New Horizons beyond Shimmering Silverpoint I

Silverpoint is a drawing medium which uses silver for mark-making, as I have frequently explained in this blog. It has been known since the 1200s for its subtle, lustrous tonalities and indelible fine lines.

Silverpoint has been undergoing a second renaissance since its rescue from oblivion in the early 19th century. Its latest versions, some of which I have been talking about in the current Evansville Museum of Arts Luster of Silver exhibition, show that it still has a lot of vigour and zest. It was largely forgotten after the discovery of graphite supplanted silver during the late high Renaissance. Silverpoint was rediscovered in the early 1800s when Cennino Cennini's 1390 manuscript of Il Libro dell'Arte was found in the Laurentian Library in Italy. Readers of the first printed edition learned of this drawing medium in 1821. Many artists tried their hand at silverpoint, but the advent of abstract and non-figurative art in the mid-20th century virtually banished the medium.

In recent years, silverpoint is slowly regaining its luster, thanks in large part to Dr. Bruce Weber, presently Director of the National Academy Museum. In 1985, he curated a ground-breaking silverpoint exhibit, The Fine Line. Drawing with Silver in America, at the Norton Museum in West Palm Beach, Florida. (The catalogue of that exhibit has since acquired a cult following amongst silverpoint aficionados!) with silverpoint back on the map, artists took note. Today, the number of silverpoint artists is increasing. The medium is now being taught and covered by the art print media and Internet, with the important Silverpointweb.com becoming a clearing house for information on the medium.

The first Luster of Silver 2006 survey of contemporary silverpoint, curated by Holly Koons McCullough at the Telfair Museum of Art in Savannah, Georgia, was testimony to the medium's renewed vigour. While most full-time silverpoint artists often follow the centuries-old techniques (which include using gold, copper, platinum and other metals in addition to silver), they are nonetheless pushing the medium out to new boundaries. Combining different media with silverpoint is technically difficult. But it is happening, and it demonstrates the medium's ability to reflection and respond to today's complex and challenging world.

I frequently combine silverpoint with touches of watercolour, a balancing one-chance act when working on an acrylic ground. But it fun to try these combinations for new effects.

The watercolour can be applied traditionally in liquid form (difficult and not always stable on the acrylic ground). In this example, Marianna's Gift,

the silverpoint drawing is on a tinted ground. The highlights are placed in with white gouache, an opaque form of watercolour. Adding the darkened touches of red watercolour straddled the old and the new forms of silverpoint. Many Renaissance drawings were on tinted grounds.

(I will continue this discussion about New Horizons for Silverpoint tomorrow....)

More than meets the eye...

An exhibition of contemporary silverpoint drawings, The Luster of Silver, opens this weekend at the Evansville Museum of Arts, Science and History, in Evansville, Indiana. It will be of particular interest to me not only because my work is included, but because I helped curate it from digital images, along with fellow artist, Koo Schadler, and the Museum staff.

Assessing art from digital images has become much easier in recent times. However, because silverpoint drawings, with marks made in silver that are often faint and delicate, are very difficult to reproduce satisfactorily, even digital images are possibly not doing justice to the work. Consequently, it will be most interesting to see the actual work of the twenty-seven eminent artists included in the exhibition. I also wonder if digital images, generally, have the impact and veracity to allow us to delve deeply into the artworks involved.

When one is standing in front of a painting or a drawing, there is a potential dialogue that draws one in.... you can look closely at the brush strokes of paint, how the artist has handled the pen or pencil or silver stylus. You can let the artwork talk, loudly or in a whisper, of many things , as you stand before it. I am not sure that digital images have the same power. In a gallery or, in this case, in a museum, a silverpoint is a lustrous, shimmering drawing, full of life and contrasts. It can hint at things beyond the here and now, and push us to new ways of thinking. Thus I am eager to see if the show we selected for Evansville will allow us to consider dimensions and aspects of life that are really "more than meets the eye".

Shimmering Silverpoint

The effect was really amazing. Shimmering silver all around the room, quiet, insistent, powerful. The exhibition, The Luster of Silver, opened this past weekend at the Evansville Museum of Arts, History and Science in Evansville,
Blue Ridge Mountain Meditation - silverpoint
Jeannine Cook

Indiana, and eight of the artists were present, from all over the country. It was a memorable event, made especially so by the wonderful, thoughtful hospitality of the Director of the Museum, John Streetman.

The first amazing thing was that the size of the drawings in silver was a shock to us, despite having seen the images digitally when Koo Schadler and I were curating the show. Silverpoint is a slow, labour-intensive medium, where you make marks in silver on a prepared surface that has a sufficiently fine tooth on it to pull particles of silver off the stylus to make the drawing. You don't erase because the marks are metal. You don't get punchy darks because silver does not make dark marks. If you want to make a passage darker, you have to wait until it oxidises, and you can then return to put in another layer of silver... but only for so many times. So when I went in first to see the exhibition, I could scarcely believe my eyes. Some of the drawings are huge, such as those by Constance McClure. That represents thousands and thousands of hours of work. Astounding and admirable.

Conversely, some equally amazing drawings were smaller in real life than they were in the reproductions in the exhibition catalogue! George Sorrels has been doing silverpoint for many, many years and does exquisite small leafy landscapes and dreamscapes, with a luster that is astoundingly beautiful. They are minute.

The other really impressive aspect of this silverpoint exhibition is that this quiet, shimmering medium of silverpoint can speak volumes, powerful volumes. The twenty-eight artists represented, all highly diverse, conveyed a passion, an intensity that were memorable. A breathtakingly spare and elegant big study of lilies by Marjorie Williams-Smith seem to suck the air out of one's lungs, somehow, as you look at it. The lilies are so simple, so powerful. A disarmingly direct gaze of a young girl calls one across the room to a tiny, wondrous portrait of Eliza, done in exquisite detail by Koo Schadler, a silverpoint and egg tempera artist of great stature in this country. The disordered orderliness of four abstract pieces framed together with seeming slashes through them called out powerfully from another corner. Gerrit Verstraete, of Canada, is a master of the silvery luster of implied surface abrasions and imperfections that somehow become very serene and poetic.

Silverpoint is a medium with fairly narrow technical parameters - you need a prepared surface on which to draw, you need a metal stylus to make the marks, you cannot erase and you know that all the metals, bar gold and platinum, will oxidise in due course. But the artists involved in The Luster of Silver are remarkable in their ability to push the boundaries of silverpoint to make it a thoroughly 21st century medium, addressing a wide variety of concerns. Their silvery voices, pulsating with light, are well worth seeking out if you are in or near Evansville, Indiana, from now until September 13th this year.

Creighton Bones (after C. Pissarro) - silverpoint

Jeannine Cook

Tackling the New Art World

The past year or more has been hard for everyone, but especially in the art world. Yet I am constantly impressed at how resilient and inventive artists are and how inventive they are in dealing with today's conditions. I was reminded again of this just now as I opened up this blog and read one of the entries alluded to by Paul Schmelzer in his blog, Eyeteeth (http://www.eyeteeth.blogspot.com/). It was about artists in Detroit who are setting up home in houses they have been able to purchase for $100 from the City, which is dealing with a glut of foreclosed homes. Artists are grouping together in such neighbourhoods in different cities - playing the all-important role of pioneers as they do so often.

Another aspect of artists' inventive flexibility was covered in a long article in this week's Christian Science Monitor (http://www.csmonitor.com/) entitled "Bedroom, kitchen, art gallery". Contributor Mark Guarino told of artists who are opening up their homes and apartments as galleries in Chicago, Dallas, San Francisco and beyond. Other galleries, temporary for the most part, are popping up in vacant store fronts, hair salons, gas stations, or even for single events to try to attract new publics for realtors selling real estate. Everyone benefits. The divisions between traditional galleries, non profit spaces, alternative exhibition spaces or underground galleries are disappearing as art lovers and consumers grow more accustomed to viewing art in all the interstices of life. Artists, too, are imaginative enough to find new places to make and exhibit art, no longer necessarily working in the traditional contexts.

It all really boils down to how important art is for each and everyone of us. People who consider art and art education to be a passion and a necessity for the enhancement of life will adapt and thrive in this new art world. In doing so, the public is actually confirming what has been shown in economic study after economic study: that art, in all its manifestations, is a wonderful economic stimulus to an area. One recent study, commissioned by the Columbia Museum of Art in Columbia, SC (http://www.columbiamuseum.org/) showed that the Museum and spending by museum visitors generated more that $23 million in economic activity in the Columbia area in 2008. Not only does the Museum itself buy goods and services locally, but the Museum Shop generates a lot of business, while the art tourism and arts education are major factors in Columbia's economic well being. I can attest to that personally, when I visited the Columbia Museum's wonderful exhibition, "From Turner to Cezanne", exhibited there from March to June this year. A hotel stay, restaurants, museum entries and purchases in the Museum Shop, gas stations, and so on - art does bring in income for an area.

In other words, we artists do indeed help this faltering economy turn around in innumerable ways. Hurray for artists!

Thinking out loud on paper

I am back to drawing in silverpoint, tackling a large study of lily seed pods which have been "talking" to me for some time since I rescued them from the winter struck garden last year.

Since silverpoint, a medium that makes marks with a silver stylus on a prepared ground, precludes any erasures and thus requires a little thought and planning, I found this quote resonated : "Drawings were always ways for artists to think out loud on paper...". This was said about an exhibition of Old Master drawings in the Scholz Family Works on Paper Gallery at the Snite Museum of Art, University of Notre Dame (www.nd.edu/sniteart/collection/printdrawing/index.html), where it was also pointed out that drawings were called "studi, schizzi, pensieri" in Italian.

It is true that one does think, possibly out loud when alone, in the midst of drawing. As I started working with these majestic seed pods of a Madonna Lily, I kept thinking of the role of the Madonna Lily in all the Renaissance Annunciations paintings that I have seen over the years. The famous ones, by Leonardo da Vinci, Sandro Botticello, Raphael (Raffaello Sanzio) or Fra Filippo Lippi, are joined by many others painted by Italian Renaissance artists on canvas or fresco. The custom that the Angel who announces the amazing news to the Virgin Mary should carry a spray of Madonna or Regale Lilies seems to have pertained from the mid-1400s onwards, for about 50-75 years. Looking at a large selection of images on Wikipedia Commons (http://www.commons,wikipedia.org/wiki/category:Renaissance_paintings_of_Annunciation), it is fascinating to see how "standardised" the lilies were for all those artists.

Beyond the Renaissance memories, I keep thinking that these lily seed pods are metaphors for proud, elegant women who have born children and grown in stature and grace as they watch their progeny disperse. Their bone structures are refined and beautiful, they hold themselves erect, despite advancing years, they epitomise distilled, condensed wisdom and lore.

But as I think these thoughts, and many others, as I draw, I am left wondering if I will convey any of this when I finish this drawing... who knows? I can but hope so, but, in the meanwhile, I still have a lot of drawing, and thinking, to do!

The Eye of the Art Collector

Thanks - once again! - to ArtDaily.org's listings, I happened on an up-coming Sotheby's sale of old Master Drawings from a private collection. I spent a fascinated hour on their site, going through the E-Catalogue of the drawings, some eighty of them, the ideal occupation for a dark, rainy day.

It is always extremely interesting to view a collection of art formed by one person, particularly a person who has a trained eye and knowledge of the media involved. I quote from the news release about this collector (who apparently spent about 25 years assembling this collection). "In his very personal forward to the sale catalogue, the collector who assembled this remarkable group of drawings wrote that he embarked on collecting “with the bold aim of looking over the artist’s shoulder”. There can be no question that he succeeded in this aim. The light that these extremely varied studies shed on the artistic creative process is both intense and wide ranging: we see every moment in the artist’s thought process revealed and illuminated."

There is a remarkable energy and life evident in the drawings this collector assembled. The artists are clearly in the throes of excitement and creativity. Famous names or not, it does not matter. The hallmarks of these drawings are immediacy, directness, sureness of touch and stroke. The collector does indeed describe well what he sought - and found - when he selected these works. Different media, different subject matter, some clearly well thought-out and planned, others on the spur of the moment, catching images almost on the fly... Some as aide-mémoires, others as exploration. In short, the collection came across to me as a most interesting selection of artists' emotions, desires, endeavours, aims... running a gamut of approaches and techniques. Little interesting items too, such as remarks about an exquisite study of a seated woman by Jean-Antoine Watteau. "It was executed in a combination of media that Watteau used only occasionally, but to striking effect: the majority of the figure is built up with a network of silvery strokes of graphite (a very rare medium in Old Master Drawings), (my emphasis) while the accents in the face and hands are in a more typical red chalk, an extremely effective juxtaposition that creates a lively yet utterly elegant figure."

When you go back and try to find out about the use of graphite before the early 18th century, it is indeed hard, as a neophyte, to find allusions to many graphite drawings. Pure graphite, first mined in Borrowdale, England, in the 1500s, seems initially to have been used for under drawing in the 16th century. It was more forgiving than metalpoint, especially silverpoint, the draughtsman's favoured medium during Renaissance times in spite of silverpoint's linear qualities and permanence of mark. Graphite does not seem to have been used much for drawing until well into the 17th century. Artists tended to favour chalks, red and black, as well as charcoal for studies and finished drawings alike. (Interestingly, the Venetian artists continued to favour black chalk, whilst the perhaps more flamboyant Florentine and Roman artists preferred the harder red chalk with which they could show off their skills!) Graphite became widespread only in the 18th century, with the increasing difficulty of obtaining good-quality natural chalks and the simultaneous production of a fine range of graphite pencils after the invention of a graphite pencil in Nuremberg in 1662.

Graphite drawings then become far more widespread: John Constable, Jongkind and later John Singer Sargent, for example, all used graphite in their work, particularly when working plein air. Ingres was famed for his use of hard graphite pencils when drawing his wonderful detailed portraits of people. By the turn of the 19th century, Cezanne and so many others commonly used pencils, as have we all done since in the art world - often to great effect.

But back to the Sotheby E-Catalogue of the drawings that occasioned my little foray into the rarity of Old Master graphite drawings... (and by the way, the definition of Old Masters in Western art is work executed before 1800...), it is well worth going through this collection of images of drawings. It allows one to remember how interesting it can be when one sees an art collection formed by one person with the courage of his or her own convictions and erudition.

Google and an Art Inheritance

Some while ago, I was fortunate enough to inherit a painting I had always loved in my family home. A coastal scene with a wonderful foreground frieze of golden gorse, it had always delighted me with its luminously expansive feel.  I had been told that it was painted from the veranda of my family's home in Albany, Western Australia, but that was all I knew.

One day, I decided to start investigating to see what I could learn about the work.  I copied onto paper the almost illegible signature, and eventually started working on Google, trying out whatever I could decipher.

Google came up trumps - which, in a way, is less and less of a surprise as time and the reach of Google have taught us all.  The signature was of an Australian woman artist, Ellis Rowan, who was active, and prominent, in the late 19th and early 20th century.  As I learned a little more about her intriguing, adventurous life, and her skills at self promotion as she developed her career as a "flower painter", I was filled with admiration.  I was also delighted to find that she had connections with my redoutable great grandmother, Ethel Clifton Hassell - another very strong character by all accounts. Pushing all sorts of boundaries as a woman, Ellis Rowan seemed to make no concessions in her pursuit of flowers to paint and places that might be of interest.

Ellis Rowan travelled several times to Western Australia, following in the footsteps of her much admired flower painter role model, Marianne North, who travelled the world to paint flower species during the 19th century, finally endowing Kew Gardens with a gallery for her wonderful works.  It was thus natural for Ellis Rowan to meet my great grandmother, a community leader in Western Australia and a flower lover.  They possibly got on well and I can imagine the scene of Ellis Rowan settling down on the veranda at Hillside, the Hassell home in Albany, to paint the view out to King George Sound.  Her skill in painting was considerable, especially given that she often used gouache, which is quick drying and often difficult as a medium. She also used watercolours and oils.

Birds and flowers, of preference tropical, colourful and exotic, were Ellis Rowan's favourite subject matter, and many of her paintings in the National Library in Australia show her skills.  She was prolific, and consequently, there is a marvellous diversity in her work.  These are but a tiny sample of her flower paintings.



The Tree Museum

When I first read of the announced opening of the Tree Museum in Zurich, Switzerland, in Art + Auction, I was intrigued with the concept. Now that the Museum is actually open, it sounds more than enchanting. As an artist who adores trees and is for ever drawing them, a Tree Museum seems the ultimate in logic and totally civilized.

Enzo Enea, a Swiss landscape garden architect, has been saving venerable, important trees for the past seventeen years, often using bonsai techniques to ensure their safe transplantation and survival. His considerable collection of trees indigenous to the region are now displayed in the Museum, often with enclosures to enhance their presentation but also to ensure the micro climate they require. Peace and contemplation are words used about the displays. They also evoke, I am sure, a sense of time spans that are different, and differently-paced, to our human rhythms of life. I know that when I look at the massive live oaks growing along the Georgia coast, I feel humbled by their majestic span of time and space. Trees allow one to become more centered, more in tune with the natural world, more aware of the need to be good stewards of the environment.,

For artists who love drawing and painting trees, this Tree Museum will be of great interest. Nonetheless, we don't have to go to museums to marvel at trees; just look around you, where ever you are, and there will probably be a tree that can stop you in your tracks. Depicting it on paper or canvas can be a fascinating exercise in observation. It also allows one better to appreciate the amazing "engineering" of a tree that permits it to grow and stretch and flourish in beauty.

Clearly Enzo Enea has a deep understanding and love of trees. His collection of more than two thousand specimens in his Tree Museum will be a wonderful place to visit.

(The images have been downloaded from sites announcing the opening of the Tree Museum, with my thanks.)

Climate Control for Artwork

The other day, the Indianapolis Museum of Art announced that it was allowing greater fluctuations in the temperature and humidity ranges in most of the museum galleries and storage spaces. The goal is to save energy and thereby reduce carbon emissions, a key initiative the Museum has apparently embraced for the last five years, according to the ArtDaily.org article.

Recent research has shown that there can safely be as much as 15% fluctuation in relative humidity and variations of as much as ten degrees Celsius in temperature in all but a few galleries (those where composite artwork is displayed or stored, such as Asian screens and scrolls). Conservation Analytical Laboratory researchers concluded that there is no need to be so meticulous over climate control as museums have been: "materials such as wood, cellulose, various polymer coating, fibers, minerals, pigments and the like share an overlapping range of tolerance to temperature and relative humidity. " It is thus far more energy efficient to allow more variations in temperature and relative humidity in museum facilities, according to the time of day, during a 24 hour cycle. According to the new standards set out by the IMA," with incremental seasonal adjustments, the range for humidity will be 50% RH +/- 8 (with a variation percentage of +/- 6% in a 24 hour period) and for temperature will be 70°F +/- 4 (with a variation percentage of +/- 2° in a 24 hour period."

What does all this mean for the general public, with artwork and other important objects in our homes or even in many galleries? I take it to mean that art in general, particularly work done on paper, for example, is more adaptable that most people believed to normal climatic conditions. Obviously, living in tropical or sub-tropical areas is extremely taxing on art and artifacts. Nonetheless, in a home which is air-conditioned and at temperatures comfortable to its human inhabitants, most work can survive reasonably - if, and a big if, it is treated archivally in the first place.

Works on paper need to be matted, if necessary, with acid-free museum mat-board, mounted archivally and properly protected in suitable frames. Hanging art work on outside walls, if they are not very well insulated, is hazardous, even with air-conditioning, and bright sunlight is another danger.

It seems to be that every one of us can be moderate and sensible about climate control in the stewardship of art. We can thus, even incrementally, help in the reduction of energy consumption. The Gulf debacle lends this endeavour even more relevance...

Sunlight and Shadows

Today is a day of heavy flat light, laden with humidity and heat, here on the Georgia coast. All contours are softened, distances are blurred and somehow the scene is flat and almost featureless. It is a day that makes me long for the bright sharp sunlight of the Mediterranean. It also makes me realise how much landscape artists are influenced by the ambient light.

Think, for instance, of Japanese artists. Down the ages, in their nature-based art, the Japanese have been very aware of the play of light on rocks, trees, architecture. Shadows, the corollary of sunlight, are a natural function of their architecture, for example, with the broad eaves on buildings casting wonderful angled shadows. The ultimate interpretation of the beauty of light can be seen in their black lacquer ware, flecked with gold or silver. Viewed by lantern or candlelight, this lacquer ware evokes their northern, sea-influenced light in haunting fashion.

At the other extreme are Western artists who work in the brilliance of Mediterranean light. Take, for example, two of Spain's artists, Joaquin Sorolla from Valencia and Joaquin Mir from Barcelona. Sorolla (http://www.en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joaqu%C3%ADn_Sorolla_y_Bastida) was multi-faceted in his art, ranging from wonderful luminous portraits to vast historical paintings and, my favourites, landscapes flooded with light. In fact, a quote by Edmund Peel from James Gibbons Huneker, in the book, The Painter, Joaquin Sorolla, says it all: Sorolla..."the painter of vibrating sunshine without equal..." It is interesting to study Sorolla's paintings: many of his landscapes which include figures have dramatically bold, abstract shadows (such as his paintings of Valencian fisher women). Yet landscapes done in Javea, Valencia or Malaga, in mainland Spain's Mediterranean coast, are often painted in a very narrow range of values, without dramatic shadows. Even more deliriously high key are some of his depictions of the almost incandescent cliffs and headlands in Mallorca, especially the sun-drenched scenes of Cala San Vicente in the north-east of the island.

Interestingly, Mallorca, with its amazing light, was also the springboard for Joaquin Mir's greatest successes. A contemporary of Sorolla (who lived from 1863-1923), Mir was born in Barcelona in 1873 and lived until 1940. Colour and light were the keys to his art : "All I want is for my works to lighten the heart and flood the eyes and the soul with light", he said in 1928. He forged his own path to celebrating the Mediterranean sunlight and shadows, sometimes veering to realism, other times towards abstraction, but always seeking to interpret the beauty he saw in a delirium of colour and light. He borrowed the Impressionists' palette of colours, eschewing black, but he used the colours in his own highly original fashion. When you see Mir's works done in Mallorca, you can feel the wonderfully clear light pulsating over everything - the Es Baluard Museum has a number of these canvases (http://www.esbaluard.org).

Perhaps evoking the clarity of Mediterranean light will help banish the Georgian grey skies of humid heat.... I can but hope!

Art concepts in daily life

The past two or more weeks have been a maelstrom of activity, none of it involved with the actual creation of any art. Nonetheless, I have been very busy as an artist!

I have been working to create a serene, uncluttered home from one that was lovely but full, oh so full, of furniture, ornaments and other things that are in daily use. As I studied the rooms, trying to work out what changes could be made without major building ventures, I realised that I was calling on everything I know in art-making about balance, composition, colour harmony, variety... Even the exercise of being able to visualise how things would look if I made a specific change was valuable, and comes dirctly from all the visualisation I do when I am trying to work out how to approach a painting or drawing. Having visualised things, then a tape measure helped confirm the viability of the plan.

It became an interesting exercice, and one that required different stages. The first critical move was to get rid of one piece of furniture, only - the lynch pin of the whole venture. That allowed all sorts of other furniture to be moved around, and all of a sudden, space and serenity "happened", where everyone can circulate easily. Amazing! A spacious, coherent living room and a functional diningroom were the results.

Next came colour decisions for a huge reupholstering effort of all the chairs and sofa, a bewildering exericise, of course! The fabric samples are always so alluring, and then you have to extrapolate from that small piece of fabric to how the whole sofa will look, once recovered! Again, my role as an artist was distinctly helpful. Trying to harmonise colours of tiled floors, carpets and the seating was a full day's chopping and changing ideas about fabric selections. But it was finally done, the upholsterer carried off the first item, and now comes the waiting period whilst I wonder if the "artist's eye" has carried me through alright!

One of these days, soon, soon, I promise myself: I will be able to get back to drawing and painting and not just be dependent on my art to reorganise a house.

Revisiting "a Sense of Place"

I live in a place where trees - live oaks, red cedars and pines of many types - are a wonderful characteristic. They grace the area with shade and distinction, they offer shelter to innumerable birds and animals and they ensure a cool green world even when temperatures are soaring elsewhere. I have grown to love many of them as individuals, whom I have watched grow in size and majesty over the years.

It was thus with horror and desolation that I rounded a corner this week, on a walk, to find men with huge machines finishing the cutting down and annihilation of some of the most wonderful old. and healthy, pines in the neighbourhood. They apparently "obstructed" the view for a new house, and although they had existed for many a long year, they were cut down in a matter of minutes. One of them had become a particular friend for I had done a large pastel drawing of it.

When you sit and draw something as complex as a tree, you learn of its elegantly logical growth, the marvels of engineering which ensure that its branches can reach out to catch the sunlight and yet remain at an angle that is stable for the whole "edifice" of the tree. You also can get a serious crook in the neck, as I found in this case, as the pine tree was so tall. Another delight, as one sits quietly, grappling with the drawing, is that all the birds, raccoons, snakes or other denizens, just come and go about their own world and ignore you.

My sense of this area has been violated this week, alas. Now I have to readjust, mourn the passing of wonderful creations, and move on. I wonder how many other people regard the cutting down of wonderful, healthy trees in the same fashion? But I am glad that at least I tried to record one of the trees in a drawing.

Making Art

I came across an interesting quote today: Sol Lewitt was talking of the "primacy of idea in making art". His thesis was the idea itself, even if it is not eventually made visual, is as much a finished work of art as any finished product. This is as succinct a statement as one could wish about Conceptual art.

Lewitt continued, "All intervening steps, scribbles, sketches, drawings, failed works, models, studies, thoughts, conversations... are of interest." Thus the idea, the intention, the gestures, are all almost part of a choreography of creation, of making art.

Whilst I know that some art-making is indeed a process of this type, with ideas that might or might end up as visual art, I find that there are other ways that art gets made. For instance, I know that when I am working plein air amidst wonderful scenery, I very soon find that after the initial spark of excitement and assessment of the viability of composition, what medium to use, and other technical considerations, I am no longer "thinking" at all. I am just some sort of channel for my eyes and my hand to work together to produce art. The process is in essence pure reaction, beyond having any idea per se. However, it does also mean that one needs to have a lot of practice, of trial and error, in order to make decent art, because instinct is not always a good guide to art-making!

Dedication and hard work are needed, in fact, whether one's avenue is conceptual or not. Making art is fascinating, complex, many faceted and endlessly stimulating. Sol Lewitt was an eloquent ambassador for art-making.

The Health of the Art World in the US

Wow, the preliminary report out from the National Endowment for the Arts (http://www.nea.gov/) about Public Participation in the Arts in 2008 makes depressing reading. "Persistent patterns of decline in participation for most art forms...", "Fewer adults are creating and performing art...", "Educated Americans are participating less than before...", etc. etc. Not cheery reading. Not only because it spells very hard times for all forms of activity in the arts world, but also because, to me, it presages continued impoverishment of the human spirit. Without art of one form or another, we are rendered less outward looking, less understanding of others, less able to find enrichment in our lives.

The best parts of the initial NEA report findings concern the Web. "The Internet and mass media are reaching substantial audiences for the arts", and "About 70% of U.S. adults went online for any purpose in the 2008 survey, and of those adults, nearly 40% used the Internet to view, listen to, download or post artworks or performances." Not surprising when one knows of the phenomenal growth of Facebook, for example, or when one watches what is happening in Iran at present thanks to the Web and connected media. More and more, it seems, our lives are being interwoven with the Web, and as an artist, one is keenly aware of needing to keep up and try and function in this new world. The rub, as always, is having enough time in the day to create art, deal with the Web, and still function as an ordinary person.

Nonetheless, when all is said and done, the Web is still only the vehicle that links visual art to a person who enjoys viewing it and, ultimately and ideally, a person who enjoys living with the art in daily life, off the Web. There is still that all-important dialogue that takes place between a piece of art and the person viewing it. This is where the NEA figures for museum attendance (an estimated 78 million or 35% of U.S. adults) are confirming what most museum directors already know with concern and alarm. Those dialogues with artworks are becoming less frequent, for previous years, such as 2002, showed that about 40% of adults went to museums.

A long article in the June edition of ART News (http://www.artnewsonline.com/) examines the role of museums and what the different directors are trying to do to stay viable and successful in the future. The options ranges from trendy to futuristic. Nonetheless, as Thomas Campbell, new director of New York's Metropolitan Museum, underlines, a great museum still has one essential mission : to enable a visitor to have that supreme experience of standing in front of some object, painting, drawing, sculpture, whatever... and "Suddenly you're responding to something physical, real, that changes your own perspective." That is what the arts are about, and that is why we need to keep the arts alive and healthy.

Life becoming Art

A wonderful quote from Sir Anthony Caro, the famed British sculptor, was in the 2/9th June 2012 Spectator: "I believe art is about what it is to be alive".  The article was by Ariane Bankes, discussing Caro's current exhibition of sculpture at Chatsworth House in Derbyshire.

Ms. Bankes was writing of Caro's huge and unending curiosity about the world around him, and his use of these interests as the source of his creative work.  It reminded me how important it is to be curious about everything around one: as an artist, antennae need to be up as much as possible, eyes and ears open, and a questing attitude cultivated.  Not always easy and other things in "life" obtrude, but even then, it seems that later, things not consciously registered at the time come floating back into one's mind.

I realised, the other day, that a day I had spent drawing on the coast was more rewarding than I had thought.  I was concentrating on what I was trying to do at the time, but indeed, I was "alive" to many more things around me.  The result was a watercolour that came flowing, quite some time after this day's drawing. The different elements of the painting - marshwrack, a contorted dead cedar, eythrinia flowers, a baby alligator, different birds - are those that I was not drawing at the time... but were burned in my memory because of the heightened senses that art was allowing me to have.  A lovely gift.  Capturing the energies and magical forces of life around one is a never-ending quest for an artist and a passport to living life to the full.

Artistic influences, conscious or unconscious

It is always fun to see an image and then link it back to another artist and deduce an influence or heritage, conscious or unwitting.

Today, on Art Knowledge News, that wonderful daily Web magazine, there was the announcement of an exhibition opening at the Boise Art Museum. The accompanying image, a reproduction of a detail of Virginia Partridge, is a marvel of accuracy, composition, rhythm and energy. It was painted in 1825 but printed in 1829.

John James Audubon, Birds of America, Plate 76 (detail), courtesy of Wikipedia, Virginia Partridge (Northern Bobwhite) under attack from a young red-shouldered hawk, restored by RestoredPrints.com 2008

As I delighted in the image, I suddenly realised that I had seen the same sort of fidelity to nature, allied with a wonderful rhythmic energy and sense of colour in another artist's work. Walter Anderson, a remarkable artist who was born in 1903 in New Orleans, spent many years recording the natural world in the Gulf of Mexico - work made even more poignant given the current oil spill disaster unfolding in the same areas. He spent a great time of time alone, after 1947, on Horn Island, one of the Mississippi Gulf Coast barrier islands. His watercolours of turtles, fishes, birds of every description, trees and water are marvels of luminosity and freedom. I had hoped to be able to illustrate this entry with one of the images which I find so evocative of Audubon's bobwhite illustrated above, but alas, the copyright situation with the Walter Anderson Museum precludes it. Nonetheless, the painting of red wing blackbirds is well worth the link-click to see it. There is a good selection of his work on the Google images for Walter Anderson - his sense of composition comes through clearly.

Anderson was given an art education at the precursor to the Parsons School of Design and then the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts before spending time in Europe. There he claimed to be more influenced by the caves and cathedrals than the museums' contents. Nonetheless, as I look at Audubon's wonderful studies of America's birds, I can't help feeling that, wittingly or unwittingly, Walter Inglis Anderson was greatly endebted to him. Just as we all are, as artists, down the chain of years when we learn of how other artists react to the world around us. We all stand on the shoulders of giants...

The Luster of Silver exhibit

Time is marching on towards the survey of contemporary metalpoint drawings that I helped curate for the Evansville Museum of Arts, Science and History (http://www.emuseum.org/). The exhibit opens on June 28th, 2009. There is going to be a reception on 27th June, at which I will be speaking, along with my co-curator and marvellous artist friend, Koo Schadler http://www.kooschadler.com/). There will also be a gathering of many of the twenty-seven artists included in the show, which will be great fun as many of these very talented artists do not know each other in person, only through the Web.

To my delight, today, June 15th, on ArtDaily.org (http://www.artdaily.org/), the advance announcement of this exhibition ("Evansville Museum to present a Survey of Contemporary Silverpoint Drawings") has been published, along with one of the images I submitted from different artists. I have to admit that I am pleased - mine was chosen - Creighton Bones (after C. Pissarro). It was a large silverpoint drawing that I did based on a huge cow shin bone that I had picked up on a nearby magical Georgian island, Creighton. Silverpoint is perfect for high key subjects like white flowers, bones, shells...




I had remembered a tiny drawing Pissarro had done of the backside of a cow and it seemed the perfect way to pay homage to Pissarro, one of my favourite artists for his affinity to natural beauty of all types. This drawing is now in the permanent collection of the Evansville Museum.

"The eye is not enough..."

I found a wonderful quotation from Paul Cezanne in this week's Christian Science Monitor (http://www.csmonitor.com) . It was in an article about the French in Aix-en-Provence fighting the high speed railway that is possibly going to pass through the area Cezanne immortalised in his paintings of the area - think Mont Sainte Victoire, for instance (http://www.iblblio.org/wm/paint/auth/cezanne/st-victoire/). Cezanne was explaining his decision to leave the fast-paced urban sophistication of Paris and return to Aix, a very provincial, traditional, almost backwater town. He said, "The eye is not enough, reflection is needed".

It is a statement that goes back, in some ways, to the sense of place, and the need to allow that place to seep into one's subconscious. He was talking, I believe, about needing time to think deeply about what was important to him, what he wanted to try and say in his art in a genuine fashion, untrammeled by the much more relentless pace and demands of a big city. Some people thrive in a pressure-cooker environment, others don't. Cezanne had struggled to advance in his art in Paris, he had haunted the Louvre and frequented many other talented artists. But I suspect that many of us artists come to a stage where time and mental space are needed to allow changes and progress in the art we are trying to accomplish.

Cezanne also knew his home area well. He knew how and when the light would move over landscapes that he felt deeply about and thus wanted to explore in what would be innovative watercolours and oils. He knew the best seasons and times of day at which to paint Mont Ste. Victoire, for instance. He had the time to reflect on such rhythms and use them to his advantage. His canvases of the Jas de Bouffan landscapes show the same awareness of season and place. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_C%C3%A9zanne) He could reflect on how he wanted to depict still lifes, the people he knew well in Provence, the landscapes he loved. He had more time in Aix to create art that was pioneering, adventurous, highly individualistic and daring. He had been prescient to say that "the eye is not enough, reflection is needed". Perhaps we all need to remember this wise advice in our own paths in the art world.

Those who love Drawings....

Back on 3st May, I wrote about how I felt sad for people who simply by-passed a drawing on a wall in favour of a painting and thus missed the intimate and fascinating dialogue that is possible with such works.

Very soon afterwards, I read Souren Melikian's article, "An Inspiring Case of Schizophrenia" in the June issue of Art + Auction. I should first say that over the years of reading this magazine, I have become a huge admirer of Mr. Melikian and his deep, encyclopedic knowledge of so many branches of art and antiques, from his main love, 16th century Persian literature and Iranian art, to old master paintings and drawings... This particular article, sub-titled "Paintings and drawings belong to different worlds. So do the collectors who seek them out", dealt essentially with the same attitudes towards drawings as I had been writing about earlier. Souren Melikian was writing about the March Salon du Dessin, in Paris, where an atmosphere of rapt, close attention is the norm on the gallery stands, totally different from the "bustle and boom" of other art fairs. He went on to describe some of the interesting and beautiful drawings to be seen, some of which had been discovered to be studies for later paintings after considerable connoisseurship and sleuthing.

"Great works on paper do not lend themselves to hype, nor can they be summed up in the sound bites that are so dear to the media and auction houses alike." Not only that, Melikian continued, they do not command the same prices, especially if the drawings cannot be linked to a painting. As most artists know, drawings are private works, often done to express thoughts and feelings without regard to the public arena. Often too, mediocre painters can produce dazzlingly wonderful drawings, even though the market place has difficulty in accepting such works. It takes someone who loves drawings for themselves and has developed a deep knowledge of them to appreciate such buying opportunities.

An interesting point made about drawings historically by Melikian is that they often herald, by many decades or even centuries, new artistic trends in painting. One example he cites is of 16th century drawings by the Genoan artist, Luca Cambiaso, who reduced human figures to simple geometrical figures in a way that could - or should - have led to a Cubist movement in Italy in the 1500s. Other artists he referred to include Victor Hugo, who was a pioneer in abstract art in the 1850 and 1860s with his amazingly atmospheric black ink drawings, many done while he sought political asylum from Napoleon's Second Empire in Jersey and later Guernsey in the Channel Islands. Another artist who could already be termed an Abstract Expressionist in his drawings of 1855 was the Spanish artist, Eugenio Lucas Velazquez, who signed himself Eugenio Lucas. A minor painter, his arresting drawings in black ink or pencil could easily be read as abstract works, a century ahead of his peers.

As Souren Melikian underlined, it takes faith in one's own eye and a knowledge of drawings, old or contemporary, to allow one to enter this quiet and rewarding world that runs parallel to that of paintings. When one does, the delights, surprises and rewards do not fail.

Living Longer as an Artist

Years ago, I remember seeing a wonderful film about Marc Chagall in which he came across as a vigorous, delightful man, even though he was by that time well in his eighties. At the time, I was impressed at how, clearly, being an artist was an invigorating, rewarding way of life that kept one healthy and vital.

Little did I realise at the time that I would myself become an artist - I was a linguist, a writer and many other things but not yet an artist. However, the more deeply I became immersed in the world of art, the more I found it to be deeply satisfying and rewarding. So it was with amusement and interest that I recently read of yet another study which confirms that creative people live longer. In fact, they apparently live on average seven years longer than the average population. And that is not all. More sexually attractive, more charismatic, and better at finding new ways to solve problems: artists are no longer just regarded as bohemians, apparently!

The aspects of problem solving make a lot of sense, in fact. New ideas being formed show up as activity in the front part of the brain, which in turn are changed and assimilated by the memory and experiences part of the brain, found in the centre of the brain. All this activity means that the various neural connections are activated and enhanced. Everybody can be creative, artists don't have any exclusivity in this domain, and everyone can enhance their brain activity. If you go for a random walk or do something you don't normally do, avoiding any preconceived plan or pattern, you open the way for new ways of seeing or reacting to the world about you.

Interestingly, this ability to embrace new concepts and then assimilated and remember them has also led humans (and a few other primates) to be one of the only species able to perceive reds and yellows in the colour spectrum. It is theorised that man watched fruits turning red or yellow and learned that that was a sign of the fruit being ripe enough to eat. In turn, the fruits evolved to ensure that their signs of ripeness, reds and yellows, were clearly visible: they would then be eaten and their seeds disseminated for furtherance of the species.

More on "Artists' Eyes on the Skies"

I heard a fascinating addendum to my blog entry of June 7th about artwork helping to unravel meteorologist mysteries of the past on NPR today. With the title, "Scientists pinpoint Monet's Balcony", host Guy Raz interviewed John Thornes, Professor of Applied Meteorology at Birmingham University.

Like other scientists looking at artists' work to learn of past weather conditions and other situations, John Thornes has been studying Claude Monet's paintings which he did in London in the winters of 1899-1901. These famous paintings of Waterloo and Charing Cross Bridges and along the Thames to the Houses of Parliament - 95 images in total - were painted from the balcony of his rooms at the Savoy Hotel. As Monet did so often, he worked on different canvases as the light moved. He apparently used the morning light to depict Waterloo Bridge, the midday hours to paint the Charing Cross Bridge and ended his busy days capturing the sunsets along the river towards the Houses of Parliament.

Professor Thornes and his team used solar geometry and historical weather data to determine exactly which balconies of the Savoy had become Monet's painting sites, based on the sunlight that Monet painted in each canvas. Monet, like many other artists, was amazingly accurate in his representation of the prevailing weather, so the visual coloured record of wintertime London is also one of the famous "pea souper" conditions that prevailed for so long in the smoky, foggy city. Monet, in fact, damaged his health by exposure to all that pollution, even though he apparently considered all the smog as an "envelope" between him and the scenery.

Clearly scientists have a rich resource to mine in artists' observations of the skies and world around them. For John Thornes, for example, the next of Monet's paintings to be examined for meteorological information is his Impression, Sunrise, the canvas painted at Le Havre that purportedly gave rise to the name of Impressionism. It must be a thrill to combine one's passions for art and science in these sleuthing ventures.