November 2024
It's called gratitude, and that's right.
’Tis the season for intentional, out-loud gratitude.
It has been an interesting year in the studio. Thanks to the David Lusk Gallery for hosting my show, Fragments, and to everyone who saw it. It was a good way to cap off the past decade. I started my 40s with a promise to myself that the decade would be a time of risk and growth. Moving from Philadelphia to Nashville was an opportunity to expand both the scale and methods of working because I assumed no one would be paying attention to what I was working on. That was not true, but the continued eyes on my work didn’t deter me from questioning every part of my established art-making process and disrupting it.
Once Fragments came down and I had time to reflect, that body of work began to feel like the period at the end of a sentence. If it was not the end of a trajectory, then it was something that should be set aside. My work had changed so much in 8-9 years. A cooling-off period was in order. The next steps felt obvious. I could whittle the work down one more step to something even more reductive than the paintings in the show, or I could begin to build something new on top of it. Further steps in reduction or inch back to a maximalist approach. Which way, future boy? Trial and error revealed that neither was appealing to me.
Years ago, I had my first show of drawings focusing on a fractured, collaged picture plane. This was a show that broke from years of traditional concepts of space. A collector took me aside at the show's opening to point out an old drawing of a tree I had made. He said, “Who else do you know that can do this?” I said, “Probably more people than you know.” He replied with a somewhat defiant and irritated tone, “No one! No one else can do this. So when you get finished playing around with all of this,” he said, waving his arms to the show that *just* opened an hour prior, “make sure you get back to this,” pointing to that tree. Imagine you spent a year working on a body of work you felt was an exciting path forward, ready to share that with the public, only to be told at the opening reception, “More old stuff!” It’s similar to the episode of the Simpsons where Homer boos Bachman Turner Overdrive for playing new songs, demanding they play “Taking Care of Business,” then telling them to skip to the “working overtime” part. My unspoken response to this conversation was, “Kiss my ass.” The ’08 recession had knee-capped my career, and no one paid me enough to make suggestions about my art.
Was that collector correct? No, but they weren’t wrong. I at least want to apologize for the unspoken “Kiss my ass.” The past decade of art-making was fun. It needed to happen. I learned a lot. Those lessons will be embedded in future work no matter what happens moving forward. But that collector planted a seed that it was acceptable to return “home” as well. So, in the spirit of thanksgiving, thank you for that conversation. It irritated me for over a decade, but I heard you. It’s been an interesting journey back to familiar territory, seen through fresh eyes.
I spend a lot of time identifying weaknesses in my craft, but I will give myself credit for being able to cross-hatch like a champ. I don’t consider it a gift. I consider the patience to do it to be a gift. Its mechanics can be taught to anyone with a light touch. The rules are pretty simple: every person, place, or thing depicted on a two-dimensional plane can be subjected to an x-axis and a y-axis. Adjust the direction of your lines accordingly. Returning to this working method has allowed me to accept that I developed a visual language for myself. That is a good thing. Most would be happy to say they accomplished that much as an artist. So, to borrow some 80s slang, what is my damage? Why did I stop? Restlessness? Midlife crisis? Who knows? No matter what, I’m glad I did it. I stand by the work that I didn’t destroy along the way. But I’m glad to be putting pencil to paper again. And the picture plane is still fractured. It always has been. You can explode it like a Cubist or stack it like a Japanese print or a Flemish primitive, but the result is still multiple horizon lines whether anyone can detect it or not. I can’t imagine retiring either concept. I have separate but equally important reasons for both.
These studio developments brought the production rate to a grinding halt. I’ve been reading Brad Gooch’s biography of Keith Haring, Radiant. Haring could crank out a show in three weeks and a mural in a day. My studio schedule would not allow me to make a single drawing in three weeks. This is a significant change of pace from making one 80x60” painting a week.
I’ve been teaching myself egg tempera, and I don’t know what to think. I went in with a color concept I’m not keen on, so I will probably start another that is more stripped down and work them side by side. Two paintings will enter the ring, and only one will emerge victorious.
It’s been a great year. I will have one or two posts for “best of” lists in December, and then I’ll start posting “the book” in 2025.
Thanks for going to see Fragments. Thanks to Volunteer State Community College for hosting a show of my drawings. Thanks for reading this goofy newsletter. It’ll be less goofy in two months.
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It’s been a month spent in the car. I assume interesting new art and media were released, but my time has been limited. I have seen a couple of movies, and neither left a dent. I have a list of things to dive into once the semester is finished.
Until then, I recommend these three items:
Radiant - The Life and Line of Keith Haring : Brad Gooch
This is my art book of the year, but that can change after I read Nicholas Fox Weber’s new biography of Mondrian. Gooch captures Haring’s spirit and successfully argues for reassessing his work—30 years removed from its creation. Not that Haring needs to be reassessed—he is ever-present—but the critics who cheap-shotted him in the 1980s need to know they were wrong. That they are still gainfully employed in respected institutions is like watching an NFL pregame show where everyone picks one team to win, but the other wins and every analyst gets to keep their job anyway.
The Cure - Songs of Lost World
Sixteen years after their last underwhelming effort, The Cure returns with an album that ranks in the top half of their discography. What band in their 60s can boast that kind of rebound? This is a beautiful album. Robert Smith has indicated he wants to make two more albums and retire at 70. The next five years could be rewarding for old people like me.
Kim Deal - Nobody Loves You More
One day, years from now, the 90s will be reassessed, divorced from when you can buy a Nirvana t-shirt at Target, and more people will understand that Kim Deal was one of the most talented and influential rock musicians of the era. All roads lead back to her. Not only that, but she has done great work over the past twenty years. Check out her singles series from around 2012 or the last Breeders album. I would love another Breeders album as soon as possible, but this solo album allows an artist with a great track record to stretch herself further, almost to the point of crooning. Listeners who liked her vocals in Sonic Youth’s “Little Trouble Girl” from the Washing Machine record will ease into this production.
Speaking of The Cure, I got home on the afternoon of Friday, November 1, to see them playing live on YouTube. I thought I would watch for 15-20 minutes and get on with my day. Two hours later, my wife and I were standing in my studio, staring at the screen in total amazement:
I'm enjoying this newsletter so much.
I hope it won't be any less goofy, future boy