Brice Marden and drawing: Cold Mountain

Over the past several years, as painting became my primary medium, I gradually lost touch with drawing. Although I periodically filled small sketchbooks with explorations of the grid, branch studies, and occasional studies from observation, I missed the feel of a gesture extending from my arm and hand. I missed the resistance of a stick of oil pastel against paper and being free of concerns about color. As I write this, I realize that this is a prelude to finding my way back to drawing.

Recently, I have spent a great deal of time thinking about the artists whose work has stayed with me over the years (see my post about Old Friends).   So in this post, I am bringing together my renewed interest in mark-making with my admiration for the work of Brice Marden.

When I first encountered Marden’s work in the early 1970s, I was largely indifferent to it.  I had little interest in minimalism and didn’t take the time to notice the richly textured surfaces or the subtlety of his palette. Additionally, I wasn’t particularly drawn to the explorations of the grid that followed his large, single color paintings. I felt most at home with figurative painting and when I did spend time with non-objective work, it was the paintings of Diebenkorn that held my gaze. 

However, when Marden moved into the calligraphic mark-making that followed (beginning in the 1980s and into the early 1990s) I took notice.  It was those explorations that provided an entryway for me into all of the work that would follow, as well as a willingness to go back and consider the work that preceded it.

Marden and the grid

Marden had done extensive exploration of grids in his prints of the 1970s and would later make a connection between the grid and the structure of Asian calligraphy.  

Grid II (Lewison 18), 1971     etching with aquatint

Tile 1, 1979    etching

Post Card Drawing #1, 1983   Ink and gouache on paper

Developing an interest in Asian calligraphy

Marden’s interest in calligraphic mark-making coincided with his first visits to Asia in the early 1980s. He describes this in a 2009 interviewwith Harry Cooper, curator of Modern and Contemporary Art at the National Gallery of Art. In the interview, he speaks of trying to bring more drawing into his paintings at this time, as well as his growing interest in the structure of Chinese calligraphy.  What was of particular interest to me is that his intention to add drawing into his paintings was not just about finding a fluid approach to mark-making, but that it was coupled with an abiding respect for the grid.

The etchings of the mid 1980s show the beginning influence of calligraphy as Marden moved away from the strong vertical and horizontal axis of the grid and began to connect the marks from top to bottom as well as across the image.

24, Etchings to Rexroth, 1986

8, Etchings to Rexroth, 1986

 

The Poetry of Han Shan (Cold Mountain)

Marden's interest in the structural elements of Asian calligraphy was also accompanied by an introduction to the poetry of Han Shan (translation: Cold Mountain), who is believed to have been a 9^th century Chinese monk who spent several decades living in a remote mountainous area. Not only was Marden intrigued by the poetry, but he also saw a translation that included the Chinese characters on one page and the English translation on the facing page. For Marden, connecting the visual with the meaning would influence the development of his own calligraphic mark-making.  (To  read more about the life of Han Shan along with several poems, click here.)

Marden found out how the calligraphy was written on the page and meant to be read.  From my own readings, I learned that traditional Chinese calligraphy is done in a series of vertical columns, starting on the right side of the page and read top to bottom. (Apparently it is now more popular for characters to be written in horizontal rows and read from left to right, mimicking western writing).

Making marks 

Marden developed his own calligraphic vocabulary by working with a variety of tools to make marks. For the works on paper he dipped twigs and branches in ink, and sometimes added gouache (applied with a brush).  In exploring line and gesture in his paintings, Marden would use brushes with 2-3 foot long handles— to keep his distance from the work as well as to change the level of control he would have in making the gestures.

Cold Mountain Study (Forms), 1990    Ink on paper

Marden describes his process: first drawing columns of calligraphic glyphs, top to bottom, right to left (paralleling the traditional process).  But, unlike traditional calligraphy, he followed that by going back into the grid of glyphs and starting to connect them within each column and ultimately across the columns.

Han Shan goes to the tropics, 1991   Ink on paper

Cold Mountain (Song), 1991     Ink on paper

At some point, he began to add  gouache to the ink drawings, painting over (but in no way obliterating) some of the earlier gestures.  And you can also see him begin to push against the edges of the sheet, which becomes an integral part of paintings that will follow a decade later.

Bridge Study, 1991    Ink and gouache on paper

Untitled with Green, 1989     Ink and gouache on paper

Bringing the gestures into painting

In 1989, Marden began a series of large scale paintings incorporating these calligraphic linear gestures.  But along with the move to working with paint, Marden began drawing the lines with brushes, rather than twigs, stating "I do all of my drawing with sticks. But I don't paint with sticks because you can't get the paint off the stick onto a canvas."   His painting process is complex, and includes painting the gestural marks with a brush, scraping them down, wiping down the surface with turpeniol, sanding and toning the surface, and repeating the process over and over again. Although the paint layers are thin, what results is a densely layered surface rich with networks of lines and ghost lines and a quiet, meditative luminosity.

In an interview with Pat Steir, Marden makes clear that he does not see his approach to mark-making as a form of writing. While he begins with structural elements of Chinese calligraphy, he lets the drawing take over, connecting the columns, going back in and scraping down, layering over some of the lines.  In this same interview, you can read about the challenges of bringing the same fluidity into the painted lines.

Cold Mountain 6 (Bridge), 1989-1991   Oil on linen     108 x 144

"

Cold Mountain 2, 1989 - 1991    Oil on linen     108 x 144"

I find Marden's work from this period rich with quiet emotion, and it brings me a sense of wholeness and calm. Although he makes clear that the paintings are not about the poetry of Han Shan, perhaps Cold Mountain's thoughts are somehow present in this work and infuse the activity of the gestures with tranquility. 

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If you wish to read more about this period in Marden's work:  Brice Marden Cold Mountain, by Brenda Richardson, 1992 is an excellent place to start. The book includes essays about Han Shan and Chinese Calligraphy, Marden's thoughts about Pollock and extensive comments about his process. 

Still / Dancing

I am pleased to share these images from my solo exhibition, Still / Dancing, currently on view at Kathryn Markel Fine Arts.   An artist's talk is scheduled for Saturday, January 26 at 3 pm.

Several of the paintings in the exhibit:

Broadway 96 / Dance with me, 2012      24 x 24    oil on wood panel

Broadway 99 / Dance with me, 2012      24 x 24    oil on wood panel

Broadway 110, 2012      28 x 42   oil on wood panel

Broadway 101, 2012      24 x 36   oil on wood panel

Broadway 93 / Dance with me, 2012      24 x 28    oil on wood panel

Broadway 90 / Dance with me, 2012      24 x 28    oil on wood panel

Broadway 103, 2012      28 x 33    oil on wood panel

Broadway 106, 2012      28 x 33    oil on wood panel

To read more about my process, click here.

 To see all 13 paintings included in the exhibit click here.

 

Kathryn Markel (left) and Tamar Zinn

Still / Dancing will remain on exhibit at Kathryn Markel Fine Arts from January 3 - February 4, 2013.  529 West 20th Street, New York 10011 /  212.366.5368

An artist's talk is scheduled for Saturday, January 26 at 3pm.

Old friends

After an intensive year and a half spent preparing for an upcoming exhibit, I suddenly find myself with time to sit. Be still. And take stock. 

So I've been visiting with old friends, my constant companions in the studio. And with the luxury of time, I've been thinking about how these friendships have sustained me. When I felt dejected and stuck, looking at these paintings helped get me moving again. On the days that I was flying, they seemed to wink in acknowledgment.

Most of these images have been hanging on the studio wall for many years, and several have been with me for decades. How's that for loyalty!  Although new cards periodically show up on the shelf, they are unlikely to dislodge old-timers from the wall. 

During a recent afternoon in the studio, I began thinking about why I found these particular paintings so meaningful. Several, such as those by Vermeer, Manet, and Degas, remind me of the many hours spent in the European painting galleries at the Met Museum when I was in high school and college. I've always loved the Vermeer (A Maid Asleep) because of the light pouring through from the back room, and only recently noticed how the rectangular forms on the right side of the canvas are echoed in the Morandi that hangs above it on my wall. The Manet (The Balcony) offers the exquisite whiteness of the gowns set against the cobalt green shutters. The Print Collector by Degas is filled with corners and squares overlapping squares, and that brilliant white shirt collar.

Morandi entered my life through his etchings. But his paintings have had a profound influence on me, perhaps more so than any other visual artist. I am drawn to the dialogues between the forms and his dogged pursuit of honest representation. 

The paintings of Diebenkorn and Scully began showing up on my wall when my own work was still firmly planted in landscape, years before I had the slightest understanding of why I found their paintings so potent. But they waited patiently until I was ready to begin our conversations. 

 

Marden's Cold Mountain paintings and etchings (After Boticelli) have their place on the wall because of the complexity and intensity of the exploration. And because the paintings prompted me to read some of the poems of Han Shan. 

  



Heilmann's work is a more recent addition to my wall, and it is there to remind me to keep me playing.  Several more add to the mix:  On the wall, below the Vermeer, is a fabric applique by Sonia Delaunay, a Rodin drawing of a dancer, and a piece by Donald Sultan.

 
Now it's your turn. 
What's hanging on your studio wall?  
And what are the conversations?

Altoon Sultan: Playful Geometry

Blinky Palermo

I am often intrigued by images that are visually spare, although I tend to favor a measure of compositional complexity in many of my own paintings.  The work that captures and holds my interest is generally modest in its making and conveys an essential experience—sometimes meditative, sometimes playful.  Collages by Jean Arp, paintings of Blinky Palermo, or small Tantric paintings are among the gems that come to mind. 

Jean Arp

page from Tantra Song

 

It is in this spirit that I offer some thoughts on the work of Altoon Sultan. In recent years, Sultan has been painting intimately scaled abstractions with images derived from tools and farm implements that she encounters near her home in rural Vermont. These egg tempera on parchment paintings (some as small as 4 x 6") are elegantly composed and often spatially complex. You can see a selection of these paintings by clicking here. 

However, it is in Sultan’s prints and textiles that I find connections to a more minimalist aesthetic, but with a twist.  Working with iconic geometric forms, her circles, squares, and triangles are sometimes presented in symmetrical arrays, while in other works they appear to frolic across an open field. Sultan is also an avid explorer of materials, producing potato prints, cardboard prints, as well as digital prints. Her textiles include hooked wool drawings (which often incorporate egg tempera), as well as what she describes as “ruglets”, small wall hangings made from hand dyed wool hooked on linen backing. Many of the prints have a palette of subdued earth tones, while the textiles are often brightly hued. 

 The Potato Prints generally incorporate simple forms arranged symmetrically on the page and concisely titled with the name of the shapes—no pretensions here. The forms are irregular in both shape and inking, and imbued with a hand-made, humble quality.  To see more recent potato prints by Sultan, click here. 

Sultan, Vertical Three, 11 3/4 x 6 1/4"

Sultan, Four Square, 2012, 12 x 10"

Sultan, Five Circles, Four Squares, 2012
17 3/8 x 15" 

 

Once again, using an everyday material in making the Cardboard Prints, Sultan works with basic geometric forms arrayed in simple patterns. In this series, Sultan’s compositions are simultaneously pared down and rhythmic. The somewhat irregular shapes offer a sense of possibility, without complications. 

Sultan, Green Rounds, 2012, image 10x10"

Sultan, Split Circles, 2012, image 10 x 6 3/4

Sultan, Baby Blue, 2012, 16 1/2 x 28"

Sultan’s Hooked Wool Drawings can be seen as a bridge between her prints and her hooked wool ruglets (below).  Incorporating hand dyed wool as well as egg tempera on linen, these drawings leave much of the field bare, and offer a range of tactile experiences as the forms float and bounce over the ground. 

 

Sultan, 2012 #12, hand dyed wool and egg tempera on linen, 14 x 12"

Sultan, 2012 #16, hand dyed wool and egg tempera on linen, 14 1/2 x 12"

Sultan, 2012 #17, hand dyed wool and egg tempera on linen, 15 x 11 1/4"

Although continuing to explore conversations between simple geometric shapes, Sultan’s Hooked Wool Textiles (which are intended as wall-hangings) take us in a somewhat different direction. The very tactile nature of these pieces would seem to lead us away from the minimalist sensibility of the prints, yet they are first and foremost explorations of figure and ground. The often vibrantly hued textiles are composed of numerous ‘strokes’ of hand dyed hooked wool, which create a rich texture and lush surface activity. 

Sultan, Purple Push, 2009, 10 x 21.5

Sultan, Blue/Yellow Ground, 2012, 11 x 10

Sultan, Objects #4, 2011, 9 x 15

Sultan, Red / Blue Ground, 2011, 11 x 10

Sultan, Empty Center / Blue Brown, 2011, 9 x 9

Sultan, Four pieces from the Figure/Ground series

These textiles are exquisite balancing acts -- placing simple forms in tension with one another and in tension with the edges of the image.  As with the prints, the slight irregularity of the forms allows them to breathe and also brings some levity into the formal conversations.  For me, Sultan's explorations in printmaking and textiles provide an ongoing source of visual delight, as they offer a minimalist sensibility along with a dash of wit.

Sultan is quite prolific and the images pictured here provide only a small sampling of her work.
You can see more of Sultan’s prints by clicking here and more of her textiles by clicking here.  You can also search her blog for additional images from these series.

 

Leonardo Drew

I recently experienced two, count ‘em 2, exhibits featuring the work of Leonardo Drew.  I say experienced, rather than saw, because the extraordinary physicality and emotional impact of Drew’s work demand that you fully engage with it.

 LEONARDO DREW, Number 155, 2012

Wood, 55 x 58 x 61 inches

Although I have included photos from the gallery websites in this post, it is simply impossible to get a true sense of Drew’s work without experiencing it directly.  And what follows is just a small sample of what was on view in each of the galleries.

The exhibit at  Sikemma / Jenkins included a multi-room piece (which Drew spent a month installing on site), several large scale wall reliefs, as well as somewhat smaller wall sculptures, constructed from thousands of pieces wood -- thin strips, slivers, blocks, some charred and painted.  The individual pieces of wood were stacked against each other, suspended from the ceiling, strewn on the floor, tightly wedged together, elegantly pieced in layers, and, in some sculptures, combined with other materials such as metal and graphite.

LEONARDO DREW, Number 161, 2012

Burnt wood, paint

Site specific installation, dimensions variable

Another view of Number 161,  a three-room installation

LEONARDO DREW, Number 162, 2012     123 x 185 x 24"

Wood, wood, metal, paint, gouache, thumbtacks, ballpoint pen, graphite, paper

When I walked back and forth through the gallery, the raw and ominously towering presence of the large installation (Number 161) was balanced by the elegance of the wall sculptures, such as Number 155.  Although the pieces of wood in several of the wall sculptures were less jagged and often more uniform in texture and size, the forms thrust out from the wall in a manner that felt menacing. 

While the sculpture left me very much aware of Drew's handling of materials, the show at Pace Prints triggered an intense spiritual response.   I consider myself to be deeply attuned to nature, but this work took me to new places.

LEONARDO DREW     12P, 2012       66 x 70"

Three-color pigmented cast handmade paper

To label Drew's offerings at  Pace Prints  as prints, is to me a misrepresentation of the work (although the pieces are offered in small editions.)  Instead, consider them wall sculptures from paper pulp and other materials.  In 12P, shown above, what you can't see is the deep (several inches) sculptural relief of cast paper in the central panel, or the dense skeins of fibrous networks that surround it.

The imagery is derived from roots . . . . and we are asked to experience the roots in all their glory and intensity -- as dense, fibrous mats,  or thick, sculptural fragments, in earthy sepia or as a thin silvery network.  While many of the pieces were executed in dark sepia and black, several were pale cobalt blue and others had overlays of a silvery pigment.

LEONARDO DREW    17P, 2012       36 x 36"

Pigmented handmade paper with cast paper-pulp addition

Drew describes this body of work as “monstrosities created in paper pulp.”  I see this body of work as urgently demanding that we commune with, inhale, cover ourselves, with dirt, loam, earth, whatever you choose to label the stuff from which vegetation arises.  I was awestruck by the sheer virtuosity of this work and shaken to the core by the deep spirituality they evoked.

To learn more about Leonardo Drew, I suggest that you read  Nancy Natale's excellent post about the artist and his 2010 exhibit at the DeCordova Museum in Lincoln, Mass.