The series is titled “Notice,” and it made me think of my continual harping on intentional observation. The above charcoal drawing is titled Donna. Hawkins says of the series:

What do people ignore? Why? What do they notice? Why?
Matthew 13 seems to reference this. It’s interesting to read why Jesus chose to speak in parables.

“Art is a lie that helps us to realize the truth.”
- Pablo Picasso

The Notice series is currently installed at the Mason Murer gallery in Atlanta.

Also added to the proverbial sidebar this week was a link to my good friend Joel Armstrong’s new website. Joel creates drawings and installations using wire and found objects.

Above is Patty Wickman’s surreal A Thief in the Night. Wickman, an art professor at UCLA, is a master (in my opinion) of turning beautifully simple subjects into powerful metaphors.

Which do you think is more powerful imagery? Which is more likely to cause the viewer to more deeply engage the subject matter? Which one employs imagination? Which one tells and which one shows? And (ironically) which one is more likely to change a person’s attitude or worldview?

Christians in the past 100 years seem to have forgotten how to be creative, use our imaginations, when communicating visually. For some reason we feel the need to reduce the Gospel (and any other theological tenets we hold dear) to what is more or less propaganda. We obviously aren’t reading our Gospels very closely. The parables are a prime example of using art — storytelling — to show people an idea or principle rather than just saying it out loud. Granted, the culture was different then than now, and we may not be able to do exactly as Jesus did, but the point remains: People won’t respond to a direct statement in the same manner as they will to something that is illustrated, painted, drawn out.

And, for what it’s worth, the painting of Jesus knocking at the door (of your heart as so many mistakenly believe) is based on a verse, as far as I know, that’s almost always taken out of context. The imagery is generally used to appeal to non-believers. In reality, the verse is speaking to the church of Laodicea in the context of repentance.

Failing hearts (above) is “a collaborative installation by two artists dealing with issues of the heart — one, an emotional and poignant set of unopened letters that are filled with words that speak of a failing relationship, while the other deals strictly with the presence and form of the heart itself.” Joel Armstrong hung a myriad of his wire drawings, intermingled with wire words taken from the aforementioned letters. The letters were written by his late mother, and gallery goers were encouraged to take additional words from his parents’ dresser — part of the installation — and pin them to the walls.

Neil Ward contributed the cast calf hearts, sitting on the small shelves in the photo above. Each heart is cast using a different mixture of materials; every one unique in form.

Two doors down hung a show by the same artists titled On the Line. Armstrong is seen in the photograph above pointing out some of the clothing on the line, again drawn in wire. It is a beautifully arranged work, best viewed after dark. Ward’s cast eyeballs line the walls, “perhaps here the understood tendencies of voyeur and nosy neighbor.”

Both installations employ sound and are meant to draw the viewer in not just visually and emotionally, but experientially. The shows are up until the 29th of January.

Andrew Wyeth died today at the age of 91. Wyeth was an American realist known for Christina’s World (1948, above) and a series of studies of his neighbor Helga (below, 1971-1985). Critics have long complained that his work is little more than illustration, although shows of the artist’s paintings often draw record crowds.

Not knowing much more than I’ve already stated about the artist, I still disagree with this recurring criticism. There is, in my opinion, a depth of content by means of his composition and subject matter that I don’t generally associate with mere illustration. While not quite as surreal and evocative as, say, contemporary realist works by the likes of Patty Wickman, Wyeth’s paintings draw out a contemplative emotion far beyond a Rockwellian nostalgia — who’s works aren’t really contemplative at all. Wyeth’s painting was, probably, poorly received simply because he happened to be a realist in a Modernist world.

I sketch before I get into the actual sculpture to give myself a better understanding of the subject. Sketching serves as a second level of observation, as well as time to brainstorm new ways to use clay or wood in my sculptures.

It seems, in some respects, that everyone wants to be a photographer these days. By everyone, I mean an awful lot of people who might not necessarily possess a natural giftedness in the visual arts. There seem to be pros and cons to this movement, if I can call it that, but those are for another post. Regardless, the implications on the tactile arts of a camera and process that so realistically reproduce a given subject remain significant.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy photography. However, I often think we don’t understand its limitations in accurately portraying the objects, situations and atmosphere within its frame. As amazing as the medium is, it’s easy to overestimate a photo’s ability to convey a space and time.

Does the often insane pace of life around us and our resulting impatience — and therein lack of intentional observation — keep us from really seeing a photograph? Are we so used to photography as part of our environment that we only glance at the products of this amazing visual technology, not giving it proper attention?

Has photography made artists lazy? If not, does it have the potential to strip artists of the desire to create tactile works? I asked myself this as I sketched last night. The question was born of, in part, this next question: Why would I bother sculpting storms in clay on such a small scale, not being able to render a lot of their detail, when we can just look at photographs? Sculptures take up shelf or table space people don’t have. Photographs can easily be hung on walls, which are usually more plentiful. Since I’m so infatuated with storms like the one above, why don’t I just become a storm chaser (which I would love to do) and photograph the things?

First off, I’m driven to work with my hands, hence the focus on this blog on the tactile arts. Secondly, even if my sketches and sculptures don’t/won’t rival the immaculate vision and presence of a prairie storm, they represent a personal level of investigation that goes beyond casual, or even some more serious observation. Thirdly, I’d like to believe there is some validity in my own interpretation. The third point is a bit dangerous; this kind of thinking can place too much emphasis on an artist’s personal interests. You can’t — and shouldn’t want to — completely separate the artist from the sculpture; however, art is bigger than any individual.

“Make it your goal to live quietly, to mind your own business, and to work with your own hands . . . so that you may win the respect of outsiders, and have need of nothing.”

Kudos to nicholas_t for using a Creative Commons License.

My gut level reaction upon seeing this work was to identify it with the kind of generic paintings one sees on the wall of a hotel room. I think, in part, the frame in this photograph isn’t living up to the complexity of the painting. With a more neutral matte and elaborate (or, perhaps, just wider) frame, my gut would probably think differently of this watercolor. My eyes are telling me that Mason was an very proficient illustrator. This would, I imagine, be a very time consuming work of art. Of course, every Mason work is interesting to me since I live in her former home.

Sue Ellen’s comment imparted a number of interesting details about the artist. Here’s an excerpt:

She was extremely intelligent and loved to talk about any subject, she excelled in the world of art. She knew so many painters personaly. I always looked up to her. I used to take my small daughter down to her house in hopes that some of that “fiesty’ spirit would rub off on her. I think it did, and I may pay for that one day, but I don’t mind.

See other Ella May Mason paintings via this link.

I chose two images to give you an idea of the works. The first was an interesting painting, but was more interesting to me in that it was torn, sort of repaired and now is part of a gallery show. I like the sense of reality and temporality this conveys. Works of art aren’t necessarily untouchable. Paintings aren’t going to last forever, as much as we’d like to be able to preserve so many masterpieces.

“Two Women and a Soldier” by Dean Cornwell

“End of Rivalry” by Laurence Fellows