There is no overt political, religious or social message in my work. But, I do hope that it inspires people to elevate their thinking.
The reason that everything has meaning is that there is a reason for everything.
Our ability to accept and drive the adoption of new better ideas and technologies always lags much farther behind than I'd prefer.
Isn't life all about adding layers? Seasons, events, cycles, repetition, all semi-transparently laid down and built upon one another, sometimes forming structures and other times just adding to the background stew.
"A leopard can't change its spots." But he can know his pattern and choose the best environment in which to wear it.
I read that archeologists recently discovered artifacts from a village in Canada that date between 12,000 to 14,000 years old.
Robots, nuclear war, AI, dark matter, politics, jobs, multiverse, exercise, depression, electric vehicles, Mars colonization, religion, money, Instagram, art... Time for a nap.
One of the themes I play with from time to time is the relationship between two or three subjects. Sometimes I think of them as people, sometimes plants or animals, and sometimes just objects. This one had me thinking about a pair of trees growing up together—wondering if they are aware of each other.
I've had an interesting conversation with life-long friend from art school over the past couple of days. We've been back and forth on the pros and cons of technological "progress." Despite the romantic notion of a "simpler time," I definitely come down on the side of embracing the future in the hope that progress will enable us to transcend our biological limitations and cultural stigmas.
Self-similarity interests me on so many levels. It is the foundation of elegant design. It is the model of nature and evolution. It's true to its own nature from the atomic scale to the cosmic. There doesn't seem to be much written about its importance or role in the laws of the physics, but it seems to me to be as fundamental as gravity itself.
Someone recently asked about the borders I incorporate into the top and bottom of my pieces. If you are inclined to look at my oldest work you can see that it evolved early on with some trial and error. At first, I simply experimented with it as a compositional element, then as I started to consider it more deeply, a few ideas emerged. As I'm working I usually make the border last. It gives me a strong sense that I'm finished and offering the piece to the viewer at that moment—literally as if I'm handing it to someone. Leaving the two sides "open" makes a subtle statement that you are free to visually enter and exit the piece—to walk through it. The open sides also allow my body of work to be tied together and experienced as a continuum.
I've watched a few art documentaries over past week or two. The first was David Lynch's "Art Life," then one about HR Giger's last days, and lastly one about Peggy Guggenheim "Art Addict." All interesting, and very different, but had a few things in common. They all lived art immersively with a blind obsession, never fazed by lack of talent, critical affirmation or even their own sometimes tragic personal lives.
The Golden Ratio (1:1.618). It's said that the human body and face, and many examples in nature, display this proportion. It's then assumed that we naturally prefer these proportions in made objects. There is a similar phenomenon in sound and music where certain frequencies (notes) and combinations of frequencies (chords) are pleasing to our ears while other aren't. I imagine that these things come from somewhere very fundamental. I consider proportion constantly as I'm making art. I virtually never break out a calculator or grid but there is definitely a point where compositional choices feel right.
I'm always looking for the right mix—the perfect balance of not too hot, not too cold, not too hard, not too soft, not too much, not too little—juuust right. Then it occurs to me that the people who leave a mark are, more often than not, extremists.
This piece and the one just prior to this (170601) are the results of the same piece that split midstream. This happens often but I typically only complete one of the directions or merge them back together at some point. In this case I liked both the angular and vertical compositions so I completed both as separate pieces.
Just about anything becomes complex the longer you look or the harder you think about it. I imagine that everything becomes simple again once it's been fully explored, but most things are never fully explored.
This weekend was Art-a-Whirl, a three-day event in NE Minneapolis just a few blocks from where I live, and reputed to be the largest open studio event in the country. Many of the studios are really cool warehouse lofts and have a lot of character. It was a cold rainy weekend that added to the effect. The artists range from full-time pros to hobbyists, from fresh out of art academy to grisled veterans, and from shy to gregarious (mostly shy). I always come away from mass art events with an equally diverse mix of emotions—inspiration, frustration, determination, camaraderie, envy, and hope.