The Long List of Lost Artists

Tapies 1976 : Artists Portraits by Alex Kayser

Sunday morning, checking out blogs and then I stumble across the news in Robertsworld;  Anton Tapies has died. No Whitney Houston hullabaloo, just a smattering in the Herald, not in the headlines but in the obits.  For me it was a sinking feeling of losing touch. An opportunity to see art produced by a living artist lost.

We all seem to appreciate their works so much more once they’re gone. I had become more interested in the work of Tapies on investigating the early influences of John Olsen. It seemed only natural that I bought this book on a visit to Berkelouws at Berrima. The six degrees of separation thing kicked in, Berkelouws in Berrima, Berrima in the Southern Highlands, John Olsen’s home in the Southern Highlands, John Olsen influenced by Tapies – the only answer….buy a book on Tapies.

Of course there was no logical reason or association behind the purchase I made whilst in a little second-hand bookshop in Armidale, “BooBooks”. It was serendipity once again. Looking for a spot to park in the pouring rain, trying to focus what was on the window -books! – what a wonderful place for a rainy day. For me it was a treasure trove and I left with a small mountain of art books and old records and in amongst that cache one of my most treasured books. Tapies – Affiches,it is written in French and my poor grasp on language allows me to pluck at certain words. I am pretty sure Affiches is Posters but the works and the book is marvellous in any language.

Tapies: Tapies Ediciones

Apparently Tapies was exhibiting new work up until last year. He said “If I can’t change the world, I at least I want to change the way people look at it.” He changed my world each time I saw his work. Thank you Robert for bringing me the news this morning on your blog.

From Tapies Affiches by Rosa Maria Malet & Miquel Tapies

The Red Case and Killalea

I had not made plans to go with the Picknick Painters this week but things changed last-minute and they were going to Killalea. I thought that I may not be able to do this again for a while because of other commitments, so I threw my stuff in a bag, a book on Philip Guston for Kaye, some book binding notes and my sketchbook.  It looked pretty black towards the south so I wasn’t expecting to stay long. Killalea had its own plans for me.

 

It’s beauty never fails to amaze, pushed to the edge by McMansion after McMansion just a small mottled concrete barricade to stop the grey roofs from spilling in on the green hills. To the east, Bass Point, a quarry and the constant rumble of trucks on dirt that disappear behind the hill. To the west vivid yellow-green hills and escarpment hem us in even further. For me it’s the view northwards that tugs at my attention and draws me away from the natural beauty.

The stack sits embedded in a finger of coast, surrounded crucifixion like be a scattering of smaller inconsequential chimneys. Mum always said -”I know I’m home when I see that stack.” Each time I look at it, it conjures childhood memories in some form. Scanning out to sea eastward from the stack, the five islands off Port Kembla float amongst the shipping containers like large bags of jetsam. The last page in my sketchbook contained notes on jellyfish within the lake. Images and sketches sometimes merge and I found myself humming “Five Jellyfish sitting on a rock…” meanwhile I sketched my thoughts. A tanker towing the island and in turn the island towing the jellyfish. It made me think of the dreaming stories associated with the local Wodi Wodi people of the starfish and  the whale.

I couldn’t decide whether they were heading ashore or out to sea but it made me think of the red suitcase, a symbol of my need to run, to escape.

Each time I work it feeds more and more into the lake series which is becoming stronger in my mind through my experience in this landscape. I feel I have opened the suitcase a little more, perhaps feeling more ready to settle.

The Bungendore Bears

If you go to Bungendore today you’re in for a big surprise, for every bear that ever there was is hanging or nailed on a gum tree.  I can’t remember when I first saw these bears, maybe the early 80′s.  I knew instantly the macabre associations and bleached colours were something special. It would develop into some sort of series.  Each trip with other people I would point them out, I would “Google” them and take photos and sketches.  After clearing out the storage shed my bear sketches appeared like the old favourite toy, Woody in Toy Story.  I don’t know when the paintings will evolve or if they will. There is always so much to paint and never enough time.

So after being inspired by David Hockney and his IPhone paintings I have decided to embrace the use of technology and blog about the Bungendore Bears for now.  I decided to share some of the work in photos and sketches, in their own special place, nailed to the net as well as beneath the trees where nobody sees.  So gather there for certain because todays the day the Teddy Bears have their Blog.

Grey Green White Gum West of Ace

Art Quizzes, Thinkers, Feelers or Artists?

So far in the Art Quiz #4 Who painted my BMW?, the Aussies are in the lead with someone taking out 100%!  In my search for other material to start Quiz #5  I stumbled across the mammoth personality art quiz on the BBC website.

Having undergone a number of tests to check your capabilities for differing positions, I thought this one seemed more appropriate to me. Most of us have done the bonding, teamwork exercises and in reality there should always be a different category for artists.  At a job test a while back I was given the scenario of air crash in the snow with 12 things on the list, prioritise….blah blah blah until they said a roll of canvas. I guess the others would have thought of it as shelter. I think more like shoot the others, eat them and paint like Frankenthaler, stains on canvas. It would be better and easier than gaining a residency to the antarctic.  There should be an alternate category for artists. We’re thinkers and feelers but art is always uppermost in our minds.

Bears in my Storage Shed.

Despite the rain I was determined to clear paintings out of the storage shed. The crud at the bottom of the roller door was an indication of what lay inside.  Moving so often combined with a tad of forgetfulness (or youthful loss of brain cells) has it’s advantages, you forget what you paint.  My idea was to take as many paintings as possible in the wagon, take them off the stretchers and be ruthless as possible and roll the rest. I grabbed a pile of small ones first, about a dozen. Our painting teacher said it was a ratio of about 1 in 10 to get a decent painting. Damn! I’d forgotten about that one. In amongst that dozen there was a jewel, a small 10 x 10 canvas, I tried to place where I was at when I painted it.

I packed the rest, as many as I could without delving too far back in the storage unit where there was obviously signs of scurrying. Driving home about half an hour away gave me time to mull it over. Colours are always a way of me connecting to a place. Then it came to me, it was Bungendore – the Bungendore Bears, I loved these works. I especially loved the photos. I remember being mittened-up sketching in the car with Anne-Marie outside the Bungendore Motel – we were pondering the possibility of it being  a hot bed of sexual encounters for nearby Canberran politicians during the day. The price was right, the location far enough away. Painted in bright yellow $60 a night on the blue bin wheeled out on the kerb.

So after all that agonising about what to keep and how to cull, I ended up with more to work with, an idea unfinished, another excuse to travel and paint.

Oh, and more photos for the blog.

Hurtled into the Safety of a Letter

While the Prime Minister was being hurtled to safety in Canberra I was not that far away in a world of poetry, music and art.  I love this country but choose not to celebrate it on the day it was taken from the original owners so I try to immerse myself in things yobbos would not and The National Library is just the place.

“Handwritten” an exhibition of works from the Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin was simply wonderful. My last adventure to the Library was to see Nick Cave’s genius, this time it was wonder after wonder. From Dante’s Divine Comedy, exquisite illuminations, letters from Napolean and Kafka to Beethovens 5th Symphony.  His chaotic, powerful notes crossed and re-written  and as you study the darkened marks on the staves -the music opens and my goose pimples explode in those few notes.  In the same darkened room the delicateness of Fanny Mendelssohn, sister to Felix Mendelssohn is a complete contrast and a simple pencil drawing by her artist husband adorns the edge of the manuscript, the words by poet Josephf Von Eichendorff.

It’s this relationship between music, art and poetry that reccurs in a letter dated jdth August 179i3 by Goethe.  He has written a poem especially for his artist friend Roesel who had sent him a drawing. At the top of the letter he has combined a brush and a pen within a laurel wreath.

Perhaps the most poignant comes from a man named Peter Hagendorf, a small intimate well thumbed diary of an ordinary man. A soldier in the 30 year war (1618-1648) This diary covered a 25 year period and described atrocities of war such as a beautiful young woman of 18 burned alive to recipes of tasty pumpernickel. Over this time he writes on losing his wife and eight children and enduring poverty and injuries to wealth and accounts of lands that he journeyed through.

A page from Hagendorf's diary 1624

Picking up a Library Newsletter on the way out was an article concerning Arthur Boyd and Sidney Nolan in producing backdrops for the Ballet. I treasure poetry and music, I am influenced by musicians and poets as much as other visual artists.

I didn’t need the fireworks for Australia Day, Beethoven supplied those.

Images from “Handwritten” Ten Centuries of Manuscript Treasures National Library of Australia

Dude, Who Painted my Car? Art Quiz 4

My car is white.  I think if I had a choice I might paint it green, lime green. Lately cars have been getting less and less colourful.  This quiz is based on some BMW’s that have been given a coat by some major artists. Ready to give it a spin? Put yourself into gear and put you fingers to the metal. See if you can match the artist to the car.

I would say that BMW may just supply the artist with a car but I’m afraid there are no prizes in this game except for the absolute glory of getting past the winning flag. Give it a try and click here
After the quiz you can click on this link and see how you fared.

http://www.bmwdrives.com/bmw-artcars.php

Dishwashing, Driving & Existentialism

I used to think that miraculous trains of thought came to me whilst driving but I realised this morning -it is also dishwashing. My good friend Eva did a portrait of me whilst I was thinking in the same way.  I pull a particular sort of face, one I liken to a cats bottom and my mum’s pout when she watched “Days of our Lives”.

Removing purple cabbage leftovers from a spotty red plate made me wonder why we connect differently with works.  Yesterday I was agape at the work of Elisabeth Cummings at the SH Ervin. Three of us stood in reverence before each painting, studying technique, oohing at colour and not wanting to leave.

On the way out I overheard a women say “now Tim Storrier was a good painter.”  I had to restrain myself from inserting two fingers into her nostrils, firmly hooked and dragging her to each work to explain the intricacies, to explain to her the absolute knowledge of paint, to explain to her what appears as just a mark is an act of extraordinary bravery.

The dishwashing today made me realise Tim Storrier is a good painter and so is Elisabeth Cummings, we all have a different sense of connection to painters and often at different times.

The cabbage and my hostility came off and left me with a fresh lemon sparkle of self-awareness. Perhaps you would like to read John McDonald’s take on the Luminous Exhibition, a great review.  I wonder if he has a dishwasher?

Legs like a thoroughbred racehorse

Yesterday was a remarkable day.  It began with listening to an interview on the radio about lifesaving.  My ears tweaked..Dad was a beach inspector and the historian was looking for information. After a flurry of emails and phone calls I related my Dad’s story.

I always saw him as special but to hear of his reputation as a “Waterman” was delightful.  A term dubbed by the South Africans of Derban Beach for men that could take on any surf. A term of respect by lifesavers around the world.

I painted this work quite some years ago. It was an important painting to me, the beginning of my Windang series, my look back that is still yet to be completed. Dad was a huge man 6ft 3, legs like a thoroughbred racehouse. As a small child I was always running behind, viewing the world between two long neverending pink legs or propped from above, perched on shoulders riding the surf.

Trolling through Dad’s photos, clippings and ephemera his world encompassed the beach, stockman at Carpentaria Downs, shearer, Kokoda, steelworker, businessman and boatsman.   I’m sure Dad would think that this is an ordinary life, I think more like an extraordinary man.

A Big Pink Painting & Bare Bones

Sydney is alive with Elisabeth pink.  Luminous Landscapes at the SH Ervin and Monotypes at King St on William.  Her monotypes are the skeletons ,the bare bones  of her work. We get to see her paintings in a state of undress.  As a celebration I have edited this post that I originally wrote a long time ago. It goes like this……..

My first Elisabeth Cummings was a huge pink job.  I walked into an exhibition of works held by the Shoalhaven City Council; the odd local landmarks, a few portraits and then wham! The Wedderburn Bush.  A Cummings completed in the 70’s.  Not only was I drawn by the size and colour, it was the clarity of the bush that I had seen in Fred Williams.  A simplicity that captured the essence- Whiteley called it Quiditass.

Since then I have delved further looking for her influences in the effort to understand what I want– try and follow the path in the hope that the paint comes off and I find her primer- what has driven her to that point.  It turned out to be not a path but a bit of crazy paving.  One artist led to the next –Whisson, Fairweather, Bonnard & Cezanne until I’m back where I started.    Cumming’s Arakoola Landscape at the AGNSW has allowed me to study the technical process in the same way I’ve looked at De Kooning, Olsen and Tony Tuckson at the NGA.  Studying slashes of thick seemingly unpredicted colour over delicately built glazes.  Unexpected marks in response to an observation. I feel that there is an advantage being a regional artist, the limited exposure to these important artists means that I have to work harder at finding my own way through paint.  My influences are my own environment and the subject at hand.  My paintings are the result of intuition and bravery and willingness to accept a loss.  By studying Cumming’s works I will still never know whether that shard of Bonnardish colour was a confident knowledgable action or an instinctive reaction.