Summer resort

‘People say that it is the real world, but it is only a surface of equilibrium and the place where the lowest points of I know not what corporal and spiritual system are found. The roses in the carpet spring to life again, and things, setting aside the things which they were, become again specialised beings adorned with substantives: piano, armchairs, persons speaking …’
— Simone Weil

Our studies are about to resume again in October.
It’s likely, if unfortunate, that we will be looking, more than ever before, at art on our screens. I thought it an opportune time for a reminder … things are not all the same.

A flower, and a photograph of a flower, are different from each other and from a drawing of a flower, and from the photograph of a drawing that has a flower as a motif — although they may have things in common.

Any drawing (art object) will be an object of scale and material. It will have physical properties, some of which may be unique to it; not least, possibly, its colour.
If a drawing is on exhibition there will usually be other work on either side of it, or objects in the space obstructing our view of it; sometimes influencing how we see and understand the object of our attention.
Unless otherwise designed the drawing will be experienced by the whole body, not just the eyes.
None of this will occur before the picture on a screen, in there, the drawing has been usurped by another that looks like the original, but which is missing many, or in some cases, most of its fundamental properties.
In other instances the pictures relationship to the original is scant at best. The drawing has been intentionally ‘enhanced’ … for the arid shoreline of a Pinterest mood-board or Facebook update … veracity, always, among the first of the casualties.
And I think we should remember this—our absence from the material world of the object; from time and place; from environment; from context—when we consider our responses to photographs of the drawing; form opinions about photographs of it, and shape our critique of photographs of it. The photograph is not the drawing. (1)

In early March just before Scotland went into lockdown I visited my step-daughter in Aberdeen where she studies at the University, and where, some forty years ago I studied at Gray’s School of Art. We were, on this occasion, able to visit the newly opened Aberdeen Art Gallery. (The gallery has been closed for the past three years for complete refurbishment.)
I was excited at the thought of being able to see works from the permanent collection again, works I had become familiar with as a student, and two in particular:
‘Seated Girl Holding Sewing,’ by Gwen John and a painting by Paul Nash, ‘Woods On The Down’.
Both were in an upstairs room. The John painting on the right, and the Nash on the left as I walked into the space. I went toward the John painting first. Almost forty years had passed since I’d last set eyes on it and it had lost none of its serene and calm beauty.
It was exactly as I recalled it.
And a near forty year old bridge of time—between the anonymous young model in the painting and my younger self who was then perhaps not much older—collapsed; my chest tightened with an unexpected wave of emotion and forty years of living washed me through me in an instant.
The Nash painting by contrast—a painting alongside many others by Nash that I have looked at and studied over the years—surprised me in a way that I couldn’t have expected. It was a much larger painting than I had remembered. Significantly larger. Four or five times larger. So different in fact from my memory of it that it was like seeing the painting for the first time.
Would such moments ever happen with a picture on a laptop screen? I suspect not. So where does this leave us?

I recall writing a essay a number of years ago (for COIL magazine) about a painting by Pieter Bruegel the Elder, ‘The Hunters in the Snow’. It’s in the collection of the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna, Austria. At the time I was interested in it’s multiple ‘appearances’ seemingly everywhere—on postcards, in newspapers, on mirrors, and most significantly, in Andrei Tarkovsky’s film ‘Solaris’. Vadim Yusov’s film camera moves inside and through the painting making the black birds in the trees fly; brings it to a different life; directs time in a way that a painting is unable to do.
It’s fair to say that ‘I love’ the painting, and I know a great deal about it … but, I have never seen it. I have never been to Vienna. I have looked at photographs of the painting but I have never repeatedly sat with it in the gallery, quietly, studying, watching it. I have never devoted time to it as one would to a loved one; sitting with them, listening to them, watching over them … hour after hour on many different days, and different weathers.

It’s a conundrum, and one that I think can only be solved by our imagination, but for this to be possible we need to be thinking about it as we study this or that work for our studio projects.

The Gwen John painting, would in time, present a further issue.

Summer Resort (after Sergey Kozhemyakin) (2)
Watercolour, blue lead pencil and gold ink on 640 gsm. Saunders Waterford watercolour paper | 38 x 28 cms.

Many institutions now have an online gallery, or viewing room, where one can go and see art works—in ways that are seldom possible before the object itself, and frequently in ways that artists themselves would have been unable to experience in their own work at the time of making.

On the 12th of May this year the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam published what they claim to be the most detailed ever photograph of Rembrandt’s, ‘The Night Watch’. (3)

‘The Night Watch is currently being photographed in daylight. First, separate photos are taken, which are subsequently digitally assembled to form a single image. In total the robot will take more than 8400 photos at an extremely high resolution of 5 microme-tres, or five thousandths of a millimetre … Never before has such a large painting been photographed at such high resolution. In this way, features that cannot be seen with the naked eye, such as individual pigment particles, are made visible.’

On Google Arts & Culture one can ‘zoom in’ (yes, that word again) and see Albrecht Dürer’s studio window reflected in the eye of a ’Hase,’ a young hare. Prophetically perhaps, Dürer’s image, rendered in watercolour and gouache in 1502, came to be regarded as the high watermark of accuracy at the time.

Now we see things—and make things—that our eyes alone are not capable of seeing. Our vision is technologically dependent, while both the technology itself (the phones, camera’s, cars, ear buds …) and our perceptions of the world are relentlessly fetishised.

The technology that the Rijksmuseum is currently using is being used selectively—it is not by accident that it is a Rembrandt painting that is being subjected to this level of granular scrutiny and exposition. (4) Will this change? Hard to say. Technology tends to trickle down but only if there is money to be made in it doing so. Or in this case, perhaps some aesthetic reason beyond the mere gimmick. While other benefits from such  innovation may be felt as the technology is picked up or migrates into other fields of knowledge—medicine for example.

But it raises I think many questions about our relationship to works of art, particularly if you believe as I do, that we need to be more innocent in our response to works of serious culture, and less interested per se in the technology of detail; more interested in talking and writing about how we feel about, and feel for, those things that we’re being attentive of.

I said earlier that the John painting raised another issue—one that in the course of writing this I see is more relevant that I’d realised at the time.

Try and find online (or in a book) a reproduction of the John painting which might be deemed as satisfactory (we won’t concern ourselves with for what purpose just now), and keeping things simple, let’s just say in formal terms of the tonality and colour of the painting.

You will be disappointed, none (to my knowledge) exist—and I have looked; approximations yes, but these are so far from the reality of the painting itself to be of little value beyond simple illustration in a text, and would, even then run dangerously close to misrepresenting the painting where it to be seen without qualifying comments.

The John painting as we see it in Aberdeen Art gallery is protected behind glass. This ensures that we are self-conscious in our looking; we are reflected back to ourselves as we look at the anonymous model in the painting; we are simultaneously outwith (her) and beside others who stand or walk behind us. We are aware of the architecture of the room, the smell of floor polish, and in this case, the smell of fresh wallpaint—The painting is a much wider reflection on human experience than John’s could have perhaps ever intended.

These ideas about the relationship between the photograph and the art work are not knew.

In an era where images are always ‘in the present,’ always emerging, always in the realm of forming, becoming, always, obstinately rooted to potentiality, they—perfectly neatly for some—circumvent critique, and remain morally and politically ambivalent. If something is unfinished or incomplete, or always on it’s way to a destination that never arrives then it is almost impossible to say whether it is good or bad because it will always be met with the rejoinder of ‘well, it’s not finished yet.’

Both the photograph of the flower and the photograph of the drawing of a flower are things that we experience at a remove, on the glass screens of technology where we have learnt to ignore our own reflection. (I nearly wrote ‘our’ technology but nothing could be further from the truth than this—we own nothing.)
Are we content to look from a distance always … some of the time … on occasion … seldom …?
And what of the making—and the destination—of our own work?

(1) Where ‘value’ is decided upon, discovered, given or placed—whether with the thing made, the original material if you like, or with the online simulacra—is in the end an individual choice. I’m not setting out a moral argument here. I believe however that unless an artist makes something specifically for reception or distribution through a screen then we ought to be going out of our way to get as close to the ‘real’ work—and I mean ‘close’ in the widest sense possible using all the tools of scholarship at our disposal—as we can, never forgetting however that the work itself is somewhere else, all but absent from us.
(2) Sergey Kozhemyakin’s photograph, ‘Presence,’ 1989–1992. ‘A man in a military uniform poses for the camera. He stands in a corner of an open terrace located somewhere high in the mountains. One of the man’s hands firmly holds the terrace’s railing; the other rests casually on his waist. Slightly off-centre, the vertical of the officer’s body is counterbalanced by the horizontal rows of bars. Far below, a sea merges with the sky. The portrait would have been a typical memento from a summer resort, except for one crucial detail: The officer has no head, for the figure is cropped tight across the shoulders. Despite this violent erasure of the subject, the photograph is disturbingly serene, and the officer, though headless, exudes confidence and even a sense of control.’
Serguei Alex, Oushakine. Presence Without Identification: Vicarious Photography and Postcolonial Figuration in Belarus. In ‘October’ NO. 164, Spring 2018 p.49-88
‘This article explores photographic works produced by key members of the Minsk School of Photography before and after the collapse of the USSR in the 1980s and 1990s. Mostly reworking found images from the Soviet past, these artists employed the visual language of that period to disassociate themselves from Soviet practices of photographic recording. Appropriating conventions of the portrait genre, the Minsk photographers used them to create a stream of obfuscated representations in which individuals are presented devoid of their originary contexts, biographies, and, frequently, faces. Through their de-facing tactics, these photographers visualized forms of indirect postcolonial presence. Erasing subjectivity and abstracting imprints of lived experience, their vicarious photography articulates a model of dealing with history that allows presence without identity or identification.’
(4) ’Student artists exhibit their final shows online – in pictures’
On the subject of selectivity is it worth noting that in a recent Guardian newspaper piece about student online degree shows:
‘Most universities and colleges have cancelled or postponed this year’s final degree shows as a result of Covid-19, to the frustration of art students who have worked toward them for years. Many have turned to virtual exhibitions instead. Here’s a selection of their work.’
It’s tagged: ‘Students, Higher Education, Art (Education), Arts, Painting, Art (Art & Design)’
all the work selected for inclusion is painting of one sort or another! There’s no design work, no sculpture, no installation art, photography, film or video, no animation, performance art documentation …
other Journalism
‘The future of the arts: The world is coming into visual art on a human scale’ by Laura Cumming
‘Looking for Texture in Online Viewing Rooms’ by Kyle Chayka

‘finished work’ — The Haloes

The Haloes, 2020
Fountain pen ink, pencil and coloured pencil on 300gsm Aquarelle Arches paper
(each) 19 x 28.5 cm
The drawing began with twelve ‘observations’ of a single tulip flower; the only one to grow in my garden. These ‘events’ were carried out on three non-consecutive days. You can see an example at the end of the piece ‘working drawings’.

‘Tell Sal I’ve no more time for flowers’
From a letter Piet Mondrian sent to a friend in 1930. I’ve lost the details of the reference which I noted from a library book and which I’ve been unable to track down in any online archive (The library is still closed because of ‘lockdown’.) It’s possibly from a letter written to Theo Van Doesburg …
’Sal’ is Sal Slijper, Mondrian’s long-time friend, collector and sometime dealer in Holland. It struck me when I came across this that even at the height of the avant garde ‘moment’ of Neo Plasticism, Mondrian—a ‘typical painting’ of his at this time would be Komposition mit Rot, Blau und Gelb—was still painting watercolours of flowers for his friend to sell back home.
‘The root of the matter is not in the matter itself’
is a line in a poem, The Root of the Matter, by Miroslav Holub
Translated from the Czechoslovakian by Ian Milner. ’Selected Poems’ (Penguin, 1967)
Letraset—Are you going on holiday?
The bleating of lambs arched a roof over their heads
Transfiguration II
is the title of a performance art work by the Polish artist Jerzy Beres.
The beautiful fields. The sun affectionately lights fires in their eyes. The top of the sky is warm. And it is empty of stars. Evening descends breathlessly
‘Evening descends breathlessly’
is the opening line of a poem, Cruz Alta, by Philippe Soupault
Translated from the French by Nick Moudry. ’Calque’ issue one January 2007

‘working drawings’

It’s the 26th of March. I walk into fields that have been turned. This marks the beginning.
The rag too caught my eye but unlike the immature fish that the angler returns to the river the rag will keep my eye.

It was hard at the beginning, still is …
reading the news … remembering to breathe … watching ‘at the end of the world’ as people compulsively fouled the nest. And just in case we thought that there was only one story abroad our shiny bits of not-so-smart glass (our mirrors) continue to show us that things for project-humanity are only getting worse … We exist (let’s call it that for now) in a time of constant emergence, but we seem to go nowhere.

I left my place of work at the University on a Tuesday afternoon near the end of March and I’ve been at home on my own, until recently, when the Scottish Government implemented Phase 1 of the easing of restrictions.
I’ve got to know the postman a bit better, a number of the courier drivers too, and I’ve spoken more frequently with those few neighbours whose paths I occasionally cross … I’ve frequently found the sheer volume of messaging-correspondence at times overwhelming.

Living always—on the crest of the present—is precarious, exhausting and, more often than not at the moment, frightening. And in isolation—is the prefix ‘self’ needed?—it is hard to establish any sense of proportion as life oscillates, or more accurately jump-cuts between global catastrophe and the quiet granular days of one’s own solitude.
We usually have some say over our way of living—if we are fortunate to live in a democracy—and I choose to make and study and teach art. But what of the intellect, what of culture at this time?

The idea of the ‘public intellectual’ is not one that flourished in Britain in the way that it did in other European countries after the First World war. Why not? The answer can be found in our education system, devolved or otherwise.
When you deal with words, with numbers, with pictures, with ideas, you are often dealing with dangerous stuff … it matters. Intellect matters; curiosity matters; knowledge matters. Culture, when it is (morally) serious is first and foremost an expression of human dignity.
John Berger was an exception. His essay’s … on art, on drawing … are never far from me. When I was making the things that you can see here I frequently asked myself the following questions: ‘What is this for?’ Is it a finished work? Who is it for? Is it a study for a fabric design; a ‘sketch’ for a tapestry or stained glass window; an illustration to a poem or a book jacket; is it an ‘instruction’ for a performance; is it to be ‘scaled up’ into a painting, or presented outdoors on a billboard …?

It was hard at the beginning, to understand … but they are not finished works, or things to be used for other reasons.
They are ‘working drawings,’ as Berger would understand the term. Drawings which are an autobiographical discovery of an event, of a thing—as opposed to a ‘finished work’ which would be an attempt to construct such an event in itself.
The drawings you see here are records of events, more akin to a journal or diary; drawings that contain within them in however an elusive state, the things I’ve been looking at, hearing, thinking, reading, listening to … while I was making them.

Angels are … Things we share

The last fine art studio project of the semester, Attention is a task we share, you and I was swiftly overtaken by events.
And the studio briefing itself … it’s unlikely I’ll be doing anything like that again anytime soon … if ever.

During the make Angel project I had an important discussion with one of my colleagues: Did we think that we could ‘do’ one of the projects that we set for the students. Was it possible, given our knowledge of the subject, and how would it feel to work in such a way; would it give us any insight into the difficulties that all students face when trying to engage with the requirements of a particular brief and/or thematic subject … these were some of the things we talked about.
A few days later, in the spirit of shared scholarship, that’s exactly what I did. I started work on make Angel (see my earlier post), and my last studio talk was about how I got on.

I began with Albrecht Dürer and Rory McEwen and Ruskin … wove in poets Poliziano, Rainer Marie Rilke and Edward Thomas, Sami ceremonial drums (cognitive maps; shamanism), A.R. Penck, Robert Walser and finished my talk with a warm and gentle photograph, taken in 1976 by Czesław Siegieda, of three angels waiting … for their call during a rehearsal for a nativity play … waiting … for their futures …

How the world has changed since that final image came up on the screen in studio 3 on Monday the 9th March.

I recently heard Angel (1993) by James MacMillan on BBC Radio 3’s ‘Night Tracks’ (Tuesday May 5th). It was performed by John York.
This lullaby was a gift to his daughter Catherine, and it was composed after a Sikh friend told him that according to his religion angels were present in any household where there were young children. The serene miniature MacMillan created was an attempt to evoke this parallel world of heavenly beings. I recall reading in ‘Silence’ (a collection of John Cage’s lectures) of Cage’s wish to be able to record the sound of mushroom spores falling to the floor of the wood … I hear in Angel by MacMillan the sound of dandelion seeds being carried on the wind and gently touching down in fields and gardens.

What is value? — ‘Here I am’

Glitter stars on the kitchen tiles; she smoothes out any bubbles there are in space.

The garden shivers, afflicted; nothing is silent; it had a car-chase scene in it, and detectives.

Dave Hickey.Some Things Are Better Than Others.pdf

make Angel

‘… [T]he unfolding of history gave proof of the law of entropy rather than that of unlimited progress.’
— Simone Weil

‘And every one had four faces, and every one had four wings. And their feet were straight feet; and the sole of their feet was like the sole of a calf’s foot: and they sparkled like the colour of burnished brass…. As for the likeness of their faces, they four had the face of a man, and the face of a lion, on the right side: and they four had the face of an ox on the left side; they four also had the face of an eagle. Thus were their faces: and their wings were stretched upward; two wings of every one were joined one to another, and two covered their bodies.’
— Ezekiel 1: 6-11

‘From as early as the second millennium B.C. humanity has created artifacts and pictures of winged creatures, messengers; angels. The ferocious and capable creatures described in Ezekiel are far from commonplace in modern depictions of the angelic orders so, what are angels? Who are they? What is their enduring appeal, and why do we still appear to have a need for—representation by—them?

The project briefing will take off on Monday morning at 9.30 from Studio 3 — on the back of a winged human-headed bull (a lamassu) dating from the Neo-Assyrian Period (721-705 B.C.E.) We’ll then ‘walk a sky together’ (after Sweeney Reed) where in flight training will be provided by Vanessa Bell, Trisha Brown, Paul Klee, Sheila Legge, A.R. Penck and others … landing, unscheduled, later in the morning at Nikola Tesla airport in Belgrade. Thereafter, your task is a straightforward one: learn about an object or aspect of the subject that interests you; reflect on it and, make Angel.’ — from the Project Brief

What follows are pictures, and pictures of artworks I made reference to in my introductory talk; pictures too above of my notes. After this there is a list of other references provided in the project brief (under the headings of writing, music, film, radio and web) and all other information (titles of work, artists names, dates, photography credits etc.) may be found in the ‘tags’ at the bottom of the post.

Walter Benjamin | Theses on the Philosophy of History in ‘Illuminations’ trans. Harry Zohn (New York: Schocken Books 1969)
Adam Harper | Retracing Mark Fisher and Justin Barton’s Eerie Pilgrimage
Lucy Lippard | Eva Hesse (New York University Press, 1976)
Sheila Legge | I Have Done My Best For You, in ‘Contemporary Poetry and Prose’ (1936)
Rainer Maria Rilke | Sonnets to Orpheus | translated from the German by Christiane Marks (Open Letter, 2019),
Duino Elegies (The Hogarth Press, 1942) & Don Paterson | Orpheus: A version of Rilke’s ‘Die Sonette an Orpheus’ (Faber and Faber, 2006)
Virginia Woolf | The Waves (First published by Hogarth Press, 1931;  Vintage, 2000)
Simone Weil | Gravity and Grace (Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1952)

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart | Requiem in D Minor, K. 626 | Bach Choir & Orchestra of the Netherlands, conducted by Pieter Jan Leusink; live recording made on 28th of February 2014 at the Royal Concertgebouw Amsterdam.
Portishead | Roads | with New York Philharmonic Orchestra July 24, 1997 Roseland Ballroom, New York City & Live at Glastonbury 2013
Mura Masa | No hope Generation | ‘R.Y.C.’ (Polydor, 2020)
Cocteau Twins | Treasure Hiding |  ‘Milk & Kisses’ 1995 Mercury Records Limited (Remastered 2006)
David Sylvian (& Ryuichi Sakamoto) Heartbeat (Full EP): & When Poets Dreamed Of Angels:

Stan Brakhage | The Text of Light (1974):
Werner Herzog | Little Dieter Needs to Fly (1997) complete film:
Mike Stubbs | Zero (2000)
Andrei Tarkovsky | Solaris (1972), Stalker (1979) … and everything else.
Wim Wenders | Der Himmel über Berlin (Heaven Over Berlin) or Wings of Desire (1987) Official trailer:

Angels | Melvyn Bragg discusses Angels with Martin Palmer, theologian and Director of the International Consultancy on Religion, Education and Culture; Valery Rees, Renaissance Scholar at the School of Economic Science; John Haldane, Professor of Philosophy, University of St Andrews. (First broadcast on 24 March, 2005)
Nadim Ednan-Laperouse | A Bright Yellow Light

Winged Victory of Samothrace
The Fall of Rebel Angels (by Pieter Bruegel the Elder):
Angels and Archangels:
Gian Lorenzo Bernini:

What is colour — without Language?

‘Like an auditorium built by the Bauhaus on the edge of a park, all green and green swans.
Green swans, she said.’
—Quinn Latimer

—Jude Walton, The return of Nadja-Léona

‘The title of this project has been adapted from a poem by the French writer Jean Follain. The project started out life in Follain’s use of language—his sense of the miniature, the modesty of his subjects, and the relationship of his poems to memory. These continue to influence its overall scope. By starting out from one of the texts selected for you to study we would like you to explore the subject of colour and make an artwork from your discoveries.’ (from the Project Brief)

The writers
Baudelaire, Charles A Carrion | ‘Selected Poems of Charles Baudelaire’ translated by Geoffrey Wagner (NY: Grove Press, 1974)
Bishop, Elizabeth Sandpiper | ‘Poems’ (Chatto & Windus, 2011)
Brecht, Bertolt On Thinking About Hell | ‘Poems 1913–1956’ this poem translated by Nicholas Jacobs (Methuen, 1976)
Connolly, Geraldine The Summer I Was Sixteen | in ‘Poetry 180: A Turning Back to Poetry’ (Random House, 2013)
Follain, Jean In This Light, The Key & Works | ‘From Elsewhere’ translated by Ciaran Carson (The Gallery Press, 2014)
Glenday, John A Difficult Colour | ‘The Apple Ghost’ (Peterloo Poets, 1989)
Houellebecq, Michel Veroniqué & Grey House | ‘Unreconciled: Poems 1991-2013’ translated by Gavin Bowd (William Heinemann, 2017)
Longley, Michael Telling Yellow | ‘Angel Hill’ (Cape Poetry, 2017)
Oliver, Mary Blue Horses | ‘Blue Horses’ (Penguin, 2014)
Pizarnik, Alejandra le temps tombant … | ‘The Galloping Hour: French Poems’ translated by Patricio Ferrari & Forrest Gander (New Directions, 2018)
Ponge, Francis The Umbels & The Magnolia | ‘Unfinished Ode to Mud’ translated by Beverley Bie Brahic (CB Editions, 2008)
Sappho Fragment 6, 34, 54, 151 and 152 | ‘If Not, Winter: Fragments of Sappho’ translated by Anne Carson (Virago, 2002)
Södergran, Edith The Colours’ Longing & Violet Twilights | ‘Love & Solitude: Selected Poems 1916-1923’ (Seattle: Fjord Press, 1992) & ‘Dikter’ both translated by Stina Katchadourian (Helsinki: Holger Schildts Förlagsaktiebolag, 1916)
Woolf, Virginia Thursday 4 October 1934 | ‘The Diary of Virginia Woolf’ Vol. 4/1931-1935 (The Hogarth Press,1982)

Reading | Resources:
Marguerite Duras, Albert of the Capitals (Rough Draft) Translated by Linda Coverdale: ‘Wartime Notebooks’—the Pink Marbled Notebook—in The Lover, Wartime Notebooks, Practicalities (Everyman’s library, 2018)
Derek Jarman, Chroma: A Book of Colour (Century, 1994)
Quinn Latimer, Like A Woman: Essays, Readings, Poems (Sternberg Press, 2017)
Maggie Nelson, Bluets (Jonathan Cape, 2009)
Mary Oliver, an interview with Krista Tippet first broadcast as an edited extract on Radio 4’s ’Short Cuts’ programme by Josie Long. Find the full interview here:

Visual Art
Stan Brakhage, The Text of Light (1974):
Aleks Danko, Here we turn everything into fun to kill time, 2003 & No! No! No! No More Museum of Créche Art – cut the boredom (after Bruce Nauman), 2019
Graham Fagen, Our Shared, Common, Private Space, 2011 & Scheme for Consciousness, 2014:
Derek Jarman, Blue (1993)
Yves Klein, IKB 79 (1959)
Ana Mendieta, Selected Film Works (1972-1981):
Carolee Schneeman, Interior Scroll (1975):
Carolee Schneeman & Mary Beatty, Interior Scroll – The Cave (1975 – 1979):
‘When Home Won’t Let You Stay’:

What is Sculpture? | To appear … … … radiant?

Alice Aycock, Maze: Aerial view (1972) black and white photograph.

Eight collections of ‘sculptural material’ — artists (a few examples of their work), historical and contemporary PDF documents of artist’s statements, press releases, interviews, web and library references — that may be of interest in relation to this years General Foundation fine art project, What is Sculpture?

Aleks Danko, Wait … I think this is where I lost my hula-hoop (2017)

2—’This was at hand’
A.R. Penck, Standart – Modell (1972-73), Definition of Similarity (1970-71) and Untitled (1966)

3—Late works 1981-85
Ana Mendieta:

4—Living and working in Scotland

Claire Barclay, Fault on the right side (2007)

Karla Black, Vanity Matters (2009)
Kate McLeod (DJCAD Staff), Something Else (2014)
Cathy Wilkes, Untitled (2012)

5—Jupiter Artland, West Lothian, Scotland.

Phyllida Barlow, Quarry—‘Two towering cement and steel columns and a mountainous flight of ruined stairs.’

Christian Boltanski, Animitas—‘Hundreds of small Japanese bells attached to long stems planted in the ground. The bells chiming to the wind let out the ‘music of souls’ and reproduce the map of the stars on the night Boltanski was born.’

Ian Hamilton Finlay, Only Connect—‘Northumbrian Limestone: arched bridge between two milestones each inscribed with the closing words of ‘Howards End’ by E.M. Forster.’ And, Xth Muse—‘Portland stone head on plinth. Sappho, the tenth muse, is the poetess of erotic lyricism and the symbol of love and beauty.’

Anya Gallaccio, The Light Pours Out Of Me—‘An underground chamber of amethyst surrounded by obsidian in its natural state, protected by gold barbed wire.’

6—A survey
Revolution in the Making: Abstract Sculpture by Women, 1947–2016.
An exhibition by Hauser Wirth & Schimmel, Los Angeles, 2016.
The Artists: Magdalena Abakanowicz, Ruth Asawa, Phyllida Barlow, Lynda Benglis, Karla Black, Lee Bontecou, Louise Bourgeois, Heidi Bucher, Abigail De Ville, Claire Falkenstein, Gego, Isa Genzken, Sonia Gomes, Francoise Grossen, Eva Hesse, Sheila Hicks, Cristina Iglesias, Rachel Khedoori, Yayoi Kusama, Liz Larner, Anna Maria Maiolina, Marisa Merz, Senga Nengudi, Louise Nevelson, Lygia Pape, Mira Schendel, Lara Schnitger, Shinique Smith, Jessica Stockholder, Michellle Stuart, Kaari Upson, Ursula Von Rydingsvard, Hannah Wilke, Jackie Windsor.

Francis Alÿs A to Z.pdf
Aleks Danko Wait…I think this is where I lost my hula-hoop_2017-2.pdf
Claes Oldenburg.pdf

8—Frieze Magazine

What is Drawing? | project reference and my notes

‘It’s not something we’re usually given to think about: What is it to draw? To make a drawing? To draw some thing, and to do so in some place. John Berger, in an essay in ‘Bento’s Sketchbook’ wrote: ‘We who draw do so not only to make something observed visible to others, but also to accompany something invisible to its incalculable destination.’ What do you think he meant?

The aim of this project is to encourage you to reflect on your current understanding and experience of drawing and to reconsider what drawing might be, as an activity in its own right, as well as what it might be used for.’

‘By starting out from one of the examples listed below we would like you to study and make a drawing from your discoveries.’—from the Project Brief: Albrecht Dürer, The Large Turf (1503); watercolour with body colour on paper | George Seurat, Femmes Avec Deux Filletes (1882-84); conté on paper | Piet Mondrian, Blossoming Apple Tree (1912); oil on canvas | Edvard Munch, Cabbage Field (1915); oil on canvas | Emma Kunz, Work no. 020 (1939); pencil, crayon and oil colour on paper | Mel Bochner, Wrap: Portrait of Eva Hesse (1966); pen & ink on graph paper | Ray Johnson, Nothing (1927-1995) | Mike Parr, 12 Untitled Self Portraits (1990); drypoint on paper | Janine Antoni, Butterfly Kisses (1996-99); Cover Girl Thick Lash mascara on paper | Alison Watt, Phantom (2008); oil on canvas | Joyce Cairns, Conversations with a Kestrel (2018); oil on board

Untitled|four nineteen—four ‘untimely meditations’

Los olivos palidecen—
pero mi amor busca el heurto

—but two has never been a number.

‘Tan, tan / Who’s there? / Autumn again. / What do you want? / The coolness of your temple. / You can’t have it. / I’ll take it. / Knock, knock! / Who’s there? / Autumn again.’

‘At this point in history, how can we talk about private events? Or private moments? When we have television and phones inside our homes, when our bodies have been legislated by the state?’ (Felix Gonzalez-Torres, 1993)