Alexandria

Dec. 7th, 2006 04:45 pm
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Today I received an e-mail from a post-graduate (MFA) student at the University of Alexandria, Egypt. He's doing his master's on "The 3-D Illusion Effect in Printmaking". This is one of those cases where the Internet is such a wonderful thing - thanks to the web my artwork is getting scholarly attention in Egypt.
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It's an interesting leftover of colonialism that Westerners continue to look India and the Far East for "authenticity". This fetishised Orientalism is particularly bizarre in the local context of greater Vancouver where over one third of the population has ethnic and cultural roots in these "exotic" locales, yet somehow the notion persists that in order to touch some sort of authentic spirituality one must travel to India or the Far East. What authenticity did the people who moved here lose by doing so? Did it happen to me? Is my European heritage less authentic for being here?

The local aboriginal cultures here are no less rich and equally far removed from Europe as the Far East - and one need only go the lower east side to find these authentic, exotic (from a Eurocentric point of view) people living in a colonial squalor no less real than the slums of Calcutta or Hong Kong. But it is the colonial mind-set itself that precludes this. The local cannot be authentic, only the exotically far-away and foreign. But Paris is as far from Vancouver as Tokyo or Beijing. Rome is even farther. And from the colonial perspective British Columbia is as far from Europe as India or China (and harder to get to).

Yet Europe, especially the prosperous parts of Western Europe, are excluded from being exotic and "authentic" for having been the colonial source. Only impoverished areas that fell under colonial oppression like Scotland, Ireland, the formerly Soviet controlled areas and the like manage to achieve some aspect of "authenticity". Still though, the commonly noted motivations for travelling through the great cities of Europe are "culture" and "education" but never the sort of enlightenment that motivates people of European ancestry to travel to more "exotic" countries.

Europe is no more or less authentic than anywhere else on the planet. I've never understood why someone of European descent living here would be inclined to try to find personal meaning in some place that has as little to do with their ancestry as this place right here. The very word "authenticity" implies looking to the author, the source. The source of European culture and history is Europe.

And even at that, what is so inauthentic about right here? Why should any of us living here, regardless of where our ancestors hail from, be trying to copy from, report back to, catch up with, seek the approval of, etc. of any place other than here? Isn't it about time the colonial mindset of even looking for "authenticity" elsewhere was done away with entirely so we can go about simply being Vancouverites and being our own authors?
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If you've been reading here for a while, you might remember me accidentally running into an ancestor at the Art Institute of Chicago a couple of years ago. I had an idea today that inspired me to have a look around for more images of his work (I found a three good high-resolution images on-line, two from the Hermitage in St. Petersburg and one from a private auction site). Then I started looking for work by his cousin Jacob and found a couple of fun things:

While this image isn't large enough for my purposes, it struck my fancy from a Canadian perspective and a literary perspective. Jacob Huysmans moved from Belgium to England and became a fashionable painter in the court of King Charles II. This portrait is of His Highness, James, Duke of York, while he was the second governor of the Hudson's Bay Company from 1683 to 1685. In 1685 he ascended to the throne of England, Scotland and Ireland as King James II of England and King James VII of Scotland.

On the literary side, one of my favourite books is "Captain Blood" by Rafael Sabatini. This would be the James that Peter Blood was accused of treason against. BTW, if you have never seen the film adaptation with Errol Flynn (it was his first movie), find it and see it. It's the pirate movie that started all pirate movies ;-)


The winning find of the night, however, is the image below. A portrait of Bridget, Lady Kilmorey, painted sometime around 1664 (give or take a year). The image is a wonderful tie-in with what I've had in mind behind the Red Chair series, anchoring what I'm working on not only in general historical context I had in mind all along, but pulling it right back into the family. I'm very pleased with this.
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So here is a revised version of the cybergoth illustration. They wanted colourful and "more cartoony" than the sketch I did before. Hopefully this is what they are after. It was fun to do. There is real pen and ink drawing at the root of this, but - obviously - most of the time making this was spent in Photoshop. It's an unusual way for me to work and I am a little disconcerted by the fact that there is no tangible "original"... what would Walter Benjamin have to say about this?
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These doodles came out of an idle moment sometime in the summer of 2001. I was doodling and started thinking about Hogarth's line of beauty )



As you can see in the circled bits I began to think about refinement to the idea. Just what proportions would create the most beautiful curve? Note the spirals between the two areas I've hightlighted with circles - I'll come back to those.



So I started with simple proportions and forced a curve into them and wound up with a curve that, as Hogarth would characterize it, was clumsy. This is where the spirals on the other side of the page come back into play. I decided to look at golden sections inside a rectangle of simple proportions and came up with this:



The bounding box is three times as high as it is wide, and then bisected along the long axis. The remaining subdivisions are all golden section subdivisions of the original rectangle. It could stand a little more refining. The line I settled on stikes me now as a little bit clumsy still. I believe at this point it would work better if the bounding box itself was based on the golden section in the same proportions as a person's shoulders are to their height (height/φ/φ/φ).
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Elaine
Elaine
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Coffee Stain World
Coffee Stain World

I've been meaning to scan this for months. I doodle. This is something from my desk at home pre-HSBC contract. It started out as a coffee stain on my desk mat (with a bit of an ink stain beside it, now the black island in the south-west). I started idly tracing around the stain with a fineliner. The water is a blue highlighter and the rivers are blue ballpoint. The square "face" on the equator was there before the coffee stain.
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Ever have a day when you wish you actually had Tourette's because you just can't swear enough to get all the frustration out?

It hasn't been a particularly bad day, really, but that damn dream started me out badly. Getting out on the wrong side of the bed is a bad thing when your bed is six feet off the ground like mine . I didn't call someone today because of the dream (so I'm mad at her for something that didn't even happen, how screwy is that?) and because of that I'm at home rather than being out having fun. On the other hand, though, while I'd like to be out around people I'd just be a bummer right now. I've got to shake this off by tomorrow night. I don't want to be at the extra-special extended Sanctuary in a bad mood. In fact, I refuse to be in a bad mood tomorrow (I guess that means I should leave my accounting until Monday).

I think I shall take my newly reinsured Wonder Wagon over to the Home Labyrinth and get the minotaur in the back to cut up a piece of plywood so I have new panels to paint on. I think the nice Nicole will be my next portrait. I've kind of taken a shine to her - anybody I can carry on a conversation on anthropology and archaeology with in the middle of a nightclub is OK by me. It doesn't hurt that she's absurdly pretty as well. It's not exactly in keeping with all the critical theory I learned in university (What the hell was I thinking? A university degree in visual art - real fucking useful!), but damn it anyway, painting pretty girls is fun. And besides, I don't care how much wanking theory you want to pile up behind some useless and ugly piece of Post-Modern crap - nobody wants that shit in their house.

So yeah, I'm going to start a new painting tomorrow. Maybe I'll get flowers just for the hell of it. I should make some nice bookends, too. Beautiful things will make me feel better.
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Another bout of moodiness endured. I have moments where I want to change the whole damn world all at once and beat myself up for not having done it yet. They don't exactly represent the best parts of my personality, but I've learned over the years that they are integral to my process. The feeling that I haven't done enough keeps me doing things. The feeling that nothing is quite good enough keeps me improving myself. If I was content to sit in my cubicle all week, spending my evenings watching TV and my weekends on brainless and trivial athleticism then I would be really useless.
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Tearing things down, rejecting the past or trying to crawl back into it outright are no way to build anything new. What has happened has happened, you can't change it and you can't ignore it. You can't take something away without offering something better. These just aren't ways to capture people's imaginations en masse, not in any meaningful way. The only way to build something new and better is to found it solidly in what is past, then hide that foundation in brilliant new construction. It doesn't matter about the rest of the crap off to the sides. If the new thing is better the old things will die all on their own. Anything that is set up as a rejection or antithesis of something else is inherently dependent on what it is trying to tear down.
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Tristen
Tristen
So this is how it works with me:
  1. I get depressed about some aspect of my life.
  2. Then I get mad at everything for not being the way I want it.
  3. Then I dig around in my old stuff and find old things I did that I like.
  4. Then I get mad at myself for letting whatever is going wrong happen.
  5. Then I do something about it.
Yesterday I was moving from 2 to 3. I'm somewhere between 3 and 4 right now. This is a drawing I did in 1989. I stopped doing pencil crayon drawings when I started going to SFU. It was hard enough justifying painting to the theory-choked post-modern ultra-pretentious fuckheads I had to deal with. It's taken me years to get over art-school. Why did I let myself be influenced by people who couldn't even determine the mortality of Socrates from "All men are mortal" and "Socrates is a man" because they would be too caught up in protesting the "problematic" nature of the Eurocentricity of the reference to Classical Greece, the gender bias of the word "men" and the "problematic" nature of logic as a patriarchal construct as it was applied to the systematic oppression of "the other" in 19th century imperial colonialism? And if you think am exaggerating, you haven't been to art school.

I think I will invest in a nice box of Prismacolors when I get paid.

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