Chamberlain crush

Not to dwell on the subject of artists who have passed, but it is necessary to acknowledge John Chamberlain who died December 21, 2011. The first memory I have of seeing a ‘real’ Chamberlain piece was above a desk in the office of a very pristine Los Angeles gallery space in the late 1980′s. I was amazed at how elegant and regal the piece was despite the fact it was made of crushed metal. One of the engaging aspects of Chamberlain’s sculptures made of crushed metal (usually metal from cars) was to wonder about what was already there and was added or manipulated by the artist. In most of his earlier pieces the colour was the natural colour found on the crushed metal; later he added to the colour and then interface between found and added became more blurred. I always appreciated the unlikely ability of crushed car metal to be made elegant. (Its also worth checking out Chamberlain’s foam sculpture’s as they have the same playful sensibilities as architect’s Frank Gehry’s maquette -you really get the feel of an artist trying to discover the possibilities of a material in these pieces). Whenever I see the crushed metal ‘monument’ (above) in Beacon Hill Park (corner of Douglas and Superior), I think about how the folds look so well-formed that it is hard to imagine this was completely accidental, and then this brings me back to thinking about Chamberlain and how he used the natural movement and shape of metal to become a major component of his extremely organic sculptures.

Frankenthaler puddles

Whenever a favourite artist of mine dies I start thinking a lot about their work and their impact on the artworld. My reveries soon make me see their work everywhere. How can one look at a puddle and not think of Helen Frankenthaler? I remember when I went to art school in the 1980′s and watched Painter’s Painting, an iconic film about the New York School painters including Barnett Newman, Robert Motherwell, Robert Rauchenberg, Jasper Johns, Larry Poons, etc. Helen Frankenthaler was the only woman in the film so she stood out for me. I was fascinated with her approach of not using a brush to paint. I remember on one occasion I had a professor at Concordia who burst into a lecture hall, shaking a paint brush in the air and shouting in a startlingly loud voice, ‘why the hell are you guys still using a brush to paint with? Painters have been using brushes for over 500 years, can’t you think of another way?’. As a young art student, such a question had never occurred to me. I was startled by the obviousness of the question and yet I felt there was no answer. This was the 80′s and Pollock, Riopelle, Frankenthaler had given up the brush in the 1960′s so I guess the professor was wondering about the legacy of the New York School and where was the evidence of its influence and long term effect? When I saw Helen Frankenthaler’s poured paintings for the first time, I understood. The idea was to lose control, but at the same time to control the loss of control; a very delicate balance indeed. Helen Frankenthaler departed from the raw energetic physicality of Jackson Pollock to create something that was later referred to as ‘stain painting’. I loved the way Frankenthaler integrates the boldness of process painting with a delicate and elegant touch. My first intense experience with Frankenthaler’s work was at the Art Gallery of Ontario with her ‘Works on Paper’ exhibit; I was amazed by the balance of intense physicality of gesture combined with her very restrained and delicate touch. And painting on paper! Who knew this was possible? Rest in peace Helen. You will be missed. Thank you for making me see how paint has a mind of its own. While my photographic image of water drying on the path along the Dallas Cliffs in no way captures beauty of Frankenthaler’s paintings, it was for me, on a cold wet west coast day, a momentary reminder of her legacy.

Cat gum

There comes a time in every blog’s life where the appearance of ‘the cat’ must occur. This sidewalk cat seems to be made from somebody drawing on dried gum which happened to be the shape of a cat. I find myself often looking at the shapes of gum (the way one used to lie on the ground and imagine the shapes of clouds being a variety of exotic animals) and try to imagine that they are shapes of something other than a flattened glob made of wax, synthetic rubber, polyvinyl acetate and other non-food items, that people chew and spit on the street. I’ve never been a fan of gum in part because I think it looks really weird when you watch people chewing gum. Cows chewing grass come to mind and for some reason that is not how I want to look. And then the other reason is I have always been suspicious of gum is the mysterious ingredients that are used to make this very weird concoction. If you watch this video link, you too will see how chewing gum is much better suited for sidewalk cats than for putting in your mouth. I like the juxtaposition of the ‘thought bubble’ above the cat’s head. My favourite cats in art are in the work of Scottish artist Elizabeth Blackadder

Occupy Sandwich

When I first saw this bus shelter ad, I was overcome by its unattractiveness. This burger-like construction is lacking the benign, slightly humourous quality of Oldenburg’s giant soft sculpture of a hamburger. There is something insiduous about this sandwich disguised as burger. It’s not just the fact this sandwich contains substances from at least three different farm animals (cow, chicken and pig); its also its weird placement. Is it on a wooden table? Or perhaps a pedestal? Why has it been placed on the corner edge as if it is just about to fall over? And what’s it doing on a red folded cloth napkin? Tim Hortons, wood tables and cloth napkins are not terms that go together. Are these devices all used to make it seem more giant? Or more tasty? Or perhaps giant and tasty are the same thing? One day this graffiti appeared on the ad. I thought this text was just perfect. I like how the text fit perfectly into the overall shape and how the yellow of the egg accentuated the word ‘something’. The text had the elegance of Jenny Holzer’s poetic, yet very political works. I thought the sentiments expressed in the text fit in so well with the Occupy movements. I wonder how the world would be if everyone decided to ‘be someone that does something’.

Spots and dots

This image is on the wall of a Japanese restaurant near the corner of Quadra and Johnson. Its really simple but interesting to me because I wonder about the motivation of making these little spray painted circles. The spray paint makes them look blurred or out-of-focus; they appear to be disintegrating as you stare at them. I always think of the early work of Larry Poons whenever I pass by this wall. I also find it curious that the owners of the restaurant cover up all the graffiti and tags on the outside walls but these circles remained untouched.

Street Spiral

Photo: Shirley Grosser

The great thing about this site-specific street drawing is that it incorporates the street repair lines. The distinction between the drawn lines and the street repair lines is blurred creating a visual tension that appears to be going unnoticed by this spiral walker. The most renown spiral in the art world would have to be Robert Smithson’s ‘Spiral Jetty‘ This links to great website that also has the film of the making of the Spiral Jetty which is a fascinating process to watch. The spiral is one of those delightful forms that has the possibility to go on forever; our sidewalk artist chose to end the spiral in unison with the street repair line; Smithson ended his at the intersection of water and land. Both these spirals make use of the site to inform their shape and structure.

Urban Ballerina

Its always interesting to see where images can take your imagination. I realize this is a far stretch but when I looked at this green electrical box, I immediately thought of a ballet dancer with the white drips standing in for the tulle of the tutu. And then I tried to think about examples of ballet dancers in contemporary art. I remember telling a student to stay away from painting dancers because how could anybody do this subject justice after Degas? As a young artist I spent hours studying the visually complex choreographies of Degas’ compositions. My favourite painting was The Rehearsal. It was the empty space and the the intricate spaces between spaces within the triangle of ballet dancers that fascinated me the most. But contemporary art and ballet? The image that immediately comes to mind is Jonathan Borofsky’s Ballerina Clown. I lived in Venice, California in the late 1980′s (when this work was first installed) and I thought it to be the strangest piece of public art I had ever seen. I could neither believe the form nor the location of this work. I thought, as I watched the installation, this can’t be happening: this must be a temporary performance. How could such a sculpture be a permanent fixture on the outer facade of a building? And yet, it is surprising how this outrageous sculpture so quickly gets absorbed into the carnival atmosphere of Venice itself and surprisingly you hardly notice the sculpture in this context. Seeing this work many times subsequent to this first impression, Ballerina Clown seems like the perfect image to watch over the idiosyncratic seaside California town known as Venice. My Ballerina Box seems so demure and understated, not to mention a little rough around the edges, compared to the Borofsky dancer.

Found love

Photo credit: Robin Kirkpatrick

It seems there are a couple of signs of LOVE around Cook St Village. There is also a vertical one on Cook near Rockland. The sign reminds me of an artist I discovered while living in Los Angeles in the late 1980′s, Georges Herms. I was immediately intrigued with Herms’ work because of his restrained and seemingly very specific use of found objects. However there was one thing that perplexed me every time I encountered his work: the work always seemed to contain the word ‘love’. There is something about this word that can take on an aura of triteness. A good friend of mine knew Herms and told me about how he does in fact ‘love’ all the objects he uses and how he stores objects abandoned by previous owners with care and consideration in an organized shelving system. Now looking back at these works, the word ‘love’ is just such an integral part of the work, I wouldn’t even question it anymore. ‘Love’ as a word can be overused, sentimental, trivial and insincere. And yet it can also be all of the opposites: not used enough, evocative, profound and sincere. I consider love the best motivational factor for almost everything I do, whether running a business, making art or maintaining personal relationships. The amount of work involved in running an art school can be overwhelming. The thing that keeps me going is that I always remember the following things: I love art, I love teaching, I love students. I love learning new administrative and computer skills and I love the building that houses the school. I just sometimes don’t always like the combination of these things. The same thing with artmaking: I love materials, I love making things with my hands; and again, I don’t always like the combination. So the simple sign of love on the telephone pole makes us stop and think not only about the word, but also our response to it. At the end of life, it is really all there is left so it is an important word to hold on to in whatever way we can. Here’s a link to more of Herms’ love.

Anthropocene

Photo credit: Marilyn Welch

This turtle image reminded me of a term I learned about on CBC's The Current: Anthropocene. There is a website devoted to mapping this particular period of time we are living in: Anthropocene. Wikopedia describes the Anthropocene as ‘a recent and informal geologic chronological term that serves to mark the evidence and extent of human activities that have had a significant global impact on the Earth’s ecosystems’ (apparently this will officially become the ‘new epoch’ as of August 2012). Edward Burtynsky who was interviewed as part of the CBC radio segment, makes work that serves as a specific representation of the Anthropocene era in that his recent photographs are depicting a landscape (the tar sands) dramatically transformed by human desire for fossil fuels. The turtle made me think of our last link to past epochs such the Paleocene when dinasaurs roamed the planet. This turtle found on the side of the Atrium building on Yates has been painted over since this photograph was taken. Seeing this turtle one day and then the next day covered up, erased, made me momentarily contemplate the greater erasure of all species of plants and animals. It seems some humans are making the choice that all their needs and wants must be met despite the high cost of replacing natural environments with man-made ones.

Invented creatures

An owl made of angora wool seen in the window of Footloose Shoes on Fort Street. Owls have a history of being abused in arts & crafts, especially during the 1970′s when they embodied a macramé format (for those of you who are unaware of this period of owl abuse here is an extensive macrame owl collection for you to peruse at your own risk). I think one of the myriad problems associated with the macramé owl is the of lack owl dignity manifested by this form, resulting in very inelegant decorator objects. Whereas this Footloose owl in rabbit’s clothing definitely has elegance and gentle poise. It brings to mind artists who have invented birds and other animals based on actual characteristics combined with imaginative whimsy; one artist who creates an excellent invented owl is Leonard Baskin. He illustrated several of the poet Ted Hughes’ books including one called ‘Cave Birds’. Laura Owens is a contemporary painter whose work also contains made up animals including birds, monkeys and tigers. Her work is just awkward and odd enough not be sentimental. The angora owl above, like many of Owen’s creatures is part of a larger installation or pictorial context. A chair, flowers, drapery and hanging frames create an environment for this owl that makes him, despite its petite stature, king of this window.