Horray for Construction

Nearly 1 yr since...

The annual post...

The Painting Hand

08.21.09
The Painting Hand:

What is it like to learn a new skill? What is the process, the successes, the failures? What is craftsmanship and workmanship risk? What is this tool called ‘hand’?

Inventory:
(6) 12”x12”x1” insulated glass units
(5) tubes acrylic paint (red, yellow, blue, white, black)
(2) bottles Falloria il Palagio 2006 Chianti
(2) hands
(1) mind
..time..

In an attempt to make something by hand, emulate the role of craftsman using skill and the natural, inherent tool, I engaged in a study by finger painting. As children, the hands are used often and without reserve. Before we could master a tool: a brush, a crayon, a stick, the hands were first mastered. The four fingers, thumb, and palm work intimately in concert with the creative medium: mud, rocks, sand, paint, or play-doo. In a search for this raw imagination through ignorant exploration, I turned to painting by hand. Acrylic paint is a medium that I have not much experience. The material is a stranger to me in that I do not know its tendencies, its characteristics, its personality. What does it like? What does it dislike? What can I get it to do? The journey will be a collaboration with the material. I must rely upon its instruction, and I must listen closely.

1 of 6, Acrylic on 12"x12"x1" Glass

The first pane was perhaps too aggressive. I jumped right in with three fingers per color, pulled from the ‘palette,’ but the 12x12 pane was too small for this strong of a stroke. After the first applications, the palette holding several large dollops of paint (they seemed large at the time, but how quickly they dissipated) was void and in need of more. I was not using a fine, precise tool such as a brush - I was using blunt and ignorant fingers, but that’s not how “painters” do it: paint goes from tube to palette, from palette to brush, from brush to canvas. Pure habituation. Pure crap. The caps were placed back on the tubes as well. Why? Was I trying to contain them? Control them? It would not do. The caps were screwed off with the clean hand, the right hand. This was by intention (I did not wish to soil my goblet and anticipating the necessity of opening or grabbing things, I did not intend to spread creation all over creation.) Teeth and fingers manipulated the caps off, preparing them for their immanent use. There was no intention to the first study.
It was an innocent introduction, a tentative step into the process. The first passes went fast and the coverage was not as thick or extensive as expected. Red was first, then yellow, and finally blue with the same three fingers. The palm
began to play in search for a ‘clean’ edge to pick-up paint as it was smeared around. The mud and muck of smearing
paint around a glass surface with haphazard blending materialized into a mass of baby shit or split-pea-soup green set just below a red smear with kisses of yellow. It was overworked. It had started to dry & would no longer blend. More paint. Apply paint directly to fingers - the palette was useless. Messy and no longer able to preserve the integrity of the color, they are applied directly to the pane. Looking for better color combinations and blends, the introduction of white or black was inevitable. Black - reflective of my days’ mood. A huge glob, perhaps thinking it could be an eraser or top coat that would cover, conceal, and make new the sick green mass. The whole hand was in it now - smearing left and right across the pane. Control was a distant concept floating further away. Black covered across the whole surface - working itself up the composition. Again - overworked. Yellow, yellow-green ended up being the visibly dominant color, with black, or a shade of black diluted by the baby-shit. It was a good and informative introduction. Clean the hand and start again.

2 of 6, Acrylic on 12"x12"x1" Glass

For pane #2, red & blue were to be dominant. The intent had gestated - replicate the process, achieve a similar end. Blue first, on a single finger. Thin spread - too thing, for it started to dry too soon and would not mingle well with later colors/paint. The knowing of the consistency, the depth of the color stream was communicated from the soft and cool ‘roll’ under finger. When the finger pressed hard on the paint, the glass expressed itself. When the touch was more gentle, a caress, the paint rolled along as liquid velvet. Red next - on the middle finger. The second finger started pure with its own color identity, just as the first finger had, but it is unavoidable, inevitable that if red was to exist in this world, this 12x12 flat world, it would be unable to maintain its individuality. It became a blend of the two, to various extents dependant upon the intensity, the value of each of the players. Which color contributed more would not be known, but their sum turned to be greater than their parts. The process dragged too long and the players did not mingle to the expected end. Black again. Too dark now - the whole thing dark and muddy and the light in this room is not good. The rest of the hand became involved as the composition became overworked and dried. Just stop.
Clean.

3 of 6, Acrylic on 12"x12"x1" Glass

Orange. The color of sunrise and sunset. The color of no rhyme. Red was applied first with the learned method of a single finger for a single color. Quickened pace. Feel it. Listen to it. Confidence and less tentative gestures from listening, and then learning its personality Yellow now. Some strong streaks. Be wary of overworking it. Black - a big glob on the red finger from the bottom of the pane up to the yellow. Green, that dark green, has surfaced. Stop. Don’t overwork. Black again from the top down to the red streak. Still very wet and malleable, workable. Some strokes across with ‘dry’ fingers take paint away revealing the color below that still maintains its identity, its fervor. Three fingers in and knowing when to stop. Pleasant.

4 of 6, Acrylic on 12"x12"x1" Glass

If they had names: “Ocean Floor”, “Midnight”, and “Sunset”.

Detail A: 4 of 6, Acrylic on 12"x12"x1" Glass

Detail B: 4 of 6, Acrylic on 12"x12"x1" Glass

It is difficult to know when it is done. Ever - Never?

5 of 6, Acrylic on 12"x12"x1" Glass

It’s done when you are ready to walk away from it.

6 of 6, Acrylic on 12"x12"x1" Glass

It's done when you don’t want to fuck it up.,

Just in Case

Just in case you were too freaked out to think clearly or finally looked around your confines...

Remember the Alamo!

Recent trip to San Antonio for my birthday. Visit the RiverWalk, The Alamo, see downtown SanAnton.

Learned quite a bit about Texas history and Texas independence.

Such as - The Alamo was actually a slaughter by Mexican Army under Santa Anna and not Native Americans. Not sure why I always thought it was against Native Americans - I'm getting it mixed up with the battle with Geronimo or the Battle of Little Big Horn? American History usually crapped out around the Civil War and focused on the East coast during that time. Don't know much about the rest of American History between 1865 and present.

Also - after that battle, Santa Anna continued on to what is now Baytown and the Houston Ship Channel only to be met by Sam Houston, the future first president of Texas. Fifteen minutes into the Battle of San Jacinto, after crying "Remember the Alamo" Santa Anna was captured and the Mexican Army essentially defeated. Now I understand why the city is named as such, the significance of the San Jacinto monument and holiday.

The riverwalk is a great example of revitalization, landscape architecture, and place making. When one is down in the "river" only small glimpses of streets above are afforded between large, old, and thick trees and other vegetation. The many bridges, vehicular and pedestrian, over the river gives away that there is an upper world allowing frequent and easy access, but again, there is good separation. It was interesting to see the different atmosphere and clientele between each realm: the tourists in the underworld and the, I can only assume, regulars top side. It was also nice to observe some cross pollination between the realms, but I suspect its more tourists visiting top side than the other way around.

Good experience - good to walk - good to sit and people watch, nosh on the side of the river in a cafe atmosphere - good to see the "back" of buildings revitalized - good to see the layers and levels and intense Terra formations of restaurants falling out of the bottom of buildings claiming as much level surface as allowed for tables and sitters. While I have not been to Europe, this is what I would think Europe would be - quite un-American standard.

Spring in the South

For those of you in the North recieving the last? blast of Winter - we in the South like to take day trips to the West, pose and photograph large expanses of wild flowers, and enjoy +80 degree weather. Traveling West on highway 290, one can find folks just pulled over on the side of the road enjoying large patches of bluebells and other varieties of wild flowers. You see couples, families, lots of little kids nestled in the flowers - and all on the side of the highway; and it's okay. After a few back roads where large ranches and country homes are peppered about, we passed through Brenham - and old town with a revitalized, antique ladden downtown. First settled by Germans in the mid 1800's, fed by the Sante Fe railroad and various industries, Brenham host many festivals or is in close proximity to many festivals throughout the year. Lots of renovated (some better than others) and some decrepit structures to photograph. Good day today.

Seth Petersen Cottage

Nestled in Mirror Lake State Park in Wisconsin, the Frank Llyod Wright designed Seth Petersen Cottage was a beautiful experience for romantic weekend getaway. Just South of the Wisconsin Dells, the state park and cottage has ready access to the amenities of the town while offering the opportunity to hide yourself away for a few days, to get lost in the wilderness, and be.

The hand operated gated drive introduces the pace and tone of the experience: deliberate movements, experience. After the vehicular procession through the gate, closing it behind you blocking out unwanted visitors and the hectic world beyond, a winding gravel/dirt road lined with wooden lanterns leads you seemingly deep into the woods of the park. It was mid March with a warm trend, lows of 40's and highs of 60's, but small patches of snow remained in strategic areas among the bare but dense forest. At the end of the trail was the cottage. Both perched and nestled on a hill top overlooking Mirror Lake, its external presence was meek. Through a screened door (screens on every opening as the original design from '53 had no A/C) and through a slim, tall double door - warmth enveloped you like a mother's warm blanket after being caught in a cold rain. The first breath was dripping with campfire. Combined with the warm orange glow of the sun splashed great room, I had the impression I was walking into the smoldering embers of deep and passionate fire.

While the space was only 880 sqft with two rooms an a bath, there was still clear division of spaces and sequence as the experience unfolded. The hearth facilitated the separation of entry/kitchen and living space when first entering the space. Around the corner of the hearth, another thin passage lead to the cave-like sleeping room with bathroom deeper yet. Once inside of the space, the hearth and the stone vocabulary unified the space; the different "rooms," including the outdoor rooms, now separated by subtle items: view, glass and frames, furniture.

The primary sitting porch overlooking the lake was where we spent most of the day on Monday: sipping hot chocolate, bathing in sunlight, watching the birds feast and squirrels quarrel. The music of the breeze blown evergreens and trees was soothing and timeless. I was happy time did not pass quickly, nor did I feel the urge to move on or do something - we were doing what we were to do. Only by the waning sun, did we acknowledge that dinner reservations were looming and we should greet the outer world.

I can't think of a more beautiful experience with the love of my life - my partner - and now my fiance.

Get'n Old

ya know how you always heard about the good 'ole days? meat used to be good because it came from a butcher - bread was fresh and real because it came from a baker: the people in your neighborhood, the people that you meet each day. Legos aren't what they used to be. At one time, my time, Legos were building blocks for imaginations. they would supply you with the intended result, but they left room for alterations, some good and some bad, but the point was the toy allowed that freedom and rebellion from the "plan". maybe that's where "problem with authority" comes from. And if you had a hard time getting the creativity thawed, there were some helpful suggestions on the back of the box leading you to possibility. What a deal: no less than 3 toys in one box with many more on the way. Anymore, Legos are so specialized to the scenario and "interactive" - that is, pieces are expelled by their own power and "for real" - that Legos have really lost value. Turn the box around and the back shows you how many projectiles fly off of the toy, that one toy configuration, that you had to build to use. sucker. I just saw a commercial for a book that "reads" to kids - batteries, but no parent, required.

IKE

6:30pm - about 8 hrs before storm:

The timeline: It was really sunny and nice all day on Friday. We were granted leave from work at 2pm on Thursday and full off day on Friday to prepare. We had supplies from Eduard or Gustav and we had our hurricane kit ready to go, so I went to Spec's. Spec's is a great place to get ANY type, style, brand of adult beverages: stocked up on wine and beer. After Spec's, raided the ATM for some cash and went home. Friday night/Saturday morning Ike made landfall at 2AM on the Galveston Island. We are about 70 miles NNW of Galveston, so we were feeling TS force winds +35mph sustained from about 10pm on. Around midnight it started getting really bad - hard to sleep when gusts of 80mph and +65mph sustained winds thrashed trees and buildings. 4AM the power was out and the storm still raged.

Having never experienced a tornado or hurricane - I can only compare it to thunderstorms. Usually, when a really bad T-storm comes through, the front end of the storm is where the wind whips, trees thrash, and heavy rain comes in sideways. This storm was the front end of a really bad t-storm that lasted 6 hrs. I kept thinking the power was coming back on while in my half dazed stress sleep, but it was only lighting strikes. Honestly, because we are on the West side of the storm, we had the weaker side - the East side of hurricanes is the more severe side.

Then it rained, in a relaxed way, for most of the day Saturday. Mid-day Saturday was clear enough to catch your breath, and access some damage. The photos here were taken at that time.Saturday night, however, a cold front came through and rocked a severe t-storm, dumping lightning and several inches on an already soaked region. After this storm, because of the flooding, is when we lost water.

Sunday afternoon, as we contemplated post-storm evacuation, the power returned - soon after cable - soon after cell phone coverage was more secure - and gradually the water was full pressure.

Its two days after the strong CAT2 hurricane, Ike, passed over the greater Houston area. The comparative day and a half of peace after the storm: no A/C's (no electric), no traffic (many vacated city after storm), no people (curfew from 9pm to 6am), no wind (really, no wind what-so-ever), has been broken by the gas powered saws and blowers and machinery of debris management. Relative to damage, our complex is average to light: downed trees, gutters, shingles, some flooding where flooding should occur, loss of power, cable, and water for a couple of days.

The view from our porch where we steamed shrimp on a propane camping burner on Saturday:

Our apt is the second floor corner, now shielded by 1/3 of a tree:

The forest to the right of the image above; soggy boggy ground and uprooted tree:

The tennis courts/detention pond with a few snapped off trees. This picture was taken before an all night severe thunderstorm - notice the bench in the courts...after the T-storm, water was up to and over the seat of that bench:

A tree taking a dip:
So, we are safe, have water and electric, plenty of food and fuel, entertainment and no J.O.B at least until Wednesday. We are blessed and lucky compared to some of our neighbors just down the street. The hardest hit as I'm sure you have seen on T.V. have been the Southern areas. There are runs on gas and food and ice and sometimes it gets ugly: police have to be stationed at gas stations. FEMA - well, not sure...there was some miscommunication between state, local, and federal government, but it was only a delay of supplies for a couple of hours (allegedly). But you know, there is NO reason an average citizen can't have two or three days of non-perishable food items on hand to get you through until FEMA's MRE's show up. There is probably a days worth in perishable food that should have been eaten when power went down. Look in your refrigerator and freezer right now. What's in there? You have about a day to eat all of that food. Will that keep you fed for a day? Its sad and confusing, the state of cities and heavily populated areas when tragedy...not even unexpected, oh my god a plane just took out a building, or two minutes ago a siren went off and now my house has blown away, or its been raining for two days and now the creek is in my yard...but a week to almost two weeks of watching a storm blow across a 1000 mile Gulf. Stay tuned. Might go for a bike ride and watch 4hr long lines for gas.