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.

What is Black Art?

Friday 24 February brought together a tremendous gathering of artists, educators, and civic leaders for the opening of the Black Art and Black Artists exhibit at the Tacoma Community College Gallery. The exhibit runs through 17 March, open M-F, 10-5.

What is “black art”?  I’ve been pondering that, since before I started painting.  My most fundamental answer is “creative work that results from the African diaspora.”  Simple words, but not straightforward. 

                  For a few centuries, and especially in the US since the beginning of the twentieth century, the phrase “black art” in visual arts has implied some kind of social realism, using representation to depict the struggles and successes of Black people.  For me and other abstract artists, this poses a conundrum. 

                  We can easily circumvent the conundrum by declaring black art to be any creative work produced by a member of the African diaspora, whatever the medium and style – orchestral music, abstract poetry, abstract painting or sculpture.  A diaspora is exactly that – a spreading of people across a wide geographic and cultural territory, resulting in a myriad of experiences and expressions.

                  Can a nonblack artist produce “black art”?  Just last week, at the opening reception for the TCC Gallery show, my very thoughtful colleague Travis Johnson declared that the answer is “yes,” if the art reflects the culture and experiences of the African diaspora.  Contemporary white artists produce hip-hop art that reflects African-American-rooted culture.  Many composers and musicians have added to the jazz world of the twentieth century and beyond.  

                  So I’ll return to that fundamental answer I gave above.

Let's try that again...

This joyous image is from exactly a year ago, when I had completed all commitments of my professorial life and officially retired.

What an exciting moment! I faced that milestone with optimism, despite the horrors of COVID-19, murders at the hands of those who protect some and accost others, and daily (no, hourly — remember?) assaults on democratic institutions. I tried to portray that clash of personal and public circumstances by mimicking the colors above in a painting titled Superimposition: Retiring the Purple and Gold.

As planned, I returned to the (virtual) classroom this Spring — a way of “phasing” my retirement. TODAY, that phase is over. Most people I know are successfully vaccinated, and I’ve seen people in person! A few state-sanctioned murderers have been called out. We have at least a temporary reprieve from hourly, widely publicized assaults on political decency. I’m ready to try this retirement status again, in a new context: