Bigger on the Inside

"Protosystems" installed at Transformer.

After a couple of months of non-stop research, experimentation, and late nights in the studio (also, countless carafes of coffee), my new piece "Protosystems" is installed at Transformer in DC and is on view November 2 to November 30, 2013. With the help of a timer, the motorized installation is running 8am to midnight, Tuesday through Saturday.

At the time I was invited to create work for the gallery's storefront window space, I was reading about asteroids and the variety of efforts, scientific and commercial, to capture an asteroid and bring it closer to Earth. It occurred to me to imagine the possibility of an asteroid being captured for artistic purposes. I wondered, "What if Transformer acquired an asteroid?" That thought led me to imagine a visual narrative, inspired by science-fiction films, that I could then take apart and reconstruct.

In reading about asteroids, I noticed how we can talk about them as if they are "objects" to be acquired and as if they are "worlds" to be explored. They are just the right size to straddle the concepts of "object" and "world"; it is as if a person could simultaneously stand outside and inside of an asteroid.  I tried to present this ambiguous scale relationship by including a large-ish asteroid in the piece (it is roughly 2 cubic feet). Seen inside Transformer's storefront, it is presented as though the gallery acquired the object from outer space and brought it down to Earth for passersby to see. I also made a small, scale model of the gallery (about an inch tall) and placed it on the sculpted asteroid with one of the piece's cameras pointed at it.  It can be seen on the third television monitor from the left, sitting under a transparent dome as if it were the first art gallery in outer space. ART. IN. SPAAAAACE! (Sorry, that had to be done.)

Work in progress documentation of the Transformer model.

One of my goals with Protosystems was to create an opportunity for visitors to project themselves into space. Stephanie Booth, a DC based artist who is a friend and fellow GMU graduate, was kind enough to write about this aspect of my piece on her blog perstef. In the post, she writes that the installation"... plays with (the) possibility of infinite space while in confinement." I find it very helpful to hear others' words about my artwork (and, of course, I am always deeply grateful when someone takes the time to respond to the things I make) because they can provide a fresh perspective, identify problem areas, or spark a fresh approach. In this case, the words succinctly sum up a theme that I try to articulate myself: the attempt to use the imagination to create a vast world within the confines of a small physical space. In other words, I am trying to make something bigger on the inside than on the outside. Perhaps the most captivating presentation of this idea is found in the time-space machines used by the Gallifreyans in the British science fiction television series "Doctor Who", which, as you may have guessed, I grew up watching.

An Experiment

Back in July, after consultations with trusted mentors, I decided to take a semester off from teaching and dedicate all my time to working in the studio. The past three months have given me the opportunity to learn how to structure my working hours and what I need to do to stay motivated and productive. Extended time alone in my studio has revealed strengths and weaknesses in my approach to art-making.

During this time, I have also been training to run my first marathon at the end of October.  Learning to run long distances has taught me new ways to manage my studio practice.  For example, to keep from getting bored while running, it is a good idea to change pace--in fact, although it seems counter-intuitive, it is helpful to speed up when boredom or tiredness hits.  Running faster for a mile or two before easing back into a slower pace makes the slower pace seem easier by comparison and gives me confidence that I'm not yet at the end of my resources. The approach of speeding up works also for me in the studio when I feel bored or tired of some activity, whether rendering form or sanding wood.  If I can get myself to work faster, to infuse my activity with energy from the whole body instead of just the wrist or elbow, my interest is often renewed and I sometimes surprise myself with just how quickly a task can be accomplished.

Perhaps the most obvious lesson from marathon training that applies to art-making is knowing that the race can be finished.  At this point in my marathon training, the farthest I have run is 22 miles.  Even though I know that, on race day, I will still have 4.2 miles more to go once I reach the 22 mile marker, I am confident that I can reach the finish line.  Although this lesson is an obvious one to apply to making art, it is a difficult one for me experience emotionally.  I struggle to believe that I can finish a new project in a way that will be successful (whatever that means!).  I am dogged by feelings of insecurity and a lack of confidence in my decisions and artistic abilities.  My hope for myself over the next few months of time alone in my studio is that I can apply my experience of running and finishing a marathon to my daily art practice, confident that, although the work is difficult and the outcome uncertain, I can finish strong.

Reflections on Einstein's Space

I am finally reading “How the Universe Got its Spots” by astrophysicist and writer Janna Levin.  Written as a series of diary entries, Levin mingles her reflections on the nature of space and time with personal stories.

At times, Levin’s personal and theoretical reflections merge in poignant ways.  Describing a series of moves that left her feeling untethered, Levin writes, “We keep moving.  Moving, moving, moving.”  Maybe Levin is simply conveying a feeling of unease that accompanies frequent relocations, but it’s hard not to imagine she is also describing a greater reality: Einstein’s rejection of any fixed frame of reference.  In Einstein’s model, no one is tethered; nothing is fixed.

As I reflect on Levin’s description of Einstein’s theory of gravity, two concepts seem to be at the heart of his description of reality: continuity and contact.  Before Einstein’s theories, Newton’s mathematical model was the best explanation of the effects of gravity. In Newton’s model, two masses fall towards one another, attracted to each other across empty space.  By contrast, Einstein imagines space as a geometrical structure that is bent, curved, and re-shaped by mass and energy.  Space is contiguous, like a bed sheet, or water in a swimming pool.  In Newton’s model, space is nothing.  In Einstein’s model, space is something, and, in fact, objects are always in contact with space.  Continuity.  Contact.  Einstein’s model of the nature of reality evokes a more intimate relationship between matter and space than Newton’s model.

Now I am wondering how to work with the conception of space as a continuous medium that connects everything in the universe....

This Week at GMU

Stephanie Booth is having her thesis show this week (March 25 to 29) in the main gallery of the Art and Design Building at George Mason University. I met Stephanie when I was working on my MFA at George Mason and I am excited to see the culmination of her work.

One of the themes Stephanie's thesis explores is the effect of past information on identity. Stephanie dug deep into family genealogy and history and, as one would expect, uncovered surprising stories about people related to her. Her source material includes family photos and text of family history, but often the work required Stephanie to place herself into other family members' identities, as though she were an actor playing a role. Sometimes the "characters" are endearing or benevolently powerful and other times cruel or inhuman, in other words, the full range of family relations is on display.

Stephanie uses human hair throughout the show, both as a medium (yes, that embroidery is made with real human hair) and a metaphor for identity and lineage. She employs photography, embroidery, and video installation to present her exploration of identity and family history with the detached aesthetic of a forensic scientist, and this cool presentation is the perfect counterpoint to her strategy of including herself in some of the photos and videos.

There is a whisper that accompanies the large video installation and it fills the gallery as I look at the backs of heads in a series of photographs. I almost feel that I am surrounded by ghosts and as I leave the gallery, I remember that family is family, whether I like it or not.

Ideal Lunar Landscapes

"Ideal Lunar Landscapes" is the title of my solo show at Rivermont Studio. The title comes from the caption below one of the plates from the 1874 book "The Moon: Considered as a Planet, a World, and a Satellite" written by James Carpenter and James Nasmyth. I was introduced to the book during graduate school and it has been on my mind ever since. I like how Nasmyth created the images of lunar landscapes by building and photographing plaster models based on his observations of the Moon seen through his telescope.

Some time after making "Walk-in Crater", I realized that I had stumbled into the territory of landscape painting. I began to re-read the history of landscape painting, reacquainting myself with the variety of ways of seeing the relationship between humans and nature. When I was offered an opportunity to show my work at Rivermont Studio, I decided I wanted to make a series of paintings and contraptions using a language of landscape painting to picture the Moon. But which language to choose? How might a landscape painter make images of new worlds and new frontiers?  

My palette for painting lunar landscapes begins to look like a landscape itself.

I soon settled on drawing inspiration from Albert Bierstadt's large-scale paintings of the American western frontier. Part of the appeal of Bierstadt's paintings is the fact that they are fictions. Even though Bierstadt twice accompanied expeditions to the west and saw the geography there first-hand, the finished paintings are composite images based on sketches, embellished with his mastery of portraying light and atmosphere.  

Bierstadt's paintings of the west offer a distinctly American way of looking at land and space. Portraying U.S. westward expansion as a pre-ordained inevitability, Bierstadt's paintings function as trophies for the railroad companies who commissioned Bierstadt to make images of the land conquered by the Transcontinental Railroad ("Donner Lake From the Summit", 1873 is a good example). The paintings also function as advertisements for tourists, showing the view that could be seen from the comfort of a train.  

My new paintings and contraptions combine the approaches of Nasmyth and Bierstadt, two masters of constructing landscapes. The images of the Moon in my exhibition are based on images of Nasmyth's plaster models of the lunar surface rather than images of the Moon from NASA. Elements from Bierstadt's landscape paintings are incorporated into the Nasmyth images to investigate how an American vision of land and space might be applied to new frontier lands such as the Moon.   

"Ideal Lunar Landscapes" is on view at Rivermont Studio, February 1 -- March 10, 2013.  More information about the gallery can be found under "News" on my website.

"Panorama of an Ideal Lunar Landscape" under construction.

Back in Time: Bolivian Shoeshiners

In October I collaborated with Edgar Endress again, creating a set of pen and ink drawings and an acrylic painting on wood panel.

Drawings in progress. Note the book of toile de jouy open for inspiration.

In 2007, Edgar was working as one of the members of the ASCHOY Collective, conducting artistic research and social engagements in La Paz, Bolivia. The collective created a series of pieces exploring the social-political significance of the ski mask worn by the young boys working as shoeshiners on the streets of La Paz. One of the collective's actions was to create a ski mask embroidered with Bolivian religious imagery. The embroidered mask was used in public performances during which local shoeshiners were invited to wear the mask while walking the streets of La Paz followed by a musical band. The project was called "The Mask of the Shoe Shiner" and the photos of the performances are at once funny and poignant (be sure to scroll down the pdf for a look).

Recently, the ASCHOY Collective was invited to participate in a group show entitled "Ripple Effect: Currents of Socially Engaged Art", co-presented by the Art Museum of the Americas and the Washington Project for the Arts.  Edgar invited me to create new artwork to accompany an installation of the photographic documentation and the embroidered ski mask from "The Mask of the Shoe Shiner".

The completed set of drawings ready to be scanned and printed as wallpaper.  

I made pen drawings using the aesthetic language of toile de jouy, substituting shoeshiners wearing ski masks, cholitas, and llamas instead of mythical figures and aristocrats at their leisure.  The drawings were scanned and then arranged into a pattern that was printed as wall paper.

Acrylic painting on found wood to be used as a kind of altar piece.

I also painted a kind of altar piece on found wood.  The figures are inspired by the angelic figures of Michelangelo's "Last Judgement" on the wall of the Sistine Chapel, except, in my painting, the angels are wearing ski masks and carrying the tools of the shoeshiner.  More photos of the work in progress can be seen on my Tumblr page. While researching the kinds of tools and clothing used by the Bolivian shoeshiners, I came across a short documentary entitled "Shoe Shiners in Bolivia" that quickly gave me a sense of the daily life of a shoeshiner.

The completed acrylic painting ready for installation.

"The Mask of the Shoe Shiner" is on view at the Art Museum of the Americas October 25, 2012 to January 13, 2013.

Back in Time: A Dream at the Maier Museum

"The Shrine of the American Dream", 2012, installed at the Maier Museum.

Panorama of "The Shrine of the American Dream" with Brooke, Edgar, and me.

I spent the summer painting images of US patent designs onto panels made from found wood.  I describe the project in more detail in a previous blog post. The project is entitled "The Shrine of the American Dream" and is the brainchild of Edgar Endress who invited Brooke Marcy, Marco Moreno Navarro, and I to contribute to the installation.

"The Shrine of the American Dream" is on view until December 7, 2012 at the Maier Museum of Art, Lynchburg, VA as part of the museum's annual exhibition of contemporary art. The show includes work by artists Sook Jin Jo, Assaf Evron, Muriel Hasbun, Jiha Moon, and Kukuli Velarde.

Me looking as though I did the whole project myself.

 One of my contributions to the installation: US Patent No. 232,233, helmet from a fireman's suit, 1880.

Detail showing one of Marcus Moreno Navarro's exquisite sculptures.  

Back in Time: New Digs

New studio.  Plastic covers the existing carpet.

Since moving out of the studio I used as a graduate student at GMU in August, 2012, I have been using a spare bedroom as a studio. The floor is covered with heavy plastic followed by a layer of cheap carpet on top, hopefully preventing any paint from leaking onto the permanent carpet underneath. Although the footprint of my new studio is smaller than the space I used for the past three years, I am able to fit in all of the essentials: the taboret, the drafting table, a work table, and an easel for large paintings. Of course, as soon as all my supplies were moved in, and the room filled with the smell of linseed oil, I felt right at home in the new space.

New studio.  The taboret appreciates the window view.

Back in Time: The Last Painting

Patching holes, sanding bumps, and painting walls at my old studio, GMU, August 2012.

My last act of painting as a graduate student at GMU was to paint the walls of the studio I occupied. Three years of stray marks from drawings and paintings, splattered gesso and graphite dust covered every surface. The walls were also riddled with holes made by push pins, nails, and screws. All of the marks and punctures captured by the walls revealed a brief history of personal artistic struggle (or maybe just general goofing off).

Watching the marks on the walls disappear as I applied the final coat of paint was like watching a heavy snowfall slowly covering the Fall's debris of brown, skeletal leaves and grass, making the landscape new and fresh, and filling the air with a welcome stillness.   

Lights out.  Final view of the window in the studio I used as a graduate student at GMU.

Opening Reception at Open Space Gallery

Walk-in Crater as seen from the camera's point of view.

One of my contraptions, Walk-in Crater, will be exhibited beside the work of seven other artists at Open Space Gallery in Baltimore, MD. The show is titled Future Daze and an opening reception starting at 8:00 pm will be held Saturday, September 8th at Open Space Gallery.

"Walkin Crater" installed at Open Space Gallery

As the press release states, the work in the show examines contemporary reality by presenting investigations into and experiments with possible alternate realities or imagined future worlds.  

All is quiet in the crater, for now . . . .

Walk-in Crater is part of a series of contraptions that I have been making as an investigation into the nature of reality. For me, each piece in the series is a little reality experiment. I borrow heavily from the techniques developed by special effects artists to create fictional landscapes imagined on alien planets. I use that language of illusion-making to explore the connection between everyday reality and the fundamental structures behind reality as described by the physics of quantum mechanics and relativity.  In July 2012, I did a Q&A with Whitney Dail on her blog Jumpsuits & Teleporters (which, by the way, is an excellent resource for the overlap of science and art) and I talked a bit more about my interest in physics.

Painting Patents on Panels

US Patent No. 163,422, Life-Preserver.

During the summer I worked on a collaborative project entitled "The Shrine of the American Dream".  The project, conceived by artist Edgar Endress, takes a critical approach to narratives of prosperity for all, the so-called "American dream".  Schematic diagrams culled from U.S. patent files are painted on wood panels extracted from demolished, repaired, or abandoned houses.  The patent images and the wood from old houses are seen as visual manifestations of failed attempts at individual success and self-sufficiency, in other words, failures of the American dream.

Panels ready for installation.

At the beginning of the summer, Edgar invited painter Brooke Marcy and I to help complete the 200 panel pantings needed for the project. Sculptor Marco Moreno Navarro was also invited by Edgar to participate in the project, contributing two exquisitely detailed sculptures inspired by patent designs for protective suits.

The patents were chosen for their ability to protect the body or to extend the body's ability to endure dangerous environments. Many of the images are designs (or re-designs) for fire-protection suits or underwater suits. We also looked for patents intended to re-shape the human body--often taking the form of women's undergarments resembling medieval torture devices.   Overall, the patents chosen present attempts to increase self-sufficiency and to re-invent the self.

    

Panels clamped, waiting for glue to dry.

"The Shrine of the American Dream" will be installed at the Maier Museum of Art as part of their annual exhibition of contemporary art. This year, the show is entitled "Bridges Not Walls" and is open August, 31 to December 7, 2012. 

Panel painted and ready for pen.

This life preserver from 1883 (US Patent No. 281,824) might have worked better as a "CamelBak" for coffee.

Protons Explode in Head-on Collision, Investigators Uncertain Whether Higgs Made it Out Alive

An uncertain cat enjoying a few light-night bosons.

I have titled this blog post with the headline I might use if I were writing a newspaper article covering today's announcement of the discovery of a new particle.  For me, the significance of CERN's update today on the search for the Higgs boson is that the universe is still full of mysteries.  I get the sense that human understanding of the fundamental nature of the universe is at a beginning rather than an end.  It seems that physicists are more excited about the possible questions the LHC collision data raises than in the questions the data potentially answers.  At a press conference in Geneva, CERN Director-General Rolf Heuer said, "We have discovered a new particle: a boson.  Most probably a Higgs boson, but we have to find out which kind of Higgs boson it is.  Does it have the properties which we expect from the Standard Model?  If not, what are its properties?  And where do they point to?"


As a layman, it is a challenge to understand what particle physicists are saying about the recent analysis of data collected by the LHC detectors, but here's my attempt:  Evidence of a new boson has been detected, but its characteristics are unknown.  It is not yet certain that this boson matches any of the predictions made using the theoretical models that describe matter and forces at the smallest scales; in fact, this boson may be something entirely new.  In any case, many more experiments will need to be conducted. 


I am reminded that the cosmos is full of unexplored territory.  CERN's announcement today evokes the wonder I experienced as a kid watching Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock gaze into the Enterprise's viewing screen looking for uncharted worlds.  After today, I hope that words like "boson" and "lepton" seep into everyday conversation at least as deeply as "phaser" and "warp speed".   

Writing

"Long Voyage" under construction.

There are only two weeks left until the end of my time as a graduate student.  As always, the end of the semester is a busy time.  I am working long hours to finish the written requirement for my Masters of Fine Arts.  Although the educational experiences for a graduate student in art culminate in the thesis exhibition (a display of the art work the student has been developing for two and a half years) written documentation about the work is expected.  Writing provides an opportunity for me to look at my work at a distance and to reflect on the strange, often confusing path I wended to my thesis show.

It is a challenge to use a linear structure to describe my fragmented creative process.  The work I created for my thesis show was not the result of singular thoughts leading directly to finished work.  Instead, the pieces in  the show came together around a collection of ideas and interests in a process similar to the way planets form.  My interests in physics, math, philosophy, and science fiction exerted a sort of gravitational pull on a variety of media, techniques, and methods.  A landscape painting would emerge next to a pile of electronics slowly coalescing into a mechanism aspiring to give life to a foam planet.  Nearby a cone made of corrugated cardboard would be scrutinized by a video camera looking for the point of view that would transform the scale of the cardboard cone into a large, empty corridor.  In a corner a few wooden boards have been cut, sanded, and screwed together forming a vertical frame to hold a sheet of glass ready for Pepper's ghost.  And there books lying on the floor: a small book of poems by Kay Ryan, a textbook on modern physics, a history of matte paintings, a collection of Jorge Luis Borges stories.  And what is that?  A TI-81 graphing calculator?

Bits and pieces coalescing into "Latecomers to the Universe".

Because several pieces are forming simultaneously, they influence one another.  The landscape painting learns from the baking soda poured over crumpled paper, the gears driving the foam planet make suggestions to the mechanism spinning the galaxy, and a camera tells the space ship that there is such a thing as too many greebles.

As with my thesis show, I am crafting my written documentation by working on many chapters at one time.  I hope that something good will come together by the deadline on May 4.

What's New

Detail from "Behind the Sky"

A couple of my pieces will hang in a group show entitled "Elevator to the Moon: Retro-Future Visions of Space" that will be on display at Artisphere, April 4 to June 9, 2012.  The exhibition is part of Countdown to Yuri's Night, the fifth annual celebration in DC of the first human spaceflight.

Empty gallery after my MFA thesis exhibition.

The last two months since my MFA thesis exhibition have been chaotic because I moved into a new apartment closer to DC.  I had thought that moving out of my old apartment would make me sad, instead, it felt like an opportunity to begin again.  My experience of de-installing my thesis show was similar.  The collection of work on display represented two and a half years of labor.  I thought that seeing the bare gallery after I had removed my artwork would leave me with a feeling of emptiness.  Instead I left feeling confident that I could continue to create new work and put together another show.

For now, I am focusing my efforts on completing the written component of my MFA thesis that will document the meandering process of thought I traveled to arrive at my exhibition.

Last of the Televisions

I purchased the last television that I need for my show.

The last television is a flat screen, which was an advanced technology for cathode ray tube monitors not too long ago. Now this machine is cheaper than a cappuccino at any coffee shop.

I must say that once I had all of the televisions gathered together in the gallery, I was sort of hoping they would combine powers and do something awesome. I'm still waiting for the awesome.

Step by Step

View from GMU Art & Design Building, looking west.

I have nineteen working days left before my MFA thesis show opens on Monday, January 16th.  Today I felt much less anxious than I did a week ago--time spent catching up with family and friends has done me good.  Having made satisfactory headway with the one of the motorized pieces that was really giving me a headache, I spent the day painting.

I really enjoy being in the middle of a painting.  Starting a painting always seems daunting and finishing can be frustrating because there's always "one more thing" to add.  The beginning and ending of a painting are often stressful, but the middle is fun.  When I'm in the middle of a painting, I feel a sense of exploration and I loose track of time because I have enough structure that I'm not lost but not so much that there are no surprises.  

I took a break from painting this afternoon to move some of the television monitors out of my studio and into the main gallery downstairs.  I'm enjoying having a bit more room to move around.  Also, it's not so difficult to get to my coffee maker now--that's going to be increasingly important in the days ahead, I predict!

Peace

I had planned to travel to visit family during my winter break off from school.  However, last week I decided to stay home in order to continue working on unfinished pieces that will go in my MFA thesis exhibition, which opens January 16th.  I felt that I needed all of the time that I could get to bring the show together successfully. Taking a week off seemed irresponsible and so I spent the past week in the studio rather than visiting family.

Even so, I spent yesterday and today away from the studio enjoying a stay-cation with my wife.  It has been good for me to take a break, especially since I have become so keyed-up about the success of my exhibition.  I spent today catching up with family and friends by phone, Skype, and Facebook.  My head feels a little clearer today and I don't feel as anxious--today, the world does not seem like it will end if my show is a flop.  Most importantly, I feel connected to my family and friends.  Those relationships are more important than any success I will ever achieve and I need to remember that as I jump back into my frenzied production on Monday morning.

Circular Logic

One of the "contraptions" (I'm still trying to decide what to call these structures) that will appear in my MFA thesis exhibition in January requires a hula hoop.  Like the other contraptions, this one will help generate a cinematic image on a nearby television monitor.  Each contraption presents me with a set of problems that I tackle as though I were solving a puzzle or a math problem.

I begin with image that I want to generate on a television screen and then work backwards to create a structure that will produce the image.  This reverse-engineering approach always forces me to learn how to use new materials, tools, and methods.  Often I also have to crack open my old college physics textbooks and ask,  "It's V = IR, right?"    

Making things, whether the things are drawings or motorized structures, is my way of understanding the world.  This approach of stumbling along and learning things as I go ultimately makes me happy even when the process is exasperating!

Of course, it also makes me happy when these goofy contraptions work as I intend.

What a Mess

Although I prefer to have my materials organized, my studio is currently a mess because I am working on several projects at one time.   I find that the condition of my studio reflects my state of mind--at the moment, both are fragmented and cluttered.