Art Show Stuff

 Art Show Stuff

First, how about a flower?

 

Today is finishing day. Wet, messy finishing day. Next pics will be all shiny.

 It's Friday morning, May 6, and I'm tired. Yesterday was a big day, and today will be bigger.  I've been a day out of joint for a while, now. You know how that is-- you wake up Thursday morning, but it feels like Friday. (That one is always a let down.) Today is Friday, but it feels like Saturday.  Luckily, I have until 3:00 this afternoon to rest up.

Yesterday afternoon turned into a very big deal. It was the opening reception for the Santa Fe Springs Art Fest. I had three stones in the show.

I got there a little after five o'clock. I was rolling through the parking lot, and spotted an opening. "Reserved for Seniors, or Pregnant Women"

Skip that one. There's another! "Reserved for Seniors, or Pregnant Women". The next opening was also reserved. When I finally found an unreserved spot it occurred to me. "Seniors". Uh- that would be me, huh? Too much pride on my part. I ain't takin' no Senior parking when I can walk.

And so I walked down the long column of cars, and down the narrow driveway to the Clarke Mansion where I was greeted by Pam Korporal, from Whittier Art Association. Pam was in charge of the jurors. She sort of took me by the hand, and said, "Come along." Something in the way she said, "Come along" raised a red flag, a little bump of apprehension. I had that sense that something was awry, somewhere.

The festival was a lot bigger than I thought it was going to be, and the fine arts exhibit was the real deal.  The entire mansion had been converted to a gallery, and the work on display was all top notch stuff. 

Of course.

 The biggest local show had been the Hillcrest Invitational, in La Habra Heights, but, like everything else over the last couple years, the virus nazi's shut Hillcrest down. Last I heard, the Congregational Church in La Habra Heights will not be sponsoring the festival anymore. All the artists who would have been invited to Hillcrest were displaying here, and there was some really excellent work on display.

 Of course.

 The lockdowns fucked with everyone. Every artist out there has been going through his own version of this crap, and for these two years no one could display anywhere. Everyone poured their anger, fear, and grief into their work.

I followed Pam down the hallway, and up a flight of stairs to what would probably have been the master bedroom of the big house. The room was reserved for the work of one of the featured artists, Mario Lopez, who had some huge canvases depicting some fantasy tinged Renaissance/ medieval themed portraits.

The middle of the room was taken up with a very long banquet table. Displayed on the table were my stones. 

 

Attached to the red stone was a green ribbon, Honorable Mention. 

Attached to the Figure in Crystal was the Blue.

 Blue, as in First Place Sculpture. 

I got a little dizzy, then jumped up and down like ten-year-old. Oh holy cow! I toured the rest of the exhibit, and found the second, and third place pieces. I can't recall the artists name, but I've seen his work before. He works in exotic woods, and his animal figures are incredible. The last time I displayed at Hillcrest he had sold a piece for some serious money. This made me feel even better. I would not have had my nose out of joint to have taken second behind either of the carvings.

The opening program featured the city council, the mayor of Santa Fe Springs, and even the state senator, and the congress critter. They were all very good at keeping their speeches upbeat, empty, and brief.

Friday afternoon was festival day. There was music, dance, film, art for kids, all kinds of food. And there were people, thousands of them. We saw the young, the old, families with kids, couples out for a date. The mansion/gallery was elbow to elbow all day long.

After two years of isolation, people were hungry for joy. I heard oohs, and ahhs in the gallery space. I talked to dozens of folks about the stonework. I saw other artists talking to people, enjoying the compliments, sharing smiles. A lot of artists sold stuff, and that's always an extra.

 And here is what struck me: all these people were here for art.  Those of us who produce it invest huge time, effort, and money to do so, and generally speaking, we do so without much hope of ever making a dime for it.  Those who came to see spent their time on our work. They came to see what we did, and they all walked away a little bit happier for the experience.

That's the payoff. We work in isolation. We often have no idea of how our work will be received. We know, in advance, that there isn't likely to be any money in it. It becomes quite easy to take that step back, and wonder if the effort is worthwhile. The people who came to see walked away a little happier.  I talked to many of the other artists Friday, and the next day when we returned to collect our work. We all just had the glow. We walked away with a renewed faith that what we do matters.

Saturday night ended late with the top  musicians on stage. A Norwegian rocker named Rocky Kramer  played some straight up kick ass hard Rock. He closed his act with a guest performance from one Prescott Miles.

Who? 

Prescott Miles was the bass player for a band called, The Knack.

The Knack? 

These guys:

My Sharona live. And a frying bass solo by Prescott Miles topped it off. Like it or not we all went home with earworm.

 The top billed act was a singer named Trinere. I hadn't a clue who she was. Old and unhip, I guess. Trinere was one of those pop singers from the 90's who did that sort of disco-pop stuff that I hated, and never listened to. We didn't stay for the whole set.

So the week begins on a good note. Time to get out of the den, and start wet sanding.

 

Showtime.

Friday morning I took these three stones down to the Clark Estate mansion in Santa Fe Springs for the 2022 SFS Artfest show. 

Hauling these things around is a pain in the ass. That's one of the ironies of driving a pickup truck with a manual transmission. I can carry the same number of passengers as a motorcycle. The truck bed is great for carrying furniture, or bikes, but useless for something like a sculpture. I had all three pieces in the cab packed in with blankets, T-shirts, and half the cushions from Mary's backyard furniture. It would have been easier in Mary's sub-compact Yaris.

The one-day festival looks like it's going to be a big event. They're having film, music, dance, photography, and all kinds of stuff. There will be live performances by some pop music performers. I don't know any of the names, but from what Mary was told, I'm assuming they'll be county fair level performers, folks who had a big hit back in the 90's, or something. One of the joys of post-middle age is being tragically un-hip, and out of touch with what's cool. Or even what used to be cool.

The festival organizers are asking the artists to be there for the duration of the exhibit, which will go from 3:00 in the afternoon to 11:00 at night. Sounds to me a lot like getting detention. Too, the "fine arts" exhibit is in the mansion on the grounds. Most of the foot traffic will, of course, be for the videos, and live performances.  Nobody wants to pass up a live act to go look at a bunch of paintings and sculptures. Even so,  I have become unaccustomed to socializing over the last couple of years, and I'm not looking forward to having to make small talk with strangers. I get this weird tingly feeling like I'm going to say or do something horrifying. Maybe spin some ridiculous story just to amuse myself.

 "Where do you get your inspiration?" 

 "Well, it's mostly from drugs, and kinky anime..."

Or start bullshitting in improvised art-speak, and throw in a lot of really esoteric verbs, and high flown abstract nouns.

But I won't do any of that. I hope.

So anyway, here's progress on the second Anza Borrego stone:

 

A lot of excavation on that top figure!

I'm on the home stretch with this, and it should be on the shelf by the end of next week, maybe sooner.

A Couple of Decdes Plus a Couple of Years

 Friday 4/22/22

(New flowers, & pups)
 

 

Friday morning Mary and I got into the truck, and made the miserable, frustrating drive from here in Whittier, at the foot of the Puente Hills, down to Huntington Beach. Now, Huntington is a regular destination for us, but we seldom park downtown. Usually we leave the truck at the Santa Ana River, and ride our bikes down the bike path to the pier, and Main Street. But today was too cold and windy for a bike ride. Besides, we were celebrating. We planned on cruising into downtown, and leaving the truck in the Main Street parking garage. Spend a few bucks to save a few steps. Indulge a little. 

But Downtown has been  renovated since last we parked there. We turned in to the parking garage at the regular entrance, but instead of going up the old ramp to the open air parking structure, we found ourselves diving down a dark narrow tunnel, that left us trapped at the ticket gate. Rates maxed out at twenty five bucks. No way out except to take the ticket. And even after taking the ticket, and squeezing through the gate, it was so tight in there it took a three point turn to get us pointed to the exit. I told the attendant that we had  pulled in there by accident. He just punched the ticket, and we got out without having to pay.
I don't mind occasionally spending a few bucks for convenience, but twenty five dollars to park at the beach is ridiculous. So we drove a couple blocks inland and parked on the street for free. It wasn't a long walk, either.

 We were celebrating our anniversary. Twenty two years ago we, both of us, gambled on taking a spouse we had known for only a few months. It seemed like the right thing to do, and it was.

Huntington was hazy, windy, and cold. Mary and I walked across the sand to the water's edge, and just stood together taking in the day. South toward Newport the lifeguard towers were lined up like a child's perspective drawing, shrinking in the distance, and fading into the haze. To the north, the tall  buildings in downtown Long Beach floated in silhouette. The wind had a bite to it, and we held each other close. And squeezed. It was a perfect moment, one of many that we've shared over the years.

Then it was lunch at Sandy's Under the Pier. We shared a stacked poke salad. Then it was steak and cabbage tacos for me, and swordfish tacos for Mary. We seldom eat out, but once in a while it's nice to spring for a top of the line restaurant meal. The food was superb, and the portions generous.

It was as perfect a day as we could have asked for.

Sometimes the prayer is just, "Thank You."

I've been making some progress on the stone, too.

You can see how it's shaping up. (the pink lines are just idea sketches) The lower segment that anchors the piece is somewhat egg shaped. Note the simple layout lines on the plywood. Even a free form piece like this needs a whiff of geometry. For the lower piece I want clean, regular curves, and symmetry. Curves are easy. Symmetry is hard.

 

 

Still fussing away at it. But it needs the symmetry of a sea shell, not a machine. It doesn't have to be perfect; it has to be right.

 The top piece is a free, irregular form, but it has to balance as well.

 

Sunday I broke out the drill and the point chisels and began to open up the ravine in the top figure. There should be a cool transition down there from the black and white strata on the right, to the black and red stone on the left of the figure.

More excavation to come. We'll get it dug out this week.

 Another Late Post

Once again, Monday drifted by and I didn't get a post up. It's just after eight O'clock Monday night as I'm sitting here getting started.

 

 

I got a few days of work done this last week, and wound it up with a lot of progress today. I did not expect to be shaping on Easter Sunday, but there was one irregularity in a curve, and it just needed a couple of passes with a rasp, and, well... I ended up working anyway. It's strange, the way this piece is progressing. I don't have a very clear picture of the finished product. When I made the first cuts I could see where the first cuts needed to go, but not much further. And so it has been for this whole project: I can see down the road, but not all the way to the destination. Work, stop, plan. Work, stop, plan. The red stone worked just like this, too. It's hard to remember stuff from twenty years back, but this feels like a much more organic process than the way I used to work. It feels like I'm teasing the form out of the raw stone, rather than imposing my design on it.

Years ago, when I was attending a stone carving workshop, I spoke with a woman who worked in clay.  She was doing a pottery class, and dropped by to have a look at what we were doing as we worked in stone. "I don't see how you can do that," was her remark. 

Now, clay is an additive medium. A clay sculptor generally builds a figure by adding pieces of clay to an armature. Stone is purely reductive. All the stone sculptor can do is remove material. She couldn't wrap her mind around a process that goes in only one direction. I never thought about it like that until she mentioned it, but as soon as she did I understood exactly how she felt.

 

But carving doesn't feel like that. It feels like the shape is slowly emerging from the rock. Or maybe like excavating a million year old fossil, carefully freeing  an ancient skeleton from the petrified mud that encased it. 

 

Only it's not some crappy fossilized lizard bone; it's a strange new shape that no one ever saw before.

 

The next several sessions will be working on the base. I can see, now, where I need to go with it, but it's going to be a long trip. There's a lot of stone to be removed, a lot of shaping. 

Winding stuff up with some random notes, here: Check out the Lophophora! 

 

Twin flowers.

New growth. Soon (a few years down the pike) I'll have over a dozen buttons. Friends have asked if I plan on tripping. Short answer, "No."

 Time to Drill

 

 We're rolling into Spring here in So Cal. That means lots of cool gray weather.  Nothing casts a shadow, and everything seems quiet. And it's April. It has been a year now, since I started back to work. A lot of people hate the gray days. The dull weather makes them feel bleak.  Usually I enjoy this time of the year, but right now it just feels bleak to me as well. My spirits are low, bordering on going into freefall. Tuning in to news and current events is just depressing as hell. Will we see an end to it? Doubtful.

And yet. The quiet routines of daily life here at the suburban hermitage continue almost unaffected by the madness. There is still so much to be grateful for, and I have the blessing of a finely tuned sense of gratitude. I do not, almost cannot take any good fortune for granted. My wife. My home. My two silly cats. The pleasure in simple household tasks, and the  grace of uneventful days. Sometimes, the prayer is simply, "Thank you."

But the bleakness continues, nonetheless.

 

I didn't get a post up last week because I got nothing much of anything  done the week before. I got in a couple of short sessions, and that was it. Tuesday brought some sunshine, and my spirits picked up enough to get back to the stone.  The figure is shaping up somewhat like the last piece in that it's going to consist of an upper figure cradled in a lower one. The negative space between the two  is going to be as important as the figures that create the negative space. Which is a fancy way of saying I need a nice, smooth opening between the figures. So, that means it's time to break out the drill.

 

Now, this isn't machine shop work. The tolerances are forgiving. It's more like target practice. The bit goes in the bullseye one side, and the goal is to have it come out somewhere within the target on the exit. If the aim is wrong, the amount of error will be in direct proportion the amount of grief. I used to be good at doing this freehand. To be blunt about it: Now I'm old, and it's hard to hit the target. (In a lot of ways...)

So I invented a super high-tech precision drilling machine. See?

For this drilling I had all kinds of lateral room, but the vertical space was less than an inch. 

Going in with the 1/4" drill:

 

Daylight through the exit:

 

Close enough for government work, as they say.

Progress as of this post: