Descending Ashtray

I was watching a really interesting show on PBS, How art made the world, it was about how imagery of death has played an interesting role in art.

One of the things that stood out for me was how much time people actually think about it in their lives. They did studies that actually showed that people will spend more time looking at a work of art that depicts death in some form over other images. It was interesting to think about the pyschology behind it, such as: Are we all infatuated with our own mortality? Is that why we like to watch violence so much? How many movies can you think of where someone does not die? Just something to think about. The decorated skulls from Jericho were pretty cool too!

Gabe sent me this amazing video last week with the following note attached:

Dave,

Gabe

I love this blog. Click the thumbnail above to download Gabe’s movie. It’s a 51 MB Quicktime movie.

I have been thinking pretty deeply lately. I have never been a spiritual person, but I have always been aware of my own mortality, and while 27 isn’t exactly old, I am drawing near to 30. Albert Einstein once said, “A person who has not made his great contribution to science before the age of 30 will never do so.”

I think because of my lack of spirituality, a “great contribution” to art has always been an important goal of mine. Sometimes I think about the sheer numbers of people on whose genetic shoulders I now stand, how many thousands of ancestors whose energies led to me - well, it’s a responsibility to excel.

And then there is the weight of those who will come after, or perhaps it is their approval I seek. I want to have mattered, to have someone 200 years from now look back and say, “His work resonates still, is relevant, is timeless.”

I am thinking now of some recent museum visits, looking at specimens of South American pottery, pieced carefully back together 3500 years after its creation, 3400 years after it was broken and discarded. The artist’s name has been lost to time, but the work remains, now a museum piece, but still a human relic, something that still speaks to me across the years, from within the climate-controlled box.

Is posterity a respectable motivator? Is it a good reason to create?

Now let me come back to the second part of Einstein’s statement. That “30″ number. I am thinking now of a great article I read recently in Wired magazine, Daniel Pink’s, “What Kind of Genius Are You?”

Fun fact: Picasso’s Les Demoiselles d’Avignon appears in art history textbooks more than any other 20th Century work of art.

In it, he relates David Galenson’s research into the two types of creativity, what he calls “conceptual innovators,” like Picasso, who created an art movement at a young age, and “experimental innovators,” whose best work comes after a lifetime of experiments and failures. His example for the latter is Jackson Pollock, whose best work comes in the last 5 years of his life, and whose earliest work probably wouldn’t be hanging in galleries were it not signed “Jackson Pollock.”

So the question now is (assuming you subscribe to this either/or mentality), which are you? Young innovator or experimental innovator?

Based on my artistic career thus far (and even my graphic design career), I would say I am probably in the experimenter camp. I enjoy where I am now, creating art as I am inspired and living a very pleasant life. I have not as yet entered the permanent collection of MoMA, but I still aspire to, still believe I am capable of that level of work.

I am thinking now of one of my favorite artists, H.C. Westermann, whose great recognition came extremely late in life, and has mostly gained prominence posthumously. I think that would be okay with me, too. I don’t think I would like the spotlight, flitting around the world to speaking engagements. I want to create because I want to create, not because I am obligated.

Do you want to be famous? Why or why not?

I got back from San Francisco early this evening, and was able to see quite a few interesting things while there.

I’ll start with SFMOMA.

Usually, this is the place I most look forward to going when visiting San Francisco. I’ll usually pop into the museum for a couple of hours between other duties, and get my eyefull of art for the month. Compared to Portland’s art museum, this place is great, and a sight for sore eyes (until very recently, PAM had an almost negligible modern/contemporary art collection, and what they have now is only marginally better, but I digress … ).

This time, though … eh. I wasn’t that impressed. The permanent collection is great, but not that different from the last time I was there: a Jasper Johns flag, quite a few Diebenkorns, and lots of other old friends. And then there was the Matthew Barney show.

I really struggle with a reaction to his work. On the one hand, I really admire his commitment to a storyline (a paralell to my own conceptual path I have to admire) and the scale of his work. A lot of the sculptures of plastic and Vaseline were nearly beautiful, as was some of the still photography.

On the other hand, though - he comes across as pretty egotistical, in this show hiring a cast of Japanese actors to fulfill his vision of an obscure whaling-inspired drama. It reads, to someone who has been there, as large-scale art school bullshit. You could see it in people’s faces as they walked around, confused, skeptical, turned off, ripped off ($12.50 admission). I’ve been to art school. I follow, as much as that is possible. But I’m not buying it.

I must also say that his relationship (girlfriend? wife?) with Bjork isn’t helping his credibility. I love her music, but she’s a strange duck … er … swan.

So that’s my take on Matthew Barney. I know it’s incomplete and poorly formed, and just this one man’s opinion, but … what a bummer.

On the plus side, the curators did something pretty interesting. A lot of museums do the audio tour thing, where you walk around with headphones and a CD player and listen to extra information about each piece. Typically, the museum charges $3-5 to rent the player, and it seems as though about 15% of visitors actually do it. This show had a telephone number visitors could call from a cell phone and listen to the same commentary, using something they already had. A neat idea, I thought. If you’d like to try it out, call (408) 794-2844, followed by the # key. Follow the instructions, and hit 24# for information on “Ambergris: Drawing Restraint 9″.

The de Young museum I had never been to before this trip. What a redeeming experience it was. I couldn’t have been in a less art-appreciating mode, having spent 2 days walking the concrete jungle of San Francisco (grass? anyone?) when we encountered this glorious museum in the heart of Golden Gate Park. The architecture of the building is pretty controversial, I understand, a rusty-looking industrial-type structure recently completed by Herzog & de Meuron (also doing Minneapolis’ Walker expansion), but I thought it was nice, if not very related to its surroundings. It was also incredibly spacious inside, defying the notion I held that claustrophobia was the expected result of dramatic architecture in museums like the Weisman. Great light, too.

There was an outstanding 20th century American collection, featuring more and better Diebenkorns (sorry, MOMA), a great Ruscha, and a Grant Wood piece that I had never seen before, Dinner for the Threshers.

One particular exhibition really caught my mind, though, “Crown Point Press: The Art of Etching.” The organizing theory of the show is a print or prints illustrating each of Crown Point Press’ founder Kathan Brown’s “Magical Secrets of Creativity.” The secrets are a little corny and self-help-y, but pretty good advice for someone starting out, and the examples used are just stunning. Probably my favorite print, used to illustrate truth no. 2 “Use a Lot of Time,” was Chuck Close’s Keith, which took nearly 3 months to complete. A typical mezzotint measures 3-4 inches on a side, while this print is neatly 3×4 feet. A good message to remember, when that little American in you is telling you to produce, produce, produce. Anything worth doing is worth doing well, right?

I ended up purchasing the book for this exhibition, which was a good read, and also a great reminder of all the etching processes available.

Above are 4 of the 25 flowers, mutants of or ancestors to the ideal 5×5 flower.

I am kind of tired of doing flowers, I realized. I actually did these 3 weeks ago, but lost interest quickly after a session making these 4. I really just want to do some more cedar panel sculpture/paintings either in the burned or assembled vein.

I did spend a few hours the other night sketching some other versions, but my heart’s just not in finishing. Would it be a good exercise in discipline to finish the series, or should I follow my (often) wandering mind here?

I also need to spend some more time taking photos. These are awful.

Something I have thought of since we began this site is a joint online show of some kind. Since you are working on some new flowers, and I have a few in progress of my own, I think that might be a good theme for this show: flower sculptures. I think the contrast between your elegant and polished flowers and mine that are a little more rough would make for an interesting show.

The ones I’m working on now incorporate all sorts of found elements - rusty metal pieces, bits of old tools, steel tacks, etc. I have approx. 12 done now, although my intent is to release a set of 25 “rejected” flowers, the “rejected” referring to their deviance from the “standard” flower I’ve settled on. I envision these as early prototypes or perhaps mutants.

I think we could show some online (5 each?), 5 in Des Moines, and 5 in Portland. Maybe that’s too many. I’m not sure where the flowers might be shown here, but I bet I can work something out given enough notice. Assume you could do the same there?

What do you think?