skies

 

Dear Blue,

This song is nearly 99 years old this year.  It just keeps getting better, and it is your song of the day!

Lines: what to move: the paper or the hand?

 

Flying with Friends, drypoint, 2000.

Dear Drafters and Pencil Wielder's,

You may have recalled me gushing over what is sometimes called an action art work of Tom Marioni's; a drypoint made by people jumping and simultaneously marking a copper plate.  I love this print, and I want to draw your attention to the the amount of marks- this is where someone (I am guessing it was Tom Marioni) made a decision to stop adding.  The how is big, of course, but the when is also very important.

Up to and Including her Limits, 1973 to 76.

Next, take a look at Carolee Schneemann's wonderful drawing/space made by suspension in a harness.  It's so poetic to think of her floating and marking, of course, and that would be enough, but there are also all kinds of delicious decisions she has made: how long the lines, when and where, how many, what color.  As you see it here, it is being displayed as a relic of the performances, hence the monitors.  All those should be hauled away, and the harness, too.  

Pink Mound with Eruption, 1993.

Lastly, let's look at another terrific drawing, by Carroll Dunham; dun't you know him?  He is Lena Dunham's Dad, and I love some of his drawings, but not all.  Why just some?  Well, it's got to do with a thing that I have about Philip Guston, too.  Sometimes, and by sometimes I mean in some of the pieces, it is too much-  too much comic* book subject matter, too much pinky, bloody, bodily colors, too much stupid male humor.  This drawing, well, it isn't anything but 'just right,' with the exception of the slightly puerile title.  

Let this be your project for today; marks (which you might decide to call a drawing) made through the application of a system or structure, or both.

*R. Crumb indeed, but he isn't really Our Crumb, he is someone else's, surely?  All those lines, all that facility, all that paper; the question just cries out:  what if he had used his powers for good instead of being culturally clever?

PS  Lena Dunham's Mom is also an artist; Laurie Simmons.

diagrams

 

Dear Drawing,

Ooh, I love these diagrams!  I found them in a book of paintings of birds, and they are really wonderful.  They are more compelling than the actual paintings, but I give you a few of them, so you can see for yourself.  I love the compositions of the shapes, untethered from their landscape.  If you are crazy curious about the books, you can see one here, and the other, there.

The whole thing has got me thinking about the outlines, the minimum that you need to tell the tale of identity, and I am also considering the circled numbers; the corresponding text.  Is that the compelling part?  Is the appeal the way this diagram hopes to instruct?  When we see a diagram, do we get ready to receive direction?

What if, say, I took a whole lot of outlines, of things, like leaves, cups, pillows, fruit; and I put some numbers on, or near, and I painted it all up in a nice buttercup color?  That sounds like it would be swell, doesn't it?  The outlines would have maybe the barest hint of reference to them, just enough to make you think, and then we can enjoy contemplating the question posed by having these varied objects in the same picture.  

it's like

 

Drawing by David Lynch.

Dear Metaphorical and Analogical,

Like, I am pretty sure like is my favorite word.  It's like, really useful, because it sets up a dialectical, a juxtaposition, an analogy.  This is like that.  

Also, here's a few more beautiful bonuses to the word like:  Liking, indicating a fondness for, is a nice, positive thing to bring to a conversation or an object.  I like that hat!  I like those shoes!  I like this chocolate mousse!  You get the idea; liking things is pretty damned pleasant.  Let's continue, if you'd like?

The word also sounds very happily like the word 'lick.'  And that, my friends, is also likeable!  Imagine, you see a dark, nearly black stone on the beach that you like; you pick it up, you like its warm heaviness, and, to get a little closer, you give it a lick.  It's salty and fine!  Many things that you like, in other words, could do with a licking.

Anyway, it's like deja vu, because I feel like I have professed my adoration of like before, like, maybe a few years ago?  I don't think I could live without like.

Hello x, David Lynch, 2013.

Fun; con't.

 

Phyliss Madonna's Cheese Pie.

Dear Fun-Loving,

How is your summer of fun progressing?  Does it feel like a habit now, to have your twice weekly dose of fun?  Is it too little?  Too much?  Can you tell the difference?  I think too much would be if you need to stay in bed all day the day after the fun, and too little is when you want to stay in bed all day the day of the appointed fun.  Alles klar?

Here are some suggested funs for week four of summer fun!

Build a tiny home.

Bake a (cold set) pie.

Dance music, and again.

Turn some resin.

Draw a pastel still life.  Part two.  Part three.

See you next Tuesday, for more fun!

fun, fun, fun (or else)

 

(Drawings of ham can shapes- is drawing fun?  What about looking at drawings?)

Dear All,

The time has come; today is the first day of summer (or, if you, like me, prefer to think of the Solstice as a liminal space in between Spring and Summer, you have the rest of the day to make your plan for tomorrow, the true First Day of Summer), and like the man said (my brother): we are committed to having fun twice a week, and if you don't have any fun in a week, you must have fun four times on the following week, and if you miss next week's fun, you will have to have fun six times in the third week.

Ever since sometime in 2020, I have been trying to conceive of what fun even is (for me), and I think it may have fled to the Neverland that 'happy' went to.  I wasn't that bummed about 'happy' leaving, because I was okay with its pale shadow, 'contentment,' which seemed so much easier to achieve.  One thing about 'happy' (& 'fun' for that matter), is that I resent it always being my job to generate, find, or make it (yes, I know that homemade is best, but the tinned stuff is so much easier).  Couldn't the government issue some or something?  How about a local non-profit that supplies fun to those in need?  Well now, this is just me complaining, which, is not fun.  

Defining fun as that which it is not has been about the best I have been able to do in the months leading up to this summer's planned marathon of it.  And yet, I do have some words that have coalesced from contemplation of the word 'fun':  terrific, delightful, charming, awesome, delicious.  These words form a suggested list of possible fun(-ish) for the week:

Terrific, absolutely.

Delightful, and inspiring, even.

Charming, very.

Awesome, and ambitious; drop whatever you are doing and see it now.

Delicious, incredibly.

 

All the usual thanks to the friends & lovers that have turned me onto these things and ideas (because fun doesn't happen in a vacuum, although, maybe it could happen while vacuuming?).

It's You.

 

Lou Doillon drawing

Dear You,

Here is your song for today, and please do watch the film, as it features Lou Doillon making a large drawing.

a rain of stitches

 

Embroidered coat by Lisa Smirnova

Dear Penciled,

I really enjoy an accumulation of line segments.  It's what makes a drawing a drawing, and these lovely drawings are made of thread segments!  It has me running to my needles, threads, and my closet.  I think there isn't anything in there that wouldn't look better with a bit of embroidery inspired by Lisa Smirnova on it.  Let the connecting power of stitches be our project for today!

Chance Encounters with Fragile Materials

Dear Would-Be Gallery-Goers,


      I have made these objects, dear viewers, primarily out of leftovers, scraps, and found materials.  My mind as I am making these objects is open- I try to let the materials tell me what they would like to be paired with, or attached to.  It is a kind of visual listening.  I am thinking of how lovely these little bits are in their own right: this short stubby worn stick, this little bit of watercolor sea, this calligraphic rusted and run over wire, and how perfect this little square of dark linen is with the small pink oil paint stain on it.  I would like these to feel like they grew, or accumulated, more than they were pushed or crafted into existence.

     Transitory and temporary materials are used in building these objects: branches, powdered graphite, wool batting, string.  Many of the works will change over time:  tape will unloose, grasses will shatter, threads will break.  Some pieces may go to ground entirely over the years.
    
     These funny little objects seem right to me now, during this time.  They feel like the imperfect offering in Leonard Cohen’s song “Anthem.”  I hope you will find poetry and love in them.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in
-Leonard Cohen

The shadow cast by a drawn line.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mary Cassatt's pastels.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Drawing,

 

I met an artist this summer who said (of herself ) she was "such a 19th century artist" with a little delighted chuckle at her drawing.  At least I think she said 19th, now I worry she might have said 18th?  In any event, I took it to mean that she had an affinity for drawing detail and realism.  Her drawings were convincing and filled with specificity.  Also, and this is where it gets interesting, a quietness.  How did that get in there?  I don't know.  One of her drawings was filled with people and cars, and a giant radio antenna tower, yet is felt as open and calm as meadow with a few cows.  Is this how the 21st century looks if you draw it right?

 

Which is related in the usual Dodo round about way, to the image above; of Mary Cassatt's pastel boxes.  What beautiful cylinders of color!  I have many boxes and sets of pastels, and watercolors too, and I buy little palettes of eyeshadow for the same joy in possessing the little slabs of color all in their places. 

 

Last summer, at the Georgia O'Keeffe museum in Santa Fe, there were Ms.O'Keeffe's box of drawing things in a vitrine to be admired.  It was charming, and compelling, and even a bit haunted in all the best ways imaginable. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Georgia O'Keeffe's pastels.

 

 

 

 

Consider the etymology of the word pastel, and ponder with me it's relationship to one of the Spanish definitions of the word: cake.  Is the because cakes are also made of paste (ground flour say) or is it that the color of cakes is pale, or is it the shape of the French drawing crayon?  The Spanish pastel also can refer to el dibujo or el color (de tono suave).  All this puts me in a mood to bake a pale cake of great detail and calm, and then to draw said cake in pastel shades, like our old pal Wayne Thiebaud, except he never made the cakes he drew, which means, if you are inclined to be competitive, you can easily win this round of who's the most authentic draughtsperson* of desserts.,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wayne Thiebaud, Four Cakes, pastel on paper, 1996.

 

 

 

 

 

Wayne Thiebaud, Pastel Scatter, pastel on paper, 1972.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*  Yes, it would have saved letters to write drafts-  vs. draughts- but isn't it fun to dabble in harmless excess?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Perfectly right.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Everyday,

 

I go out everyday and arrange things into a kitchen sink drawing and I paste and cut and tape and mark and put it all under a Dover edition of Ulysses to dry while listening to cellos play; and this is all so terribly correct, so perfectly right, that I just had to write and let you know.  Please tell everyone for me, won't you?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

 

PS

 

These are sculptures, not drawings, but you know that already.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Miss Construe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Ones,

Here is why I love to write you here:  I can erase my words.  In speaking, I am just as careless with words as the next yahoo; sputtering nonstop meaningless drivel like David Mamet's characters, but, when I write my words, I also must read them, and that means that I choose them much more carefully.  I am composed, instead of blathering.  It is nice to construct oneself this way- I recommend it.

If you imagine talking to people, a dialogue, you can see that silences must be filled, and sentences must trail off, and words are more about sound than precision.  I often rehearse, in my mind, what I will say when I see so and such a person, and then when I am with them, of course, a million things happen, and all the beautiful sentiment that I practiced pouring forth has evaporated in slanting sunlight through a window, or a Mustang roaring by, or the flurry of energy in my companion's mood.

Which is why, dear reader, I love to say to you the things I mean in written words.  Although, if the sunlight slants in, I accept that you might misconstrue in the actual moment of reading, but you can rest assured that I meant if not what you read, then at least what I wrote.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Remember those Marbles?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Ones,

 

Staff here at the Dodo has found yet another interesting use for marbles:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Did I ever show you this short film of marbles being made?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dexterity abounds, my friends, and I type to you my love with humble, clumsy, and sincere fingers.