OK, before I forget to respond to all the blog comments and emails and questions I'll sit here listening to the hum of the drier and report.

That Vitaly Komar talk the other night was really an eye opener. I had seen his work (promarily the collaborations with Alex Melamid as Komar and Melamid) for years (mostly in slide talks and art magazines and in bits and spurts.) It was slick, it was clever (buying souls, creating imaginary Russian artists, surveying America about her favorite and least favorite artworks). Really, I sat there laughing and scribbling and filling in the gaps on projects I'd heard of but really didn't know.
Hearing Vitaly Komar and Billy Collins in the same week, left me thinking about the people (mostly men I realize) I know who use humor as a way of working in the world, and thinking about how for every calm and casual, laughing and relaxed character there is usually a counterpoint: a worrywart, a nervous person, someone not so laughing, not so relaxed, and not so free. Komar said something really interesting near the end of his talk, as he showed his most personal, most vunerable drawings and collages (which weave his memories of his family with his spiritual belief and hopes for humanity). It's heavy stuff in these images but beautiful. Only not funny. As when Billy Collins is not funny. Or when William Wegman is not funny. Or when Saul Steinberg is not funny.

Because they are often so funny, the un-funny stings, resonates, and causes me to stop and think.

Also in the comments here lately, I've found an old friend (rather she's found me, hello Renee!) and been asked about the teen art camps I teach every summer. I'm headed back to Atlanta in a few weeks to teach another one and frankly the idea of drawing everyday with adolescents is a big kick. They are honest, obsessed, eager, hardworking, fascinated, and ready to try something new. It's funny (yeesh, I'm there again) how much I like that work.
It's cold here in upstate New York but my friend Deb sent me the info on this show in Buffalo she's included in. I'm entranced by the web images and the idea of an artshow in a conservatory. All of these images seem cold and warm to me. So very Buffalo. More art shows in non-art places, please! Anywhere, everywhere, not always, but often.
Take care,
Rachael

I left out about 6 dozen paintings I love from my list the other day. It's a game I'm not so good at. I'm much more interested in drawing and listening (Collins, Komar, and a bunch of other interesting folks this week) and working on that wheel nowadays.
Although this town practically reeks of lilacs, I'm still fascinated by Oxalis. Here's another page from the sketchbook.

Take care, Rachael

Talked tonight and showed his work. I'm thinking about it still and intrigued by the big bang work and his hopes for a Three Day Weekend. Those Russian artists are dreamers. It's inspiring how artists might try to tell their own stories through imagery that connects a bigger world. I have notes from this lecture, too, but am simply too tired to excerpt 'em or scan 'em or do anything but slip into a big sleep.
goodnight, Rachael

Tyler suggested art bloggers pick a favorite American Painting in an American collection (and any painting in an American collection) and truth be told, I can not be objective.

My favorites are those with personal connections, the paintings that I've stood in front of and have been changed by. This ain't no easy game for me but rather a good chance to turn folks on to paintings I love. I share them not to suggest they are the best but because you should go see them in person. Each image is a lot stronger than it appears digitally. To not swipe images, I'm linking not posting other museum's pictures. Just scraping the surface here and no more apologies but I suggest:

For the intensity of an honest, passionate portrait, Robert Henri's Portrait of an Art Student in Milwaukee.
For the glory of fall color and the spirit of the woods, Winslow Homer's Adirondack watercolors in the National Gallery and this one still in the Adirondacks.
For being such a quiet and powerfrul beauty, Charles Demuth's Zinnias in the National Gallery.
For being loud, dramatic and bold, this old favorite Feininger at MOMA.
For graphic simplicity, smart composition, and strong honest staying power, it's Jacob Lawrence's schoolgirls at MOMA and Ben Shahn's Sacco and Vanzetti at the Whitney.


Oh and I just recently stumbled onto the Walker Art Center's education and community programs blog.

I'm happy to report that the Billy Collins talk I went to the other night was a treat. He read a dozen or so poems, was 'interrogated' by a local radio loudmouth, and in general demonstrated a love and knowledge of the craft of poetry, of the art of words, and of communication and expression. I was impressed with his comfort in reading and in the stuff he read. So I listened and jotted notes and found myself returning to doodling his face and hands often. That happens when the speakers I'm listening to have expressive hands and the funning thing is that as I think about the talk, I can see an easy flow to my line that I don't always have.



There were good messages from Mr. Collins about working hard to make work that is honest, about how writers have a responsibility to readers and that readers, too, have work to do, and that humor is not simply a device but a way of living. (I think I have more thoughts about laughing your way through life, kids, and it's brewing, who knows when I'll approach this soapbox and tell some funny stories and ask some tricky questions and consider who gets the joke and who gets left out, but for today, I'll simply tease you and walk away). I do hafta go to work afterall.

But tonight I'll trim some of my lopsided bowls and ever so slowly growing cylinders (my teacher called one I threw yesterday a tumbler, and tumblers are taller than cylinders!) and see if I can articulate what I'm thinking of funny. This is funny.

see ya,
Rachael