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Posts Tagged ‘Landscape Painting’

 

Buoyant-4, acrylic on canvas, 40_ X 40_, 2016

MWC friend Emil Robinson has written a review of Frank Hermann’s exhibit “The Liminal Landscape” at Marta Hewett Gallery in Cincinnati.  Here’s a link to the review.

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Damon Freed What Babies Art Made Of

Damon Freed, “What Babies Are Made Of”, 2014, oil and acrylic on canvas, 72″ x 72″

 

Today’s installment of “On Finishing” comes from painter Damon Freed.  Freed’s production is varied–painting, drawing, poetry, art writing–and this short interview  touches on most of those.   Freed has recently exhibited at Bruno David Gallery in St. Louis and Sherry Leedy Gallery in Kansas City.

 

Are you a good closer?

I am sometimes. With the nonobjective work it’s often about two things. How empty can I get the painting to be while working it enough to feel finished, and on the other hand, how packed full of stuff can I get the painting to be without it feeling forced or labored. It’s different with the representational work. I work from a source when working representationally. I have a charcoal study that serves as the structure for the painting, and the marks in the drawings provide energy and inspiration for color. So, I’m trying to not lose what the drawing has and at the same time I try to let the painting be autonomous. But yes, I am often sure when it’s finished.

Is it easy or difficult for you to be finished with a piece?  Do you make a clean break or let it go kicking and screaming?

I try to make a clean break, and often do. But, I must say, it’s rarely easy. You work and you work until the piece can hold no more, and that’s when I stop. Or else I work it just a little past that point, and then have to edit a bit. Or, I work it way past that point, and lose the painting entirely. The funny thing about painting is that it is an additive process, you know, there’s no erasing. Although, some marks you lay down can negate others you’ve already applied, others that you perhaps don’t want anymore. So, you work with every attempt to hide the previous marks without the painting feeling labored.

When you call it done are you smiling?  Is your relationship to finishing troubling to you at all?

I’m smiling on the good ones but the good ones, I mean, the ones that really fill you up inside are far and few between. A gentle, quiet smile is more often the case with the smaller works, but when you nail a big one, you know you’ve done some real good. And you feel as though the stars have aligned for you and that all will be well for a time and it is.

How do you see yourself compared to your peers, in terms of how easily you call an artwork finished?  How much does the idea of calling things finished affect the type of painting you make or how you define yourself as a painter?

I feel as though it must be every bit as difficult for my peers to finish as it is for me, unless of course they are much younger, and in that case, it must be more difficult. The thing with art making, it seems to me, is that you get closer to your successes and failures the longer you’ve been working, which means you know better when you have succeeded, and you know better when you have failed. You know more about what you want and how to achieve what you want. It’s very hard to do so at a young age; what’s in your mind and on the canvas can be quite disparate things.

As far as the finish affecting the type of painting I do – it makes all the difference. I used to work very tight, and the finish was seductive–the final appearance that is. I would hide the pencil lines, the history of mark making, and everything I thought would lend a painting to a fresh and easy read. Well, in the end, to me that kind of painting was not only stressful to do, but stressful to look at because as a painter when looking for the painting’s history I was held out from the process, how it came into being. For me, and for some others, I know that there is some pleasure derived from the transparency of a painting’s process. And now my work is looser, the marks are more fancy-free. So it’s all right there on the surface; how it’s made and how it came into being.

Any other thoughts on finishing?

Just this one thing – I wrote this brief notation on finishing not too terribly long ago. It still serves as a good analogy, I think, for the way I work. Here it is…

I think making a painting is like packing a suitcase for a long sustained journey. How do I fit everything I need into this rectangular or irregular bulging bag and still zip the zipper? Finishing a painting is this way. How do I carefully cram everything I want inside without the zipper breaking! You try to zip it once or twice before everything is in just to see where you’re at and once it starts to get snug and a little harder to zip you know it’s getting close and the decision making gets real important. That’s when you have to really start to negotiate the necessities for your trip, what is sustainable and needed, what can go, and what have I forgotten? It gets even tighter! Finally, you make a last attempt to zip that zipper and it either closes or it breaks. If it breaks, unfortunately, you have to buy a new suitcase. It sucks, you’re anxiety ridden, pissed off, and you might miss your flight. But damn if it doesn’t make you a better packer!

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Kristin Musgnug‘s recent paintings of invasive species are at the University of Arkansas’s Fine Arts Gallery, through March 11.

Please give our readers a little bit of information about yourself :

I grew up in a small town in southern New Jersey.  Although I definitely wanted to be an artist by the time I went to college, I ended up not liking the extremely conceptually-oriented art program where I was (Williams College) so I majored in Art History instead. I did spend a lot of time out in the woods of the Berkshire mountains, which probably had something to do with why I ended up being drawn to landscape painting. (more…)

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