Get Up and Dance to the Music

Alright, so it's been a while.

To tell the truth, I haven't gotten to do a whole lot of finished drawing lately. Mostly, it's been a lot of back to basic with the most loathed of modern words: practice.

I'm largely self-taught, and the few art classes I took never did much to stress technique and craft. That was something I came to appreciate as I got older. It wasn't all about some bullshit notions of style and some personal vision. And though that may be true for some, to achieve the type of look that I have always wanted to achieve, it came down to technique and craft.

In the last few years, I've been proud to call a number of my peers mentors. Their advice has brought me along by leaps and bounds. That, and practice. And well, a little bit of reckless experimentation.

So while the above was just meant to be a quick throwaway piece as a part of my practice, it came out far more finished than I had hoped for.

Guess I can always count on funk.

Enjoy.

The Fall of Nessus

This piece was just returned to me after having show in two consecutive shows, one in Los Angeles and the next in Seattle, as part of two group shows. 

The Seattle Show was themed around mythology, and the first idea that popped into my head was the abduction of Hercules' wife Dejanira by the centaur, Nessus. The tale has been covered by a number of painters of the past, but I felt there was a dynamism missing from some of these earlier depictions.  So I decided to take a stab at it, and I'm proud to say that this was the result. 

Possibly my best forearm...

The Nightmare

This week's final childhood favorite is perhaps the clearest in my memory: Henry Fuseli's The Nightmare (1781).  I first saw it on a field trip to the Detroit Institute of Arts in elementary school.  I recall that we started off with a guided tour of the huge auto industry murals in the foyer by Diego Rivera, before being released into the rest of the museum in a long chain reminiscent of the art museum scene in Ferris Bueller's Day Off (1986).  I wasn't able to linger in front of it as long as I would have liked that day, but when I returned to the Motor City in high school, I spent quite a fair bit of time staring it down in my frequent trips to the Institute. A large work, it retains much of its power to intimidate and still writhes with a seductive sexual energy.

Henry Fuseli (née Johann Heinrich Füssli, 1741-1825) was a Swiss born artist who did the majority of his professional work in England.  Fuseli's father was a painter who chose his older brother to follow the trade, while Henry was expected to join the clergy (He was ordained in 1761). Largely self-taught, Fuseli fled Switzerland after a political dispute for England where he met the British artist Sir Joshua Reynolds who encouraged him to develop his craft. The greater part of Fuseli's works were often dark visions inspired by literary passages, particularly from Shakespeare.  The Nightmare, one of his few works without literary precedent, startled and frightened viewers on it's initial debut, but has become a popularly reproduced composition for artistic and satirical works, was often used as an illustration in early psychoanalytical discourse, and was considered one of the precursors to the Symbolist movement.

Hylas and the Nymphs

Admittedly, I have a hard time placing when I first saw the painting by renowned painter John William Waterhouse (1849-1917). It's one of those art history ironies that Waterhouse is probably one of the most reproduced of the Pre-Raphealites in calendars and book covers, though his work came several decades after the Pre-Rahealite movement had gone out of style.  In any event, if I was to guess, it was in a childhood book on myths and legends that I first came across this lovely work...and to be honest it was a toss up between sketching this one and Waterhouse's Lady of Shallott.

The painting depicts the seduction of Hylas by the nymphs of the spring of Pegae.  Hylas had been chosen by Heracles to join Jason aboard the Argos in pursuit of the Golden Fleece.  When Hylas vanished without a trace, Heracles and the cyclops Polyphemus searched the island for him in vain for days leaving the remaining Argonauts to set sail without them. The abduction of Hylas has been a popular motif in art since classical times.

Pollice Verso

I was bit by the nostalgia bug this week and thought I'd revisit some of my earliest inspirations for wanting to draw an paint.

I can't recall whether it was a 4th or 5th grade social studies textbook where I first came across Jean-Léon Gérôme's depiction of gladiatorial combat, Pollice Verso, and I've never forgotten it. Gérôme (1824-1904) was a popular painter of many years whose illustrative style remained similar over his lifetime while his subjects went from the historical to the orientalist.  Pollice Verso, which means "with a turned thumb," is among his best known work and was a consistent influence on the cinema from the silents through the "sword and sandal" epics of the 1960's.  The only problem is that, historically,  no one is for certain which direction the thumb was going to signify death for the fallen: thumb up, down, horizontal, or hidden within the hand.

It's only been a couple of decades later that I finally got to see the painting in person at the first Gérôme retrospective in 40 years which showed at the Getty Center in Los Angeles.  While I appreciate many art historians' dismissal of Gérôme, when standing in front of this work, it's hard not to get swept up in the imagery to the point fo practically feeling the heat, and hearing the roar of the crowd.  There are layers of intricate detail worked into the reflections in the gladiator's helmet and gauntlet that I'd never seen in any reproduction.  So while he may not sit comfortably with everyone among the great Masters, it would be difficult to deny his ability to stir the imagination.

The Hive Gallery 7 Year Anniversary: Best of the Hive

Tomorrow night, I'll be a part of The Hive Gallery 7 Year Anniversary with my latest painting.  I'll be hanging out at the opening for at least a solid chunk of the night.  (Then I might have to slip over to the Titmouse show in Alhambra where several of my friends will be showing...).

This is RJE With The News...
And Tracey with the Weather...

I'll bet some of you thought that perhaps I'd finally made true my dreams disappearing into the icy peaks between Bhutan and Nepal...well, maybe i have...but the point is, I'm sure some of you were rapt with excitement when I posted that survey the other day. Proof that I was alive, well, and still making asinine answers to even more asinine questions. It made me proud to do it.

Things have been...well, things.

Thus far, two of my three goals have been achieved before the onset of August that will determine how much longer I invest in southern California. I made a quick jaunt over to Texas to visit with family. I bought a book on boobs. I wrote the opening of a music video. And I've eaten six packets of blueberry flavored applesauce. Sounds like a pretty full plate, does it not? (Even if you don't know what the two out of three goals mentioned above was...)

Most importantly, my art show came to pass. Through a twist of fate, I was able to show two pieces, although I could only sell one of them. Ah, the exposure. Did I sell the one? I have no idea as of yet. This Sunday, I either pick up the check or the painting.

But a show. A real show. I had a piece in a really real show. That was exciting as all get out. Prior to this, I've only done things privately, or on commission. No one, until now, had ever thought to stick something I'd painted up in a gallery for strangers (well, some of them) to see. The whole thing was rather thrilling.

True, I was but one of 30+ artists who through something up...but it was a big piece...people were bound to notice it. (If you'd like to see it, it's in my photos section...the one with the big Bruce Lee at the bottom). And though I tried not to be obnoxious about it...I did occasionally hang out nearby to see if people were looking at it. They did.

I've been invited to participate in another show in October, which is a thrilling prospect. I know it may seem suspect to the more jaded among you out there (who are clicking your tongue at ME for daring to refer to anyone else as jaded), but that's a huge thing. Someone wants me to show this goofy stuff that I occasionally splash on canvas. They're actually asking me to show it.

Alright. I threaten to gush.

The next great piece of creative triumph is that I finished the first wave of my fiction experiment over at my Friends of Junior blog: One hundred pages of original fiction for four to five days a week. It's a helluva lot tougher than it sounds. Orginally, they were all going to be single page entries, but over time, if I managed to write two full pages then I counted it as two entries. I figured that was fair, and only a few went for three. No sense in stopping yourself when you're on a roll.

Now I've got two issues to face with the blog.

The first is what to do next with it. It was both a huge help and something of a heavy yoke to get an entry done every day (although in the last few weeks I was writing them two at a time...it was something of a streak). I said I'd do it and I did. Overall, it helped as a warm up or a cool down to the rest of my creative endeavors I'd worked on during the day. Also, as they were short and without a larger framework, it allowed me to let my mind wander and the old imagination fly a bit as well as provide a vehicle to do some exercises in other styles. But where to go from here? I'm thinking of doing a serialized book...although more like a comic strip without drawings (or maybe I will do some drawings....)...and just fill in a page a day. I don't know what the subjects going to be. Some have suggested doing a full-length adventure of the joke sci-fi character, Mash Jordan, that I'd already "created" (let's face it...haha...he's thinly disguised...and he's what I fell back on when I couldn't come up with anything else and the clock was ticking). Others say, do something new. And a minority thinks I should keep doing the completely different short stuff. (Anyone want some more of my poetry?!?)

The second is what to do with the material I've already done for it. Originally, I intended to put it all together for an anthology that I could put up for sale. Part of me still wants to do that, but my concern is that a few of those ideas I'm thinking of expanding into full length short stories I could submit to contests or magazines. Sometimes they aren't so keen if it's already been published. Guess I'll find out. I'll let you all know either way.

Finally, I'm putting together my materials to try to find me a lit agent to sell one of these goofy novels I've written. If anyone has any suggestions, chime on in. So far, it's gotten some good reviews from the couple of people I've shown it to. Also, I'm almost a quarter of the way through my fourth book. It's finally taking some shape, and starting to come together.

Well...wish me luck. I wish you luck. Back to the snowshoes.

Cheers.

Who Are You Going To Be When You Get Here?
Thank you for your work, Beat Takeshi...

One of my primary film enjoyments in life come from a stocky dynamo of creative force, Kitano Takeshi. Whether it's something he directed himself, or something he just starred in, I tend to enjoy this man whose mind and spirit always seem to be somewhere else, but who still maintains a screen presence like few others.

I first came across him when his directorial debut A Violent Cop had set the cinephile world abuzz. Come to think of it, I think it was in England's film mag Empire...since even many things "movie" in America still have an allergy to most things subtitled. In any event, I tracked down a copy...and well, hey, I didn't really like it much at the time. I couldn't, however, deny that he was definitely on to something.

Time has passed, and I've consumed many of the things Kitano that I've been able to lay hands on (and I admit that those who guffaw at copyright laws have been most helpful where American distributors have failed me). I can still picture one of his most tender moments where after playing a brutal thug for the better part of two hours he still tugs at the heart strings by repeating "Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence" to Tom Conti at the end of Oshima's film of the same name. But it's Sonatine and Fireworks that still remain at the top of my Kitano list...in fact, atop the heap of some of my favorite movies ever.

So last night, I sat down to watch his last (well, the latest one I could get ahold of)...

Takeshis' (2005 , d. Kitano Takeshi)

The Story: Once successful Japanese media icon Kitano Takeshi meets his doppelgänger, we follow the twin Takeshi through a dreamy journey of what it to NOT be successful Japanese media icon Kitano Takeshi...sort of.

The Review: Ok, let's just start this by saying that if you don't know anything about Kitano's life or work, you might still enjoy the film but you're going to be missing out on a whole lot of subtext. And let's counter that by saying that even if you do know a fair bit about him, you still might not enjoy the film and there's likely even more subtext that's zinging over your head. I enjoyed the hell out of it personally, but then again I tend to really enjoy what others consider "failure" if the makers are at least really trying to do something with it. (And I wouldn't call this a failure...)

Granted, it's two years after the fact and I'm only just getting to watch the movie, but I remember the critics being none to kind to this one. Looking back (having now watched the movie), it seems in many ways to be a case of a critical darling falling out of favor by not delivering what's expected of him. I admit, even for myself, that I missed Kitano's usual mixture of elegiac thoughtful beauty smashed together with brutal quick violence in this one. However, (and I sometimes have to chastise myself for forgetting,) there's a joy in seeing an artist grow, branch out, and try new things.

As the story progressed and the life of the sad sack struggling Takeshi became more and more outlandish, I kept thinking that it was like watching Kitano do Fellini in an exploration of filmic identity along the lines of David Lynch's recent films. That's not to say it was wholly derivative of those filmmakers, because this one's very much a personal project. Then I went back and did a little reading on the film, and found that it's being described as the first of Kitano's "self-deconstructive" films (The plot of the next one sounds even more Fellini...). In the end though, the problem therein lies.

Like any text, whether it be movie, book, or artwork. To some degree it has to stand on it's own. Not everyone going in has had access or exposure to the elements the filmmaker brought to the piece. Furthermore, even those who do like to wax intellectual about creative work don't always want to invest the time to learn more about any one piece.

So does this movie stand on it's own? To be honest, I'm not sure. I couldn't watch it as a neophyte, and I enjoyed a lot of it knowing what I already did about it's creator. That ultimately taints my ability to judge. From that stance I can say that large portions of it did work, it certainly was entertaining, it certainly had wit and depth...but, I'm not sure where it was ultimately trying to get to...

I could sit here and philosophize about the exploration of alternate realities and how, like life, they wouldn't necessarily have clean clear cut conclusions either...but it's not my place to justify the work. Not only that, but it'd be pretty arrogant of me to think that I could. It was a challenging piece of artwork that engaged me for it's run time, and I'd watch it again. So from my point of view, pretty successful. At the same time, I can see where a goodly proportion of my friends and family would not be so generous with it. (From a few I can hear the "Huh?"'s and "That sucked!"'s from here...)

So I say...if you enjoy dream-like experimental films that explore the nature of film, character, film violence, and image while having a healthy dose of a wacky sense of humor...I can't see where you can walk out of Takeshis' having gotten something for the ticket price.

Cheers.

I Almost...Almost...Want My Moustache Back...
It was time for some culturin'...

I've recently completed an editing session on the two short books I wrote earlier this year in order to ready them for a trip to the bosom of our government's Library of Congress.

If only I was as well traveled of late as my work will be. Only postage is far cheaper than travel and lodging...oh, and food...and all that other stuff.

In any event, I've nearly managed to pull together my ideas for a new book, and am preparing myself to start.

On the other hand, I’ve also recently completed a series of painted portraits that will soon be on display. So far, they’ve been a hit with those I’ve shared them with, and I may have snagged a commission out of it. Now on the cusp of a new literary adventure, I’ve been getting pushed back toward painting again. I’m a touch torn on which to pursue…

One of the influences toward the artistic was a show I went to the other day.

In the 7.5 years that I have occupied Los Angeles, I had yet to make it to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. It took only slightly less time and a visitor from out of town to make it to the Getty Center. This coming from a guy who spent at least one day each month at the Detroit Institute of Arts for several years. In any event, I had actually talked myself out of going on Thursday morning, when another friend asked me if I wanted to go that afternoon. Oh Serendipity…you slippery b!tch…

The show we attended was for one Salvador Dalí, the guy who André Breton wanted to eject from the surrealists but who came to personify it in the public’s eye.

Over the years, I’d developed somewhat mixed feelings about Dalí’s work, but I came to realize that it wasn’t Dalí himself that I had the problem with. Haha…it was marketing. Much like Escher, Dalí was one of those guys that got spewed all over T-shirts, mousepads, oven mitts, and stack after stack of badly reproduced coffee table books.

Granted, I’m not sure I ever saw any Dalí merch that outdid that ridiculous blow-up version of Munch’s The Scream.

Anyhow, it had diluted what I thought about Dalí’s body of work over time and with much repetition. This show, however, managed to retract many of those feelings. The fact of the matter is that all those reproductions (like with most painters) fail to capture the stunning quality of the work when you are standing in front of it.

I’ve never been a huge fan of overly colorful work. That’s just a personal thing. But Dalí captured a vibrant and electric palate that even the whimsically nightmarish quality of his subjects couldn’t render garish. The show gathered together an impressive collection of his work from museum’s around the world as well as a surprising amount of work from private collections.

Most interestingly though, it showed me how much work for film Dalí had attempted. I had seen the Bunuel films, of course, but this showed an aborted project with Fritz Lang and further sequences that were unfilmed or cut from Hitchock’s Spellbound. Even more shocking was the array of work he had completed for an animated collaboration with Walt Disney. However, what captured my eye and heart the most was an attempted collaboration with my beloved Marx Brothers. (There was an illustration of Groucho as Shiva that I would have risked imprisonment to abscond with.)

It was much of this work that I was most thankful to see as I imagine much of it has spent a fair amount of time sealed away in archives, and is rarely ever viewed by the public.

Funny enough, reading some of the exposition on the walls about the pieces and listening to some of the crowd, I was reminded of Dalí’s penchant for being spurned by some of the art world for his right wing politics and his elitism. The final marker on the way out was a quote from Andy Warhol on Dalí whose company Andy enjoyed as he felt that being with Dalí was like being with a “true artist” but that Salvador would never be caught dead in a loft. This gave me a good chuckle thinking about how many I’ve known who’ve put more effort into living up to a stereotype of an “artist” or “musician” or “poet”, etc. rather than putting the same effort into the work they did.

I won’t comment on the elitism…I already catch enough flack for that.

Which brings me back around the merchandise.

I’m sure Dalí would’ve been more than fine with it. In fact, he did some work and even appeared in several ads in his time. I always remember a passage (enough to paraphrase it) from the photo-essay “Dalí’s Moustache” when they ask him why he loves painting, and he replies “For the love of Art” but the photo on the opposite page shows him having tooled his moustache into an ‘s’ with two paintbrushes crossing it.

$.

It’s still something artist’s are expected to spurn as a distraction from the “truth” of their medium (especially the image conscious above.). But I still find that like most things in life, art too is driven by it.

After all, it’s not for nothing that the name ‘Medici’ is so often coupled with all them lovely Renaissance artists.

(Oh and for the record...haha...if you thought the Mona Lisa was small...you should see the Persistence of Memory...)

Cheers.