As if these images  in Odin-Odeon (September 2-October 8 at RMCAD) weren’t hard enough to decipher, here’s a movie that makes several of them into a squishy, churning mass. All of the prints in the movies are made on the same etched plate, though you might not be able to guess that at a glance by looking at them side by side. The etched tones on the plates create a pull toward certain shapes, gestures and patterns, and the animation takes advantage of that common thread.

If you haven’t seen the show yet, come by, and if you’re reading this before Friday, September 10th, come by between 5 and 8 for the opening reception. All the info you need about Odin-Odeon, as well as several images, directions, etc., can be found here (same link as above). Of course, get in touch if you have any questions or thoughts.

On your left, a 2 minute trailer for the show, a strange reading of Odin’s time hanging upside down from the great tree, with moving abstraction made entirely from the etchings and monotypes that will appear in Odin-Odeon. There’s a video component to this exhibition, but it will be very different from this. You’ll see.

Also, here’s a preview of the show from Anselm Etting, who is very kind indeed:

“At first, the etchings & monoprints in Eric Waldemar’s Odin-Odeon seem shamelessly archaic. A warm palette of earth tones and a concern with the rhythmic mystery of the agile brush reflect a long engagement with the drawings of Rembrandt, Hakuin and Homare Ikeda. Given time, these tiny images unfold in the mind, often with several simultaneous layers of imagery. They feel weighty at first glance, but after close attention, many are subtly hilarious, especially in combination with Waldemar’s wry, deadpan titles.
Then there are the movies, displayed on a tiny screen to force close attention. These intricate rhythmic abstractions use this series of prints as source material, transforming their already ambiguous subject matter into a trembling, bewildering dream. Tiny jewels of abstract cinema, they also suggest an approach to the accompanying prints, to which the viewer returns with a fresh eye for close detail and half-hidden treasure. “

Gosh. Thanks. See you there, everyone, and if you’re too far away to make it, I’ll try to keep adding images to the Odin-Odeon page, so you can attend vicariously. Either way, thanks for having a look. Leave a comment on the site if you end up having a thought. Thanks.

Maybe it’s the teapot mesa horizon – I’m not sure what else ties this monoprint (mine) to George Herriman’s Krazy Kat, one of the oddest and greatest comic strips in history.  It’s what I thought of right away when it came out of the etching press, though, so I’ll let the inexplicable title stand, even though I don’t quite get it myself. I still see it, but I don’t know why I have the association. In any case, a few words on the Kat, and some loosely related thoughts she brings to mind:

(Right: One panel, c.1937) If it weren’t for Herriman’s deft touch with ink and balance, the strip’s humor, erudition, bizarre ethics, and anti-romantic antics would fall flat, I imagine. If Krazy Kat‘s straight-faced wit doesn’t connect with you, there’s no way to explain “what’s so funny.” This is generally true of art that’s worth spending some time with, maybe.  The moment of getting a joke is the whole point – the logic suddenly flips, pivoting on a word with two meanings, or something like that. If it’s explained, it’s ruined. Forever. With pictures, that moment is harder to describe,especially if there’s no joke. The mind is somehow diverted into an unfamiliar route.

Of course, much of contemporary art seems to be built primarily to support subtle explanation and text, with ambiguities and references that seem “staged” to bait and tempt critics. Conversation starters. What I’m looking for isn’t necessarily profound, and I don’t turn to Krazy Kat for philosophy, but Herriman, a sort of master tradesman of image, sparse text, and simple story, hits it on the head a lot of the time by stripping away all complication. Haiku hammer. Most of what brings it to another level lies between the lines of jokes goofy enough for a long-running newspaper comic strip.  He tells the same story practically every time, but so did Rembrandt. It’s that ink line that does it, that vividness in an artist’s gesture, whether calm, tight, or wild. To drag out the comparison from earlier, a bad joke told brilliantly is hilarious, but a great joke told badly is agonizing. Brush gesture and comic delivery are equivalent in their mysterious power to transform the ordinary.

We’re often too smart for our own good, and sensitized hand and eye know more than the mind, in their way. Willem DeKooning was a fan of Krazy Kat, I’m told, and I imagine for much the same reasons. De Kooning became an art world superstar when critics began to use his paintings to support their agendas, but in a way, his work is indefensible. Greenberg, etc., may have suggested a way in and provided some words to say, but the power of the work, really, is wordless. Explanation delights and informs, and the mind enjoys a clever verbal ride, or mine does, at least. I like to write, at times, but the core of what I know is inaccessible to text, I think.

In recent years, Krazy Kat has been “legitimized” by scholarly research and theoretical exegesis, as academia moves to colonize all extant realms of image making. Some of that writing is terrific, and sheds light, but it all relies on the gestural integrity and inverted wit of Herriman’s quick, deadline-driven comic strips. I’m sure he would laugh pretty hard if he heard about someone subverting a hermeneutics of conneoiseurship in order to disrobe the latent erotics of Krazy Kat. A different kind of nonsense. Verbal sophistication can be stupid. Sophistry.

I’m using Krazy Kat for my own purposes, of course, exaggerating Herriman’s cryptic simplicity to make a point, as I string out a riff that springs from my own self-absorbed, completely unfunny print. There’s a long history of using the Kat as a diving board into one’s own pool. An essay by ee cummings is one instance, and many others have given a nod to Krazy, like Umberto Eco, Wayne Thiebaud, Bill Watterson, Jack Kerouac, Charles Schultz, and Will Eisner. Richard Diebenkorn was a fan, which isn’t surprising, looking at his paintings. I ran into this quotes page after I started writing, and much of what’s there is better than what’s here, if you’re more interested in the Kat than in Eric’s ravings. Wikipedia has a ton of info on the blessed kitty and is a good place to start. The thing to do, though, is get a hold of a book of Herriman’s cartoons and forget everything I said, if you haven’t already. Below: a full-page strip to close with. It’s early enough to be in the public domain (1922). King Features, who owns most of the Krazy Kat copyrights, apparently has a history of coming after well-meaning websites with threats and bills. I can’t afford a lawyer. By buying a book, you give them their payoff, and you get to see the work. By buying it through my link, you give me a dime (or so), too. Please do, pal. It costs you the same either way.

The page below should give you a little of the scent of the Kat, though it predates the “classic” period of brick-throwing and persistent tropes. Get a book, through my link or from your library, so you can see the “mature” world of the Kat. Click on the image to get a slightly larger version…

When someone is sent to find the old man, all else has already failed. If he’s not out in the boat, he’s out walking, some way off the paths, in-turned, but aware of each sound and scent, and each combination. He’s always just wrapping up as you arrive, tucking bundles in his bag. What do you need then? Cordial, willing, he is, and not surprised to see you.

Some kind of Gene Wolfe parlor of tarnished escutcheons, faceless poise, and rotting velvet, with remnants of ruling families maintaining the procedures of dignity as any trace of distinction and inbred purpose fade. Ancestral identity becomes mere cashflow and costume. Vast, dim, cobwebbed atriums (atria?), occasional letters to sign, from estate lawyers. Biscuits and the sherry bottle. Cuddling with grandfather’s trophies and certificates.

Several monoprints from the same intaglio plate.

Each Wednesday (Woden’s Day) night this Spring, when possible, I would go over to the studio and make prints. I had several etched plates lying about, each of them suggestive of image, while not quite readable without interpretation. The ways in which an intaglio plate can be inked, and stroked into art, are infinite. Each of these shuffling images is a “reading” of the same etched printing plate. You can see the traces of a common origin, if you care to pause and look for a moment. If this is no interest, if this kind of transformation isn’t your cup of tea, well, then, by all means, you’d best move along and not waste any more of your time here. I like this kind of thing, though, and if you do, too, don’t be shy about leaving a comment.  A moment’s attention means a lot to me, in a busy world.

In Odin/Odeon, Eric Waldemar takes a maximalist approach to a small installation space, assembling a piece of “visual chamber music” that combines an intricate arrangement of monoprints with tiny abstract video work. In ancient Greece, an Odeon was a type of small theater, designed for more intimate productions. The Norse god Odin, as the tale goes, hung upside down from the World Tree for nine days until vision and knowledge arose in his mind. In Waldemar’s studio, imagery is invited, awaited, then shaped as it emerges. In an art world that favors shrewd, spare concept and wry sampling, he persists in affirming the mysteries and depths of an open, exploratory work process that hangs between picture and nameless form.

A few more items for the RMCAD show in September. It’s been a busy few weeks – just back from California, off soon to Missoula, MT for an iron pour, with the end of the semester a little more than a week away. There’s also an exhibition coming up in Ireland in a few months, with a video piece from me and a lettery installation by Rian. ArtWorks in Letterkenny, Co. Donegal, starting in late July. One recent surprise was an impromptu outing to see Jonsi with Carl at the Paramount. Keening, moaning, thundering Icelandic “post-rock” amidst a hyperintelligent, geeky, absolutely devoted crowd. Sheets of sound raining down like Ragnarok amidst grim, entrancing and/or silly animated projections. Teaching class the next day was a bit dreamy, with heavy eyelids, but I fooled ‘em, I think. My own music and sound projects are moving slowly along, but I’m mostly accumulating fragments. I know, I know – the desire to make something whole dates me, and it’s all about fragments in this metaposthistoricalprotoneodada environment, but I still plug along with my quaint 20th century notions in my post-solitary bailiwick. Working on a number of things. I just spent a few minutes helping set up Michelle Ellsworth’s show at MCA Denver and had another look at Bill Stockman’s drawings while I was there. More to say about that, I think. For now, though, back to work, with tomorrow’s class to prep for.

Grabbing odd moments in a busy life as a daddy/lecturer/artist, I’ve been working on a series of tiny prints, some of which will appear in an intricate array at Rocky Mountain College of Art & Design’s Rude Gallery this September. There’ll be movies, too, old and new. You’ll find a few select images above, but you can also look to the image archive tab above for a sprawling, unedited view of recent excreta. Well, or you can just click here. Some of them duplicate images from other recent “slideshows” below. Be patient as the page loads. Lots of pictures. Hope you like ‘em.

Again, a batch of newish prints, which are more or less unedited, on purpose. More and more, art students are trained to shape a consistent “brand.” I prefer a free mind to an art hobbled by professional strategy. One kind of artist can happily spend a whole lifetime exploring the many facets of a deliberately constrained idea. I’m the other kind. I prefer to look for a new sprout to cultivate each time I begin, rather than stubbornly hoeing my chosen row. Some things come out stronger than others, I think, but for the moment, I’m choosing to basically share the whole lot, for honesty’s sake.