Always looking for parallels: Can someone tell me to stop? I often find that knowledge jumps out at me. I mean its intoxicating. Here is an example: One day during this past summer while walking through Elverkett looking at the works of Carl-Gustav Lilius, I was intrigued. Mind you I could never draw a lick. When I set down to draw, patience is not a virtue. I doddle then doodle. Carl-Gustav Lilius work strikes one as scratches lines and the end result of one misbehaving. It spoke to me, later many months later, I stumbled up this book about a Swedish artist. Her name Channa Bankier. Suddenly I see scratches and drawings with an overt sexual content. I thought of Carl-Gustav. Had she studied under him? Of course not but my mind wanted it to be so. I pulled the book Sanna Eloranta gave. Its full of graphic arts of Estonia. I pull the internet into validate my idea... typing queries searching demanding that it pulls their names together. It was all poppy-cock. Why do I engage in this mad man searches?
Many years circulating in the arts from galleries to museums to events my mind can sometimes become like revolving chart of images. For some reason I store remembrance in my mind seeking synergies. I think of Larson Österberg and his painting and how no one else does what he does. Suddenly I discover Erik Salvesen during my travels for Kustrundan 2017. One artist’s hauteur then another and I'm off again. Is their meditative landscapes only a convergence of my own willingness to find meaning in splotches of colors speared thin? so thin that ghosts of ideas flow from canvas to me then out again seeking similarities . Painting. words., pen ink and collages they all seem to haunt me. Pleasing then mesmerizing. Somebody stop me.
Sunday, March 4, 2018
My Insanity & Art
Always looking for parallels: Can someone tell me to stop? I often find that knowledge jumps out at me. I mean its intoxicating. Here is an example: One day during this past summer while walking through Elverkett looking at the works of Carl-Gustav Lilius, I was intrigued. Mind you I could never draw a lick. When I set down to draw, patience is not a virtue. I doddle then doodle. Carl-Gustav Lilius work strikes one as scratches lines and the end result of one misbehaving. It spoke to me, later many months later, I stumbled up this book about a Swedish artist. Her name Channa Bankier. Suddenly I see scratches and drawings with an overt sexual content. I thought of Carl-Gustav. Had she studied under him? Of course not but my mind wanted it to be so. I pulled the book Sanna Eloranta gave. Its full of graphic arts of Estonia. I pull the internet into validate my idea... typing queries searching demanding that it pulls their names together. It was all poppy-cock. Why do I engage in this mad man searches?
Many years circulating in the arts from galleries to museums to events my mind can sometimes become like revolving chart of images. For some reason I store remembrance in my mind seeking synergies. I think of Larson Österberg and his painting and how no one else does what he does. Suddenly I discover Erik Salvesen during my travels for Kustrundan 2017. One artist’s hauteur then another and I'm off again. Is their meditative landscapes only a convergence of my own willingness to find meaning in splotches of colors speared thin? so thin that ghosts of ideas flow from canvas to me then out again seeking similarities . Painting. words., pen ink and collages they all seem to haunt me. Pleasing then mesmerizing. Somebody stop me.
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