continuing to be medieval...

Here we continue the medieval theme. These paintings are all 9in X 11in panels of wood (pine), and currently reside stacked on top of my desk. Because I'm not sure if I like them. The idea, in keeping with the medieval theme I'd been working on (and may be returning to?) in early 2009. Much smaller than the paintings posted previously, and on different material, they are inspired by personal devotional objects like the Duccio Madonna, which would have been used in the home for prayer.

Of course, these guys are a little different.

Truth be told, I got the idea from an episode of The X Files. One of the good ones, before they replaced Mulder and Scully with those other two. Anyway, instead of celebrating the perfection that is/was so often depicted in religious work, I was instead interested in the celebration of imperfection, as well as getting into some of the more mystical aspects of the Christian religion.

Before I explain any of that, though, I feel like I should explain why I like early Christian art. I like it, first of all, because I am not a Christian. I come to it as an outsider and so I don't have the dogmatic implications that can make people who were raised in the Christian tradition uncomfortable with the images, or reliant on their context in a personally spiritual manner. I don't have any of that, so for me they are simply beautiful things, and examples of one form of spirituality on a spectrum of spiritualities. Also, I like the earlier examples because they're less about the creepy institution (sorry, sorry, but that's how I feel) and more about the spirituality itself. They also speak to traditions that have been largely lost or disregarded by now, and often speak to modern Christianity's pagan origins.

These little paintings are called, collectively, the Nephilim (Nephil is singular). Nephilim are, in the Old Testament, these freaky sort of half-angel, half-human creatures that were not altogether good or bad, and somewhat frightening-looking. They are also referred to as "giants," and as a race who disappeared or were destroyed. There are a few interpretations, but I liked the idea of a being with uncertain origins and morals, who, in the rigid good/evil system of the Bible, remain somewhat ambiguous (DISCLAIMER: That's a broad statement, I know. I know next to nothing about the Bible--Hebrew or Christian--and am therefore not at all qualified to make that statement an academic one. It's more how I feel about it.)

Anyway, enough rambling. I don't even really like these paintings. I mainly put them here to record their existence. I should have sanded down the wood more, to prevent the glaze from pooling and not be generally ridgy and distracting. I also had people tell me they reminded me of Tim Burton's creations, which is dismaying because I really don't like Tim Burton. Oh well.

getting medieval

In keeping with this retrospective, I'd like to now examine another period of my work. The paintings here are from fall 2008 to January of 2009, but I will still occasionally use this style or integrate it with other influences--I really like the solid black bodies and the saturated jewel tones. There's still evidence of the way I worked earlier, with the pale, creepy faces and the unnatural coloring, only these were done after I discovered the joy of glazing. I can't work in any other fashion now. The bottom image has a light linseed oil glaze on the faces (it's pinkish over the blue-gray underpainting, and I was going to do more, but I liked how it looked and I stopped), and the other two have a stand oil glaze. Because stand oil is the best stuff ever (and also responsible for the shine that somewhat interferes with the photographs).

They are inspired by medieval pieces, mainly from illuminated manuscripts and the like. It probably also helped that I was taking a medieval art course and a medieval literature course at the time. The top image is Jesus from the Godescalc Gospel Lectionary (Frankish, ca. 781-783 C.E. Godescalc was the guy who made it. Note the lack of beard on Jesus--that didn't become the tradition until about the mid 1000s. The Lectionary was written in gold ink on purple parchment and is generally REALLY REALLY PIMP. This has been your art history lesson).

Top to bottom (not counting the Godescalc image): The Pardoner, The Silver Tree, and The Council. The Council was inspired by the way people who live with one another come to form a way of communicating particular to them, and the gold background is likely an influence of Byzantine art. The Pardoner, of course, comes from Chaucer's Canterbury Tales (if your haven't yet, read it. Read it now.) The pardoner is my favorite character because of how creepy he is, the way his guilt manifests itself in his mania, and the way he is convinced that he is beyond redemption and talks of his evilness in a way that is both proud and despairing. Good stuff. And those are pig bones around his neck. If you want to know why, read the book.

Currently, The Silver Tree and The Council hang in my mom's living room, and The Pardoner hangs in my bedroom. It's one of my favorite paintings and I'm quite pleased with the way I got the eyes to follow viewers around, and even though he's creepy I've developed an affection for him. My boyfriend, however, has not: "You hung it UP? Now I can't escape it!"

the woods

So here is some (relatively) early work, from the spring of 2008. Ah, those were the days--fairy tales and their dark, adult interpretations. I have an annotated Brothers Grimm collection complete with gorgeous full-color illustrations from a variety of artists that helped with the progression of this series. They are all done in oil (no glazing! WTF was I thinking??) on canvas, all 18X24.

The series is called "The Woods," since a primary trope in fairy tales and folk tales involves the main character(s) going into the deep, dark scary woods; it's usually read as a metaphor for growing up and venturing into the world. The title of each painting is a line from a Grimms' tale. Top to bottom: What Big Teeth You Have; Where Are You Going, Dear Bear?; The Frog's Prediction Came True; First an Owl, Then a Raven, and Finally a Dove; and Let's Have a Taste, It's Sure to be Sweet. Their tales, respectively, are Red Riding Hood (which I really shouldn't even have to explain), Rose White & Rose Red, The Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, and Hansel & Gretel.

These are all portraits of friends. With the exception of What Big Teeth You Have, they were all stolen from Facebook. It's kind of bad, how many personal photographs I steal from loved ones via Facebook (see the two photos in the previous posting). But that's the magic of Facebook, right? And no, I'm not going to go into detail about why I chose the tales for these people.

Stylistically? Um, I think I was still in a sort of horror-movie phase or something. Look at all those intricate patterns! Ever notice that horror movies made during the past decade really went to town on the Victorian wallpaper patterns and sick greens and purples? Note similarity. This was a denser, darker, more ornate time for me, I guess, and I'm kind of glad I'm over it...for the most part.

galatea

I just begun my Galatea painting--by begun I mean it's a series of sketchy lines on canvas that make sense only to me. It owes a bit to both images (bottom two, above and below: Odilon Redon, Gustave Moreau). Stylistically, I suppose it's a bit more similar to Moreau, with the primary focus on the Galatea figure and the dark background. Or, it will be. We can only hope. It's something of a departure from what I've been doing, as well as from the things I've been looking at in terms of reference material. Much more ornate and flowery. But it's also the first painting I've done with such a blatantly classical theme; it somehow, therefore, seems appropriate. Or maybe it just seems that way to me.

And seriously, isn't Redon's cyclops like the cutest thing EVER?

The images preceding the Galateas are the kinds of things I've been liking lately. Kind of a faded memory, old family photograph, memory-blending-with-imagination-type thing. Vast and unknown landscapes of the interior and exterior alike.

Something like that.