“Picasso Black and White”

On Monday I made my way to the Guggenheim and saw “Picasso Black and White” curated by Carmen Giminéz. I read the review in Art Forum before I went, which helped contextualize what I was getting into.  It had been a long time since I had seen any of Picasso’s work in person, and I had forgotten just how powerful it was.  His mark making is so purposeful and these works in black and white really highlighted this fact.  I’ve been to the Picasso Museum in both Malaga and Barcelona and encountered his drawings at various points, but  I’m always amazed at just how prolific he was as an artist.  He also developed so much throughout his career, which I enjoy because I often wonder how artists can keep doing the same types of work for decades.  This show brought together work that I was not as familiar with.  There were some well known, iconic pieces such as Las Meninas (after Velazquez) and hints to Guernica through preparatory paintings and drawings, but what struck me the most were his linear works from the 1930s.  I’ve been to many shows at the Guggenheim, but this was the first one that left me in awe of both the work and the building itself — maybe it’s just been a long time.  I loved getting to look up close at the work and then see the paintings again from afar across the rotunda.  It’s so rare that you can have both vantage points in the same museum.  The black and white nature of the show also worked beautifully with the ambiance of the space.

my Instagram pic

I couldn’t find all of the works online that I adored, but here are 5 of my favorites from the show that I could find. [note: I do not own the copyright to any of these images. I found them in articles or blogs posted online].

Head of a Man, 1908. Ink and charcoal

Farmer’s Wife, 1908 Charcoal

Sleeping Woman, 1932.

Figure, April 29 1945.

Woman Ironing, 1908. Oil on canvas

Hedda Sterne

I was recently catching up on the magazines that often stockpile my studio. I came across a photo in the Summer issue of Art Forum that caught my eye.

©Nina Leen Time Life Pictures/Getty Images

Here was a woman towering above a distinguished (and somewhat recognizable) group of men with this amazing look in her eyes as if she really does rule this roost.  I learned through the caption that the image is a portrait of the Abstract Expressionists, also known as “The Irascibles”, that appeared in  Life in 1951, and her name is Hedda Sterne.  I was so intrigued by her image, yet as I scoured the pages that followed, nothing was mentioned of her despite at least a snippet on all the other (male) artists pictured.

In an interview with Sarah Boxer from 2010, Sterne (at the age of 100) said “I am known more for that darn photo than for eighty years of work.  If I had an ego, it would bother me. It is a lie.  I was not an Abstract Expressionist. Nor was I an Irascible.”  Why do talented women so often get overlooked within the art world? In all my years of studying art history, I have never heard of this woman. Her work was championed by Peggy Guggenheim and collected by museums, yet she remained on the margins of the art world.

Sterne, Hedda. “Machine” 1949. oil on canvas 30 x 40 inches

Sterne, Hedda “Portrait of Frederick Kiesler”, 1954. Oil on canvas 72 x 42 inches

Sterne, Hedda. “Metaphores and Metamorphoses”, 1967. Lithograph 20 x 20 inches.

Hedda Sterne

A Muse

Last week  I went up to Athens, Ga to spend time with one of my oldest friends, C.

C in Madison, GA

C on her back deck in Athens, GA

I have known C since we were three, yet the trajectory of our friendship has not been a straight line.  We always had a mutual fondness for things and found beauty where others did not: first it was Oliver & Co., the sad tale of a down and out cat in NYC, then it was Kate Chopin’s “The Awakening” where we were the only two in our 10^th grade English class to identify with Edna as feminists. C was the only one to truly get my 8^th grade story about my budding sexuality, and our outing to see “Boys Don’t Cry” in High School had us holed up at a coffee shop for hours into the night – my first real experience with intellectual, creative explosion.  C asked me up in Athens what would happen if we ever were around each other on a regular basis. Would these impassioned outpourings continue? Would we settle into some sort of creative rhythm? Or would it all fizzle out? I told her I thought it would be much the same, though our voice boxes may take a beating.

©Caitlin Kelley

©Caitlin Kelley

Our real creative collaboration started in 2008.  I moved to New York from London, and was delighted one day to find a note from C in my inbox saying she had just moved to New York as well and wanted to meet up (thanks, Facebook!). It had been roughly 7 years since I had seen or spoken to C, so was filled with anxious excitement to see her. To me, and most people, C epitomizes ‘cool’.  She has her own style and the best, ridiculously-hard-to-tame curly hair.  I was working at the Guggenheim as an archivist, so we met at the museum to take in the Louise Bourgeois retrospective. From the moment we started the spiral ascent, it was clear our ideas of beauty and art were still in sync.  What we intuitively felt at the age of three watching Oliver & Co. was now made obvious: our lives are intrinsically intertwined and we gather inspiration from each other – so much so that we often refer to that day in New York as the day we fell in art-love with each other.  That afternoon we walked down 5^th Avenue from 88^thSt. to the East Village with little recognition of the time passing by as we were so caught up in catching each other up on every thought that has ever passed through our minds.

Drawing I made of C when we were in Amsterdam together. It's titled "girl with hoop earrings"

Our lives continue to move in circular patterns, newly overlapping as we each (separately) decided to move back to GA. C splits her time between Athens, Tanzania (where she is starting an amazing NGO called African Volunteer Corps) and New York, so I was glad to finally get the chance to spend quality time with her.  We set out from Athens and headed down 441 toward Madison in C’s rented Prius. We pulled into the Farmington Depot Gallery, which is an artist run collective housed in an old train depot.

Unknown Artist, hung at one of the buildings adjacent to the Art Depot

The work in there was fantastic, and we were able to talk to one of the wood workers. He told us that there were buildings further down the tracks that some of the artists use as studios – they’re all abandoned cotton seed oil plants.

We didn’t mind the sweat and heat as we clamored through the buildings. Somehow the heat just fits when you’re in the country.

C taking photographs

On our second day together, the conversation landed on the topic of the creative process – as it always does.  This time we began to discuss what it means to have and/or be a muse.  I use the term “muse” to mean someone who inspires creativity.  As a twist on the dictionary definition, you can think of it as a person who causes you to be absorbed or lost in thought.

C on the tracks behind her house

There have been several people throughout my life who have inspired and pushed me, but only a couple can be raised to the canonical, and perhaps tumultuous, state of being my muse. C is one such person, and we have a unique relationship in that I am one for her as well.

C in the woods

©Caitlin Kelley

Each time we get together there is a balancing act about who is taking inspiration when.  It feels great to have someone I can completely bounce my ideas off of without fear.  She always gives thought to what I say and do, and I try and do the same for her.  It’s validating and refreshing and energizing and exhausting all at once.  I find my work is fresher after spending time with C, and I have new material to work with.

Woman standing (red), Acrylic on paper.

There is new life breathed into it.  As with any relationship, the one between artist and muse is never simple especially when other feelings are involved.  One muse that I lost still brings me sadness – and even anger – because I do not have access to this muse.  I was left cold with no warning, with no closure.  Why would someone walk away from inspiration? I brought this idea up with C:  how does the artist/ muse relationship work? How selfish is it in the end? What happens when one person no longer wants to be part of the equation?  Can I be justified in wanting to throw a temper tantrum at the thought that I may never speak to this person again?  C advised me that there can be something inspiring in the loss.  How does the void and pain inform me as an artist?  So now I am left to contemplate these ideas… and feel lucky that I her and others in my life to keep me inspired.

Digital

I recently read the article “Towards a Newer Laocoon” by Clement Greenberg (1909-1994) in which he explores the progression of the avant-garde in painting and development of art for art’s sake. He argues that for too long visual artists were overly concerned with the subject rather than the medium, and only when the subject was released into abstraction did ‘pure art’ emerge.  The avant-garde “[guided] themselves, whether consciously or unconsciously, by a notion of purity…. Purity in art consists in the acceptance, willing acceptance, of the limitations of the medium of the specific art.” This marks the time when painters stopped trying to mask their brushstrokes, and wanted to “get at the very essence of painting.”

my first digital drawing: Untitled/Woman

His argument rang true to me as I have been experimenting over the past few weeks with a new medium – digital drawings – a medium I never thought I would venture into. I was given a bamboo tablet for work, so on a whim, I opened up Photoshop and began to doodle.

Red Head, digital drawing, 2011

It was surprisingly natural to draw with the pen, and I liked how uninhibited I was with the drawings.  I have always thrived on improvisation, but I often get stuck. Stuck straight into a piece of paper and hang on for dear life. Stuck in an idea and don’t let it come alive on its own. Working in a digital medium frees me from myself because it is so unknown. I’m not afraid to delete lines or just start over; a lesson I desperately need to bring into my non-digital life.

Primary colors on grey, digital drawing, 2011

I find myself focusing less on the subject matter and more on figuring out what the medium was all about. What are the limits? How can I push them? Early on I decided that I did not want to mask what I was doing. I am not trying to make digital drawings that didn’t look digital, rather I am playing with the medium as to expose something within it.

Feeling intrigued by this new undertaking, I have been researching other artists who work with digital printing and drawing. Jim Dine combines traditional modes of printing on top of digital ones. In his “Women and Water” he overlays copperplate on top of a digital print.

Jim Dine, Women and water, 2010. Digital printing and copperplate

It makes me wonder what kind of background I could make for the woodcut I posted a few weeks ago…. I am excited to see where these drawings will take me.