Brown ink is fun...

I was out of brown ink, so I went out to the Art Store (or Blick Art as it is now called) and bought a bottle of Windsor and Newton sepia ink. I don't know exactly why, but using brown ink has always been exciting for me. I love black, but throwing a line around in brown is where the real fun lies.

I also got talked into working with oil pastels again, something I have not done in years. I don't know why I went over almost completely to soft pastels. Sure, it is fun pushing powder around on a richly textured paper, but the oil is a blast, particularly when you underdraw lightly, wash it with mineral spirits, then overdraw and use sgraffito to let the underdrawing come through.

So, yes, I am still making art at a crazy pace, even with all of the other stuff that needs to be done. A visit to the lovely tropical plants at the San Francisco Conservatory of Flowers has given me a whole bunch of new ideas (and watch out for new ideas. Dangerous). I am also still plugging away (slowwwwwwwly but surely) at getting an art website up, so you will be able to see my work from the comfort of your own cubicle. Now, now, I know, you are not reading this on company time, but, boy does the number of hits go down on the weekends! Ah, chalk it up to Employee Development.

"I Think I'll Just Sit Here And Drink"

It was bound to happen, and I should have expected it last night. Whenever you are on a roll with painting, particularly watercolors, where you can finish a painting in a relatively short amount of time, you get a turkey.

Reflecting on it all, I suppose that I should have known that I had only a fragment of a pictorial idea, and less of an abstraction strategy. I should have returned either to the theme I had been working on, or worked from life. But no, hubris sets in. I can wing it! I can recreate the image I got from Highway 13 at 70 miles an hour! Forget about it.

So, the day after a session like that, I am bound to sit down and decide whether art is better than drinking.

In both cases we are looking at a similar time commitment: from around 10pm to 2am. In both cases we are looking at a similar zilch in terms of finished product: a dead soldier or pack of empties versus a piece of expensive French watercolor paper, besmirched with costly French watercolors. Cost? At the price they want for good paint and paper, I could have been lapping up a decent single malt. Clean-up? I don't drink to the point of throwing up, so it would have been taking out bottles, cleaning glasses. Instead I was carefully cleaning Kolinsky sable brushes.

Now, the differences: There would have been no expectation of anything to come out of drinking, except maybe some good conversation, and the savoring of whatever it is that I was drinking. Drinking must be social, or it sets up a feedback loop that turns normal people into Charles Bukowski characters. I talk to myself enough. Don't need to do it over a bottle of Oban.

Painting, on the other hand, can never be social, because some dimwit chattering at you as you are trying to get a line or color right makes you paint wrong. That sort of thing drove Pollock back to heavy drinking, and I understand why. Drawing I can do with people nattering away about their cousin Jeb who went to art school and boy is he talented because he can draw any comic book character from memory and it's really crazy at art school because they are all about throwing paint at canvases instead of really drawing, you know, like, all those bulging muscles on superheroes... but not painting.

Sometimes I start painting with music: something rhythmic, lots of Alberti bass, or moving continuo, or jazz. Then I move to so something much more meditative: Morton Feldman or Keith Jarrett playing the Goldberg Variations on harpsichord, or maybe Respighi or Nino Rota (have to be in the mood) or some Scandinavian avant-garde jazz, something austere. Then, as I get deeper into the painting, all I want to hear is the sound of brush on paper, palette knife on canvas, footsteps, sharpening pencils and charcoals, only the sounds of work.

So, painting is not good for company. Drinking is. That would make drinking the better activity.

Can't drive after a good night of drinking? I am always too spent to drive or do much of anything after a lengthy painting session.

Slur my speech? OK, but I rarely have much to say that is of any interest after painting:

E: Alizarin crimson's got that blue thing going.

M: What?

E: Alizarin. Oh, maybe permanent red would have worked better, but then I would have had to cool down the Naples. Naples yellow. That is a great color.

M: Is that the bright yellow that is almost orange?

E: No, thats cad yellow medium. Naples is like sand. Sandstone. Can't use hue, though. Commie plot, hue. Gotta be real Naples yellow. Lead, baby, lead! Oh yeah, do you see any yellow paint or white paint on me? Those both have lead, and I should wash them off. Maybe I should have used a warmer red, though.

Erik retreats to the studio, where he stays for another two hours

E: Well, just blew that. The colors were good, but then they got all loused up with that crappy permanent red. Should have stuck with the alizarin...

M: What do you think of the candidates for mayor?

E: I would rather paint Ignacio, to tell you the truth. More fun woriking on his eyes and forehead. Dellums, I don't know. I would have to do some drawings. I don't know what he looks like as well.

M: I mean their policies.

E: Well, you could use some symbols in the background, although either one could have a hammer and sickle back there. I suppose horns on Ron Dellums would be too much symbolism? Maybe the ghost of Jim Jones hovering over him...

And so on. Painting makes you think only of painting. Drinking, well, you think of all sorts of things.

Then there is the day after. Too much booze and you have a headache, are sensitive to light, are tired, and fairly useless all morning. Too much painting and you have a headache, are sensitive to light, are tired and fairly useless all morning, but you have the urge to go out and do more. It's like dope. With a hangover, I don't want to smell the stuff. With painting, I want to dive right back into it.

The horrid painting in the other room beckons. I must go. I have no choice. I see gobs of gouache in my future.

I should have called Jared over last night and opened a bottle of the good stuff...

Another Painting in the Bag!

Still on an incredible roll, although tonight's watercolor was not that good. Still, another painting is finished. Sure, these are watercolors: it's not like I am cranking out oil paintings (those things take forever to get done). And, the process for building an art website is rolling on as well. All this means that you will get a chance to see my work without having to come to Oakland or tracking things down in Pittsburg, Sacramento, Santa Cruz, Portland, Fiddletown, or wherever else the things might be.

On a side note: watercolors smell funny. I like the smell of oils much better, and it is not that the turps make me light headed (they don't, which is good, because I have known artists who cannot work with the real thing anymore, and I have yet to find a perfect substitute. Mineral spirits work fairly well, but turpentine is much better. That orange non-toxic stuff is wretched). The best smell is encaustic. Gotta love that beeswax.

De New De Young, not De Old De Young

Yesterday we went to a members' preview of the new De Young Museum. It opens to the general public on Saturday.

Since I am still painting furiously (finished, I think...have to look at it again, the eighth painting in the last three weeks), the blog has had to take a back seat. So, until I get a block of time at the computer (and not one in which I need to delete spam comments and pings for an hour), this brief review will have to do:

1. Great building. I did not like the look of the plans, but the real thing is stunning. The copper siding will be particularly cool as it ages. The galleries are comfortable, the art is allowed to really shine (and when we are talking about nineteenth century art like Bierstadt and Church, shine it does), and the courtyards are a pleasant respite for the eyes.

2. Six or seven Diebenkorns, including Seawall, one of my all time favorites.

3. At least seven Thiebauds. Yipee!

4. Great view from the tower.

5. Did I mention all the nineteenth century stuff? Thomas Hill, Thomas Moran, Frederic (not Thomas) Church, James A.M. Whistler, Sargeant, Prendergrast, etc. Feast for the eyes.

6. The Piazzoni murals are stunning in their new home. I have never seen them in person, and to be able to walk around looking at them was a real treat.

7. Cool site specific works...more on that later.

8. Good early American modernist works: John Marin, Marsden Hartley (can't seem to get enough of him recently), an interesting Rothko (from, I think, his days in San Francisco), a lovely Motherwell.

9. Location. Location. Location. A museum in a great park wins points simply by being in the great park.

Art Photos

TSO asks why I don't post photos of my artwork on the blog, and it is a good question.

The answer is complex, but here goes:

1. I am planning on having a different website to show (and sell) artwork. On it I will have all of my paintings and drawings that pass my standards. I was hoping to have this site up this summer, but my web designer lives in a different city, has had a baby, etc. We just don't communicate often enough, and, since getting this project up and running will take a considerable amount of work, I have been waiting until there is a break in my schedule. The longer it gets, though, the higher the priority this project gets, so as soon as I write the four restaurant reviews I have to file in the next week, I will probably start work on it.

2. Obviously I will need to photograph my art. If I don't do it right, I might as well not do it. I have been debating hiring someone or simply setting up a photo day and doing it myself with the fancy digital camera that we can use from the newspaper. Since I have a general aversion to photographers, I have opted for the second, which means that I will need to take a couple of days (when the camera is available) and spend it tinkering with lighting and so forth.

3. I have no idea how to post images to this site (or any site). I have not learned web design, and have no intention of spending any time on the matter until I have a site dedicated to showing art, at which point I will post lots and lots of pictures (and will let my readers here know about it when it happens).

4. This blog lives on my friends' server, and I don't want to use up too much bandwidth.

So, until then you will have to come to Oakland to see my work (although some of it is in Sacramento, and scattered pieces can be found in private collections in Portland, Pittsburg (PA, does that one use the "h" or is it the one in California?), Fiddletown, Santa Cruz, St. Louis, and points in between). If you really want to see some neat art online, why not look at my friend Jared's over at Artgoblin? It looks nothing at all like my work, but Jared is quite good. He also took some good bullfight pictures a few years ago that you can see.

She's Real Fine my 419 (Travel Prep Begins!)

This is a test of the emergency scam mark system. It is only a test. If it were a real emergency, some poor dodo would be preparing to go on a Vacation to Hell and some crooks in Africa would be drooling heavily. Tee hee hee. As usual Ernie's reply is in the extended entry. He is starting to show signs of being a bit difficult, but you will be amazed at how much a scammer will tolerate if numbers like $10,000 are muttered here and there. Also, I bet you didn't know that he is an Americanist, a crypto-Protestant, and a CINO? You know, the more I create this Ernie, the less I like him. Perhaps I will kill him off right before he is supposed to arrive, and have his assistant take over, starting the whole ball of wax again...

Hello Ernie it was quite nice to get your email,today alot of work i had to do in the office after a management meeting i had a closed door section with the manager so he suggested you have to come,so what you decide and what amount do we have to offer him because he is understanding we want to use the funds for helping the poor so we are not meant to tell him our intentions we just give him something,so what do u think how much should we offer him to make him happy and sign the approval documents,so you should start making plans of coming to south africa ok,tomorrow i will tell you the airport,so what do u think we offer the manager lets know so he gives approval ok,keep me informed and tell me what you are planning about requestal form ok.

LISA

Lisa,

I don't exactly know the standards and prices for things in your country, but do you think that this manager would be happy with, maybe $50? I imagine that in your country this could buy a lot, certainly more than it could buy in America, where everything is expensive, mostly due to the hard work and dilligence of the American people, so that people can get more and more and more. We call it the Protestant Work Ethic, but there are even some Catholics who believe in it too (don't tell our bishops!), because we realize that there is nothing greater than being an American and a Republican, and we should work to get money, because that is how we know that God loves us, and we really don't need to have any foreigners tell us how to run our lives, our country, and our government. Anyway, would $50 be adequate? I am thinking that what he wants is a little bit of money to buy a cow or a zebra or whatever it is that people can buy over there. In America we would have to pay him thousands of dollars, but there is so much more to buy here, as America is very modern and you can go to a Wall*Mart and just fill up your house with marvelous goods at good prices, but perhaps it is not so in Africa, where all you have are a few cows and beads and trinkets and the occassional rug. But, like I said, I am a good listener, in fact, one of the best, and since you are living in the region at hands, you would have a much better intimation of what the going rate should be. I don't want to be miserly, but we shouldn't give this man more than he needs. Because you might think that he is going to buy things for his family, but often as not a man will just engage prostitutes and drink his life away, and that would be a shame for him and for his money. I know that you are a very dilligence and hard working person, but I also know, from my time in Nam, that many people in the foreign countries are not so, and they just spend money on pleasures that are bad for their health and families. I think it is how these countries got to be so foreign to begin with. If they had American values, there would be no corruption and everyone would be much happier. So, I will plan on coming to South Africa and to leave in about a week. Perhaps I will take some extra time off work so I can see a bit of the country. I have never seen a Pygmie or a Hottentot and would also love to see tigers in the jungle. It is a childhood image, that goes back to a book about a little boy and a tiger and pancakes, and I would very much like to see that. Tell me, though, what should I bring and pack. Is it always hot in the jungle there? Also, should I bring a gun, in case I get accosted by wild men? And you will need to tell me how much cash. I can probably bring as much as around $10,000 if we really need it, but I don't think we should be giving money away like that if we can get away with giving the man maybe $50 and a package of cigarettes. Please advise as soon as possible.

-Ernie

Art, art, art, and I am not talking about Paul Simon's buddy

It has been a long time since I have posted anything about art. Partly it's because I have been wanting to spend more time doing it and time spent writing about it must be deducted from the time spent doing it. Also, it is because I have not been to the museums all that often recently. I did see (and enjoy) the George Herms show at Sacramento's Crocker Art Museum (and I bought a piece of art from their Art Vending Machine), as well as a cool show at the Paul Thiebaud Gallery (although I am drawing a blank at the fellow's name. Realist. Been dead for a few years. Good painter. It will come to me and I will post it later).

I did have something strange happen last night, though. I dreamed about painting a painting, and remember all of the visual details of the dream EXCEPT for the painting itself. So I can't tell you if it was any good or not. Sorry.

I'm Back! And some Baaaad Architecture...

First, I am finally settled back after vacation. Thanks to you who kept checking in!

So, what better way to resume blogging than by giggling at Domino's, I mean, Ave Maria's new proposed oratory. Go here to see what looks like a comic take on the gothic. The proportions are to good architecture as the dialog of the most recent Star Wars flick is to good writing, or what Domino's is to good pizza.

I wonder if the building is not finished in 30 minutes if they get it for free.

Teachout Cultural Preference Indicator (or whatever he calls it)

From Terry Teachout

If you had to choose, would you pick (my preferences in bold):

1. Fred Astaire or Gene Kelly?
2. The Great Gatsby or The Sun Also Rises?
3. Count Basie or Duke Ellington?
4. Cats or dogs?
5. Matisse or Picasso?
6. Yeats or Eliot?
7. Buster Keaton or Charlie Chaplin?
8. Flannery O’Connor or John Updike?
9. To Have and Have Not or Casablanca?
10. Jackson Pollock or Willem de Kooning?
11. The Who or the Stones?
12. Philip Larkin or Sylvia Plath?
13. Trollope or Dickens? [no preference, as I haven't (gulp) read Trollope]
14. Billie Holiday or Ella Fitzgerald?
15. Dostoyevsky or Tolstoy?
16. The Moviegoer or The End of the Affair?
17. George Balanchine or Martha Graham?
18. Hot dogs or hamburgers?
19. Letterman or Leno?
20. Wilco or Cat Power?
21. Verdi or Wagner?
22. Grace Kelly or Marilyn Monroe?
23. Bill Monroe or Johnny Cash? [tie. Both are very dear to my heart and ears]
24. Kingsley or Martin Amis?
25. Robert Mitchum or Marlon Brando?
26. Mark Morris or Twyla Tharp?
27. Vermeer or Rembrandt?
28. Tchaikovsky or Chopin?
29. Red wine or white? [but it depends on the red, the white, the temperature, the time of day, the occasion, the menu, etc.]
30. Noël Coward or Oscar Wilde?
31. Grosse Pointe Blank or High Fidelity? [have not seen High Fidelity]
32. Shostakovich or Prokofiev?
33. Mikhail Baryshnikov or Rudolf Nureyev?
34. Constable or Turner?
35. The Searchers or Rio Bravo?
36. Comedy or tragedy?
37. Fall or spring?
38. Manet or Monet?
39. The Sopranos or The Simpsons?
40. Rodgers and Hart or Gershwin and Gershwin?
41. Joseph Conrad or Henry James?
42. Sunset or sunrise?
43. Johnny Mercer or Cole Porter?
44. Mac or PC?
45. New York or Los Angeles?
46. Partisan Review or Horizon?
47. Stax or Motown?
48. Van Gogh or Gauguin? [but only by a hair]
49. Steely Dan or Elvis Costello?
50. Reading a blog or reading a magazine? [I am a child of dead tree culture]
51. John Gielgud or Laurence Olivier?
52. Only the Lonely or Songs for Swingin’ Lovers?
53. Chinatown or Bonnie and Clyde?
54. Ghost World or Election? [Have not seen either]
55. Minimalism or conceptual art?
56. Daffy Duck or Bugs Bunny?
57. Modernism or postmodernism?
58. Batman or Spider-Man?
59. Emmylou Harris or Lucinda Williams?
60. Johnson or Boswell?
61. Jane Austen or Virginia Woolf?
62. The Honeymooners or The Dick Van Dyke Show?
63. An Eames chair or a Noguchi table?
64. Out of the Past or Double Indemnity?
65. The Marriage of Figaro or Don Giovanni?
66. Blue or green?
67. A Midsummer Night’s Dream or As You Like It?
68. Ballet or opera?
69. Film or live theater?
70. Acoustic or electric?
71. North by Northwest or Vertigo?
72. Sargent or Whistler?
73. V.S. Naipaul or Milan Kundera?
74. The Music Man or Oklahoma?
75. Sushi, yes or no?
76. The New Yorker under Ross or Shawn?
77. Tennessee Williams or Edward Albee?
78. The Portrait of a Lady or The Wings of the Dove?
79. Paul Taylor or Merce Cunningham?
80. Frank Lloyd Wright or Mies van der Rohe?
81. Diana Krall or Norah Jones?
82. Watercolor or pastel?
83. Bus or subway?
84. Stravinsky or Schoenberg?
85. Crunchy or smooth peanut butter?
86. Willa Cather or Theodore Dreiser?
87. Schubert or Mozart?
88. The Fifties or the Twenties? [this is hard. If we mean the fifties of rock and roll, drive-ins, and all that crap, then the Twenties, hands down. But if we mean the Fifties of Abstract Expressionism's peak (Diebenkorn Berkeley series), Beat poetry, red-baiting, bebop, and all that, the Fifties have it. Also, I think Prohibition was the darkest of America's days]
89. Huckleberry Finn or Moby-Dick?
90. Thomas Mann or James Joyce?
91. Lester Young or Coleman Hawkins?
92. Emily Dickinson or Walt Whitman?
93. Abraham Lincoln or Winston Churchill?
94. Liz Phair or Aimee Mann?
95. Italian or French cooking?
96. Bach on piano or harpsichord? [and I hold anyone in anathema who says otherwise]
97. Anchovies, yes or no?
98. Short novels or long ones? Good ones, regardless of length.
99. Swing or bebop?
100. "The Last Judgment" or "The Last Supper"?

Teachout's selections are all the first entries.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

NOTE: what follows is more in the line of thinking with the keyboard. I do not propose to actually hold to any of it (nor do I claim not to). Looking at it after I finished it, I realize that it is disjointed and really talks about several things that probably should be broken up. If it weren't 2:06am I might even do this, but I am afraid that if I were to save it for later, it would never make it, and I would rather get some of this out there. I would love to hear your thinking with the keyboard on this matter. Comment away!

I have been thinking about the Beautiful recently. And if one is thinking about the Beautiful, then one must think about the limits of Beauty. In other words: where does Beauty end and Ugliness begin?

If matter is Good and Beautiful (if the Capitalizations offend, sorry, it's just my Inner German taking over), and evil is the result of the witholding of a due Good, then ugliness must be strictly a product of a rebellious will, no?

So, ugliness doesn't exist in nature, correct? I mentioned this to a friend and he replied, "what about poop?"

I have been thinking about poop, and have to come to the conclusion that we must make a distinction between the repulsive and the ugly. Repulsion has a function in the natural world: poop is not good for us to consume, so it is repulsive. Thus the repulsion is a beautiful thing.

Of course not all nature is so well coded. Certain mushrooms are quite delicious, before the liver fails and breathing stops. But to say that poop lacks Beauty seems to be false. Poop is not a consequence of sin, rather it is a consequence of eating. Good, wholesome, completely moral food eaten in moderation still results in poop.

Yes, we are going through the trials of potty training (not me, nudnik!) in our household. Why do you ask?

Anyway, it all boils down to this question: If ugliness is to beauty as evil is to good, then ugliness must represent the willful lack of a due beauty, and must be the product of sin, then is ugliness impossible in nature without the workings of fallen man or demons?

This brings us to Art. It would seem that the charge of an artist is to create beauty. Now, if the artist observes something ugly, what is his duty towards it? To omit it (and avoid the risk of glamorizing it)? To highlight it, thus creating due repulsion towards said ugliness (bringing good from existing evil)? To find the parts of the thing that are good and emphasize those?

On the one hand you have art as spiritual uplift: the artist does not portray ugliness, rather shows the beauty of the ugly situation had the wills involved been oriented towards the Good. If a situation is so bad and ugly that this is impossible for the artist, then the subject is rejected as unfit for art.

However, there is the duty of the artist to portray Truth. And the truth is that we do some pretty hideous things to one another. By portraying events, situations, states of mind accurately, we deepen our understanding of the subject matter. We may create resonances in our audience that communicate (always a dangerous thing to look for in art) the commonality of the human experience, bringing about the possibility for later uplift.

Then there is the part of me that recoils against the whole notion of content in art. Art is something bigger than simply reporting, something that does its best teaching by teaching obliquely. If I were to look at a Diebenkorn Ocean Park painting, there is no clear moral, there is not even a subject, exactly. Instead there are various references to things in the world that I might see or can imagine, but without a subject that can be verbalized. What is there is Beauty, Joy, and an invitation towards an interior dialog: Contemplation.

However, I cannot say (or won't say) that the obliteration of the Subject is the ultimate end of Fine Art. To paraphrase Arnold Schoenberg: there are still plenty of great paintings to depict things and events. I do find in my own work a tendency to move towards a Symbolist approach to art: to find as much inspiration in musical (abstract) structures as in concrete structures.

While I am working a little less in the messy abstract expressionist vein that I normally work in, I still find a lot appealing in the raw, encrusted, painterly surfaces of AbEx (which is one of the reasons that I am working in little, miserly brush strokes, as a discipline to focus my attention on working within strict parameters, a valuable lesson I got from studying composition with Gordon Mumma at UC Santa Cruz). I find the aesthetic of AbEx fairly easy to grasp: paring painting/sculpture down to the creation of things, often using the detritus (in terms of images as well as objects) of society to bring forth the Beautiful.

And here's the clincher: I find it easier to come to terms with this understanding of painting than with dealing with concrete subject matter. When I stand before a canvas and work with gesture and line and color to create something that is itself first and foremost, it seems pretty straightforward: I am attempting to create something beautiful. It might not work, but the goal is there. I am not trying to say anything about something. But when I go at a canvas with a historical or narrative in mind, there is something else that comes into the picture, and it is nearly impossible to get away from the temptation to paint words, to argue by pigment, which then weakens what should be the primary aim of art, which is to create Beautiful things.

June is Painting and Sculpture Month

Having made it through May, which was a busy month of writing (I was warned about these months, as well as those other months where you get next to nothing, by an old friend and fellow writer), and seeing a break in the super heavy writing schedule (I actually welcome it this month - sure when the May checks arrive I will be happy, but weeks of two, even three, deadline days get tough), I have declared June to be Studio Month.

Well, that and finally build a website for my art. OK, more like, finally come up with the content for my designer to build a website. You see, I do not know HTML, and would rather spend my time mastering mosaic than it. Ann, on the other hand, is quite good at this stuff. Unfortunately one can only pester friends, even very good friends, for one free website design, but she is quite reasonable and does a great job.

Of course this means that I will have to get digital images together of my work, and I will have to curate it, which always suggests a direction to take in the next round of paintings.

And, I think I have it. Since I will be working on mosaics for more pragmatic reasons, why not delve back into the archaic and combine tempera on gesso with gold? Yipppeeee! Halos! Wings! Also, I need to do some fine, small stroke painting. I have been back in the realm of big, messy oil painting with big, messy gestures, and have to balance that with lots of fussy, diagonal strokes, building layers and layers of color over a carefully squared and transfered drawing.

Now, why should this concern you, you ask?

Because I have the habit of talking about art a lot when I am doing it a lot. It always seems to be on my mind. And that will probably spill over onto the blog.

Also, when I am in heavy art production mode, my thinking of art tends to involve a lot of technical and theoretical stuff. I know that art writing generates almost zero comments, so I guess that my readers are less interested in those topics, so...

If you, a regular reader, feel that you are not getting your money's worth (and free certainly gives you good reason to complain. Har har har. Don't worry, I will not be putting out a PayPall tips jar), then holler for something else. I will probably say something like, "well, that is nice, dear, and yes, perhaps. Later. Thank you for your comment," or something equally condescending, but you might as well complain anyway. After all complaint must be good for you. It builds healthy bodies and minds in nine different ways!

And everyone loves a constant complainer.

So, to start the ball rolling, I am going to make a complaint. Actually it is a meta-complaint, since it is a complaint about a type of complaint. And it is not really my original meta-complaint, rather one that Melanie noticed.

Don't women (I suppose some men do this to, but I don't hang out with men like that) who wear ill-fitting shoes in order to follow some fashion, only to complain constantly that their feet are killing them drive you nuts? Is this really just a ploy to get comments on their stupid shoes?

"Oh I bought these new Masochist900 Slippers and they are just killing my feet!"

"Shucks, I left my antique eighteenth century surgeon's kit in the car. Just hold on and we can take care of the affliction immediately. You might want to order a double martini, as I am plumb out of ether."

Which reminds me of a cartoon in an early music journal. A fellow is in the dentist chair and the dentist is proudly explaining all the period tools he will be using in tonight's operation. I suppose a harpsichordist probably should submit to a foot-pedal powered dentist drill.

But back to those stupid shoes...

First, let me say that I hate shoes. I wear them as little as possible. Sure the callouses on my feet are something like rhino horns, and, yes, it is true that when a glass breaks in our kitchen I do the final inspection by walking barefoot over the area and then picking the shards out of my feet, where they did no harm whatsoever, but I still see them as a slightly necessary evil. There are times when I need them for the protection they offer, and I think, "well, if I did this more often I wouldn't need these stupid shoes."

But, as they are socially and sometimes physically necessary, I have my favorites, all of which win points based on comfort and price (OK, with the exception of wingtips, but that is because I like intricate leather work). If a shoe is uncomfortable I will not wear it. Now, surely there are people who will dispute this, but I don't think that my cheap and comfortable shoes look all that bad. OK, maybe the recent kick for Land's End Mocs is a little Teutonic looking, but all I can say is $19 and comfortable.

So, why bother with uncomfortable (and always expensive, I would guess. As I hate shopping about as much as I hate shoes, I really don't know) shoes?

And, if there is any merit to wearing miserable shoes, then, surely, the greater merit must come in suffering in silence. Penance for fashion. I don't get it, but I don't generally understand fashion anyway. But at least a penitential view would put some bloody nobility in the undertaking. Naturally, the best combination for such a thing would be to wear ugly and uncomfortable shoes, and maintain a pleasant demeanor, even while dancing the tango all night.

So, maybe that could be a fun sculptural project: penitential shoes. Ugly, bulky, painful shoes. Maybe with a rating system for degree of penance: the once in a while curse at another driver: Degree A, for a once a month gluttony episode: Degree B, for killing someone: Degree C, for proposing the ordination of women: Degree D with barbed wire insoles.

Ah, I feel healthier and happier already.

Architecture, Mosaics, and Rodia

In the comments box below, Stephen asks a very good question: what would Pacific Rim architecture really entail?

I have been thinking about this all day. Of course the first thing that comes to mind is a sort of East meets West syncretism, except that more often than not, that approach fails and looks cheap. Also, that sort of dialog generally posits the Pacific Rim as being the United States and China/Japan, ignoring the Southern part of the Pacific Rim.

But, this sort of pick and choose menu of architecture is almost a guarantee for cornball, so a Pacific Rim architecture must have something much more interesting as a foundation.

Then it dawned on me: first, the Pacific Rim is a European creation. Before Europeans hit the area, communications, commerce, and the general exchange of ideas accross the Pacific were rare to non-existant. Thor Heyerdahl aside, the most that really happened was the occasional Chinese ship blown off course, but there was never settlement or anything that even remotely treated the Pacific Rim as a region. That happened later.

Second: The Pacific Rim has a lot of seismic activity. You want volcanos? We've got 'em! Earthquakes? Just felt one a week or so ago!

Third: Any architecture, to sing of its region, must draw from the materials of the region. Nowadays you only find redwoods in California, a little part of Oregon and China (although it is a different variety than our two). However, redwood used to cover much more of the Pacific Rim (at least the northern part). To make redwood even more attractive for use in Pacific Rim architecture, it flexes and makes remarkably earthquake resistant buildings.

Fourth: It certainly does some good to go looking at the similarities found in the architecture around the Pacific Rim, and I think it is safe to say that the Pacific Rim emphasizes horizontality. From the Longhouses of the Indians of the Pacific Northwest to the architecture of China and Japan, to the Polynesian buildings, I think of our architecture as tending towards the horizontal, which makes sense in the event of seismic activity.

So, for something to start with: Combining redwood with horizontality to create broad masses. Then, to use regional stone and other timbers. Reference to Spanish and other European roots in the form of ornaments, tile roofs, etc.

Now, I have mentioned in the past on this blog that I am getting very interested in mosaics. I work with another sculptor who does the metal work, and then I am in charge of the cement and mosaic, and other such elements. Since he lives in San Diego, it makes things a little tricky, but slowly we are working out the details of logistics.

I have always liked mosaics, but in the course of learning more about the medium I am finding that I probably have Rodia-like tendencies. I am not going to build mystical towers in the backyard, but I can't say that the idea doesn't appeal to me.

For some reason I could easily see myself building one of those concrete gardens full of glued together bric-a-brac. I have been reading about some of the folk artists who have embraced this aesthetic, and I find it strangely appealing. In the meanwhile I am making some small pieces, testing out techniques and designs for use in bigger pieces. Keep your eyes on this space (or hopefully a new website, just to show art work and to keep the blog free of too many images) for more details, but I will probably be letting them go for somewhat reasonable prices.

I am always on the lookout for interesting mosaic pieces, so if know of one, particularly in a surprising place, please let me know. I am particularly interested in works that started as private obsessions, only becoming public later.

The Oakland Cathedral

Welcome, readers of the Curt Jester. I stumbled on this link just a few minutes ago, and am, naturally, caught unprepared (on a morning after a long bullfight, nonetheless). So, here goes:

My first inclination when I saw the plans for the Cathedral were: that monstrosity looks like some giant turbine.

However, the more I look at the renderings, the more that I think it is a fine building... to showcase one of the better pieces in the collection of the Smithsonian's National Museum of Air and Space. All of that light, the high ceiling, the glass, the steel.

And then it dawned on me: this is a Protestant church. And it was designed by one of the followers of the Real Absence (I believe that the architect is a member of that dismal cult called the Anglican Episcopal Church or A Bunch of Poofters and Priestesses in Cahoots with a Druid or whatever it goes by this month. Ooooh. The Ecumenically thenthitive will get their noses out of joint at that one! Hoo boo. The Ecumenically thenthitive have gone away from this place a long time ago).

Then I saw the internal rendering and started to giggle. Church in the round. Oh lovely. That is the reason that I do not step foot in Our Lady of Lourdes on the other side of the lake (well, that and icons to the heresiarch Dr Martin Luther King Jr and Dorothy Day (hey, at least she's Catlick!), and the wretched liturgy, the heresy preached (often by nuns), the dismal downcast priest, who embodies the permascowl generation...).

So, I really hope that the Cathedral sits empty. It is about the only time that I like to see sparsely attended masses: when activists seem determined to hijack the liturgy to prove points. Maybe the Diocese can this sell this Turd to the Chabot Space and Science Center, who should turn it into the downtown station for a really cool cable car to take tourists up to the observatory in the hills.

Now, as to the revivalist pastiche that I have seen floating around as an alternative: it is better, but not much. It has all the marks of student work, and would be much better suited to some place that is completely devoid of character. I won't be so mean as to mention which state(s) I am thinking of, but they ain't Alta California.

What we need is an architect who has walked around Oakland, Berkeley, etc. and understands this place. Someone who loves the traditions of arts and craftsmanship that have flourished in Oakland. Someone who is smitten with the native woods (Redwood and California bay laurel and madrone) and minerals (serpentine!) of our land. Someone who is not so stuck on their own traditionalism to realize that tradition is a living breathing thing (I am increasingly lowering my expectations from what shall come from Duncan Stroik and his students, which is a shame since they certainly demonstrate a lot of talent, judging from the stuff on the internet. Too bad it is being driven towards such insipidity).

Somewhere in the past I proposed a direction for the Oakland Cathedral. You can search the archives.

Now, note that I do not fault Bishop Vigneron, who was stuck with this project.

Let's just hope that the Diocese sells it and uses the money to build a good Cathedral.

As for good modern church architecture: look to St. Mary's Cathedral in San Francisco (and I mean in person, not just in pictures). Go study it, walk around it, go to mass in it, and you will see what I mean.

Favorite Painting in America and Favorite American Painting

Tyler Green is talking about his favorite painting in American and his favorite American painting.

Hmmm. That is an interesting thought. I am not sure that I can answer either, because as soon as I come up with a "yup, it's that one" then I remember "oh, yeah. That one, too."

My favorite American painting is probably one of Ed Corbett's Provincetown paintings, or a late Frank Lobdell. But then again, what about Richard Diebenkorn's Seawall, and then there is the whole question of Guston, and what about Robert Ryman, and... you see the difficulty?

I really don't think I can answer that.

As to my favorite painting in America, that would probably be one of the Bonnard's, but I am not sure. Sometimes Matisse grips me more, sometimes I have to go with Diebenkorn.

Too broad a field, and I am far too moody when it comes to art. Sorry.

Actually the one all-time favorite painting of mine is the one that I am going to paint next. It really is the culmination of all the ideas I have been working with recently, will be perfectly executed, etc. But then it becomes the most recently finished painting of mine, which is the painting I detest most, becuase I know what it was supposed to have been and where I accepted which compromise, and blew which color choice, etc.

Alas.

Gerhard Richter

Tyler Green notes that Richter has a bullfight painting.

Ah, Richter!

For the life of me, I could never figure out why I did not like his paintings. When I took a long look at them, I realized that he is a good painter with some interesting ideas (although I hate using that word in regards to painting, as it has come to imply non-painting ideas. Here I use it only to refer to ways of puting pigment and binder on a substrate), but he did nothing at all for me.

I realized that this is one of those cases where the deficiency in the relationship between the viewer and the painting had to lie in the viewer, sort of like my long indifference to Dexter Gordon, a fine tenorman who I had very little use for other than to appreciate as a great player.

When I realized that there was indeed something to Gordon, I went out and bought a CD of his, on the recommendation of Berrigan Taylor, the proprietor of a fine Jazz record store in Oakland. Gradually I got inside of the melodic inventiveness of Gordon and got to actually like his playing. I will admit that Dexter Gordon still does not have a place on my Desert Island list, but perhaps he should.

So, with that in mind I have been taking long looks at Richter, whenever the chance arose. Like the music of Dexter Gordon, Richter's painting is still not in my list of favorites, but I am finding that I LIKE it more. I have always admired it, but now I actually am starting to enjoy looking at it.

One of the big problems with arts appreciation in our modern age is that too many people cannot accept that something they don't like might be quite good, and that something that they like should be held as a guilty pleasure, depending on a variety of external factors that don't make the work one iota better (you can take my Howard Jones CD when you pry it from my cold dead fingers).

The very notion of learning to like a great piece of art strikes many as absurd. Their tastes, they feel (not think, or at least think too deeply), are a part of their identity, and should be clung to at all costs. Too bad. Arts appreciation should hone our tastes (oh no, Keilholtz is being anti-relativistic again). We should work at conforming our likes and dislikes to what we intelligently discern as the Good, the True, and the Beautiful.

I am curious as to whether any of my readers have had similar experiences of realizing that a work one disliked was actually good, and went about learning to like it?

Bullfights and Art

A discussion is beginning on Mundo Taurino, the International Taurine Email list, about a couple of famous paintings that feature the fiesta brava. It has made me think of artists who used the bulls as subject matter or who had an interest in the bullfight:

Manet
Goya
Picasso
Still
Diebenkorn
Oliveira
I guess I will list Conrad and certainly Fulton, although Conrad was even less of an artist than he is a writer. Fulton was good at times, though.

I am sure that there are others. It is late, and Melanie is sound asleep in the bedroom, where most of my art books are (and Amalia is asleep in her bedroom where the remainder are, as well as my bullfight library), so I will not be able to dig around until tomorrow. But, if any of you can think of any examples or anecdotes of bullfight-related art, please share.

And speaking of bullfights, we are in the thick of the California Bullfight Season, so if any of you are interested in going one of these Monday nights, holler. I am thinking that the 23rd is a definite for me, although the 16th might be good, too. I don't think I will be going this Monday, and certainly not tomorrow, as much as I would like to.

Anyway, the calendar is at bullfights.org, so you can see for yourself what is scheduled.

With the rain that we have been having, I imagine that several of the bullfights have been cancelled. I have not talked to anyone in the Valley, so I don't know. I also don't know if there are any plans to reschedule missed ones.

Vamos al toros!

Bonjour Monsieur Courbet

I did make it to the "Bonjour Monsieur Courbet" show at the California Palace of the Legion of Honor, but did not take notes and was with Amalia, who was quite active at the time. Therefore I will not be posting an in-depth review. Let it suffice to say that the show was a good one, with lots of interesting paintings and good curating.

Next show I promise that I will post more. It has been a very busy week.

Art Show Review

Yesterday we went to see the "Bonjour Monsieur Corbet" show at the Legion of Honor.

It was a beautiful day, with sparkling blue skies and all that. We drove up to the Palace and noticed the steam cleaning truck blocking the entryway. I thought that the museum was closed Tuesdays. It wasn't. It was closed yesterday.

So, you will have to wait for a review. Of course this means that I will not get to it until Thursday, so by the time you read the review you will have exactly one and a half days to get to the show. Sorry.

Robert Bechtle at SFMOMA, SECA, and so on and so forth.

Yesterday Amalia and I met a friend and paid a visit to SFMOMA for my first viewing of the Bechtle retrospective. I am WAAAAAAYYYYY to busy to give a detailed review, but here are my quick impressions:

1. Forget the theory. Bechtle is a Californian painter who is basically doing the same thing as Thiebaud and Diebenkorn, which is capturing the light and physical topography of the region, as Cezanne did in his. However, this only applies to when Bechtle's works work. The other thing that Bechtle does in all of his good works is to create mood. More on this later.

2. When Bechtle falls flat, read the theory. When the theory of photorealism wins, the art loses. If you cannot improve on the snapshot, why waste my time and a lot of canvas?

3. Bechtle is at his weakest when painting automobiles or outdoor snapshots of people.

4. Bechtle is at his best when he lets the mood of the place come through, particularly in his interior spaces. He is also quite good at painting streets, so long as he doesn't get all hung up on automobiles.

5. Bechtle's works on paper are fantastic. Much better than his works on canvas. He does stuff with charcoal that is breathtaking. Note that I have not yet gone to the Crown Point Press exhibit.

For more on Bechtle, read what Tyler Green has to say or what Anna L. Conti has to say (she really has a thorough look at these, including some images).

As for SECA, I was pleasantly surprised. I did not get to spend the time that I wanted, because Amalia was asleep in the stroller, and I wanted to keep her that way for another half hour, at least, which means that the stroller cannot stop too long. I will try to get back next week to take a closer look.

And, finally, the power of the critic: awhile back Tyler Green pointed out that SFMOMA neglected to have ONE painting by Wayne Thiebaud in its second floor rehang. I was ashamed to admit that I had not noticed, particularly since Thiebaud is one of my biggest influences (and a fellow Sacramentan). Well, someone at SFMOMA must read Mr. Green, because they had a lovely Thiebaud delta painting up.

I can't remember what was in the spot before. I am afraid that it was another Diebenkorn, though. Too bad. They should have removed (and sold) a Warhol.

Fresno?

To answer Mr. Green's question here, all I can say is that when you are in the Bay Area (and people in Shallow Alto do think they are in the Bay Area, even though they aren't), anything between the Berkeley Hills and Lake Tahoe is "Fresno." It is more a state of mind than a specific place.

Now, for those of us who know the Central Valley and can tell the difference between Merced and Modesto (Modesto has a sign that says "Water=Wealth=Prosperity=Health" or maybe it is Merced that has that sign), we know that it isn't all Fresno.

It certainly can be divided up into broad categories: North (Chico, Paradise, Williams, Willows, Marysville, Yuba City), Central (Sacramento, Davis, Dixon, Vacaville), San Joaquin (Stockton, Tracy, Turlock, Merced, Stevinson, Gustine, Los Banos), and South San Joaquin (Fresno, Tulare). Now, for those who really know the South San Joaquin Valley, they probably will identify a regional feel between Buttonwillow and Fresno, but it eludes those of us who just think of endless fields of cotton and alkali flats.

As for the border areas (Galt and Lodi come to mind), well, I leave that to the locals as to which way they identify.

Pollock and the Problem of Reproductions

I was asked to comment on Jackson Pollock, a painter that I find myself admiring more and more these days. I started to write something, but realized that a big problem that I was having was that I have not seen much of his work in a long time. SFMOMA has a very interesting painting called Guardians of the Spirit, which is worth looking at, but the stuff that I really want to delve into are the "drip" paintings, which are the ones that get most people to scratch their heads.

There are two problems with discussing Pollock: first, it is essential to discuss Pollock and not Clement Greenberg, who fundamentally misunderstood Abstract Expressionism in general and Pollock in particular. Greenberg is fun to read, but maddening as well, and he has far too much of a share in the discussion of this period. For those who believe in progress in painting, there is not much point in discussing Pollock except in terms of where his ideas went. As I have written in the past, the idea is not the crux of the matter, rather it is the painting itself.

A pair of farmers with dour expressions in front of a barn. The be-spectacled man holds a pitchfork.

Not really fodder for discussion, unless we are going to wallow in Jungian symbolism, which we don't allow on this blog.

Maybe we can take it a step beyond that and discuss composition, color, texture, etc., but then we are into ideas that transcend what most people think of when we talk about the "idea" behind a painting. A good painting cannot be reduced to an idea. American Gothic is not a great painting because of what it is "about." The same subject could have made a wretched work that never etched itself into the imagination if it were painted by a lesser painter (or even a greater painter on a bad day).

Likewise, if we were to take Greenberg's notions to their logical conclusion, American Gothic is all about illusion of depth (it must be if flatness is the central idea to Pollock's drip paintings). Of course it isn't, any more than Rembrandt was primarily concerned with depth.

Flatness is one of those unfortunate buzz words that was gushed about, but rarely looked at critically, because if you spend some time in front of one of
Pollock's dripped masterpieces, you will realize that flatness is not even what is going on there. Pollock created an amazing space without the tools of perspective. Like Marden, Pollock did this by using the white (and subtle hues) between the drips, in a sort of exploded aerial perspective. There were holes all over that picture plane, and that is what makes the pieces so delicious. Our eye is drawn in and thrown forward in a strange pictorial space that rapidly moves between the surface, deep space and shallow space. Pollock has achieved the effect on eyes willing to take the time to see that the Italian Futurists only dreamed of: of radical motion, the central defining experience of the modern age.

Of course this is part of the fun: if you take a television-conditioned quick view of one of these canvases, you miss it. In order to get the excitement you have to have the patience of someone used to contemplation, of careful study. I daresay that the one who can get the most out of one of these paintings is someone who is well-schooled in classical drawing.

We can get to spectacular wildflower blooms in Death Valley only because of the speed of the motor car, but once we are there, we have to get out of the motorcar to see the richness of the flowers beneath the dessert sunflower, which looks like mustard to the eye whizzing past at 60mph.

So it is with Pollock. To get this uniquely modern experience of the world, we have to do so with eyes capable of pre-modern contemplation, and that is difficult.

But this is all I am going to say on the matter for now, due to the second problem, which is that Pollock's work depend on directness. You really have to see the thing (and to spend some time in front of it) to delve into its mysteries and revelations. Reproductions without the reflections and hints of shadow created by texture, and without the large scale, simply do not do it.

Now, it is perfectly fair to complain that a work that only works in large scale is somewhat deficient. I would argue that ALL works lose something by being reduced or enlarged, and I would argue that it is still possible to discuss Pollock only after seeing reproductions, but that it is difficult. The same is true of Michaelangelo, of Caravaggio, of Rubens, of just about any painter who relied on large scale to impart some of the drama of the painting. We can discuss them, but it is a far too abstract thing to talk about the Sistine Chapel without having at least taken a short look at those walls and ceiling.

So, until I get another chance to spend some time in front of a great drip painting (and I have been itching to get to MOMA to see what I think of the changes, so I might work in a trip sooner than later, but probably not until next year), this will have to do. I simply do not have the experience of the paintings fresh enough in my head to be able to rely on small reproductions in my art books. If I had seen these within the last two years that would work, but it has been longer than that.

Meanwhile, I will have some time to look at the latest exhibit of French realists that is at the Legion of Honor, and probably in the next couple of weeks, so I will be posting my thoughts on that. If you want me to go deeper into Pollock, well, it will cost you: airfare and room in a city that has a fair number of these paintings for me and my family, to be precise. Otherwise, you will have to wait.

The Dead, Redux

I generally maintain a somewhat, kind of, almost policy of not speaking ill of the recent dead, mainly because there are those who might legitimately still mourn their passing. Even for people like my evil, long-lost twin Richard Nixon, who was a CREEP (natch), but you had to figure that there were some folks who called him Uncle Dicky or whatever his clan called him, and it might make them a little sadder than they ought to be to overhear someone say, "well, I guess we won't have Dick Nixon to kick around any more." Also, as I have said before, if I were in politics I would strive for Franco, but would probably wind up Nixon. Got Bugs?

But then you encounter people whose life work has been nothing but a litany of bad: Derrida comes to mind. You pray that they saw the error of their ways in the end, but you find that it is hard to put your own heart into it. You don't want to hear yourself saying, "welcome to Hell, creep" but once in awhile you catch a little echo or two of something along those lines.

There was a death recently that falls into this second category. A death of someone whose influence on art, culture and architecture has been nothing but unfortunate. A person whose philosophy may have sometimes hidden under a cloak of fake irony, but was rotten and evil to the core.

Phillip Johnson passed away in his nineties. Let's pray for his soul and that his work perishes with his body. I always imagined him as a blank-eyed zombie, constantly on the hunt for ways to spread a blanket of doom and despair. He took the worst from every artist, philosopher and architect he studied and rolled it into a big bundle of hideousness.

But he did it with charm and the sort of charisma that appeals to pimps and petty criminals and obviously a lot of East Coast high society. As a result his work was given far too much attention, had far too much influence, and all for evil ends.

If you want to engage in pious hand-wringing about the dead, save it for Carson, who may have been an ephemeral period piece (and he was), but he was good ephemera whose work (overlooking for now his golfing tendencies) was decent and more on the side of good than bad. There is no harm in exagerating the good of a decent, though flawed man. There is great harm in continuing the legacy of Phillip Johnson.

The Bionic Artist

Now, joining the high-tech stuff that looks like tooth that fills up what were once gleaming pools of mercury and tin and whatnot in my molars, and the patch of nylon and Gore-tex that keeps my innards apart from my outtards (and still hurts once in awhile when I twist this way or that, or when Amalia decides that it is a good thing to jump on me knees first, grrr!), I have joined the ranks of those who use artificial contraptions to view the world with clarity.

My eyesight is really not that bad (my prescription is -0.25 in my right eye and -0.75 in the left), but reading at any distance has been difficult in the last few years. So I bit the bullet and went to the O.D., a nice fellow who explained everything clearly, yea, even as clearly as what I now see.

A friend of mine said, "oh, so now that you can see, are you going to stop that Abstract Expressionism and become a photorealist?"

Har har har. Well, not exactly, but...

I am very excited to draw the clarity that I assumed was naturally lost in distance. When I was walking back from getting my new glasses I passed Oakland's City Hall, a lavishly ornamented (and misproportioned) building. I was stunned with how much more detail I could see in the top of the building. I always could see it, but not quite as clearly. Now that parallel lines are coming back to parallel (it still is a little strange to look at my feet through the spectacles), I am ready to try drawing with the things on.

I am wondering if any of my artist readers got glasses late in life and how it changed (if it did at all) the way they draw or paint. Of course there is the classic gag of giving Monet glasses and having him immediately changing to crisp-focused painting, but I am curious how artists in real life have changed with the addition of spectacles.

Being a bit of a pessimist, my first thought was "ACK! I will never be able to paint again, what with this annoying rim of focus and the little things that hold the glasses on my nose (they look like a fly has perched there, and I must resist slapping myself), not to mention that everything is a bit odd." But now I am adjusting to that, and even find that my peripheral vision is not too horribly ruined.

I have to admit that I am tempted to do some photorealistic sort of things, just because the whole sensation of excruciatingly crisp focus is rather new (not completely new, since I had very good vision as a child - it gradually got worse in high school and college, but not so bad that I could felt compelled to do anything about it for many years) and exciting.

Arts Criticism

There is an interesting exchange going on between Tyler Green and Terry Teachout about the merits of specialized versus generalized arts criticism. I definitely have a horse in this race because I never set out to be a harpsichordist or percussionist or to compose electronic music or to study theory or any of that. I went to college figuring that I would be either an art major or a literature major (the former because I have been primarily interested in visual arts for as long as I could remember, the latter because it seemed proper to have an undergraduate degree in some sort of letters).

However, when I got to school the art department was being taken over by flakes and lunatics (a sad thing, seeing as how UCSC had a good art department) and the literature department was already in the grip of flakes and lunatics. After a brief flirtation with astronomy I found myself in Gordon Mumma's History Technology and Literature of Electronic Music class. To make a long story short, I ended up a music major with Gordon Mumma as my advisor, and ended up switching from piano to harpsichord (another long story, but one with a very good ending) and then adding some percussion to the mix.

Certainly all of this music study, especially at a rigorous program like UCSC's, resulted in me knowing a fair bit about music, being able to write about it, to write it, to play it, to edit it, etc., and I even ended up in the music business, but the main influence all of my study of counterpoint, harmony, form, structure, twelve tone matrices, rhythm, texture, and so on, has been on my painting.

For one thing, I don't think that I would have nearly the love of Diebenkorn's work had I not had my background in music (one funny coincidence was that I invented a system of structure based on Stockhausen's Four Criteria of Electronic Music. It resulted in a graphic structure that was based on expanding polyrhythms. Later I looked at one of them and was struck by the similarity it had to one of the Ocean Park series paintings of Diebenkorn. It certainly was not conscious).

Even when I think about the bullfight, I am drawing from concepts in music (usually the relationship of ornament to the written melodies in baroque music, but also in terms of basic structuring of time space, from the division of the whole into parts as well as the specific time and space issues of particular lances and passes).

Obviously it is important for the critic to have a deep specific knowledge of the form he is writing about. If someone is writing about Diebenkorn, I expect them to have a pretty good grasp of painting in general and to have read Nordland, Landauer, Boas and others on twentieth century California painting. And, frankly, I would be more annoyed if this hypothetical critic lacked this specific knowledge than if he lacked the ability to discuss the Ocean Park paintings in the context of musical structures and symbolist poetics. Nothing is worse than the generalist who is ALWAYS out of his depth (for instance that Marin County MD who wrote one of the silliest and shallowest books I have encountered on the relationship between modern art theory and scientific discoveries - lots of superficial appeal and arguments that fell apart as soon as they were looked at too closely. I think the fellow was a surgeon. I hope he knows anatomy better than he knows art or physics).

Now, the thing that is left out of both Teachout and Green is the critic with a scientific background. I remember the first time I read Ruskin and was impressed by how much he knew of matters geological, botanical, etc. I am no scientist (which is defined as one who has a tesla coil in his laboratory and a vaguely mitteleuropaische accent and a nervous giggle), but what I have studied of geology, zoology, anthropology, chemistry, astronomy, etc., has greatly enhanced my ability to think about and comment on art of all sorts, never mind the tremendous fodder that it can be for creating it (I dare you to study the geology of Death Valley and not want to go out and paint or at least to get a glass of water).

So, I will end this with a question for the great generalist Terry Teachout: are you ready to tackle the bullfight yet? Dance, music, drama, it's all there. Ole!

More on SFMOMA

Tyler Green has posted more of his notes on his recent SFMOMA exhibit. I generally agree with him (as I have noted earlier - especially on Thiebaud), but he is understating when he says that SFMOMA is not strong on Picasso. I also must question his take on Deborah Luster. I was underimpressed to say the least.

He is quite correct on praising the Bay Area room with its two Parks, two Diebenkorns and outstanding Joan Brown sculpture. Those who know me know that I think Brown to be one of the most overrated artists in the Bay Area. I thought that she was fine until I saw her monumental retrospective a few years back and realized that in the end she is a minor painter (it is funny how many retrospectives have totally changed my view of painters: Keith Haring is one I thought very little of until I saw his retrospective, ditto David Ireland).

Now, could someone tell me why Jay DeFeo's Incision is up in the Fifth Floor Hall of Silliness instead of down in the Bay Area room?

Nekkid Venus

Most of you already read The Shrine of the Holy Whapping on a regular basis. If you don't, you should.

However, even if you don't plan on making a habit of it, at least read this great post from Matthew if you have any interest at all in Catholic art and culture.