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Description
"The Exception"
Acrylics on 36"x24" canvas.
This piece feels a little like eye contact that says too much. It makes me anxious, though, kind of in a wonderfully uncertain way... it comes with the knowledge that, eventually, I'll learn to cope a little more with the fear that comes with vulnerability. As art draws more people into my life and more "fans", it makes me think a little more thoroughly about what kind of images I want to share with the world and what constitutes a story that should be shared, or otherwise kept to oneself. How much can I say about the people that inspire me? As Tupac Shakur wrote, "What of a love unspoken? Is it weaker without a name?" (oh, how ironic that I love Tupac and that poem and proclaim it so often!)
Ultimately, there's so many questions to contemplate when you create something, especially in considering the consequences that come as a result of its completion. The wonderful thing about art is that you can choose to let that element of questioning direct the entirety of your process, or you can sporadically find fulfilling ways of freeing yourself from it. As with everything, it's a balance of this that leads to some of the best works of art and music ....
My surreal work is often the result of a line that blurs in art, sometimes, between a piece being therapeutic for myself alone versus for others. Although I love painting portraits, playing with realism, rich colors and textures, etc., those things don't always allow me to communicate the scenes in my head. They also restrict me because they are often re-creations of things that we've seen before -- some of my work can be that way, but not all!
I guess, as a result, my sadness manifests in really unexpected places. Things that don't have very much to do with my life will upset me .. people's stories sometimes become these concrete metaphors in my mind and I don't know what to do with those metaphors except paint. There are so many people who are close to me who fall into unexpected, life-changing circumstances and I sometimes wonder what I would do in their situation -- I wonder even more how I managed to get where I am now without the experiences they've had, when our circumstances tend to run parallel. I wonder how much more love I would've had to have shown in order for things to be different for them. How much of that "unspoken" love should I have vocalized? How much love can you put into words? Or rather, your own words? I don't want to describe this as a feeling "insufficient", because it's not that. It's more or less a desire to give someone instructions to find one of those previously mentioned "happiness reserves" and then let them do with it what they need.
Gooooodness, and then I think about constructionist theories and language, which cater to questions like .... does the world only exist to the extent in which we can define it? In one of the conversations I was part of awhile back, a guy mentioned the significance of describing things as they "are" when dealing with Western culture, whereas indigenous cultures tend to define things by what they "are not". Do our realities differ on the basis of how we choose to understand the world? Is there no one human experience? etc. etc. etc. The initial painting of this piece was built on thoughts like these before I found personal experiences to reflect on.
"...even after seeing that the last remaining space I associated with an old friend got completely renovated recently..."
This. This is one of those personal experiences. I think a lot about the nostalgic atmospheres that can saturate a room -- the memories that are never undone until a place is transformed. There's a story I have yet to really go in depth on because it doesn't really have anything to do with me; however, I feel like it will have reached a point of social death if I let it escape my mind. I don't know what I'm going to do with this story, except maybe allude to it in the things I create ... in this way, I tend to think of painting as an outlet or catalyst for prayer. Or maybe it's the result of it. Whatever the case ... the case, the uncertainty of which never fails to brings tears to my eyes, weight on my heart and scatter my thoughts, even now .... I so so so hope things are well for you. I'm trying to picture that they are. That goes for all the you's .....
My final reflective thought when I created this was about the emotions I've nearly always maintained......whether or not I'm now an adult with the emotions of a child.... or if I was just a child with the sensitivity of an adult.... the consistency in what tugs at my heartstrings is kind of fascinating to think about.
Finally, with regard to the content of this picture:
We could call this my usual mix of absolute bliss and impending chaos. He seems to be a recurring character in my work ... much like a younger version of the "green man" I painted awhile back in "Our Cousin of Death". Maybe he tells his own story ....
Acrylics on 36"x24" canvas.
This piece feels a little like eye contact that says too much. It makes me anxious, though, kind of in a wonderfully uncertain way... it comes with the knowledge that, eventually, I'll learn to cope a little more with the fear that comes with vulnerability. As art draws more people into my life and more "fans", it makes me think a little more thoroughly about what kind of images I want to share with the world and what constitutes a story that should be shared, or otherwise kept to oneself. How much can I say about the people that inspire me? As Tupac Shakur wrote, "What of a love unspoken? Is it weaker without a name?" (oh, how ironic that I love Tupac and that poem and proclaim it so often!)
Ultimately, there's so many questions to contemplate when you create something, especially in considering the consequences that come as a result of its completion. The wonderful thing about art is that you can choose to let that element of questioning direct the entirety of your process, or you can sporadically find fulfilling ways of freeing yourself from it. As with everything, it's a balance of this that leads to some of the best works of art and music ....
My surreal work is often the result of a line that blurs in art, sometimes, between a piece being therapeutic for myself alone versus for others. Although I love painting portraits, playing with realism, rich colors and textures, etc., those things don't always allow me to communicate the scenes in my head. They also restrict me because they are often re-creations of things that we've seen before -- some of my work can be that way, but not all!
Recently, I did a live-painting dealio at Jefferson People's House again and was visited by a few fantastic people. In particular, two artists/poets I respect and admire stopped in and hung out for awhile, though I wish they would have done so at the same time so they could have met one another! Rocky Makes Room for Them and Donny Frank Morris ...... Rocky, who sort of indirectly launched my artistic career, and Donny, who I met at the first Goody Night and on a few other subsequent occasions.
I think that just talking to Donny inspired some part of me to pay a visit to my recently neglected imagination -- he's entertainingly entangled in his own artistic process that is much more creative than my own (perhaps because it's also more destructive!). I'll *link to his graphic novel Chained Gun at the bottom of all this; I don't know him too well, but I already get the sense that he's one of the coolest people I'll ever meet!
Anyway, I've been working on this particular piece since around October, making few major strides and deviating heavily from the original concept. Maybe after talking with Donny about creativity, or receiving bittersweet news about someone I care for, or even after seeing that the last remaining space I associated with an old friend got completely renovated recently .... somewhere in all that I mustered a few hours of motivation to finish. I also realized I needed to feel a little sad in order for this piece to be effective.... and I don't often feel sad these days because of this rogue, horribly sunny disposition I've developed and unhinged on the world. It's as though I have reserves of happiness and heartfelt joy stored up all over the place .... (some of the days I've had lately are beyond words! This description would be a hundred miles longer if I even tried to explain, haha)
I think that just talking to Donny inspired some part of me to pay a visit to my recently neglected imagination -- he's entertainingly entangled in his own artistic process that is much more creative than my own (perhaps because it's also more destructive!). I'll *link to his graphic novel Chained Gun at the bottom of all this; I don't know him too well, but I already get the sense that he's one of the coolest people I'll ever meet!
Anyway, I've been working on this particular piece since around October, making few major strides and deviating heavily from the original concept. Maybe after talking with Donny about creativity, or receiving bittersweet news about someone I care for, or even after seeing that the last remaining space I associated with an old friend got completely renovated recently .... somewhere in all that I mustered a few hours of motivation to finish. I also realized I needed to feel a little sad in order for this piece to be effective.... and I don't often feel sad these days because of this rogue, horribly sunny disposition I've developed and unhinged on the world. It's as though I have reserves of happiness and heartfelt joy stored up all over the place .... (some of the days I've had lately are beyond words! This description would be a hundred miles longer if I even tried to explain, haha)
I guess, as a result, my sadness manifests in really unexpected places. Things that don't have very much to do with my life will upset me .. people's stories sometimes become these concrete metaphors in my mind and I don't know what to do with those metaphors except paint. There are so many people who are close to me who fall into unexpected, life-changing circumstances and I sometimes wonder what I would do in their situation -- I wonder even more how I managed to get where I am now without the experiences they've had, when our circumstances tend to run parallel. I wonder how much more love I would've had to have shown in order for things to be different for them. How much of that "unspoken" love should I have vocalized? How much love can you put into words? Or rather, your own words? I don't want to describe this as a feeling "insufficient", because it's not that. It's more or less a desire to give someone instructions to find one of those previously mentioned "happiness reserves" and then let them do with it what they need.
Gooooodness, and then I think about constructionist theories and language, which cater to questions like .... does the world only exist to the extent in which we can define it? In one of the conversations I was part of awhile back, a guy mentioned the significance of describing things as they "are" when dealing with Western culture, whereas indigenous cultures tend to define things by what they "are not". Do our realities differ on the basis of how we choose to understand the world? Is there no one human experience? etc. etc. etc. The initial painting of this piece was built on thoughts like these before I found personal experiences to reflect on.
"...even after seeing that the last remaining space I associated with an old friend got completely renovated recently..."
This. This is one of those personal experiences. I think a lot about the nostalgic atmospheres that can saturate a room -- the memories that are never undone until a place is transformed. There's a story I have yet to really go in depth on because it doesn't really have anything to do with me; however, I feel like it will have reached a point of social death if I let it escape my mind. I don't know what I'm going to do with this story, except maybe allude to it in the things I create ... in this way, I tend to think of painting as an outlet or catalyst for prayer. Or maybe it's the result of it. Whatever the case ... the case, the uncertainty of which never fails to brings tears to my eyes, weight on my heart and scatter my thoughts, even now .... I so so so hope things are well for you. I'm trying to picture that they are. That goes for all the you's .....
My final reflective thought when I created this was about the emotions I've nearly always maintained......whether or not I'm now an adult with the emotions of a child.... or if I was just a child with the sensitivity of an adult.... the consistency in what tugs at my heartstrings is kind of fascinating to think about.
We could call this my usual mix of absolute bliss and impending chaos. He seems to be a recurring character in my work ... much like a younger version of the "green man" I painted awhile back in "Our Cousin of Death". Maybe he tells his own story ....
______________________________________________________________________________
Miscellaneous:
I started this piece before this song really peaked my interests, but I love it ... looking back, it reminds me of this piece:
Miscellaneous:
*You can purchase Donny Frank's Chained Gun series on Amazon if you're interested!:
www.amazon.com/Chained-Gun-Don…I started this piece before this song really peaked my interests, but I love it ... looking back, it reminds me of this piece:
"How many roads must a man walk down
Before he's called a man?
Tell me, how many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand?
Tell me, how many times must the cannonballs fly
Before they're forever banned?
No, the answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind
The answer: blowin' in the wind
How many times must a man look above
Before he sees the sky
Tell me, how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry
What I wanna know is
How many deaths will it take 'til he knows
Too many people have died
Oh, the
No, the answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind
The answer: somewhere in the the wind
How many years can a mountain exist
Before it's washed out to the sea
Tell me, how many years can people exist
Before they are allowed to be free
How many times can a man turn his head
Pretending that he just doesn't see
Oh, the answer, my friend, blowin' in whe wind
The answer: blowin' in the wind
Blowin' in the wind, blowin' in the wind
The answer: somewhere in the wind
That answer is somewhere in the wind"
Before he's called a man?
Tell me, how many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand?
Tell me, how many times must the cannonballs fly
Before they're forever banned?
No, the answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind
The answer: blowin' in the wind
How many times must a man look above
Before he sees the sky
Tell me, how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry
What I wanna know is
How many deaths will it take 'til he knows
Too many people have died
Oh, the
No, the answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind
The answer: somewhere in the the wind
How many years can a mountain exist
Before it's washed out to the sea
Tell me, how many years can people exist
Before they are allowed to be free
How many times can a man turn his head
Pretending that he just doesn't see
Oh, the answer, my friend, blowin' in whe wind
The answer: blowin' in the wind
Blowin' in the wind, blowin' in the wind
The answer: somewhere in the wind
That answer is somewhere in the wind"
Image size
4151x2761px 15.29 MB
Make
SONY
Model
DSC-H55
Shutter Speed
1/250 second
Aperture
F/3.5
Focal Length
4 mm
ISO Speed
80
Date Taken
Jan 13, 2015, 9:11:36 AM
© 2015 - 2024 Mivala
Comments2
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I admire your ability to have so much to say about art and one piece of work. It's what can make it more interesting, beautiful, deep, meaningful, making the viewer relate to the art more, because ultimately we're all human and have our often similar human experience of life no matter how we decide to express it. I often struggle to write things about my work or even simply to my ID description. Maybe it's because I haven't formulated my thoughts to a degree where they would have an aim, point, meaning. Thank you for bothering to write what you did - it was refreshing, although I did not read everything.