On The Impossibility of Knowing (2 of 4)

More on this perhaps-enigmatic subject —

Let’s turn to this painting, The Impossibility of Knowing (34). Here’s what I generally write about this series:

'“‘The Impossibility of Knowing’ refers to the strength of memory and imagination, compared to what is ‘real’ or ‘observed.’ In these paintings, a solid shape, figure, or silhouette interacts with its mirrored outline, against a shadowed or textured background. Something that seems substantive is augmented with its mirror, shadow, future, or past. The interplay creates visual dynamism as each shape is pulled in its opposite direction, and interpretive dynamism as each object or figure interacts with its complement.”

Put less formally, I developed what is admittedly a simple compositional conceit: identifying the principal figure or figures, and mirroring them (right to left or vertically) in outline only. So I’ve got a figure and an echo of the figure. They often interact spatially, creating three sets of patterns:

• the principal figure,

• the outline, and

• the shapes formed by the intersection of figure and outline.

That’s what going on here, in The Impossibility of Knowing (34). To catch the viewer’s eye, I used texture and color in the figure and in the background. The texture base is acrylic gel medium with Ultramarine Blue paint; the other colors are oil paints.

On the impossibility of knowing (1 of 4)

Lots of folks have asked me what I mean by “The Impossibility of Knowing” as the title of my largest series of paintings. Preparing for talks at two galleries this summer, I had reason to put my meaning into words.

In contemporary art, my viewing preference is non-objective abstraction. Several reasons, but foremost I enjoy my ability to reflect and create my own interpretation of the work. My interpretation may be “narrative,” or may just be the joy of places the painting or photo takes my mind. This is a great part of the joy/wonder of Mark Rothko’s “classic” paintings, and Kazimir Malevich’s Suprematism (which I’ve explored in eight posts).

Analogously, my preference in painting is non-objective abstraction, because I want to give the viewer control of interpretation. My preference for painterly abstraction is also motivated by the ability of the camera to capture scenes similar to what the eye sees. I don’t limit myself, though. I paint everything, and have recently been fascinated by portraiture.

However, most viewers benefit from having something to grab onto — something on which to base their own interpretation.

• Titles can provide that something, which is why I seldom curse a work with the title “Untitled.”

• A shape, highlight, or shadow can encourage an interpretation without spelling it out. In The Impossibility of Knowing (39), I included some highlights and shadow to help the viewer.

• Identifiable figures certainly provide interpretive fodder. Most of us react positively when we see people in paintings, photos, or drawings. They literally humanize a composition, providing scale, and adding relevance for our lives.

That’s why architectural renderings of building or landscape elevations usually include realistic or at least schematic human figures. That’s why many people express joy in seeing human figures in a painting or photo that “look like” them — fuller-figured, older, darker-skinned than, well, you know.

Venice

We've just returned from three weeks in Italy, including time in Venice, which has got to be my favorite place to visit.  Among many other treats, we spent an afternoon with the Peggy Guggenheim Collection of twentieth-century art.  In addition to a special exhibit of Italian modernist Edmondo Bacci (which I hope to blog about), I was really happy to see works by two Russian contemporaries:  Kazimir Malevich and El Lassitzky.  I've written about each of them (see this blog post for a synopsis).  I had not seen these paintings before, even in photos.  Below: Malevich, Untitled (1916) and Lissitzky, Untitled (1919).