"Faces": Painting Collection

I've been re-displaying, modifying and grouping many of my works lately (inspired in part by the art collective Art & Language's Index 01 piece), and will be posting photos as I work through my pieces.

Here is a collection of three paintings, (two of which I've posted about before), called "Faces."

Titles are as follows:

Top Left: "Hot Mess"
Top Right: "Ophelia"
Bottom: "Jazz"

Zoe Beloff: Memory and Past Ghosts

I had the distinct pleasure of meeting Zoe Beloff a few years ago and seeing her 3-D projection of Charming Augustine. I am continually inspired by her incredibly intriguing work. Beloff works with many media, including "film, projection performance, installation and drawing. She considers herself a medium, an interface between the living and the dead, the real and the imaginary." Beloff explores the space between the living and the dead with fervor and without fear. She truly delves into that which fascinates her and dedicates herself to exploration through her art. She has a distinct style and subject matter, which are unique to her point of view in the world. 

Beloff's Charming Augustine is a 3-D projection on B&W film. The use of stereoscopic projection made the work seem haunted, fragile and phantasmagoric. "The film is inspired by series of photographs and texts on hysteria published by the great insane asylum in Paris in the 1880's under the title of the Iconographie photographique de la Salpetriere. It is an experimental narrative... [that] explores connections between attempts to document [Augustine's] mental states and the prehistory of narrative film." Though I saw the work years ago, I clearly remember the sense of wonder and amazement I felt upon viewing. 

Beloff, Charming Augustine

It reminded me of the first time I saw a 3-D film in Korea, which is a long and reflective story that requires another post or outlet. What remains with me if Beloff's ability to evoke the past and memories with her work. She does this through the form and content of her work, but also through her careful examination of the medium, and the experience that the chosen medium will grant to the viewer. I'm currently in the process of carefully poring through Beloff's interactive video installation, titled The Influencing Machine of Miss Natalija A. It's captivating. Experience it yourself. 

Seeing and Interpreting: Casey Reas and Material

It amazes me how everyone has a different way of seeing the same thing. We are so immersed in our own worlds that at times it is difficult to comprehend that someone else may interpret the same thing in a completely different manner. This brings us back to the old childhood argument that I'm sure many have discussed, what me and my friends (incorrectly) coined "color theory": what if the blue that I see is actually your green? I remember sitting, dazed  and frightened almost for hours. What if the world as I see it is not the same as you see it? But it is this diversity of vision and interpretation, the various unique "lenses" that we each wear, that brings a colorful diversity and variability to the world. 

Reas, Material, Structure #003A

A beautiful way of conceptualizing the different "lenses" that individuals see through is by using different media to demonstrate a single concept. New media artist, Casey Reas does this in his own way through software art. His piece, Material, uses "the same structure in different languages." He articulates: 

Reas, Material, Structure #003B

"Artists use a wide range of materials to great effect: leather, honey, blood, oil, steel, felt, latex, paper, rubber, plastic, bones, cotton, concrete, glass, ceramics, copper, etc. The choice of material affects the perception of the work and therefore a careful choice is critical to success. Artists working with the software medium also use a wide range of materials: Java, C++, Perl, PHP, BASIC, LISP, PostScript, Python, etc. These software materials are not as familiar to most people as the physical materials mentioned above, but regardless, the choice of programming language greatly affects the perception of a piece of software...For this project, one structure was implemented in three different software materials to isolate the similarities and differences between each."

Watching these videos, side-by-side illuminates the fact that different languages, different programs, different lenses, different people, all interpret and therefore, see and produce things differently. I don't sense a hierarchy of which language or POV is better when I watch this. I find myself, rather, appreciating the subtle differences that are the result of "translation" between different softwares in this work. 

Watch & Compare: (Sorry, I can't embed the moving images here)

Structure #003A

Structure #003B

The other two works are written in C++, which requires you to download a program. Do that here.

Caught Red-Handed!

My newest painting ("Red-Handed") and sketches. Which hand came first? It is always so interesting to see the effects of a medium (essentially a "language") on a singular concept. I'll be elaborating on the concept of "translation" of a single concept in a future post, as I discuss the work of new media artist, Casey Reas. For now, compare and contrast. Feel free to send me an e-mail with comments, critiques, etc.

Scene Sketch

A preliminary sketch. Interesting characters who cavort with and provoke one another.

Drawing by Minhae Shim

Ophelia: Painting and Sketch

My new painting, Ophelia, and a sketch.

               

Maya Lin: A Strong, Clear Vision

Last week, I watched the Academy Award-winning documentary (Maya Lin: A Strong, Clear Vision) on Maya Lin, the Chinese-American artist who designed the Vietnam War Memorial. I was impressed by Lin's faith in the sheer simplicity of design and geometry in all of her work. Her aesthetic embraces the elements of the earth and it also reflects her grasp of the philosophy of her work.

One thing that I noticed and found fascinating in the film was Lin's transformation and maturation that took place on screen. When Lin was contacted that she won the Vietnam Memorial competition, she gave a speech in which she was confused ("I don't really know what's going on"), awkward and giggling. She was in her early twenties, a student at Yale who didn't quite understand the battle that was going to ensue.

What I found fascinating was the complete change in her speaking and self-presentation at the 10-year anniversary of the building of the memorial. Lin was a completely different speaker: mature, somber, humble, calm. Speaking is the precursor to writing, and I believe writing is of the utmost important to an artist. To be able to express your vision, and thoughts in a coherent way is vital to presenting your work. People's can't engage or be interested in your work if you can't explain it (or at least articulate that you can't explain it either). The film made visible Lin's transformation and maturation as an artist through the way she spoke and presented herself throughout the years.

Getting Lost: A Day Without Time

Time, that man-made element upon which we rely so faithfully, helps ground us. It is a dimension upon which we judge people (you're late. you're early!), determine eligibility (deadlines) and suppose worth (we've been friends for over five years...).

And that is why, when I wanted to "get lost" in the Rebecca Solnit way, I decided to shut off, or at least avoid, anything that could determine time. That meant I avoided my phone, covered the red analog clock in my kitchen, didn't look at my e-mail or the news, and didn't ask Danny "what time is it?"

In this limbo period, I found myself yearning to do activities that involved immersion: the type of activities in which you need all day to do anyways. I took out a sculpture I've been developing for months now: a sculpture made of discarded cigarette boxes. I played with the boxes, formulating a new structure. I took up the entire living room floor and was completely taken. When I hit a stopping point, I watched a film, blinds drawn. I was in that dark, womb-like state of immersion, where time and location, and self and other, float in a strange suspension.

I suppose that without the numerical system of hours, minutes and seconds, we still find ways to locate our sense of time and place. I could still see the change of light in the sky (though it was raining, so it was difficult to determine what a change of light actually meant). I knew that the end of a movie meant that a few hours had passed by. But while the passing of time usually yields some sort of emotion, whether it anxiety or joy, on this day, it did not. I accepted that I was in a different time. I found myself saying, "Okay" and nodding my head.

Getting lost by losing time was a valuable experiment. I imposed less structure on myself without time to validate my urgency. I moved more slowly than usual. I got less done. But the lack of urgency allowed me to spend time with a project I had retired for a while. Getting lost lets me float. I can focus on the current, not on the past or the future. To get lost is to immerse myself: in a project, in a person, a an image. And that sense of loss is actually what will lead to an organic focus. 

Sans Soleil, and the Act of Remembering

"Lost at the end of the world, on my island Sal, in the company of my dogs strutting around, I remember January in Tokyo, or rather I remember the images that I filmed in January in Tokyo. They have put themselves in the place of my memory, they are my memory. I ask myself how people remember if they do not make movies, or photographs, or tapes, how mankind used to go about remembering."
- Chris Marker, an excerpt taken from an essay about his film Sans Soleil

Continuing on the theme of experimental film that I've been delving into, Marker's San Soleil is a film that explores the construction of memory. The fickle act of remembering, combined with the limitations of the mind and its vulnerability to even the most subtle of influences, results in a history and narrative that is fluid and susceptible. The film meditates on the meaning of time, memory and existence.

The structure of the film itself has cause debate about its genre: travelogue, essay-film, documentary. The work incorporates fictional elements. It is a compilation of thoughts, reflections and images from Japan and Guinea-Bissau, among other locations. The used some found footage, but most of it was shot on location. The film is narrated by a women, who reads letter sent to her from the supposed cinematographer. I've only seen clips of this film, but have discovered that Criterion has released and reviewed the film. Here is a clip below:

Kaleidoscope (1935) by Len Lye

Len Lye (1901-1980) was known for his work with experimental film and kinetic sculpture. In Kaleidoscope, he painted (and by painted, I also mean scratched, stenciled and cut holes in) directly onto the film strip, creating an animated, mesmerizing sequence. The combination of playful music and the lively shapes and colors is truly hypnotizing. It's hard to look away! Seriously. 

The remediation that Lye is performing is also very interesting: remediating painting through film. I've always enjoyed works that address the context of a medium, and also execute that intention in a lighthearted yet skillful way. Len Lye's legacy is survived by the Len Lye Foundation, which is based in New Zealand, his homeland.