This is a really spontaneous piece that I am quite fond of..
I was talking to a friend of mine over coffee about “making” and how some times pieces can take months to make sense and become real or the complete opossite.
I’ve lost plenty of hours of sleep thinking if what I did had any sense at all and then working to see how I could make it clearer. In all truth I believe in being honest and making from your gut and heart, the only thing I am certain of is of the comunion between your subconcient and hands.
All my questions are not answered yet and maybe there is no answer to them at all..but I live for the explosive beautiful moments of making, concentration, losing track of time, of truly not thinking at all and just moving your hands,when there is that rush to finish and then holding a finished piece, your idea in a tangible form for the first time.
As for this piece, she simply invites you to look closer.
June Schwarcz is 97 years old and still enameling today..
I feel quite drawn to work like this, where the more you seek the more details you find..
I once had a conversation with one of my teachers where he asked me why I kept making boxes.. for some reason I am drawn to boxes and hollow structures as well, we decided there was some sort of “protecting” aspect about it.. and when I see her vessels I get just that, I think her subtlety shows through, these are not to be used in a common form, they were made to hold something deeper… they are to be admired and loved as the beautiful object they are..
This video features her talking about her work, it is so inspiring to see someone so fulfilled and with a life time of memories through making..
Oh..well, did I tell you I really like her work? 🙂
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..
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.