjoy the fact that I can move. Are these heat induced hallucinations or normal (good, concise word) reflections designed to occupy my idle mind?Primitive thoughts insert themselves as I near the end of my run. Big glass of water. Hot. Big glass of water. Walk. Hey, I can see my house from here. Some Beach begins to play. The cycle is complete. I wonder – if I listen to this same playlist next time, will I think the same things?Thanks for “listening”
Sue

No quote today. Her work is so beautiful that it stands alone.

Max’s caricature of Mark after being inspired by an Al Hirschfeld biography we watched.

I used to think that still lifes were boring; a collection of random items compiled, composed and copied. I have recently revised my opinion, based on an enlightening conversation with a friend. She informed me that the still life usually revolves around three things; life, death and sex. I was intrigued enough to engage in a bit of research.

Indeed, each item depicted in the arrangement has significance. Vanitas, (a Greek word for emptiness) paintings utilized items such as flowers, decomposing fruit and candles to reveal the impermanence of life. Moralistic messages can be implied with objects that portray the sensory pleasures of a well-lived existence.

At one point in time, still life was believed to be among the lowest forms of expression.
It was thought of as merely copying; a showcase of the artists technical ability. Imagination was not considered to be a factor.

I have found that selecting items for my own still life has involved quite a bit of imagination and creativity, leaving ample room for exploring meaning. I do not wish to portray life or objects as photorealistically “truthful”, or technically correct. I want to go beyond the surface experience and reveal other “truths”, or perhaps I should say,
“self-truths.”

This still life project has been most enjoyable thus far, and I hope that the finished product is worthy. Check back in a couple of weeks to see for yourself how this painting turns out.

Normally, I would not display a pencil sketch for public viewing. I have been reluctant to show my incomplete pieces, thinking that the final product would have more impact upon unveiling. However, I thought it might be of interest to some as a mile marker in the “creative process.” As always, any information or feedback that you can provide is appreciated.

Thanks,
Sue

The Water Protectors by Odd Nerdrum
“There will always be those who fail to follow, who fall out of grace.
In the art world, where religious absolutes rule, these people have become
exterminated – not ethnically, but ethically. They are perceived of as the losers
of progress and are thrown onto the landfill of history. I am one of those losers, …
and I have been forced to sustain the whip of God’s angels.”

Georgia Ram’s Head by Georgia O’Keefe
“The days you work are the best days.”

“Truths are illusions about which it has been forgotten that they are illusions, worn-out metaphors without sensory impact, coins that have lost their image and now can be used only as metal, and no longer as coins.”
(Friedrich Nietzsche, On truth and lie in an extra-moral sense, The Portable Nietzsche, 1974, pp.46-47)

I came across this quote as I was investigating Michel Foucault on the topic of truth-telling as an educational practice of the self. Why was I interested in this subject? Well, I had an exquisite dinner the other night with a good friend of mine, who is a professor at a well known college in New York. The food was secondary to the nourishment provided by our conversation.

My friend and I began to talk about why people engage in the seemingly meaningless activity of e-mailing and blogging. She mentioned that the need to self-disclose extends back to the ancient Greeks. They would write in great detail on the events of their day, providing information on foods consumed, thoughts engaged in and activities pursued.

It seems we humans still feel the need to “self-disclose.” Foucault defines a special form of communication called “parrhesia”, which is Greek for speaking candidly. This style of communication is not used to persuade, as is rhetoric. There are, as I understand it, 4 parts to parrhesia; frankness, truth and the moral courage to tell the truth, criticism and duty.

Does this process translate into self-knowledge? In other words, do we communicate in this style in order to gain a better understanding of the self? Does the courage associated with self-revelation result in improving our moral standards, as in equating truth with righteous and proper behavior? Does this discursive process help us to reexamine “truth” as it pertains to us, to cast off the illusion of our belief systems? Can we discard the worthless, worn out coins of past truths and replace them with currency that encapsulates renewed truth?

According to a National Public Radio piece I heard just this morning, blogging serves the dual purpose of offering support and providing an arena in which to sharpen skills. I certainly hope that there is some educational and social value inherent in blogging and that is not merely a supreme waste of time.

I realize that I need to delve deeper into this question of why we email and blog. The theories of Foucault are intriguing and complex. I can’t pretend to understand them yet, but your thoughts are always welcome. Without your feedback I am just a big looney, talking to myself. And by the way, I had oatmeal with bananas for breakfast and I am going to karate at noon.

Thanks for listening and please DO comment. See for yourself if this self-disclosure process is of value.

Thanks.
Sue

Hide and Seek by Berthe Morisot

“It is important to express oneself…provided the feelings are real
and are taken from your own experience.”
Berthe Morisot

There is this decrepit little bridge in Arkansas that begged to have its picture taken.
Each year we have declined the plea. This year we acquiesced and memorialized the poor thing. This is the result. Happy now?

Le Rifain assis by Matisse

I will try and post a new quote each day.

“A new painting is a unique event, a birth, which enriches the universe as it is grasped by the human mind, by bringing a new form into it.”
Henri Matisse

Guess what? I did not see a single cow painting at the Geneva art show that we attended yesterday. How refreshing. I was impressed with the selection of fine art displayed and would have purchased many pieces if I myself were not a “starving artist.” Of particular interest was an artist named Tommy (yes, I obtained his approval before mentioning him on my blog.) He painted abstract, three-dimensional squiggly, organic things. I was struck not only by the simple, repetitive beauty of his art, but by his sense of humor and personality as well.

Here’s a scenario. I picked up a shrink wrapped painting from a bin, turned it over and began to read how this artist achieved his dimensional effects. A man approached me and said, “I can tell you about that.” And we began to talk. The man, Tommy, explained that he heats the paper to 180 degrees and applies thick layers of acrylic paint, followed by washes of of various colors.

His title on one work was “Aliens Pushing Pink.” According to the artist, aliens came to earth and realized that the color pink was ignored or sparingly used at best. So the aliens figured that pink must be a rare commodity, decided to collect it all and take it to their home planet. The piece depicted colored circles coralling clouds of pink pigment. It was funny and creative. I wondered if he really believed in aliens and their capacity to evaluate color.

Funny thing is, all of his work looked very similar. Pink spheres, green spheres, brown and yellow spheres. The color schemes changed but the “subject” was the same. The circle theme alternated with another prominent motif of squid like shapes. Again, painted in various color palettes.

He mentioned that he could produce two painting per day. He told me he listens to Kenny G. and Bocelli when he paints. He mentioned that he uses his own saliva as a thinner. Maybe, just maybe, this was too much information. I liked hearing the stories behind his art. I don’t particularly enjoy Kenny G. Questions began to parade around in my mind. If I purchased one of his pieces would I associate it with Kenny G? I would rather purchase a piece that was shrink wrapped than be exposed to a work that utilized the invisible dried saliva of a relative stranger. And two paintings per day? Is that “assembly line” art?

The prices were affordable, the art was appealing, the guy was interesting and likeable. I still might purchase some of his work when finances become less problematic. The questions raised are hovering in my consciousness. Is art about uniqueness? Should all of the story be told? Are affordable prices the driving force? Is painting a common theme merely redundant or is it a niche? I really have no answers.

Any thoughts?

This is a pencil drawing of, guess who, that my husband Mark rendered in high school.
I think he may have exaggerated certain body parts, or perhaps time has wrought some serious changes. At any rate, the guy has talent and is thinking about creating art once again. You go boy!

Teddy, my 12 year old son, has never liked the Winter Choral Program at his old school. When he was little, he would run screaming from the room upon hearing “Happy Birthday”. At last, his angst is expressed in this poem he wrote.

EARBLEEDERIFIC
(The Winter Program at my old school)

I remember a night
When I was almost filled with fright,
Wished I was deaf,
Or they thought I was Beth,
So I might as well have pretended to be a
garden gnome

The day ahead would be far from terrific,
In fact, it would be earbleederiffic

I wake up,
Act sick,
Doesn’t work,
Go out the door,
Poor me

I have to sit down on the cold, hard floor,
I’m staring at the door.
If school was cool,
They’d get a real band that ruled

Kindergartners started singing,
My ears started ringing,
Eventually it’s such a bore,
I close my eyes and start to snore,
But alas!

Show’s over,
Torture’s over,

YES!!!!!!!!!

Is Norbert old enough to have a girl friend? I think that’s a guy falling from the sky in the final frame…