The Secret World

 I have always found artists studios an intriguing and wonderous space.  I have always considered it a priveldge to enter another artists studio as it provides a glimpse in to the workings of another persons mind.  Artists studios are  filled with finished works, works in progress, abandoned work and those that are not working at all.  Visual refereces adorn walls and vie for space among the finished and incomplete pieces.  Sketches, marquettes, photographs, invitations and images of other artists work who inspire and nourish provide insight into potential and unrealised dreams.

I love the artistic language.  I love to hear artists speak about their work and their working methods with such confidence and clarity about the drive, the process and the realisation of completed work.  Whether it - in their opinion - achieved the original vision, fell short or exceeded expectation.  It is fascinating to hear them speak about the life experiences that inspire them and the processes of  reinterpreting and reinventing to achieve a completed work.

I love watching artists at work in their studios, watching the decisions that are made, the way materials are manipulated and applied,  the way tools are used to mark, carve, administer and smooth.  I love the artistic process and the extremes of emotions from the endless beating and berating in those long, dark, lonely hours when nothing seems possible (maybe not that part quite so much), to the sheer joy of the 'Aha' and the all over glow of success - how ever that may be defined.

 The artists studio is like entering a secret world.  Here is a small glimpse of mine.

In the studio

 Solitude, oil on canvas 120x120cm

Currently untitled (Gratitude/ Attitude), oil on canvas 120x120cm

It has been a while and there has been plenty happening.  As is evidenced from the two paintings above, I have been busy in the studio.  In another first for this year, this is the first time I have gone back in to the studio and painted landscapes from a combination of photographs and memory.  Obviously I have painted landscapes before.  I hardly think I could refer to myself as a landscape artist and not paint a landscape, but it has been ten years since I painted a horizon line or a sky in the studio.  When I returned to study a post graduate degree some...eleven(?) years ago It was all about movement and horizon.  I painted from photographs, or 'prints' as they were referred to and I observed colour and light.  Then in my first year of post graduate study my lecturer said to me 'I think you need to go outside and paint', and so I did.  (Have I mentioned this dialogue before?)  It was not until the masterclass with Euan MacLeod and he mentioned that he painted landscapes in the studio from photographs and memory that it actually occurred to me that this was a plausible method of painting.  Is that strange?  I also heard an interview with Amanda Penrose Hart, whose work appears so instant and lush and rich that it seems unimaginable she would spend more than half an hour applying paint to canvas or board, say that she had spent a year on one painting.  

Armed with all this information, several tubes of oil paint, a few old canvases and a couple of coastal photos that I took, I set forth to conquer the photographic landscape.  And do you know something?  I have actually been have fun!  I enjoy the play of paint, the experimentation, making a mark and then wiping it away again.  I have not become a slave to the image, which I thought I would having done so in every other painting I have copied from print, rather I use the image as a rough guide to colour, light and movement until the painting takes a life of its own and the image become irrelevant.  Essentially, the application of paint itself is all about line, depth, perspective, colour, light and tone, the language of art.

I am going to enter the top painting 'Solitude' in The Mission to Seafarers Victoria annual maritime art awards, The ANL Art Prize.  This painting is about not only those who spend months alone at sea, but the ones they leave on land.  Suitably melancholy.

The Blues

 

The Channel, acrylic on paper 21x15cm

 

The blues

 

At Anchor, acrylic on canvas 25x20cm

I am back in Port Hedland for two weeks of winter.  It has been winter, it rained three days in a row.  And it was cold.  I have been sitting at Cemetery Beach painting the ships as they journey in and out of the harbor, and those at anchor.  The challenges I have been faced with are numerous.  I have noticed how quickly the tide changes (I was nearly swamped on two occasions), how quickly the sun heats up in the morning, and how quickly it moves through the sky.  Light and tides changes more rapidly in winter here than at home on the peninsula.  Acrylic paint dries out in the pallet before it is applied to the canvas.

The other notable difference between Port Phillip Bay and the Indian Ocean is the colour of the water.  The bay is a variations of greens, turquiose and naples yellow.  The ocean is blue, cerulean, cobalt, ultramarine, phthalo or midnight depending on the intensity of the clouds, position of the sun and the flow of the tide.  Of course sometimes, in the afternoon when the sun is in the north, the ocean becomes as reflective as a mirror and emits an almost pure white, which you can tan yourself by.  I should know, I sat there long enough to turn a delicate shade of pink.

I think we are all conscious of the subtleties of the environment that surrounds us, but it is not until experiencing completely disparate environment that those subtleties are truly brought to light.  It has been a pleasure to finally be able to sit in this intense and desolate landscape and paint the ocean that has become so familiar to me over the past five years. I feel this is a very winter specific exercise for Port Hedland, as the thought of spending two hours painting in unrelenting sunshine over the summer does not excite me, but I do think next time I am here I will continue my studies of the Pilbaras light and colours with the intention of creating larger paintings in the relative comfort of my studio.

Masterclass

http://niagaragalleries.com.au/artist/euan-macleod

 Portsea, acrylic on canvas paper 21x30cm

 Queenscliff, acrylic on canvas paper 21x30cm

Queenscliff, acrylic on canvas paper 15x21cm

I am wondering how many adjectives I can use to describe the en plein air master class with Euan Macleod at Police Point last Tuesday.  Inspirational, broadening, beneficial, constructive, uplifting.  Unlike a previous en plein air workshop that I had attended through the Mornington Peninsula Regional Gallery, that left me feeling lousy and debilitated, Euan actually liked my work and encouraged me to continue.

In the past two months I had set myself a number of goals to experiment with, the first being time.  I have been attempting, since February, to paint more immediately.  My tendency, I believe, is to over paint an image to the point where it looses the lovely fresh, spontaneous marks of paint on canvas that is achieved in the first few minuets of a painting.  The second was to try painting on different coloured grounds, rather than white to see what happened to colour and light.

With these things in mind I set out for Police Point with a purpose and questions.  Fortunately I met Euan at the opening of 'Country and Western, the landscape re-imagined'.  This was helpful because it broke that awful barrier of awe, which creates a sense of unworthiness on the admirers part.  I spoke to him about the masterclass and he told me to bring some other work with me.

Arriving at Police Point, I had a confidence and sense of purpose that usually alludes me on these type of occasions.  As a result I was able to talk to Euan about my work and received some encouraging feedback.  I brought with me some of the small plein air paintings I had completed in Sorrento while my daughter learned to sail.  I explained that I was concerned about the amount of time I was spending on these paintings and showed him a few that were done in fifteen minuets.  He told me the longer paintings were as good as the quick ones and not to be concerned about the time spent on them, rather try to make a painting that works.  He also thought scale was not an issue.  Most of my plein air paintings are quite small, I usually sit and paint them in my lap.  He told me to do what feels right, to experiment and enjoy the process, which I do.  

Then we discussed the grounds.  He told me he usually cleans his oil brushes on a clean canvas, rather than trying to wash it, resulting in a grey ground on which to start.  I have experimented with several colours and read about the appropriate ground colours for the various landscapes.  From experience and observation I have found that using a lighter yellow brings a peninsula autumn to life.

Euan also observed, which I had never really considered before, that all of my horizon lines are centre in my work.  It actually made me laugh when I looked at all of my work.  "It's what I do, I am not even conscious of it, I start by dividing a canvas in two and painting a sky and a ground."  He suggested mixing this up a little and then added, "Maybe you don't need too".

The final thing we discussed was my skies.  I have spent the majority of my plein air life painting water, the sky is usually something of an after thought and something I have not given much time or thought to.  I usually throw down a bit of blue and a bit of white and whalla...sky!  Then I stumbled across Amanda Penrose Hart.  Oh my goodness, sky!  Amanda paints moody, gutsy, atmospheric skies that dominate the landscape.  They are thick and rich and edible. 

That twenty minuet conversation with Euan created in me a desire to paint and paint and paint, something that had alluded me for so long.  From this conversation I made a decision to listen to my intuition, to play and experiment and have fun and not worry.  I have some boards I am preparing to take outside and paint, possibly in oil.  Everyday I go outside now I am observing the sky, its colours and shapes.  I paint it in my mind, and then I observe the colours and shapes of the land and how they contrast against the enormity of the sky.

I am hooked, once again on painting the land, the skies, the sea and the emotion of my part of the world.

http://niagaragalleries.com.au/artist/euan-macleod

http://kingstreetarchives.com.au/artists/amanda-penrose-hart/

http://mprg.mornpen.vic.gov.au/EXHIBITIONS/Country_Western

Sex, death and serenity

Mona ninja and Bat girl selfie

The best and only way to arrive at MONA is to emerge from the 'posh pit' of the MONA ferry boat, full of champagne and canapes.  

Leaving for Tasmania I was convinced I was the only person on the planet who had not been to MONA.  'Sex and death' declared a lady in my Pilate's class, 'My seventy seven year old mother is going there this weekend, I'm not sure what she'll think of it'.  I was also told of the fifty plaster cast virginas.  Armed with this information and a head full of champagne, my very dear friend Louise and I ascended the 100 steps to the mirrored wall entrance of MONA.

MONA is an experience.  It is unlike any other exhibition space I have been in.  It is dark and immersive and unapologetic.  Its contents are challenging, thought provoking, provocative and humorous.  I am not saying that I engaged with everything within the dark cavernous walls, like any gallery or museum there are always artworks that are walked past without hesitation, but the pieces I admired most stayed with me long after our champagne induced return.

Sex.  The first of these I very nearly walked past.  From the outside it appeared as an enormous cube with a door in it.  It appeared as part of the building.  But then someone emerged from the room and we could hear music playing.  There was something in there.  There was indeed.  Thirty television screens with images of dedicated Madonna enthusiasts belting out the songs of Madonna karaoke style.  We pulled up some silver beans bags and settled back to watch.  I found it intriguing to compare the differing personalities and the obvious love and enthusiasm they have for their idol.  Naturally voyeuristic, it is not long before comparisons are made and favourites are decided.  Even in the comfort of a small room watching this strangely mesmerising and compelling footage, human instinct could not be tamed.

Death.  My other two stand outs of MONA were also rooms within the space.  Immersive in that entering the artwork was part of the experience.  I should put a spoiler alert on the following review, for it will give the secret away.  "Kryptos", or the binary room is a small dark space entered by a corridor.  Binary numbers and words appear in laser cut outs along the walls, and is lit by strip lighting under the path.  There is an unpleasant humming that echoes around the walls, that bring you to a narrower corridor, where the humming is reduced and almost relaxing.  The corridor leads to a small door way that requires crouching to move through.  The space inside is quite small, possibly the size of a small elevator and is very dark.  Louise had entered the space ahead of me and had just looked up as I began to enter the space.  I had not even stood up when I looked up and saw, what I believed, where two bodies hanging from ropes around their ankles.  Naturally I scream and shot out of the space while my head slowly registered it was a reflection of Louise and myself...inverted...in a black mirror? I don't know, and I did not go back.  Louise was so distressed she had to wait and see other people's reactions to the space to understand her own.  They were pretty much the same.  Later we marvelled that an artwork could evoke such emotion.

Serenity.  Possibly my favourite of all the exhibition pieces.  It is a completely white room, with fluorescent lighting, which takes a moment to adjust to after being seduced by the dark space that is MONA.  It is a library full of white bound books with no words.  It is blissfully peaceful.  It is like the space that you crave in your head or in your house or in your world.  A space devoid of information throwing itself at you constantly.  It is the zen garden.  Quiet, still, calm and breathing. Again this space made me think about art in a way I had not before.

I think that was the significance of these three pieces.  They each made me consider that art could be more than something to be looked at or critiqued or debated.  Art can be a space that can be entered in to and that can evoke an emotional experience.  I believe the lighting enhanced that experience.  The black walls and tiny spotlights produced a reassuring, calming effect.  It melted inhibitions and gave permission to stand and appreciate, or not, with out feeling the spotlight of judgement was on you.

Although confronting in parts, I have not heard anyone I have spoken to say a negative word against MONA.  I think that is because it is not trying to be something, it just is.  It is someones private collection, housed in someones private purpose built gallery, and it allows the most wonderful experience because of it.

A4

     Boney, acrylic and cotton on paper 297mm x 210mm

 Leafy (work in progress), acrylic on paper 297mm x 210mm

Feathery, acrylic and cotton on paper 297mm x 210mm

I have just realised that, in true Siobhan fashion, I do not have a phtotograph of the completed Leafy painting which I sent to Melbourne yesterday.  That means it will probably sell and I will never see it again.  Perhaps I should have listened to that voice in the back of my head whispering "Take a photograph now before it's too late."  Alas, I listened to the other voice that said "If you don't send them off tomorrow, you risk not being in the show". 

The Show is, of course, The Contemporary Art Society of Victoria's A4 Art Australia exhibition held on Herring Island as a part of the Summer Arts Festival.  Herring Island, for those of you unfamiliar with Melbourne, is a tiny little island in the Yarra River in South Yarra.  The only way to reach the island is by punt, which departs the Como Landing at regular intervals.

The objects I painted were chosen specifically for their size and shape.  I included the shadows of leaves becasue I felt they added depth.  I choose to ignore the shadows of the ibis skull and leafy sea dragon  because I felt the objects filled the page without requiring anything extra.  That and they were reasonably complicated.  I have noticed that while I always paint the shadows of leaves, I rarely paint the shadows of feathers.  I'm not sure why that is.  Perhaps it is because most of the feathers I paint are black and white and I tend to paint shadows in grey?  While leaves are quite curly and have remarkably interesting shadows that help create a sense of form and depth.

So these three paintings will be framed and hung with (no doubt) hundreds of other A4 sized art works.  And once again I have found another distraction from the work that I was doing.

Pleasure and pain

                                                       Pilbara flowers, acrylic on paper

                                                       Pilbara feathers, acrylic on paper

As you all know from my last blog, I spent Christmas in my beloved Pilbara.  The above are some small paintings I made while I was there.  The flowers were collected from the garden at the Port Hedland house and the foreshore at Cemetery Beach and the boat ramp.  I painted them on the day I collected them.  As you can imagine, they wilt pretty quickly.  The hawk or osprey feather I found on a windswept walk along Cemetery Beach and the earth stained Corella feather was located on Athol Street during my morning run.

I am planning a small work which will incorporate these paintings and include several more made from a collection of feathers and found objects that I made in addition to the daily collections for my jars.

After much playing, exploring and experimenting, I have decided that I love making small paintings, drawings and studies.  The reason for this is simple.  I only have small amounts of time in which to paint and draw, and it is immensely satisfying to make a small finished painting rather than to work for months on a large one in small bursts.  I can stay focused on a small image and paint enough individual images over two or three months to make one large (120x120cm) sewn together painting, whereas I loose interest pretty quickly on a single image of the same size because my studio sessions are so random that it might be a week or more between visits and I find it difficult to sustain the same amount of enthusiasm over such a long period of time.  There is also a deep feeling of satisfaction in completing something rather than allowing it to drag on without any sense of an end.

With the help of a rather clever friend, I have found a way to hang these paintings, which involves just enough pain and obsession to be extremely satisfying.  So for now I will continue my small studies with much pleasure and small amounts of pain.