Blooming ovals of undulating green-shaded envy twist and turn, evolving,
An understanding commencing out of misinterpreted perceptions.
With every grain of my soul, I harbored a hate so virulent as to consume my whole existence.
Now grains smoothed into a fine sheen gleam.
And you, I finally, see my brother.
-Based off a new painting...
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Inspirational moments and realizations
Today I heard photographer Michael Kolster speak to a few of my fellow art students and professors at my school. Kolster's been keeping a daily photo blog since 2002. It's impressive and inspirational. He spoke about it as a project so second nature to him now that it was like breathing. I want an exercise like that. Journaling used to be like that for me. Writing has always been an easier exercise for me than making art. Once I start writing my mind goes on all sorts of tangents, and I just go with it. I've always felt that my writing came from somewhere that existed within me pressing outward. The words were mine, but inspired by something greater, something within that I don't always realize is there. I might have said before, but it's only within the last year that I've started really considering myself an artist. I've always considered myself artistic, but not worthy of the title artist. Now I'm trying this identity on and trying to figure out if its one that I want to own. Do I have a choice?
About his speech:
It was amazing. In my own art I've been exploring the passage of time in my own life and considering the inconsistency of memory through displaying my work in linear and non-linear ways, including collaging the different pieces. In his photos he was examining the passage of time through a linear and collage based display style. I asked him about his usage of white space and gutters to separate his photos. His photos are like windows into the wonderment and the gutters act like the window frames. He said he uses the gutters to make the viewer realize the farce that is the photograph. I asked him if he ever considered using different sized photos near each other, as that is sort of what I'm trying to decide about displaying my minerals and pieces. He said not at the moment because he is trying to reference the window frame and the uniformity of the frames helps do this. I think the uniformity forces more comparisons, which is one reason I've been displaying my mineral series in a line, and his answer only made me think the consistency of the mineral prints is important. Each one is very similar, yet unique. It was great to see that idea paralleled through photography and got me thinking that maybe one reason I love the project I'm working on so much, and one of the reasons I've been so happy with the way the minerals turned out, is that they really do show a progression through time, just as my journals and photographs have.
When I started taking photos when I was younger it was because I wanted to have images that would inspire my mom to start making art again. Twelve years after my mothers stroke, she's finally started making art again, although the small drawings and watercolors are nowhere near the scale that her oil paintings used to be. Now I've become the artist. Now the images that I was taking for her, are for me. Now I realize somewhere along the way I stopped taking photographs for her and started taking them for myself. Now I realize I never used to feel like the artist, why I've been more comfortable using words in the past. Words are concrete. While they may be interpreted in many ways depending on their combinations, I sense solidity and reliability in their structures. In my photography I always had a machine, a viewfinder and a frame protecting me.
I've always thought I had a bit of an ambivalent relationship with time, and change. I'm only now realizing that my fear and hatred of change, which I so wisely thought I'd outgrown when I was fifteen, probably has its roots in the instability of my childhood. Could have had a V8! I guess that's the cliché beauty of growing up. I feel like I'm predestined to be where I am. It's a strange and incalculable feeling. Sometimes it feels like its part of a greater conviction. I just have to keep asking myself whether I want to be an artist who is a journalist, or a journalist who is also an artist. [Why can't I be both?!] I'm just now getting to a point with my art that I'm feel the same way about it as I do about my words. It's thrilling, but a little unnerving. It's as if I've finally found my visual voice and there is so much I want to say that I'm struggling to say it all without sounding incoherent and trite. That may be the challenge for every artist. How do we say something new? How do we say something meaningful? Does what we create as artists, writers, musicians, etc. have to mean anything to anybody but ourselves? Does what we make have intrinsic meaning and value, or do only certain works qualify? I don't know. These are just a few of the questions I've been mulling over.
Sometimes I wonder if we all think about meaning too much. Sometimes I think I've been getting a little preoccupied with the that kind of wondering. Sometimes a pretty picture, a beautiful moment, a funny pun, are just what they appear to be. There is goodness around me that sometimes I miss because of my preoccupations, because of my schedules, because of my Work, with a capital W. I remember reading Hermann Hesse's "Siddhartha" freshman year of high school and how the river is the symbol of the constancy of change. One can try to resist, but the river wears us all down eventually. Kolster referenced this principle and I smirked because this is a truth I knew, but had temporarily forgotten to acknowledge. We are where we are for a reason.
About his speech:
It was amazing. In my own art I've been exploring the passage of time in my own life and considering the inconsistency of memory through displaying my work in linear and non-linear ways, including collaging the different pieces. In his photos he was examining the passage of time through a linear and collage based display style. I asked him about his usage of white space and gutters to separate his photos. His photos are like windows into the wonderment and the gutters act like the window frames. He said he uses the gutters to make the viewer realize the farce that is the photograph. I asked him if he ever considered using different sized photos near each other, as that is sort of what I'm trying to decide about displaying my minerals and pieces. He said not at the moment because he is trying to reference the window frame and the uniformity of the frames helps do this. I think the uniformity forces more comparisons, which is one reason I've been displaying my mineral series in a line, and his answer only made me think the consistency of the mineral prints is important. Each one is very similar, yet unique. It was great to see that idea paralleled through photography and got me thinking that maybe one reason I love the project I'm working on so much, and one of the reasons I've been so happy with the way the minerals turned out, is that they really do show a progression through time, just as my journals and photographs have.
When I started taking photos when I was younger it was because I wanted to have images that would inspire my mom to start making art again. Twelve years after my mothers stroke, she's finally started making art again, although the small drawings and watercolors are nowhere near the scale that her oil paintings used to be. Now I've become the artist. Now the images that I was taking for her, are for me. Now I realize somewhere along the way I stopped taking photographs for her and started taking them for myself. Now I realize I never used to feel like the artist, why I've been more comfortable using words in the past. Words are concrete. While they may be interpreted in many ways depending on their combinations, I sense solidity and reliability in their structures. In my photography I always had a machine, a viewfinder and a frame protecting me.
I've always thought I had a bit of an ambivalent relationship with time, and change. I'm only now realizing that my fear and hatred of change, which I so wisely thought I'd outgrown when I was fifteen, probably has its roots in the instability of my childhood. Could have had a V8! I guess that's the cliché beauty of growing up. I feel like I'm predestined to be where I am. It's a strange and incalculable feeling. Sometimes it feels like its part of a greater conviction. I just have to keep asking myself whether I want to be an artist who is a journalist, or a journalist who is also an artist. [Why can't I be both?!] I'm just now getting to a point with my art that I'm feel the same way about it as I do about my words. It's thrilling, but a little unnerving. It's as if I've finally found my visual voice and there is so much I want to say that I'm struggling to say it all without sounding incoherent and trite. That may be the challenge for every artist. How do we say something new? How do we say something meaningful? Does what we create as artists, writers, musicians, etc. have to mean anything to anybody but ourselves? Does what we make have intrinsic meaning and value, or do only certain works qualify? I don't know. These are just a few of the questions I've been mulling over.
Sometimes I wonder if we all think about meaning too much. Sometimes I think I've been getting a little preoccupied with the that kind of wondering. Sometimes a pretty picture, a beautiful moment, a funny pun, are just what they appear to be. There is goodness around me that sometimes I miss because of my preoccupations, because of my schedules, because of my Work, with a capital W. I remember reading Hermann Hesse's "Siddhartha" freshman year of high school and how the river is the symbol of the constancy of change. One can try to resist, but the river wears us all down eventually. Kolster referenced this principle and I smirked because this is a truth I knew, but had temporarily forgotten to acknowledge. We are where we are for a reason.
Hearing Kolster speak today, I was reminded that the daily appreciation of wonder, of oddity, of life, is essential to my sanity. Here's his blog: http://dailypost.bowdoin.edu/
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| A London night a year ago... Nov. 1, 2010, Elizabeth Ygartua |
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