Material

One part of my studio practice is to hang images that inspire me around my work area. These are a few images I've been looking at in my studio lately: a driftwood sculpture by Isamu Noguchi, the cover of a book about Richard Hirsch's tripod vessels, and a portrait of Martha Graham dancing.

   Link to MOMA page with deets on this Noguchi

These 2 images seem so related to me - and related also in an odd way to the dance of Martha Graham (below).  Look at her foot - isn't that same tension in the detail of the tripod? See the arc of her hand - doesn't Noguchi somehow capture a similar extension in his negative space? The long skirt, the driftwood, the oxide in the hard ceramic surface - don't they each function (on some level?) as material that at once hides and reveals the graceful movement of the dance? 

Somehow the simplicity of form and materials  lends itself to a rich experience of viewing and reflecting.

17th century philosopher Gottfried Leibniz says that any world God created would be good, but He chose specifically to create this world in the most perfect manner,

"that is to say the one which is at the same time the simplest in hypotheses and the richest in phenomena, as might be the case with the geometric line, whose construction was easy, but whose properties and effects were extremely remarkable and of great significance." (Discourse on Metaphysics, VI)

 

What do you think about when choosing to work with a particular material in a particular way?

WORD

A good friend reminds me often, "the conversation continues all around us, whether we choose to participate in it or not."

One way I try to stay (somewhat!) active in contemporary cultural discourse is through Art Theory Summer Camp.

The fabulous Amber Ginsburg brings this project to life each year. A book a month, an hour a week discussion (thank you Skype!) and all sorts of new ideas and connections to make their way into my work all year.

I'll be spending part of this summer with Buckminster Fuller, Bruno Latour, and Slavo Zizek, as well as a few bright and funny fellow readers across the country. 

What are your reading plans for the summer? How do they play into your concept of practice?

Wanderings and wonderings

I've been realizing lately how much impact the time spent outside my studio can have on my work in the studio.
When I lived at the Jersey shore, long walks on the boardwalks (that's Ocean Grove at sunrise in the photo at left) or on the sand provided a way to unwind and find inspiration and insight at the same time. I've come to think of this practice as wanderings and wonderings.
More recently, my wanderings have been mostly around campus. Luckily for me, it is a pretty, park-like setting, complete with small wetlands and nature trails. Whether on my own or with a companion, a half hour in the air seems to clear the head and heart enough to make the next few hours in the studio more productive. At the beach, I am an inveterate shell seeker; here I take a small bag and collect bits of trash that invariably litter the trails. Though I like the idea of providing a small service to the space that sustains me, I've begun to notice even more how it mirrors the meditative practice of seashell hunting. While my left brain is on the lookout for bits of paper, plastic or other garbage, my right brain gets some time to unwind and stretch its legs.
So, is there anything you do outside of the studio that you consider an important part of your overall practice?  To what do you turn when you feel the need to clear your head or take a brief but restorative break?

Value of Play

Recently, I've been giving more thought to the value of play and playfulness in my practice. I'm not talking about whimsical or humorous work; I am referring more to the importance of remembering how to have fun. Though I sometimes fancy myself an amateur philosopher, I have to admit I decided to 'just play' for a bit because I was hitting a wall in the studio trying to figure out what to make, the meaning of the work, and whether or not it successfully embodies the concepts I want to explore. I tell you, I had a headache by the end of most days and much earlier on some!

As the weather has been getting nicer here in western New York, I've been taking more short walks. At first, I was just after a bit of fresh air and a stretch of the legs. One day I realized I was walking as fast as I could, even though I had no particular reason to hurry. Even as I told myself to slow down and take a breath, stop to smell a flower or two I felt my pace physically slow. I noticed small, red-tipped buds on the tree I was passing. Suddenly I remembered how much I loved walking in the woods or on the beach when I was a kid. Few things make me as happy as collecting shells along the shoreline. Sadly, I'm a bit far from the Alantic at the moment, but even the brief walk across campus provides multitudes of details to see. I decided to play a game with myself; I challenged myself to continue walking slowly - I mean church-aisle-procession slowly - all the way back to the studio. Physically, of course, this was quite easy, but with dozens of other people hustling along at a pace on the "Quarter Mile," I wasn't sure I was brave enough to walk so publicly to a different drummer.
Within a minute, I felt more interested in grass blades and budding flowers than in the people hurrying around me. Some tension inside me began to uncoil and I found myself breathing slowly, deeply.
By the time I got back to the studio just a few minutes later, I felt relaxed and energized - a combination I must say has been somewhat elusive lately.
Other ways I've tried to invite the spirit of play have included creating a non-competitive game - complete with dollar store prizes - to play during a recent group critique of my work, creating a new literary genre that involves both appropriation and unwitting collaboration (hey, if you're gonna make stuff up, make it interesting!) I call 'gleaned poetry,' and replacing my studio chair with a large balance ball. Each of these changes has given me a little more energy, a new reason to laugh, and inspired me to think and act creatively throughout each day.

If you don't believe me, check out what some smarter people than I have to say:

Stuart Brown and Tim Brown each had quite interesting views on the topic of play and creativity at the 2008 Serious Play TED conference. You can watch Stuart's video here and Tim's here on Ted.com.

Have fun out there, and let me know what you do to keep your practice playful.

Welcome!

Earlier this month, Amber Ginsburg and I brought a game we call Practical Pursuit to NCECA to facilitate a discussion with other artists on the concept of practice. A single question and/or quotation in 1 of 3 categories (Material, Action, Word) was attached to a slim slice of brick (this was a clay conference, after all!) and placed face down on a table. Players took turns picking random bricks to which the group responded.
Thanks, first of all, to the folks who joined us in Philly. What interesting ideas and insights you all shared with us!
This new blog is an attempt to keep the conversation alive, welcome artists of all ilk to join in, and to maintain some momentum in the ongoing evolution of our practices, regardless of where we are in our individual careers.

I so hope you will join in, share your own insights, wisdom and struggles. Thanks in advance, and welcome!!

What holds you back?

Procrastination, doubt, feeling the need to resolve the concept of a piece before beginning, fear of being boring - the list of obstacles goes on and on (and on and on...) Lately, it's been all of the above.
Oddly, what is helping me move forward is the practice of establishing arbitrary limits. Setting a timer to see what I can accomplish in 15 minutes, an hour, or whatever makes sense for the task at hand can get me over that greatest of hurdles: Getting Started. Picking 2 or 3 colored pencils and seeing just how many colors I can mix from them somehow makes sketching more inspiring than allowing myself access to the whole set.
Most helpful at the moment has been to recognize that the Creative Development Life Cycle (CDLC) has many phases that occur best when they do not occur simultaneously. There is a time for planning, a time for making, a time for critiquing; they are NOT the same time.
Recently someone in the studio asked me what I was making. I looked at the small sculpture I was carving, thought for a moment, and said, "One of these."
"Yes, but what is it?" she asked.
I smiled as I replied, "I have no idea what it is; I'm only making it right now. I'll figure out what it is after it is made." I'm not sure my friend appreciated the answer, but I felt a little surge of delight, realizing I was keeping myself free to dream and wander with my hands by limiting myself to one phase of the process at a time.

So, what holds you back? Have you found any useful limits lately?