Quickly Kicking Off The Unparalleled “Sedimentary Series”

“Apologist Accepted” 2010

Since buying the desert camouflage fabric and coming up with the idea for “Apologist Accepted” (right), I’ve been interested in the logical absurdity of the Young Earth creationist knuckleheads. Ignoring the fact that it is evidence-based fact derived from observations and experiments in multiple scientific disciplines that the universe has existed for around 13 billion years, that the Earth was formed about 4.5 billion years ago with life first appearing at least 2.5 billion years ago, they cling to literal interpretations of some bronze age creation myth. The apologists’ blaming fossil evidence on the Devil’s trickery are a source of great amusement as a cynic and consternation as a Humanist.

But making fun of the willfully ignorant is too easy…there is more to be explored. The concept of geological time is tied to so much that exposes any theology as primitive superstition: topics such as Biology, Chemistry, Geology, Astronomy, Anthropology and Archeology give a better appreciation of the unique circumstances it took for us to be hear interpreting it all. That is the essence of these pieces, a truer appreciation of our humblingly minute moment in time rather than convincing ourselves we were inevitable or part of some god’s plan.

The tall format of this series and silhouetted subject matter at the top came to me while driving west towards a landfill at sunset. The back lit trucks on top of the layered mound of discarded modern artifacts and shitty diapers were a contrast of beauty and decay, landscape and landfill, timelessness and immediacy. I place the small insignificant human reference atop millions of years of layered history.

The first in the series is to be the gravel quarry inspired by a similar experience with the dump driving outside San Antonio towards the Alamo Cement Company quarry. Other ideas include the landfill, a cemetery, a strip mine, swampland oil rigs, pueblos and fossil beds.

Rock Quarry: – photoshop mockup

The layering of earth, rock and human artifacts isn’t just a conceptual notion, it is a representation of the rich layering of washes, splatters and polyacrylic that make up my paintings. Each convey the passage of time and the human influence within in it. Any allusion to the willful stupidity of New Earth notions is just gravy.

The Support is Ready:

Panel is nailed a glued to 1×2’s, edges sanded smooth in preparation for gluing the fabric base down. I like a hard slick surface to paint on.

The Fabric is Chosen:

More desert camo fabric is found at the third fabric store I try, but it is a heavy cotton blend with a very textured weave. It’ll require more layers of clear coat to make it smooth, but that will only add to the physical depth of the surface. A theme of 50s era Americana develops in the selection of sediment layers. Associations can be made to bygone days of relative innocence, growing prosperity, racism and misogyny.

Layers are Prepared:

How the layers will be arranged is planned. The number of layers I anticipated including is decreased to allow more of each fabric’s pattern to be included. I hope this doesn’t negatively affect the impression of layered time I’m trying to achieve.

Layers are Fixed:

Everything is down. Still layering translucent white bands that separate the bands of fabric. Black drips flowing down add a horizontal element and tie layers together. Black will be built up and will include the silhouette of quarry structures.

All Done:
Take a Look

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Harbingers Series: A Special Gift for the Angel Worshippers

No matter what the subject there lies a very fine line between archetype and cliché. This is never more true, and that line any thinner than when dealing with angels. Perhaps the very idea of angels is cliché and childish, leaving very little room, if any, to represent them in any way that isn’t cute, quaint, folksy and completely void of any conceptual value. Yet artists still choose to tackle the subject, not so much to bring anything new to the discussion, because there is very little left to be said about such a played out subject, but to ensure sales to right leaning McMansion dwellers. These self described “spiritual” who like the idea of owning original art and slumming with artists are limited in that their Protestant upbringings prevent them from considering anything as a blunt as hanging a dead white guy on a crucifix in their house, but not filling every empty spot in their house with the ridiculous little cherub chotchkies.

Even if one is being ironic or satirical, it is next to impossible to include an angel as the primary subject matter of a piece and not appear as if you were settling on the obvious. Making fun of angels is almost as played as revering them, though I have seen more successful attempts at this that show an angel in an unexpected context.

The popularity of angels and their role as archetypes in the human psyche isn’t as relevant to me as the fact that they ARE archetypes. I have long sought to expose personal and cultural archetypes (such as angels) as arbitrary worn out symbols whose only importance lies in their long history and deep penetration into our collective psyche. The fact that nearly every civilization that can trace itself back to the earliest stages of history in the fertile crescent have had versions of angels does not convince me of their existence, but rather reinforces the idea that they are but a common comforting link between what we know and those things we may never understand.

In the bible angels are described as male except in the rarest of instances. Medieval angels were all masculine warrior types yet today we are presented most often with babies, children or beautiful winged women in flowing robes. Which is funny because these images of God’s minions are founded in paganism:

“But the concept of angels having wings is of pagan origin, the belief that angels have wings is either folklore, myth, fable, legend, fantasy (imaginary psychological constructs), delusion (wishful thinking) or is merely a wistful, human-inspired tradition.”

So the trick is how to address this subject without falling into common clichés – even if all I am interested in is making fun of it. Maybe it isn’t even the angels that I am interested in. Perhaps I’m more interested in the lengths I’ve seen people go to in order to represent angels, or any other overused subject matter, in a more evocative way…shadowy figures with vague one word titles like “Watcher”. People have a propensity to identify a figure to identify with in even the most abstract images. Even the most elemental line or blob can turn into a shadowy figure that is either acting upon all of the other formal elements in a piece or having all of them action upon them. These ghostly characters often resemble the ghostly images of our subconscious, entities that have often been seen as spirits, apparitions and angels, so it would be natural to identify them as such in atmospheric, swirling, expressionistic compositions?

My use of “Harbingers” adds a tone of foreboding while still relying on an intriguing term that cleverly leaves room for interpretation by the viewer as to what the role of this angel figure might be, allowing them to create content where there is none…just like the hacks do!

Why naked fat guys? Because it isn’t any more or less ridiculous than attractive women in white clinging windblown gowns. Look at these earlier concepts.

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Girding My Loins: Getting Psyched For Ultimate Art Battle

The maddening quiet before battle, toeing the edge of a cold pool, the first plodding steps of a 5 mile run, the first 100 miles of a 10 hour drive, the first few inches up a tall mountain…All unpleasant reluctant times where someone might hesitate and try to avoid the toil and trouble, to willingly give up the rewards of a struggle so they may bypass any unpleasantness or discomfort.

I feel these feelings and urge these urges – wanting to stay on the couch and avoid the untold amounts of work and concentration, fighting doubt and the fear of failure – when I sit down to paint. I often begin knowing what I need to paint and have a good idea of how I want to pull it off, but as I begin, the emptiness of the space I am to fill is like a mountain of coal and the paint brush a tiny shovel.

I know all about just putting one foot in front of the other and so I am able to force myself to plunge into the icy waters of artistic expression. Once I’m in, I’m in. I won’t get out, I won’t give up. It is as hard to quit, harder even, than it was to begin. And when I’m finished, too exhausted to continue making positive decisions about a piece, and before I can allow myself to depart and hit the bed, I sit back and enjoy any successes and start to plan for my next struggle against the forces of chaos, trying to coral the cat-like elements of two dimensional form as they dart and run in every direction.

In other words, art is a bitch. I real pain in the ass. I’m so glad I have the reward of a finished piece and any praise and money that it may bring because the act itself is not unlike marching hip deep in shit.

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