ADAPTATION

80 degrees this week! EIGHTY DEGREES. Since this weather has bloomed, I have been incessantly productive. Ok, maybe not incessantly, but I have been getting up before 10 anyways. (Judge not lest ye be judged). I love this weather. I love the warmth around my skin, the smell of wisteria and grass and jasmine in the air, the thick yellow coat of pollen on my car (yes, I'm serious), the early morning sun welcomed by songbirds and the very late sunset serenaded by the whirr and buzz of insects. Do I live in a Disney movie? No, I was just really tired of winter (ok, and Beauty & the Beast was on TV the other day). 

But I was surprised by my attitude. This is the first spring thaw since moving from Chicago to Columbia, South Carolina that I really hated winter and longed for warm weather. A displaced Midwesterner, I arrived here in August of 2008 in complete disgust. Note the surly fake smile on my ID picture taken the day I moved in. I was sweating in ways and places I never knew possible. I grew tired after rounding the block. I felt as if I might melt when the sun was out, which was ninety-five percent of the time. My regular routine of jogging in the neighborhood felt more like penitence for leaving the North. The steep incline of the sidewalk up to my apartment was an uphill battle that left me sobbing, and screaming, "I'M FROM THE GREAT PLAINS!" How did anyway live a pedestrian lifestyle here and survive? (Since, I've learned that the only pedestrians in Columbia are either homeless or from out of town.) Eventually I discovered that my sneakers/jeans/flannel shirt combo was not appropriate attire here. I started wearing dresses and sleeveless shirts, and things that I felt showed way too much of my pasty Illinois skin. I also gave in and became more motorist than pedestrian. Maybe it was the new wardrobe, maybe it was the fact that my new boyfriend's mom had a pool nearby, but after a little while I actual started liking Columbia summers. This winter felt colder and longer and I found myself even wishing for that sweltering weather. "Bring on the humidity, the pollen, the skin-melting sun!" I was liberated. I was embracing the heat, and it was embracing my shivering shoulders.

All of this has got me thinking about our ability to adapt. If we tough it out long enough, eventually we can amalgamate into a new environment. Some people are stubborn, and never want to leave their home base. Some people are wanderers, constantly searching and hoping to find something new and exciting. All people are able to adapt. I really believe that. It may not always be the right thing or the right time, but we are capable. As many of our nomadic ancestors might tell us, home is where the heart is, not great plains, or mossy trees, or salty sea air, although these things can be lovely reminders of memories we hold and cherish. H.G. Wells wrote, "There is no intelligence where there is no change and no need of change." Adaptation is part of the strength of the human spirit, it teaches us, compels us, and transforms us. While our instinct may be to eschew change, the process of adaptation may be where we really learn who we are.

Return to Blogland

I titled this entry after a favorite childhood movie, Return to Oz. The film was rather disturbing and strange, a significant departure from the original 1939 classic, The Wizard of Oz. It doesn't have the dreaminess of Technicolor, or the lulling of Judy Garland's voice, but it does make the mind reel. And, according to Wikipedia (the most distinguished source I could find on the subject), it has a large cult following due to its more accurate adaptation of the L. Frank Baum books. The film follows Dorothy's return to a much different Oz, that has been destroyed by the Nome King. Some of the lovely and disturbing features in the film are the Wheelers- creatures  who have wheels instead of hands (yeah it's as scary as you're picturing it, if not worse), an evil sorceress who has 30 beautiful heads to choose from everyday, a tree that grows lunch pails with a complete meal, and a talking chicken. As a child I always hoped to have one of those trees. 

Alas, why am I writing about Return to Oz? That's right, because this is my Return to Blogland, as I have not posted, to my chagrin, in almost 2 years. *blush.* I have lacked motivation as I only know of a handful of people (mostly family) who have actually read this online publication. Still, I realized that often blogging, writing, and creating in general is not really for others, but for one's own personal growth. This seems awfully selfish, and makes me think of Woody Allen's coined term "artistic masturbation." Forgive the crudeness, but this is a concept I think about and struggle with regularly. But still, to better ourselves is to better our community, correct? True or not, I keep coming back to this idea. And so I will blog, rant, blabber, ramble, digress, diverge, and chatter verbosely if it will expand my mind, and ultimately make me more useful to the outside world. It will be challenging, as I have found that is much easier to criticize than to create, to teach than to do, to pontificate than to express. Instead of making judgements on all the empty words out there, I will take a go at writing the empty, or perhaps, in a rare moment, full words. 

Lastly, I will leave you with this excellent article from McSweeney's, which I believe I found through my friend Regina (another thing to discuss- surrounding yourself with smart, talented people).  

Click here for: The Ultimate Guide To Writing Better Than You Normally Do.

Between Intimacy and Decoration

Here is the postcard for the show featuring one of each painter's pieces.

Opening Reception!

The opening of our (Ansley Adams, Jaime Misenheimer, and myself-Laurel Steckel) show was June 16th. We had a great turn-out and a lovely time was had by all. Here are some shots of the guests (and artists!)

This last one is Jaime and myself at the end of the night.

Edible Art?

So, I've just started getting back into studio work. But since the semester ended, here's what else I've been up to:

Tuna Salad Nicoise 

a fresh, summery, French treat

Laurel's Bistro Steak Salad 

a hearty and delicious salad

Source Material

My models (friends) were all at Artista Vista where I showed my work. And they were nice enough to pose with their pieces.

Painting or Installation?

When researching for my Thesis show (Dec 4-10 mark your calendars!) I came across artist Alexa Meade, a young up-and-coming artist from DC. Her work first looks like interesting paintings of somber interiors with a figure, but I read on to realize they are actually people and furniture she has painted on. Questioning the boundaries between the 2-D and the 3-D is always a question for me, but this approach really addresses it "hands on." (No pun intended). The paintings create a mood and intrigue as 2D photos- but take on a different psychological role as installations and with the understanding of life beneath the paint. Found via albus cavus blog. See more at alexameade.com.

From the sketchbook to the internet...

All 5x8.25"

man on wire

See Man on Wire. Philippe Petit will INSPIRE you.

sketches

Sketches I've been working on in preparation for a larger painting. 

Vuillard/Bonnard patterning as inspiration.

Transformations

 

Apollonian vs. Dionysian

I struggle to find my way between the German and French in my work. I'm German by heritage, but I strive to be French as well. My professor, David, tells me this is me fighting between my Apollonian and Dionysian sides. This idea comes from Nietzsche in his work The Birth of Tragedy.  Nietzsche describes the Apollonian as "logical inference," and the Dionysian as "certainty of intuition." When the two work together there is a "powerful birth." My German side seems to be the Apollonian nature, whereas the French I try to bring out is more of the Dionysian.  To explain it with more visual sources, take the Beckmann painting on the left (German, Apollonian) vs. the Bonnard painting on the right (French, Dionysian).  These are what I am constantly trying to marry.

 

Illusion meets reality

Last week while hanging one of my pieces in a show, I noticed the light from the window hit the painting almost exactly as the light came through the window in the painting. Painted sunlight was then emphasized by real sunlight. It was quite strange but also very beautiful.

Sorry, but my Soul is Still Alive.

I suddenly had a picture of the entire astonishing edifice collapsing and modern man plunging headlong back into the primordial ooze. He's floundering, sloshing about, gulping for air, frantically treading ooze, when he feels something huge and smooth swim beneath him and boost him up, like some almighty dolphin. He can't see it, but he's much impressed. He names it God.

This is the last paragraph in the chapter "Sorry, but your Soul Just Died," from Tom Wolfe's 2000 book Hooking Up. In this chapter he talks about Nietzsche, Darwin, and the predicted "death of God" in the late 19th Century. He goes on to discuss brain imaging and new technology and how these developments will lead us to view the human body and brain as a machine, soulless. Wolfe has a very keen eye when looking at the schemes in American history and the way they lead up to contemporary issues. While taking into account all the different theories that have occurred and the modern voices on them (Dawkins, Dennet), he ends his chapter with a discussion he had with a geologist. She discusses her first impression of geology and science as layers of solid findings that build up into a solid, strong tower.  She goes on to say that she now sees that often the first layers are only bubbles- full of air, and that is what many of the towers are resting on. This is when Wolfe contemplates the collapse of the tower.

Of course some may see the need for the towers, and believe the foundations for the theories are a type of reality.  For me though, I'd like to believe I am more than just a machine, that we are all more than just a network of machines, and that the reason I create is because I was created by something, someone, larger than myself. I name it God.

 

I leave you with The Wander above the Sea Fog by Caspar David Friedrich.  It was journalist Johanna Schopenhauer who wrote of his paintings, "They speak to the spirit rather than to the eye." 

technicolorkev

This is an old oil pastel sketch from our drive to Asheville.  Serves as a nice go-between medium from drawing to painting. 

Luc Tuymans

Saw some great work at the Luc Tuymans show at the MCA while in Chicago last week.  Great to see someone using oil painting as a persuasive language for contemporary ideas.