Denis Gaston's blog

This is the post where I finally convince myself of the beauty of one of my latest art works. The painting, titled “Dark Goddess,” is included in a Florida Artist Group exhibition in Sarasota, judged by well-known painter/printmaker Tom Nakashima. During his introductory speech, Nakashima shared with us the fact that he never assigns deep philosophical meanings to his work before or during the creative process. Only later does he wrestle with the piece’s significance for him. He added that with the passage of time and circumstances, people’s views of his work may change, but those various meanings would remain as valid as his own.

I had, for a long while, been steadfast in my ambivalence toward “Dark Goddess.” At different times in its creation, I had been repulsed and then attracted by the figure’s brooding presence.

The eyes were set too close together, the mouth too large. The hair, if it could be called that, seemed to jump off the head or later retreated into the background. At those intervals, the piece embodied pure ugliness to me. I stayed out of her sight for days.

Persistence, in service to a learned work ethic, always drew me back. What would happen, I wondered, if a stylized black veil were placed over her face. Would a lighter background make the figure stand out more. At one point, in desperation, I even poked holes throughout the thick paper.

Gradually, working on the piece, I began to see something resembling beauty in parts of the whole- the impasto of buttery oil paint next to transparent acrylic passages. Scrumbled lines competing with blocks of color, and just peeking through, the original black ink outline. I became enthralled by the lush physicality of paint.

A deadline forced me to stop and with trepidation the piece was signed, sealed and delivered, not to be seen again until opening night.

Viewing “Dark Goddess” in a large gallery after listening to Mr. Nakashima, I realized I had mistaken ugliness for fierceness. My thoughts flashed on those fierce Fu Dog statues guarding Chinese temples. I remembered black and bloody Kali, Hindu goddess of death and destruction. The ancients knew one does not confront monsters and demons with puppies or pretty girls.

Driving back in darkness over the Sunshine Skyway, I tangled with the idea that “Dark Goddess” represents the terrible fierce beauty that protects us against life. Now I am convinced of it.

 

Years ago, I viewed a major exhibition of Egon Schiele's paintings and drawings at MoMA. Photographs of his work in Art History 101 had not prepared me for the nuances of Schiele's startling imagery.

Standing in front of his large canvasses, bits of contrasting colors, scrumbled lines and underpainting became abundantly clear. Even Schiele's finished paintings have a mosaic-like drawn quality that I found quite appealing.

These were not erotic in the sense of being titillating, but were rather illuminating, as one realized Schiele's masterful draughtsmanship, sense of color and love of form.

We’ve all pulled out the middle of price-sticker or film rolls just to see what would happen. Gulfport artist Nancy Cervenka did it and created a new art form. The USF film school graduate had a bunch of 16mm film lying around and one day began experimenting.

Creative person that she is, Nancy saw big possibilities in the curvaceous forms she was fashioning. In her hands inert film became swooping spiraling organic objects. You wonder how film can be made to conform to such graceful shapes. Stalagmites must look like this when they party.

In the early 1990’s, Nancy began exhibiting her film sculptures in outdoor art festivals and immediately won praise, awards and sales. She has won Best of Show twice at Mainsail in St. Petersburg and in 2009 scored the big one, Best of Show at Gasparilla Art Festival in Tampa. Nancy's works are included in many Bay area collections.

You can see Nancy's new work at an upcoming exhibition at Gallery 221@ Hillsborough Community College/Dale Mabry Campus. Titled "Film on Film: Nancy Cervenka," the show opens this Thursday, 5-7 pm.

With the opening of St. Petersburg’s Warehouse Arts District, that city’s lively art scene has suddenly expanded westward a couple of miles. Located in a former industrial area just off 5th Ave. S. and 24th St. S., the area is home to a growing list of pioneering artists.

Like most new venues, Warehouse artists wondered, if they opened, would people come. Judging by Saturday night’s Gallery Walk turnout, the answer is a resounding yes.

It’s been a while since I’ve been to an art opening that featured rent-a-cops, roaming photographers and a live band. But the scene at Duncan McClellan’s grand glass atelier had something I’ve never seen - an Airstream trailer.

Parked across from Duncan’s, sat a vintage 24 foot tricked-out road worthy Airstream. This nostalgic beauty belongs to artists Matt and Becky Larson and is home to their newest venture, Boxfotos.

Team Larson transformed the Airstream into a cozy gallery and has quite literally taken its show on the road. Boxfotos will travel to different locations for photography exhibitions and workshops. Look for them next at the Museum of Fine Arts on Beach Drive in St. Petersburg.

photo courtesy Boxfotos

The Fountain,
Marcel Duchamp
Mat Gleason, art critic at Coagula Art Journal, recently wrote an excellent essay titled, “12 Art World Habits to Ditch in 2012.” It is great reading with liberal sprinkles of humorous wisdom. My art boy hackles were raised by two of his habits and I felt compelled to respond.

Mr. Gleason writes:

Rules. There are too many of them. You do whatever you want. You can even be so great that you actually achieve a complete and total failure. Then you can make art. But you never have to follow any of the rules and anyone who says you do... well he or she just hasn't failed enough to realize this.

Experts. Art is subjective. There inherently cannot be experts.

Marcel Duchamp, hero of many post-modernists, and famous for the statement, “Art is whatever the artist says is art, not what critics say art is.” It was, in Duchamp’s case, a true statement, since no one denied he was already a bona-fide artist.

His words have since been turned upside down and taken by would-be artists to mean, “If I say it is art, then I am an artist.” There is a huge difference in the two statements, which is the years and years of labor it takes until one has the training and confidence to call themselves an artist.

People today seek to and are even encouraged to bypass education and experience as unnecessary. Just jump right in and express yourself. Your art is just as valid as any other artist’s work. This is magical thinking of the naïve and also a disturbing trend of those who deride art as being intellectual elitism. As Mr. Gleason correctly points out, art is sensual and visual, not intellectual.

This is where experts and rules come together. From the viewpoint of the artist, creative rules are like riding a bicycle. You ride that bike and then crash. You ride and crash again. Pretty soon, one learns what to do and what not to do and masters riding a bicycle. After that, bike riders internalize the rules and can ‘forget’ them and enjoy the ride.

Making art is the same thing. You go to school or learn on your own. You try something and inevitably make mistakes. Along the way, after much trial and error, you realize there are rules. There are rules of color, line, composition, and technique. The art student internalizes those rules until they too can ‘forget’. The challenge then becomes how to break the rules and stay true to one’s vision.

Considering artists, learning art is first an objective experience. Making art, however, is subjective. If artists stick to it and are lucky, they will become experts of their own personal vision.

When looking at art, viewers tend to fall back on their own personal likes and dislikes. They may not be aware of technique or artistic intention, but if they look long enough, they become experts of their own feelings.

People who spend their lives around art may become expert at art’s objective nature. They recognize color, composition, technique and know if it works or not. When viewing content and speaking of an artist’s intention, their expertise is almost always colored by subjective preference.

It could be said that the artist, the viewer and the art critic are all, in their own way, experts. As it is in life, trouble comes when any one of them try to impose their rules and expertise on the others.

I recently discovered a different kind of  t-shirt company that prints fast and affordable t-shirts from artists' designs. The company, ooshirts, is a quality custom printer with principles that I can respect.

They take deadlines seriously, pay attention to details, provide quotes and reviews before printing and, if needed, conversations with live customer service folks. I especially liked that the design and ordering process was so simple. I was able to design and order my shirts in 5 minutes. You can't beat that.

Consider ooshirts for a high-quality and affordable way to advertise your art.

Writing inspiration comes from many places and can happen at the most unusual of times. Ideas pop into my head while taking a leisurely walk, while driving in rush hour traffic, or in the case of my latest story, while listening to the refrigerator.
The ideal sound of a fridge should be no sound at all and, barring that, an unobtrusive ambient hum is acceptable. My last-year's-model ice-box has gone one step further. At certain times of the day, it breaks the semi-silence with odd mechanical groans that seem almost human. I imagine at those times that the poor thing is not feeling well or is hungry.

The latest outburst came several weeks ago while I enjoyed my version of Thai coconut soup. The fridge's groans came in short staccato exclamations. It seemed to be saying, "Feed me! Feed me!"

My first thought was the carniverous plant in the classic film "Little Shop of Horrors." I decided, however, to write a more humorous children's version featuring a hungry refrigerator.

The resulting story, Feed The Fridge, has been chosen to compete with others for publication by meegenius.com. Winners will be chosen by readers' votes and anyone reading this story may vote for Feed The Fridge by clicking on this link. Thank you in advance.

I probably became aware of John Whipple’s art at one of the Gasparilla Art Festivals in Tampa years ago. I say probably because Whipple images have been stuck in my brain box so long, I forget when they first imprinted there.

I was also a sidewalk artist and used early Sunday mornings to see the shows for myself. With only so much time and 300 artists to check out, it became necessary to filter out all decorative, derivative, functional and cute art.
Really important art like John’s doesn’t just call to you; it whacks you in the back of the head. At some point, I had a hot prickly sensation that someone was staring at me. Turning, I saw a booth full of medium-size dark portraits. Moving closer, I realized it was they who had been staring. I could not walk away, but was drawn into their private world and John Whipple’s.
“Merde, but this guy can paint!” I said to no one. But more than technical bravura, John’s art snags us first with humor and familiarity and only then do we get a glimpse of the edginess. It’s like a black comedy when a guffaw suddenly sticks in the throat.
Of course, the mastery is that we recognize something human in those odd characters - our own foibles and shortcomings. We identify with them and we laugh.
John’s art is now in exhibition at Antieau Gallery in New Orleans. Titled Misfits, the show opens Saturday evening, November 19, tonight.

The e-mail subject line first got my attention – “New York Gallery Representation.” I scanned the letter with rising expectations, past the parts about ‘your wonderful art,’ ‘fantastic opportunity to exhibit in New York,’ and ‘chance for a solo exhibition,’ to the sender’s identity, a well known pay-to-play Midtown gallery.
Knowing well that traditional galleries don’t use such teaser tactics, I was still a bit disappointed. I clicked on the gallery link anyway to learn the details of their ‘offer.’ Full gallery representation with group shows, post cards, magazine ads, museum introductions, would cost $3450.00 a year. In addition, the gallery would collect a 30% commission on sales. If I qualified for a solo exhibition, the costs would be higher. Inquire with the sales manager for rates.
I could not find a section that listed exhibiting artists. Perhaps that list would go on for pages. Looking at past exhibitions confirmed my suspicion that the gallery believed cash to be more important than quality. The art proved to be not terrible but certainly uninspired.
For years, the art community has looked down its nose at vanity galleries. Deemed money grubbing and gauche, their tiny ads were stuck in the back of art magazines. Galleries soon learned there could be big bucks in offering representation to artists willing and able to pay hefty fees. Judging from the numbers of them and their splashy presence in the media, vanity galleries now have a certain amount of creditability.
Two questions popped into my head as I hit the ‘delete’ key. If I pay up, will the gallery guarantee at least one sale? When my gallery run comes to an end, would I list the gallery on my resume? No and no.