An Artistic Team of Rivals

White-throated Sparrow in Staghorn Sumac. Sumi Brush Pen Sketch by Ken Januski.

 

When the flush of newborn sun fell first
On Eden's green and bold
Our Father Adam sat under a tree
And scratched with a stick in the mould
And the first rude sketch that the world had seen
Was a joy to his mighty Heart
Till the devil whispered behind the leaves,
"It's pretty but is it Art?"

From 'The Conundrum of Workshops' by Rudyard Kipling, quoted in 'Lines from Nature' by John Busby, Langford Press.

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'"I have attained," he said, "a form filtered to the essentials."'

Henri Matisse speaking about his later cutout artwork, as quoted by John Elderfield in 'The Cutouts of Henri Matisse', George Braziller.

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Every animal, plant, or fish exhibits individual moods compatible with its nature. It is difficult to understand, but once understood their spirit expressed in your painting will be complete -- otherwise you are painting mere likeness. Few artists can express their subjects spirit -- the first rule for this is universal empathy. As you progress in this, not only will you understand the spirit behind the few animal motifs on which you are studying, but every creature will begin to be enlivened with mood and spirit. Later, when you meld the myriad creatures together with your emotions and nature through your brush you attain a 'dissolution of opposites,' a realm where both subject and object are transformed together. Every scene that passes your vision and leaves your brush becomes enlivened with your individual personality. The average person may not recognize this, but other artists will acknowledge your paintings as possessing both feeling and character. At this point painting becomes an art of life, perfected by transforming your disposition. Neglecting to mold your nature inhibits you from attaining a higher realm of painting. This is why abstract art has become an art for this modern, chaotic age.

Cheng Man-ching: Master of Five Excellences, translation and commentary by Mark Hennessy, Frog Ltd.
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I recently received the last book by John Busby , 'Lines from Nature' and was struck by the opening quote from Kipling. And I'm not sure exactly what Busby meant since his own work exhibits both direct observation of nature and art based on that as well as more formal aspects. Perhaps he just wanted to show that it is an age-old dichotomy.

Seeing a wonderful film recently called 'A Model for Matisse' about a nun who was a subject for many works by Matisse and was also instrumental in his late works for the chapel at Vence, renewed my appreciation for Matisse. There's no question that his work is ART.

Thus a dilemma: straightforward response to nature, which may or may not be ART, and ART that intends to be ART. I love them both.

So that got me searching through 'Cheng Man-ching: Master of Five Excellences', translated with commentary by Mark Hennessy for some of his thoughts on art. The one I quote is not actually the one I was looking for, about chi in art, but it's good enough and I'm not trying to write a research paper.

My point is really to show how many different attitudes there can be toward making art, and how one person, namely me, but I suspect most other artists as well, are influenced by many of them, even when they can seem contradictory. And out of all those contradictions comes ART. And I think the best art comes from an artistic team of rivals, not from just one source or one school. As I've been noticing so much recently while listening to Beethoven it is out of conflict that the most bracing, striking and honest beauty sometimes comes.

Since this really is more about ideas than pictures it was hard to know how to illustrate this. So I chose the only art I've made in 2017. This is a fairly quick sketch with a sumi brush pen of a White-throated Sparrow eating the seeds of a Staghorn Sumac. Perhaps it will eventually become a print, or painting, or perhaps even a cutout.

A Finished Reduction Linocut

Falling, Fighting Blue-gray Gnatcatchers. Two-block Reduction Linocut by Ken Januski.

This two-block reduction woodcut is finally finished. I'd guess it took about three months altogether, with many interruptions for allowing the ink to dry and other things. The main delay though was compositional decision-making.

I often see prints, in all media, that obviously take a lot of time to complete either due to a wealth of detail, technical complexity or something else. This type of print is generally unimpressive to me. As I've said many times in the years I've been writing this blog I'm not impressed by work in and of itself. That seems a very puritanical way of appreciating art.

But I'm sure another perspective is that time spent on compositional decision-making is just as off-putting to others. That may well be. And it may also be that many people looking at the print above won't realize how much time was spent deciding on colors, shapes, which colors on which shapes.

I've had the good luck to sell quite a few prints over the last month. They've been in a variety of styles, some more primitive, some more realistic and some more abstract. In general I'd say that the prints I've sold most of over the last years have been simple and direct, often almost primitive. When I package them off for shipment I feel some kinship with the people who buy them. And I wonder if I shouldn't stick to this more simple and direct style.

On the other hand I come from a tradition, particularly in my abstract work, of worrying over a painting or print until it is just right. Matisse said that every shape, every color, every brushstroke had its place. And it's something I'm very sympathetic to. One reason for this I think is that such work rewards viewing over the years. There is always something more to find and appreciate.

So when I do more compositionally complex prints that is the main motivation. I want a print that sticks with you.

The other thing that I think really delayed this print, and most compositionally complex prints, is that I know that I'm not making just one print. I'm making many. That is the nature of a print. You make more than one. So I figure if I'm going to be making 15, 20, 25, 30 prints I want them to be good enough that someone might want to buy them, even years after I've made them.

Solitary Sandpiper and Twelve-spotted Skimmer. Linocut by Ken Januski.

I was reminded of that when I sold the 2012 print pictured above. So much work goes into a print, into being careful to print them in such a way that they are as identical as possible, to avoid ink smudges that ruin the print. And yet most don't sell when made and just go into storage(a separate complication). But the reward is to be able to pull one out years afterwards, be reminded of how much you like it, and send it off to a buyer.

Because I know that I've already spent hours on the print, and that I'll be spending more hours printing an edition, I want to make sure that the composition is as good as I can make it before I print.

Thus the three months making the gnatcatcher print.

Since I've not made many prints this year I haven't written much about printmaking. But I have been thinking about it. One type of print that I often like is the monoprint. I like it because it is very spontaneous, and more like a painting than a print. But I've never made one. Why? Because I don't see the point of just making one. I might as well paint as print just one(thus monoprint). Still I very much like what many people do with monoprints.

In many of my prints I'm actually trying to create a multi-print monoprint. What I mean by that is that I hope to capture the feeling of spontaneity that a monoprint has. And yet still make an edition of it. I think that this gnatcatcher print may capture that better than any print I've yet done.

Still it is a far cry from my simple and direct prints. My guess is that I'll continue to find a place for both styles.

Dead Common Yellowthroat. Pencil and Watercolor Sketch by Ken Januski.

We have one outdoor cat. But because I'm seriously allergic to them we've set a limit as to how many we can have inside. So our outdoor cat, who my wife adores and I have to say I like, causes far more problems with local birds than I'd like. In fact we've drastically cut down our bird feeding so that we don't attract birds that in turn might end up as prey for the cat. We do pretty well but recently he got our first backyard migrating warbler of the late summer. It's a very sad event. The best I can  do is to make a quick sketch of the bird, in this case a Common Yellowthroat. It is amazing what small, delicate creatures they are.

Pectoral Sandpiper. Watercolor by Ken Januski.

A slightly less delicate creature, though I can't say for sure since I didn't hold him in my hand, was this Pectoral Sandpiper. I had committed to bird and try to sketch shorebirds for World Shorebird Day. But I said I would do so nearby in locations that sometimes but certainly not always have shorebirds. Over four days I found none in very local locations and only a few further away at Heinz NWR. Those were too distant to sketch. So instead I did this watercolor of a Pectoral Sandpiper, seen and photographed at Morris Arboretum last fall.

I still greatly enjoy watercolor and it is no longer the sheer torture it was when I started. I like going back and forth between it and printmaking. But I think printmaking will remain my primary medium.

A Forgotten Rite of Spring

Killdeer Pair at Manayunk Canal. Watercolor by Ken Januski

This time of year brings with it many rites of spring. One of the best is hearing Stravinsky's Rite of Spring on the radio. It's the perfect time to play it. And it always reminds me of the difficulty of doing realistic art. Given that work like Stravinsky's has been played for around 100 years how can you paint as though such transformations, beautiful transformations I might add, never took place?!

I never know the answer to this. I do know that if there is a cause of anxiety at the back of my more realistic art it's due to being aware of this artistic tradition. In the visual arts of course you can substitute Picasso, Matisse, my old hero Stuart Davis for Stravinsky.

Another rite of spring is the return of migrating birds, Eastern Phoebes, Tree Swallows, Common Grackles and as above Killdeer. I was shocked to find one in January or February this year. This pair seen today at the Manayunk Canal is my first pair of the year. It's now time to be on the lookout for nests and young.

But the real rite of spring I'm talking about is one I'd just as soon forget - very difficult, overworked watercolors with Killdeer as subject. I'm not sure why I've done so many Killdeer watercolors that have been such a struggle. Perhaps its because they're one of the first birds each year that I sketch in the field. I then want to develop them into a painting. My guess is that's the most likely case.

But I thought I'd left the struggles behind. I didn't have any problems with the watercolors of Killdeer I did last year and possibly the year before. That wasn't the case today. I struggled quite a bit on this 9x12 inch watercolor. Though I started off treating it as a watercolor I ended up treating it as an oil or acrylic, where I don't worry about what's already been put down on the paper and keep pouring on paint. This is almost painting through exorcism.

It looks rough and crude and surely doesn't have the deftness of most of the watercolors I most admire. On the other hand I know that sometimes you just need to struggle to get something right. Today I decided it was time to return to that approach. The painting didn't seem right so I just plowed on, knowing that I might destroy much along the way. (One day later and I've substituted a slightly modified version.)