Paper, Pulp, & Thread

After an industrious Saturday of random travels and opportunities to daydream about creating work, I had a Sunday of reflecting upon the practice of art.

One of Saturdays random travels included a trip to a paper supply store in Dallas, where I felt up papers of all types, colors, transparencies, and designs. I chose some brightly colored Fabriano sheets for future booklets I'm in the middle of designing (to be on Etsy this spring, I hope!) and was happy to see them wrapped up in crinkled brown paper, like goodies from a patisserie.

By evening, I had a semblance of sketches and notations written down in the mini notebook I tote around. The one that lets me gather the thoughts that seem to fall out of my ears like fruit dropping off trees before they hit the ground.

Sunday was another event-filled day at The Modern, where the students had a mid-point critique. There was also a talk about the new Warhol exhibition by artist James Gilbert, followed by the normal class session. In all three segments, I carried the aforementioned notebook, writing down things of interest.

One of the main concepts that occurred continuously throughout the day was this question: does accessibility and feasibility affect what an artist creates? Specifically, for me, is the fact that I do not create in metal currently directly correlated to the fact that I have no money to buy metals tools and further, no space to put them? Is working in paper-based media out of necessity?

A comment made during the student critique made an impression on me. To paraphrase: if you cannot accomplish a skill to create your ideas, come up with another way to do it. I began to consider my own current work and how I want to create smaller collages in conjunction with the monster ones I'm creating. The smaller collages, which would be no larger than a square foot, I envision, would be of gemstones or objects made in metal. Almost like the abstracted representations of things that I wish I could create in actuality.

I am finding it hilarious that paper and metal are so diametrically different. Consider how flame reacts to either, for example. One catches fire and burns up to ash, the other gets hot, changes color, and becomes malleable. I would never consider using glue for metal, but pasting is almost essential to paper-based media. Paper will eventually disintegrate, leaving fragments behind, while metal will last much longer.

It is in this quest that I hope to find more bits and pieces to create a cohesive whole, whether literally or conceptually.

If only I had a pyre, a phoenix would emerge.

It's always interesting when people and things from your past never fail to show up unexpectedly. I try to keep in mind that life is cyclical and that it overlaps constantly. Sometimes, it seems, there are lessons that need to be learned and if they are not learned the first time, they will come up time and time again.

Without being too specific, this has more or less happened to me recently. However, I think in the past, I would have been a lot happier to bury it all and then dust myself off before walking away. Some of the past circumstances and people that have seemingly shown up on my doorstep, I welcome, because it means that I can move on.

Art and reading have been my versions of escapism recently.

I just completed Julie Klausner's I Don't Care About Your Band: What I Learned from Indie Rockers, Trust Funders, Pornographers, Faux Sensitive Hipsters, Felons, and Other Guys I've Dated. To say I can relate is a bit of an understatement and correlates a bit with my current issues of people from my past coming back to haunt me. I was reminded of how the stupid things I've done merely make me human.

In the art realm, the new Andy Warhol: The Last Decade exhibition at The Modern Art Museum in Fort Worth is well worth the visit. It depicts Warhol's later work and his collaborations with Jean-Michel Basquiat and Francesco Clemente. What is so amazing about the exhibition is seeing how mature and unified Warhol's work became in his post-pop art years. There are lots of eye candy, color-wise, as Warhol was never known to shun color. However, the muted rorschach pieces are larger than life and have a spooky "is that painting watching me?" quality as you pass them.

With my own artwork, I'm still working on the same piece as before, not concerned about its slow progress. I ended up taking a week's break from working on it for what seemed like life spilling over and intersecting throughout the days. I began again last night, picking up where I last left off. My progress is below...

I began noticing that it has a flame-like quality to it. Originally, it was based on folds of fabric. However, I'm willing to let it move in this undulating pattern. It will be interesting to see what comes of it in the final stages...

Pass in Time::Morphology

Like witnessing an Andy Goldsworthy art piece change over time, I've been able to see progress on my art piece. It's coming together, but slowly. I don't feel any need to force it and since there is no place to show it, there is no deadline to complete it.

I've been looking through old photographs taken on my digital camera from the last year. I was reminded of the fact that I managed to see both the Pacific and Atlantic oceans last year. In less than 6 months, I had gone 1500 miles in one direction and 1500 miles in the other. I guess I didn't realize this until in retrospect and it's an inspiring feeling.

I'm in the middle of completing the rest of my graduate school applications and getting psyched at my progress. I'm ecstatic that I can maintain a sense of myself through all the daily craziness. I'm thrilled when I can manage to have a day off to do stupid stuff like laundry and grocery shopping. I enjoy this almost as much as staying up late at night and meticulously cutting out pieces for the art piece.

I have this box of papers that I've collected: chocolate bar wrappers, origami papers from Los Angeles, old envelopes, magazine bits, handmade paper scraps from an art store in Irvine, CA, and random catalogs. It's a little box of treasures, representing something somehow more sustainable than the metal I used to work in. Granted, I still have lots of metal scraps and pieces, but not having the tools to melt them down and pour ingots, I am left with pieces that I cannot use. Why has paper replaced this void?

I read this article on NPR about paper as the new popular art medium. It's such a funny statement, having come from a painting background, where works on paper are considered low art, just as metalsmithing is considered "just a craft". Where has this change occurred? Is it because paper is so accessible? I'm fascinated by my own feelings of "preciousness" towards certain types of paper. For example, plain white copy paper is not nearly as interesting as the origami papers I picked up at Kinokuniya bookstore in Japantown.

Most of the emphasis for my new art work is the barrier of using collage bits on a supportable frame. I'm merely using glue and paper. However, it is not nearly as direct as paint on a canvas or a hammer blow to metal sheet. I get to compose the papers on the canvas and this is part of its charm.

Admittedly, sometimes I feel the need to hit some metal or stab a canvas with a paintbrush doused in copious amounts of red paint. For the time being, however, I will find solace in this newfound art form.