Serial Killer...Qu'est-ce que c'est???

Having spent the last 19 years focused on food production, labor costs, and maximizing efficiencies, it astounds me just how inefficient I am as a painter. My output is irregular, my labor is high, and at the end of any given day, I may have nothing to show for it. In food production the goal is to output the greatest quantity of a consistent product as efficiently as possible. My goal in painting each day is to make some forward progress on at least one painting.

I typically work on several paintings at a time (up to 5 or 6). Each painting may be at a different stage of its life: just beginning, early development, becoming something, fully realized, heavily reworked, destroyed, rediscovered, or something entirely different. There are times when a "finished" painting may be subject to this entire process all over again.

Sometimes when I am feeling like Sisyphus, I almost envy those painters who know exactly what their final image will look like...you know those painters who start with an eyeball, painting it in photographic detail, and then moving on to the other eyeball, the rest of the canvas bare, but each patch being fully realized before they move on to a new area. But then I think, "Where is the fun in that?" It seems akin to carefully filling in a coloring book with the design predetermined and the outcome all but guaranteed.

It is a love/hate thing to build a painting, kill it, try to renew it or rebirth it. I'm not sure if it fulfills a god complex or a sadistic one; maybe these are not mutually exclusive?

As evidence of this manic struggle, here are three stages of the same painting:

Early-middle stage.

 At this stage I thought I was closing in on an decent painting. But it needed something....

Mid-revision stage.

I intentionally introduce a different pallet and experiment with paint application, but feel the subject is becoming too literal. To paraphrase David Lowery of Cracker, "What the world needs now, is another Urban Street scene painter, like I need a hole in my head." 

This is when I get desperate, angry, motivated, and if lucky, inspired. I had a painting I liked. I ruined it. I made something that started to work...but felt too pretty. WTF is wrong with me? Why did I ever decide to be a painter? I suck...wait...no...maybe if I.....It's go time Madelbaum!

Reboot stage or finished???

One of my favorite tricks or worst habits is to flip a painting. When the painting is either not working or feeling too closed off, I turn it upside down to "reopen" it. Suddenly I like the painting again and it is interesting to me. Now I just need to have some to take it away from me...or maybe if I try...

Until next time. Thanks for reading.

Craig

Starting to build some momentum (i.e. finding my discipline again).

It has been several months since my last update. The good news is that I have been painting throughout since my last post. For the first time since the late 1990's I have had a studio space that is sufficiently heated to work through the winter months here in Iowa. Although my studio/workshop is still not completely renovated, it is workable for up to medium size paintings. I am really itching to get some 4-6 foot sized canvases or panels prepped up. I feel some momentum building and am regaining my discipline to work regularly, if not yet daily. Life in my 50's is quite different than it was in my 30's and finding the time or energy to work 12 hours, 7 days a week, in my studio is impossible. Of course having a family and a demanding day job are major contributors to this effect.

For now I thought I would share some of the smaller/medium works that I have been doing in the past few months. As with most of my work, the subject is inspired by the Iowa landscape and the weather. My images are almost always imagined or from a vague memory, or completely invented during the act of painting.

I hope you enjoy and thanks for checking in, Craig

Field #7, oil on panel, 4"x4"

Field #5, oil on panel, 10"x10"

Field #6, oil on panel, 10"x10"

Field #9, oil on panel, 6"X6"

Field #10, oil on panel, 24"x26"

Field #12. oil on panel, 24"x24"

Lost and Found

Ideally every piece of art is a journey during its creation. While in process, the artist is learning something about themselves, their voice, their vision. Often when artists have a "break through" moment, the resulting work is surprising to them. They are not sure why or how the work came about yet they know there is "something" there. An immediate impulse is to show it to anyone who will look. (I equate this with a child's desire to show "Mom" and get it put on the refrigerator.)

When these pivotal works are created, there is often a period where the artist has yet to understand exactly what they have accomplished with that work. But the pressure to show it can also result in someone wanting to buy it. Artists need to sell works too, right?

Every artist has a few paintings that "got away." Works that they later wished they still had because there was more to learn from them. I have some that fall into this category. I also have many that I thought were important at the time and later find myself cringing at the realization that they still exist.

Hopefully, most artists also have those few that they couldn't yet give up when created, that they managed to hold on to over years of moving, evolving, and changing. Of course artists are not always the best curators, and the immediacy of their plight can frequently change the order of priorities. However, there are some works that demand the artist's attention, commitment, and an unexplained willingness to drag around for years.

This week I have been working on converting my studio (a 100+ year old garage/barn) into a year round capable facility by adding insulation and radiant floor heating. In the process, I have unearthed many old works that I have been carrying around for years and have not looked at in a long time. Some are terrible and deserve to be burned. Others seem not so bad, if not entirely clumsy. And there a few, that strike me as prescient to what I seek now. They reveal a path forward from where I am today.

This is one of those works. It is mixed media (acrylic, ink, conte crayon) on paper. Approximately 50"x 38". It has sat rolled up for over 20 years getting bashed around and squashed and torn. It is from my train yard series I was doing around 1988-9 while an undergrad at the University of Iowa.

In looking at it with my middle aged eyes, I can see the huge Rothko influence from having witnessed his late works on paper in a Portland, OR show in 1986. Of course there is Franz Kline and Diebenkorn influence too. But there is also Nelson Algren, Paul Theroux and my grandfather's stories about trains. The scale of it feels so human and perfect for singular contemplation. Finding it again excites me about finding new possibilities and reminds me why art was ever important to me. It still speaks to me and more importantly, still makes me ask questions. I am glad to have found it.

Some new works. 7.23.2016

Some new works. Oil on panel.

Untitled Study (in progress) Oil on Wood 10"x10"

Study #2 Oil on Wood 8"x8"

Study #1 Oil on Wood 8"x8"

Now that the weather is warming up, I am getting back into my garage and breaking out the oils and turpentine again. Really had fun with the fast drying time of acrylics, but rediscovering the rich luster and depth of oil paint. I am prepping some larger panels and can't wait to start working larger scale again. In the meantime still knocking out some small works to get my mojo back and shake off the rust.

Untitled, Oil on Panel, 8"x8"

Untitled, Oil on Panel, 8"x 10.5"

Why acrylics?

I have been doing several small sketches in acrylic in the past few months. Normally I am a devout traditionalist, sticking to oil paint (including lead and other hazardous materials), turpentine, gesso, rabbit skin glue, etc...However the realities of working during the winter months in a closed up house with a 6 year don't lend themselves to such chemical brain dulling shitstorms (already too late for me, but looking out for her). Thus I entered the world of acrylic "plastic" paint.

While discovering the multitude of ways that acrylics do not work like oils, I have discovered a great appreciation for their quick drying time. This allows for quickly reworking color/drawing/compositions without making the grey mud that can happen with oil. It means less fear of making mistakes and allows greater risk taking. Not that I really had this issue with oil paint in this regard, but acrylics allow for an exponentially quicker execution and editing. 

Conversely, this also allows for easier destruction of those magic moments where your body and eye discover something before your brain recognizes its value. This is always the battle with us painters; knowing when to stop. One of my mentors instilled the concept that "nothing is precious" in your work. If you have one little part of a painting that is good and you keep struggling with the rest of the painting, then you need to destroy that part. 

In oil, I was occasionally forced to at least pause for a day or two for the paint to set up before reworking whole paintings. This would allow my brain to catch up and realize that something was working much better than I realized in the initial moment. In acrylic, the paint sets up and even dries in minutes. This allows for massive changes in seconds. If your attitude is "nothing is precious" and you can constantly rework everything, it makes it very difficult to find an endpoint. 

I have never been particularly good at finishing anything and with painting I usually need an artificial end point to deem it "finished." I am much more fond of the process and will keep on indefinitely if allowed. In this regard, acrylics have been a boon and a bane for me. I can constantly create, destroy, create, destroy, etc...on the same small panel. With that in mind, here are a few studies that have have landed at this particular state.

I enjoy the capacity of technology and the wonderful effects that newer drawing apps can offer. However I think they are a poor replacement for the physicality of the act of drawing or painting and the physical object your are left with. I do think digital drawing still allows for the most important aspects of making art; the process of discovery, learning and growth.

Self Portrait, 2016,  Digital Drawing with Sketchbook