Pop Goes the Geisha

I am looking forward to seeing Tezuka the Marvel of Manga which is now showing at the National Gallery of Victoria. It opened last Friday and as eager as I am to see it, I will wait another week or so in the hope that there will be less of a crowd by then. I find crowded galleries distracting, especially when I am interested in the art hanging on the wall...when I am not, they are a welcome distraction.

It is no secret that I have been inspired by Japanese pop culture, (and traditional culture), for a number of years. The pop influence is probably more evident in my earlier works.
In 1993, my first solo exhibition at Jackman Gallery consisted of works of a pure pop nature with the theme being Japanese Geisha. There were many reasons I chose that particular subject, reasons that stem far beyond my fascination with Jap-Pop culture and with Geisha themselves. Reasons I will not go into, not in this post anyway.

My 2004 exhibition moved away from the Geisha theme but the Japanese influences were evident in other ways. One reviewer described the new works as 'painterly pop'. Whatever the case, I felt my art was moving in a new direction, at least stylistically, which is why I painted Astro Geisha.
During a review of that exhibition on Radio Australia, Phil Kafcaloudes referenced that particular piece and his own interpretation of it...
"...Maynard is heavily influenced by Japanese culture, especially what is dubbed Jap-Pop culture. An eastern version perhaps of Warhol or Lichtenstein, which includes Astro Boy, from the 1960's, a Japanese cartoon character with rocket legs. Maynard paints him as a her, as a transsexual Geisha in a kimono still flying off to save the world..."

That last line still makes me laugh.

With an obvious reference to Astro Boy this piece was a fun and symbolic one for me as it was the last piece I painted in a true Jap-Pop style.
Astro Geisha was not painted as a transsexual. She had green eyes, as do I, and she wasn't flying off to save the world, just flying in a new direction.

Paper Liberation

I have recently rediscovered the joy of working on paper. There is a certain artistic freedom that presents itself to me when I am working on paper. Perhaps it's because paper is sometimes a little less intimidating than a blank canvas. I often find myself more hesitant making my first mark on a pristine canvas than I do on a sheet of paper. It's strange logic, I know. I just find paper lends itself more to artistic error, for want of a better term. (Not that they are really errors as such, I just can't think of a better term right now).
'I deny the accident' comes to mind.
Paper also lends itself more to drawing, which is where it all began for me as an artist.

Perhaps I just feel paper is more open to interpretation when it comes to mark making, or perhaps it is that I worry less about ruining a sheet of paper than I do a stretched canvas. Who knows.
I do find, however, when I am working on canvas I am a lot more focused on, or concerned with, precision and detail - not that that is a bad thing - but working on paper does allow me to free up from time to time, which is something that I feel, for me as an artist, is vital.

More Than Just a Pretty Face

In the past, I only ever took photos of my paintings after they were complete. It wasn't until I was painting for my exhibition earlier this year that I started to photograph the stages of a painting.

I receive many comments from people regarding the layering of my work and I figured photographing the stages of a painting would not only be a good way of documenting the process involved in creating each piece, it would also be interesting for clients and viewers of my work, and of course to me.

Many people that have viewed these photographic stages have been quite surprised by the work involved in creating what looks like a rather simple image, proving them to be more than just a pretty face on canvas.

Leonard Cohen's Love Child

My partner recently bought me Ladies and Gentlemen... Mr. Leonard Cohen on dvd. He certainly knows how to inspire me through his thoughtful gifts. I decided to watch it again today to help with my creative restlessness. What an amazing man Leonard Cohen is, I simply adore him and his work. He has been a constant source of creative inspiration to me for a number of years now. A few years ago, a Melbourne gallery director gave me the nickname 'Leonard Cohen's Love Child'. It may not have been meant as an outright compliment, but I was quite pleased with it and became so attached to it that I dedicated a painting to it. It was titled Self Portrait as L.C2.
L. C squared being the abbreviation a friend and I gave to the lengthy nickname.

Creative Cravings

I am finding it terribly hard to concentrate on anything today. Despite continuous efforts in the studio, it has been a non-eventful day creatively. I have managed to start the first piece in a new series of self-portrait works, but I have not achieved as much as I would have liked to this fine day. I am putting it down to the diet I am on, and my cravings, which are unrelenting today. It is day 52 of this very restricted diet, and despite the frequent feeling of the beginning of insanity, I am rather proud of myself for sticking to it so religiously for this long.

For health reasons I am on a diet which restricts my enjoyment of food immensely. After years of quick fixes of a temporary nature I decided to try it. This diet consists of NO dairy, NO wheat or wheat based products of any kind, (including no bread of any kind), NO sugar of any kind - including fructose - which means NO fruit, (lemons and lemon juice are ok), NO fermented foods or beverages - which includes tofu, (one of my staples as an aquatarian), soy sauce, vinegar and all alcohol and NO potato or potato products, NO caffeine in any form.

What is allowed are all vegetables except potato, all legumes, eggs, fish, herbs, garlic, ginger, rice, (rice cakes and corn cakes as a substitute for bread), nuts, seeds and oils, herbal tea and grains such as millet and quinoa.

It's certainly not as difficult now as it was during the first few weeks. My mood swings were ferocious and my cravings were enough to make one pull their own hair out, fortunately the mood swings have settled right down, however the cravings are still present from time to time only not as severe. Also, my cravings have changed, or at least the things I crave for have. I now miss apples, honey and tofu more than I miss wine, chocolate and cheese.

Although it has effected my ultimate enjoyment of food, it has made me a lot more appreciative and I now have much to look forward to once I go back to my regular culinary habits. The good thing is, the diet seems to have helped my symptoms, the negative is that it seems to, at times, be a hindrance to my creativity or at least my creative productivity.

I Deny the Accident

Today, in my studio, looking down at my drop-sheet, I thought of Jackson Pollock. I say this with no disrespect towards Pollock or his work, but rather credit to my imagination. I then remembered seeing the film Pollock in 2002, which subsequently brought back many other memories of that time.

It was October, 2002. It was a crazy time in my life. Dark even. I'd recently ended a 5 year relationship, was working long hours managing a high profile art gallery, and carrying the stresses that went along with it, drinking copious amounts of red wine - (perhaps to help with the level of 'cope', but it ultimately hindered)... It was an emotional roller coaster but certainly a period of great significance in my life, particularly my life as an artist. It was a turning point.

"I deny the accident" is the line I will always remember from that film. At the time I saw it as the perfect statement for an artist. I remember coming home that night and writing in my diary.

Thurs. 31st October, 2002. 9:18pm
The film Pollock inspired me, depressed me and entertained me. Ed Harris was great, Marcia Gay Harden was brilliant, her performance moved me. I saw myself in both of the characters: the woman who puts her life on hold to encourage another, providing inspiration, strength... and the artist who continues on a (self) destructive path. Self obsessed when it comes to one's art, (but aren't we all?), one's own worst enemy and toughest critic, worried about how the world will react to the work, too passionate about the work to even consider changing. Feeling misunderstood, drinking to drown, the foetal position, the frustration, the intensity, the sensitivity. Starving for affection, the affairs, the highs, the disappointment, the realisation and the remorse. The passion. The desire to create.

Five days after seeing the film I flew to Canberra to see the Jackson Pollock exhibition, which was showing along with The Big Americans, at the National Gallery of Australia. I'd never considered myself a fan of Pollock's work, and despite being subjected to a multitude of criticism about him and his work, I was not a non-fan either. Regardless, that day I sat in front of Pollock's Blue Poles for a long time.

47 days later I left my job to further pursue my artistic dream and focus solely on being an artist.

The Fabulous Mr. Robbins

The first book my partner bought me, back in the days when we were 'courting', was Skinny Legs and All by Tom Robbins.

I must admit, prior to this I had actually never heard of him. I had seen the film Even Cowgirls Get the Blues years and years ago, and loved it, but had no idea it was based on Mr. Robbins book of the same name. I have since become a fan of his work.

When my partner and I met, I was painting madly for my 2005 exhibition at Jackman Gallery, so it was some time after I received the book that I was able to sit down and familiarise myself with the world of Ellen Cherry Charles and co.

To me, it has been one of those books that you absolutely love whilst you are reading it, but you fall in love with it even more a week, a month, even a year after you've read it.

I certainly felt a particular empathy toward the main character, Ellen Cherry Charles, that I have never felt before with a fictional character. By the time I had finished reading it I had dog-eared so many pages that the book had gained extra girth. The very first page that I marked was page 6, and this is why:

'Mockingbirds are the true artists of the bird kingdom. Which is to say, although they're born with a song of their own, an innate riff that happens to be one of the most versatile of all ornithological expressions, mockingbirds aren't content to merely play the hand that is dealt them. Like all artists, they are out to rearrange reality. Innovative, willful, daring, not bound by the rules to which others may blindly adhere, the mockingbird collects snatches of birdsong from this tree and that field, appropriates them, places them in new and unexpected contexts, recreates the world from the world. For example, a mockingbird in South Carolina was heard to blend the songs of thirty-two different kinds of birds into a ten-minute performance, a virtuoso display that served no practical purpose, falling, therefore, into the realm of pure art.' - Tom Robbins, Skinny Legs and All

Art For Arts Sake

A friend of mine wrote to me recently, he was feeling frustrated with his work, his art. A feeling I know all too well. I presume many artists have been to that dark place.
Whilst preparing for his exhibition the doubts began knocking at his mind's door. He made the mistake of answering.

He began with:
"I have no meaning!!! Did Picasso have meaning? It seems like he was just as determined to create aesthetic art as I am. Screw meaning. But I feel like it's time I let go of that attitude..."

I could feel his frustration. Being an artist is both frustrating and wonderful at times and at the risk of sounding arrogant, sometimes I feel only other artists truly understand my 'art related' frustrations.

In his letter, my friend then wrote:
"It is very frustrating. I have nothing that is commercially viable!!! The people want meaning!!! If they can't figure it out they write it off as 'different', 'fun' or 'whimsical'. These never add up to a 'strong' piece."

I found myself relating to the first part but totally disagreeing with 'These never add up to a strong piece'.

Picasso's work had meaning, and to me his work is far more than just aesthetically pleasing. In my opinion he was an artistic genius. I am perhaps correct in saying all art has some meaning. I guess the thing is, when we are talking about the viewers or buyers - and what makes a piece commercially viable - is that it means something to someone else. i.e the viewer or buyer.

He went on to ask me how I would describe his work, telling me a friend of his had placed his work in the category of 'post-surrealism'. I guess it's always post 'something'. I often cringe at categories when it comes to art. I often dread the question, "so what kind of art do you do?" Not because I don't like discussing my art, but because people seem to want to automatically place it in a category or compare it to another artist's work. I guess without seeing the work it is hard for them to visualise what I tell them so it is then easier to compare my explanation to something they are familiar with. So you can imagine the confusion on people's faces when I used to tell them that my work was influenced not only by Japanese 'Pop Art' but also the ancient art of Japanese woodblock prints. I wonder if anyone ever pictured Astro Boy flying over Hokusai's famous wave.

As I began my reply to him I must have mounted my high horse.
I told him I thought his work was fun and that I did not think that was at all a bad thing.
A lot of people go on about 'meaning', or political or controversial jargon in art. I used the word 'jargon' because that is sometimes what I feel it is.

I've been exhibiting my art for around 8 years now and I used to often struggle with the 'deeper meaning' of my work. I used to think people wanted a 'story' to go with a piece of art. Often when talking to prospective buyers about a piece I'd realise there actually was a story there.
Every picture tells a story. True? Or not? Either way I realised that I paint first and fore mostly because I love to paint. I need to paint, to create. I paint things I love, enjoy or feel a connection with. Therefore, at the end of the day, there is meaning. We love, like and connect with things for a reason.

Sometimes I paint without even initially realising why I am creating that particular image. Not all paintings are planned, but either way, there is always something behind it. Obvious or not.
I have come to accept that whatever is behind a piece of art does not always have to be something deep and profound.

I managed a high profile Melbourne gallery for just under 18 months. We exhibited some of Australia's highest profile and top selling artists, both living and dead. As much as I learnt there, I also discovered that some of it is just pandering to people's needs. I noticed some people felt that art had to have some significance that they can relate to, (or pretend to), and say, "Oh yes. Yes. I see". Despite my cynicism, I do admit that there are many artists who do make legitimate 'statements' through their art - be it subtle or in your face - and they pull it off with dignity. These artists have my respect. However, I have also been exposed to a lot of propaganda in the art world. Perhaps this is how my cynicism developed. Or maybe it's just that I am getting older. They say we become more cynical with age.

I used to often worry that I just paint 'pretty pictures', then it dawned on me... After working in three Melbourne galleries, dealing with the general public, serious 'collectors', the self confessed 'ignorant' and the artists themselves, I discovered that a lot of people WANT 'pretty pictures'. People do enjoy 'happy' imagery just as much and sometimes more than bold statements or controversy. Of course there are always exceptions, but this discovery was enough to make me feel a whole lot better about what I do.

I still refer back to a quote in one of my favourite novels of all time, Skinny Legs and All, by Tom Robbins:
"The purpose of art is to create what life does not."

There has been so much shit going on in the world in recent times. Many people find it all very heavy and hard to deal with at times. Recently I have found that a lot of people find it refreshing to NOT have to think too much about a piece of art and simply enjoy looking at it. I have seen people relate to my work for many different reasons, and this always makes me happy. Some people even see things in the work that I do not.

I say 'let art be open to interpretation.'

What drew me to my friend's work was the 'fun' element. It was the quirkiness. It was the whimsical and fantastic nature of it. His work allowed me to enter a different world - and I saw that as a great thing - for aren't there times when we just want to step out of this one for a while? To me, all of these were 'strengths'.

Sometimes I think the more we try to find all these 'meanings' for the work we do, the less enjoyable they become to create. I think it can be simple sometimes. If I enjoy what I do, people can often see that in the work - and that alone can allow someone to fall in love with or connect with a piece.

People are drawn to works of art for so many different reasons and many people who buy art buy it first and foremost because they like it. The majority of buyers I dealt with bought art to hang on their wall and wanted something they could enjoy looking at every day, not something that continually made them question themselves or others, or that reminds them of how fucked up the world can be.

I guess though, the great thing about art is that there is pretty much a place for everything and anything. This can be both frustrating and wonderful.

My closing words to my friend were:
'There is always a story. Just create the work.
The story is already there.'