tim’s thought property

As the semester is coming to an end, my projects are slowly coming to arrive at their submission dates.
It’s a bit daunting at first, to have to complete some major projects worth a large portion of the semester’s mark. But as I slowly proceed at this, it becomes more of a habit, then a worry. Having painting for homework is demanding, if not a little difficult. Just as with reading or paper writing, distraction comes by easily for me, when I paint. I have tried to paint in company, but find that solitude works the best for me.
As I’m waiting for the paint to dry (literally) right now, I have to step back to see how the work is shaping up.
In a two part series (diptych) I have to create a face-less self portrait, in the manner or style of another artist. Having a terrible time trying to work out the concept, I have come to a foothold on half of it. In the manner of Sisley, Manet and the influence of Hopper, I am painting an Impressionist Still-life. The subject are things that have had some influential significance to me in the last five years, and in a manner that is foreign to my familiarity, I am painting it all.
So, if these pictures look a little blurry, they probably are. But the painting itself has the same hazy, dabbed feeling to that of a Sisely landscape, or a Manet portrait. At least that is my intention. This has been consuming much of my time to get to work the way I want it to. With many CD’s played and a few LP’s, my time has been accompanied by loud music from the stereo.
As the paint has probably dried enough for me to continue, I should return to the work at hand. Fantasia playing on the television, the house empty, I am able to create.

The map of the M.I.A. also stated that there was a Van Gogh, so while still in the Impressionist wing, I decided to look for it.
As I sauntered down the gallery, past landscape and pastoral scenes, I ended up somewhere in the ornemental silver section, alongside some statues, too. I was curious as to how I got turned around, but then I turned around the way I came. Back in the gallery with the Manet, I found that the far wall had, in the centre, a modest, yet commanding painting. It was Olive Trees, by Vincient Van Gogh.

Up until this trip I hadn’t really been thrilled by Van Gogh. I mean, his popular works, like Starry Night and Cafe Terrace at Night have always looked wonderful, but I’ve never been a fan of canvases loaded with paint.
The closer I got to the painting, I recognised the what it was, as an image that was vaguely familiar. It was a scene of trees, and a narrow path between, a view of an orchird. Looking at the painting up close, I could see the trade-mark thick paint and the strokes of application were very evident. I put my face as close as I could get - there was a plate of glass covering the image. I suppose that some of the more rare images need protection, and being the only Van Gogh in the building, it was a special case.
The colour used, and the shapes made were definitely something very minimal. After walking through the Modern Art section, it was unique to see shapes and forms made from, basically, shapes and forms.
There was a richness to the colours, even after two centuries. The texture of the sky, combined with the choice of colours give a strong sense of sunlight. The trees, with a wavy, languid motion, appear as if moved by a breeze. It’s one thing to view an artist’s works in large, hardcover library books; it is another thing entirely to be up close and in front of them.
I still consider it to be highly remarkable how sometimes the simplest forms, shapes or colours can combine to create a strong and captivating picture. It’s also interesting to ponder that Van Gogh didn’t become an artist by choice, it was more out of the need to pay rent. And now, for the starving, long-deceased artist, his paintings can sell for millions.

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-Olive Trees, by Vincent Van Gogh, oil on canvas, 1889

Remember in elementary school, when there were field trips?
You would get a permission slip for your parents to sign, pack a lunch, board a school bus and go to a museum or Provincial Park or the symphony? Remember how classes were on hold until the next day?
I guess I had that in mind initially when I signed up for the First Year Field Trip. It is a requirement to graduate the School of Art. (A field trip that matters?) We were expected to visit two galleries in Minneapolis, and sketch six works of art (three pairs), and write a comparison for them. (Homework, on a field trip?) The trip was three days, (multiple days?) and we took two charter buses down to the Twin Cities. (Border crossing, for school? Get out.)
Well, that’s the set up.

So, after settling in on the first night, going for dinner and all, we were to meet in the lobby the next morning.
The Minneapolis Institute of Art (henceforth referred to as the M.I.A.) is the city’s gallery of rare and early artworks. It is three storeys of Ancient Art, from Egypt, Greece, China, Japan; Early works from the Americas; Textiles from various cultures; Modern Art and Pop Art; early photographs; Renaissance art European; Impressionism and Baroque.

As I mentioned we were to observe the art, in it’s setting, and find six pieces to sketch and write about. So, what does that really mean? Well, as I strolled the second floor, I had in hand my sketchbook, pencils and map. I wanted to find the Van Gogh, so I found my way to the third floor.
I turned around in one wing, and I saw this.
Manet’s painting The Smoker. I’d never seen a masterpiece in real life before, let alone a painting by any of those giants of genre. I was instantly sucked into this painting, from its rich tones and colours. It almost made you stop to look at it. It was strange. I never had the experience before. I went up close to the picture, staring hard at the strokes of the brush. I saw the detail of the cracks in the paint, after more than a century of life.
The man seemed to have all the time in the world, as he leisurely smoked a pipe that would never diminish. He held in his hand a blue handkerchief, he wore a furry hat. His beard was long and bushy; he looked like someone who must have been an elder or dignitary.
Stepping back, the strokes blended together subtly, and as I squinted my eyes produced a more life-like image. It was as if there was a secret to the technique that brought the image to life that Manet knew.
I must have spent close to forty minutes at this piece. I sat down to sketch it. Right off, I knew that I would spend a long time if I tried to reproduce it accurately. I wouldn’t do it justice in a half hour. But I didn’t care. Time seemed to slow down as I drew. There was something so compelling in this painting, I just had to stay.

I understand that you may not feel the same way I did.
I passed many other works without the same feelings. I would definitely visit an art museum again. It was simply too large and awe-inspiring to absorb in one visit.

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-painting The Smoker by Edouard Manet, 1866, oil on canvas; photo taken by myself

During the last week of the summer, there was an option in the Crafts activity to make Sock Puppets. Having no pressing groups or schedules to plan for the next week, I had time on my hands. Also, having donated a pair of washed socks, I was curious to see what became of these parts of clothing.

I went over to the gazebo, where Gabrielle, the “Craft-Lady” was instructing what materials were available to use, and what could be made. Not wanting to usurp one of the recently donated socks, (and besides, sock puppets are inferior muppets) I decided to construct my own puppet (which turned out to be a doll, but it is much closer to a muppet than a sock puppet).

Rummaging through the back room, I found many scraps of fabric that looked usable, and grabbed a bundle. I set to work, alongside some campers, and went to work cutting. As I went on prepping my material, I conversed with the camper next to me, who wanted to make a hasty puppet, and then proceed to the Archery range. I inquired if his puppet was finished, and if he wanted to add more. With a second thought, he went to work adding more to the old sock, making a more and more involved puppet.
I continued my work, which meant that I had to fold over and sew manually all the parts of my doll - arms, legs, the main rectangular torso/body. As I leisurely proceeded, I had put on button eyes, a yarn mouth, and stuffed the main body with some more fabric.

Groups came and went, and before I realized, I had worked the entire afternoon on this thing.
Well, Staff Meeting followed, and I went to it, with the doll in hand, with his arms stuffed and sewn on, and only his legs remaining to be completed. Then, shortly after the meeting began, I had finished! Triumph!
It was a thrilling experience to create something fun in a totally new way. I’m accustomed to sewing clothing, mainly patching; but making something entirely from scratch and scraps, that was a new feeling. People responded positively to that little thing. I became endeared to it, with its goofy yarn-mouth expression and single felt tooth. I named him Simon. He lived a life of a miniature celebrity for the next day and a half.

The next day I had used more fabric, and constructed a unique and green doll for Jeremy Wiebe (it was his birthday on the Saturday). Gabrielle also expressed interest in the concept of constructed/thoughtful birthday gifts. During clean-up I had grabbed some more fabric and created two dolls after the summer. One for her, and the other for Tim [Penner]. Then, in the thrill and huff of making cheap dolls out of rags and love, I thought “Self; why not make these for your friends for birthday and Christmas?” To which I soon answered to myself “Why that would take a lot of time, of course. And besides, you used a lot of rags just to make the last two dolls. If you pay for materials, you’d have to charge for the dolls.” And then, I realized how the market is already flooded with too many products, and endear-able, avante-garde dolls even have their own niche, but the founding artist had to carve it fairly strongly to attain it. Besides, if a few of these things are made, their uniqueness remains in tact.

What is Simon doing now, you might wonder?
Well, after drawing a rope for an eternity, I get to draw an object of my choice. Yep, I chose Simon. I could have forgotten an object like many classmates, and settled on drawing one of my shoes. But, I decided against that idea. And now, there are some charcoal drawings that await this little plush model.
Have I mentioned I don’t like charcoal that much?

It’s been almost a month since starting school, and I can tell you I feel like an artist again.
I have only one text book for the year, but the supplies I need and have to pay for (even with a discount) will equal the average or more for a regular student’s book fees for a year. Think in the $500’s of dollars and you get the picture. So even though my homework consists of drawing the contours of a common sisal rope or maybe the focal points in an image, distilled down to three brush-strokes, I too, bleed money like the rest of you students! Cast me not out of your communal shadow! If I drive to school, and pay to park, do I not walk the same distance to the campus? If I go to a local merchant and obtain a student discount, do you and I not use the same identification? If I turn out my pockets, are they not as empty as your own?
Do not shun me oh Arts Student! Do not turn your eyes from me, oh Engineer Graduate! Leave not my company oh young Scientist and English Major!

So as I alluded to in the above paragraph, I had to draw a rope for my Fundamentals of Drawing course.
We were to arrange a sisal rope in an interesting way on a piece of 30×22inch paper, and then draw it in a bird’s eye view, using only lines to define its texture. No shading allowed. The guy at the easel next to me completed his drawing (and it looks excellent) in about four classes, whereas it took me five classes and time at home, close to thirty hours. I can tell you with gladness and relief that it is complete.
Tomorrow I can pin it up on the wall, and await critiquing. As for drawing, I get to begin a charcoal drawing of a stuffed doll that I made at camp this summer.
I shall regal with tales of the aforementioned ‘Simon’ in a future post, as well as some anecdotes of my Minneapolis Art Field trip. Oh the tales I will tell! Now, to sleep, for dawn hastens on the wings of night.
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This was finished this evening.

Forty-five minutes of the last two sections, and flourishing tail.