Phil Irish

So here's a glimpse of what's happening at the studio.
One of the first things I moved into the studio was my trolly, with paint gear, glass window pane for mixing, and all the shallow shelves for holding the tubes of colour. I built that thing years ago, in my first rented studio. This structure has come to define "studio" for me.

Also, in the picture, the sketchbook. I am always collecting ideas, writing, sketching, pasting stuff in. Those books (I have a full shelf of them now) are, to me, the seedbed of all I work on. They become denser, and richer, as spontaneous jottings attract more developed ideas, developing together though layered annotations and sketches. These books are about trusting the ideas that come.

Another thing: when I first moved in, the walls were a mid-tone, warm, neutral shade. That, with the bad lighting, made my eyes feel like mush. I was a little depressed, until I painted the whole place stark white, and brought in a couple of lights. Hello clarity! Now things are vivid. It was a tedious task, but well worth it.

I spent the bulk of yesterday at "Re-Create" --- a creative arts space geared to youth in Hamilton's downtown core. Re-Create happens at The Living Rock, which offers meals, food bank, and a whole range of services to these youth.

Betty Brouwer, whose commitment and vision makes "Re-Create" happen, invited me to bring the suitcase of map gear, and a few paintings, to share with the gang. I was there for about 3 hours in the afternoon, and another 3 hours after dinner was served.

People shared some interesting aspects of their lives. Many people, however, wanted to share happy childhood memories, rather than the joys and struggles of their current situations. One person drew me a map to four places to live outdoors in Hamilton. Another to a cemetery, and told me about her cousin dying in a car accident. Another, to the home he was placed in after being arrested the first time. He spoke of the experience as a good one, in that the community service projects changed his direction in life. There were also peaceful places --- to read a book. Or a map of the world inside a book (a map from the story of Dracula).

I was very impressed by the courage and sense of community in the place. My favorite room was the kitchen, where a diverse group worked together making the day's meal. Some were volunteering, but others had received jobs there, encouraging their life skills and work experience. A few people drew me a floor plan of the kitchen, as a significant place in their lives. I think that might work its way into a complex and joyous painting! Most people send me to solitary places, yet so many of our meaningful places are about the people we've met.

Another highlight was drawing dragons, with Dayna and Katelyn. We all worked on one large sheet, drawing a dragon each, with their intertwined tails weaving them together. It was spontaneous and joyous creation.

Thanks to everyone at Living Rock, and Re-Create, for sharing parts of your lives with me.

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Oh, by the way...
I've been having this craving to look at some 19th century paintings. This deep hunger to tie my painting into that long history of perception and colour mud. So, I went to the Art Gallery of Hamilton in the interval between sessions. I loved Kim Adams' crazy Breugel-Bosch Bus, and also an incredible Van Gogh, and some great landscapes... but the puzzler for me was a set of photographs by James Casebere. These myserious, spare interiors with dramatic lighting and -- disturbingly -- serious flooding. I couldn't decide what parts of the images I believed as "real" at what parts I didn't. Extremely beautiful and strange. It turns out that all of the interiors are built as monochromatic models in the studio, then lit, then photographed.
For an interview with James Casebere, click here.

Saturday was the first "Follow Maps With Phil" Event.

I wasn't sure what location to pick --- I wanted to select a map that a) had a good story, and b) was clear enough to follow that people would actually find me. I selected a map drawn by Anna (whose ring I wear) to the Grand River Hospital in Kitchener. The story of this place is hugely significant to us, as it is the place where she gave birth to our daughter, and also where she was treated for breast cancer.

It is a powerful thing to do --- to sit outside a hospital for a few hours, drawing, and thinking about life. It reminds me of the memento mori tradition, such as placing a skull on your writing table to remind you of your frailty, the brevity of life, and to live with your own death in view. We've been able to romanticize the image of a skull, or a cemetery... but to actually sit outside that hospital, watching the ambulances leave and return with human cargo, was a powerful experience for me.

Hospitals have also touched pretty-much everyones lives. So, it is also a good place to have a conversation about life. A couple of people map followers found me there, bringing sketch book, or photographs to discuss.

Here is a generative question ---
how could a view of a hospital be represented, to highlight what the place actually MEANS in people's lives?
I was thinking about the blend of vivid humanity, and cold technology, that the place embodies. From a concern for efficiency and modern management systems, to compassion and the bodily struggle of individual people. It's no wonder that hospital shows are a staple on TV... what can painting say to this complex truth in our lives? I had so many ideas, sitting there for those hours, I don't know where to begin.

If you'd like to join me on my next "Follow Maps with Phil" day, or at least receive the map, email me at philirish@golden.net

We had another "follow maps with Phil" day.
This time, we headed off to "Memory Gardens," a cemetery near Breslau. The map was one from the Nidus Festival. The woman describes being reconciled to her father at her wedding, then proceeds to describe three deaths in quick succession - including her father and her husband. Her story of brokenness ends by crediting her faith in Jesus for pulling her beyond grief and pity, to a concern for others. So, intense stuff.

Three people came to visit, and two actually stayed for several hours. (One visitor is an artist of note, Marilyn Batte.) Three of us had wide ranging conversations ---

- deaths of people we have loved
- burial practices in different places, including modern Egypt
- hospitals (how they should be more beautiful to promote healing),
- parenting (how kids like to undress when they're little, and then don't for while, and then - as teenagers - want to get their clothes off again)
- commercial galleries... and the sales vs. grants question
- violence in Lebanon / Israel, and our feeling of being helpless... but a hope that art may contribute to the building of peace, one perspective at a time...

So, it was a fascinating time.

As for the view -- I wasn't sure what to paint at first. There are very few stones as grave markers. Mostly metal plaques on the ground, often with flowers in a vase on top. This creates an interesting rhythm of open space and flowers diminishing into the distance. But I was drawn to the statues of Jesus, because of the faith expressed in the letter. But how, HOW, to paint Jesus -- from the typical statue that we have all seen thousands of times? As I sat to draw, however, an amazing thing happened. The gardener pulled up in his cart, hauling a water tank, and hosed down the garden and the statue as well. Rainbows and golden shimmering light filled the air, dispensed from an industrial nozzle. Then, as quickly as he arrived, the gardener was gone. A moment’s apparition shed the most heavenly and most pragmatic light upon the Christ. This is one thing I love about following these maps: if I am at a loss, my patience and sustained attention is always rewarded by some surprising event.

The image above is one studio sketch, developed from that experience. I call it Christ and the Gardener.

So here's my rant...

I'm in the studio, in the zone, painting with a sense of freedom and joy.
A voice behind me blurts out, "Realism or Abstract."
Pardon?
"Realism or abstract --- or what do you call this stuff you're doing?"

So my first thought is, why doesn't she use her eyes instead of jumping to labels? All of my paintings have representational structures... but always a twist, a tension. So then I'm about to respond, when she interupts:

" 'Twas now' --- you shouldn't put words in the painting. It ruins it."

I try to explain, but she motors on --

"The viewer should be able to turn the painting upside down, or sideways,... a painting should work from every side. And the words ruin it. I see hands in there. The spirit of the painting --- I know you're blind to it. You've probably never looked at your painting beyond the "blueprint". I'm an abstract painter, and don't use a blueprint. I see the spirit in the painting. For instance, this one with the tunnel and river... there is a horse back here (she says, pointing to a large purple area of darker tone, behind the trees) this horse is the spirit of the painting.

So, she is going on and on, standing in the actual place of creation. How dare she impose one way of reading work (and an inane way at that) upon everything I've done? She should learn to listen to the work, and respond to how IT wants to be read. The cues, in the piece, suggest what interpretive modes might work. But listening is not her forte -- she barges on:

"Have you ever discovered what artist you are a reincarnation of? It can be very enlightening.... "

In my gentle way, I kept looking for a bridge to begin real communication. Instead, I should have jolted her out of her narcisism.

This bleak interaction poisoned my studio for a little time. This is one of the dangers of a public studio. But, thankfully, I refound my rhythm (until the guy came by to show me the paintings he made out of caulking).

A DETAIL from the painting, Phil Irish. "Hope, my love." Oil on panel. 2007.
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I haven't posted anything about this, because it is so personal. But also so public. A weird thing... now I feel that, by posting a detail, this can be shared.

The PUBLIC PART: I have a portrait shortlisted for the Kingston Prize! This national portrait competition has selected 30 works for exhibition, and the prize winner(s) will be chosen from that group. I'm pleased to see some artists I know in the line-up, as well as others I don't. It should be a good party: the gala is on October 4th.

The PRIVATE PART: This painting was not done as part of any series or thread within my work. It was done as a private work, to mark a significant moment in Anna's life, and my life. Our lives together. In a way it is a quiet painting -- no broad gestures or abstract ruptures. Quietly honouring the hope we have, and the suffering we leave behind... how both hope and suffering leave their bodily marks. The result, I feel, is a sensitive image of great power. Anna, my love...

Now this private thing goes public, making us both rather awkward. We actually don't want people who know us to see it... but, for "art-land," it will function as an image apart from the complexities of our lives lived. How's that for conflicted? I won't be conflicted should we happen to get the $10 000, though -- haha!

Narnia doodle, from my sketchbook.

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I heard about an orchestral and dramatic event based on C.S. Lewis' classic tale, "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe." They were seeking an artist to create a painting to add a strong visual element to the production. At first it seemed impractical to take on such a huge task --- but then I couldn't get the possibilities out of my head.

I started sketching and dreaming myself into the story. I put my ideas together, and it turns out that they accepted my project. I am in full rhythm working on them now. I will add some photos of the work in progress over the next 6 weeks.

This is a real departure from the main direction in my work. Yet it has allowed me to explore new ways of working, and to allow the fantastical aspect of my imagination to romp uninhibited. Despite this sense of fantasy, there are strong metaphors in the work that move well beyond a literal re-telling of the story. I like the word "wonder" more than fantasy, actually.

The production, called "The Lion, The Witch, and the Orchestra," is a collaboration between the Kitchener-Waterloo Symphony, Lost and Found Theatre, and myself.
Please visit the website of Lost and Found Theatre for ticket information.

So here is how the studio looked earlier this week:
the studio like a family cottage industry, with Anna on the sewing maichine, baby Ravenna at my feet, and paint flying happily.

I am enjoying the thrill of working huge, even if I can only see 1/6th of the total scale at a time.

With the Narnia Triptych almost completed, there was a panic of final details. The canvas had developed a ruffled edge, for instance, that I had to tame. Since I painted the work in sections, in essence rolling the canvases up and down my walls like huge scrolls, it was key to lay them all out side by side and make sure they all spoke to each other.

I pumped some extra colour into the right panel --- Aslan's Spring --- to make sure it would not be overcome by the Witch's bold contrasts. Why is it always easier to create something sinister than something hope filled? But, in fact, I am delighted with the vibrant and vital opulence of the right side. It is really the only section where I was changing things as I went: dangerously beautiful.

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And little Ravenna, now almost 6 months old. How is it that our clothes match the painting? Not planned, I assure you. Some passages of the Triptych were painted with her in my arms... she would be mesmerized for a time, and then rebel.

Whistler nocturnes --- amazingly subtle and evocative night scenes, where industrial landscapes become poetic mysteries. I love the surfaces of these paintings, especially that washy blue, applied so fluidly over the darkness, to make the rippling water.

Peter Doig --- I have been really enjoying this monograph. His paintings are so awkward, but so structured. The dizzying surfaces of textures and splashes are very interesting indeed --- the tracery of branches against the tracery of cracks on ice.

Growing from this are some nocturnes of my own.