practice and philosophy

The last couple of posts have focused on the practice and techniques of oil & cold wax painting, and the ways in which the Longmont workshop reinforced and augmented them for me.  The workshop also enhanced my thoughts and perceptions about abstraction, partly from Rebecca's notebook (see the post of August 6th) and partly from observing the work of the other painters.  On a day when I'm not painting (the broken wrist is out of its brace, but is hurting badly), I decided to pull together some of those thoughts and perceptions, primarily through the article by Fendrich, and to pursue the philosophy behind the practice.

Writing at the turn of the century, the author first lists what abstract painting  is not: It is not a vehicle for sociopolitical change, avant-garde shock, mass audience popularity, or "Deep Hidden Meaning".  She then discusses what abstract painting is.  It is about ideas (order vs chaos, organic vs geometric, for example).  It is about being quiet.  It is about the "hidden, underlying order" of things rather than things themselves.  It is about beauty.  It is about an all-at-once presentation that has no narrative.  It is uncomputer-like and uncamera-like.  All of these to some extent are in contrast to our mass-produced, consumer-oriented popular culture, and they remind me of the tenets of the Frankfurt School of philosophy and its protest against the mass production of culture.

This is one author's view, and I am certain that all of her assertions are open to argument.  But, as it happens, they resonate with me.  Why am I interested in abstraction?  Because it does deal with deep ideas: one cannot simply slap paint down and call it an abstract painting.  One cannot copy a vase on a mantel and call it quits.  Just deciding whether to paint in dark sepias or in brilliant jewel tones can raise the philosophical question of what message one wants to send and what response one wants from a viewer, and how well a chosen hue will do that. The painter creates contrasts and tensions, then has to resolve them -- or not.  This decision alone -- and it is one among many that crop up in the process -- requires careful thought.  As far as being quiet is concerned, to me a good abstract painting makes me stop and look, makes me be quiet, leads me to contemplation and even meditation.  Similarly, to the extent that it is not pictorial, abstract art doesn't portray things, but refers to the truths that exist below things.  Does it manifest unity or disorder?  Harmony or discord?  The process of abstraction offers the opportunity to consider both objectification and reification -- how philosophical can ya' get?

To continue down Fendrich's list, if I have a goal in painting, it is to create beauty.  Similarly, it is a goal of mine with my paintings to pull people out of the narratives of their everyday lives, not only the narratives of their own experiences, but the narratives that surround them in the many media that dominate modern culture.  And, finally, I value highly the almost anti-photographic quality of abstract art that rests in its core non-representational character.  I have talked elsewhere about my dislike of paintings that look like imitation photographs, and photography itself, while occasionally producing works of art, is to me mostly a medium for capturing memories and group moments for future popular reference.

The image above is a recent work by Rebecca Crowell, "Leaves" (8.5"x8.5", mixed media on paper).  It embodies, for me, many of the qualities discussed above.  I include it with her permission.  It is interesting that we so often choose titles for our abstract pieces that refer back to the non-abstract world, perhaps to give the viewer an entry point into the painting.

I have held onto this post for nearly a week, since I am not sure that I explain myself at all well.  But I've done the best I can for the moment and if, in future, I reread this and am critical, I'll try to amend it then.  So, out it goes, posted under its original date, now almost a week ago.