The Hilbert Museum

Visiting the Hilbert Museum

I really liked the modest Hilbert Museum.  I enjoy collections with narrow scope, for they exist more like an exploration, or a curated exhibit on a topic, rather than a broad collection. (pun intended.)  Looking at the humble landscapes and street scenes I felt transported back to the 30s and 40s of California, a mix of nostalgia and disconnect; the scenes were at times familiar and at times totally foreign.  So much has changed in California’s recent history that I couldn’t recognize many of the scenes depicted— they are all but gone.  

Emil Kosa, Driving Along the Old Road

I particularly responded to Emil Kosa’s Driving Along the Old Road.  As a native Californian, these back roads throughout the coastal hills and Sierra foothills are part of our collective psyche.  He uses a vivacity of mark-making in the foreground which implies the breezy nature of colliding microclimates.  And the looming mass in the back ground reads as either fog or mountains enveloped by fog, either way I buy it.  He places the viewer on that backroad through the countryside, and we are delighted go along for the ride.

I also enjoyed the last few rooms with more modern paintings—the works are demonstrations what the younger generation of California artists inherited from earlier pioneers.  

Bergamot Station

Last week we saw a 3 shows at Bergamot Station— Arcadia Gallery, Copro, and Lani’s talk at Lora Schlesinger.

Lani Emanuel’s talk about her work was great for the class to hear.  I saw much of this work develop over her years in the MFA program at LCAD and it was a treat to see it all up in Lora’s grand space.  There was a tight coherence in the body of work, and her interest in fashion came across clearly.  I would love to see more variety in the way she paints her figures, though I have no doubt the variety and skill will only increase with time. 

I enjoyed seeing Arcadia’s space— and the owner Steve gave a great chat to us, telling us about the gallery program and some advice for up and coming artists.  From the dealers perspective, he wanted to see craft, but originality of vision as well.  If he could tell who you studied under, that was not a good thing.  I thought this was pretty good advice.  

For me, the work there is hit or miss—it is all well crafted, but some of the work feels more product than expression or investigation.  I loved the large goldfish still life by Miguel Angel Moya— so unexpected!  It was a subtle, inviting subject on an oversized scale.  His other small scale octopus still life paintings were also arresting.

The work at Copro was extremely uneven.  Some work was very strong (like Scott Hess’ large canvas), and others seemed like high school doodles done well.  The lowbrow aesthetic can rub me the wrong way, and most of the work was thus.  Good for a laugh but then what?  I enjoyed the craft in quite a few, and others had some visual puns that made me smile. 

John Brosio’s large "Dinosaurs Eating CEO" always brings a smile to my face.  

Rebecca Campbell

Rebecca Campbell at Cal State Long Beach 

Rebecca Campbell sure can paint.  No doubt about that.  

But this body of work rubbed me the wrong way.

I’m realizing sincerity is something vitally important to me in painting, and I did not it find her larger works.  Her range is staggering, but to what end I don’t know.  The slickness of her smooth passages, the perfectly placed “rough” parts.. they rang very hollow to me.  They are very much a product.  Perhaps I’m jealous of her command of the medium, but I don’t feel an intentional icy remove, nor a felt gesture... just a stylistic calculation.  I read the marks as signifying things, rather than being them.  

What I’m getting at is that I respond to unity of form and content, and in this body of work by Rebecca Campbell, they did not.  I just felt the disconnect of hand and heart.

Sandow Birk's "American Qur'an"

Thoughts on Sandow Birk’s American Qur’an

I’ve been mulling over Sandow Birk’s epic project: a fully illustrated version of the Qur’an on display currently at the Orange County Museum of Art.  Some 300 pages are on display—somewhere between a graphic novel and an illuminated manuscript.   Graffiti and comics are a big part of the imagery.  The consistency and pure invention on this scale is mind boggling.

First off, it is amazing.  A wonder.  And what an what a way to approach such an enormous subject!  It depicts the everyday experiences of American life in the borders of the pages of this Qur’an, each verse transcribed by hand.  

I’m not sure what possessed him to take this on, and to apply the visual banality of everyday LA life to verses of the Qur’an.  If the goal was to make it more accessible, it did— but to what end?  If the goal was to shed light with some sort of correlation between the text and his images, only rarely could I make a connection.  Perhaps the goal was to present something bigger than the artist, bigger than all of us, to remind us of that sense of awe before the divine.  We can see our daily lives for the minutia that we occupy ourselves with, totally separate from the spiritual heights of godliness.  In his work there appeared no joy in this life.  Duty, yes.  Happiness, no.  I felt totally drained after the exhibit.  It was too much.

All that said, perhaps the way to appreciate American Qur'an is one page at a time, in book form.  Pick it up, read a verse, and contemplate the daily goings on of whatever is happening in the pictures.  You might take that verse with you through the day, digest it like a healthy vegetable, and enjoy the benefits.  But all at once, it was too much.  

I love Sandow’s work, and I look at this show with tremendous admiration.  I just didn’t have the ability to digest it in one go.  I look forward to having some time with work in book form.

My Taste in Art?

My taste in art.. That is the question at hand: what shaped my taste in art?  Sort of a problematic question--

I guess influences would be the most interesting way to describe this, but it is not quite complete.  I have a taste for Lalique Jewelry, but this is not really an influence.  Or I love Takashi Murakami and Robert Irwin, though I would not call them influences.  I will do my best, bear with me, here goes:

My earliest influence would be my father and his figure drawing cohorts in Palo Alto.  This was classic Bay Area Figurative, influenced by Olivera and Diebenkorn. The drawings were all over the house.  My earliest memories are of a house with those large female forms, pastel or ink, on every wall in the house.  As a young child I would go sometime to his life drawing group-- a bunch of bohemians drawing and drinking wine.  And little me.

Then came middle school and high school and drawing comics.  Frank Miller.  Mike Zeck.  Katsuhiro Otomo.

My freshmen year of high school was my first trip to Italy, and we went through the major art highpoints on the Grand Tour stops.  Somewhere between Fra Angelico's Annunciation at San Marco and walking into the Sistine Chapel I realized, deep down, I want to be part of this.

I went to the Prado for the first time when I was 16.  I've been back many times, but I think the first time leaves you struck by the total command of paint by someone like Velazquez-- who can freeze time in a painting like Las Meninas, but make the magic trick look like it was dashed off, like the painting is being created before your eyes.

I have a profound taste for this sort of painting, a work that seems to paint itself before your eyes-- Deibenkorn also has it.  And Matisse.  And Morandi.

Gustave Caillebotte, Study for Paris, Rainy Day

In college I was influenced by the draughtsman of the Italian Renaissance.  I copied many original drawings in the Gabineto of the Uffizzi-- Bernini, Bronzino, etc.  Also during college, I saw a huge Caillebotte show at the Art Institute in Chicago.  Looking back now, Paris, Rainy Day and The Floorscrapers along with all the accompanying studies in the exhibition influenced me a great deal.


When I moved to New York a couple years after college, that was when I feel my tastes expanded and my eye became more sophisticated.  It was an eclectic frenetic absorption of new art-- not just current art but also historical art that was new to me.  I saw epic shows and tiny happenings: I fell at once for Ingres and Twombly.  Jenny Saville and Tim Hawkinson.  Uta Barth, Barry McGee.  Chardin, Morandi, Yuskavage and Guston.

Philip Guston, Zone, 1953

More recently my wife, painter Judy Nimtz, has opened up my taste in 19th Century painting.  There were always painters I admired from this period like Corot, but now I find myself delighting in Albert Moore, puzzling over Leighton, and generally allowing myself to indulge in the pure pleasure of looking at this period of painting.  My desire to look at Matisse is waning, in favor of my compulsion to inspect more traditional 19th century paintings.  I feel I still have the taste for Modernist painting, but I would rather look at a Puvis or an Arnold Bocklin than a Cezanne.

So, those are some of my formative influences.  Blend 'em all together and you get this:

The beginnings of a painting.. [rough cut]

Working in Istanbul

We are now in the flow of Istanbul.. and by in the flow I mean
watching it flow by us. From our balcony we've been taking in the
comings and goings of the Bosphorus, the clouds parting, and the
lights twinkling on. Plein-air painting in a city can be tough--
packing up your rig, hiking through the city, and often setting up in
a spot where others are seeking the view too. So we sometimes hole
up and work from the 'home studio'.

That said, we've been taking in the city. We went to the oldest
Hamam (bath) in the city, built 1584, to see the spectacle of the
Turkish Bath. We explored the Grand Bazar, as well as Arasta Bazar.
Judy and I have also had fun getting to know our neighborhood well.
It has a great feel-- full of artists and directors and such. Nice
little restaurants. Sometimes it is like a parallel 'cool' universe
to Silverlake or some other industry neighborhood. Except everyone
speaks Turkish (which, by the way, is really to tough to learn).

I've been working on a painting of the local fruit stand. After a
few days of working, I became sort of a fixture on the scene.. people
would stop to say hi, poke their heads out of a window offering tea,
roll me a cigarette.. pretty funny. or ask why their flower shop was
not in the painting... Once people here see you as a local (even if
it is for a week) they open up. We've also been working on a couple
paintings near the Blue Mosque. Again, a more touristy area, but
once the local cafe recognized us we were welcomed like locals
(permit me my delusions).

Mostly it is just painting, cooking, eating, watching. What the
doctor ordered.

Love from Istanbul
Kenny

(pics-- Painting at Blue Mosque, Local cafe "Cuppa", Judy painting
down the street from the flat, morning 'commute')