The Psychogeography of Art School, Raphael’s Transfiguration, sequences, stills, what's above and what's below

Some weeks ago I gave an artist's talk. Coincidentally, the week I prepared my talk was the same week I taught Renaissance painting in the Art Appreciation course. As I traced the development of my ideas and looked at the work of Raphael (et al), I was reminded of the originary point of a longstanding conceptual / formal concern that began when I was still an undergrad student.

Undergrad studies in art school typically consist of ½ studio courses and ½ art history courses. So, as a young art student, I spent half my time working with materials and the other half writing / using language to talk about images and ideas. Through the labor itself, a dichotomous structure (shifting between sequential and holistic) was building in my mind that would make me susceptible to ideas and concerns I still pursue.

One of the art history courses I took in those early years was Italian Art. For this class, as with most art histories, we had to write a weekly one page response paper on a work of our choice. One particular week, I wrote about Raphael's Transfiguration because I found something conceptually / structurally compelling about the artist's representation of time in a 2-D medium, which is obviously not time-based.



The Transfiguration depicts a story told in the Christian Bible in which Jesus is transfigured on the mount while the disciples below attempt to heal (unsuccessfully) an epileptic boy. The painting represents what's in the text, but also represents what the text cannot – the simultaneity of two separate events.

In the gospel verses, the events appear one after the other. Through the basic limitations of language, we experience a lag as one short narrative follows the other. However, in the painting, the events appear together as they are in the real time of the story -- coexisting in a single moment. Though the eye still moves around the image creating something of a sequence, the overall impression is holistic and simultaneous. Even the separation of places (the above with Jesus and the below with the disciples) are collapsed into a single place within the space of the painting.

So with this painting and my short response paper to it, I began to wonder not only about the holistic visual representation of narrative sequences, but about turning still images (non time-based media) into sequences – turning Raphael's Transfiguration on its head, so to speak. I wondered: what if the given were the image and not the text? What if the image gets translated into language? What if there were no translation but, instead, the syntax of a collection of isolated images?

Eventually, I began to pull stills from video and arrange them into other narratives. Like The Transfiguration, these "Horizon Line" pieces are about the sequence and the still and about what's above and what's below.

Necktie label

I recently added a label called 'neckties' and realized that I don't have a good image of the Necktie Ballgown on this blog. So here it is:



I constructed the Necktie Ballgown by draping, sculpting and stitching together approximately 60 men's neckties into this kimono-like dress and then wore this extremely heavy costume (about 10 pounds) during the performance below.






I recorded this performance at Gaviota Beach near Santa Barbara, CA a few months after completing my MFA at CalArts. The action was a personal commentary on femininity and professionalization and was the second in a less specific ongoing series of Landscape Actions. The piece is called Climbing Rocks in Necktie Ballgown.

Meditation on the horizon line by way of the map

In the continued effort to pair down materials and use what things I already own, I've been recycling some paper I made several years ago into collages called "Meditations."

I call them meditations because the process is repetitive and structured. Repetition within a structure not only requires a certain amount of patience but allows for the mind to occupy itself... and thus open up to new possibilities. In that respect, I see these pieces as objects in their own right but also as a sort of clearing out which will make way for other work that has yet to be conceived.

Meditation on the horizon line by way of the map, 2008
handmade paper, wax, acrylic and other media

And an image and link to an earlier "Horizon Line" performance:

Performance, Endurance, Monika Weiss and Baptism of Water

I've started another blog, Endurance Studio, to document a long life/art endurance project. Actually, document isn't entirely accurate because the site will become a piece of net art in itself as the narrative unfolds.

The purpose of the project is to organically narrate my shift away from material objects, which has been happening in my work and life for several years. The unburdening process is slow, often uneven and not necessarily a progression.

We shall see where the project goes and how it brings itself into form over time. For now, consider the performance work of Monika Weiss:
baptism of water

And some writing by George Quasha about her work, endurance and the body: conceiving body

Pondering the new year: Endurance art, enduring life, yogic sadhana, practice, over-work and letting go

I've always cringed a bit at some of the language Linda Montano uses to frame her endurance projects... (for example). The work itself has been so strong and meaningful for me that I've been able to overlook the bothersome language and construct my own critical apparatus around it.

I'm not so much bothered by the meaning or the ideas themselves, but how they've been articulated through mystical language. As with Ana Mendieta's performances being cast in the understandably discredited discourse of earth mothers and goddesses, there's so much more to the work than those narrow and clichéd explanations. For instance in this interview, which includes Tehching Hsieh, Montano talks more about some of the social aspects of her work – specifically the endurance project with Hsieh and a rope.

For some time now, I've wanted to write a bit about Endurance Art and some artists that I most admire – Linda Montano, Tehching Hsieh and On Kawara in particular. I just haven't been sure how to say all that's jumbling around in my head and relate it back to my own practice in a meaningful way. I considered just putting up some links to their work and then talking more about my own endurance processes. Links and process notes don't seem an adequate documentation of where my head has been recently, let alone my own progression through the ideas of endurance – from being a college student looking for art and meaning in the mundane and functional to a theory driven graduate student situating those same ideas within a critical discourse to a studio artist plowing through to deadlines, resting and repeating. And then... there's that pesky psychologizing and mysticizing language that sometimes attempts to explain acts of enduring art or enduring life.

Enduring life. I put those two words together because I'm intrigued by the ambiguous meaning of the phrase, which could mean a life that endures and is ongoing and self-perpetuating... or could also mean a life that must be suffered through. I see the phrase as a mirror to the acts of endurance art in that the acts are simultaneously poetic (even abstract) and drudgingly mundane as they are carried out over time. They endure only in their presence (as they're ongoing) and then finally only in their documentation. The very nature of endurance art is fleeting... non-enduring.

The endurance project may be a metaphoric, allegorical or abstracted representation of some interaction in the world or a demonstration that exposes (through the doing) the limits and parameters of that same material and social world. The acts also have potential to become a psychological "acting out" as in an hysterical manifestation of a personal or social ill, which before Freud would have been called religious or spiritual (in its more socially accepted forms and in the language of Montano) and called insane or "demon-possessed" in its less adaptable and more reviled forms.

But endurance art ultimately is significant because it is not an "acting out" but instead a conscious, willful and focused act. And here the language of spirituality comes back around because I'm reminded of the yogic practice of sadhana where willful and present intention and attention is key. Acts and practices mean something because they do take effort and because the effort hones a level of skill, strength and accomplishment with regular practice. As well, they're meaningful because they have a frame / focused attention / limits around them.

But acts of will can also be acts of letting go... letting go of a compulsion, habit or even a practice. For instance, for the workaholic, it could be a stop to whatever s/he's doing to make room for something other than the usual. The usual might even be that which has previously constituted a practice or an art (as mentioned above) or a project that has come to the end of its cycle.

Within any art practice are cycles of work, completion and letting go, but with endurance art these cycles (set in time) are as much a part of the content as any other element. They begin with the compulsive or repetitive action, the deliberate intention of setting a length of time and the act of enduring it. In this process... time, the spending of time and the passing of time are what become foregrounded. On Kawara demonstrates this most eloquently with his Date Paintings. And so, with his work, I end the pondering.

Bas Jan Ader, poetry, presence, the body and risk

This weekend Frank and I had one of our customary coffee-fueled conversations about art and literature. This conversation was specifically about poetry and poetic forms. I told Frank that I used to enjoy poetry (both the reading and the writing) more than I do now. Though I wasn't quite sure why, poetry no longer satisfied expectations I've grown to crave in an art experience. Anymore I tend to seek out metaphor in other forms, mostly visual...

And that prompted me to think about the work of Bas Jan Ader, whom I hadn't thought about in some time. And then I searched around and found these documentations of Bas Jan Ader's Falling performances on you tube.

To me, Ader's work is satisfying in the way Peter Callesen's Dying Swan is satisfying. Here are some of my thoughts on Callesen's work. The performances have a quiet intelligence, humor and an emotional punch without sappiness. He can laugh at himself and his frail but aspiring human efforts without being self-deprecating or narcissistically spiteful. And while the pieces are concise and clearly articulated, they are also open-ended.

The work has qualities similar to other conceptual / performance-based work that resonates with the sensibilities in some of my own modest performances (example 1, example 2). Other artists that came to mind during our conversation were Vik Muniz's Pictures of Clouds, Yoko Ono's Painting to See the Skies and her Smoke Painting and Ana Mendieta's Siluetas.

Because Frank teaches poetry and other literature and has a personal stake in poetry and in me being friendly toward the form, he wanted to find out what it was that I was or wasn't responding to in the written poetic forms.

So what I was able to tease out that I'm not responding to in poetry is the formalism. It's both the formal and expressionistic mark – the literal mark of language or the expressive line – that doesn't hold my attention as it used to. On the other hand, an imprint, a surface or even Pollock's drips are, to me, far more interesting as a trace of absence than the expressive line of other abstract expressionists.

As we talked more, Frank figured that it was the presence and the body that had such resonance with me. And I think he's right. What remains important to me is that there is something always at risk with the body, and any attempts to get around that risk, whether they be willful aspirations for artistic immortality or claims of some promise of spiritual immortality, feels horribly deluded and false to me. It's the impermanence and the flailings that are relevant... at least in my mind.

That being said, I still have a high regard for prose poetry and for fiction that reads like poetry and for work written in present tense (as Frank remarked I often write in present tense myself). My favorite novel is still Jeanette Winterson's Written on the Body. Curiously, even the title... It seems so obvious now.

The body is always at risk and carries with it the obvious social markers of race and sex... even class. Bodies with and bodies without medical or dental care carry very different evidence that becomes increasingly visible over time. Lack of education or proper nutrition leave their mark on the body as well.

All this is on my mind because today we had a meeting at the museum about an upcoming exhibit of Tim Davis' photographs of canonical paintings, Permanent Collection. I was struck looking at the catalog images of just how bodily and material Davis' photos of art historical "masterpieces" are. The history of each painting becomes embedded in Davis' photos – not just in the way the artist positions himself in a relationship between the museum lighting and the painting itself, but in the age and surface that is exposed with that relationship to the artist-as-viewer. Remarkable. I was really struck by these images and can hardly wait to see them in one of our galleries next week.

Ana Mendieta, some links

A Whitney Museum survey of Ana Mendieta's work

Guggenheim art lesson

a Washington Post article by Blake Gopnik

Peter Callesen, the dying swan is dying, poetics, metaphor and hysteria

The Danish artist Peter Callesen says almost everything I've ever wanted to say about loss, beauty, nostalgia, over-reaching and falling short.

So rather than keep these things clutched to my chest, I thought I would share the work of one of my favorite artists. In particular, check out his The Dying Swan is Dying performance and the beautifully poetic papercuts.

Tangentially related to the aforementioned site... Something I've been thinking about... the relationship between metaphors in art and hysteria (in the Freudian / psychosomatic sense).

Maybe this artistic hysteria I'm thinking of is a condition of oppression (like in Freud's Victorian female patients) or a condition of late capitalism / consumer society. The hysteria – where the artist acts out some sort of poetic representation of a cultural malady or personal trauma (because I hardly believe the two can be separated) – seems to be most prevalent in post-modern and contemporary art probably because of the economic, political and theoretical times.

So I'm wondering what a feminized version of Callesen looks like as his work is so much about the subject of the male artist. What are the feminized forms that represent her own particular reaching and falling? How much of the feminine range of motion is kept in check by social forces? ...as opposed to the more physical forces that Callesen comes up against in living and dying and making boats that (don't) float on water or cardboard castles that (don't) withstand rain.

One of the interesting things about Callesen's performances is that they attempt to stand as something of a spectacle outside of cultural forces, while performing the myths of culture. All that might touch him is mockery or shame (the social internalized) rather than actual prohibitions, regulations and checks on his actions. Only physics and weather come to actual bear on his spectacles.

Curiously, with the paper sculptures... the ideas are the same, but when moved into the realm of pure representation (where the artist's body and actions are absent or left only as traces), his attempts are articulated with perfect success... no in the world (body) failing or falling here. All we see are architectural feats of mastery.