Bittersweet.

I love chocolate.  In particular I love dark chocolate.  There's something wonderful about the warm, sweet taste wrapped up with in a slightly bitter edge.  Kind of like today.  On the plus side I was able to get a couple of my silkscreening screens exposed so I can start working on a new body of work.  On the down side, I'm not able to start printing.  Why?  Because it seems that finding a screenprinting squeegee is not quite as easy as an endeavor as one might expect.  I went into the only arts supply store that I can get to on foot, thinking "yea, they'll probably have it."  No, they don't.  They have a kit I could buy for over 70 pounds which includes way more than I need.  Which is awesome.  But I refuse to spend 70 pounds just to get a squeegee out of the deal.  So I asked the girl at the counter if they carried any separately.  And as I figured, they don't.  So I asked if they could order one for me.  Of course they can't (what is it about the sheer lack of customer service in Britain?  In America, they'd be falling over your feet to make parting with your money easy!).  So, I have to either make my own or buy one online.  And buying online will probably be the way to go.  My only issues with that are: 1) I don't want to wait and 2) it's not usually very straightforward for me to buy things online since my address is not an English one and it's a huge bother getting over the security hurdles (mind you, I'm glad they have such measures in place for my own protection but come on!  Give me a break!).

I'm trying to focus on the sweet.  I have screens.  And ink.  (Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink).  

Thoughts on David Nash

The Yorkshire Sculpture Park is located in a wonderfully bucolic setting on the outskirts of Wakefield. The design of the Park dates back 200 years - it is beautiful and vast. I visited the Park a couple of weeks ago with the Lancashire Artists' Network to see the David Nash exhibition, which is on display through February 2011. Before the visit, I wasn't greatly familiar with Nash's work. Luckily for me, the exhibition is stuffed to the gills with his work and provided me with a robust overview of his repetoire. I immediately fell in love with the works and I had to ask myself why. Several weeks ago I had posted two blogs about Picasso and Yves Klein after seeing their work during my visit to the Tate Liverpool. I have a great deal of respect and appreciation for both artists, yet my response was critical and while I was standing in front of David Nash's piece titled "Charred Cross Egg," I had to ask myself why I was so enamoured with this piece, yet critical of the work of two artists I admire.
Nash works predominantly with wood, both living and dead. Interested in maintaining the integrity of the material, he opts to use natural methods when adding color to dead wood or shaping live wood. Organic and ominous, his forms immediately demand your attention. I think it would be difficult for anyone to face a David Nash sculpture and simply turn away; it requires contemplation. It invades your space in a way that's both confrontational and very subtle. It reminded me of Richard Serra's work in the way you are required to interact with it. And maybe that's part of why I responded to it in the way I did; his sculptures are inviting. It was almost like being introduced to a someone - a stranger who is somehow familiar - and having them invite you in to their house to have a conversation. I had a difficult time walking away.

I pondered the familiarity of Nash's work - intriguing given this was my first time experiencing it. I realized it was because his work brought to mind that of other artists I like; his designs were often reminiscent to that of Isamu Noguchi and Henry Moore; his choice to work with and manipulate natural materials reminded me of Andy Goldsworthy. There was a section of the exhibition that focused on works he completed as a response to the tragedy of 9-11. These works were grim - bold marks in black and gray spoke to the heaviness of the event, yet the grace of the line succeeded in capturing the ironic beauty present in the face of such horrific destruction (as a side note, I recall watching a program several years after the event that talked about that very issue; during the program a woman recounted a story of how she and her 9 year old son were watching the events unfold on t.v.; her son remarked on the beauty of the clouds rising from the towers - he couldn't look away.). The confidence of Nash's linework made me think of the architect portrayed in Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead and the same confidence with which he laid down his marks.
Even after writing all of these contemplations, I still don't know if I could definitively pinpoint what it is about David Nash's work that I respond so positively to. I would love to have something succinct to wrap it up, but I think the artist does it best. Here's a quote from the exhibition I jotted down in my sketchbook.

"I learned with these constructions about something developing its own logic that the viewer can enter into. It could have been an integrity and truth that one could feel. And also how a worked object developed its own scale - how it could go beyond the material, go beyond the colour, to have a sense of its own scale which the beholder entered into, which is actually different from its physical scale." (David Nash on his piece from 1967 titled "Archway")

Stranger in a strange land

I was recently accepted into ArtLab, which is an offshoot program of the University of Lancashire.  In order to be accepted one must submit a proposal outlining what you do & how you do it, your experience, examples of your work etc., etc.  It's pretty cheap to become a member and once you're in, you have access to a lot of amazing equipment and the expertise of staff (and other artists working there).  Yesterday was my first day.

Now, the good thing is that I already knew a few people in ArtLab and since I've been volunteering for a local art gallery and shop (PAD Gallery), I have built-in talking points and managed to meet an artist who sells her work in the shop.  I'm joining right at the tail-end of the session - a calculated move because I wanted to get my first day over and done with before it starts again in September.  Since it's the end of the session, there wasn't a whole lot I could really start doing other than get a tour of the place and speak with staff about the direction of my work and how the whole place basically functions.  All of this is really cool.  But, I felt like I was a fish out of water; first of all, my printing experience isn't very vast.  So all of this, while familiar, leaves me feeling a bit daunted.  I really felt like when I was a kid and moved to a new town (which happened a lot) and I was the stranger in a town that wasn't my own.  I could feel people looking at me, wondering with no apparent purpose, and I'm sure wondering themselves: who is this creature and why is she here?  And indeed, because of my own inexperience felt awkward being there as if they could see right through me and knew that I was a fraud.  Of course this is ridiculous because the program is designed to allow all types of artists in, even those with no experience.  Still, all of this made me reflect on how tightly our childhood memories are imbedded in our brains and how they make up our essence.  Even though I'm a much more confident individual now than I was as a child, for the most part anyway, I can still identify very strongly with all of those fears and insecurities. 

I know it will get easier with each visit I make.  And I did take some time to sit down and really formulize what I want to do so I at least have a plan - I think.  It's just a shame I have to wait several weeks to get there.

Finding my Focus

Over the last couple of days I've been doing some sporatic work in my studio, working on some color sketches and content/compositional ideas for a new series.  For the last three years I find I keep returning to a label from an old product called Rinso (shown below).  I am really drawn to the silhouettes of the 50s housewives it depicts.    

I've been doing some sketches based around the central figure for several months and while I was sketching out some other ideas the other night, I got to thinking about the role women played during that time; that in turn got me to thinking about the role they served just a decade earlier during the Second World War. I find it incredibly interesting that women were recruited to serve the country in numerous ways - in some instances they did the work of men (Rose the Riveter comes to mind) and in other instances they were used as pin-up models. In either case, they served a definite role and, from purely an observational point of view, the women seem to be quite proud to be so useful. Indeed they have a purpose. So imagine, then, what it was like for those women after the War ended. Their boyfriends or husbands came home; they moved to the shiny new suburbs and swapped their dungarees and hot pants for a dress, high heels and apron. I did some research and discovered that in the 50s only 1 in 3 women were employed. I can't help but to think that women must have doubted themselves from time to time, even if in the slightest way. Their role was to stay at home, take care of their children, clean the house, do the shopping, cook, and pamper their husband. Of course, that's the way the media spins it - perhaps that's just a stereotype based on a few and isn't how the majority lived.  Still, it does make me ponder.  In response to these thoughts, I started  a sketch that plays on all of these ideas that I thought I'd share.  I'm interested in what journey this will take me. 

Figuring This Thing Out

I'm new to blogging on BlogSpot.  I'm not sure why, but I seem to be having some trouble getting the hang of it.  Maybe there's a bit of a learning curve...of course I felt like that about Facebook the first time I started using that, too.  So this blog is all about me playing around, trying to figure some things out.  It might be boring - my apologies.  I should also mention that I have been blogging on my website for a short time and if you're at all interested, you might consider checking it out as it's a more straight-forward and comprehensive series of blogging.  At least until I get this one fully up and running.  You can check it out at: http://www.bohemianpearl.com/.

In the meantime, here are some pics for you to check out. 

As you might guess I'm a bit of a nostalgia-phile (that's an erin-ism); I made this work last year - the imagery was inspired from a book of Kentucky Derby betting tickets from 1958.  Using an oil transfer process similar to that employed by Paul Klee, I was able to achieve an aged look. 

On a totally unrelated note (and because I want to play around with the many functions), here's an excerpt from one of my favorite poems.  I'll not reveal who or what...perhaps you know?

"Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.


I do not think that they will sing to me.


I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown."

Until next time....