Alma Mater-ial

Around a year ago I was going through some old boxes and discovered memorabilia from my college days.  Amongst the remnants I found artwork which I thought had been lost.  Being that I'm a 9 to 5 working stiff now, and have very little time for creativity, I thought it might be fun to go through these works and reminisce.

This artwork represents a very fertile, innovative and creative time in my life.  The still life above was the first sketch I did in Art 101.  I hadn't drawn in a long, long time (being involved in other mediums and motifs), but this return to the simplicity of paper and pencil was refreshing.  (see sketches above left to right:  Still Life to Life, Self-Portrait) Strangely, I only had one art class in Junior High, and one art class as a Freshman in high school--so I hadn't tested my faculties in a long time.  I was pleased to find out that I could still ride the bike.  But realism didn't hold my interest for long. 

Obviously, we had to do anatomy and proportion studies, and mimic other artist's techniques in a few assignments, but predominately we sketched live models in class.  (see anatomy/proportion assignments above and copying other artist's works and techniques below.) 

We also spent a lot of time doing quick sketches by breaking the subject down into fundamental shapes.  (see animal sketches from left to right: Dog, Cat, Bird)

We also explored enhancing line drawings, by using "accent lines" (thick and thin lines to suggest shading).  These simple exercises increased my appreciation for representation and suggestion. (see accent line drawings below from left to right: The Line Up, Age Lines, Fine Lines)

Form these I began to explore avenues in minimalism that I still find fascinating to this day. Namely, representing a subject with as few strokes as possible.  Indeed, I was intrigued with the fact that the mind had the ability to fill in missing information and recognize iconic shapes.  (see my favorite drawings from that semester below--left to right: Thinker: Inside the Cubist--"thinking outside the box", Minimal Mammal, Scratch That).  Herein abstracts also began to emerge from my consciousness.  

It was during this time that I discovered and explored what I called "seeing through filters" (long before the days of Photoshop).  Herein, something in the subject evoked a departure from realism--my mind allowing me to see alterations that captured the "essence" of the subject. (see ink drawings left to right: Modern Model, Venetian Ink)

I also began recognizing and using "forces" in my technique: horizontal blurring to suggest motion, vertical blurring to simulate dripping,  diagonal lines and crosshatch to suggest varying textures, superimposed "bubble" to suggest a feeling of suspension, erratic scribbling to suggest being unkempt, chiseled lines to suggest hardness, smooth lines to suggest softness, vertical lines to accentuate height in rock formations, horizontal line to suggest the qualities of water, and chaotic strokes to evoke uneasiness. Examples of these are expressed in the charcoals and landscapes shown below.

"Seeing through filters" and using "forces" produced a wide variety of styles.  Indeed, I never knew what to expect--neither, did my professor.  In fact, she called me "the moodiest artist, that she had ever met."  I don't know if it was intended as a compliment, an insult, or just an objective observation.  (see charcoal works above: Horse Race, Hijab, Signs of Life, Sunbather, Transient, To Think, or Not to Think, Lady Lay)

I can safely assume that my professor wasn't displeased with my work by virtue of my grades.  But in all honesty I admit that she gave me great latitude for exploration. While my classmates faithfully performed their assignments in realism according to her direction, I was allowed to "color outside the lines".  God bless her for wisdom in this regard, for in a single semester I was able to explore diverse avenues of creativity and aesthetics. (see landscapes left to right: Utah, Sanitarium)

I haven't taken an art class since, but I look back with fondness on that aesthetic dawning--emerging from chrysalis. 

(NOTE: Originals cropped, cleaned, and colored balanced in Photoshop)

Native

Recently, I finished another hyper-real surf motif entitled "Native" which took me over a year to create. This work features my eldest son with his beautiful, long, uncut hair against a Native American setting.  

Since I have covered the hyper-real technique in earlier posts I thought it might be interesting to chronicle the myriad impression that inspire a creation--what did I draw upon to draws others in.  

To start, the concept behind this work comes from a "what if" scenario. Being that everyone is familiar with the Hawaiian culture which invented surfing, I envisioned a cultural juxtaposition within nomadic Native American life--to create the ultimate surfari scenario (hopefully capturing and mirroring an organic experience as exemplified by the Paskowitz family).  

I imagined traveling from break to break before the modernization of western culture.  Finding a promising spot, setting up camp, cooking the days catch, and falling asleep on a bed of soft pelts, next to a warm fire, and slumbering loved ones.  

Then morning wakes you with the solacing thunder of waves breaking. You peek your head outside the tipi as the brine of cool ocean air enters your nostrils. You rub your eyes twice to ensure that the vision of turquoise perfection is not just a dream.  You step outside, chose your board, and begin to wax it as you time the sets. Then you rise to your feet and drink it all in.  In that moment of repose and mental preparation, you connect to the present in ineffable ways.  Today will be special, transformative, epic.  

Perhaps that is one of the qualities of big wave surfing--you connect to the present.  Everything else fades.  The past doesn't exist once you rise to your feet.  The future is probed only in terms of split seconds as you judge the wave unfolding before you.  

When you kick out, your concept of time expands back to normal parameters.  It is then that you typically feel the elation of what transpired. Indeed, in the maelstrom of compressed time, adrenalin, and focus there is little time to process emotion, even the distraction of fear lingers somewhere in the distance.  It is a rare experience--many describe it as spiritual.  It is different from the rush of other extreme sports, because every wave is unique.  It's not like jumping out of an airplane where the parameters remain basically the same every time.  It's different from skiing down a mountain, cause the mountain isn't moving.  To truly understand it, you have to experience it.  

Another deep seated intrigue with surfing is the nomadic experience of "surfari" and how that weaves it's way into the feeling of "tribe", family and friends. It's equally hard to explain the nebulous connection I feel with Native American culture, art, and spirituality.  They seem to mirror in mind. Indeed, as I analyze the strands of subconscious thought many images begin to flash.  

Growing up I was privileged to have both a Navajo foster brother and sister join our family and live with us for almost a decade.  Moreover, many of our family vacations involved visiting reservations and Native American landmarks as we crisscrossed the country.  I still remember learning about the great Chief Joseph in Yellowstone Park as a child (probably because we share the same name).

Nevertheless, my first dabbling in Native American motifs, began in high school when making jewelry with my friend James Kanan, (who went on to become a very successful jeweler, and sculptor--see link: www.jameskanan.com ).  It was during that time that I developed an affinity for Native American aesthetics (in fact, David is wearing a necklace that I made for him in this picture).  

However, my deepest appreciation for Native Americans came unexpectedly during a "ring dance" ceremony at the Sundance Institute Film Makers Workshop in 1988.  I don't talk about it much because it was spiritual in nature--let's just say it was strong medicine.  Something changed inside me.  

As the years passed my connection and appreciation grew and grew--the beauty of tribal community, the art of living off the land, the technology of the tipi, and every shard of philosophy I could garner. However, I wasn't aware how deeply Native American motifs had invaded my creative subconscious until I began designing the artwork for "Chameleon on the Glass".  I had no intention of mimicking any motifs, I only new I wanted something mystical, ancient, and organic.  As the graphics began to materialized, I kept noticing a semblance to Native American art.  Many of those elements made their way into "Native" (like the dream catcher design, eagle feathers, and many others). Obviously, some elements were created specifically for this work, like the Anasazi surfer, and the Wildman/Holyman! symbiotogram, which has an interesting back story.  

As is customary in some Native American communities members often receive their names based on personality and/or life events.  As fate would have it, my friends nicknamed me Wildman--which stuck to me throughout high school.  Then I moved away into a new community of friends which had no knowledge of my previous antics.  Till one day, while rafting down the Colorado river, someone called me, Wildman--which took me back, and caused me some serious introspection.  I had tried to pursue a more spiritual path in subsequent years and distance myself from the label, but eventually I  came to terms with both my instinctual and spiritual nature. My son, on the other hand, was blessed with a transcendent nature--expressing profound empathic sentiment.  Hence, the Wildman symbiotogram (which turns into Holyman! when turned over) represent that inversion and the dualistic nature of man in general. 

The kaleidoscope of images and impression that swirl in the transom to generated works like "Native" are hard to quantify, let alone explain.  Moreover, that which draws an artist in, may not interest others in the slightest.  Still they are driven to capture the beauty seen in mind's eye, where the air of imagination grows so thick that it begins to condense into a reality.  That is what artists do--it is their "Native" air.