Jennifer Kershaw

Gerrrrrrms update

2012-02-02T15:06:00.000-05:00

Have darkened the gram-positive bacteria and developed their surrounding fluid a bit more:

Why Art Writing Hurts My Brain

2012-01-31T11:01:00.000-05:00

I was finally able to sit down with the most recent edition of Border Crossings. (Volume 30 number 04 Issue No.120)

Flipping through, I saw some great images connected to what looked to be interesting articles. And then I even saw a familiar name: John Kissick. An article by someone I’d actually met and listened to in lecture! It was shaping up to be a good issue, I thought, so I sat down eagerly to read it. I got a paragraph in to Kissick’s article (pp 54-57) and my heart sank.

Despite the promising first subtitle (Kissing my Master’s ring and missing), this article quickly spiralled down into the kind of art writing that drove me nuts as a student.

I mean the stuff that gave me the shakes and a desire for strong booze.

Ostensibly it was a review of the Abstract Expressionist New York exhibit that recently made its way to the Art Gallery of Ontario, but the show was more a vehicle to discuss Kissick’s evolution as an artist, specifically as an Abstract painter.

To start positive, he did throw in some good, evocative descriptions:

"AB EX:NY” is the curatorial equivalent of those old K-Tel records: a one-stop, greatest hit-after-greatest-hit collection with a couple of one-hit wonders thrown in. (p 55)

Fantastic! A very clear, easily understood, yet flavourful, comparison there.

And then the spiral.

The point of the essay was that he had become jaded and, in the end, numb to the charms of Abstract Expressionism, and trying to figure out ‘where the love had gone’ (p 55) and to feel if he could still feel, went to this exhibit. And lo! He experienced a glimmer of that earlier spark when he saw a particular Barnett Newman. Because of all the discourse and endless talking about issues, he stood in front of paintings that once moved him and felt something worse than disdain: numbness. That is until “Barney” as he self-consciously and chummily refers to Newman (p 57), offered the glimmer. Which, I’ll pause here and say that giving an overly familiar name to someone you've never actually met strikes me as . . . disrespectful somehow. Flippant.

Anyway, what sunk this essay more than anything else is that, as a whole, it came off as insincere. He tries to be sincere, it’s confessional writing, but because of all the tools he pulls out, like his “just us plain folks” casual swearing uncomfortably mixed with artspeak; the jadedness pretty much oozing out of three pages (which I get is the point of the essay, but the sheer saturation of cynicism, the whole “too cool for school” tone of it just plain grates), it reads, frankly, as just so smug that any empathy I would have felt for his situation -- becoming numb to something once-well-loved -- is corroded by my annoyance.

The “I’m really just plain folks! Really!” schtick gives the impression of an academic elitist slumming it. Mixing serious art discussion language with casual swearing? Look out establishment!

Despite the casual language (or perhaps because of it) the whole thing reads as pompous and smug. As I tasted the “just plain folks” flavour he was striving to create (and failing) I was mentally whisked back to that day in my Museum Studies class back in 2004 when the newly minted head came to give a guest lecture on the importance of concise, clear writing in an artist statement. I remember that lecture not because he was saying anything new or groundbreaking or shocking, but because of the way he delivered it: straddling a chair backwards, arms ‘casually’ resting on the chair back. I had to inwardly roll my eyes, because the move was so calculated, it undermined the casual effect he was going for. At the time, I chalked it up to nervousness, and being the new guy in town, but judging from this essay, it seems to be one of his quirks.

And much like the chair straddling move, the casual swearing was very deliberate, and mixed into the essay’s formal language, drew attention to itself, thereby undermining the intended effect.

The other insincere element is the image he tries to project of himself as someone outside the stodgy and academic. He tries to thumb his nose at The (academic) Man that he even references (p 54), but says things like " [. . .] history is recognized as a fiction” (p 55). Which is a very academic sentiment. (I would also like to say at this point that I disagree that history is a fiction – I would say it is a construct, but is still based in a reality.)

As a result of this posing, I wasn’t moved by this essay. The unfortunate situation is happening to a very carefully crafted image, and not to the human being beneath that facade.

I didn’t really get a sense of the man behind the words, rather, I got the sense that Kissick is presenting an image of Cynical, Learned (Yet Not Stodgy) Art Guy rather than just being himself. And if you are discussing something as personal as losing your faith in something you once loved, and had meaning for you, and shooting for a confessional tone – in the end it doesn’t matter, because it’s happening to a projection and not to the man beneath. It’s all surface. There isn’t a visceral, gut reaction because the emotions, the loss, the disillusionment has all been filtered (and diluted) through this persona, and just doesn’t resonate. I want to feel for the guy, but can’t – I’m blocked by the language, the posing, and the cynicism that is almost worn like a cloak. I feel removed from the issue being discussed, like there’s a layer of insulation in between, muffling sound and meaning.

And underneath all the plain-folks, casual tone,"I’m really not a stodgy guy” front, is a hard streak of good old fashioned snobbery:

I’m really not sure if it was emotional weakness or just a certain nostalgic curiosity that led me to the Museum of Modern Art last February to see the ‘Abstract Expressionist New York’ exhibition. (p 55)

He seems almost to be apologizing for going to such a mainstream show, like it was a guilty pleasure to attend this K-Tel hits of an exhibition, thereby putting down the people who would go to it because they like to hum along to the familiar. It’s like the people who pretend to hate the Beatles because they’re soooo mainstream. And that’s not to say that everyone loves the Beatles – there are many, I am sure, who just don’t care for them. It’s the ones who started liking the Beatles, but felt they had matured beyond such music, and feel it’s beneath their sophistication to enjoy something that’s popular among so many. I like the Beatles, and I don’t apologize for it. I like pop music in general, and don’t apologize for that, either. Good music is good music regardless of who listens to it.

The journal articles I read in my undergrad drove me to drink and develop a twitch whenever the Unholy Trifecta are invoked. This kind of writing, while striving to stay away from the stodgy, academic, artspeak still made me twitch and shudder, not necessarily for the writing style, (I only counted one reference to "deconstructing" anything) but the overall effect. Both types just came off as so pompous and self conscious.

Would it be so horrible if we just kept it real? Without all the pose-striking and the pretending to be something we’re not? Without the hiding behind meaningless language?

I would read more art writing, criticism, and debate if it wasn’t so affected and full of itself.

And now I feel like Holden bloody Caulfield calling out the Phonies.

Wee Gerrrrrrms! *

2012-01-26T08:22:00.001-05:00

New, biology based painting!

Initial drawring

*Said in a Groundskeeper Willie brogue:

2012-01-23T10:23:00.000-05:00

Refining, working up the background, and waiting for the creamier elements to dry a bit more:

Big Marbles continued

2012-01-18T10:35:00.000-05:00

Close Encounters of the Blurred Kind

2012-01-09T10:03:00.000-05:00

In addition to the challenges of transportation, I've soon (re)discovered others involved with working large. The first discovery was that using my easel is awkward (which, I kind of knew it would be), so I am working with the canvas hung on the wall, which is still awkward, but not as much as using the easel. The second is documenting. I can't quite get enough distance in my studio to take a picture that isn't fish-eyed, blurry, or skewed in some other way.

I have some ideas, so none of these are deal-breakers to working large again in the future, it's just interesting to be shaken out of my usual work habits.

We're going to need a bigger boat . . .

2012-01-04T10:45:00.000-05:00

It's been a long time since I've worked big. How big? Well, as big as our little car would fit: 3' wide by 5' tall:

Disembodied head for scale

Excited! Scared! Hungry?

2011-12-05T09:25:00.000-05:00

Cats, Rats and Ravens by Gwendolyn Best

The Best of Orange Christmas Show

Nov 30 – Dec 31, 2011

Opening Thursday Dec 1^st
6 to 10 pm. Meet the artists.

This special holiday show/party will feature the best small, medium and large scale works of Orange’s finest artists plus a few surprises. The show will include the portraits of Stephen Frew, cool urban landscapes of Megan D’Arcy and sixty cats, rats and ravens from Gwendolyn Best. Come early to pick your favorites. Gift certificates are also available

Disco Robot, Boogie Down

2011-11-21T13:12:00.000-05:00

10" x 10" oil on panel

Building a Better Pineapple

2011-11-20T12:41:00.000-05:00

8" x 6" oil on panel

Boogie On, Little Robot

2011-11-17T14:38:00.000-05:00

Space Robot Disco!

Oh la la, c'est un ananas

2011-11-17T12:22:00.000-05:00

dans un parachute!

Colours Out of Space

2011-11-10T09:15:00.001-05:00

Moon men from beyond the moon!

Binary solo:

Pineapple 2.0: The Re-Griddening

2011-11-07T15:42:00.000-05:00

Straight-ish lines on a painted surface: harder than it looks akshully. This is the second attempt - the first ended in tears.

"High steppin' strutters who wind up in the gutter . . ."

2011-11-07T13:21:00.000-05:00

My weird little painting is finished:

It has a weird little story behind it, and I guess it would be better for people to make up their own minds about what this is about, but, yeah, I suppose I'll go there:

Sometime back, during the summer it must have been, I was working away, listening to online radio, specifically CJOY, the Guelph station. Now, the disc jockey that works the mid-morning program seems to really enjoy folk music. I mean, a lot. If it isn't James Taylor singing about "flying machines in pieces on the ground"or a man from Tennessee begging his beloved to come to Boston, and her refusing, it's Gordon Lightfoot. Now, I enjoy Gordon Lightfoot as much as the next person - Black Day in July happens to be a personal favourite- but every day that week at some point in the morning, the jock would play "Rainy Day People". Every. Damn. Day. Finally, I said to Jeremy: "If I hear Rainy Day People one more time, I swear I'll pull a Father Jack and leap out this flipping window."

To which he said, "You mean your window on the ground floor?"

Sheepishly: "Yes."

Of course after this, there was a discussion of how this scenario would play out, complete with the somewhat uppity crows that live around here . . . And that is what this painting illustrates.

So that's the story. Probably not as interesting as any a viewer would come up with, but there it is.

Also, Rowbuts!

2011-11-07T11:36:00.001-05:00

In The Future, There Will Be Robots

2011-11-01T09:29:00.000-04:00

Drawring

Underpainting

Building a Better Pineapple Step #3 (or so)

2011-10-30T13:39:00.000-04:00

2011-10-30T13:37:00.001-04:00

Nearly there:

Grass! Aa-ah . . .*

2011-10-25T09:17:00.000-04:00

. . . Saviour of the universe!

The first layer of grass is in - next step is darker blades of grass and a green wash over areas.

* sung to the tune of Flash:

In Rod We Trust

2011-10-24T13:55:00.000-04:00

Inanimate Carbon Rod!

A healthy, green glow-y alternative to candles:

Is there anything it can't do?

My neighbour who works at Carleton University asked if I could carve a pumpkin for this week's United Way Great Pumpkin Silent Auction happening there. The pumpkins will be on display at the registrar's office and can be bid upon starting Tuesday October 25th through Thursday, October 27th. Not only is there a chance to win an awesomely outrageous jack-o-lantern, but when you place a minimum bid of $5.00, you'll be entered into a draw for a chance to win a hot air balloon champagne flight for two! Ohmagad!

2011-10-24T13:24:00.000-04:00

Preparing the ground for grass:

Contrails

2011-10-18T12:08:00.000-04:00

Worked up the sky, adding clouds and contrails:

Then roughed in a couple figures for scale.

Weird Little Painting

2011-10-14T09:10:00.001-04:00

I'm preparing for the Smalls show at Orange Gallery happening this December. This is one of a few paintings that I'm working on:

I'm taking the opportunity to work out some experiments I've had in mind for a while. The smaller format means that if it doesn't work out, it's no big deal, while I get to broaden my horizons a bit. If something does stick after throwing it against the wall, I can work it up on a larger scale later.

2011-10-13T07:37:00.000-04:00

Some angles are a little wonky

Underpainting

But it's good to get the base colours down.

First Thursdays

2011-10-04T09:24:00.000-04:00

This Thursday, October 6th, (after I get my vote on) I will be at Orange Gallery with other artists featured in the 2nd Juried Figureworks Show as part of the Wellington West Art Walk that happens the first Thursday evening of every month.

A glimpse of things to come

2011-10-02T16:31:00.000-04:00

Research:

Rowbuts!

Choosing Your Own Adventure!

. . . And Gordon Lightfoot?

Leave it til tomorrow to unpack my case

2011-10-01T10:49:00.003-04:00

Honey disconnect the phone:

Had a fantastic time in Vancouver:

There was beer sampling and SCIENCE! not to mention seahorses, robots, and Jesus the Carpenter sightings in silk cushioned, tapestried Afghan restaurants. Good times.

Figureworks 2011

2011-09-28T21:31:00.000-04:00

Fuel Storage by Night

2011-09-19T15:01:00.001-04:00

Fuel Storage by Night, 9" x 12" oil on panel

This just in:

2011-09-19T11:56:00.000-04:00

I was accepted into the 2nd Figureworks Juried Show! I submitted Industrial Safety Dance and Static Electricity Experiment in Red, and they will be displayed at Orange Art Gallery from September 28th until October 23, 2011, with the opening on September 29th from 6:00pm - 10:00pm.

Inside Outside

2011-09-18T19:21:00.001-04:00

So why am I fixated on the concept of Home? Isn't it just where you live?

When I think of the idea of Home, it involves a feeling of belonging somewhere, of being woven into the fabric of someplace - a community, a culture, a subculture, a town, a city. When you don't feel you belong anywhere, you're on the lookout for that particular feeling.

This week I went "home" to Southern Ontario and Toronto. I went to see the Saving Face show in Mississauga, and on a memory tour of Guelph. We drove through Milton, where I went to high school. The next day we went to The Distillery and Beaches areas.

I call it home, because it was where I was born and lived for many years. If not spending a lot of time in the heart of the city, then in the outlying areas of it. I have roots there (or I should probably say I have history there, since the issue is one of feeling rootless). One of my first memories is going to visit my Uncle Joe at Gooderham and Worts. My father took me one day in 1985, the year my uncle retired. I remember seeing the ancient roller coaster, The Flyer, (which I only remember because I was terrified of it, but still wanted to ride it), an old stone building, loud machinery, climbing a lot of metal steps, and then my uncle's office, and sitting on his red leather chair.

When we visited this week, my memory of an industrial, manufacturing area was really at odds with the present reality: Fancy people in fancy shops and restaurants; condo living, chic and clean. It was more than a little surreal: Everywhere, in this newly fashionable area, are remnants of its past identity -- parts of distilling equipment in museum-like displays, pictures of workers, educational signs that talked about what was formerly on the spot and what its purpose was in the business of making whiskey, which served to further develop the feeling of disconnect I have with the city. It wasn't the city of my memories, I hadn't been living there while it was growing and changing, as cities do, only coming in at the current result, which was a place that called itself Toronto, but wasn't my Toronto; while aspects of it were as familiar as getting stuck in traffic on the Gardiner, it was no longer Home.

2011-09-18T19:02:00.000-04:00

Sittin' in the Railway Station, Got a Ticket for My Destination

2011-09-17T22:27:00.002-04:00

It was a week of closed chapters and tying off of loose ends.

Our friend and fellow Guelph Studio Art Program alumnus, Cole Swanson, curated a show running this month at the Mississauga Living Arts Centre called Saving Face, an exploration of the State of Canadian Portraiture today. It's a great show, and it will be on until November 13th.

After driving down to the GTA, we decided to do a Reader's Digest tour of our past together, and where it all began: Guelph. The Big G. We started at the University of Guelph, and walked Winegard Walk, noting the new and expanded buildings, the new bus shelters (luxury! No more waiting for the bus in the rain - hot damn!), and stopped for a coffee together at the UC like we did in the old days when we took a quick break to cram in a muffin or $1 portion of rice before heading back to Zavitz to work on whatever project was a-brewin'. We finished our tour of the campus more or less back at Zavitz Hall, starting in the sculpture studio on the ground floor, going up the creaky elevator to the fourth floor where the painting studio used to be, both sites of so many late nights.

We decided to go, not to make ourselves feel old and weird alongside all the fresh and eager students, but to remember, and to drink in what we came to refer to as "Brain Juice" that all the students generate in this small city between September and April. When we lived here, it was year-round, there was no home to go to besides the one we would eventually make together in Guelph, and in the summer months when a good portion of the students were gone, the city felt different: Less . . . alive in a way that it was the rest of the year; like it was waiting. Both of us dream about our old temporary home from time to time, and as time goes by, it feels increasingly less real - like we had dreamed that entire part of our lives, with only each other as proof that it happened. So we went, while the students were there, to feel that strange buzz again and, as we came to recognize later that day, to close a chapter of our lives for good.

After visiting familiar spots where so much of our story together started, like the old place on Eramosa Road, The Greek Garden, and Sunrise Books, we ended up at the park at the base of the Gordon Street hill, home to the Guelph Garbasaurus:

Guelph Garbasaurus

It was here that we began talking about home, and how you know if you're there. Guelph, while it was an important part of our history, would never be Home. Even when we lived there, going to school, working, figuring out who we were as people and where we wanted to go, we knew that Guelph was only temporary. It always had that feeling of being a waystation, a stop on the journey to wherever it was that we were going.

So, as we watched the ducks and seagulls and other assorted fowl cavort in the shadow of what I always called "The Garbage Monster" we came to accept Guelph as a closed chapter. When we both started, there was a sense of possibility -- what I think is the actual main ingredient of the elusive "Brain Juice" that enlivens the city for part of the year. For us, the feeling of possibility even with the students in residence, was no longer there, and no longer would be -- Guelph had served its purpose. And so had our visit -- it put to rest some unresolved feelings, and will help us to psychically move on, I think.

But if Guelph was never Home, what was? We would ask ourselves this question during the rest of our visit to Toronto and the surrounding area. Would we be forever doomed to Waystations and stop-overs, never really feeling at rest or at home?

After the Year of "No" . . .

2011-09-07T14:15:00.000-04:00

. . . It felt great to get a "yes".

~~Two~~ Three things:

1) I have a home! Recently I approached the Orange Art Gallery about representation and was accepted. Today, I signed the paperwork.

2) Figureworks! Through Orange, I met the lovely Hilde Lambrechts of Figureworks, and she invited me to send her examples of my work online. You will soon be able to find me on the site, Figureworks.org

3) Yay!

Tomlinson

2011-08-29T12:57:00.000-04:00

Or, as I have it on the stack there, TOML SON:

Underpainting

Subtle Developments

2011-08-23T14:30:00.000-04:00

"Fiddle-de-dee, that will require a tetanus shot"

2011-08-17T11:33:00.000-04:00

Old ~~turkey buzzard~~ rusty buildings:

Add it to the list

2011-08-15T21:23:00.001-04:00

. . . of things that Grind my Gears. I was in the bookstore this evening, bopping along to the pretty decent selection of music they normally have there, when I heard the opening of one of my favourite Queen songs. I was anticipating what could only be "dance in the aisles good times", only to have it transmogro into a Glee cover. Boourns! Some things should be sacred. Journey covers are one thing, but by Druid Hamster's beard, I wish They would stop messing with perfectly good Queen songs, y'know?

To get the taste of disappoint out of my mouth:

Mini Landscape

2011-08-11T15:07:00.000-04:00

Underpainting's a go

Industrial Safety Dance

2011-08-04T12:10:00.000-04:00

18" x 24" oil on panel

Context

2011-08-03T08:35:00.000-04:00

Industrial Safety Dance is very nearly finished -- just a little more tweaking and it should be all she wrote (hopefully by the end of today!) In the meantime I present some context:

2011-07-27T11:36:00.000-04:00

Starting to refine areas, adding the finer details and just cleaning things up:

The biggest areas left to finish up are the skin and shirt -- lotta ins and outs and what-have-yous, lotta strands to keep straight in the ol' Duder's mind.

2011-07-21T17:21:00.000-04:00

2011-07-19T17:55:00.000-04:00

Fail.

2011-07-18T12:02:00.000-04:00

If you are afraid to fail, you are afraid to take risks, so they say.

I took a big risk, and failed. Spectacularly. I failed so hard, I have bruises from the impact. How do you move on from this? Well, first I shook my fist and berated myself for sucking so hard, then I dusted myself off, got up and got back to work. The intense failure I met with this weekend made me want to try harder, to do better, to fix where I went wrong. Did I have a flash of wanting to jack it all in for something more certain? Yes. The totality and sheer saturation of fail made me question what the hell I was doing with my life. For a few moments, I rolled the flavour of that around in my mouth, then spat it out.

Back to work, with a renewed purpose.

Canadian Industrial Landscape Painting: A (kind of rambling) Personal (and sort of illustrated) History

2011-07-17T18:05:00.000-04:00

As I was driving ma Jerry to the airport earlier this week, we passed by the fuel storage place on Hunt Club Rd:

We were quiet, just digging on each other's company, so when he said, "Y'know, we're probably on some sort of watch list, eh?" I wasn't quite sure what he meant.

"I'm not quite sure what you mean" I says to ~~Myrtle~~ him, I says.

He explained, "The photos we've been taking lately," and he gestured to the silo-like fuel buildings receding behind us. Recently, we've been out scouting locations in and around Ottawa for my new painting series. Not so long ago, we were out Safety Dancing by this depot, snapping some environmental shots at different times of the day to catch the different light effects.

I imagine there are cameras at these sorts of places.

But really what he was referring to was lo! these many years ago when we were still undergrads at the University of Guelph, and I wanted some pictures of the Darlington Nuclear Plant (Candu!) for a painting. Back in Painting II with Monica Tap, we covered all the basic compositions -- landscape, still life, portrait, and a combination of these. During the landscape portion, I really wanted to paint *my* Canadian landscape -- industrial, urban places I passed all the time in my travels. I had a bee in my bonnet about what people were always going on about with the so-called Canadian Landscape -- namely stuff painted by the Group of Seven in Algonquin Park. To me, that is a very specific part of a specific province that is not a typical landscape for the majority of the population. But this is really a rant for another day.

Anyways, back ~~at the ranch~~ in Painting II, waay back in the early 2000's (right after 9/11, in fact), I was busy painting industrial landscapes. The first was a playground I passed on my bus ride home from school at the bottom of the Gordon Street Hill. It was a pretty boss playground with a nice twirly slide and all that, but it was kind of in a weird place for kids to play -- pretty much in the backyard of an industrial area. There was a pretty covered bridge to get to it, and a bit of a walk down by the Mighty Speed (or is it Eramosa?) River, but still -- industrial. I liked the juxtaposition, and so painted it:

Industrial Park
24" x 36" oil on canvas

Next, was Darlington, which can easily be seen from the 401. Nuclear power, and the stations that generate it, fascinate me because I am weird and enjoy researching weird things. So, I painted it. And at one point in securing our reference shots, had a slight encounter with The Man, which is fair enough considering that point in time, but also industrial espionage concerns and the like.

(And here there would be two images: 1) One of the two paintings I completed of the Darlington Plant, lost to time and space and a couple changes of address and 2) a very moody snapshot (also lost) of a security vehicle taken as we sped off in my reliable 1993 Pontiac, Ethel Red the Unready . . . Man, I still miss that car . . . I have a feeling that photo is around here somewhere, but it's not in the usual places I would have put it for safekeeping . . . but I ~~digest~~ digress)

Fast forward a decade, and I am still quite interested in Canadian Landscapes that do not feature trees, lakes, or the Canadian Shield in any strong way. Also, still interested in nuclear power, and in my travels, and keeping up with the news, remember that I am within spitting distance of the Chalk River Plant. This one, you can't easily see from public areas, and you can't really go on a tour or visit it very easily (as I discovered when I spoke with the guard there). Even more appropriate with this location, though, is that it is pretty much right beside Algonquin Park, and a painting of it would speak to my Canadian Landscape, Group of Seven issue. Haven't yet, but will find a way to paint it one of these days.

So, it comes back to what Jer said. I can only imagine that because I keep turning up at these sorts of places, often with a camera, that I am on a list somewhere. I can only imagine what the list-keepers think about my activities, but I hope I can reassure them that I have nothing sinister in mind.

Rust Colouration

2011-07-14T20:29:00.000-04:00

Hydrangea!

2011-07-12T07:44:00.000-04:00

As for the lillies:

Very well, Sir, you make me sad.

Still a beetle buffet.

"Excelsior!"

2011-07-11T07:22:00.000-04:00

I have a lovely ornamental dish on my coffee table. At Christmas, I place various-sized, spherical ornaments off ma tree in it. Very festive! When it isn't winter, it sits empty. Empty and forlorn. I have been on the lookout for non-seasonal ornaments to place in it, but haven't seen anything I really like. The ones I've seen usually involve wicker and are supposed to offer a hint of (non-threatening! neutral!) whimsy, but just make me think of nests for neurotic birds. Which, hey, if that's your thing, and it floats your boat, go for it, mang!

My solution? Oversized dice. Well, die. I only have the one as yet and am looking to complete the set, but as yet, no joy.

The yellow d20 is a normal-size die. The green is possibly radioactive, with latent, gnarly powers.

I have the nerdish leanings (possibly more than leanings). I've learned to embrace this side of myself, and I'm at the point in my life where I don't particularly care whether people judge me for what I choose to place in my ornamental dish (um . . .that doesn't sound quite right . . .) The opportunity's never come up, really - this is the first time I've actually had a coffee table, much less a dish (ornamental to boot!) to place upon it.

So - nerdy dice. Colourful! Practical! Not made of wicker by neurotic birds! Win!

We can dance

2011-07-08T08:52:00.000-04:00

Underpainting:

2011-07-07T15:07:00.000-04:00

I've just heard back from one of the places I've submitted to:

A big part of what I do involves rejection. There are many reasons why work is rejected, but it all comes back to something that was drilled relentlessly into us studio art undergrads, which was learning how to take criticism (usually on very little sleep, when you are at your most emotionally fragile). Part of hearing rejection or criticism is understanding the intent: Is it to make you a stronger artist in the end? Yes? If so, accept it gracefully (at the very least keep it together and don't cry!) learn from it, and move on.

Am I a bit bummed out? Sure! Will it stop me from carrying on? No way, José! This rejection was not wholly unexpected -- I aimed high, and I missed the mark, but I had to try.

Moving on . . .

Hot Dogs & Wine!

2011-07-06T14:26:00.000-04:00

My favourite B-52s song:

The Saga Continues

2011-07-05T11:42:00.000-04:00

Despite some chemical intervention, the nommage continues:

All-You-Can-Et Beetle Buffet

It could be wishful thinking, but it looks like it's not being eaten quite as quickly.

Despite the blooms, the beetles still have a firm foothold, though.

"You take it on faith, you take it to the heart"

2011-06-28T10:28:00.000-04:00

Last night, I dreamed that I was back in my high school Sr. Concert Band. I was the same age I am now, and it had been 10+ years since I played my alto clarinet in The Band. It was the last practice before a big concert, and I couldn't remember any of the fingerings for the notes I was reading. Worst of all, Sir stopped us all and demanded an explanation from me: "Kershaw! If you can't even play whole notes at this level, you have no business taking up space and time in practice!" And I was ejected.

I woke up worried about all of my painting show submissions.

Lately, whenever I have stress-induced dreams, they're not about my teeth and hair falling out, or even the "I'mlateforanexamIdidn'tstudyforandholycowI'mnaked!" but in band, finding myself unable to play, or expected to perform a solo I haven't rehearsed. Sometimes it's just practice, like last night's dream, other times it's the middle of a concert, but it usually involves unfamiliarity with my instrument (and it's always my beloved Bb clarinet or alto, never a tuba or something I've never played before).

I find it strange that music and The Band, which was such a joy and comfort to me in high school and is the source of so many fond memories, should now be associated with stress and gut clenching, impending doom.

I find out in July if I make it into any of the shows I applied for. Tom Petty had it right: The waiting really is the hardest part.

Static Electricity Experiment in Yellow: Self Portrait

2011-06-23T15:48:00.000-04:00

18" x 24" oil on panel

Heavenly shades of night are falling . . .

2011-06-22T20:33:00.000-04:00

. . . tt's Twilight Time:

I will always associate this song with the movie, Blood and Donuts. I think Cronenberg was involved? At any rate, a Canadian vampire flick in which the vampire involved went underground the night Neil Armstrong walked on the moon, and ruined it (for the vampire) forever.

Calling All Entomologists . . .

2011-06-20T19:40:00.003-04:00

Behold! The horrible, day-lily nomming machine:

"Don't kid yourself Jimmy. If a ~~cow~~ beetle ever got the chance, he'd eat you and everyone you care about!"

I startled another pair of these beetles while they were in flagrante delicto with the flash on my camera. Nosir, I didn't feel bad about it at all. At all! Because, you see, the nomming:

Nommage

Now, I am off to research what kind of beetles these are, and how best to get rid of them before they destroy the entire plant. Already, I caught one of them eyeing my new hydrangea . . .

*******************************
*UPDATE* It is, appropriately enough, called the "Red Lily Beetle" (Lilioceris liliiand) and they are apparently capable of destroying an entire plant very quickly. It does look like my hydrangea is probably safe -- they only seem to visit other plants, not eat them. I saw a couple of solutions to try -- thankfully I only have the one plant, so it's not a super-huge undertaking. If all else fails, I'll likely just pull out the lily and destroy it rather than risk neighbouring plants (because while it says they likely won't bother other plants, I'm not so confident on that score)

It really grinds my gears . . . set to a snappy beat!

2011-06-18T07:27:00.001-04:00

I think this is brilliant: An Airing of the Grievances . . . and it's not even Festivus! Festivus in July, if you will.

Finally, a musical platform to share my loathing of windows that don't open. I wonder what kind of instrumental accompaniment my Ode to Open Windows would have? Some cowbell? (More cowbell!) Or would it be acapella? Simple, uncluttered . . . yesss.

Maybe a song could also be made from my beefs with:

Those weird beetle things that I at first thought were lady bugs, but are actually horrible, day lily-nomming machines! (In Kent Brockman voice): There is no stopping them, the [beetles] will soon be here!

(On the topic of gardens,) that gotdamned cat that keeps defecating in my flower beds. I kinda want to build a trebuchet that will launch any cat attempting to soil my soil into the neighbour's pool.

People who use more than one ! or ? in written communications. I get it - you are excited!!!!!!!!!!!! or confused????????? but, seriously, one is enough. E-nough! My grade two teacher said so.

*(I should indicate here that some of my favourite people use more than one ! or ? at a time. Still love 'em, but it is definitely like nails on a chalkboard for me, and that's just my *ahem* eccentricity)

People who refer to an enjoyable activity as "Bliss". For example: "I'm having a nice cup of tea while reading my new book. Bliss." I don't know why it grinds my gears, it just does. Just writing that sets my teeth on edge.

Cell phones at the table. The person sitting across from you, in the flesh, takes precedence over whatever text, email, or call you get on your phone. Really. Put it away, for the love of Zeus (and his beard).

What really grinds your gears? Steams your clams (or I suppose "hams" if you are Seymour Skinner in a wacky misadventure featuring Supernintendo Chalmers)?

2011-06-15T08:46:00.000-04:00

Windows that don't open.

What does it make you think about?

It makes me think of suicide prevention methods in tall office buildings, secure "installations", and high school (the last two, uncomfortably, having a lot in common). The environment called to mind is one of cinder block rooms painted industrial shades of white, grey, or "calming" colours mixed with a lot of white and grey; headache-inducing fluorescent lighting; a no-nonsense clock ticking loudly away, the red second hand flying around the face, but not fast enough. It makes me think of quiet desperation and climate controlled rooms without such annoying distractions as fresh air.

What it doesn't make me think about is a homey place to live and relax. Incredibly, on the weekend past, my M-I-L was telling me about a homeowner who "upgraded" the windows of their home to be the sealed kind. In that, they don't open. This just seems like a whole lot of messed up to me. Never mind that in a house with sealed windows, a homeowner would have to rely on central cooling and heating year round to regulate the temperature (and how that would really add up on the auld bills), nor even what to do in the event of a fire, I just think about how alienating and sterile that environment would be.

What I love about being able to open my window (and I find it bizarre that I would even be in a situation of justifying why I would want to open a window) is that it brings the neighbourhood inside to me. Dogs barking, children playing in the school yard at recess, buzzing insects, the birds and squirrels chirping and chittering, neighbours calling hello to each other, traffic, lawn mowers mowing,and the wind whistling and rustling in the trees. It makes me feel more connected to what's happening in the world around me, instead of just focusing on what's going on in my bubble. I find it comforting to be a part of something larger.

I can understand wanting to shut out the outside sounds, smells, and distractions every now and then, but to never have the option of opening up? I just don't get why someone would want to willingly restrict and institutionalize himself. Pass the oily Victory Gin?

Or maybe I should be more concerned that I find this more sinister than what it appears to be on the surface: an aesthetic choice, and not a symptom of a larger problem -- the compartmentalizing of life, the going from air-conditioned box to air conditioned box, and the strict regulating of contact with the outside world.

2011-06-07T09:28:00.001-04:00

Last night was the opening and awards ceremony for the NFAL Members' Exhibition

Some of my favourites from the show:

"Pumpkin Patch" by Amie Talbot

"Murray" by Adriana Saba

"Ile du Grand Calumet" by Diane Groulx

"Cat with Bookshelf" by Jarrod Chambers

And then there was an award presentation:

No ribbons for "A Question of Time", but I had a nice time!:

"I'm happy to be here!"

Choose Your Own Adventure

2011-06-06T09:04:00.000-04:00

A Strange Woman offers you a cup of coffee. If you refuse, turn to page 57. If you accept, turn to page 36

2011-06-01T20:35:00.000-04:00

I totally missed Pi day. And Towel Day. I have brought shame upon my house.

But! Robots! (or as we call them around here, "row-buts") and Math Wizards!

"Tonight, tonight . . .

2011-05-26T09:13:00.000-04:00

. . . It all began tonight!"

Not a story of ill-fated lovers, but the evening I drop off my painting for the Nepean Fine Arts League's Members' Night Exhibition at Nepean Centrepointe (how many times can I work in "Nepean"? Nepean!) It runs for the month of June, with the opening and awards presentation on June 6th, starting at 7:00 pm.

Now I've got all those Bernstein songs in my head.

Anyone else have the urge to snap-dance battle? Just me? Oh.

Hail Ants

2011-05-16T08:25:00.000-04:00

I've been taking a bit of a staycation -- getting the beds ready for the new plants, planning out what I'm going to replace the elderly bushes I'm not so fond of, with new shrubberies I do enjoy (I'm thinking hydrangea! or perhaps a nice Rhododendron! Eeee!)

I also just had the best time ever looking for a "technical difficulties" image -- I was thinking something in a Fallout (like the one above) or a nice Kent Brockman:

I for one would like to welcome our new insect overlords

But I also love this monkey:

Look at 'im there, eating that VHS tape

Anywho -- I'm back to painting this week. One more deadline left!

"A Question of Time"

2011-04-28T12:21:00.001-04:00

12" x 24" oil on panel

How to Steal Like An Artist

2011-04-28T10:04:00.002-04:00

I stumbled across this some time ago. In the wash of submission deadlines and things, I lost track of it there for awhile, but it's too good not to share: How To Steal Like An Artist (and 9 other things nobody told me)

It really distills all sorts of truths down to their essence. Philosophisin' aside, one of my favourite items on the list (and there's lots of good stuff there) is the one about negative space. So simple, so elegant a way of explaining how to look in order to paint -- paying attention not just to the subject(s) but the spaces in between that are just as important when building a composition:

How many lines do you see?

So much good advice for life and painting contained in bite sizes: The importance of hobbies, and how they fertilize the art; the importance of having a schedule and order in our days to git 'er done; the importance of having goals.

So refreshing, such common sense advice.

Static Electricity Experiment in Blue: Self Portrait

2011-04-11T12:11:00.000-04:00

18" x 24" oil on panel

2011-04-09T14:54:00.001-04:00

Time to ~~make the doughnuts~~ paint the marbles . . .

Taking a break from the marbles . . .

2011-04-06T13:27:00.001-04:00

. . . before I lose mine!

2011-04-05T11:43:00.000-04:00

Laying tinfoil foundations with an olive-y green:

2011-04-02T13:01:00.000-04:00

12" x 24" oil on panel

2011-03-30T11:47:00.000-04:00

I really wanted to paint this group because of that awesome puddle of aqua beneath the masher marble:

. . . and of course I'm thinking of the word, "aqua" as spoken by Elwood Blues in that Chicago accent of his.

And time yet for a hundred indecisions And for a hundred visions and revisions Before the taking of a toast and tea

2011-03-29T10:46:00.001-04:00

My first issue of Border Crossings has really got me thinking of academia these days. Recently, I also came across this site: http://100rsns.blogspot.com/ It is a blog listing the many reasons why NOT to go to grad school.

I didn't go to grad school for many reasons, chief among them being I was so very, very tired (and my response of vomiting and shaking upon hearing or seeing the words "post modern", "deconstructivist", [and I will now add "marxist" to the list] kind of putting the kibosh on studying art any further at that point). I also told myself that if, in the future, I wanted to go, I would. But, really I just very badly wanted to start my life. In school, there's a kind of suspended animation going on -- life outside school gets put on hold in many ways, and I was really ready for adventures and lessons outside of lecture halls, midterms, and papers. I remember the week in my 4th year when they were conducting interviews for the studio MA program. I was painting away and someone asked me when my appointment was. When I said I wasn't applying, it was like I had just suggested I was going to go commit ritual suicide, judging from the reaction.

It wasn't until after I'd read the first 20 or so Reasons, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me, that I realized I hadn't really given up worrying about this choice in the 6, 7 years since I left university -- whether I would have increased my prospects by continuing with formal education. If I was going to be philosophical about this, I'd go on about Roads Not Taken, but mostly I finally feel at ease in my mind that I didn't go down that road, and went my own path instead. It feels so good to finally lay that burden down -- especially because I didn't even realize I had been holding on to it.

And that's not to say that post-undergraduate school is wrong, just that it was wrong for me, and I've finally accepted that.

Blue & Gold

2011-03-25T10:13:00.000-04:00

Cavern of Riches

2011-03-24T09:15:00.000-04:00

Jeremy also found a package wedged between the front doors yesterday. It contained earthly delights the like of which has not been seen since Ali Baba said "Open Sesame" and entered the 40 Thieves' cave:

A few, out of many! t-shirts encountered

Ahhhhh. I do love a fine t-shirt. It was an even nicer surprise because I was not expecting their arrival for another two weeks at least.

Time Warp

2011-03-23T15:39:00.000-04:00

I love it when I open the mailbox and find something that isn't a bill or the local politician's mailer:

As I flipped through, I had something of a flashback: I was no longer standing at my kitchen counter, but magically transported to the heady days of the early aughts, in the McLaughlin library, Guelph (4th floor! I don't know why I liked to do my research on the 4th floor -- just seemed like the right place to be). I really don't know how many papers I wrote throughout my undergrad, but if it was for art history, or I was researching a Canadian painter for studio, inevitably there would be a crucial article in this magazine. Border Crossings and I became good friends, you can imagine, over the course of 4 years.

When I left school, I walked away from almost everything art-related for 2 years. I was tired. I didn't want to make or look at anything to do with painting or the art world. The very words "deconstructivist" or "post-modern" would set me to shaking and I'd have to go lie down somewhere until the nausea passed.

So, here I am, it seems like a lifetime later, subscribing to what proved to be a major contributor to my student career (and angst, and wailing, and gnashing of teeth if I'm being honest here). It just seems like the time is right. I'm ready to reimmerse myself in that world and in that language again.

2011-03-19T14:01:00.000-04:00

Nearly there . . .

2011-03-16T15:06:00.000-04:00

Foiled!

2011-03-14T14:25:00.000-04:00

Developed the foil a bit further on this guy:

I've decided to play with colour contrast a bit by adding a flavour of the aqua/green to one half, and burgundy/red to the other. There is still a long way to go, but the watery/liquid foil reflections are starting to shape up.

2011-03-13T12:49:00.000-04:00

2011-03-10T14:27:00.000-05:00

2011-03-08T14:38:00.000-05:00

Added some more dimension to the hair and lips on both of these

Had to work back into that balloon and I fixed that wonky looking arm . . . Still some other wonky things to work out yet!

"Aww now Mama, don't you go talkin' silly . . .

2011-03-07T20:24:00.001-05:00

. . . He's just a young boy/ he's just sowin' his wild oats and that's all right"

I like a song that tells a story. This is one of my favourites by the Five Man Electrical Band (from Ottawa don'tchaknow) that tells the tale of what Papa did about big brother Billy "who never did come home no more":

2011-03-07T13:05:00.000-05:00

What I've Been Up to This Week

2011-03-04T12:40:00.000-05:00

More work on the first two marble paintings:

Especially for this ^ one, it probably doesn't look like a lot of progress has been made, but there has been a lot of subtle foundation-building and re-working stuff going on.

. . . and started two more:

2011-02-24T09:09:00.000-05:00

Have defined the hair a bit more, laying in the foundation for highlights with the white strands. It looks weird now, but when it dries, I'll add a glaze to make them look more like what they are -- bits of hair the light has caught.

2011-02-23T09:24:00.000-05:00

2011-02-18T11:17:00.000-05:00

"Who-o-o Are You (who who who who?)"

2011-02-17T13:38:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time, I worked for a cleaning company. I cleaned houses and offices where I met and knew the people who lived and worked there, and I cleaned houses and offices where I never saw a living soul other than the family pet (who would often run away at the sound of the vacuum) or the fax machine (which would beep and whir into action and scare the life out of me). These homes and businesses always intrigued me. It was a strange feeling, knowing intimate details about a person and their environment without ever meeting them face to face, or ever having any kind of direct communication. From pictures, I knew if there was a husband, wife, children, pets; from things I tidied up and dusted, I had ideas about what kinds of hobbies they enjoyed, the kind of tv shows and movies they watched. Most homes and office cubes speak volumes about who we are without our ever saying a word --even if it is sparsely furnished and decorated, that in itself says a lot.

I was reminded of this last night as I was reading Bryant & May On The Loose by Christopher Fowler and came across this part, which describes the thoughts of a cleaner going about his work:

[The office was] intended to be maintained in immaculate condition throughout the day. Except that the workers here accumulated so much rubbish in their work spaces that Joseph could discern their individual personalities, forcing their way through like grass growing in concrete cracks. Each night they left something of themselves behind, as if anxious to leave evidence that they existed [ . . .]. He never met the people who sat on the chairs and hunched over these desks. For him they existed only through their belongings, a draped cardigan, a gym bag, a sunlit photograph of smiling children. (pp. 234-235)

I've often thought about this -- the items we leave behind that tell people who we are; the idea of painting someone's portrait through still life - depicting not the person, but the items most associated with them as a site for discussing a sitter's identity. This is a particular theme that seems to crop up in my thoughts -- identity and impressions we create not from what we consciously tell people about ourselves, or display knowing that others will see, but the things and items we leave behind without a thought as to how they may be interpreted later if found: Our leavings. I often wonder what the contents of my purse or the junk drawer in my kitchen would have to say about the woman who organized it. Which is why, I guess, that the bits of broken pottery in museums always interest me more than the decorative and showier items: They seem to say more about who the people are that used them than the monuments that were constructed for posterity.

More Marbles

2011-02-15T10:55:00.000-05:00

I've begun roughing in the foil effects:

. . . and started this little guy:

2011-02-10T08:00:00.000-05:00

Blue!

2011-02-09T08:14:00.000-05:00

Basic colours blocked in:

2011-02-08T08:22:00.000-05:00

Paint > linseed:

I had given up on marbles for a while. I loved painting them, but felt I hadn't really pushed them any farther than when I first started painting them waaay back at the beginning of Painting II in 2002: Top-down view on a 24" square support. This time around, I decided to mix up the format as well as the surface the marbles are sitting on, and I think it has made all the difference in breathing new life into one of my favourite subjects. I feel excited about them again.

Yellow!

2011-02-03T10:12:00.000-05:00

Skin is a little alarming at this point:

Kinda creepy with the blue underpainting coming through like it is, eh?

Static Electricity Experiment in Red

2011-01-29T13:42:00.001-05:00

Here is the completed version:

I may go in again and touch things up as I notice them, but for all intents and purposes, that's all she wrote! Onwards . . .

Oh gad. What if it isn't any good?

2011-01-27T11:03:00.000-05:00

Most of the time I manage to keep it together, to keep it in perspective. I do the best that I can with the ability I have, and so long as I know I've done the best I was capable of doing, and didn't phone anything in or get lazy, I feel fine when it comes to deadlines and showing new work. I get a little bit nervous on the day when I turn it in or send off the submission, but nothing like what just happened to me: I had a rare moment of absolute sheer terror and panic, with my stomach feeling like it just ungracefully flopped over the high jump bar, taking the bar with it . . . and then it passed. I wasn't painting, and before I start up again, I'll have to really shake it out and clear my mind before I do, but . . . man, that was weird.

2011-01-25T12:48:00.000-05:00

2011-01-23T15:49:00.001-05:00

Happy Little ~~Trees~~ Marbles . . .

Remember my resolution to try new things? You know, to work on things other than still life and broaden my horizons? It was only, what, 3 weeks ago?

Yeah. Didn't work out so well.

I tried (I really did!) to focus on other things. Then I would see the sun light up my little Bellini Critters sitting in the window:

Or my container of marbles glistening in a band of sun. Or a leftover sheet of tinfoil making interesting patterns.

So of course I had to combine these last two:

Perhaps the lesson here is to stop fighting what clearly fires me up . . . or I should join a support group or something.

2011-01-19T09:30:00.000-05:00

Underpainting: