Phil Irish Adventures of a painterly imagination

Sundays Palm Uprooted

Mon, 29 Mar 2010 13:55:27 -0400

I joined in a parade of palm-waving children yesterday. This moment of playful ritual echoed across the centuries, pulling us into the drama of heroic hope and execution that lies at the heart of Christianity’s most sacred week. As my preacher says, it’s crunch time.

Anselm Kiefer’s new installation, Palmsonntag (Palm Sunday), takes this festival as one of its touchstones.

Kiefer has built an international reputation by addressing epic themes at an operatic scale. Delving into the post-war psyche of his native Germany, he has mined the distinctive and taboo traits of its culture. He voraciously consumes material - including politics, religion, and history - for his allusive visual poetics. This new work (building on recent iterations in Paris and Los Angeles) is beautifully designed for a massive, high ceiling gallery at the Art Gallery of Ontario.

This work diverges from any work I have seen of Kiefer’s before. I certainly recognize the muted palette, enigmatic texts in multiple languages, and plaster-coated objects arranged in relation to painterly surfaces. The sense of both materials and space, however, push this work into another category altogether.

Everything is on fire

Fri, 26 Feb 2010 00:00:00 -0500

This fire was one of the most dramatic fires in Guelph, right in the downtown core. A powerful blaze consumed a building that held a place in the imaginations of many, as well as housing many artists and cultural workers.

Following the structure of my map paintings, I collected an annotated map from Guelph artist Greg Denton, who had rented a studio in that building for a year. His project for that year was “Out of Date: 365 self portraits” - creating one painting each day, marking the passage of time through the daily act of observational painting. You can see the paintings, which were installed in a series of grids, here.

While Greg had moved out long before the fire, it interests me that this locus of identity exploration has since gone up in smoke. The labour of construction and care to create those paintings contrasts to brutally with the raging fire the demolished the building in the course of a night.

This painting, then, is about the immolation of identity; the fury of life’s construction turned to ash. Can I relate to this personally? I would have to say yes... more so at this time than ever in my life. Watch it burn.

* * *

Here are two related pieces, painted at the same time as the larger work. I embarked on these, in part, to explore how to paint the water. Initially, the large painting was quite developed without any trace of fire-fighting. That fact began to trouble me so I sought a way to include water in the image. These small works have a raw directness that I am very pleased with.

“Lose Everything” “Burn”

* * *
The dotted window is an interesting feature of the large painting. My 9-year-old daughter was perplexed by it -- she does like things to be literal and always accuses me of “painting outside the lines.” She would enter the studio each day, and be horrified that I had developed the motif further.

She asked me what this glowing blue light is about, and my answer was simply that “fire is not the only story.”

That said, I will be doing more with fire in the coming months.

Troubled Perception (and how I keep destroying my glasses)

Thu, 16 Jul 2009 01:11:21 -0400

The eye is a strange and complex instrument. How the mechanics of the eye, and the refined interpretive strategies of the brain, result in how we see is a mystery.

This mystery is confounded yet further by the fact I keep destroying my glasses. And - the truth be known - my kids help me in this task:

Nice small late 90s frames: forever lost while bush-crashing during a game of capture the flag.

Sassy chunky frames: Arden didn’t like my imitation of a goose foraging for food, so she knocked the glasses off my face and off the bridge at Victoria Park, Kitchener.

Cool Wooden Frames (so they would float): cracked in half while greeting a soccer ball with my face.

2 months later: running with a dog, and Arden on my shoulders, we wipe out on ice. My first reaction is to ensure the my daughters safety --- then we realized the glasses were gone. In the road slush, or over the Elora bridge? They were never found....

And, after a period of almost two years: Ravenna ripped the arm off my glasses this week.

I’ve been reading “All about Colour” by Janice Lindsay.

I was spellbound reading about colour vision in various other
species. Bees, for example, can’t see our red -- but CAN see further at the other end of the spectrum: ultraviolet.
Owls shift their vision in the other direction: blind to blue, they can see infrared. We experience infrared only as heat, but owls can actually see it. This means, O Mouse racing through the grass, night is no cover for you. The owl can visual track the mouse’s heat through the darkness.

This has me thinking about how our colour perceptions are so removed from objectivity. Species by species - and person by person - we are responding to light in different ways. Lindsay outlines theories about how our vision has evolved to its current state: the pressures of seeking shelter and food and sex and security have layered effects on what our brain emphasizes or craves.

It also has me speculating about things, so very real, that are beyond my perception. Even when my glasses aren’t broken, there is more there than meets the eye.

Tactile Meditations

Tue, 5 May 2009 13:11:54 -0400

The work of Evita Schvallbe opened at Elora Centre for the Arts last week.

One of the pleasure of curating exhibitions is visiting artists studios. A year ago, I entered Evita’s studio in her home near Acton, Ontario, to be immersed in a mystical world. Drawing from diverse spiritual practices - principally Buddhism, but also Christianity and Chinese medicine - Evita has developed a powerful contemplative artform.

Each work in the Elements series uses the vaulted ceiling of a cathedral for its structure. Evita has researched and travelled extensively, finding the right geometry to harmonize with the traits of each particular element. The soaring lines and geometries draw your eyes, mandala like, toward the centre. Drawing western and eastern spiritual traditions together, these works are deeply evocative. Schvallbe’s command of silk fusion technique results in flowing, organic, shimmering colour. The sumptuous textures, vivid colours, and specific rhythms of each piece powerfully embody each of the Elements.

It was a fascinating to see how she has developed a unique repertoire of techniques to embody her specific vision. The wanted the pieces to be sculptural, architecturally 3-d, so she uses weighty felt. She wanted hues that delicately shift, so she interweaves patterns of vibrant silk strands to create her organic transitions of colour.

The extent of labour involved in this show is, in itself, compelling. The exhibition represents 10 years of labour. This kind of meticulous care is rare in art making these days. Yet the labour isn’t felt as a onerous task, or even an obsession, but rather as a spiritual practice that points to something deeper.

Together, these works create a very attractive image of the universe. Beauty and order claim the day. The sense of struggle and brokeness that shows up in both my artwork and spiritual understanding have little space here. Though there is a sense of “dissolution” or coming apart, it is seen as part of a larger dance between void and form. Each falls into its place within an intricate pattern.

The exhibition “The Dance of Form and Emptiness” continues until June 18th.

How I poisoned my daughter.

Tue, 10 Mar 2009 00:20:29 -0400

Well, I feel guilt and shame about this one. But it’s probably good for you to hear about.

Last week, working hard to get ready for exhibition, I had Ravenna in the studio with me for a while. I had her set up with the tempera paints, and she was wielding orange and pink with style. I had the camera out --- feeling like an amazing dad --- and I captured the moment to share with Anna upon her return. I moved to the computer to download the photos.

Suddenly I hear her cough. I turn, and Ravenna is holding a container of Odourless Mineral Spirits -- paint thinner -- and is feebly saying “milk.” No, honey, that is NOT milk! (Indeed, the colour was far from white). In a moment, she was in my arms, and I was calling poison control and the ambulance.

She began to vomit, as I held her over the sink. At first the vomit was rather clear and mucous like... but after about 5 times it was clear that her stomach was expelling everything. It was painful to see the expression of confusion on her face, but I was able to comfort her through it. The ambulance arrived very quickly, and we were off to the hospital. We had to spend 8 hours there, being monitored, until they felt the timing was right to do an xray of her lungs...

The dangers, as I understand them now, are not exactly what you would expect. The advice is to avoid vomiting if you can, for the chemical does less damage through digestion than in your throat. The real danger is if it enters your lungs. It can enter your lungs on the way down your throat, but also while vomiting. Imagine your watery throat getting coated with an oily film of toxicity, and that poison slowly dripping into your lungs... Something like that is what happened to Ravenna. By 8 pm, the x-ray indicated that she had a chemical pneumonia. She was pale and listless, and it was horrifying. (Of course Anna had joined us at the hospital, and Arden came to visit too).

Ravenna spent 2 nights in the hospital, receiving antibiotics through an IV in her arm. She slept so much. Anna and I took turns sleeping there. Finally, she regained her energy and curiosity -- we walked endlessly around the ward -- and we knew it was safe to go home. She has continued on oral antibiotics for the past week. We have a check-up tomorrow.

There are many dangers in this studio. Sharp objects and tools, nails and screws, pigments and binders and varnishes... In many ways, this is a joyous place for a child to create and explore. Obviously, I have to take greater precautions. It all happened so fast. How I wish I could take back those moments, and prevent her from going through this.

I am so relieved that she is well. That she is recovering fully. I can’t express how big my gratitude is. Thankful for the speed and skill of our medical system, for the grace of God around us, and for the support of family and friends. Forgive me, forgive me for being careless. Careless with my greatest treasures. Ravenna is pretty much over it, but I still have some stuff to work through here.

Musical Monsters

Sat, 31 Jan 2009 00:42:10 -0500

I went to see the my friends, The Monster Show, perform last week, in celebration of their new CD: In our final days as archipelago.

These are well crafted songs -- diverse, with a musical trajectory that opens up vivid feelings and memories. (Including some infectiously danceable feelings and memories.) Duncan takes the specifics - anecdotal observations - and crafts them into something poetic and surprising. Some examples: A flood in Winnipeg, biking home at night while slightly drunk, the babe who holds the “slow/stop” sign for road construction.... It is so pleasing to get away from generic terms of endearment, and into some lyrical invention.

(Duncan’s literary skill takes other forms than songwriting, too: he scored a spot at the Eden Mills Fringe Stage a few years ago).

Many of the lyrics have a longing and loss about them, but then a music jam kicks in to introduce something of euphoria. The hope sneaks in, unspoken, between the words. These songs aren’t just chorus and bridge predictability, but the music draws you into changing moods and atmospheres. Rising action, climax, and release. (Hmmm, did that come out right?)

The title track is contemplative and beautiful, featuring a choir... Actually, the “choir” was a group of revelers, recorded in Duncan’s living room. I happened to be there, with Arden (my 8 year old daughter), as we ate and drank and sang. Arden is so proud that her name finds its way into the CD booklet. But something of the warmth of that gathering, informal and relational, infuses the music.

(And the CD design by Jessica Devic is very nice, too... are those some Banksy references I see?)

Images to challenge and inspire.

Fri, 16 Jan 2009 15:46:42 -0500

One of my pieces has been included on this publication from CIVA: Images of Faith. Christians in the Visual Arts is an excellent organization --- I have particularly enjoyed the quality of writing and imagery in their journal CIVAseen. There are many artists involved, from many backgrounds, including Tim Hawkinson, Tim Lowly, Sandra Bowden, and Makoto Fujimura. This new publication is another example of how CIVA has worked to get faith-engaged artwork into the world.

Images of Faith contains 100 images by contemporary artists to be used for projection in any context that wants to deepen faith reflection, whether in churches, seminars, retreats, or classrooms. The works, curated by Sandra Bowden, are organized thematically, and are accompanied by descriptive texts that add information about the artists’ work.

You can find out more about the CD here.

Down with thoughtless “clip art”.
Bring on the truth, beauty, and challenge of art.

Unspeakable History Painting

Tue, 16 Dec 2008 11:21:18 -0500

Art galleries can be places where the grit of life is masked by beauty, elegance, or commercial desire. Beauty can be very good, transformative even --- but I was startled awake as I walked into Matt Bahen’s new exhibition at Moore Gallery.

The imagery is drawn from news reports that document our era’s wars and displacements. These are not the heroic moments that will be recorded in the history of victors, but the grief and loss of common people whose lives are torn apart. In particular, images of refugee camps struck me as poignant distillations of our moment in history.

Thick impasto brush marks are crudely raked onto the canvas, registering both the urgency of the subject, and perhaps the grainy resolution of the source imagery. These piles of pigment form a material puzzle, yet resolve themselves into compelling imagery of the anonymous victims of our history. The restricted palette and material struggle within the paintings aptly embody this subject.

Their faces left blank, these are non-players on our political stages. Yet, as my empathy kicked in, the ambiguities invited me to imagine the particular lives, and particular faces, of people living this moment.

What do these paintings offer, that is more than the source imagery they are derived from? There certainly was a powerful feeling in that gallery space, as the world’s brutality entered the reified gallery. The time it takes to make a painting, all of those physically intense brush marks, pull the imagery out of the rapid-fire world of news reporting. While news is obsessed over and then forgotten, these paintings attest that these scenes are what is important about our time, and will continue to take our measure in the decades to come.

Looking for origins

Tue, 14 Oct 2008 11:00:24 -0400

I went on two wonderful roadtrips this Thanksgiving weekend. (although I am repenting for the speeding ticket... a rare lapse, I’m sure). Charting the Grand River from end to end -- I spent Saturday heading to the where the wide Grand rolls into Lake Erie; I spent Monday driving steadily uphill to Dundalk, an elevated plateau where many of Southern Ontario’s rivers begin.

It was interesting to be able to stradle the banks of the river, one foot on each bank. Arden (now age 8) asked me if we still call it the Grand River up here, or whether it should be called “Grand Creek”.

We knocked on a few doors, collecting stories about people’s connections to the river. Our best encounter was with Bev and Doris. In their 80’s, they invited us into their kitchen and shared old memories as well as pioneer stories from their kin. In my search for the river’s origins, we were also reaching far back in time.

Bev’s grandparents, carting all they owned toward an undeveloped plot of land, were waylaid by the swollen River in spring. The mother, with two little children, stayed at a nearby homestead, while the father swam the river with the oxen to lay claim to their plot of land.

We’ll see whether this story feeds into a painting or not. It was a good day.

A Place for Trust

Tue, 16 Sep 2008 23:09:43 -0400

John Cage wrote “Some rules for teachers and students.” I’ve seen this quoted fairly often, and I do like the spirit of them. I’ve been thinking about the first rule since the beginning of September:

RULE ONE: Find a place you trust, and then try trusting it for awhile.

Summer called me away from the studio a lot - for teaching, for family. I have been sinking back into a creative space. It is amazing how distracted my mind has been, but each day I am setting the patterns for creative work back in place. It is not effortless. It is disciplined, and I am using more structure than I usually do, to compel myself back into that mental place of openness and work. The chair. The wall. Some hours of silence,... iTunes programmed to come on at noon...

I have had so many ideas that I haven’t had time to pursue, my mind is like a restless animal. I am making lists. But also squeezing out new colours.

**

One thing that interests me about this process is that, just as I am building inner trust again here, I will be opening my studio to visitors in a few weeks. What an intimate thing, to open the studio to all comers. That said, the exchanges that happen can be very rewarding, and unlike those that happen in a gallery. So, if you’re able, do come to the Studio Tour and enter this place of trust.

Disturbingly Riveting

Thu, 24 Jul 2008 21:19:20 -0400

I went into David Mirvish Books, seeking a book that tracks portraiture across cultures and epochs. They didn’t know of any such current book..... Surely there is one? If not --- hello Phaidon publishing house --- surely there is a market.

Instead, I walked out with two amazing monographs: Daniel Richter and Jenny Saville.
Richter’s book has glamorous (or sleazy?) glossy pages. Some of his images are so clumsy and awkward, but then the paint just flies. Spooky campy images, and others mysteriously dark. There is freedom in Richter’s artistic world: freedom to let paint be paint, and freedom to imagine improbable worlds that, by some lateral slide, speak to us here and now.

But Jenny Saville has me stunned. A much more focused programme, she has been exploring fleshy bodily experience through her career thus far. From body image and plastic surgery, her repertoire now includes other kinds of surgery, burn victims, and people undergoing sex change operations. Oh yes, and also some slaughtered pigs (in conversation with the works of Rembradt and Soutine). The imagery, however, is just the beginning. These works are incredibly painted: with directness, boldness, .... with ferocity. Working at an enormous scale, with large brushes, each gesture must carry its weight.

Stunning. Disturbing. Can’t take my eyes off them. I would love to see them in person, yes indeed. What would it be like to live in Saville’s mind, contemplating these things deeply for years on end? The results leave me full of open questions.

Recline on a rug of landmines.

Wed, 23 Jul 2008 22:48:29 -0400

Once, gardens of flowers adorned carpets like these.
Now, butterfly land-mines form a decorative border, while tanks and fighterplanes dominate the view of the world.

My visit to this exhibition of War Rugs from Afghanistan was very stimulating, surprising, and unsettling.

Afghans have a tradition of weaving the experiences of everyday life into their carpets. Warfare has been part of that experience for a long time, but particularly during the last 30 years. These rugs reflected the Soviet occupation, their expulsion, the rise of the Taliban, and the current UN effort. The rugs use a bold geometric style to depict both global politics and the experiences of daily life.

In my sketchbook above, you can see a few images that really stood out to me.
Uncle Sam’s hat, like a magic trick, is producing a massive gun. This rug tells of the American role in arming insurgents against the Soviet occupation of Afghanistan. The image in the centre shows, at the top, depicts an airplane headed for the twin towers.
The date of September 11th is inscribed in the sky. Below, maps of both Afghanistan and Iraq are marked with dates for each military campaign.
In a spare and moving image, a young woman plays her lute, forlorn, surrounded by the technology of war.

While the exhibition provides fantastic detail about the imagery in each rug, little is known about who has made these rugs. Some, it seems, come from refugee camps. It would be interesting to know what the creators’ are thinking. Many of the rugs, despite all their description, remain ambiguous in their message. What did the maker think of the war machines represented? Some have the bite of a political cartoon --- as when an Afghan leader who was a puppet of the Soviets is shown with a huge red hand controlling him. Later he is shown with four little turds falling between his legs as he executed by hanging. Most images, however, convey a sense of describing what is, rather than polemically taking a side.

Battleground: War Rugs from Afghanistan. At the Textile Museum of Canada until January 2009.