White on white

I was having dinner with a friend in a little spanish terrace about two years ago.

We were initially talking about adrenaline, work, the summer and then out of the blue he asked me a question that has stayed with me until today.

“Could you please explain to me why a person can cry in front of a painting or a piece of art?, are you born with this sensitivity,  or is this a learned behavior, is it taught?.

In the most humble attempt to try to answer this question, I told him that at least for me there are clearly certain things that move me or excite me, that deep down it all comes down to how it makes you feel. Though I have to admit that ever since I started studying and finding out more of the historical background of the work and  the lives  and inspirations of the artists it gives the pieces a broader depth and power.

Then, I thought of my grandmother and  we’ve developed very sweet conversations on the phone (we are old school, no skype) , where she  asks me about what I am doing in the university, she enjoys hearing stories about the things I see, the people I meet, why I do what I do and asks a lot of questions.

When I visit, I love showing her my friend’s work , photos of things I saw in museums and hearing what she thinks about the pieces, sometimes she just laughs but other times she usually starts the  sentence with  ” This reminds me of…” and associates it with her own life.

Which brings me to the answer of how I would answer the  question today. It all  comes down to  have the desire and curiosity to truly observe and keep asking questions, art conveys individual emotions but you have to be willing to be in the receiving part.

Like I said this was two years ago, ever since from time to time I have asked a few of my teachers and friends this question as well and it leads to very interesting conversations.

What do you think?

Today I leave you with a painting by Kazimir Malevich which he considered “the supremacy of pure feeling.”

“Only when the habit of one’s consciousness to see in paintings bits of nature, Madonna’s and shameless nudes.. ..has disappeared, shall we see a pure painting composition. I have transformed myself into the nullity of forms and pulled myself out of the circle of things, out of the circle-horizon in which the artist and forms of nature are locked.”

• as quoted in: Marc Chagall, – a Biography, Sidney Alexander, Cassell, London, 1978, p. 178

Petit Sekou

“Maybe we should think of memory itself as a work of art—and a work of art is never finished, only abandoned.”

THE DICTIONARY OF OBSCURE SORROWS http://www.dictionaryofobscuresorrows.com/
The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows is a compendium of invented words written by John Koenig. Each original definition aims to fill a hole in the language—to give a name to emotions we all might experience but don’t yet have a word for.

Extracts from the The Keeper of Flocks by Alberto Caeiro (Fernando Pessoa)

The work of the poet Alberto Caeiro, Fernando Pessoa’s heteronymous, is a philosophy without philosophy. One that puts into question the cultural tradition that “covers” thought: philosophy, poetry, mysticism, religion. It does so by returning to nature in a way that implies an absence of meaning, concepts, knowledge structures and prejudices that distort the look of things, the experience of Nature and feel of Reality. Because it deals with an unlearning, Caeiro turns to the simple, not-thinking, almost to the absence of the word.

IX

I’m a keeper of flocks.
The flock is my thoughts
And my thoughts are all sensations.
I think with my eyes and with my ears
And with my hands and feet
And with my nose and mouth.

Thinking about a flower is seeing and smelling it
And eating a piece of fruit is knowing its meaning.

That’s why when on a hot day
I feel sad from liking it so much,
And I throw myself lengthwise on the grass
And shut my hot eyes,
And feeling my whole body lying on reality,
I know the truth and I’m happy.

X

The frightful reality of things

Is my everyday discovery.

Each thing is what it is.

How can I explain to anyone how much

I rejoice over this, and find it enough?

To be whole, it is enough to exist.

XXI

If I could take a bite of the whole world
And feel it on my palate
I’d be more happy for a minute or so…
But I don’t always want to be happy.
Sometimes you have to be
Unhappy to be natural…

Not every day is sunny.
When there’s been no rain for a while, you pray for it to come.
So I take unhappiness with happiness
Naturally, like someone who doesn’t find it strange
That there are mountains and plains
And that there are cliffs and grass…

What you need is to be natural and calm
In happiness and in unhappiness,
To feel like someone seeing,
To think like someone walking,
And when it’s time to die, remember the day dies,
And the sunset is beautiful, and the endless night is beautiful…
That’s how it is and that’s how it should be…

(3/7/1914)

XXIV

What we see of things is things.
Why would we see one thing as being another?
Why is it that seeing and hearing would deceive us
If seeing and hearing are seeing and hearing?

The main thing is knowing how to see,
To know how to see without thinking,
To know how to see when you see,
And not think when you see
Or see when you think.

But this (poor us carrying a clothed soul!),
This takes deep study,
A learning to unlearn
And sequestration in freedom from that convent
Where the poets say the stars are the eternal brothers,
And flowers are penitent nuns who only live a day,
But where stars really aren’t anything but stars,
And flowers aren’t anything but flowers,
That being why I call them stars and flowers.

(3/13/1914)

XXVI

At times, on days of perfect and exact light,
When things have all the reality they can,
I ask myself slowly
Why I even attribute
Beauty to things.

Does a flower somehow have beauty?
Somehow a fruit has beauty?
No: they have color and form
And existence only.
Beauty is the name of something that doesn’t exist
I give to things in exchange for the delight they give me.
It means nothing.
Then why do I say, “Things are beautiful”?

Yes, even I, who live only to live,
Invisible, they come to meet me,
Men’s lies in the face of things,
In the face of things that simply exist.

How difficult to be yourself and see only what you can!

(3/11/1914)

XLIV

I suddenly wake up in the night,
And my clock occupies the whole night.
I don’t sense Nature outside.
My room is a dark thing with vaguely white walls.
Outside there’s a quiet like nothing existed.
Only the clock goes on with its noise.
And this little thing of gears on top of my table
Smothers the whole existence of the earth and the sky…
I almost lose myself thinking about what this signifies,
But I come back, and I feel myself smiling in the night with the corners of my mouth,
Because the only thing my clock symbolizes or signifies
Filling the enormous night with its smallness
Is the curious sensation of the enormous night being filled
With its smallness…

(5/7/14)

Why do we collect?- Small Collection- Process

I usually start by displaying materials on a table, I do a small layout to see what I have and the possibilities available, here you can see bits and pieces found on the street, on the beach.. just different walks, as time goes by I also have friends that find little pieces and give them to me just in case I can use them..

Why is there that innate eagerness of collecting?

Why do we do this? sometimes there is really not a financial value for these objects still, we feel accomplished when we find something that just fits.

But why do we have this light obsession, why do some of us do it, some of us don´t?

I have been very interested in the topic, specially because I try to understand why do I get that light sense of “joy” when I find certain materials, I am attracted to things that have a worn aspect, a sense of time that has gone past them, everything, even the smallest thing has a story.

It is all a way to understand my own nature through making, I like giving these materials a chance, a space, why not?

“We use keepsakes to stimulate memory, especially to trigger fond memories but even if memory cannot be relied upon to faithfully reproduce a record of the past, it remains vital to our understanding of the past.” Terry Shoptaugh

Photographs, toys, train tickets, the lists are endless and it varies from person to person, do you collect anything?

Back to the piece:

I made boxes to keep and display them as small treasures and kept experimenting with arranging, re-arranging, and classifying parts of a-big-world-out-there, I found a composition that made sense to me, the piece that fitted each box.

This is the first brooch I made where I did made some boxes specifically for some pieces I wanted to use but for the second one (which I will show you later on) it took a little longer, I made the arrangement and then just waited until I found the correct piece for each box.

Since this is a brooch I didn’t want the copper to go directly in touch with the clothing so I made a sterling silver frame to give it a bit of volume and stability as you see the boxes are in mixed positions, so having a frame in the back gives me a good space to make the mechanism.

At the same time, I made and soldered bezels, tubes and all the parts to hold the pieces in place.

Patina and wounded finger:

Preparing for rivets.

Some are tied with waxed cord, the knots can be burnt and is held securely in place.

Riveting

And after finishing off, removing some of the patina in certain places, oxidizing and placing the stainless steel needle in the back, this is the result.

It makes a little noise since the bell is  tied and swinging loose 🙂

After finishing, the piece left me and it’s off in the Museum of Anthropology of Palencia, for a while.

Jean Dubuffet

                     

                    

                                                                       Apartment houses ,Paris, 1946

I have always directed my attempts at the figurative representation of objects by way of summary and not very descriptive brushstrokes, diverging greatly from the real objective measurements of things, and this has led many people to talk about childish drawing…this position of seeing them (the objects, fh) without looking at them too much, without focussing more attention on them than any ordinary man would in normal everyday life..

   

         

Character, 1944

People have seen that I intend to sweep away everything we have been taught to consider – without question – as grace and beauty; but have overlooked my work to substitute a vaster beauty, touching all objects and beings, not excluding the most despised – and because of that, all the more exhilarating….

I would like people to look at my work as an enterprise for the rehabilitation of scorned values, and, in any case, make no mistake, a work of ardent celebration….

I am convinced that any table can be for each of us a landscape as inexhaustible as the whole Andes range… I am struck by the high value, for a man, of a simple permanent fact, like the miserable vista on which the window of his room opens daily, that comes, with the passing of time, to have an important role in his life. I often think that the highest destination at which a work of art can aim is to take on that function in someone’s life.

                                   

 A little secret that I have sought for a long time by way of a fortuitous encounter quite unrelated to the matter: for example six months I try to draw a camel in a way that satisfies me, and I make a thousand attempts without ever managing to do it. Then one day it is a drawing of a plump on the label of a pot of jam or the shadow thrown by an ink pot, or something or other equally unrelated to the matter that provides me with the solution. This kind of thing has happened so often that I have acquired the habit of always being on the outlook, and when I want to draw a camel I no longer limit myself, as I once did, to looking (only, fh) at camels…

                                                          

                                                                                             Il flute sur la boss (1947)

On Art Brut: Those works created from solitude and from pure and authentic creative impulses – where the worries of competition, acclaim and social promotion do not interfere – are, because of these very facts, more precious than the productions of professionals. After a certain familiarity with these flourishings of an exalted feverishness, lived so fully and so intensely by their authors, we cannot avoid the feeling that in relation to these works, cultural art in its entirety appears to be the game of a futile society, a fallacious parade.

                             

                                                                                                           more here

To make is to be by Hans Stofer.

(Inspiring Extract from Professor Hans Stofer’s keynote talk at the Craft Scotland Conference 2013)

What I like about making is that the pace of making dictates the pace of thinking. It is a bit like walking and thinking. This helps me to organize and structure my thoughts and allows the subconscious do the work.

There are many different types of making:

There is making to be in touch with what is real.

There is making to experience another reality.

There is making as thinking.

There is making as a reflective process.

There is making to visualize the unexpected and hidden.

There is making as revealing.

There is making to discover.

There is making to cover up.

There is making to produce stuff for others.

There is making not to have to feel.

There is making to let off steam.

There is making to help you focus your thoughts.

There is making to feel alive.

There is making to make sense.

There is making as an attitude.

There is making as identity.

There is thinking about making as an imagined form of making.

There is making as healing.

There is making as repair.

There is making as a form of object – rebirth.

And there is making as something that is essential to define the self.

 

But ultimately, to make is to hold OUR world between our hands.

 

 

 

 

 

On free love by Emma Goldman.. (Amen! )

Bluebird (Charles Bukowski)

There’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I’m not going
to let anybody see
you. there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pur whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he’s
in there.there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody’s asleep.
I say, I know that you’re there,
so don’t be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he’s singing a little
in there, I haven’t quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it’s nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don’t
weep, do
you?