L. Joshua Goodman’s Art Blog

October 17, 2009

Improvising and finishing

We had a very interesting conversation over dinner dinner last night with a very interesting gentleman, a concert pianist and composer.

Finished Painting

The first interesting thing is that during the day I had been thinking about “How do you know when you’ve finished a painting“. I’m not sure anybody knows the definitive answer to this. Of course some painters have a fixed goal in mind and they paint until they reach that goal. Like paintings on black velvet of bullfighters and puppy dogs or certain seascapes. But for most artists, the exercise of seeing is never quite totally consummated. Except when it feels good. Or when it feels that there is nothing more that one can do. Or undo.

Improvisation

So during dinner the subject of musical improvisation came up. I suppose I was trying to make the point that plastic art was superior to music in that the performance may be sublime and profound, but simply lasts for only one performance and then is lost. On the other hand a great painting can be seen again and again. My pianist friend told me several very interesting things. First he said that sometimes Bach and Mozart would indeed write down later from memory what they had improvised. He further said that all the great composers were great improvisers and found it helpful in their work.

And then he said, “Painters are improvisers too. The proof is that they never finish a painting!” I was mightily impressed by this. I know that Rouault was (in)famous for never finishing a work. He even was known to ask for a painting back after it was sold for a few finishing touches only to return a completely reworked and totally different piece! In graphic design Paul Rand changed the IBM logo (adding the stripes) two years after it was originally launched. He also reworked the UPS logo and asked the client to use his finessed mark in place of the original but was refused. The old was good enough. This is the visual equivalent of improvisation.

Improvisation is the technique by which artists (plastic artists as well as musicians) sketch; improvisation becomes a search for perfection. If not perfection, then at least improvement. Can anybody really say that they’ve done the best that can be done on any particular work of the moment?

I was criticized once in Art School for overworking my paintings. I still don’t know exactly what is meant by this. I have lost clients because I have modified the design after approval (and before final printing). To do otherwise would be personally irresponsible if not professionally derelict! Good clients know this.

It’s not overworking; it’s seeing more in the light of what has already been done.

May 2, 2009

Texas size landscapes

Filed under: General Discussion — Tags: , , , , , , — Joshua @ 10:34 am

We were in Texas last year. Had a great time. One thing we did was to visit a gallery in Dallas (or maybe Ft. Worth, I never knew exactly where I was). Two brothers shared studio and gallery space in the same building. Among a lot of great painting were several very loooong landscapes. What is so very interesting is that the question immediately arises, “Why so very long??” and the answer equally immediately arises, “that’s the way landscapes are in Texas!!” You stand there looking out on a ton of space and look from side to side 180 degrees and see nothing but landscape. Painting just a standard rectangular landscape might be fine, and pretty, but a painting that is so long that you can’t look at the whole thing at once is giving the same experience as looking at the landscape that you experience in nature.

So I came home and decided I was going to try the same thing. I went out and found a wonderful spot up on a hillside not far from where I live.  I set up two easels (one easel is for the normal-size painting) and put up a two meter (about six foot) gessoed board. I haven’t actually finished the painting. I went out twice. Nevertheless, I decided that I was going to make this into an etching.

So recently I have started a series of three plates. I can’t print a six foot plate on my little three foot long press. So I’ve broken up the landscape into three sections. Each section, not surprisingly, can stand on it’s own. Each section is a complete landscape in itself.  This is in line with my theory of the fractalic nature of the universe (more on that in another blog). And of course they work together as a very long landscape.

Just the way landscapes are in nature. Long. And Lovely.

Be well.

J.

Powered by WordPress