Saturday, September 24, 2011

Democracy or excellence?

When our kids were small they were regularly stationwaggoned over to our local Yamaha School of Music. There, in a well-trodden storefront they became minor masters of piano, guitar and the console of the mighty Yamaha. Before long, with glowing hearts, Carol and I decided it was time for them to appear in the Annual Yamaha Concert Event. In a huge rented venue, 150 kids demonstrated to parents, grandparents and various uncles and aunts the brilliance of the Yamaha method. We'd already filled our home with Yamaha products, so bringing our kids to the concert stage and amortizing our investment seemed the right thing to do.

After a torturous three hours of Fur Elise, Canon in G Major andBach Inventions, we were treated to the much anticipated Awards Ceremonies. What blew us away was that every kid got an award--some of them pretty impressive. Even Billy Puffer, our neighbor's kid, who had murdered Beethoven's Ode to Joy to the point of audience tittering, found himself in possession of a brass object the size of a Volkswagen.

"Most improved student?" I wondered, cautiously. Nope. These kids got awards for merely trying, for merely showing up.

I'm writing to you while waiting for an inter-island ferry. My daughter, Sara, and I are returning from giving our first father/daughter workshop--38 marvelously keen students. As is my habit, at the end we gave a few insignificant but useful prizes to what we thought were the best seven paintings of the week. Consequently, most artists left our workshop without a prize, and Sara and I are starting to worry about it.

These folks had all paid the same fees, worked just as hard and turned out similar numbers of works. Some made remarkable improvement during the event. Sara and I just thought that the work of the few we chose was a bit more successful than the rest of the group.

What do you think? Some of our workshoppers had been painting for 30 years, only to be beaten out on the prizes by some upstart whippersnapper. Is there a possibility that we may have discouraged more than we encouraged? Is there a possibility that we gave false hope to some who might need to further mature?

Oh, and another thing--Billy Puffer now pulls the lever on the Sno-Cone machine at the Duke Point ferry terminal. He no longer plays the piano.

Best regards,

Robert

PS: "Prizes are nice, but the real competition is with your performance yesterday."Irwin Greenberg)

Esoterica: Our workshop was at a marvelous retreat called Hollyhock on Cortes Island, BC, Canada. Hollyhock offers an alternative lifestyle, vegetarian cuisine, a riot of gardens and pristine beaches with optional bathing in the buff. The whole thing was pretty spiritual. Sara and I maintained a workmanlike focus and brought diversity to the crits and instruction. We made people work hard. We'll probably do it again--if we're asked. We've put up a selection of photos from our workshop at the top of the current clickback.

Gratefulness

Among our fellow presenters at our recent workshop at Hollyhock on Cortes Island was 82-year-old Benedictine Brother David Steindl-Rast. David is perhaps unlike your standard idea of a Roman Catholic monk. He's a free-ranging purveyor of wisdom, apparently open to other traditions, a revolutionary against rigid systems and personally pitching a greener, gentler, safer, less ignorant earth. I thoroughly picked up on his ideas about gratefulness.

It might be that gratefulness is the very basis of an evolved creative life and a life well lived.

When creative folks begin to see their work as service, they gain fresh power to do well and perhaps greatly. This service need not be in the honour of a deity or even a higher power. It is however, the internal recognition of a higher calling. When we produce work for charity, as unsolicited gifts, with a sense of mission whether commercial or not, or merely for the joy of honouring the gifts of our environment, we begin to extract our true power.

As people serve well, so are they grateful. As people are grateful, so do they serve well.

Our world is currently suffering from pervasive setbacks. Rioting, dishonesty, greed and malfunction haunt the streets, offices and chambers of government. The true enemies of mankind--fear, ignorance, hatred, poverty and starvation seem once again on the rise. A murky pall of hopelessness and despair floats above our cities and towns. As we watch the world's juices being squeezed, it is easy to say "why bother." We artists, often the sensitive ones who struggle alone, are not immune.

Nevertheless, taking our materials into our hands, we begin to move along a higher path. Rising to serve, we raise both our quality and our self-worth. To feel the clay between the fingers, the brush in the hand or the sound of music plucked, blown or struck, is to move toward the grace of gratefulness. Life is a privilege, and those of us who choose the path of creativity, may just be the most privileged of all.

We all have our unique motivations. In all the cults and orthodoxies, and in the absence of them, simple gratefulness need not be overlooked. For some, the mere gift of a new day may be enough.

Best regards,

Robert

PS: "Gratefulness is the great task, the how of our spiritual work, because, rightly understood, it re-roots us." (David Steindl-Rast)

Esoterica: At Hollyhock my easel was left set up overnight under an apple tree. In the early dawn I saw from a distance it was visited by a doe and two fawns. Silently I approached, and the three deer tiptoed lightly into the woods--but not before each took one last apple. Could I not be blessed by the near presence of such beings? Could I ever find a greater reason to pursue my day? Could it be so difficult to be grateful?

Self-reliance

Yesterday, Kathryn Ikeda of the San Francisco Bay Area wrote, "Recently I was asked to submit jpegs of my paintings for an upcoming book. Requiring high quality digital images, what stopped me from hiring a photographer was that the paperwork included not just a signed release from me, but also a signed release from the photographer to use my images. I don't understand why I need to get permission to use an image of my own painting. Further, I don't want a photographer to change anything. I'm thinking about learning how to do it myself, though the investment in equipment may be more than I can handle. I would rather hire a professional, but I hate giving up the rights to my own images. What should I do?"

Thanks, Kathryn. In lands where folks are regularly sued for inadvertently stepping on someone's peonies, everyone, including photographers, pull out the paperwork. Too bad. It cramps everyone's style. You need to learn to do the job yourself and you need to know, as the original creator, you can do the job just as well as anyone.

A quick course given by a professional photographer can cost less than a single professional photo. Further, many of today's inexpensive point-and-shoots take better, sharper photos than the top digital cameras of just a few years ago. Don't be intimidated. The highest paid blue-collar job in Manhattan in 1909 was "chauffeur." For a short time in history, people didn't think they could drive their own cars.

Here's a quick guide for book-reproduction work: You need a camera with at least 8 megapixels. Check your camera's handbook and set the camera at the highest resolution and quality possible in JPG. Hang your unglazed art vertically on a neutral-toned outside wall at eye level in open shade on a bright day between 11 and 3. Take several shots almost filling the frame from a few feet away at a medium focal length. In other words--not wide angle and not telephoto. When you look in the viewfinder, make sure the painting is not keystoned (off-square) or pincushioned (curved edges).

You can submit these directly to the publisher (by camera card) or from your computer. You can elect to crop if you wish, but you need to save it, without any resizing as a very high quality JPG before you send it by email.

The idea is to gain self-reliance, get what you want, put another feather in your fedora, and avoid dependency, bureaucracy and lawyers.

Best regards,

Robert

PS: "Self-trust is the first secret to success." (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

Esoterica: If you want to straighten, crop, brighten, or otherwise play around with your shots, I recommend you load them into a program called Picasa. There are other programs of similar design, but be clear it's not always necessary or desirable to give your painting shots the full Photoshop treatment. Resist "warm up," "cool down" or further saturation of colour. Colour truth and sharpness are job one and two in this type of photography. Unless you have a wonky camera, which is rare, you'll make yourself look as good as you are.

(RG note) As there are legal variations between countries, and a variety of iterations between various equipment--both cameras and computers--we've included some useful notes from our own art photography expert Yuri Akuney yuri@digitalperfections.ca at the top of the current clickback.

The tale of an island 'desk'

Somewhere out in Lake of the Woods--a lake with 14,000 islands straddling the border between the US and Canada--there's one very special island. After several searches, I located this island in 2004. It was special because, about 1926, one of my favorite painters, Walter J. Phillips, painted on it. We know he was there because he painted another rather distinct island that lay in a certain position nearby. Phillips later made his watercolour into a wood-block print called Sunset, Lake of the Woods.

In my ongoing hobby of finding where historical artists have gone before, I often find the previous artist had chosen a certain type of place to set up. With a bit of looking around on this small, unnamed island--and keeping Phillips' view in mind--I found a natural "desk" that was there for the taking. A rock to sit on, a place to put my feet, and a rock that took a paintbox and kept it level. There was even a little crevasse that neatly held a can of water.

Naturally, I had to repeat the Phillips event. FYI, at the top of the current clickback we've put illustrations of his original woodcut, me on the same spot 78 years later, and another photo that might be of interest to you.

Yesterday, Melissa Jean of Kenora, Ontario wrote, "I found it, Bob! You asked me to email a picture to you if I ever found the island (I call it the Phillips-Genn Island). My husband Bill and I found the island yesterday, and we went back today to find the "desk." We looked at both little islands, and I found the "desk" where you and Phillips painted from. It took a while because it was overgrown with willows--they must've been little shoots when you were there. I trampled some down and set up right there. I also found an old tin can that was split open down the middle. It looked like it might have been used as a dish, and it looked pretty old. I imagined it might have been Walter's. I left it where I found it, and also tucked one of my paint brushes under it, with my initials on it. I thought, maybe someday my kids might discover it with their kids on a little treasure-hunt of their own. The place sure made an impact on them, and our daughter Ruby painted with me there as well."

Thanks, Melissa. It's stuff like this that makes it all worthwhile.

Best regards,

Robert

PS: "The first thing a painter has to do is to find a good place to sit." (J.E.H. Macdonald, 1924)

Esoterica: There is a Brotherhood and Sisterhood of painters. Dead and alive, absent and present, we travel together and keep each other company. Members of the 'hood are our friends, fellow students and occasional critics. We find them struggling and we find them triumphant on sunny shores and in quiet bowers. We honour them with our efforts as they have honoured us. The phenomenon of the 'hood just doesn't stop. As far as I can see, it's eternal.

The wisdom of smalls

Yesterday, Andrée M. Kuhne of Kingston, Ontario, Canada wrote, "My friends and I exchange our art by email to get feedback. Why does art look so much better on a small scale than in the original?"

Thanks, Andrée. Great question. It's the same phenomenon as viewing your work from a distance. If it's a really great distance, like half a mile, the work can look pretty excellent indeed. You can tell it's a painting but you can't tell what's wrong with it. Good system for the self-delusional.

More to the point, as a tool for finding out what's wrong with a work, like the thumbnail that's often made beforehand, a medium-small reduction is a highly useful ploy. Several ways can make this work for you, and with today's technology, they're fast.

The simplest way is to take a picture with a digital camera and then review the painting on the camera's display. Just this simple transposition often brings out composition weaknesses and problematic areas.

Another valuable tool is to photograph the work in progress and print it out. I recommend doing this in black and white. I reduce large paintings to about 5 x 7 inches. When you reduce your work to a value study you are better able to see strengths and weaknesses. In my case, I most often notice a shortage of middle tones and grey areas that are so necessary for satisfactory work. I can't tell you how many times I've found too many leaden darks and too many chalky whites. Viewing the original, you tend to get lost in the tyranny of colour.

Another ploy, similar to glancing at your work in a mirror, is to print the work in reverse. Many picture-software programs do this handily. Funnily, in reverse, compositional faults come at you like a moose in rut.

Now here's another: Take a shot that's purposely out of focus. The print will reveal large masses that either work or don't work. It's like half-closing your eyes--squinting--one of the most valuable studio ploys. This system has felicitous results for me--I've often gone back into a painting and softened certain edges to good effect. Blurred areas pick up mystery and intrigue. Further, hard edges poorly done can often profit from the business of obfuscation. A soft-focus printout gives you permission to obfuscate.

Best regards,

Robert

PS: "A well-composed painting is half done." (Pierre Bonnard) "Composing a picture, do many thumbnails, rejecting the obvious ones." (Irwin Greenberg) "Get the art of controlling the observer--that is composition." (Robert Henri)

Esoterica: You can leave quality in the hands of the gods, or you can elect to use every diagnostic ploy at your disposal. Inspections-in-progress give the professional's edge. Some artists simply train themselves to employ the troubleshooting mini-events a thousand times as they go along. To get the "big picture," the "little picture" is often needed. As a partner in the learning process, the "little guy" is a welcome handyman.


Friday, September 23, 2011

Good.is blog #1

Clean Burn: Can a Stove Save Lives, Forests, and Africa's Economy?
http://www.good.is/post/clean-burn-can-a-stove-save-lives-forests-and-change-africa-s-economy/

What's Different About the Troy Davis Case?

The City That Always Smells: Scratch-and-Sniff Book Tours New York City's Scents

Orange Gold: Citrus Peels Move from the Landfill to the Engine

The GOOD 30-Day Challenge: Connect with People

Guatemalan Schools Built from Bottles, Not Bricks

Are Shipping Containers the Solution to Food Deserts?

Russian Firm Introduces a Mini-Hotel for Weary Air Travelers
Climate Reality Project Launches 24-Hour Push for Truth

Three Brothers Set Out to Explore High-Speed Rail at a Walker's Pace

Another GOOD Thing: Final Week to Nominate a Teacher for a $10K Classroom Grant

Brighten Your Day with Chatroulette for Smile Snapshots

In Los Angeles, Transforming Guns Into Art
African Entrepreneurs Are Making Ghana Into a Tech Startup Hub
When Luxury and Trash Collide: Inside One Man's Dumpster House
Another GOOD Thing: Hope for South African Children Orphaned by HIV/AIDS

This Company Turns Plastic Bottles Back Into Crude Oil

Hot Dogs Foster Cultural Acceptance in Minneapolis

The GOOD 30-Day Challenge: Unplug at 8

The GOOD 30-Day Challenge: Waste Less

The GOOD 30-Day Challenge: Go Vegetarian

Thursday, September 22, 2011

The blind spot

At a recent soirée of old friends and colleagues there was a politician whose acquaintance I had made back in high school. He was a jerk then and, as far as I can see, he's a jerk now. I found myself pleasantly moving around the room and not making eye contact with him. As a matter of fact, through the whole party I was blind to his existence. To my last Scotch I successfully avoided the renewal of our acquaintance.

A few days later, outdoors with friends in a complex and difficult environment, I realized I was doing the same thing with my painting. I disliked some areas in my work and avoided them. Other areas held my attention and kept me busy. Checking on my fellow painters, I was happy to note that some were stuck with the same sort of blind spots. This was a sophisticated "avoidance syndrome" and a previously unexplored mind trap, I thought, slipping into my irregular Freudian bonnet. It's as if an area of the painting turns on you and alienates you. And you don't see it properly because you don't want to recognize it.

For some of my fellow painters the background held their rapt attention while they neglected a difficult foreground. For some others, certain small areas around the painting became lost in the shuffle. For a few there was a big, blurred elephant.

I figured the condition is probably caused by one's experiences with previous successes and failures--parts that have previously given trouble. How do you defeat the blind-spot syndrome? First, I rationalized, you need to accept that you will naturally favour some parts of your work more than others, and that's okay.

While your work is in progress, you need to move between confident, intuitive brushing and rational strategy. It takes both sides of your brain to find the blind spots.

Ideally, let a few days pass before final decisions. When the time comes, cruise objectively as if through the eyes of another artist. The fixable blind spots will more readily appear. Leave the unfixable ones alone. A different workplace and lighting aid in this part of the process.

If in your most lucid and confrontational moments your whole work strikes you as one big blind spot--bad design, bad composition, bad form, colour, stroking, etc.--and you find the condition persists through many consecutive efforts, you might give consideration to another profession such as politics or psychiatry.

Best regards,

Robert

PS: "I have the feeling that I've seen everything, but failed to notice the elephants." (Anton Chekhov)

Esoterica: "Seeing is a gift that comes with practice," says earth-lover and simplicity advocate Stephanie Mills. It seems to me that the evolved creative eye is capable of putting problematic patches aside in the full knowledge that a gentle return will be made when other items are further resolved. Learn to squint. In the words of Henri Cartier-Bresson, "One eye looks within, the other eye looks without." Above all, be patient. "One looks, looks long," said Joseph Campbell, "and the world comes in."


> Facing up to mediocrity