by Cat B on January 19, 2012
We went down to New York last week for a few days holiday. We thought of going somewhere warm but thought New York would be more fun. We could visit galleries and walk around. So down we went, with nothing in particular on our agenda.
The first evening, we were heading out of our hotel when a man in the elevator struck up a conversation with my husband about the coat he was wearing. It’s the kind of coat that looks like he just stepped out of the Australian outback in the early twentieth century and everywhere we went people kept asking him about it! Once we got past the coat, our new friend told us that he and his wife were in New York for the same reasons we were—they were there to see art and get some inspiration before they headed back to Martha’s Vineyard. He gave us their tips—The High Line (the new park that extends from 18th Street up to 30th on the abandoned elevated railroad tracks) and the galleries in Chelsea. He didn’t specify which galleries through.
Off we headed to the High Line first— a brilliant oasis of peace in the center of one of the most hectic cities in the world. We loved the modernist bird houses. There was no one up there on this windy, cold day but us and the birds! But the Chelsea galleries we ventured into proved a bust. The art left us feeling detached—paintings of decapitated bodies, sculptures of dogs with latex gloves emerging from every orifice, and assemblages of old film stock arranged in colorful patterns. Nothing that made us want to see more.
So we headed back to The High Line and looked at the city from all sorts of angles. And here was this wonderful image. Life is art.
by Cat B on November 11, 2011
I’m working in the studio and have begun my new series—inspired by Pop Art but with a twist. More soon on that—with visuals. Yesterday my good friend, the fantastic folk artist, Maggie Stern, popped in for a visit. It was great to have her see what I was doing. We don’t need permission to make art but the support of friends and fellow artists really matters. At a certain point and no sooner, it helps the creative process to share and to get that instant, unspoken response. Some of what we do reaches people—other things are simply exploration. Nothing’s a dead end but some experiments come to an end. That’s the creative process. It’s a wrestling match to clarify intention and match it with experience.
Last year I saw the great Californian artist, Robert Irwin, speak at Harvard. He’s in his eighties and hugely vibrant. Artists never age because they’re engaged. He talked about designing the amazing garden/labyrinth at The Getty Museum in L.A. and how he went in his own truck up and down the length of California in search of the perfect bush, with the size and color he’d envisioned. He searched when he didn’t know what he’d find, if anything. He made it his mission. He paid attention and asked that he find the right thing. That attention makes the experience at The Getty so awe-inspiring.
Following this work, he was asked to design the experience of the Dia:Beacon, a 21rst century museum in a gargantuan old factory in upstate New York. He envisioned this project starting with the visitor getting on the train at Penn Sation and travelling up to the museum. How would that experience unfold and what might a visitor feel? He chose the trees and the bushes, how much we would see from the train window. If traveling by car, we discover a different fruit tree in front of each parking space. It’s about losing our sense of self and connecting with something beautiful, amazing and transcendent. And fun.
I’m reading Lawrence Wechsler’s excellent book about Irwin, Seeing is Forgetting the Name of the Thing One Sees, first published in 1982. It’s a document of Irwin’s creative process. Starting as an abstract expressionist, he responded to the questions painting asked of him. Why do this? Why have an edge to a painting? What is the experience of art? How can we engage in it in a larger way? He asked really interesting questions and continued to explore when experiments failed.
Art is a process of discovery. If we knew what would emerge it wouldn’t be interesting to make. We’ll all ask different questions depending on the nature of our own minds and lives. There are many ways to make art—as many as there are artists. We’re not all going to wrestle with Irwin’s questions but we’re all trying for that transcendence , in our way. Part of the process is seeing how well we pay attention, the questions we ask and how we receive the answers. Sometimes through the visits of friends.
