I Matched My Sofa

Dear Readers,

Yes, I did.  On purpose.  I created art just to match my sofa.

Mind you, I've spent the better part of 40 years trying not to do just that.

Like many of you, I was raised with the idea that "Good Art Does Not Have To Match Your Sofa", an admonition espoused by all of my art professors, and the majority of my fellow artists along the way.  It was made even more weighty because the phrase was usually said with a nose tilted slightly upward, so as to make the speaker appear taller and therefore more intelligent.  An eye roll topped off the ensemble.

For years I've looked for an art piece that I could live with that also looked comfortable above my couch.  It's a darn big wall and, frustratingly, nothing seemed to work for very long - mostly because the admonition to avoid "matching" echoed in my head.  To hang anything that carried the same muted tones of ochre, rose, green and blue woven into the fabric of my furniture seemed to be worthy of 40 lashes with a Thomas Kinkaid paintbrush.

Well, to heck with that.  I gotta live with my couch, my wall, and myself. 

I made a play date with my paints. I shrugged off my "serious artist" attitude and spent several hours creating a piece just for me, my wall and my sofa. 

Three hours, 8 canvases, 6 colors of cheap acrylic paint and a really good time later and I've got a pretty fantastic spread of canvas on my wall.  It's a mix and match set.  When I get tired of the current arrangement, I'll simply shuffle them like a fat deck of cards and re-hang in a new way.  Ooh, I can hardly wait.

© 2010 P Scarborough Meditation in 8 Squares 24x54"oil on canvas

My personal favorite-

© 2010 P Scarborough Meditation 5 12x12"oil on canvas

Or, no, maybe this one-

© 2010 P Scarborough Meditation 7 12x12"oil on canvas

Er mmmmmmnno, this one...

© 2010 P Scarborough Meditation 8 12x12"oil on canvas

I matched my sofa and I'm pretty darned happy with it.

Learn to live with it.  I will.

Smaller and Smaller

Greetings Dear Reader-
I've shared with you in the past about my ever more narrow challenges dedicated to learning about what makes up the landscape around me here in south central Nebraska.  I've gone from painting whatever I decide is valuable, such as our fabulous skies, wide open horizons, undulating hills covered with crops, etc. to small, overlooked corners of overgrown city lots.
Eighteen months ago my Canadian friend Mavis Penney and I embarked on a 100-day project painting only what we could see from a highway.  Quite honestly the first weeks of that project didn't change the way I looked at the world much, because highways criss-cross my part of the word at fairly frequent intervals. 
The limitations of that project soon opened my eyes, though and I found amazing, delightful things to paint that stretched my aesthetic and my talents.  That project opened another challenge for me to paint only what I found in a single square mile.  Suddenly I was finding excitement and interest in spaces I'd overlooked before.
And this summer I've narrowed my focus even more by limiting myself to a 2-block area for plein air painting.  Removing choices from the wide range of available options has proven to be a gold mine for learning about myself and what makes up the world around me.
Mavis has gone one step further with her painting challenge.  In order to regenerate her interest in watercolors and to focus her prodigious talents in the act of painting itself, she has taken on her own backyard.  Repeatedly.  Her work is exciting, loose, fresh.  It'll be very interesting to see how she grows, and her work along with her.
Skip on over and take a look.  You'll be imressed, and even inspired to take a closer look at your own backyard. 
And that's what it's all about, isn't it?

The Way I See It

Greetings Dear Friends-

Last week I shared that I was reading "Ways of Seeing" by John Berger. Published in 1972, it is described on the back cover as being "one of the most stimulating and the most influential books on art in any language".

I'll admit right off the bat that I've had to read the first chapter three times. It'll take probably another three before my brain can wrap itself completely around what Berger is saying. It's fascinating stuff actually, but not if you're looking for easy answers.  I mentioned that I read the first chapter three times, didn't I?

My thoughts on the first chapter... you are welcome to agree, disagree, or shake your head in wonder...

The first sentence in this book is: "Seeing comes before words.  The child looks and recognizes before it can speak."  As children what we know of the world comes through our vision, literally. Children accept the world as they see it.  The sky is a blue umbrella.  When Mom goes around the corner into the next room she  no longer exists. (This is why playing peek-a-boo with a child is a universal exercise.) Seeing is pure acceptance of what is before us. The only context at this point is the shared experience of seeing others and their reactions to what we see.
Actually, I love this concept. As a painter, I paint what I see, or perhaps what I interpret I see. It is a simple, honest way of painting, I believe.

  @2010 P Scarborough Daisies in a Blue Jar  7x5 Oil

With the development of language we begin to have subtleties and nuance that weren't there before.  I share my history, you share yours, we blend them and create new meaning, far beyond what was observed by either of us. (There are stars beyond the ozone layer...Mom will be right back...the earth is round)
What this has to do with looking at, or appreciating art, is that the viewer brings - or doesn't bring - their history (of feelings, words, experiences) into the act of seeing the artwork, thereby giving it perhaps new meaning.

Would you feel differently about this little painting if it was titled "Memorial Day"?

The Art Critic/Historian adds mounds of additional rhetoric to the act of seeing, which has the potential to change how the art is "appreciated". We've all read paragraphs explaining the deeper meaning of a paint splotch as explained by an artist with a master's degree.

Now re-title this painting "Jilted Prom Queen".

There is the additional complication of where physically the image is experienced.  Originally scribbled on a table napkin meant to record a fleeting thought, is it now seen behind bullet-proof glass in a museum? Surely that changes what we think of a piece of artwork. (Gosh, it must be good, it's behind bullet-proof glass!)
Finally, Berger introduces the idea of authority into the act of viewing art.  Who decides what the art means?  Who decides where it will be seen? (In a museum, on a t-shirt?) Who decides its value?

Headline reads:  Unsigned Painting Found in Jackson Pollock's Attic!

Unknown Pollock? Worth Millions!!

My niece MHC summed it up neatly when she said: Berger is ... "challenging the dominant point of view, as in, make sure you're not viewing this nude or cornfield, or nude in cornfield, through the eyes of a rich old white guy".

Dang, I wish I'da thought of that.

And that's just chapter one. Reading Berger's book has made me more ... aware of what I'm seeing.  More thoughtful about what I'm seeing.

How do you look at art?

Book Report Due

@2010 P Scarborough  Tree Line 6x6 oil

It's the end of a long, lovely week.  Rather than blather on about nothing in particular, I'll

@2010 Private Property Cottonwood  7x5 oil

leave you with a few images from the last painting sessions.

@2010 P Scarborough At Dusk 6x6 oil

Tonight I'm starting a book by John Berger titled "Ways of Seeing". Quite frankly, I'm a bit nervous about it.  Writing about art is difficult, and reading about art is maybe even harder.  Surely by next Sunday evening I'll have something to share that I've learned.  In fact, grab yourself a copy and we'll discuss it.
Until then dear friends...