Who are your favorite artists from the Western canon? Are there any lesser-known artists that you feel deserve recognition for either their technical skill or symbolic content?
I have the greatest affinity with the early Renaissance painters and engravers who
flourished in central and northern Europe, predominantly during the 15th century.
Paramount amongst these would be Dürer, Holbein, Van der Weyden, Van Eyck,
Raphael, Memling, and Matsys, as well as the engravers Behem, Altdorfer, Pencz
and their peers. I also have a great affinity with the Romantic period of painting in
the late 18th & early 19th centuries, Casper David Freidrich, Henry Fuseli, and
William Blake especially, and the Symbolist painters who followed a century later,
particularly Arnold Böcklin, Karl Deifenbach, Franz von Stuck, Jean Deleville, Gustave Moreau, Odilon Redon and so on. Within that approximate framework exist innumerable works crafted by myriad artists, all equally deserving of study and attention, not to mention the many who fall outside of those perimeters. I admire a very broad range of material: from the prehistoric to the classical, the medieval, the Jugendstil movement, the so-called Golden Age of book illustration, the Expressionists, the Postmodern, and even the contemporary counter-culture of the late 20th and early 21st century.
It’s difficult to defer to a specific epoch then, but for the purposes of anchoring an
aesthetic, it’s always been the early Renaissance that has most captivated my
interest and inspired my efforts. This is in part because it was such a critical
bridging era, a time when ancient forms were revitalized and reinterpreted with an
enthusiasm and a clarity of vision that still has momentum today. We might view
this period as the ultimate transition point from ancient times to the present era, at least aesthetically speaking. A profound attempt was made in the works of that
epoch to find balance between dualistic tendencies in the human experience; A
synthesis between the ephemeral with the eternal, the corporal with the celestial,
the grotesque and the beautiful.
There are innumerable painters and illustrators from all these periods who may
receive limited recognition outside their immediate sphere of influence. Most
everything is available online at this point, but that in and of itself doesn’t necessarily equate sufficient acknowledgement, especially when it comes to static imagery, which is currently low on the totem of cultural significance. There are nevertheless novel avenues to appreciation which keep these aesthetics alive, whether through publications, exhibitions, music subculture, contemporary illustration, cinema, video games, social media, or even tattoo culture. There are many methods now by which one might engage with an obscure artist or aesthetic, outside of immersion in a museum or academic setting. It could be argued that there is actually oversaturation and overstimulation on a mass scale in our culture, via an excess of media, but the great works, however esoteric, are all there to be appreciated should one be inclined to look, listen, or read.
In your opinion who are the most interesting living artists?
I’m most interested in the efforts of my esteemed peers, those who have
committed their lives to pursuing the Muse, refining their craft, devoting their
efforts to the process, and collaborating with others. This is true whether we are
discussing illustrators, painters, authors, and musicians, as well as other creators
and performers, including printers and publishers. I’m enamored of the dedication to craft and process, unyielding to the caprices of the day. All the more worthy of admiration when cultural circumstances make it difficult to sustainably pursue such a path. In terms of the visual arts specifically, I can proudly name several friends and colleagues who have embraced this trajectory, such as David D’Andrea, whose richly detailed, hand-rendered images carry on the time-honored tradition of the journeyman illustrator, printing manually. I’m always captivated by the works of Denis Forkas, who manages to express profoundly complex mythical concepts and moods with remarkable economy of color and form. Forkas’s compositions penetrate the otherworldly veil with an eloquent force that is highly unique. The often expressionistic visual evocations of Timo Ketola were always impactful to witness, before his untimely passing some years back. The illustrators Glyn Smyth and Yoann Lossel are worth mentioning, as are the Aves themed paintings of Vanessa Foley, and the exquisitely rendered portraits of Miriam Escofet. There’s really dozens of exceptional painters and illustrators today, working in a variety of media, these are but a few who I have personally connected with, and who continue to provide me with motivation in my own endeavors.
There’s also a few cultural giants of our time, such as the Norwegian painter Odd
Nerdrum, who deserves acknowledgment for unapologetically embracing arcane
aesthetic values, embodying them through rigorous technique, and pursuing them
as a life-long vocation. Nerdrum specifically emerged at a time in the late 20th century when figurative, representational painting was largely derided as irrelevant Kitsch (a title Nerdrum enthusiastically embraced) by the academic art institutions, and he thus deserves credit for recalibrating the concept of the ‘Painter’ as someone who has a unique role to play, and a vision to contribute to modern society. His masterful work is phenomenal when viewed in person. He has substantiated his creative ideals by founding a following of the next generation of Kitsch painters, who have further codified his philosophical position through their own endeavors, and through various interviews and essays. He’s really the epicenter of a specific movement, but what he represents more broadly is an exaltation of legacy painting techniques and timeless compositions.
What is the value of a static image versus something like a film?
A static image has the potential to catalyze a long-lasting experience for the
viewer. This is achieved through forming a relationship over time, in which the
image might be viewed in different circumstances, under varied emotional and mental states, and even in different contextual environments. In our age of myriad media sources, for example, one might become familiar with a specific painting first seen in a book, then on the internet, and finally in person at a museum. With each viewing, new insights are incubated and uncovered. In this way, an image becomes a catalyst for an evolving journey, becoming the point of departure, the destination for arrival, and everything in between. How one perceives the image will shift depending on what phase of the journey one finds themselves in. A static image might likewise provide companionship and reflective insight on that same journey, a ballast to anchor one's experience. The potential is really inexhaustible, which is remarkable because the static image itself is fundamentally immobile.
Film is a unique Media, and subject to its own criteria for analysis which is
beyond what I might credibly contribute, so I’m not sure I can really compare film
with painting. Speaking more broadly, moving imagery, often in connection with
aural accompaniment, has nevertheless become the cultural standard for media
consumption, particularly with the advent of the smartphone and scrolling feeds of images, sounds, and textual narratives. It’s understandable then that this is how
most people engage with visual creations, which includes static images such as
paintings and photographs. There’s advantages to this interface, namely that
increasingly large numbers of people are exposed to a wide range of imagery. At
its best, people might engage with a previously unknown image and be motivated to explore it to some depth. There are some notable limitations to the moving digital format as well, primarily that sustained immersion in a single image is discouraged, if not completely short circuited, by the technology. It often requires great discipline or outside interference to break this pattern of deficient attention. There's little incentive to stay fixated on a specific image for any length of time, one really has to make that decision to focus, and it is tested at every turn.
As a counterpoint, one might ultimately Live with an image, returning to it for
reflective assurance, motivation, or solace. This is the fundamental idea behind
religious iconography; devotional images provide a point of reference for
meditation, a gateway for communion. This practice needn’t be confined to a
church, temple, or museum, one can connect with the eternal image wherever
access to media permits, which in this epoch is essentially anywhere. Naturally
there's endless nuances at work here, a print hanging on the wall may become
overly familiar over time to the point that it’s no longer even seen, but that too is
part of the ongoing relationship with the image. Familiarity may engender tedium
as often as it does solace. A great painting in my estimation, is one which remains
engaging and eternal regardless of how often it is viewed.
As an example, I’ve had the same background image on my computer for over a decade. It’s a 19th century painting of an alpine vista, as seen from the entrance
of a grey, stone cave in the late afternoon, approaching dusk. Soft cumulous clouds seem to pass temporarily in front of the sun, dimming the ambient light and creating a radiant penumbra that outlines the distant conifers, rocks, and mountain peaks in a delicate, rosy glow. A winding path can be seen ascending a distant mountain pass. Approaching the cave travels the silhouettes of a small group of travelers. I’ve looked at this painting every day for years, and yet it never becomes old. The painter constructed such a skillful depiction of color and form, the mind never wearies of the spectacle. There is the conveyance of ephemeral movement in the dimming of the light, the transience of the clouds, the ascent of the travelers, and thus it feels as though there is dynamic action in perpetuity, though the image itself doesn’t change. If I pause in my daily activities to ruminate on the composition, it may be that I feel simultaneously as though I am coming home to something familiar, and yet embarking on a journey for the first time. There is simultaneously the relief of arrival, and the anticipation of departure; a double-sided möbius loop wherein past and future reflect one another. This is what it means to live with an image.
The still image then, can provide a more diverse range of mental and emotional experiences for the viewer, precisely because it becomes a mutable reflection of that individual process. The image ultimately occupies the mind, perhaps even the soul, its presence gestating and evolving throughout the life journey. Like no other medium, save perhaps stone sculpture, the static image can convey the illusive experience of Eternity.
Did you go to art school? Did you have any foreign training?
I did not attend any formal schooling. I would not describe myself as ‘self-taught’
however, as I studied the fundamentals of drawing and painting with two
independent artists in my youth, both of whom stressed classical techniques and
traditional methods as a means of building a creative foundation. I also studied the
Fuchs inspired Mischtechnik, with Philip Rubenov Jacobson in Austria. Most
importantly however, I have endeavored to learn from studying the works of the
many great painters who have come before, and from the life long activity of
learning from peers, colleagues, and friends who have similarly devoted
themselves to the Art. The learning should never cease, the process of discovery
and refinement has no end.
How would you describe your creative process? Shane and I both relate in that
book covers and book ideas just come to us in a revelatory moment. I have read
that Francis Bacon would have no idea what he was painting when he started and
only would discover the final form as the painting process moved along.
The process for each work is unique, nothing is produced formulaically. The
method inevitably includes equal parts inspiration, repetition, and drudgery. It’s
common for progress to stall, be set aside, refined, reconfigured, and even
discarded entirely at times. It’s never a straight line from start to finish. Sometimes compositional problems resolve themselves with no effort, other times the entire structure collapses and has to be painstakingly rebuilt. The integration of disparate components is essential, bringing everything together in some sort of structured harmony. I adapt the methods and techniques to suit the needs of a particular project. There are always surprises in terms of what proves visually compelling, and what might ultimately be relevant, but the goal of synthesis remains paramount.
With all these variables taken into consideration, there nevertheless remains a
basic flow to the inception and production of an image. I typically create a very
detailed compositional sketch before beginning a painting or final rendering. This is always necessary when doing a commissioned work, so that the client can verify the foundation of the image before the work begins in earnest. In producing these conceptual renderings, extensive research is often conducted, and source material must be collected. In some cases models must be posed, props staged, and artifacts obtained.
Aesthetic influences have to be considered as well, particularly when creating an
illustration for a specific context, such as a poster or album cover. I may spend days just studying various types of ornamentation from a specific epoch for instance. Architecture has always fascinated me, and I take a lot of visual inspiration from classical sculpture. A visual springboard can be found in myriad guises: perhaps the motifs and color palettes of ancient Etruscan pottery, or the linework in baroque-era engravings. Sometimes it’s an elusive mood that has to be captured, and there may not even be a clear visual reference to serve as an emissary. In such cases, I may ruminate on appropriate colors or spatial relationships to depict, and the actual subjects, when they appear, are only secondary to the interplay between light and shadow, hue and tone.
The process often demands intensive research and labor, but so too is passive
reflection required. Sometimes the most productive phase is the time spent away
from the drawing board. Put away the drafting tools, close the reference books,
pull a drape over the grouped specimens, and go outside. It’s often helpful to walk
and observe, not focusing on anything specific. Sometimes there are signals and
messages from random circumstances, or from Nature herself.
Generally speaking, the most challenging stages of creation are the inception and
the completion. A lot of what exists in-between these two critical achievements is
labor, and one can fall back on technique to get through it. The inception is often
the most exciting phase, though it may require tremendous energy and focus to
bring this impetus down to earth, giving it a form. Calling a work finished is often
the most difficult phase, there’s invariably some aspect that could yet be further
refined. The entire composition must maintain a holistic harmony, and excessive
rendering in certain areas may skew a delicate balance between nuance and
detail, so one must restrain the obsessive impulse to overwork something to
excess. I find that it’s necessary to embrace certain flaws and deficiencies as part
of the whole. It’s sometimes not clear that there is a structural defect in a composition until the very end of the process. In that case, the error must simply be embraced as part of the character of the work. At a certain point the image has to be accepted and released.
Do you feel as if you are working within a certain artistic tradition?
I am generally operating in context to an aesthetic legacy which is informed by historical context, but also the times in which I live. We have a cultural tendency to break down art history into epochs, periods, and movements, which is helpful for identifying the sequence of events and understanding how influences evolve, but ultimately the passage is an organic process with no hard boundaries. I’m making this distinction because I’m not an academic painter who is emulating a specific period, or using a formulaic technique. I think of my work as a continuum which draws on reiterate forms and themes which appear over many millennium. We might call them archetypal structures.
I have read that you were influenced by the 19th century German Nazarene
movement. What can you tell us about them?
The Nazarenes were a little-known group of German-speaking painters who
primarily worked in Vienna and Rome during the early years of the 19th century.
They collectively occupied an old monastery for a time, and devoted their days to painting and sculpture. They called themselves “The Brotherhood of Saint Luke”, in honor of the patron saint of Painting, and sought to embody a creative way of life. They were somewhat derisively referred to as ‘Nazarenes’ by their detractors in academic circles, because of their emphasis on spiritual subject matter, and their somewhat conspicuous mannerisms of wearing robes, growing their hair long, and so forth. They rejected the institutional neo-classicism of their day and endeavored to expand their knowledge of art techniques through direct observations, a study of devotional painting, and a fraternity of mutual support.
Perhaps the most significant thing to emphasize about the Nazarene movement,
was their deference to the past in order to forge the present, and anticipate the
future. They did this through the veneration and emulation of late medieval and early renaissance art, which in turn was likewise catalyzed by the resurgence of more ancient forms. So in this sense they were remaining vigilant to a flame that has never been extinguished. They modeled themselves after the journeyman artists of the 15th century, devoting their work to spiritual ideals and investing in painstaking renderings that capture the nuances of color and form. They took commissions for public works and revitalized the art of the Fresco. Concurrently, the actual techniques and aesthetics that they cultivated were most certainly of their time, coming on the heels of the Enlightenment era, segueing with the Romantic reaction to modernity. In this sense they provided a profound germ of inspiration for a number of artistic movements which came after them, most notably the Pre-Raphaelites in Britain, some decades later.
The somewhat theatrical presentation of their collective years in Rome together
was finite, and later most of them returned to Austria and Germany, where they
individually continued to refine their painting techniques. Some of the more
impactful paintings were thus created after they disbanded as a collective, working
solo in their own studios. There is a roster of notable names which emerged from
this movement, but dearest to me are the portraits of Friedrich Wilhelm Schadow,
Johann Friedrich Overbeck, and Franz Pforr. The inspiration from Memling,
Raphael, Holbein and Dürer is clear in many of these paintings, an aesthetic
continuum through the ages.
I’ve noticed that a lot of your pieces have elements that would require scientific or anatomical research to execute properly. What kind of research do you do?
It really depends on the project. Each image is different in terms of the source
subject and what is intentionally conveyed. In the case of something very specific,
such as a monochrome botanical rendering, it’s necessary to really study the
natural forms of the plant, and to become familiar with it’s physical structure before interpreting it with lines. Some projects may necessitate a familiarity with not only the physical manifestation of the subject, but other aesthetic representations of that subject throughout art history. The balance between these two paradigms, the natural world and the subjective world of interpretation, influences much of my work, and is acute in certain projects.
As many of my projects are taken on commission, there is often a guiding principle or theme that informs the focus of the work. In these instances, it’s often necessary to undertake research into the historical and structural background of the topic. The scope of this research varies broadly depending on the nature of the theme. With the Green Mysteries Herbal for example, and the many botanical renderings contained therein, it was not only necessary to study the specific structures and forms of the individual plants, but also their medicinal properties, use throughout history, mythological narratives in which the plants appear, as well as any symbolic and cultural relevance they might have. With the structural references then established, it was then necessary to study the many artists renderings and visual depictions of the plant that have come before, as appearing in the innumerable Botanicals and Herbals over the centuries. The end goal was not only to provide a novel depiction of the plant, but to elaborate on the previous iterations that have manifested over the centuries. In this way, the work is not only an exploration of a rich and diverse topic, but it also builds on a legacy of artistry and knowledge which is already established.
Do you incorporate any kind of mathematics or calculations into your composition? The term “sacred geometry” is a trope nowadays but are you consciously measuring golden ratios, anatomical proportions, etc. or is it all free hand and intuitive?
Geometry is certainly an important facet of my work, and I frequently make use of
distinct shapes in my compositions. It’s not all arranged with loose freehand, as
every composition is methodically plotted and arranged, often using templates,
rulers, and other drafting devices, but the process of placement and refinement is
almost entirely intuitive, particularly with the organic subjects. I tend to work with
fundamentally rudimentary shapes: circles, triangles, squares, mandorlas, and so
on. More importantly, I study the relationships between shapes and forms, and I adjust them as is relevant to a specific composition. This is really done instinctively, I don’t defer to any dogmatic formulas. I’m familiar with the Golden Mean, and suppose it makes some contextual sense if one is more comfortable with a rational interpretation of form, but I’m not so exacting with mathematics. I tend to let my vision be the guide. Likewise, with the appearance of balance, the goal is synthesis, not exact symmetry. I’m more concerned with the presence of nuanced feeling than I am with architectural perfection, though certainly the two support one another.
These concepts are more clearly demonstrated with the preparation of a Still-Life composition. Wherein I collect specific objects and arrange them on a tabletop, making spatial adjustments, reconfiguring the set-up, removing items which ultimately don’t work, experimenting with lighting, viewing from different angles, and so on. Drawings are made and remade before laying out a final arrangement on the painting panel. This part of the process can sometimes take months.
How did MONAD push you or challenge you as an artist?
This was a fantastic project, one that compelled me to mine the usual reserves of
compositional structure and atmospheric nuance, yet also presented the challenge
of conveying some very complex philosophical ideas by way of some relatively basic forms. I endeavored to elaborate on these concepts by emphasizing the relationship between the philosopher, the world, and the celestial source. The architectural edifice in which the central subject is presented establishes the structure of civilization, upheld by sentient caryatids, whilst the torch embodies a sort of promethean flame brought down directly from the radiance of the boundless firmament. This was one of those paintings that benefited from innumerable subtle glazes, to achieve just the right balance of illumination, the interplay of light and shadow.
It was the structural geometry of the composition which ultimately proved most
critical, as this provides visual syntax; erecting an appropriate edifice that permits
the philosophical revelations to be anchored in a tangible tradition, whilst yet
remaining open to divine inspiration, keeping the boundaries porous, open to
those who seek. For this I turned to the classical structure of a column-flanked
plaza, a circular court wherein an imaginary epicenter may be visualized. From this position the Philosopher emanates the vibrational waves of Gnosis, gently impacting the world. The arched structure upheld by the caryatids, guardians at the threshold of wisdom, further emphasizes the framing of initiation. All of which is overseen by the gaze of immortal Hermes.
The goal was ultimately to depict the Philosopher as a guide and herald, a beacon
lighting the way from this realm to the many others. Credit should be given to the
publishing team; Shane Logan, Tony Ferry, and Lucas Heinrich, for providing the
impetus and direction for the composition, I merely endeavored to give their vision a form.
The MONAD painting is extremely vibrant in person, which is no doubt due to the
mischtechnik. What is it like painting with this technique and why do you think it
has all but dissapeared?
The Mischtechnik of incorporating egg tempera and oil pigments is based on the
methods refined by the Magical Realist painter, Ernst Fuchs in the mid 20th
century, and is thus an elaboration, rather than a staunch preservation, of the
varied Renaissance techniques, which are not necessarily known, nor able to be
exactly replicated. I have further adapted the Fuchs technique to suit my own
process, and continue to experiment with the media. Many of my color illustrations are executed in watercolor, gouache, and even polymer/synthetic pigments, when the constraints of time and budget require it. The mischtechnik is typically time consuming, because the physical properties of layering the tempera and the oil mediums require sufficient drying time between glazes. I probably take more time than most painters who use this technique, because I like to establish color nuances through glazing with pure pigments, rather than by mixing or by using premixed colors commonly produced by manufacturers. What this means in practice is that the more complex a color, the more nuanced the interplay of shadow and light, the more glazes utilized. I also refine the details as I go. When painting the plumage of a bird for instance, I may not refine the highlights on the barbs of a feather until the later stages of rendering, and these too will get further refined as color glazes go over them.
Regardless of the media used, my paintings invariably begin with a transfer of a
simple line drawing to the panel, followed by an imprimatura - usually egg
tempera - ground, typically english-red, or raw umber, depending on the overall
color palette. On this solid hued ground, I will execute a loose monochrome
underpainting in white tempera. Once dry, I proceed with a complete glaze over
the entire panel, most often a warm color, such as gold ochre or sienna. The next
stage is a more detailed refinement of the subjects, still using just white pigment,
either egg tempera, polymer, or gouache, depending on the media. After the entire
composition has been established and refined, the subtitles of light and shadow
established, I will then begin to glaze in primary colors. The middle stages of creation lend a posterized effect, solid blocks of pure color anchoring the image. From here the delicate structures are further refined and the details elaborated on. A green drapery in a finished painting may have as many as 5 or 6 layers of pigment over the monochrome rendering by the time the work is complete. Subtle skin tones may contain twice that amount.
The construction of the image is almost sculptural, architectural, laying a
foundation, establishing the structural support, applying the substantial forms,
building the colors, refining the details. The primary advantage to the layering
technique is that an unrivaled effect of light and color variation can be established.
This is best appreciated in person, where the depth of the painting layers are
clearly evident. Part of this is attributed to the physical properties of how the
translucent oil glazes interact with the opaque egg tempera, with ambient light
filtering through the oil media, and reflecting off the white underpainting.
I don’t believe the Mischtechnik has disappeared. There are a lot of artists still
using it to magnificent effect, paramount amongst them my friend and colleague,
Madeline Von Foerster, whose empathetic mastery of the method’s technical nuances are second to none. Her masterfully executed, internationally collected, nature-cabinet paintings extoll the beauty of bio-diversity, and reveal the tragedy of its diminishment by human causes. Each work is a holy shrine, inviting veneration and contemplation. The meticulous application of the Mischtechnik was never so appropriately applied. I regard Von Foerster as a true modern Master of this technique.
Rubinov-Jacobson continues to teach the Fuchs method in his informative
seminars and workshops, and there are a number of painters in the so-called
Visionary art scene who are doing fantastic things with this method as well. It is
without question, a time consuming and laborious process to effectively maximize, the effect of which doesn’t always translate well in print, or in digital reproductions. In our perennially on-line digital epoch of instant gratification there’s possibly less incentive to use this technique than there was even 10 years ago. For anyone who values the virtues of patience and craft however, the mischtechnik continues to be utilized and appreciated as a vehicle for visual illumination.
What does your spiritual or magickal practice look like?
My creative work is the foundation of Practice. Therein is found the full spectrum of devotion; being receptive to inspiration, the evocation of vision, disciplined
application of technique, perseverance through adversity, detachment from
expectation, and finally release. Once one yields completely to this process, the
creation becomes something greater than the sum of one’s own efforts. This is
especially true when working within a distinct creative tradition, as is drawing and
painting in my case. I think of my work as a contribution to a much larger cultural
canon. In addition to the invaluable input from peers, colleagues, and
collaborators, It is nourished and informed by those practitioners whose efforts
have come before, and will hopefully serve as a guiding flame to those who come
after.
Creativity as devotional practice is a non linear process that is fundamentally a
journey, a pilgrimage of sorts. Along the way, one engages with others; by way of
collaboration, patronage, service, and even through challenging dynamics such as
competition, rejection, and condemnation. Circumstantial impediments may arise,
support may be bestowed or denied in equal measure, and assistance may
likewise come from unexpected emissaries. All these facets of the experience are
relevant and of value to a committed practice. The labor of working itself may be
regarded as a meditation, a focused observation with applied action, and a
detachment from outcome. The most important aspect is to keep working. Keep
working when inspiration is abundant, and when it is absent. Keep working when
reward is bestowed and when it is not forthcoming. Keep working through periods of personal strife and through periods of luxury. There are times when work means strenuous labor, and times when it may mean stillness and silence.
This approach is what I have to be the most effective for establishing a sustainable
practice. It’s helpful too to have a sanctuary for devotion, which in my case is the
Atelier, a small chamber in a 19th century convent, which has served as my principle working studio for several decades now. The space enables me to set up references as sacred shrines, and to ruminate on iconic images for inspiration. The physical space permits the vigil to continue unabated.
These insights into my devotional practice have been cultivated over time, and are
thus subjective to my own creative journey. By no means should this be construed
as a dogmatic template for anyone’s individual process. I’m acquainted with image-makers with no set studio for example, who enjoy setting up wherever they may find themselves, whether in a field, a warehouse, or a cafe. In my youth I too traveled for many years with only sketch books in my rucksack, drawing and documenting references by hand wherever I happened to be. All phases of the journey are relevant. I don’t believe in a singular, correct path.
From your own studies, how do you think these huge shifts in painting occur? It
seems materially acausal to some degree so is it some kind of Logos or Geist? Of
course there are contextual, cultural, and circumstantial contributors but that only goes so far to explain it.
Certainly a fascinating topic to ruminate on. I’m not sure that I have the data to
posit a convincing hypothesis. There’s clearly aesthetic trends which take hold that
are a result of circumstantial influences, but at the same time there does seem to
be unseen and irrational currents which further inform the Zeitgeist. With painting and the visual arts specifically, there's an obvious bridge to the values of a culture at the time of creation. For example, representational, figurative painting and illustration waned after the advent of post-modernism in the mid 20th century. This shift came after the effects of two world wars and accelerating technological advances. There was a collective urgency to leave behind representations of a past which felt oppressive and irrelevant, and old forms of media were supplanted by the new. Abstracted forms became more engaging to the general public, realistically rendered forms, whether allegorical or literal, were resigned as irrelevant kitsch. Certainly a small number of painters and artists continued to carry the torch, but even in the late 1980s and ‘90s when I was coming up, there was very little media emphasis of classical, romantic, or symbolic figurative painting unless it was of historical relevance, or lowbrow kitsch.
One notable exception in the postmodern cultural landscape was the Magical
Realist movement which gained traction in the mid 20th century, as spearheaded
by the Viennese artist, Ernst Fuchs, who also revitalized the Mischtechnik, as we
have discussed. There was an emphasis on not only traditional painting techniques, but also on timeless compositions and forms, as interpreted through the irrational. This movement segued with the Psychedelic movement, and provided fertile ground for science fiction and fantasy art to flourish as well.
The ascent of the internet, and it’s ubiquitous interface with society at the
beginning of the 21st century seems to have clearly revitalized the visual Arts for a
short time. It was suddenly possible for everyone to access an unprecedented
catalog of obscure material, and this in turn sparked a sort of creative outpouring,
revitalizing long dormant genres, and inspiring artists to emulate a broader
spectrum of stylistic traditions. When fused with devotion and technique, a mini
renaissance seemed to flourish for a finite interval. Figurative and symbolic
themes were no longer derided as culturally irrelevant, indeed a greater
appreciation for thoughtfully rendered, figurative imagery seemed to bloom for a
decade or more. My current impression is that this brief flicker of inspiration is
already waning, largely in favor of increasing artifice and expedited
sensationalism. Technique and skill seem to be relevant only insofar as they can
be monetized through performance. When the internet was awkward and sluggish,
it was paradoxically more conducive to in-depth interface with painting and
illustrations. Cultural values have shifted as well, we seem to have collectively
bowed to a monstrous and colossal effigy of Mammon.
The question remains then, if some sort of meta influence is at play when art
movements evolve, a celestial configuration perhaps, a shifting of paradigms or a
revolution in collective consciousness. I’m ill equipped to speculate on these
ideas, though certainly they are interesting to contemplate. All things being
mutable and cyclical, I suspect that these various cultural extremes provide syntax
for one another. Painting always seems cycle through periods of being exalted and
derided. Glory to those who stay the course in turbulent times!
Is the history of art the history of consciousness? If so, what does that say about
the postmodern age? An age where you can find all sorts of art happening simultaneously. An almost ahistorical period.
This is a fantastic query, one that invites broad speculation. I’m not in a position to
answer from the standpoint of a scholar, as my knowledge of art history is undoubtedly limited to those finite periods which have captivated my attention. A comprehensive analysis would need to include not only architecture, sculpture, and images, but also ephemeral manifestations, such as clothing, music, lyrical poetry, and so on; topics which we may not be able to study in depth because little trace remains of their existence. It would be fascinating to explore how human consciousness expressed itself through a wide spectrum of media. This is ultimately work for cultural anthropologists and archeologists, but it’s fascinating to contemplate.
There is also the question of whether consciousness is limited to the human experience? Another inquiry I’m not equipped to sufficiently address to any depth, but its possible that our subjective empiricism is but one manifestation of an objective ‘consciousness’. The concept does frame our collective endeavors in context to something much greater than ourselves. One might make a case for the idea that art and culture reflects the evolution of human self-awareness.
In terms of the era in which we currently find ourselves, which might now be
defined as post-postmodern, the dilemma seems fairly conspicuous: With
convenient access to an excess of media, not just of our time, but of all the epochs
that have come before, what has meaning and relevance? Is it up to every individual to establish what has value, and if so, what framework enables the individual to make sense of the incessant barrage of media and data? It might be too much for a single person to realistically accommodate. Perhaps we are collectively crawling back into the proverbial Plato’s Cave, transfixed by shadows, in order to limit our perceptions, which are unable to readily adapt to the influence of such extremes.
I can’t objectively answer these questions for anyone, though I will concede that
as one who makes laboriously crafted, static images, I find that less is more.
You live deep in Sasquatch country. Do you believe in Bigfoot? Have you ever had
any encounters or known anyone who has had an encounter? Any mythical
creatures?
I’m indeed fortunate to live in a location with abundant natural splendor, containing a menagerie of diverse fauna. I regard all of these creatures to be mythical, in the sense that timeless wonder is experienced when observing them, an eternal narration speaks through their presence as they go about their business. They communicate directly to those with open perceptions. The croaking frog in the shade covered pools has a ballad to sing, the slow moving snail traces glimmering sigils on the dry leaves, the swooping bats weave imperceptible patterns in the cobalt-hued firmament at twilight. There are no insignificant creatures, even the oft seen, grey squirrel and the abundant brown moths that congregate en mass on the windowpane have a distinctive place in Nature’s legends. Even more profound are the encounters with the shyer beasts: the elusive mountain lion, whose nocturnal cry may freeze the blood, the intimidating mass of the black bear, who may raid one’s larder if doors are left unsecured, and the loping dance of the Coyote, who may pause to lock gazes with one on the woodland trail.
With such wondrous beings to be found in the deep forests, the river canyons and
the high meadows, it would not surprise me if even more elusive mythical creatures lurked in the madrone thickets, walking silently on the soft mulch of the fecund Earth. As to the specific identity of such creatures, I will leave that to the nomenclators.