Bridging the gap between product and process

Rochester-based artist Jeanne Raffer Beck and I are conversing long-distance about, what else, art. How can we bridge the gap between product and process, so that the viewers of art and the makers of art can better connect? Museum and gallery visitors stroll in, look at a painting, and then walk away. Where is the engagement? She poses a great question and immediately, in my mind's eye, I see a father and his two daughters staring at "Boy on a Horse" and drawing with No. 2 pencils. 

You see, this family is attending Sketching in the Galleries, a community outreach event that is free and open to the public, as is the Greenville County Museum of Art itself. From 2-3pm on Sundays, museum-goers can attend concerts, listen to lectures, or participate in a hands-on activity. This is my fifth Sketching in the Galleries. I never know if a handful or roomful of walk-ins are going to appear; today there are 19. Each has a stool, sketchpad, and pencil.

I hear the comment, "He's so pretty, I thought he was a girl," several times from viewers of Sidney Dickinson's 1918 painting "Boy on a Horse." Admittedly the thought does not occur to me, as I peer at the slightly angular cheekbones hinting at a pending passage from boyhood to manhood. This is the painting I have selected from the Museum's "Alabama Suite" exhibit for my January 25 demonstration.

This event is not a solo act: public relations publicizes, museum guards assist, education department staff coordinates and introduces, curators prepare a handout, staff procures an easel, and so on. While I do not consider myself a portraitist, each of my choices for Sketching in the Galleries is indeed just that. My first was another Sidney Dickinson oil painting "The Pale Rider," followed by two Andrew Wyeth watercolors "Tundra" and "Captain Cook," and then an American Impressionist painting by Helen Maria Turner, "Girl with Lantern." This last choice gave me and the audience an opportunity to work with colored pencils.

Usually I translate oils or watercolors into graphite, where each one-hour demo is a concise drawing lesson. With "Boy on a Horse" I distribute tortillions/paper stumps for the purpose of blending the graphite. Tweens to seniors work on their 9x12-inch paper, surrounding my own 18x24-inch easel-mounted sketchpad. I cannot resist visiting each portrait, glimpsing everyone's unique style, commenting on an eye or a nose. I applaud the courage it takes to draw a first portrait, to become vulnerable in the process of learning.

Draw often, I exhort as I share the five attempts I've made to capture the likeness of "Boy on a Horse." The one posted here is, in full disclosure, an 18x24-inch created in my home studio using a photo of the work, a range of graphite pencils, and the grid system. Working at this larger-than-life scale allows me to delve into the details, to recreate the brushstrokes and hopefully capture the nuances. But even after completing this, just days prior to January 25, I return to the Museum for a one-hour sketch using only an Ebony pencil. I feel a sense of confidence and boldness that only comes with practice.

Ah yes, I'm rambling on about the event, about the materials and the process, but I've not yet shared information about "Boy on a Horse" or its creator. Sidney Dickinson (1890-1980) studied at the Art Students League where he later taught for a quarter of a century. He exhibited in the Northeast, was a member of the National Academy of Design, and served as a jury member. What is most relevant in relation to "Boy on a Horse" are his visits to the Calhoun Colored School in Calhoun, Alabama, where the model was most likely a student. Dickinson's parents worked at the school established by his maternal aunt Charlotte Thorn, who in turn was guided by Booker T. Washington. Elementary academics and trades (teaching, farming, cooking, sewing) were taught, beginning in 1892.

The preceding information is courtesy of the Museum's curator, while the following are my thoughts. The painting is dark, not uncommon for Dickinson, with a band of light on the horizon, either sunrise or sunset. The boy is mounted on a saddled equine, wearing a heavy coat, and glancing out of the picture frame with furled brow. I wonder: has he heard his name called? Is the band of light the dawning of peaceful times following World War I (which ended in 1918, the same year as this painting)? Is the boy looking back at his childhood while he is poised to move forward into manhood? Dickinson's paintings tend to harbor meaning, but there appears to be little information on this particular work. Thus, I allow my imagination to wander.

Like the participants in Sketching in the Galleries, I too attempt to connect with the artist's mind and the germination of this painting. Spending time looking, seeing, researching, imagining, and then taking pencil in hand - as Sidney Dickinson took paintbrush in hand - are ways to engage, to begin to bridge the gap between product and process.

An Infusion of Color - Kathryn Schnabel

On a cold day like today where the light is filtered through a low-slung ceiling of white clouds, transforming everything into a monochromatic landscape, I welcome the colorful palette of artist Kathryn Schnabel. I also welcome her palette on cloudless days when light streams directly through Kathryn's stained glass mosaics. My introduction to her pieces is through her website, although there is nothing like seeing the genuine article ("Animator" and "Hillside in Window" are two examples). Isn't that true with any art form?

I believe that Kathryn's background in the graphic design and ad agency arena is partially responsible for her fearless approach to creativity. It's an arena that rewards brainstorming; playing with ideas and concepts in order to abstract relationships and associations, to create new linkages that click in either our conscious or subconscious.The fluidity of color swirling and moving across the compositions of Kathryn's mosaics, and of her silk paintings, releases a positive energy the artist willingly shares.

Kathryn herself references French painter Georges Roault, when discussing the dark grouting she utilizes in her stained glass mosaics. Interestingly, Roualt's paintings are often compared to stained glass because of his use of dark brush strokes outlining elements in his emotive work.

On Kathryn's website, you will discover the late artisan John Boesze who mentored her in glass technique. A technique that the artist has employed in numerous commissions, religious and secular, from the Midwest to the North Carolina piedmont. But it is Kathryn's ability to translate, for example, a client's request for a window or painting to be "biographical" or to celebrate a "life milestone" that marks the artist's signature style. She allows viewers their own relationship with the work, not just a literal interpretation with defined parameters she has established. I could say that there is a generosity in the work. The artist's ego serves the artwork, not the other way around.

If you need a dose of color to counter the gray of even a South Carolina winter day or would like to learn firsthand Kathryn's craft, visit the artist's website or visit the artist herself.

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For the love of color: Carol Beth Icard

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Discovering Lee Mullican

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Morning Glory in Charleston

It is almost one year to the day that I first met artist Jocelyn Chateauvert in Charleston, SC. In 2013, I drove from the Upstate (Greenville) to participate in Artist U - a weekend intensive, part of the SC Arts Commission's Artists' Ventures Initiative. Jocelyn drove from Charleston to North Charleston; 28 other multidisciplinary artists arrived from the lowcountry and all points within the state. It was a pivotal, empowering career moment; best to read my November 2013 blog to learn more.

This weekend an arctic chill lingers on spanish moss and rain pocks beach sand; it's atypical. Jocelyn, a self-described "paper wrangler," and I share an immediate affinity due to a common medium, albeit translated uniquely. Jocelyn makes paper, then folds, twists, curls and manipulates the still-wet pulp into rich organic form. To add the descriptor "rich" seems redundant, yet it needs to be spoken because the artist does not replicate her source inspiration as much as imbues it with its own energy. Jocelyn reaffirms that she doesn't reference the source as an actual model. 

By now, if you haven't segued to Jocelyn's website, the question in the air is most likely - what does Jocelyn create? At the moment, flora such as super-sized lily pads, or morning glories suspended by their own paper vines and grouped to form an installation that debuted at Peter Paul Luce Gallery, Cornell College in Mount Vernon, Iowa (Jocelyn's native state). White morning glory blossoms that capture light and cast shadows and, what you cannot experience on the artist's website, that generate sound as they contact each other. A dry rustling of strong, three-dimensional paper.

We climb the staircase in Jocelyn's home to the studio in which she transforms her paper into two- and three-dimensional artwork. I am surprised the studio is not larger, given the scale of her morning glories but, as I also create elements for installations in a small studio, I understand. We pause on a landing, Jocelyn opens a window to reveal a 400-year old tree, and explains this was one of the major appeals in acquiring the house. Later, when we are in Jocelyn's wet studio, she opens a closet door to retrieve a beautiful handmade papermaking frame (mold and deckle), one that will, in her own words, be usable for 300 to 400 years. I am beginning to sense her respect for time, of honoring the legacy of a tree, and even of a tree now crafted into a wooden frame. It feels Japanese to me, an aesthetic and appreciation for the past as it moves into the future.

In the downstairs wing, accessed via an outdoor porch, is Jocelyn's wet studio with paper blender, tubs, mold and deckle (frame), and press. If we had time, we could make paper, Jocelyn exclaims. It is hard not to catch her enthusiasm and yet I feel my hesitancy, only because each new art medium opens a door to endless learning and experimentation. And I tend to focus on my own processes and types of paper (e.g., shoji), wanting to do more, go further, a bit tentative about becoming distracted.

Paper is a fascinating medium; ephemeral yet capable of outliving us, soft and pliable but also crisp and firm. Even in our digital age, we use and encounter paper daily. It is a staple taken for granted but, luckily for the world, is visited with new sensibilities by artists. Like Jocelyn. 

Admittedly I am impressed with Jocelyn's artistic journey: SC Arts Commission’s 2005 Craft Fellow; Smithsonian 2010 Artist Research Fellowship; exhibit and artist talk at 2013 Artfields; paper construction demo at Museo della Carte, Fabriano, Italy, during IAPMA 2014 conference; a recently installed commission "The Space in Between," suspended in the SC State Museum's planetarium; and more. What interests me now is the continuation of Jocelyn's journey: paper that has not been made or manipulated; ideas and nascent forms that have not yet materialized. I won't wait another entire year before rediscovering this artist!

Connecting at Art Auctions

What exactly does this mean: connecting at art auctions? Simply stated: I introduce and reintroduce myself to, and converse with, artists during two art auctions. This interaction Is the best part of each evening. The worst is the discomfort of watching art bids below market value, while artist donors observe. But this is an entirely separate posting, for another time.

At a fundraiser for Greenville Hospital System's Cancer Research Institute, hosted by Frame Warehouse in Greer, SC, I settle into a conversation with photographer Janet Barnes, while appreciatively munching on a slice of her pistachio-coconut cake. Tom Rickis, painter and president of the Artists' Guild of Spartanburg (of which I am a member), is also present and always ready to share Guild news. He is encouraged by the increased level of in-kind donations for the second annual Artists Going Live event, which is a "fundraiser for the arts."

The Artists' Guild of Spartanburg is holding the event at the Chapman Cultural Center in Spartanburg, SC. During my October artist residency in Paducah, KY, I describe Spartanburg as a sister city to Greenville and, although I like to think this is an apt term for the urban centers' relationship, it may be more hope than reality. My experience to date reveals two separate circles of artists with very little overlap, although I'd love for it to be otherwise. Please correct me if this perception is false.

Connecting at art auctions, at the Guild's Artists Going Live: paper artist Carol Funke, pen-and-paper artist John Hill, bead artist Melissa Earley, and painter Deborah Jane Wall. All Guild members demonstrating "live."

Carol Funke is on my list of people to meet, because I seek out artists who work in paper. Carol is a paper maker who reassembles her components into relief-style wall pieces. I am instinctively drawn to her textural white "Circles" - one in a series based on the circle, triangle, and square - and delight when the artist invites me to touch. Only now, back home, do I realize that I missed her handmade paper workshop earlier today at OLLI (Osher Lifelong Learning Institute/Furman University). But I am glad to finally connect the artist with the work.

John Hill arrives tonight with a partially-begun pen drawing that finds its completion well before Artists Going Live is nearing a close. I've missed his live performance but have been drawn (hmmm...pun here?) to his work previously. Upon initial sighting, I conclude - falsely - that his relatively small drawings are computer generated. They are precise, inventive, and a heck of a lot more interesting than zentangles. These technical pen creations are akin to doodles that both wander and congregate, in the manner of dreams. Can I check out your sketchbook one day, John?

Melissa Earley is stitching large black and white beads, creating another in her series of Enlightened philosophers' portraits. The artist shares that she majored in philosophy, likes the pixelation effect generated by the scale of these beads, and the fact that the portraits only reveal themselves at a distance. You'll see on her website how Melissa moves from drawing to painting to beading. And that she also creates portraits with colorful minuscule glass beads - 285 per square inch (!) - using a traditional Native American stitch.

Deborah Jane Wall answers my question before it forms completely: "The black specks are charcoal." The black specks are indeed a dynamic, dimensional aspect of Deborah Jane's painting - an energetic plane of blues, greys, and white. (Sorry, I couldn't locate your Facebook page.) I ask that she talk about the work she has created within the past hour; the artist confides that she was nervous (who wouldn't be, performing extemporaneously?), not knowing what would emerge tonight. I sense that Deborah Jane rode the surfboard of her anxiety confidently over the waves of uncertainty. She is smiling. 

Yes, the best part of art auctions: connecting with artists.

Blog Hop - Christina Laurel, and Allison Anne Brown

I am grateful to textile artist Terry Jarrard Dimond for inviting me to join this blog hop. She in turn received her invitation from Judy Kirpich; the blog hop was initiated by Kathy Loomis.
http://studio24-7.blogspot.com, http://unmultitasking.blogspot.com, http://artwithaneedle.blogspot.com.

A blog hop is a vehicle for increasing exposure to artists' blogs and ultimately to the artists themselves. It is a collaborative effort that allows us to introduce ourselves to each other and to the world, and then to highlight another artist. My choice for the "passing of the baton" is the blog of sculptor Allison Anne Brown, a young up-and-coming artist based in Greenville, SC. 

Now to the four questions: What am I working on? How does my work differ from others of its genre? Why do I do what I do? How does my process work?

1.  What am I working on?

Following the month of October as Artist-in-Residence with the Paducah Arts Alliance, Paducah, KY, I am now working on an installation for Greenville, SC. Technically, I am a mixed-media artist who works primarily in paper. I've also been described as a fiber artist. My current choice of paper is shoji: I precoat it before inkjet-printing, then have components, e.g., gingko leaves, die-cut. These are assembled into suspended free-rotating "cocoons." I also use additional media - textiles, metal and wood armatures - any material that achieves the effect I am seeking. That effect is translucency, layering, ephemeral. Each suspension is at a human scale, not overwhelming. As each installation is site-specific, the basic components are reconfigured in relation to the venue, and to the mood of the geo/social location. To explain a bit: Paducah's rivertown pace differs from Greenville's metropolitan pace. The installation in Kentucky reflects the mood of "quiet yet energetic," while the installation in Greenville will offer more "quiet" to counterbalance its urban energy.

2.  How does my work differ from others of its genre?

When people hear that I work in paper, a number of assumptions surface: drawing, folding (origami), and handmade paper. When I am identified as a fiber artist, the assumptions include: textiles, thread, sewing. My work does incorporate a number of these mediums and techniques, but also freely utilizes others. While I continue to create on-the-wall pieces, five years ago I began removing my artwork from the frame. With installations, the work is off the wall and suspends from the ceiling. 

3.  Why do I do what I do?

This is a really good question, because a number of my friends (artists included) do not understand why I create installations. They are labor intensive; they go up, they come down. To date, no one has purchased an installation or part of an installation. I respond: for the experience of the gallery-goer. In October, I created a 9-foot walk-in suspension and discovered its interior peacefulness. Here's a pic with abstract artist Rosemary Claus-Gray inside. Responses by others range from "fun" to "serenity" and, at its premiere in Paducah, KY, gallery-goers were taking cellphone-videos from inside the walk-in as it slowly rotated. The installation as a whole is intended as an oasis from our daily sensory bombardment; an "exhale" moment. 

4.  How does my process work?The work begins as a concept, without preliminary drawings, utilizing a particular set of materials. It proceeds as a "dialogue" between artist and artwork until it appears to  resolve, hopefully before it is overworked. I want the energy involved in the process to remain palpable in the final product. During my residency, I experimented with not only the die-cut gingko leaves but also with their carrier sheets. The play of positive and negative, a layer of machine-lace, an embroidery hoop armature - all resulted in one of the most ephemeral "cocoons" I have created to date. And the most difficult to photograph for this same quality.

Introducing Allison Anne Brown

A former student of the Fine Arts Center, the South Carolina Governor's School for the Arts, and the University of South Carolina (BFA), Allison received a strong underpinning to her explorations in sculpture. As with many artists, I met Allison's work prior to meeting the artist, and am impressed with both. Within the organic forms Allison crafts, I sense a barely-contained expandable energy, elegantly raw. The artist used both a live model, and self-generated photos of same, in creating "Hatshepsut" (pictured). During this year's Open Studios at Taylors Mill, Allison (pictured) shared in a passionate voice her love of all things "art." I am pleased that she is sharing her voice via her art and her blog: 

http://www.allisonannebrown.com/blog