24 November 2006
As you all ought to know, I have two charming kids, and to protect the innocent, we'll call the oldest child star and the youngest dandelion. On frequent occasion, my interest in art gets taken out on them. It happened again not long ago. Matthew showed me a link to a neat little webpage where you can make a simulated Pollock "drip painting" just by waving the mouse over the formerly blank canvas--err, screen. Of course, I immediately set the Jr.s down to try it. Neither one is a very good fake Pollock, but both are pretty good additions to Star and Dandelion's art escapades. Can you guess who did which painting?
(readers of character will resist the urge to cheat)
22 November 2006
It started with these doors that I found at the Metropolitan Museum's website. I repeated the image a few times, and then I started to map some of the geometry. Fun, fun, fun. Really.
I hope you’ve clicked the link to see the original. It is small, and although the design wouldn’t need to infinitely repeat to fill such a small place, it can and as my image shows, it can very well.
I’ve always enjoyed geometry. That was the only class I took in high school where the subject matter (rather than a charismatic teacher) was remotely interesting.
Whoever created this specific pattern did a few things that show a remarkable amount of artistry, or bending of geometry’s rules. The resolution of a square into a circle, of a triangle into a hexagon, the kind of stair-step alignment of the stars, etc. These are not perfect shapes, but shapes that have been slightly pushed and pulled to make the overall pattern work. I am baffled by this kind of art (craft?) because although I can find fun patterns in it, I doubt I could design this or something like it, and there are many variations on this kind of pattern that look quite a bit like this one but are different enough to have required a bit of genius.
21 November 2006
But here's why that's news today.
Here's your art idea for the day:
“a picture of a dead dog shows a dead dog. It only becomes difficult when you want to communicate something beyond that, when the content is too complicated to be depicted with a simple portrayal”
Gerhardt Richter (Harrison and Woods 1037)
20 November 2006
Back in early October, I went to an antique dealer in town who I knew sold old pointed-arch window frames. The man selling them wanted $150 for the ones about a meter high, $200 for the larger ones. As is. And they were a mess. They had obviously been left out in the rain, there were chunks missing, no or broken glass, peeling paint, etc. I pointed all that out to the man and offered him $20.
Looking back on it, I think he was probably offended that I, a foreigner, would dare to think that one of the region’s treasures could be worth so little. After all, these are not really being made anymore, apparently came from palaces and their origins, age, and relative rarity adds value. But I disagree. The window frames were in terrible shape. They might as well be garbage or firewood and nobody pays even so much as $20 for a few scraps of wet wood. I still can’t believe that he thought $150 was a possible price. He offered to lower it to $130, but that was his final offer. So I, very satisfied with NOT buying one, went home.
Anyway, I’ve been thinking about age-value and art and wondering what it all means. The assertion that age=art comes down to everything eventually becoming art if you just wait long enough.
In some cases, age does add value. Like Greek vases, hand made lace, etc. Especially when a craft is lost it has a much higher chance of becoming an art. But alas, the carpentry of making a pointed arch is not lost at all, and arguing that an old, decaying window frame is somehow worth more because it is too broken to possibly serve its purpose is crazy.
17 November 2006
16 November 2006
So Katie left a comment on my blog that basically said, “you suck at blogging”, which is true. The fact that I haven’t made a post in more than a few months is proof enough of that.
Do you want an art idea anyway? That’s why you’re reading this isn’t it?
“The horror is this . . . to speak of the “nothing to say”. Roland Barthe’s Camera Lucida 92-93.
But for the sake of posting something more, we’ll indulge in a little apologetics—not that it matters or that it has anything to do with art:
1. I’m busy
2. I have to write all the time and I get tired of it.
3. Blame Lebanon
4. I am knee-deep in plans for Christmas because I am an incurable Christmas-freakazoid.
5. My children are more important
6. My thesis is more important.
7. I have to think about art all the time and I get tired of it.
8. Gearing up for the 10k
9. My kids. If everyone had this much huggable cuteness around then no one would blog.