Janet Delaney, "South of Market"

I recently stumbled across a small showing of Janet Delaney's photographs at the deYoung the last time I visited (see photograph proof of attendence in previous deYoung post). I was suprised to find her work spoken of in the Art History Symposium this year at Sacramento State University and was glad to have already been exposed to her photographs by chance just a couple weeks before.

She worked in San Francisco during a time of change in the Soma district. She shot many small businesses and the people who worked there, highlighting their way of life that was soon to be taken over by the gentrified establishments of the late 20th century.

Though Janet Delaney works in a photodocumentary style, there is something more to her photographs. There is a sense of connection with the image, a sympathetic relationship between photographer and subject.

The quality of light tells much of the story in these images, particularly in the one below. The light is low, evening or morning we can't tell. There is a sadness, a nostalgia in this image that is quite beautiful. The light in these images of buildings and their inhabitants remind me of William Eggleston's portraits of people from the 70s. Thoughtful explorations of their character. 

Tom and Ted's Kitchen, 58 Langton St. 1980

Photography and its role in my own work is something I am struggling with a lot in my paintings and it is nice to see a photographer's work that is so inspiring. I hope to come across more of her work in the future!

Rackstraw Downes Lecture, UC Davis

I attended a lecture last night given by Rackstraw Downes, a wonderful landscape painter originally from England. I found this talk incredibly inspiring, particularly with regard to his inspiration and his painting style. 

He spent the majority of his MFA studies painting abstractly and it wasn't until he graduated that he began to explore a more realistic style. 

While describing his paintings, shown during the lecture in slides on an old projector, he knew what the buildings housed, he knew the people and the political climate surrounding the areas he painted. This struck me as being very significant to the content of his paintings. These were not panoramas quickly taken by a photograph, these were careful, painstaking studies of the environment and the people who lived in them. 

He mentioned the internal struggle he sometimes has of making a painting that is too idyllic; how does one make a "modern" painting of a mountian? His answer was to paint what was there, to pay careful attention to the reality of the landscape.

He paints in extremely long format because he wants to include everything relevant to the environment he is painting. This has caused him to develop a wide-angle style of painting not based in any mathematics but painted by sight. Here are a few of my favorites:

In the High Island Oil Field, February, After the Passage of a Cold Front, (1990), oil on cavas, 16” x 120”, Coll. Ellen Jewett and Richard L. Kauffman, New York

Beehive Yard at the Rim of a Canyon on the Rio Grande, Presidio, TX, 2005, Oil on Canvas,  6 3/8 x 34 3/4 inches

Crocker

I recently visited the Crocker Art Museum to take a look at the Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec show (which ended up having very little Lautrec in it) and spent some time in the permanent collections as well. Here are a few highlights:

Daniel Douke, Widescreen, 2009, Oil and Acryilc on canvas

When I walked past this work, I thought someone had simply taken a Mac computer box and stuck it in a glass case. It wasn't until I walked all the way around it I realized it is canvas stretched over a wooden frame and that the image of the computer and all the labels on the canvas had been painted. I give this work points for shock factor alone. The artist, Daniel Douke, has been painting packaging boxes since the 70s. His work is reminiscent of Warhol's soup cans from the Pop Art era. 

Robert Bechtle, French Doors II, 1966, Oil on Canvas

Robert Bectle has painted his reflection into the windows while looking at his wife in the next room. This work makes it seem the painter is actually in the room with the viewer and we are, together, looking at a painting of a woman seated at a table. There is an ominous feeling to this painting, the ghostly images of the painter, the darkened and dramatic lighting of the room beyond the french doors. 

Ralph Goings, Sacramento Airport, 1970, Oil on canvas

Part of the Photorealists, Ralph Goings recieved his MFA from Sacramento State and exhibited with Wayne Thiebaud and Mel Ramos while in Sacramento.

Hung Liu, Shoemakers, 1999, Oil on Canvas

Other than the Lautrec exhibit, I went to the Crocker in search of this painting after studying Hung Liu in my Contemporary Art class. I find her themes of culture, traditional roles and immigration to be very inspiring.

Tip Toland, Wall Flower, 2011, Stoneware, with paint, pastel, and synthetic hair; wood and wall paper. And me.

Museum of Latin American Art (MOLAA)

I attended the Museum of Latin American Art while recently on a trip to Los Angeles. I wasn't initially going to blog about this visit because I found the art a little underwhelming, but something important to me as a person and an artist happened while I was there.

I have recently been struggling with issues of cultural identity, questioning what heritage I identify with and whether my grandmother's place of birth gives me any right to truely call myself Latina. I discovered when I walked into this museum that I have begun to identify myself as Latina without even realizing it. I can't explain it, fully, other than to say I felt comfortable there. I belonged. But enough about me, the art!

Mayra Barraza,
Sin título/Untitled, 2008
Watercolor on paper

This decapitated head on a largely blank plane struck me as being very powerful when I walked by it in the museum. A little research showed the artist, Mayra Barraza, is from El Salvador and her paintings are about the urban violence experienced there.

Darío Ortíz, En fila/In Line, 2001, Gouache on paper

This beautiful gouache painting by Darío Ortíz remains a bit of a mystery to me. It appears to be female military personnel who have died or are asleep and are wrapped up in sheets. The artist is Colombian, so I'll have to dig a little deeper in my research to find out more.

A wide shot of the main exhibition wing.

Visit to the deYoung, San Francisco

I recently took a trip to the deYoung museum in San Francisco.

I went, initially, to see the Sargent on display. She was gorgeous:

John Singer Sergent, Lady Agnew of Lochnaw, 1892, oil on canvas

The highlights from the permanent collection were some Wayne Thiebaud:

Wayne Thiebaud, Three Machines, 1963, Oil on canvas

He was one of the first artists to get me really excited about landscape painting. They have a whimsical exaggeration to them that I find really appealing. I'm also really attracted to his super saturated blue shadows. I could stare at them all day. 

Wayne Thiebaud, Diagonal Freeway, 1993, Acrylic on canvas

Elmer Bischoff, Girl with Towel, 1960, Oil on canvas

Elmer Bischoff, Yellow Lampshade, 1969, Oil on canvas

I had only been to the deYoung once before this trip, before I was an art major so I didn't have the same eye looking at the pieces I now have. I remembered this piece, however, from my last visit because it was so impactful. It was nice to return with a more seasoned gaze and to find it was just as impressive, if not more so, than the first time. These are the remains of a Southern Black Baptist Church that was destroyed by arsonists. It is at once quiet and loud, sad and angry. The scale of this piece makes you feel as if you are right in the midst of it, surrounded and swallowed by it.

Cornelia Parker, Anti-Mass, 2005, wood charcoal, nails, and wire

And, finally, these beautiful pieces were tucked away by the elevator to the tower. They are donated works by Ruth Asawa. More than the pieces themselves, the shadows they cast are what inspire me the most about these works. They are seemingly simple in their construction yet very intricate. I am glad I didn't miss these on this visit to the deYoung.

The Norton Simon, 3-1-15

The Norton Simon. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

1) Van Gogh:

2) Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec

Manet:

So much Degas

 Zurbaran:

This fabulous creature:

The paintings of architecture:

and 17th century Fabio:

I assumed before going to the Norton Simon that such a small museum would have a quaint little art collection I could digest and leave behind in an hour or so.

I was wrong. A friend and I spent at least 3 hours in the 19th century collection alone. The modern and contemporary art collection didn't get me as excited as the earlier work, but was still respectable.

Highlights were: Van Gogh, though it sounds a bit cliche to say as he is such a globally well-liked artist. I feel a connection to him through his paintings I have a hard time describing. There is evidence of the man in his brushstrokes, full of character.

The friend who accompanied me is a public health nurse and not involved in the arts which offerend a refreshing perspective on the works. She mentioned, very seriously, while looking at "The Mulberry Tree," 1889, that if she were to ask one of her mentally handicapped patients to paint her a tree, that is what she would see. It was a sad little moment for me, knowing how Van Gogh's mental health was in question and his tragic early death and further solidified my fond feelings for him.

Vincent van Gogh, The Muberry Tree, 1889

The Manet piece, "The Railway," was being exhibited at the time and was surrounded by people coming in for a closer look. I didn't spend very much time contemplating it because of the crowd and instead moved on to a room filled with Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec and Degas.

Manet, The Railway, 1873

I remember studying Lautrec in Modern Art but hadn't thought much of his paintings at the time. In person, however, they completely transform. The complexity of mark making is mind blowing and the subtlety of color shift is beautiful. At a distance, his faces seem washed out, pale and sickly, up close they are alive with tiny brush strokes. It seems almost a commentary on the prostitutes and performers he painted.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, Red-Headed Woman in the Garden of Monsieur Foret, 1887

And finally, Zurbaran. The week before this museum visit, I came across his work 3 separate times, culminating in happening across them at the Norton Simon. Having never heard of him previously, I have taken this as a sign to sit up and pay attention.

Zurbaran, Still Life with Lemons, Oranges and a Rose, 1633

I was particularly taken by his use of dramatic lighting as an essential element to the narrative of his paintings. I have to spend a little more time really diving into the content of these paintings. Particularly, this still life which is the image that seems to be coming up the most often. Each item has a distinct personality and story to tell.

This museum visit was the hightlight of this weekend and I am looking forward to visiting in the future.

Bruce Conner: Somebody Else's Prints

Bruce Conner, Bombhead, 2002/1989 

San Jose Institute of Contemporary Art, 560 South First Street, San Jose, CA 95113

Feb. 7 - May. 16, 2015

On February 13th a couple friends and I made the trip to San Jose for the opening of the Bruce Conner "Somebody Else's Prints" exhibit in the San Jose Institute of Contemporary Art. The pieces included in this show were selected Bruce Conner works over the last 60 years. It was primarily his work with printmaking though there was a video piece, photography collages, and a large textile created from a collage.

I hadn't really been exposed to much of Conner's work before this exhibit so I went in with very little expectations. First impression: OVERWHELMED.

The highlight for me were his very complex lithographs similar to this (photos were not allowed at this exhibit, so I'll have to rely on Google a bit):

Bruce Conner, Untitled No. 113, Lithogaph

The complexity and enormity of these prints en mass were enough for an exhibit unto themselves. I saw them as worlds, swirling and teeming, chatotic but obsessively ordered. This image conjures up images of mandalas and spirituality while others like this one:

Bruce Conner, Untitled, Lithograph

are fields of blackness, threatening, ominous, otherworldy. When I attept to describe these works, I find myself using words that are contrasting: dangerous, safe; simple, complex; chaos, order. I think this is a testament to how much depth was in these prints.

In addition to these drawings, there were a number of collage pieces, masterfully pieced together which, when reprinted, became a completely new image. They were done carefully and nearly seamlessly. I'm currently taking a collage class and have a newfound appreciation for the skill required to make the individual elements of the collage shed their origins and become part of the world created by the artist. 

Bruce Conner, Blindmans Bluff, 2003/1987, Jacquard Tapestry

Overall, it was a really nice exhibit. The opening reception had a great atmosphere and it put Bruce Conner on my radar for future inspiration.

Welcome!

Welcome to A Caffeinated Coma: Fine Art Edition, the mature version of my previous work on A Caffeinated Coma: The Original Series. Big words and insightful critique are the name of the game here so check back often for a riveting exploration of all things contemporary art.