What is this thing? The minimum standard: is the paper improved by being marked? I think so, yes, I’m sure of it, but I can’t really say why. This kind of nonsense is indefensible, but is no less valuable for all that. The work matters, however modest, and whatever it takes to persuade oneself step in again and again is fine, makes sense, enough.

I’m drawn to the elephant in the image, but elephants are currently a big topic in my life, and it may just be that I’m seeing them everywhere. Oonagh and I spotted one recently under my parents’ couch (a pink one) By ruling out other possibilities, we had previously figured out that the elephant we keep hearing at home resides in the oven. It keeps waking me up. Pffffft!

This clumsy little scrawl fell out of my brush a long time ago, about 15 years before I actually had an actual little girl shuffling around the house in my big boots, sporting huge hats and dragging bulging carpetbags full of toys.

Today the two of us spent about a half hour crouched next to an iron storm grate in a nearby alley, listening to dropped pebbles hit the bottom of the big tunnel beneath. We then chased the echoes down the tunnel with howls, hoots, and caw-caws, mouths pressed against the metal. Cities are full of secret holes. The grate was loose, and not that heavy. Maybe I’ll have to investigate one of these days, perhaps without Oonagh. There’s no ladder – anyone have a strong rope?

Then there was that time Tucker Gurney and I were creeping around the steam tunnels under the CU Boulder campus. Caught, held by the wrist while authorities were called, and then we suddenly twisted away and ran for it, chased by approaching police on foot and in cars. We rounded a corner fast and dove under a leaf pile. Did not twitch, breathe, or move a muscle as police searchlights probed the pile at length. Some of the officers on hand thought we were in there, but none was willing to suffer the indignity of stepping over and actually kicking the pile. They debated whether we were under the pile for several minutes, yards away, before moving on and giving up. Circa 1985.

This is from a series of tiny drawings, done one after another after another on the backs of business cards from the job I had at the time (at Denver’s Capitol Hill Books). The printed text on the other side affected the way the ink was absorbed, and ghost traces of letters provide an eye for our avian friend.

Artists often work intuitively, myself included, and great works can’t be summed up in words.  Design, on the other hand, deals with aspects of image making that can be talked about and examined.  In a phrase, design deals with how images work. If you understand something about why your favorite artworks are so powerful, you’ve got a much better chance of making something great. In some ways, learning design is a process of becoming aware of the obvious. That’s because much of it is based on consistent threads and tendencies in human perception, and we’re all the same species here, so far.

Design is a way of looking at problems (the “design process”), a vocabulary of “design principles” that enables one to speak intelligently about images, and, for this class, a basic grounding in some tools and materials.

We’ll find our material in old art, new art, commercial design, cinema, random chance, and the world around us. Projects will range from laborious charts to wild splatters, from pen and ink to paint, to printmaking, to animation. Increasingly, the world relies on images to convey information, rather than words, for better or worse. Commercially oriented design and advertising puts much of its energy into manipulating viewers’ emotions and taking advantage of perceptual blind spots that are (apparently) built into the underlying mechanics of the nervous system. If you don’t understand how images are constructed, you’re at the mercy of the various media and advertising industries. Boundaries between art & design are less clear than ever, and as the culture becomes predominantly visually oriented, ignorance about the basic strategies of design becomes, simply, ignorance.  We’ll fix that, don’t you worry. You’ll still have your intuition, and you’ll hopefully get some insight into the workings of your own mind.

Rising always
borders on falling,
as steam inevitably condenses.

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.

I spent yesterday helping to install “Kitchen Wallpaper,” a piece by Rian Kerrane, which Jessica Gross had already been working on for days. This food-encrusted room is part of “Artists’ Footprints” at RedLine in Denver, a show curated by Viviane LeCourtois. The reference to Charlotte Perkins Gilman‘s story is no accident.The walls are composed of apples, turmeric, stenciled honey, poppyseeds, pasta, and cumin, and it smells delicious. Rian’s off in Ireland setting up our installation at ArtWorks in Letterkenney, so this piece, and the cast iron handbags in Objectophilia, were installed by her loyal local proxies.  Yesterday, Mike Brohman, who’s also in the show, came to the rescue, helping out for hours, after watching Jessica and I struggle with layers upon layers of layers that were obviously going to take a lot longer than planned. With his help, we were home by 10 pm. Spectacular July 3rd fireworks awaited me in my neighborhood when I got home. The piece is pretty amazing, yes? Try to resist nibbling on the walls.

Kitchen Wallpaper

A tribute to The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, 1892

By Rian Kerrane

Turmeric, cumin, honey, apple, poppy seed, pasta

22’ long, 12’ high

2010

Kerrane illustrates her negotiation of the mental realm of self-sustainability with “Kitchen Wallpaper”. Her use of organic materials shown as repetitive wallpaper pattern reflects the domestic environment on numerous levels. The artist often references this setting as the nucleus of intimacy and personal relations. It is the home where she learns to balance her several public and private personas: woman, mother, lover, artist, and academic.

“Kitchen Wallpaper”, with its direct use of edibles, is a reminder of the transient, the minuscule and the simple innovative idea as nourishment and concept. Repetitive wallpaper-like pattern gives form to abstract thought and the challenges and ingenuity required for self-sustaining and balancing life’s situations. For Kerrane the kitchen is the center of the home environment. Finding balance within oneself, in one’s relationships and the larger social circle is synonymous with finding harmony and ecological balance on the global scale. Actions, conversations, mental health and daily practice are the minutia affecting the broader picture and major cycles of the planet. Every single action exponentially has its larger repercussions.

The steep walls and the vertical emphasis in the space are a reminder of the claustrophobia we sometimes feel. The sense of powerlessness and ineffectiveness we experience, the self doubt of our actions as we continuously negotiate the mental realms of the domestic sphere and the relevance of the single action to those on the global front. What can at one moment seem comfortable can at its next enclose as a trap. Kerrane intends to stimulate subtle changes in consciousness with “Kitchen Wallpaper”.

Rian Kerrane, June 2010

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.

Primordial Soup Cartoon from Eric Waldemar on Vimeo.

Several notable curiosities came out of last fall’s “Time and Attention” show, and not everything got included in the gallery exhibition. Here’s a sort of image poem that tells of the emergence of life and form on Earth. Interpretive dance, perhaps. This should give you a decent sense of what it was like back then for those ambitious little critters. Millions of years are compressed into a couple of minutes, so bear with me if I missed anything important.