Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Master Cleanse

Sometimes to move on you must confront the past. I confronted my past by pulling my large leather portfolio out from under my daughter's bed. There, entombed in a black case, housed 8 years of prints spanning from 1991-99. About 3 inches worth of stacked personal archeological documents, unearthed, and ready to be deciphered. It was interesting to clearly see what concepts I was enchanted with and the life parallels associated with it. The latter was strong. The prior was produced mainly for learning techniques.







I decided to revisit my prints as a way of saying goodbye. A master cleanse to the ol’ artistic colon. Those prints helped shape my foundation and gave me an appreciation of the Alfredian vernacular at NYSCC. They are of the past, and I need to arrive at the present.



20th Century French poet, Paul Valery, states, “An artist never really finishes his work, he merely abandons it.”  I, myself, have abandon the whole idea, a time or two, of being an artist. But the pinhole of creativity keeps piercing through this unimaginative black abyss showing me the way out. And I do occasionally make it out…only to be sucked back in.



Valery speaks the truth. There is a point when you’ve labored for days, weeks, or months over a piece and you just want it over. It can beat you down. The tools are an extension of your hand., and your hand is the extension of your vision. If you can’t get all three to agree, the process fails. Or does it?

For me it’s all about the process. From concept to hanging, but not, so much, the finished work itself. As an artist you become a lion tamer. The process is like walking into the lion cage with a whip and chair and making the lion happily jump through fiery hoops. That’s ideal. It doesn’t happen very often. I’ve received enough scars to prove it. If unscathed, it can be pretty magical and quite entertaining. In fact, it can be otherworldly. That is, until, the critics become the lions. Different day. Different cage.







Any artist willing to lay his/herself out there to be critiqued must do it for the sake of the art only. They certainly don’t do it for themselves. Art is like a child. In the beginning you take a notion on a date. If it goes well, you may decide to court the notion. If the relationship with the notion continues to develop, you might become romantically involved and conceive a concept. Then it snowballs. Give it birth, feed it, change its diapers, teach it to walk and talk, and don’t forget manners. Its personality soon develops, and it gains a voice and an opinion. It’s only fair that the apron strings be cut so the concept can live on it’s own. And what do we artist do? Always pursue the next notion. It becomes an addiction. It’s our AA (Artistic Affirmation) meeting. Hello. My name is Jason Blair. And I’m an artist.

The “notion”, for me is the hardest part. How does a notion become? The basic lexical definition of notion is: 1. a conception of or belief about something. 2. A vague awareness or understanding of the nature of something. And as an artist you try to reproduce this feeling in hopes that someone gets it. My last artist statement was based on mnemonics. Mnemonics are learning techniques to help aid in memory. Wikipedia defines it as mostly verbal such as a short poem or a special word used to help a person remember something, particularly lists, but may be visual, kinesthetic or auditory. My aids were maps, landscapes and sonic installations. My tools were photography, printmaking, and digital/analog synthesis or elctroacoustic sculpture. This is what I know. I now view my senior thesis as an antonym. I still believe the mnemonic notion is viable and consequentially runs parallel in my life, but the paradigm has shifted. So I beg my own question. Do I pursue this notion or abandon it?








Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Navigating My Way Back Into The Art World

I have to admit, I've taken some serious detours ever since I graduated with a BFA in 1999. Wake up calls and second chances seem to rule my life. Each time begets a better outcome, although it takes me awhile to snap out of complacent zombie-like states which I tend to frequent more than not.



So it's been 12 years since I've opened up a can of Daniel Smith vine black etching ink. 12 years since I've flirted with acids. 12 years since I've cranked the wheel of a Takash press. 12 years since I've pulled a proof. 12 years of creative hibernation. Time to wake the bear.

Where to begin? Grab stick. Poke bear. HARD!

So here I sit, artistically emaciated, while I begin this journey. I am vulnerable and exposed without any credibility, ready to forge for berries so I can fatten up my confidence and call myself a bear.

Diaries have existed for centuries. Blogs...only in the last 10 years. It's ironic that a diary is written with discretion but a blog is written with brazenness. However, cARTography is written for shear accountability. It's my trainer. My gym partner. First I've got to exercise the mind in order to build a lexicon of artistic language in order to produce work. How do I start? By typing, by actively thinking, by immersing myself, by doing. Shit or get off the pot is what my old man use to say. I'm finally listening, Pop.