Author Archives: Jim

About Jim

I am an artist who works in oil, acrylic, gouache and pen & ink. Having studied art at the University of Georgia with Lamar Dodd, David Paul, and Mike Torlen, I have since done done further study at the Atlanta College of Art and the Callanwolde Art Center in Decatur, GA. Upon graduating from the University of Georgia I worked for a time as a freelance commercial artist. My work has been represented by galleries in Atlanta, Greenville, SC, and Helen, GA. I currently exhibit with Graffiti, a gallery in Chattanooga, TN. Mr. Tucker lives and paints on the Cumberland Plateau near Sewanee, TN with his wife, Deborah, three dogs, and a cat.
May 1, 2013 · 9:24 am

…if you have to be sure don’t write


The following poem was written by one great American poet, W. S. Merwin, about his studies with another great American poet, John Berryman. Berryman was 14 years older than Merwin and was, despite his personal problems, a demanding and inspirational teacher. This poem says much about the creative process, its origins, its demands, and its fears. In selecting the photos I tried to find ones that showed them when they were younger, closer to the time in their lives when the interactions described in the poem took place, but the truth is that both men would have been younger still.

john berryman

John Berryman

Berryman

I will tell you what he told me
in the years just after the war
as we then called
the second world war

don’t lose your arrogance yet he said
you can do that when you’re older
lose it too soon and you may
merely replace it with vanity

just one time he suggested
changing the usual order
of the same words in a line of verse
why point out a thing twice

he suggested I pray to the Muse
get down on my knees and pray
right there in the corner and he
said he meant it literally

it was in the days before the beard
and the drink but he was deep
in tides of his own through which he sailed
chin sideways and head tilted like a tacking sloop

he was far older than the dates allowed for
much older than I was he was in his thirties
he snapped down his nose with an accent
I think he had affected in England

as for publishing he advised me
to paper my wall with rejection slips
his lips and the bones of his long fingers trembled
with the vehemence of his views about poetry

he said the great presence
that permitted everything and transmuted it
in poetry was passion
passion was genius and he praised movement and invention

I had hardly begun to read
I asked how can you ever be sure
that what you write is really
any good at all and he said you can’t

you can’t you can never be sure
you die without knowing
whether anything you wrote was any good
if you have to be sure don’t write

ws Merwin

W. S. Merwin

Copyright James Craig Tucker

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May 16, 2013 · 4:53 pm

The River is a Strong Brown God

 

‘A Strong Brown God’ is what T. S. Eliot called a river. No doubt he was right. Certainly, the Tennessee River plays a large part in my life, and so the Jackson Point flotilla is once again preparing to set out on the waters. Persistent rains slowed down preparation and maintenance this year, as did problems created by a half-hearted job of winterizing the boats last fall. Nevertheless, my 14-foot sailing skiff, Flower Ann, is almost ready—just a small sail repair remains.

Sailing Pictures 013

The Flower Ann

The 18-foot motorboat Nocturne needs a bit more work. A more rational approach to stowage in the cuddy cabin is being built—the ‘just throw it over there’ method of storage proved inadequate—and some changes to the trailer are needed to make retrieval less of a chore. Nevertheless, the river awaits and soon we’ll get back to her.

Boat Pictures relaunching of the Nocturne April 2012 037

The Nocturne

I built both boats with the help of my stepson, Andrew, and with the patience of my wife, Deb. Any boat builder will tell you a wife’s patience is essential to boat building but often in short supply. Women don’t seem to grasp the necessity of letting house and garden go to hell while the build is under way, nor do they revel in detailed discussions of construction arcana. Fortunately, Deb’s patience has proved sufficient; each year we have one or more boats on the river. We even started a yacht club, The Jackson Point Yacht Club. It is so exclusive that we are the only members, but what we lack in membership we make up for in style. My son-in-law, Liam, created a nifty logo and gave us T-shirts that proudly display his design. We are trailer sailors. Our ‘yacht club’ is located 2000 feet above sea level on the Cumberland Plateau and at least 1000 feet above the nearest large body of water.

jackson_point_yacht_club

The two signal flags tell other boats “you are about to run aground”, which is a useful piece of information when approaching a mountain-based yacht club.

The two boats are an important adjunct to my studio work, and using them has influenced my approach to drawing and painting the river. That is why I prefer the word, “riverscape”, to describe these works. The view on the river is different from that seen from the shore. From the boat, you can see things that you can’t from land. More importantly, on the boat, you are part of the life, the feel, the rhythm of the river. Sailing or rowing the Flower Ann allows the river to predominate. A small boat moving quietly under sail gives the multitude of river sounds a presence they can’t have with a motor hammering away. When sailing, you come upon things quietly, and the river animals are not so quick to run away. I do own a small powered craft, the Nocturne, but by the standards here in Tennessee, she, with her 4hp outboard, barely qualifies as powered at all.

I much prefer this lack of power. In my world, slow is good. A bass boat with a 350hp outboard motor screams along at speeds that render the world but a momentary glimpse. River current means nothing, wind direction means nothing, and even distance, given the boat’s speed, means almost nothing. The screaming power of the boat demands that the river be its servant. It is a metaphor for humankind’s ruthless need to subordinate the environment.

Sailboats are slow, fragile, and subject to the forces around them. Sailing does not allow you to dominate the river and her forces. You must understand these forces because you must work with them. And working with them reinforces the notion that we are all only part of a very large web of environmental energies that we ignore at our peril.

As I said, sailboats are slow, and slow is an artist’s friend. I never find much subject matter driving around in my truck. Everything goes by too quickly. I like to move at the speed of my bike or my feet on land and at the speed of a sailboat on the river. I have spent days sailing upriver and drifting back down, letting the current do with the Flower Ann as it would. It often takes us places I might not have thought to go. Along the way, I make quick sketches, take photos, and sometimes anchor and do a more finished drawing or a small painting in gouache if time and light allow. Most of all, I soak up the sights, sounds, and feel of the river: T.S. Eliot’s “strong brown god.”

S. Pittsburg bridge gouache
Above: a gouache done on the river.

Below: the oil painting, “Unsettled Day: The Shelby Rhinehart Bridge” based on it.

Unsettled Day--Shelby Rhinehart Bridge, South Pittsburg--Deborah Tucker 12-2012

Copyright  James Tucker

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August 30, 2015 · 3:59 pm

“The Seine, Outside Paris” — Frank Boggs

The Seine, Outside Paris by Frank Boggs caught my eye on my first visit to the Hunter Museum about fifteen years ago. Since then, I go see it on most of my visits, and, like an old friend who never fails to charm, I always come away thrilled at its mastery of means and usually vow, with varying degrees of success, to emulate its immediacy in my own artwork.

Frank Boggs--"The Seine, Outside Paris, 15 x 22, Oil on canvas, 1885

Frank Boggs–“The Seine, Outside Paris”, 15 x 22, Oil on canvas, 1885– The Hunter Museum of American Art

When I first discovered this work I knew nothing about the artist but that mattered little. I avoid reading the information card next to a painting when viewing it for the first time, trying instead to let the artwork tell me all it can about itself, or at least as much as I can understand on a first viewing. So what can be deduced from this small canvas?

It was painted in the second half of the 19th century; the subject matter and the style make that clear enough. The relatively small size and the freedom of the brushwork suggests it was almost certainly done plein aire. Earlier in the century the development of paint packaged in tubes combined with the invention of the portable easel (still called a ‘French easel”) freed the artist from working exclusively in the studio. By the 1880’s it was a freedom that many younger artists increasingly relished and a common practice with painters such as Monet and Pissaro. Further suggesting its plein aire origins, this image has been painted on a tan colored ground, which can be seen in the foreground and behind the boats. Working directly on a toned ground, which is allowed to appear in the finished painting, both facilitates the visual cohesion of the image and speeds up the time necessary to capture the subject–not a small consideration when working outdoors with changing light conditions and environmental distractions. My guess is that this painting, almost an oil sketch, was 99% finished on the spot with very minor touches added in the studio. Great care has been taken by the artist to keep its spontaneity intact.

The economy of means and the freedom of technique are supported by a simple and effective composition. The darks are spotted judiciously, which, when combined with the swirl of the steam and clouds form lines, give the whole a vigorous rhythm and energy. Essentially, the darks along the horizon line are crossed by a second ‘line’ of visual energy that begins with the white of the river water on the lower left and moves into the picture plane to the lower clouds behind the boast. These compositional lines cross at the boats, and given the boat’s position in the painting and their dark tonality, make them the focus of the work. But Boggs goes further. By utilizing the swirl of steam and clouds above his primary subject, which he has placed on an unusually low horizon line, he gives the painting additional energy.

Of course I eventually read the information card and made the acquaintance of Frank Myers Boggs. I had not heard of him, but there are many fine artists who are not household names. When I got home an Internet search provided the following:

Frank Myers Boggs was born in Springfield, Ohio, but left Ohio in 1876 for study with Jean-Léon Gérôme at the École des Beaux Arts in Paris. He lived in Paris and New York, residing the last thirty years of his life in Paris. In Paris he won wide recognition for his atmospheric paintings of the ports of France and the quays along the Seine. His works were exhibited frequently in France. Between 1879 and 1916, his work was also shown in the United States, most often at the National Academy of Design, in New York, and at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, in Philadelphia.

Known as a master of plein-air painting, Boggs delighted in capturing the fleeting effects of the constantly changing skies of northern France and southern England. With lush and broad brush strokes, Boggs created rich and spacious paintings, orchestrating a subtle and restrained palette of grays, deep and dusty blues, and earthy tans. Although his palette is more subtle and tonal than that of the French Impressionist Claude Monet, Boggs’ paintings demonstrate clear affinities with the early French Impressionist school. Like his fellow Impressionists, it was the transitory aspects of nature, as well as the documentation of everyday reality, to which Boggs was keenly sensitive.                                                                         –Keny Galleries- Columbus, OH)

So there you have it. The Seine Outside Paris is a small painting made by an American artist not much known today. Yet it contains much of value and, almost like a visual haiku, says much within the confines of its simplicity.

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September 1, 2015 · 11:35 pm

“The Arrest” — Jack Levine

We are living in a time of increasing friction between law enforcement agencies and the citizens they serve. Violent confrontations between the police and members of minority communities have been recorded by bystanders. The resulting videos have quickly captured a national audience, causing the formation of groups such as ‘Black Lives Matter’ and leading to civil unrest. Though it was painted 32 years ago, Jack Levine’s painting “The Arrest” is more topical than ever.

Levine, who died in 2010 at the age of 95, has been described as a Social Realist, and his paintings, often crowded with satirically characterized figures, display his questioning of traditional authority and his uneasy relationship with contemporary culture. Openly hostile to the abstract styles of art dominant in the second half of the 20th century, Levine hearkened back to satirists such as Honoré Daumier and William Hogarth. “The Arrest”, while somewhat comical and obvious in its subject matter, is actually a tangle of questions about the nature and use of authority—questions that have been evolving with increasing urgency in the years after WWII.

Jack Levine, "The Arrest", 1983

Jack Levine, “The Arrest”, 1983 The Hunter Museum of American Art

This dramatic  painting contains three figures. On the left is an almost featureless white policeman whose powerful grip on the arrested person is both prominent and dominant in its determined act of control. Indeed, it is this figure’s muscular right arm, not his facial expression, that defines him. On the right a more shadowy policeman emerges from the background. He might or might not be African-American, and, though still an agent of the state, he exercises control in a less obvious way. Finally, and most prominently placed, is the faceless, genderless, raceless prisoner—a mysterious “everyperson” caught up in the net of social authority. This prisoner takes up almost half of the picture area and is thrust forward in the picture plane enhancing his or her visual prominence, but despite the compelling placement in the composition, this is a person controlled by powers that literally have grip on him or her. A difficult and emotional moment for anyone, but a bag with bizarrely shaped eye holes conceals the face. It is this bag, this mask covering the reality of feeling, that gives the prisoner a look of wry bemusement, as if saying, “of course this is happening to me, what did you expect?” It is a moment Franz Kafka would understand.

Norman Rockwell-- The Runaway 1958

Norman Rockwell– “The Runaway” 1958

However in mid-century America, not too long before Levine painted “The Arrest”,  such questions about civic authority were restricted to left wing journals and “radical” publications. In 1958 Norman Rockwell painted a magazine illustration called “The Runaway”. It is far removed in its sentiments from “The Arrest”. In Rockwell’s image, the powers of society are responsible and understanding. Likely the man running the diner called his friend the policeman upon seeing the young runaway. The policeman, for his part, is using gentle persuasion to guide the boy into choosing to return home. And finally, the boy clearly accepts and respects the authority of the adults around him. The body language of all the participants is benign and caring. It’s a beautiful world in its innocence and social connectedness. No doubt it was also one that rarely existed outside the longings of the Saturday Evening Post readers, but one that Americans, at least most middle and upper class white Americans, chose to believe.  (For a recent satirical view of Rockwell’s iconic image see: Mad Magazine.)

If Levine’s painting presents a different world, perhaps it is because much happened between 1958 and 1983. The Vietnam War alienated many of America’s youth. The “police riot” at the 1968 Democratic Convention in Chicago was televised to a shocked nation as viewers watched Mayor Richard Daley’s political machine use its power to crush political protest. “Don’t trust anyone over 30” became a common refrain even before the Watergate hearings showed that criminal and self-serving behavior ran all  the way to the White House. In many quarters public authority became looked upon as mere social control at the beck and call of a political and financial elite that had little interest in administering evenhanded justice.

Jack Levine-- The Feast of Pure Reason 1937

Jack Levine– “The Feast of Pure Reason” 1937

The country may have been surprised by the events of the 1960’s and 70’s, but they led us as a nation to a perspective on authority that Jack Levine had long held. Certainly his distrust manifested itself early enough. A half century before, in 1937, he painted “The Feast of Pure Reason”, which depicts a policeman, small businessman, and rich capitalist meeting to use their resources to their advantage. Their faces are well fed and complacent. Their selfish empowerment is banal and self-satisfied. Levine, who was born poor and whose first studio was in a slum neighborhood in Boston, had little reason to think that the game wasn’t rigged. In his world the rich and powerful have the law, the police, and the courts to enforce their will.

“The Feast of Pure Reason” tells us much about how we might view “The Arrest.” The police depicted in the painting use force (though by today’s standards it is quite restrained), but they are also rather neutral and detached in the process of doing so. They offer no sympathy and show no outrage. Who are these men? What do they think? What is their stake in this moment? It appears that they are merely agents of control, pure and simple. The three figures–the prisoner in the foreground, the policeman on the left, and the policeman on the right–each recedes further into the background, suggesting that somewhere in the darkness behind them, someone else is in control. Someone for whom this moment is a desired outcome. Someone not unlike the men in “The Feast of Pure Reason”.

But what of the anonymous prisoner? Has this person committed a heinous crime?  Could he or she be a violent criminal that society must lock up for its protection? Or someone much less dangerous, a petty thief perhaps? Or a political prisoner? Is the crime merely being who or what he or she is? We don’t know and the policemen don’t seem to care. They do what they do for the people who tell them to do it. This lack of feeling extends to the behavior of the prisoner. Regardless of the force in the policeman’s grip, the body language of the prisoner is completely neutral, too. There is no struggle. And because the bag masks any facial expression, we don’t see anger or resignation or, for that matter, any emotion. Indeed, the covered face suggests the mask we all wear when facing compelling and controlling authority. To reveal true feelings at such a moment would be to give away the little dignity you still possess.

In Jack Levine’s “The Arrest”, there is force and there is submission. That is all. Right and wrong are not present.

This essay is part of the Thinking About Paintings series.

Click the link to return to the listing of other articles

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February 23, 2015 · 11:04 pm

“The Circus is in Town” — Edith Cockcroft

Edith Cockcroft- The Circus is in Town-- 1912

Edith Cockcroft, “The Circus is in Town”, 1912 , The Hunter Museum of American Art

Edith Cockcroft, though not well known today, was an established and successful artist in her time. “The Circus is in Town”, part of the Hunter Museum of American Art’s permanent collection, is one of her paintings from 1912, done when she was 31 years old. In it, a circus has come to a small New York town and the locals have turned out to view the parade announcing its arrival. It is, no doubt, a regional circus, a mere shadow of the splendor of Ringling Bros. It’s probably been to this little town on more than one occasion. Still, though all but the youngest townsfolk know what to expect, it’s a bit of a novelty in its way and something to be welcomed. A cursory glance tells us we have a bit of Americana here, a display of the innocent joy of small town living.

Perhaps. But I think more is going on if one looks carefully and is aware of the context.

To begin with, Edith Cockcroft is painting in, what was for the time,  a modern and controversial style. The idea of a turn of the century circus arriving in a small town suggests sentimental nostalgia– a motif beloved by the illustrators of the time. She, however, approaches her subject objectively and with a technique that is rough, spontaneous, and dynamic.

William McGregor Paxton, "Tea Leaves" 1909

William McGregor Paxton, “Tea Leaves” 1909–Metropolitan Museum of Art

Just four years earlier, in 1908, a now famous exhibition by eight artists, later dubbed by critics “The Ashcan School,” had been staged at the Macbeth Gallery in New York. At that time, it was the only gallery in the city that showed contemporary American art. Presented by the artists Robert Henri, John Sloan, George Luks, Edward Shinn, William Glackens, Arthur Davies, Maurice Penderghast, and Ernest Lawson, the show was roundly condemned by critics for its  unacceptable and unpleasant subject matter (streetlife, tenements, etc.) and coarseness of style. Though massive changes in art had already occurred in Europe, most notably in France, the American art schools still clung steadfastly to a narrow academic style that one challenged at one’s peril. The academics set and maintained very conservative standards, and, as the twentieth century began, America was largely an artistic backwater.

The show mounted by the eight artists of the Ashcan School was a direct challenge to this state of affairs. Edith Cockcroft would  have understood and sympathized with their cause. Certainly, the young Ms. Cockcroft possessed artistic sophistication.  Born in 1881 in Brooklyn, NY,  she went to France in 1898, spending the next several years in the art colonies of Pont Aven and Concarneau. While living in Paris, she studied with Henri Matisse and exhibited at the Société Nationale des Beaux-Arts and the Salon d’Automme. Returning to the United States her work was exhibited at the National Academy of Design from 1910 to 1915, as well as at the Art Institute of Chicago, the International Art Union, the Salons of America, the Pennsylvania Academy and the Corcoran Gallery. Hardly someone with a narrow or provincial mindset, Edith Cockcroft was an artist who had her finger on the pulse of the avant garde.

So what is she up to in this painting of small town American life.

Cockcroft detail 1

“The Circus is in Town” (Detail)

To my mind, this painting is a sly critique of contemporary American life and culture, somewhat akin to that in Sinclair Lewis’s 1920 novel, Main Street. Her use of such a rough, spontaneous technique would, to the viewer of the time, be a bit like our hearing the Rolling Stones do a cover of “A Bicycle Built for Two”. The paint surface contrasts with the subject in a way that underscores the provincialism of the setting.

And there is further evidence of her intent.

Look at how she uses her palette. All the color is centered on the circus. Cover the lower quarter of the canvas and the remainder goes utterly lifeless and bland. The orange figure on the elephant demands our eye’s attention. More color dances along along behind, but almost no color is given to the houses or the people in the small town. They may be the bedrock of the nation, but they are also empty, static, and drab. Color, movement, and excitement must come from elsewhere.

So is it too much of a stretch to go from there to wondering if the circus just might represent the new young artists and their work? Artists and ideas she knew were coming that would utterly change American art forever. Edith Cockcroft had been to Paris, had met the avant garde, had seen the future. Was she subtly telling the rest of her country that they would soon experience it, too? All of the speculations above are obviously my personal reaction to her painting. We will never know exactly what Edith Cockcroft’s intentions were, but I would like to think that is exactly what she was doing.

Edith Cockcroft spent her entire adult life as an artist, not giving up her career for her husband (very common at the time), though she married and lived in New York City and then in Sloatsburg, New York. Her husband, Charles Weyand, was a stock broker who was ruined by the stock market crash of 1929 and the ensuing Depression. It was Edith who then supported them with her pottery, jewelry and fabric designs.

Let us savor that for a moment—an artist supporting a failed stockbroker! For that alone Edith Cockcroft deserves to be remembered.

She died in Ramapo, NY in 1962.

 

.

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January 22, 2014 · 10:58 am

The Art of Bryan Rasmussen

 

Bryan Rasmussen Studio (10)

Bryan Rasmussen in his studio

 See more of Bryan’s art at: Bryan Rasmussen

For interviews with other sculptors see: Turry Lindstrom / Maria Willison

As a sculptor, Bryan works primarily with steel and his studio, designed around the manipulation and fabrication of that metal, has an almost industrial feel. “I’m here most days, all day,” he says, “except for ‘relationship days’ that I spend with my fiancé, Christine. After my morning run I come in, put on some music, crank the volume up, and get to work.” Music is important to Bryan and his tastes are eclectic. He spent a few years after high school in the Chattanooga music scene where he played bass for several punk rock bands as well as being a photographer for various groups.

Growing up in the small north Georgia town of LaFayette, Bryan Rasmussen had one goal, and it wasn’t making sculpture—he didn’t want to work in a factory when he grew up. As a boy he was often drawing and his family, particularly his grandmother, encouraged him. In time he got a camera and became interested in photography. As his interest in that medium grew, he left his bass guitar behind and enrolled at the University of West Georgia as an art major with a specialization in photography. He was the first person in his family to go to college and get a degree and it was there, in the UWG art program that he discovered his artistic path.

“As part of the art program I had to take a sculpture class and I became very involved with the techniques for metal casting. The immediacy of the work appealed to me. In photography I could shoot two or three rolls of film photographing some object, then spend eight hours in the dark room and come away with a pounding headache from the chemicals and maybe a few prints I thought were really good. On top of that, it was the late 1990’s and photography was rapidly going digital. That, too, made it less appealing, since the digital process seemed almost surreal to me as an artist. On the other hand, with sculpture I would spend the day working and feel like I’d made some real progress, say building a mold or finishing a casting I’d done earlier. The physical labor was good; it gave me a sense of satisfaction. My hands would be dirty, maybe I’d have a cut, but there, at the end of the day, was the evidence that I’d done something. I found a reality in sculpture that was missing for me in photography.”

“I like to think of my work as objects of contemplation, that is, when placed in a space, they create a charged area for meditation and contemplation.”

With this early exposure to sculpture, he didn’t abandon photography immediately. Rather, he sought to incorporate a sculptural feel in his photographs and he began cutting up negatives and pasting them back together, forming what amounted to sculptural collages and making prints from the manipulated negative. Eventually a photography professor told him, “you’re not really doing photography any more, you’re trying to make sculpture with photography so why don’t you go do it for real?”

And Bryan did. He began studying with the sculpture professor at UWG, Kevin Shunn and it was an important formative experience. “He allowed his students to follow their ideas in a way that was unconstrained by his own preconceptions. Some teachers try to produce young versions of themselves but he didn’t. In addition, we were always free to explore the more conceptual aspects of sculpture and not just focus on object making. He was a great resource on technical matters, too. Mr. Shunn always seemed to have a lot of knowledge about any medium that you might want to work in.”

Echo maker Steel brass copper

Echo Maker– Steel/brass/copper

In 2005 Bryan received his BFA with a double concentration in photography and sculpture, but rather than go on to graduate school for an MFA, Bryan worked for next two years as a studio assistant to Carrollton, GA sculptor Gordon Chandler. In 2007 Bryan moved to Chattanooga, TN, where he was hired by the internationally recognized sculptor, John Henry (www.johnhenrysculptor.com), as a studio assistant. Bryan spent the next six years doing the hardest work of his life fabricating, delivering, and assembling John Henry’s designs on site.

“It was a really hard job—very intense and physically demanding. We worked in all weathers. Sometimes it was cold but the worst was when it was hot. Remember we don’t do anything to cool metal down, it’s the opposite, what we do, welding and all, just heats it up. You have to get used to burned hands and blisters. Then, after working for eight to ten hours it’s time to go to your studio and do your own work.”

Yet his time with John Henry was not without benefits for the young artist. “I’ll always keep what I learned about construction, engineering, and fabrication. Plus, I made contacts in the art world that would have taken me much longer any other way, and I really had a chance to learn the business side of the process.” A friend, the established sculptor Hank Lautz, advised him to learn everything he could in this area as it would be essential for his professional progress.

John Henry also helped Bryan by giving him a critique of his work. Bryan showed him several of his most recent pieces and John Henry, after looking the body of work over carefully, said that all of it was good, but each piece looked as if it had been made by a different artist. He saw no cohesiveness, no unity of vision. “I could see the links”, said Bryan, “but he couldn’t and it caused me to rethink my approach.”

51 elle se tient Steel

Elle se tient– Steel

“I stripped everything away and asked myself ‘what am I trying to convey through my sculpture?’ I want a sense of contrast and I want the feeling that something is being revealed, that something is coming apart.” His new work became more visually simple and direct. “I thought, what’s the simplest most direct thing there is? For me it’s the line, and to convey a line sculpturally I turned to square tubing. Then I made a cut and had the tube (or line) come apart to reveal the unseen. I added contrast using color both flat and glossy. Having the work stripped down to its very ‘seed’ allows it to grow in any direction and become more complicated and different.” But it is complication that is defined and controlled by the essence of his vision.

Bryan’s early sculpture was never painted. “I believed you needed to let the properties of the metal show and that you could get a sense of color through things like patina and rust, the natural oxidation of the metals.” Seeking additional textures he included such things as beeswax and cotton in his work.

With time and experience he changed his mind about the idea of paint and he now sees it as another tool, something to catch the eye and draw the viewer further into the work. “I don’t let paint overpower the piece—the form is important, indeed, the most important thing. That’s why I don’t put any text on my work, because I feel it then becomes about the text and the sculpture becomes just a sort of canvas. I want the form of the sculpture to be the most important thing.

Bryan’s use of color is carefully measured to get the necessary visual impact with an economy of means that harmonizes with his elemental shapes. He uses complementary colors but seeks subtly in their use, for instance employing near complements such as a rusty orange with a powder blue. “Complementary colors, if they are balanced right and lit correctly, are going to vibrate and catch the eye.” In seeking interesting color harmonies, Bryan utilizes everything from a close observation of nature to seeking out the color combinations seen in fashion magazines. His metal working studio must be one of very few that has back issues of Vogue magazine lying around.

Bryan’s approach to developing all aspects of his art is a methodical one. He keeps carefully written journals of his thoughts on art and sketchbooks of future projects. “I like to write about things, collect ideas, and even gather natural things like seed pods or the vertebrae of small animals that can inform my thinking. It’s very important to the evolution of my work.”

Bryan Rasmussen Studio (23)

Notebook, sketchbook, and reference materials

That evolution now includes works in both large and small formats, though larger formats are a newer and less comfortable thing for him. In the past his use of such materials as beeswax and cotton precluded outdoor display. “I think of my work as objects of contemplation and for that they don’t have to be big. I find that sometimes with bigger pieces the size is more impressive than the concept. Of course you get more recognition because your large work is out in public, but smaller pieces can be more personal and immediate.”

Rasmussen #2

Untitled No. 3 Charcoal/pastel

 

In addition to his main focus on sculpture, Bryan also works with two-dimensional media drawing images, which he describes as being, “what my sculptures would be if they were drawings”. Yet even with these drawings, requiring as they do techniques so different from those he employs with his sculptures, he has an approach that rises out of his work with metal. After a base image is created he uses a sander with fine grain sandpaper to work over the surface of the drawing, thereby creating a subtly varied surface.

And as for the future?

“I’m working on making my shapes more complicated in order to give my work more interest. I guess you could call it enhancing the visual terrain. I want any piece I make to be the most interesting thing in the room. I’m always seeking to push to the next level.” And that search for the next level is an unending process for Bryan Rasmussen. As he says, “I am an artist. I don’t feel like I could truly be anything else. Nothing else would satisfy me. I’d rather do this than anything.”

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September 12, 2014 · 4:07 pm

A Conversation with Maria Willison

Born in St. Louis, Missouri, Maria Willison moved to Bristol, Tennessee at 6 years old, upon her father’s taking a position at King University. Her interest in art began in high school. She pursued painting and drawing, though she didn’t learn much about technique. “It was all about expressing yourself, without much mention of how to do it,” she says. After graduation she enrolled in Covenant College, graduating with a BA. Currently she works as a studio assistant to Cessna Decosimo and has taught at the Townsend Atelier. She has had her sculptures in several shows, most recently at the 2014 Four Bridges Festival in Chattanooga, where she received a grant as an emerging artist. In October 2014, her sculpture was featured in a joint show, “Figuratively Speaking,” at The Northshore Gallery, which also included the paintings of James Tucker.

See more of Maria’s art at Maria Willison

For interviews with other sculptors, see Bryan Rasmussen / Turry Lindstrom

Maria Willison photo

Maria Willison (photo: Samuel Burns)

 So, how did you find your way to sculpture?

I took a sculpture class during my sophomore year at Covenant College and thought, “This is exactly how my brain works! This is exactly how I can express myself!” Sculpture became my passion.

Did you have an exceptional art professor who triggered this reaction, or was it the medium and its possibilities that so excited you?

Both. The messier I am, the more fun I have, and with clay, you’re basically working with mud (laughs). My teacher was Kay Carpenter–her married name is now Joseph–and she was trained in classical sculpting techniques in Florence, Italy. She has a deep knowledge of anatomy and figurative sculpture. I just fell in love with that approach and put a lot of effort into anatomical studies. She was very inspiring and really pushed me a lot. At the beginning of her classes, we would often have quizzes on anatomy—the muscles of the arm, the back, and so on. We also built a sculpture muscle by muscle. In addition to that, I took an anatomy class in the Biology Department to add to my knowledge base.

Esther

Esther

Why does the human form attract you so much?

Throughout history it has been a subject that really draws people in. You can work directly with human emotions, and people understand that because, after all, we’re all human. I love that. There is also the complexity and the challenge of it. The human body is a really hard thing to sculpt well, and I’ve set myself the goal of mastering it. I mean, really, if you can sculpt the human form, you should be able to do anything else. The human form is exciting because it is so complex, but it can also be posed in meaningful ways that allow me to work with complex negative spaces around the figure.  Often, I don’t see all the implications right away, but I’ll come back to a piece after a while, and it will just hit me: ‘ Wow, that side form was really what I was looking for!’

In an artistic statement, you said that negative space, dramatic line, and the dichotomy between peace and tension were what you thought about when making a sculpture. Can you elaborate on that?

Well, I’ve already talked about negative space, but that integrates with the line of the form. The empty spaces around the sculpture define negative space, whereas the dramatic lines lead the eye through the sculpture. The human figure, with its limbs and lines of muscle movement, gives you the chance to point the viewer’s eye where you want it. It’s a cool way to draw the viewer into the work. By establishing the pose, I both define the figure and move the viewer mentally through the work.

My piece, ‘Grace and Disgrace,’ is an example of what I mean by the peace and tension dynamic. The rising figure is almost the very essence of tension. It’s a pose that is almost painful to look at and would be impossible to hold, and yet, if you look at the face, there is a sense of peace and joy. If you look at the other pose, which is that of a person crouched and hiding herself, it’s physically peaceful, but it has psychological tension. It is the face of anguish and sorrow. A further dynamic comes into play because the two figures have to work together, pushing and pulling each other.

Grace & Disgrace

Grace and Disgrace

 

Do you have a preference for working with a male or female figure?

I do more female figures, I suppose, because I connect with a female’s emotions more. From a conceptual point of view, I tend to think more in terms of the female figure, but I really enjoy working with the male figure, too. I choose male or female models based on which one best helps me get my ideas across. In really simplistic terms, I suppose you could say that the male presents a more powerful muscular form and the female a more graceful, poetic one. Though in reality, it’s often a question of who is available as a model!

Vertigo

Vertigo

Why realism? We live in a world that is obsessed with being modern. It’s almost a fetish in some quarters to be continually on the ‘cutting edge.’ Do you worry about your style being perceived as passé?

I just see the world that way and find great beauty in how it, and particularly the human body, actually appears. There is great joy in rendering reality as it actually is. I enjoy helping people see what’s already in front of them. The challenge is working with what’s there but shaping it to make it my own.

That brings up an interesting idea. To what extent is your work not realistic?

Art is about personal expression, so I do emphasize certain things, but the distortion is subtle. I try to pick a model whose appearance is close to what I want aesthetically. If I have an extreme pose, one that a person can’t hold long without hurting themselves, I might push the pose beyond where the model actually is, based on my knowledge of anatomy. Since I’m working in a realist idiom, the figure has to ‘read’ as correct, but there are often small exaggerations made to better express what is inherent in the pose.

When a pose is extreme, like the ‘Grace’ figure in ‘Grace and Disgrace,’ do you take photographs to shorten the posing time for the model?

I do take photos for reference. But a method I prefer in that situation is to have the model do partial poses that she can maintain. For instance, in the ‘Grace’ figure, I had the model sit in a chair and bend backward as I worked the top half of the figure. Then, I had her kneel and bend backward in a less extreme way that I exaggerated in my work so her body was consistent with the more extreme bend when sitting. The hard part is making sure you have the rhythm of the overall flow of the body when working from partial views. That can be tricky, but it’s essential. You have to handle the transitions correctly, and I’ve gotten better and better at doing that.

Where do your ideas for new sculpture come from?

Usually, they come from my own life experiences or those of the people around me. I think there’s a lot of anguish in my work, though people may not see it. In ‘Enervare’—that comes from a root word that means ‘enervate’ or drained of energy—the concept is about someone who has done something wrong and has done it over and over, becoming completely drained of energy, wondering, ‘why can’t I stop?’. When I have an idea, I try to figure out what it would look like visually. In this case, what would it look like if you were utterly exhausted?

Enevare-- in progress

Enevare– in progress

Evevare-- finished piece

Evevare– finished piece

Are you saying that you begin with an idea and then work out a physical expression of that idea?

Sometimes, but not always. There are two basic ways I approach making a sculpture, and that’s one of them. Sometimes, I work in the opposite way. I’ll wonder if it would be cool to have the model pose in such and such a way, an intriguing and visually interesting pose, and then I will work to give that pose additional levels of meaning. Though I may begin with beauty for beauty’s sake, I rarely end there. To be honest, the knack for brainstorming a concept is a work in progress for me. That wasn’t the focus of my training, so it’s something I’m learning to do now.

After you’ve got the beginning point of a sculpture, how do you turn this idea into an actual artwork? What are your methods as you proceed from that point?

I start by doing some preliminary drawings. I used to not do those, but now I find them useful. I draw four or so different angles to think through the pose. Sometimes, I do a maquette, which is like a small three-dimensional sketch, just to be sure my thinking is solid enough to carry through. Then, I build the armature, which is the wire framework that gives strength to the clay. One of the things that I love about sculpture is that there are parts of the process that are very mechanical, and since I’m a very mechanically-minded person, I find that sort of thing fun. Once that’s done, I move on to getting the pelvis and the ribcage situated correctly. Those two things have got to be right. It’s not unusual for me to work on that aspect even before I engage a model. Once I’m satisfied, it’s just a question of building the work out: first, the figure is roughed in, and then it’s defined, and the transitions are smoothed out.

Willison-- Drawing #4 Willison-- Drawing #3 Willison-- Drawing #2

I’ve read that you work with both clay and plasticine.

Yes, I use both, and they are rather different. With traditional water-based clay, you have a limited time to work on a piece. Though there are ways to keep your work from drying out, the drying can’t be delayed forever. You either have to fire the piece or make a mold from it while it’s still wet. And, of course, once a piece is fired, you can’t change it. Plasticine, which is oil-based, never dries out. When the sculpture I’m working on is ready, I make a mold and then take a casting from the mold. At that point, the casting becomes the finished piece, and the plasticine can go back into the tub to be used over and over. The torso I had in the show at The Northshore Gallery was made that way.

Do you have a preference between clay and plasticine?

I really don’t. I tend to work in one until I get tired of it, and then I switch. Clay allows me to go really fast. I like the speed and immediacy, and it really shows the process because it’s so sensitive to the touch. You can get that appearance with plasticine, but it usually means working on the surface with tools. It’s easier to get that look with clay. Also, plasticine is harder to control with your fingers, and my hands get really tired when I work with it. However, with plasticine, there is no time constraint, which encourages a push/pull, add and subtract exploration process that isn’t hurried. You can leave a piece for a long time and then come back to it

Graphite Female Torso

Graphite Female Torso

Female Torso

Female Torso

 

How did you do the finish on that torso? The surface had a delightful quality about it.

I use a wax finish. I brush it on, and it hardens pretty quickly. Then I polish it until it gets a nice sheen. I love wax and use it all the time. That particular finish shows the marks made in the process of making the piece, which I think gives the work a warmer, more immediate feel.

You use a variety of finishes: gray and bronze, among others. Are those your color signatures for a given sculpture? Are they meant as an immediate draw for the viewer’s eye?

I suppose so, though the best patina emphasizes the form and doesn’t call attention to itself. The idea is for the patina to catch the viewer’s eye, drawing him to experience the form and the dynamic tensions in the piece.

What artists have influenced your work?

Rodin, of course. His poses are really amazing! He’s very exciting to look at. And Bernini. The detail of his work is fantastic. I’ve only seen photos of his work, but in September, I’m going with my husband to Florence, Italy, and I’ll finally get a chance to see the real thing. The movement in his Apollo and Daphne is amazing. His work has visual motion and an incredible level of detail, but he keeps it all subordinated to the needs of the piece.

You’re at an early stage of your career; where do you think your art is headed?

That’s a good question. I can see it becoming more abstract in time. Historically, that seems to be how it goes with many sculptors. I can see myself breaking down the human form and manipulating it more obviously. My way of working is getting increasingly internalized, and my muscle memory has really developed to the point I’m often working without having to think everything through. As the process gets more automatic, it can get more creative.

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February 5, 2014 · 10:25 pm

A Conversation with Josiah Golson

At 27, Josiah Golson has already achieved much. A graduate of the University of Tennessee-Chattanooga and the University of Texas-Austin law school, he recently began practicing real estate law in Chattanooga. He is also an artist, and is involved with several arts groups.

Josiah Golson]

See more of Josiah’s art at: Josiah Golson

For interviews with other painters see: Ellyn Bivin / David Jones / James Mckissic / Renel Plouffe / James Tucker / Larry Young

How did you become interested in art?

My mother is a trained artist, and in fact an art teacher. She was an early inspiration for me. When I was six years old, I remember making drawings that I imagined being in motion. Even then I was trying to tell a story with pictures. I made little comic books and so on. I’ve drawn all my life, but I wasn’t serious about sharing my art until my second year of law school. I was dealing with some issues around whether I wanted to continue in that field. I’ve always had an interest in the arts, from drawing to film making, and as a diversion I began to draw pictures in the style of a film strip, what I call ‘frames’. I began to create story lines and to illustrate them.

So your approach to drawing evolved as an emotional experience based on a love for a variety of visual media?

Yes, I think it was an attempt to connect with my youth and with things that inspired me.

Can you describe your approach to making your drawings and how you arrived at it?

I didn’t have any real formal training, such as working from a live model. My drawings come from my imagination. I see the image as if it was in a movie, and then I draw it straight from that. A big influence on my work is cinema and the process of cinema, particularly the making of story boards. I like story boards because you know there is a story being told, but there is not a need for perfection. That allows me to just go with the flow of the ideas that I’m getting. It gives me the freedom to draw in a way that’s quick enough so I don’t lose momentum. Usually I’m moving at a pace that allows me to get the image down while it’s fresh and vital. I don’t want to start over-thinking it or muddling about. I could lose the inspiration that caused me to choose the visual idea in the first place. I’m seeking a rhythm, almost a musical quality in my drawing.

You certainly have a very ‘live’ line in your work. To what extent do you pre-plan these strips of related drawings?

I do most of my planning in my head, waiting until I get to the point where I can see where I want to take a piece. To the extent that I do that sort of planning, it’s usually only for two or three images at a time. For instance, one of the pictures I have in the Graffiti show is called “The Fall of Rock”. It centers on the punk rock scene. For that drawing I tried to think of images that were not stereotypical but have a powerful element to them. Sometimes I draw a quick sketch on a separate piece of paper but most often I work directly by placing key images on the paper and then working in other images that complement them.

Golson--The Fall of Rock -L
The Fall of Rock 18×24 Conte Crayon on paper

Let me walk back through what you’ve just said. You have a basic structure in your head when you start out, but the exact nature of an individual image is left to the moment as you work.

Yes. That’s right.

Your two black and white drawings, “The Fall of Rock” and “Crossroads Chronicles” are done in an obvious ‘film strip’ style. However, “The Living Flag”, another of your drawings, is clearly telling a story but not in a sequential way.

Golson--The Living Flag
The Living Flag 18×24 Pastel on paper

I’ve actually done several “Living Flag” pictures. In those pieces my goal was to present the American experience, the spirit of America if you will, as it is represented in the meaning of the flag—the ideas of freedom, justice, equality, and the sacrifices that people have made for those things. I could have put them in a scene by scene format but those facets of our lives are so intertwined with the idea of America and with each other, so emotionally connected, or in some cases opposed, I decided to have them collide, as it were, on the flag itself. I tried to relate the individual elements to the colors of the flag, which I felt intensified the visual experience.

You have a fourth drawing you’re showing, “Reunion”, that takes yet another approach and doesn’t, at least to my eye, seem to tell a story at all.

Yes, in that one and in some other of my work there’s not a clear narrative. It’s just a scene. It doesn’t have a specific story. It’s pure action. That’s what motivates the piece.

Golson-Reunion
Reunion 18×24 Pastel on paper

I chose the title “Reunion” because I felt as I was drawing the different characters and individuals there is a sense of unity present. However, at the same time, there is sense of diversity and difference. So I think there are linkages, but at no time was I going for a narrative that you’d find in the other pieces we’ve been talking about.

At 27 you’re at the beginning of your career in art, but do you have a sense of how your work might be evolving?

I do. Well, a little bit, anyway. I know I want to move forward with the narrative style. I think that’s where I’m strongest. I’d like to see how far I can take it. In our society we rely on cinema a way to process experience. It’s become so much a part of our culture, it’s now all pervasive. Even though people don’t go to galleries and museums as much as they see film and TV, I think that can work in favor of the plastic and visual arts. The imagery of the cinema can be utilized to enhance visual art. I’d like to tell more complete stories, though not to the point of graphic novels, we already have those, but I’m moving toward doing more complete stories that may not be as explicit as a graphic novel, but will have a compressed richness to them.

What artists have influenced you?

I have people I feel have influenced how I think about art, but not all of them are artists.

So tell me about them.

Well, music certainly has a huge impact on me and is a very important part of my life. Among musicians, I’d have to say that one of my biggest influences is Bruce Springsteen—his whole narrative of struggle in life, his themes around the American landscape and the endless unfolding of American self-discovery. His way of making beauty out of life–the little things in life–are an inspiration to me.

There’s also a film maker, Julian Schnabel. I found him when I saw a movie on Jean Michel Basquiat, who is a painter I like. Schnabel’s film, “The Diving Bell and the Butterfuly”, feels like a painting. I mean as a film it’s made in a painterly way. It’s not using all the traditional cinematic techniques, but idiosyncratically tells its story in a powerful way. I love the way he juxtaposes images—old film, old pictures, old iconography—and mixes everyday things and lush European landscapes. In a sense, he made a painting out of a movie, which has inspired me to make movies out of drawings.

As for artists, two come immediately to mind. The drawings of Picasso had a big impact on me. Despite his being on a pedestal as THE 20th century artist, I love the drama and freedom in his work. The way he transformed life into image, even something as horrible as “Guernica”, helped to free me up to draw stories as I evolve them in my mind. Seeing his work allowed me a freedom I doubt I could have found in a more classical approach to drawing. The other artist is Matisse, because of how he combined a linear approach with color. I love his color. Sometimes I find the more color I use in my own work, the less linear it becomes. I love exploring how color impacts my basic approach.

Beside your drawings, are you working in other media?

Yes, I am. Currently my favorite media, as you might guess, are conte crayon and pastel, but I’m also working with acrylic paints. They’re not as natural for me as pastel, but the work is coming along. I still feel more comfortable with the drawings but I’d like to develop as a painter because I think there is more I can do with that. I can push my art further.

Josiah 2

Quartet in Color No. 2 20×30 Acrylic on paper

Josiah 3

Welcome to Stankonia 20×30 Acrylic on paper

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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April 2, 2014 · 10:08 am

The Art of Renel Plouffe

Rien ne se perd,
Rien ne se crée,
Tout se transforme!*
— Antoine Lavoisier 1743-1794
(Note on Renel’ Plouffe’s studio wall)

*Nothing is lost,
Nothing is created,
All is transformed!

Renel in front of paintingArtist Renel Plouffe

www.renelplouffe.com

French Canadian artist Renel Plouffe throws herself into the moment of artistic creation, glorying in the act of painting. Her passion is readily visible. Surfaces are roughly, almost violently, textured. The pigment is applied lavishly in color combinations that range from an elemental clash of primaries to an almost mystically subtle variation in shades of analogous colors. Her art is a profound and primary means of communication for her. It is an art that does not make compromises.

“I break down the subject to its visual essentials—light, dark, color, tone, movements, and textures. Each canvas is absorbed by color brushstrokes, and a textured background. The result is a reflection of my true essence and outlook on life.”

Creating series of paintings around a common theme is central to Renel’s approach to her art. She has used a variety of such themes over the course of her career, systematically exploring ideas that have meaning for her. At any given time, she is mining two or three such thematic areas. The paintings in her current show focus on two: ‘city’ and ‘water’.

“I’m a city girl,” she says. “You know when you go in a big city and everything is moving—I just love the electricity in the air. I used to fill my city pictures with people and cars. That was how I presented what I really love about urban life, the craziness and the energy of the city.”

                                                                      Traffic        Heure de pointe                 

   Traffic  20×16    Oil                         Heure de Pointe   30×15   Oil

“When I paint something like ‘Traffic,’ I feel like I’m telling a story. In this painting you can feel the tension and the anger, but you have to smile because it’s just ridiculous. I mean, everyone is angry, but the panel van is just happy to be there, and that makes everything over into a joke.”

However, her city ‘theme’ is evolving and has changed in significant ways in the work she has done for her latest show. “I don’t put people in my city paintings anymore,” she notes. “It’s just buildings, which I suppose is sort of silly in a way since, even at night, it’s impossible to have a city without people. I used to do buildings with people in them. I stopped. I don’t know why.”

esperance_lowress

         Esperance      30×30       Oil

I think the city represents my more rational side and yet I love the seeming randomness of nature and the sense freedom it gives me.”

 Another theme she is currently working with is water. “My nature painting is more minimalist,” she says.  “Painting water is peaceful. It’s almost like meditation. I’m very loose when I do it, and I’m very free. I don’t think so much.  I play more with the texture as compared to line. For me nature is color and texture and subtle revelation. I think the city represents my more rational side, but I love the seeming randomness of nature and the sense of freedom it gives me.”

Eclosion_lowress

Eclosion   30×15   Oil

She makes no secret of the fact that the themes and subjects she chooses reflect where she is in her life mentally and emotionally. “I’m always struggling to have balance in my life. I can be pretty extreme in the way I approach things. Right now, I think I need these two types of images. My art is the mirror of who I am. Maybe I seek balance by moving back and forth between these sorts of images. However, for some reason my themes of ‘water’ and ‘city’ are coming together stylistically. I suppose to some extent the categories are beginning to merge.”

“Painting is my speech, my playground, my reality”

Born in Gatineau, Canada, in the province of Quebec, Renel first pursued psychology and mathematics upon graduating from secondary school. However, her early and powerful love of art soon won out over her mathematical and scientific gifts, so she changed direction. “My parents always traveled a lot. We spent time in Europe and went to many, many museums. They had a big interest in art. My mother painted, and from when I was a little girl, I did too.”

She received her degree from the University of Hull (Canada) in fine art and graphic design while also doing additional work to gain certification in both 2D and 3D animation. She then moved to Montreal, a city known for its art scene, to launch her career. Starting work with a company that made video games, she soon discovered the truth about an industry many believe to be glamorous. “It’s not what people think,” she says. “What you have to understand is the gaming and movie industries are very, very difficult, tough worlds. And they are a man’s world. You work a lot of hours, and compared to the U.S., the wages are low. I didn’t have a life.”

Despite her long hours and difficult schedule, Renel found a way to further her artistic development, choosing to attend evening classes at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts. For two years, she took painting classes from the Russian artist Nikolai Kupriakov. “Kupriakov was very strong in teaching the fundamentals. And he really showed how to deconstruct and interpret a subject. I found that fascinating.”

“I can, be pretty extreme in how I approach things,” she says, with little appreciation of her understatement.

She liked Montreal and was making progress, becoming established with Montreal galleries and doing commercial design work, when her husband’s company transferred him to Houston, TX. “That was a very strange time for me. In Montreal I’d been working 60-65 hours a week and had gotten to know a lot of people in the art world there—all that was suddenly gone.” Unable to work in the United States without a work visa, she threw herself into a full time schedule of painting. “I found a good dealer and was selling well. I was doing a lot of work with the figure, particularly with nudes.” Over the course of the next four years, she established herself as both a fine artist and, when her work visa was granted, as a commercial artist in the Houston area. Then her husband was transferred again, this time to Chattanooga, TN.

Nuit sur ville_lowress

Nuit sur Ville      30×30      Oil

Today, she embraces a schedule that would crush a less driven artist. Renel is at her easel every morning at 7:15 when she returns from taking her twin daughters to preschool, then works until around 1:00 in the afternoon. In the evening, with her family fed and her children in bed, she often returns to her studio to work “until 1:00 or 2:00 in the morning or until I find myself getting impatient with what I’m working on. I can be pretty extreme in how I approach things,” she says, with little appreciation of her understatement.

Renel always starts a painting in the same simple way.  “I just start. I don’t do preparatory sketches. That’s not as aimless as it sounds. I almost always work in series around central themes, so I have a good idea of where I want to go with a painting. I have an image in my mind when I start. I see the painting I want to do in my mind, and I just do it.” She is usually working on more than one picture at a time, switching between them.

As she works, Renel focuses her attention on two aspects of painting that are of particular imprtance to her: surface texture and color.

“Paintings should be like people. People are multi-layered and only give up their layers and secrets over time. A painting should do that. I paint in layers and then scratch or otherwise work my way back to expose those layers to a greater or lesser extent.”

“When I started out, I used to do very flat almost liquid surfaces on my paintings. Then, I began playing with texture about ten years ago, and I loved the depth it gave my work. I put a color down, paint over it, and then remove part of the surface layer to reveal an underlying contrasting color. I use brushes when I paint, of course, but I also paint a lot with the palette knife, which I also use to scratch the dry or partially dry surface for additional texture. I love having a rough on my paintings. I’ve developed a method for stressing the painting’s surface with braided wire using varying gauges I have unbraided at the end. The wire strands make fine scratches on the surface when used on both wet and dry surfaces. Working into dry surfaces gives a finer, more subtle effect. There are also times when I use texturing agents such as acrylic medium mixed with sand to alter the paint itself. I’m willing to do anything to get the surface texture I’m looking for.”

Color is also of crucial importance to her art. She always starts with a set of colors she will use, and her choices are intuitive. “I just naturally know which ones I’ll be using. It’s rare for me to do a painting without at least an accent in red. It’s my signature color. Red, for me, is really intense. I love red. My dad loved red. He always bought red roses for my mom. “ Renel’s paintings are built around dramatic color combinations, juxtapositions of complements of richly colored pigments. At other times, the effects she seeks are more subtle, but always, her color is dramatic and personal.

Facade_lowress                Evasion_lowress

Facade  24×12    Oil                        Evasion  30×15     Oil

With her ever-evolving themes, where do her ideas for new work come from? “I keep images—photos, things I cut out of magazines—really anything that I find visually interesting. If I think they will be useful, I paste them on the wall. These images are not there to copy but to spark ideas. I look at them, and over time, they suggest things to me. However, when I start painting, they are of no use to me. By then, the image I want is in my head—a palette of colors, the textures—it’s all there before I start.”

“Painting is a way of expressing myself and communicating with others. And when I paint, I can stop the conscious stream of thought in my mind and access a subconscious flow. That’s the only time that happens for me. I paint because I need to paint.”

Does she have any sense of what lies next in her artistic journey? She greets the question with a classic French shrug of her shoulders. “I don’t know,” she says. “I never really know.  It goes with what I’m feeling and what I’m living in my life. If I look at my art from 15 years ago, it’s completely different than it is now, but I was a completely different person then, too. As for the future, my art will depend on who I become as a person.”

 

 

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July 9, 2014 · 9:10 am

A Conversation with James McKissic

James McKissic photo

James McKissic

 See more of James’s art at:  James McKissic

For interviews with other painters see: Ellyn Bivin / Josiah Golson  / David Jones / Renel Plouffe / James Tucker / Larry Young

Born in Cleveland, Tennessee, James McKissic, currently Director of Multicultural Affairs for the City of Chattanooga, is a lifelong artist and art collector whose paintings draw upon and explore the African-American experience. His mother was a teacher and educational administrator before her retirement, and his father edited and published the Tennessee Informer until his death in 2003. After he graduated from the University of Tennessee-Chattanooga, James spent two years in AmeriCorps working in Atlanta, before attending the Wagner School of Public Service at New York University. After working in Connecticut for a few years, he returned to Chattanooga in 2003. During his time in the Northeast, James took painting and drawing classes whenever he could. Indeed, it was at the New Haven Artist Workshop that James came into his own as a painter, developing a new visual vocabulary that he has continued to expand. This résumé may not sound like that of most artists, but it was probably an inevitable path for James—his love of art runs deep, but public service features prominently across the generations of his family, many of who were teachers. It was necessary for him to follow both paths.

James, your paintings are large, powerful, and complex. How do you begin? What brings you to the point of starting a specific work?

Usually, by the time I get to the canvas I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the form I want to begin with. I always begin with some sort of idea of how the larger shapes will fit together. That gives me the basic structure of the painting. As you know, a lot of my work is driven by cultural topics or by current events, and my feelings about the subject drive the work.

McKissic-- Feast Day of Yemaya (Diptych)

Feast Day of Yemaja

 

For instance, the painting I’m working on right now is derived from the culture of the African Diaspora, which resulted from Africans being taken from their native cultures and having to adapt their institutions and beliefs. When Africans were brought to the new world they often combined their deeply held traditional beliefs with the outward forms of Christianity. It would appear they were worshipping the approved god when really they were worshipping the gods of the old country.

The specific reference in my current painting is the feast day of Yemaja, which is part of Orisha worship. Orisha worship is a combination of Roman Catholic and African belief. This feast day honors one of the traditional goddesses, Yemaja, who is associated with water and with the feminine principle of creation. The celebration features watermelons, cantaloupes, and other fruits of that sort which are broken open along the banks of a river as an offering to honor her. In my painting, you see ovals and sensuous forms, but the meaning may not be immediately apparent to the viewer. There is, of course, a connection between the name of the painting and what the viewer sees, but a person walking up to the painting wouldn’t necessarily make that connection. I’ve worked through the subject emotionally and intellectually to find a visual means to express it.

Coeur

Coeur

But what makes your work seem so spontaneous and free?

(Laughs) Well, when I start painting, things become a lot more free-form. I usually work with the palate knife; actually I use a set of different palate knives. I mostly paint in acrylic. Sometimes I put things in the paint or onto a painted passage while it is wet. I might have a section of a painting that is nothing but thin washes of color with thicker paint built up around it.

I love the actual painting process but sometimes I can get too engrossed in a small section and have to force myself back to working on the whole canvas. It can be a battle. So one thing I’ve learned to do is to take time away from a painting, a few days, maybe more, and then I can see more connections, more visual connections, than I had seen at first.

You did layout work for your Dad’s newspaper when you were young. Does that experience influence how you construct your paintings?

Maybe a little. The arts were important in my family, and I saw good art as a child. Then I had a really exceptional high school art teacher, Martha Kidwell, and she worked hard with us on both the technical side, how to produce a painting, but also with art history and how to look and paintings and other kinds of art. She insisted that a well-constructed painting had to work visually no matter how it was held—upside down, sideways, or right side up. You know I was in France last year and went to the Louvre, and as I looked at the art I could hear her voice in my head, telling me how to process what I was seeing. She said that we would one day see great art like that, and I did. And I think there is another thing going on with how I see painting — I’m an artist , but also an art collector, and that gives me a different point of view, a different angle, from which to look at art.

What are the influences on your work?

Like many artists, I’ve struggled as I’ve matured to find, to create, my own style. Than can be more difficult, I think, when you’re an abstract painter. In the African-American community, abstract painters have always sort of been on the side, not really getting much recognition, but that, I think, is changing. African-American abstractionists are starting to be collected. There are some great abstract painters that I love and who deserve greater recognition—Norman Lewis, Howardina Pendall, Alma Thomas, and Art Smith, are a few that come to mind. But to answer your question, the African Diaspora has had a huge influence on me. That’s something I’ve read about and studied. But the most seminal time for my art was the time I spent in Cuba.

McKissic--Crown-Collar

Crown/ Collar

McKissic--Meditation on the Triangle Trade

Meditation on the Triangle Trade

 

When were you in Cuba?

In 2001. I went with a special educational tour through my graduate school (NYU). We went to look at their educational system and healthcare system, but I was also soaking up the Cuban culture as well—the colors, the interiors of people’s homes, the old cars—let’s just say a lot of the images I found there were just emblazoned on my imagination. Travel has meant a lot to me. I also loved my time in Mexico City. I toured the mural collections, saw the Mayan pyramids, and visited Frida Khalo’s house. I particularly remember the blues I saw there.

 

McKissic--Your Own Personal Haint

Your Own Personal ‘Haint’

However, to get back to the question of what drives my art, I’d have to say the major influence on me   and my work is history, or more specifically, Black history. Not the political, ‘who did what in 1823’  history, I’m interested in how people survived through religion and folk beliefs, home remedies, and  that sort of thing. People survived because they had a culture that passed from person to person,  generation to generation. A lot of that stuff shows up in my work: symbols, color, recipes, etc. I’ve  even done paintings based on love potions.

I know these sorts of things sound quaint or esoteric, but they are really part of my DNA. They were part of my childhood experiences. I had elderly great aunts who were careful to gather up the hair from their hairbrushes and who burned their fingernail clippings so those things couldn’t be used in spells against them. They would put different powders and salts at the doorway to ward off evil spirits. It was just part of their culture. They reached into the supernatural for protection. We’ve really lost all that in the modern world, but we are only a couple of generations removed from it.

And from my knowledge of history and culture, I’ve encountered various symbols I’ve found useful. For instance, I often use the shape of a Cowrie shell scratched or painted onto my canvases. The Cowrie shell is a small oval shell that some African cultures have used as currency. It sort of looks like and suggests a seed, which becomes a symbol of how people, like seeds blown by the wind, were scattered by the African Diaspora and took root in unexpected places. And further, if you look down on a Cowrie shell from directly above it, the striations on the shell and its shape suggest a slave ship to my eye. That’s just one example of a symbol I use, but the oval shape tends to be very important to me.

Do you plan your color before beginning a painting?

I do. I use a color wheel. I have an app on my I-pad that’s Josef Albers’s, “The Color Book”. With that app you can move the colors around with your hand and see what they look like beside each other. I think it’s fair to say that during the thinking and planning stage that goes on prior to starting a canvas, color definitely comes into things.

And your surfaces have a nice ‘juicy’ painterly feel.

Yes, and that’s very intentional. One of my mentors, Charlie Newton, told me, “You have to remember, James, people love paint. If they spend money on a painting they want to see paint!” I do a lot of building up layers of paint and scratching back through with the knife as a way of introducing interest and presenting the symbols important to my work. There’s a real physicality to painting for me. I like to paint while listening to music and sometimes the rhythms I’m reacting to can show up in my work.

What music do you listen to?

Classic jazz and a lot of African pop music, but never any that’s sung in English. I want to feel the sound but if I can understand the lyrics, I’ll focus on that and not on my painting. I also listen to a lot of Latin American music from the 1940s and 50s.

Where do you see your art going in the future?

I don’t know. I never worry about that. I don’t need to worry about being financially successful as an artist.

McKissic--Blue Song for a Black Boy- Trayvon

Blue Song for a Black Boy–Trayvon

I paint because painting keeps me alive. When things happen in the world, things that have me inflamed, things like Trayvon Martin, painting gives me a place where I can meditate on it, explore it, try to come to some conclusions and maybe some resolution, and finally close the door on it and walk away. Painting for me is a survival mechanism. It’s not a path to fame or a way to make money. It’s like my drug. If I have a place to paint and a chance to show my work to people, then that’s enough. What more can you ask for?

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