Showing posts with label abstract. Show all posts
Showing posts with label abstract. Show all posts

Friday, 29 November 2019

Funchal


Funchal
(mixed media on board, 30x30 cm)

This is the second of my new wall paintings. It may seem very abstract but is based quite definitely on a crumbling wall I found in Funchal, the capital of Madeira. Still, it was the abstract quality that intrigued me and continues to do so. I love the way the various elements of it seem to float free from the rest and I was at pains not to make it so obviously a wall.

There are two more in this series so far. You may well find that they look more like walls, but it's this one I'll look to for inspiration in the future.

Sunday, 8 July 2018

The London Bookbarge


The London Bookbarge
(acrylic on board, 12 x 12 in)

On a recent trip to London, we went for a walk along the Regent's Canal towpath and came across the wonderful Word on the Water - The London Bookbarge. Taking a few photographs, I knew there was a special painting there, and so it proved to be.

This is possibly the most abstract painting I've done, yet, of course, it isn't abstract at all. It's just that all the shapes and marks suggest an abstract. I like it a lot and am pleased to find the owners of the Bookbarge like it too.

Just a note about the materials: although it is an acrylic painting, I used quite a few Posca Pens and resorted again to some old Letraset for the signage.

Friday, 6 November 2015

Bytautas

Alfons Bytautas

I went to the opening of Alfons Bytautas's solo show at Newcastle Arts Centre last night and thoroughly enjoyed the work. I'm always interested to see paintings by Scottish artists and was intrigued to learn how he'd arrived in Newcastle. Turns out he's technician at Northumbria University, something I should have guessed by the majority of attendees standing in the middle of the room, backs turned to the paintings, chatting earnestly. Typical university liggers!

Bytautas is primarily an abstract painter and many are clearly based on grids. For the most part I liked them, although I found it difficult at times to shake off the idea that some of the newer work reminded me of hooky and proggy mats. Nowt wrong with proggy mats, of course.

The paintings I preferred were probably the earlier ones (why is that so often the case?): freer forms, more organic. And those where the colour was either partially contained by line or where the line tended to float free from the colour areas. They certainly gave me something to think about.

Saturday, 7 June 2008

Abstract Thought

I rather like abstract paintings. However, when I get myself in front of a canvas, what comes out is never abstract. It starts with a strong abstract composition, but as the work progresses, the end product is never abstract.

I don't know why this should be, but perhaps I'm too much like Leonardo (he said, modestly):


Don’t underestimate this idea of mine, which calls to mind that it would not be too much of an effort to pause sometimes to look into these stains on walls, the ashes from the fire, the clouds, the mud, or other similar places. If these are well contemplated, you will find fantastic inventions that awaken the genius of the painter to new inventions, such as compositions of battles, animals, and men, as well as diverse composition of landscapes, and monstrous things, as devils and the like. ["Treatise on Painting"]

Give me an abstract and I will find something figurative within it. So it is, whenever I start to paint an abstract, I find the figurative elements surging forward. This isn't a great problem really, except that when I'm in a reflective mood and wondering if my work is going the right way, I look around and all I see in galleries is abstract. I recognise this is a kind of tunnel vision produced by a transitory period of low self-esteem, but it does seem at times that all the general public is interested in buying is abstracts.

My friend Mo, in a recent email said:

"... thinking about it, it could all do with what's fashionable at the moment. In all the magazines I've seen recently about interior design and so forth, they've always shown rooms festooned with abstract art - maybe one large piece of work on a wall to make a statement - and you know how everyone follows like sheep - never mind what the quality is like."

The work of hers that has proven most successful in terms of sales has also been "a bit on the abstract side of figurative as well. "

This thought thread was brought on by the comments my post Corner Gallery, Biscuit Factory. Of the pictures that I posted there, the favourite among Commenters seems to be Wooden Sunset, and to my mind, this is the most abstract looking picture in the set (although it's actually a straight representation of the side of a boat).

So what do you think? Is abstraction the most enduring element of Modernism? Are the general public buying more abstracts than figurative and if so, is it all down to what goes with the curtains?

____________________________

A brief aside, with thanks to Casey Klahn for bringing it to my attention:

I never became an abstract painter because I love to draw, I love to represent. I tried to do abstract paintings, and it always seemed to me that I was throwing out a baby with the bath water. [Wolf Kahn]

Thursday, 6 March 2008

Raimonds Staprans

I’ve been interested in the work of Raimonds Staprans for some time now. He’s a fascinating man: a Latvian-American, he’s celebrated in Latvia as a playwright, in the USA as a painter.

Starting with Diebenkorn, I’ve gradually been exploring a small selection of Bay Area painters. After Diebenkorn came Wayne Thiebaud, then Elmer Bischoff. I was able to pick up books on all three without too much effort, but publications on Staprans eluded me. Until now. Last week I took delivery from Amazon of Raimonds Staprans: Art of Tranquility and Turbulence by Paul Karlstrom.

Karlstrom is clearly something of an expert on Staprans. In the Smithsonian Archive of American Art is an interview Staprans gave to Karlstrom in 1997. It’s a fascinating insight into Staprans’s thoughts about art, the development of his career and how he feels it was held up by staying with one gallery. In particular, his comments about the work of Diebenkorn and Thiebaud are illuminating, even if, at times I think he may be wrong in his conclusions.

I read this interview a couple of years ago, but reading the interview without the benefit of some printed images as illustrations occasionally made for opaque understanding. So it was rewarding in a number of ways to find that a book had finally been published about Staprans and his work.

The pictures in it form something of a retrospective, not surprisingly because it was conceived in connection with a retrospective exhibition of Staprans’s work at the Pasadena Museum of California Art in January 2006 (which then transferred to the Latvian National Museum in Riga).

The paintings begin in the early 196os in a very West Coast abstract way, with hints of de Stael in the blocks of thick colour, but these are gradually replaced by abstract landscapes composed of large areas of broad smooth colour.

In the early 70s, Staprans turned to the female figure for subject matter and there are a number of quite disturbing female nudes, their heads almost non-existent, their genitalia aggressively displayed and the pictures suffused overall with blood red. Staprans has some firmly held views on sexuality which he talks about in the Smithsonian interview and which are the main theme of one of his most famous Latvian plays, The Freezing (excerpted in the book).

Of greatest interest to me are the later landscapes, and some of the still lifes of cans of paint, tables and fruit. The landscapes are quite striking. On first viewing they appear to be severe landscapes with all human life and any incidental detail removed. There’s an eerie silence to them and they’re all bathed in the fierce glare of Californian sunlight.. Staprans says:

As one deplanes in San Francisco, one is blinded by the unbelievable intensity of the sun. And the light is so white and so aggressively energizing, that one automatically gropes for his sunglasses. And so it goes for eight months each year – nothing but blue skies and that blinding light. It is impossible to ignore it.


Yet Staprans maintains that all of them – still lifes and landscapes - are constructs, not taken directly from the real world or real locations at all. He’s working in the field of what he calls abstract realism. He builds his pictures “from the ground up,” making compositional sketches and working with a strict geometry, he attempts to create order out of what he sees as the chaos of the natural world.