Cavorting on the Edge

Rem 1.336

My paintings now are about edges, bumping up against edges, the space between and what it all means.  Edges force us into contemplating change.  Change is a place of tension. The space between here and there opens up and change walks in. I think of the painted marks in my work as characters or declarations in a face to face conversation that encompasses change. For me, making these paintings is a way of 'being with' the other. Structuring the conversation is about my own becoming, making a world to share.

Edges

Last night we had storms come through Roswell. This image from 1995 reminded me that spring is coming and with it the terrific storms we get in north Georgia, just east of the mountains. It is the meteorological sign for thunder. The work is one of a series of about ten signs drawn in paint stick on a gold ground on hand-made paper. Several of these drawings were purchased by Saks 5th Ave, for their Tampa store.

Weather is one of my interests. It is the most visible mercurial element of nature. The edges of weather are captivating; a storm front crossing the plains, the outer bands of a hurricane, the soft or hard edges of a tornado racing across   the land deconstructing everything in its path. The edge of a meadow that meets the forest is a demarcation in temperature as well as fauna. The edge of the sea, whether gentle lapping of the Gulf of Mexico or the pounding surf of Cape Hatteras is a place of transition. The edge of Tallulah Gorge offers cascading space.

Making Space

I finally moved my studio up to the drawing room in this old house. The basement had become too small and very cold this winter. So now I have spaciousness and lovely light during the day. Not quite ready for prime time painting until I can get the 150 year old floors covered with a non-permeable material. So I am content to keep working small while playing with new paint Flashe, a vinyl acrylic paint that dries with a velvety matte surface. All works in progress right now. When something settles I will post an image to two.This weird thing is a drawing on made on my mini I Pad.  Meanwhile, good to be back here. I look forward to posting progress.

The Truth in Painting

In Derrida's essay Passe- Partout, Cezanne is saying that painting can render the truth, and Derrida is saying that truth has been the provenance of speech-acts (philosophy). So Cezanne is saying that painting can be a means for searching for the truth, as language is a means for searching for the truth in philosophy. Cezanne also seems to be saying that it is the act of painting, the process of seeing and recording one's sensations before nature the truth becomes possible. This probably is leading to the famous Derridean phrase "There is nothing outside the text" from On Grammatology. I see the ghost of Greenberg hovering nearby.

I am Love and Derrida

The opening shots in this Italian language film were very familiar: the monumental Teutonic train station in Milan where we were disgorged this past June for a whirlwind art history tour with Sharon Hecker. In this newly released film starring Tilda Swinton, Milan is covered in a snowy blanket, all grey and quiet. The narrative is linked to the city's long heritage as a textile center. The story focuses on the daily lives of the Ricchi family. Without giving up any of the story, I found myself seeing Derridean elements everywhere in the photography. All kinds of doors open and close throughout the film, setting one thing apart from another in a constant reframing of visual elements.

Swinton's Emma is nearly silent in the film, barely asserting herself yet telegraphing a growing inner turmoil through her mercurial facial expressions. And then there is food, protagonist of desire, and social lubricant permeating the film. The film is shot through with quiet arresting moments where the spoken word is only the tip of the iceberg. I saw the movie last night and can not get it out of my mind. Not to be missed.

Last Days at Spannochia

Last days here at this organic farm where we have turned over the earth of old thinking for new ideas about the Post Modern.
At the moment we are what is left of two years of philosophizing. The second year students gone to Milan and we are left to torment our teachers (Chris and Seth) with our prodigious lack of knowledge. Stumbling blindly over artist's names and slogging through the fog of Kantian aesthtics, we are in our last few hours of dreaded presentations. Feeling very much like we are on the receiving end of the boiling oil that would be poured onto the barbaraions of the 12th century, we persist in assaulting the castello with our desire to unlock the secrets of the White Book.

We leave tomorrow to apply our new tools of Post Modern thinking to the array of installations at the 2009 Venice Biennale. For the next five days we will be emmersed in the Venetian culture of gelatos, and vaporettos. I can't wait but I don't want to leave. How to close the space between desire for two disparate experiences?

Walk the Stones

There are only three days left before I leave for Rome and then on to Spannocchia for the first leg of the PhD in visual art through the Institute for Doctoral Studies in Visual Art. Only three days left before..........Italy.......where I can walk on old stones, feel the reverb of history through my shoe leather. I give up the impermanent footprints of the Cherokee and Creek for the clattering stones of an ancient empire. I give up my old ways of thinking for a new perspective on the trajectory of art in the 20th century. Will I ever understand the post-Post Modernity of Altermodernity? Am I a member of that tribe? any tribe? as the old is subverted by the unknown.