Piruca en el Norte

In 1958, Ignacia Mercedes Zarate flew from Buenos Aires to begin a new stage of her life. The trip took over one and a half days, hop scotching innumerable cities and towns northward to the United States. Arriving in New York, where many an American family can trace their roots, her new voyage would take her westward across a different continent.

Mercedes has been a wife, a mother, a homemaker, a wage earner, and a grandmother after thousands of miles and fifty three years had passed. Along the way there have been happy times and sad, friendships made and lost, but always every challenge was faced, every opportunity exploited. She was the matriarch of our family and even as she passes from our world, this is only another stage in her voyage. Through our sadness we feel gratitude to have shared our lives with her. The sadness will pass eventually, the love she inspired and that we continue to experience will endure. Her strength of character fills us, even now. We will love and keep her in our hearts forever.

Complete Criticallity

Thanks to a heads up from an artist friend (JT), I just finished watching Robert Hughes’ 2009 documentary for the BBC, The Mona Lisa Curse. I enjoyed it on many levels, first of which was to find Mr. Hughes still in the land of the living and very much the sardonic curmudgeon. This extended video rant can be found on Youtube.com in twelve pieces, making it about an hour and a half long. The transplanted Australian critic displays his hot knife through butter dissections of contemporary art but in this work he turns it on the business of art, particularly in the way commodification has overtaken the main objective of fine art mirroring Wall Street’s carnivorous merger and acquisition mantra from the 80s up through today.

Hughes marks the Mona Lisa’s trip to the Metropolitan Museum in 1963 as the point when art shifted from a cathartic exchange of philosophy device to a mere commercial product with great investment potential. Leave it to crass post-colonialists to corrupt the purity of individual expression. The folk who stood in line to glimpse Leonardo’s spectacle did so on their own terms, most armed only with the knowledge that this was an important painting without any extra information. It was an experience similar to the nascent television offerings of the day. Americans are notorious for ignoring precedents as well as skipping historical lessons. What more was needed to be known considering Nat Cole sang about the painting ten years earlier. The U.S. in 1963 was still flexing its post war muscles while basking in the glow of a healthy atomic economy. Anything needed could be manufactured or simply purchased and shipped over. The mentality of the time allowed for quick fulfillments to any lack. At the time, the country was even producing its own modern art, eclipsing the need for old, musty European versions.

The Critic bemoans the rise of monetary value over emotional content in art and commiserates with the artist Jim Rosenquist over today’s sad state of affairs. The importance of Sotheby’s 1973 auction of the Scull collection is pointed out and images from a documentary of the event are screened which shows Robert Rauschenberg going up to Robert Scull after the event and administering a stern admonishment. Scull responds by stating that the fortuitous hammer prices will benefit the artists, as well. Warhol’s factory production and diminishing standards of quality are noted, as is the obsessive collecting of Andy by a Saudi mega-billionaire and his son. Damien Hirst is Hughes’ ultimate whipping boy for the exorbitant price tags and insipid lack of traditional artistry.

I found The Mona Lisa Curse to be entertaining for its quick and informative pacing but found that acid analysis on Hughes’ part to be most reassuring. At the close of the documentary, I was filled with the urge to tell Mr. Hughes, “Well, what did you expect?” The critic shares some of the blame for today’s speculation in the art market. His book and film, both with the same name, The Shock of the New (1981), displayed the progression of modern art from the mid-1800s through the 1980s. The film series based on the book is more telling as it begins at a pedestrian pace, gaining momentum as it covers all the ‘isms of modernism until it becomes a near stroboscopic blur of contemporaryness. The directorial structure of the documentary presages the shift in the control of cultural power from salons to artists to patrons to museums to collectors to multinational financial corporations.

Hughes truly shows his years when he dismisses Damien Hirst and his formaldehyde-swigging ilk based upon the lack of artisanal skill and inability to insert significant pedagogical content. Hirst, Koons, Prince and their brethren function in an ether created by a post-postmodern economy. An economy not simply based on production and consumption, or even supply and demand. Production of art is secondary to producing an aura around art. Reality TV is a phantasmal echo of the conniving and manipulation of Art. The art of this latest generation lies not within the brush, or even in the hand that wields it. It resides in the mindset that can create a commotion about an object, roil the waters of adorers and imbue it with a scent of theatrics. Oh, and within this cloud of popular lust there is a kernel of an object, complete with title and date, dripping in sarcasm, vacuum sealed within a prophylactic shield of systemic endorsement.

Today’s museums lament their current inability to compete with investment-minded collectors, but their historical existence is less than that of Modernism. The Patron has been the unseen hand that has guided, and continues to guide, the creation, collection and display of art. The Artist has been the indentured object maker far longer than the autonomous creative force of most of the 20^th century. The social services remain the same; it’s the pimp that changes over the ages. Rauschenberg, Rosenquist and Lichtenstein may have missed out on the money train in the beginning, but ultimately Robert Scull was right, crass as he may have been in saying so, the artists did benefit. The pop artists did it by controlling production. They limited their exposure through galleries and they began to keep part of their own art. This type of homemade retirement plan presented the following generations of artists a business plan on which to build. Self promotion as spectacle, popular culture reified as invested content combined with modern manufacturing created an opportunity for the modern day P.T. Barnum.

After all is aid and done, The Mona Lisa Curse lays out a depressing representation of art and the business of art in today’s landscape. But this inflated art bubble will burst and this economic event will occur for several congruent reasons. Art purchased for reasons devoid of aesthetics is indistinguishable from any other portfolio asset. The piece is tethered to the ebb and flow of monetary economies. Content is inconsequential. If the market that includes art investment fails, all the inclusory contents are absorbed by creditors. If the creditors end up with confiscated art, how will they be rated in order to classify them for liquidation? Judgments may have to be made on such crazy notions as quality of construction, artist skill or even socially significant content.

ELAPSED MEMORIES

This week, I went back to the place that ultimately corrupted my career path, Cal State University of Long Beach. I went there intending to learn how to paint expressively, as that was the end-all of artistic endeavor at the time. As a new student, I could not get into the painting studio classes so, in light of having taken one intro printmaking class at community college, I planned to bide my time with a few more similar courses until I was eligible to unleash my sardonic brush onto the painting world.

The printmaking department proved to be more inspiring, while proving to be constantly challenging, than the painting faction. It certainly did have an us against them atmosphere with the painters in a desperate battle to keep the Neo-Abstract Expressionism flag from falling under the dust of the unseen upstart Post-Modernists looming just beyond the horizon. The printers suffered from no such conservative constraints, we had free reign to try new things as soon as the basic processes were mastered.

Dick Swift was the first instructor I had. He was a pioneer in contemporary printmaking, primarily etching, and he wasn't about to let you ignore that point. His continental methods contrasted greatly with Cynthia Osborne. She was the one that drove me to try new things, and I would often try something ridiculously stupid, if only to prove that it was possible although usually useless in the end.

These photos mark the first time I've been back in about ten years. Since then, the department moved to a building next to the old studio, taking up the entire bottom floor.

This is a long shot of the litho room, taken from the silkscreen end (silkscreen is nearly always shunted off to one side).

The screen table in the foreground arrived while I was there and I helped to assemble it, the one-arm assembly and counterweights are currently rusting outside in the courtyard.

These are the two large litho presses. The tympans hang on a neat system on the wall between them. I used the Griffin press mostly, the Takach (Garfield) arrived the last year I was there but I used it enough to learn to buy one of my own later on.

This is a one hundred year old Fuchs and Lang cast iron press. This baby had a notorious bed wobble as it traversed under pressure. It would get progressively bad as it neared the end of its travel. The shop was open 24 hours back then (it still is today) and one night, with a critique the next day, the studio was packed with students all through the night. One girl was using this press trying to squeeze out some images for the crit and was working as fast as she could in the wee hours. The longest vertical bar in the picture above is pulled down to set the pressure on the litho stone. Well, with all the rushing and considering the nasty wobble the press bed had, the pressure bar (also known as the Devil's Tail in olden print times) snapped up and cracked this girl on her temple. Never had a full studio been so quiet. I regret that I can't remember names, but the girl was laid out cold and we thought she bought the farm at first. After a trip to the hospital, she turned out to be OK, plus she got a pass on that crit.

The old graining sink made the transition but I don't recognize the solvent cabinet.

These are the same instructions for graining stones from 27 years ago!

These plates are from the second lesson in Dick Swift's etching class. Twenty four small zinc plates (2" x 3"), each with a different technique. Two, perfectly matched prints, pulled from each plate were turned in inside a little manila folder. Nearly half the class would drop the course when this assignment was presented.

He was very serious about etching.

This was the best etching press in the studio. We also had a Laguna and a Brand press, but this little English beauty was the best suited for the sizes we worked on. Once you got the big wheel going, the inertia would carry the bed through its length, as if it was motorized. A little contact on the outer edge of the wheel and it would slow it down pretty as you please. On night, Rock (that was his studio nickname, he was a merchant marine) bet us that he could stand inside the wheel and make a complete revolution. The group that was there urged him to not try it, but... He spun until his head was pointing down at 4:00 o'clock when he did a headfirst Superman dive onto the concrete. I have been very fortunate to never hear such a sickening thud ever again. Rock rose from the floor, grabbing his head, while we were about to try to find some help (no cellphones back then) he kept insisting that he was OK and damned if he wasn't. We never let him live that down and I don't believe anyone from the school ever suspected anything.

This is an old Leach press (made in LA) from the 50's. The roller assembly and furniture was gone when I was there. I used it only once and that was enough. The poor thing is little better than a boat anchor.

These rollers were there when I was. I sure hope they have some real ones stored somewhere.

This is the current etching hotplate. We had a huge restaurant hotplate that we would clean up and use to have potluck cookouts. these were done late at night or early for breakfast or we would have starving art students pouring in. I hear they still carry on the communal cookout tradition, but with barbecues in the courtyard.

Speaking of courtyard, this shot shows the entrance to the Litho/Silkscreen studio. But what could that be under the little table?

Why, it's me! They currently number the stones in the studio (how common!) but way back when, Cynthia would name them all. I was lucky enough to earn a stone because...

I grained and backed piles of them when I was there! The printmaking department received a couple gifts of stones, some from Gemini GEL. We hauled them to the school in a convoy. One grad student used his little Toyota Hilux truck and the weight of the stones forced a monkey grip plug (look it up!) to pop out of a tire. The truck was so heavy, we had to unload it on the highway so it could be jacked up to change it. There were stacks of stones piled in the old courtyard. After prepping some of them, it was possible for anyone taking litho at that time to have a stone large enough to print a full sheet (22 x 30 or 30 x 40) that semester.

I was happy to see the new facilities but I could not help but to seek out the old bits and pieces surviving from my days there. The few students that were there while I was poking around are as avid and dedicated as the bunch I remember. The community of printmaking trumps the lone gunslinger of painting, in my opinion. Discoveries are shared, events are group projects and tradition is wedded to innovation under printmaking.

The experience of learning how to make art through printmaking at Long Beach has set the tone for my career. The connections I made then have certainly helped and I can't imagine having to limit myself to a single medium as a form of expression.

Symbols of Commitment

THE TRAIL OF DEATH FOR THOSE WEARING HIGH HEELS

It's been a month and a half since our good friend, Jane Hyun, took the matrimonial leap. The groom (Ethan Emmet Bodle) seemed to be one of sufficient faculties and his family was a reassuring mixture of characters, categoricals and the usual wedding suspects. The ceremony was short and sweet, complete with unexpected pauses and touching vows. The typical ceremonial protocols were followed with the requisite coterie of relatives and friends in attendance and the reception was wonderfully satisfying. Unfortunately, I could not gain audience with the feted couple so I was not able to suss out courtship details or gain enough information on the newly crowned husband to make any snap judgements. I did find the event significant in its organization and as to how it was orchestrated including the specific elements that were chosen to authenticate and give meaning to the ceremony.

A NICE TOUCH FOR A BEAUTIFUL BACKDROP

The wedding took place at the Malibu Nature Preserve, essentially a private campsite for spiritually inclined nature fiends. Choosing this location is a big break from the usual chapel or wedding hall. Weddings today range from humble, small gatherings to full blown extravaganzas that include every cliche and convention imaginable. The outdoor setting displays a commitment to create a truly memorable day and illustrates the lengths the couple are willing to go in order to cement their bond.

GUESTS COMPLETING THE TEST TREK OF FRIENDSHIP

The ceremony was short and sweet with slight variations of traditional ceremonies. Since it was outdoors, the chamber trio had to compete with nature's ambient symphony of breezes rustling the leaves and birds chirping. The small clearing that was the setting was sort of a natural amphitheater with sycamores standing in for an altar. This setting gave the event an intimate feel, allowing the guests to become a party to the contract between the happy couple.

THE MOTHER OF THE BRIDE

I consider myself fortunate to be a friend of the bride's family. I hope that gives me license to reveal that the bride's parents are originally from Korea, from exceptional lineages that can be traced back countless generations. The mother and father have made a commitment of their own in creating a place for their family here in the U.S. They may seem to be conservative scholars, but they are in fact rebellious pioneers in the eyes of their ancestors. Jane reflects that manifest spirit in this wedding ceremony. This does little to mitigate her parent's desire for her to assume an image of domestic normalcy with familial intentions included.

ESCORTING THE BRIDE UP THE PATH

The reception after the ceremony followed the usual blueprint. Drinks with a light nosh before the musical chairs with name cards at round tables with many place settings and too few heating thingies to ward off the coastal temperature drop as the sun coolly set over the horizon (whew!). This apparent nod to tradition was tempered by the beautifully decorated patio... origami cranes by the oodles and home grown succulents acting as centerpieces. The wedding cake did not define the mores and standards of the newly married as their was no cake. An orgy of handcrafted cupcakes arranged in concentric tiers showed the creativity and free spirits of the planners. The ceremonial first slice became the ceremonial unwrapping without the gratuitous face smearing.

MEASURING THE DISTANCE TO THE EXIT?

The whole affair was sweet and romantic. I found the break from tradition a relief from the usual procession of rituals. Most notably, I remember large portions of the day. I usually forget details quickly and I am happy if I can at least remember having been somewhere at sometime. What made the event memorable for me was not the elemental requisite pieces but the details that filled those moments. The cast of characters (which included us, the audience) was a tapestry that filled the spaces in between and provided a stage for the whole procession. I was both inside and outside of the moments making up this day. Very few of these types of affairs affect me in any deep manner, but I found this day to be one of the nicest. It was entertaining and more importantly, personally reassuring. Not in the "its nice to see a young couple get hitched" or "they look so good together" kind of way. I found it reassuring in that it reaffirmed my own personal commitment those many years ago. It reinforced my belief that a personally crafted ceremony is vastly more significant than any cookie-cutter or insane super spectacular side show wedding. It also brings to mind that in creating a unique event involves its own level of commitment. Breaking with tradition while creating a personal expression played out in front of a crowd of a hundred guests is an acid test that will only be the first in a succession of similar trials as a dedicated couple. I wish Jane and Ethan all the best and I thank them for extending a personal invitation for my wife and I to share in their moment.

TWENTY THREE YEARS AND JUST GETTING STARTED

Perpetual Mootness

In her article for Edutopia.org (http://www.edutopia.org/arts-music-curriculum-child-development), Fran Smith lays out familiar points in favor of arts education such as early exposure to the arts and governmental policies recognizing the value of arts. The decline of art programs as part of school curriculum is noted with the added caution of the difficulties encountered when these programs are reintroduced. Ann Hulbert points out that the arts do not offer quantifiable results in overall school performance in her article, Drawing Lessons (http://www.nytimes.com/2008/04/27/magazine/27wwln-lede-t.html). She cites statistics and studies to illustrate the fuzzy logic of art education supporters and their claims of success and the reality of clinical investigations that continually show little connection between art and testing success.

The Edutopia article by Fran Smith is an example of the confidence the pro-art education faction has in their beliefs. The Rand Corporation is cited as a supporting authority, as well as other other studies and evaluations. The difference between the two articles lies in the mechanics of the investigations and their results. Ms. Smith takes the academic approach in defining her case by presenting articles, quotes and positive results in classroom examples. The Hulbert article cites clinical examinations by professionals working within the scientific method. The facts and opinions in Drawing Lessons can hardly be disputed without resulting in fingers wagging and desperate appeals

The methodical, double blind placebo examinations cannot be easily disregarded. I must argue that the scientific process can only be superficially applied to art and art education. The success that comes from an early education enhanced by exposure to the arts does not neatly fit onto a Scantron sheet. Studies and opinions can be cultivated to support any side of an argument. This is learned early by any who want to add authority to their opinion. The discussion between the two articles will never find common ground since they are not two sides of the same coin. Since art education is, conceptually, a fluid condition in terms of knowledge acquisition, the level of integration and expression is as different as every pupil in a class is from each other. The Smith article reflects the opinions of many in the arts and simply reinforces popular beliefs. A serious obstacle to dissuading believers, and I am in this group, is the observational and experiential evidence we have witnessed. We know what we know because we have seen what we’ve seen. Not a very good argument in logical terms but strong enough to plant the feet of many art educators against naysayers and bean counters.

Laotian Design Studio Project

The iconic image of a clown has much more meaning today than it did fifty years ago. The perpetual smile and entertaining antics of the old Barnum & Bailey Circus performer has been adopted by the counter culture and it has become the poster boy for latent maliciousness that runs deeper than basic childhood delinquency. The clown with a painted face can be traced to the masked tricksters from Greek tragedies. This mythic character is, at times, the outspoken voice of reason in the face of hubristic endeavors. This character has also come to be viewed, in the Western European tradition, as a representation of everyman as he puts on an outward appearance of happiness to hide the sorrow within his soul.

         I chose this particular image of a maniacal clown from the characters created by my younger son. He is keenly interested in comics and all their manifestations from the Sunday Funny Pages to Miyazaki’s anime masterpieces. This version is a portly acrobatic performer seen at the moment of springing off a ball towards the viewer. The voluptuous contours are played against the ragged regularity of the decorative leaf pattern that demarks the margin. The contrast between the two major elements is also marked by their historical and cultural differences. The pattern is an interpretation of traditional vegetative and floral designs from Laos. These types of graphic representations have symbolic and historic connotations often used to decorate official buildings and temples. There is iconographical meanings attached to the patterns but these have been largely usurped in this image by the decorative alignment and intentional somber colors. The predominant culture exemplified in this splash page is the current comic style of appropriation and redirection.

            The clown in graphic comic terms is often a malevolent misanthrope intent on inflicting some heinous scheme upon a particular victim. The perpetual smile is as much a mask as Batman’s cowl or Clark Kent’s glasses. The makeup provides anonymity and with it the luxury of implementing the necessary steps to carry out his intended crimes, but comics are morality plays and this means that this chubby jester will see some form of justice eventually- this is built into the Joey (comic)/Auguste culture. The duality of funny/evil is echoed by those of good guy/bad guy and crime/punishment.

            The colors of the solitary figure are the most clean and bold of the illustration. Primary and secondary colors are traditionally associated with “happy” clowns in the west and in this case they add to the mask that this character hides behind. The background and pattern colors are muted complements following examples from 19^th century circus posters. These were printed before process colors or inks were developed and subsequently have a strong neutral cast to them. The integration of the Laotian design parallels the similar appropriation of traditional European patterns common in advertisings and posters in the early days of commercial printing. The variegated leaf pattern was altered and inserted behind the figure and the ball to add a threatening element as well as to add visual depth. The drawing and color application followed the old style of hand compositing used before computers made their generic impact on illustrating. This piece would have qualified as a color trial for a character study and would be refined by reworking the image with more appropriate techniques, specifically pen and ink to give it a smoother look that would afford greater visual impact.

            The colors are meant to suggest an impending nightfall with glow of the afternoon reluctantly ebbing. Comic book evildoers often commit wicked deeds in the dark of night because just as it not only hides their actions it adds to the malevolent aura attached to their position. This clown is displayed with only allusions to evil. It is suggested through his expression, positioning and tools of the trade. It only hints at the badness that may come later and that badness may be very grave. Lon Chaney, familiar with the value of makeup and the advantages of playing the fool to achieve his goals, is credited with saying, “there is nothing funny about a clown in the moonlight.”

Yes, I Will Have Another Piece of Humble Pie Please

My Studio Problems is presenting some frustrating problems and these are dredging up some horrific elementary school memories I hoped to have suppressed. One issue is the number of class exercises that I cannot organize and pick off with any success, but it seems as if many others in the class are in the same boat of confusion as myself. 

                                             "C" level work.
                                            My hearts before I screw them up.

There is a critical element that confounds and proves unavoidable, the crappy construction paper and awful art materials that have to be used to create these treasures. The concepts behind these lessons are vital to create effective and cohesive art lesson plans but using these materials and rediscovering their woeful inadequacies reminds me of my earliest school projects. 

I remember hating art projects to the point where I would do them as quickly as possible, or find some alternate way to do the assignment. This would lead to praise from the teachers and getting my ass kicked at recess. I never took art after the sixth grade, drawing only for myself until I stumbled into an art class in college.

Intentions aside, there are alternatives to the materials presented in formative school years. My wife receives supplies from parent groups and uses a portion of her alotted budget for materials that can endure mistakes and efforts to correct them. It is necessary for the motivated instructor to reach out to groups, associations, the district office or whoever has the good stuff.

Meanwhile I return to my sad little efforts. Maybe I can iron them or lay some sizing on before using watercolor. Its more likely that I will use some substitution to regain some control.