The fifth Night of Christmas – Dragons in their lair

 
During the night, while I draw, I do not necessarily know what it is that I am drawing. I wait until the morning before I add the collage elements and complete the drawing. By that time I see what I have done the night before with different eyes. Every drawing seems like a message send to my future self. As often as not, I am actually surprised what it is that I have been focussing on. Like many artist I confess not to know what occupies my mind while I am drawing, I am just drawing.

The twelve nights allow me to focus on drawing despite the continuing demands of my other work. I made it hard for myself this year by choosing a technique that requires a couple of hours for each drawing – but it quite satisfying as well.

Writing and drawing have been part of my life for as long as I can remember – I’d like to think that the dragons in their library lair are an inside view of that dominant part of my brain that won’t let go of ART despite incentives offered to lead another life altogether.Foto

the day the shadows disappeared

Mahabaratha, detailthe shadows were moving slowly, swaying like branches in a light breeze or high buildings on a windy day. to detect purpose in these gentle movements required a slight degree of paranoia, and yet there was no apparent natural cause to explain the shift of the shadows away from their corresponding objects and towards the center of the village like water draining from upset glasses.
finally, there were just a bits of shadow left, like drops in a sink adhering to the enamel by their surface tension. these droplets of shadow were sparkling like rainbows, no grayness reflected. the air was still and non-expectant, noon in a depressed small town, and the realization that the world was without shadows had not yet sunk in. in a dirty jeep, parked close to the village center, a woman lit a marlboro
even those who had dismissed the shadows as inessential, felt disconcerted when the birds ceased to sing. on the morning of the third day, after a dawn without luminosity had given way to dull day light, small insects began their crawling procession towards the centers that had swallowed the shadows.
and someone laughed at the gray man in his wrinkle free woolen suit who solicited signatures on retro-active insurance policies. “one day only”, he implored, “an amazing offer”, but they shooed him away while watching the myriad of tiny, scarlet colored spiders tie a living ribbon between the outskirts of the village and the shadow drain.
and yet, the spiders said, too easily do you accept that we form a living ribbon, and wander into oblivion. one by one. what to your eyes a living ribbon is, to ours is a band of pain, and joy, and hope against all odds.

Working with young artists

IMG_5531Working with Young Artists

By trade I am a lawyer. Many lawyers do have a passion besides their original profession though, I happen to have three, if you count my love for children in general and my own children in particular. The other two are writing and art. I mention this because you will surely want to know how I am qualified to “teach art” or as I prefer to say: to work with and alongside young artists.

My grandmother used to say I have been born with a brush in one and in pen in my other hand – and as far as I can remember I have been scribbling and drawing on every appropriate surface – and some less suited. That I came to study law is strange, all things considered, but I guess I wanted to try out if I could succeed doing something else and law had always been intriguing to me. It turned out that I could succeed. I graduated with two law degrees – and came straight back to art. And at some point I started doing it both: art and law. Kids have always played a role. I have been teaching all kinds of classes, art and law, over the last ten years, and it has been a truly rewarding part of my life, not just my professional life. As you might imagine, I am never asked how I qualify to teach legal workshops, I am a lawyer after all, but often how come I teach art as well.

I do believe that art is not the esoteric, isolated endeavor that people sometimes take it to be. Artists are well advised to take notice of their world and have an understanding of it that transcends the visual. Beuys pointed out that every person is an artist, that artistic creation is at the center of human life. He went as far as demanding that every physician, scientist, philosopher be first trained in art. I will venture further by saying that the art world would profit if artists would first be trained in a trade that explores the practical aspects of their environment. Every artist is part of a tangible social reality. The training to become a lawyer might in the end not be either so far from or so detrimental to artistic process as is might seem at first.

Why I do love to work with young artists? Because it refreshing to leave the stereotypes that people retreat to as they become older. Every child I have ever had the pleasure to meet turned out to be an original artist (albeit sometimes a frustrated one …).
I respect the creative work children are capable of. As a first hand witness and as someone who still draws and paints, saws and glues every day: There is no time like childhood to experience the joy of art.

I had the good luck to be raised by a grandmother who had the wisdom of an older generation to pretty much let me do whatever I thought appropriate as long as I did not nail her good table linens onto a broomstick for a pirate sail (happened only once) or cut out my great grandmother’s lace to make curtains for fairy dwellings, also a one time never to happen again situation.

However I was allowed to make use of any tool that I would find in my grandfathers tool shed or in the kitchen without anyone trying to figure out if they were child appropriate. I was also allowed to make generous use of old newspapers and magazines, of the newsprint paper that my grandfather, who was publisher of a local newspaper, brought home, and in general of every piece of metal, screw, paper, feather, stone or yes, glass! that I would pick up on our long walks. It never occurred to my grandparents that I might pick up some dangerous germs on the way.

I brought everything home and assembled it very much the way every child will when you do not interfere. I do not know where our desire to “make” things has its origin but I do know that we already possess it as children, together with an instinct of how things fit together. If children are not allowed to roam as freely as I was, they will still build markers from pebbles and stones, they’d still use sticks to draw in sand, build strange, improvised gardens in mud, decorate prefabricated play structures with ritual signs.

To be creative is a basic desire of humans, all humans. It is a genuine expression of who we are even before we are defined by our social and economic circumstances. To teach a child to be creative therefore seems to me an elusive act. I look at children with a sense of awe, they are still there, right at the origin, and all I do as an art teacher is to take them on the same kind of  long walk that I had been privileged to undertake with my grandparents and I simply allow them to discover their world and to collect at will what responds to their own desire of creating this world new. If we’d allow our children more freedom and time to explore their own world and provide them with materials that are not dedicated to specific purposes, we could cut back on many extracurricular activities. Let them venture out there and the artist that lives in every one of us but is acutely alive in our children is ready to meet all the great challenges of art right in our neighborhood.

To come back to the question of my own expertise: I do believe with visionary clarity that it is not my academic expertise that is relevant. It is my willingness to acknowledge and celebrate children as the artists they are. I do believe that art is not a matter of paper and ink, of perspective and shading, I do believe though art techniques can be taught art cannot, no more than breathing, walking, seeing. It is something that happens when things go right or when you have to make them come out right. Art is life.

everywhere and nowhere – a trip to berlin and back

 

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black ball pen, anywhere paper. while working as a lawyer specialized on the representation of visual artists, sometimes the time in between, travel time, waiting times, coffee breaks during a conference turns out to be a creative space in which not just some kind of creative maintenance seems to happen but actually – while I am using readily available art supplies like note paper and ball pens provided at said conference – something interesting, some original kind of work or an idea that will be worth developing. like this weekend. i added to my to do list for the day: buy plenty refills for black ball pens. something’s coming.

multiplying y – the next night

IMG_5722 IMG_5723 IMG_5724 IMG_5725 IMG_5726 IMG_5727So I started multiplying y. Drawing the net pattern on the larger glass panes allows the rhythm of the pattern to emerge. I started with white on one side of the acrylic sheet and drew a loose knit-like pattern. Then I layered black organic lace-work on top. I drew about five hours, then I called it a night. But not before playing a bit with my new building block system of drawings, creating deep, three-dimensional images by arranging and rearranging different elements in front of a big mirror. You can see that the combination of smaller drawings getting “caught” in the net-pattern of the larger pane really works well. I have to finish the larger drawing, I think it will be another two to three nights. After that I want to try a wilder, more impulsive web of lines on a large sheet. What if …

the process of multiplying y – or: the power of “what if …”

Art is a question. Or, more precisely an active research framework where one question leads to another through tangible action. In my case, at the moment, that tangible action is drawing. Every night. On acrylic glass panes.

As an artist you know the question every finished work asks of you. What if? Every night since December 26th I have finished one drawing and every morning I have looked at it and asked myself a simple “What if …?”.

What if, for example, instead of one layer of that net-like surface the creature I called into visual reality I tried two layers, or three? So, that is what I will do the following night. And once finished, I will study it and realize that something happened when I multiplied the net-like layers (actually by five). The feeling that one net-like layer caused me to encounter has deepened. As this is art and not science, this was not necessarily predictable.

But the drawing is still small, more like a study of the possibilities of layering net-like patterns. So, today’s question will be “What if … I took a much larger glass pane?” I still happen to have one of those, by the way.

At some point I might ask myself: Why? Y? Why layer net-like patterns night after night? Why nets of all things? Small. Larger. One layer, Five layers. But asking for the meaning of the pattern or symbols does not follow inevitably as part of the inquiry. I might just as well choose not to ask that question and stay with the mere technical observation.

The one question I never ask myself is: “Does it make sense?” I have been asked that by others, of course. Repeatedly. The implication being: Isn’t it a waste of time?

The answer, to that question is so obvious, that I don’t have to ask myself. (More obvious at least than the right of someone else to ask me why I actively waste my life-time). Does it make sense?

The answer is that if it would make sense in the spirit of that question I would not do it. I would not do it even if I felt like it. Even if I had an urge to do it. I just wouldn’t, if it made sense.

I am like a cartographer, stringing together points on a map. Does is make sense to look at the stars and wonder how far one could go? Does it make sense to accelerate a particle? Does it make sense to be breathe? Rather than to contemplate such a question I ask: “What if.” Many times over. Night after night. Dream after dream.

Art is a question.