A New Statement

Artist statements confound me and I pray for the day when someone else might bother to consider my work and put their reaction to words.

Yes, I understand that the public likes something to read. I recognize that we’re in a sound-bite culture and publicity must be pithy. And it’s true that much of the modern art world is conceptually obtuse— demanding, perhaps unreasonably, that the viewer spend some time developing a relationship with the artwork.

I have a show coming up in Seattle and it was requested that I write a quick little tag line to promote it on the website. My clunky prose was gracefully reworked by the show organizer and reads:

Baker's drawings derive from a variety of photographic images: flea market snapshots, digital pictures, and many from his own experiments with handmade pinhole cameras. He ties together the subjects through his predisposition for the decayed and imperfect.

I couldn’t have said it better myself. Truly.

iControl

A friend of mine once joked that he often expects a pop-up widow to appear on his iMac desktop informing him that his desktop is cluttered and unaesthetic: Would you like to aestheticize your desktop? Aestheticize. Don’t Aestheticize. Cancel.

While working with iWeb (the program, I’m embarrassed to admit, that currently holds my web site) over the past year something has caught my attention that I’ve frequently mulled over. Apple has always marketed itself as a provider of creative ease— a manufacturer of tools devoted to the advancement of individual expression. With the current versions of Mac OS Apple has reached a pinnacle of marketing to the ego: iWeb provides a concrete example of this. Nearly every page of every template contains the word “Me” or “My.” A pronoun and a possessive adjective. Individuality and the ownership of that individuality. My photos. My favorite songs. My trip. Me.

But does the Mac, or any computer for that matter, truly foster more personal creativity among the masses or simply promise a potential audience? Is it the inspired act or the hope for attention that fuels the digital revolution?

I’ve been trying to formulate a theory about passive creativity in the digital ear ever since computers became a fixture of my daily life. That theory is, in part, powered by a Mac.

The Cartographer

Consider this situation.

There is a cartographer with the power to obliterate places from the physical world by erasing them from a map of Earth in his possession.* Topography dismissed from the world becomes a blank nothingness; a flat wasteland of paper-white with remnants of natural color and form where the eraser failed to fully eradicate existence.

When asked to consider this by one of my students I affirmed that it was an intriguing image but I wasn’t quite sure whether I was only to focus my imagining on seeing this situation, or remedying it. As a teacher you often try to suss out what the real question being asked might be.

Could I consider such a situation. Yes. Would I, or could I, do anything about it? No. I don’t pit myself against divinity: real or imagined.

*Note that I immediately associate an all-powerful figure with masculinity. The subconscious force of a Christian upbringing is very strong. . .

Richard Deacon at PAM

Internationally lauded sculptor Richard Deacon spoke at the Portland Art Museum last night and watching the admittedly brilliant artist struggle through his lecture (given at the behest of the museum, who just purchased a major work by Deacon) seemed to pain all but the overly-perfumed elderly art patrons who sat behind me and gasped at the genius of every image to appear on the screen.

Deacon was clearly an uncomfortable speaker; primarily reserving his eye contact and explanatory gestures for the laptop before him rather than his audience. Evidence of his thought process was primarily gleaned from the chronological narrative that slowly played out on screen.

His formative years (early 1980’s) were given a considerable amount of time as he attempted to express how simple construction materials like galvanized steel, linoleum, and wood eventually were brought together in an open exploration process that resulted in a sculptural architecture of constructive technique. The resulting pieces were both inviting and exclusionary depending on the viewer’s vantage point. At one point Deacon also tried to express how the exposed hardware and joinery created “a sort of anxiety” among the viewer who were being made privy to the structural underpinnings of the artistic work. This is still a common theme among artists of many disciplines as they continue to react to the public perception that artists are material alchemists; capable of skills that the viewer will never understand or possess.

These early years, where much of Deacon’s artistic thinking was freshest if not always aesthetically appealing (forays into flimsy narrative yielded pieces such as If the Shoe Fits which lack all the refined grace that his process-oriented works demonstrate) slowly gave way to a mixed bag of large scale exhibitions which seemed more about meeting the demands of a rising market for work than refining thematic ideas planted at the outset of his career.

Nevertheless, a topological exploration of form took root in the 90’s as Deacon grew fatigued with rectilinear construction. As the geometry of his sculptures began to embrace complex curves and three dimensional twists of materials like wood and plastic an awe inspiring aesthetic of contorted form took hold. What Could Make Me Feel This Way seems to slip and wrap around itself: from one angle seeming almost intestinal despite being fabricated almost entirely out of bent wood slats. In this case the narrative is more open-ended, and thereby more successful— the title following the form rather than vice versa.

Throughout Deacon’s presentation I found myself alternately awed and dismayed at works he chose to display. His decisions for the Venice Biennale in 2007 seemed remarkably incisive, while gallery works of monolithic monochrome ceramic work seemed a bungled reaction to visual memes in globalized consumer culture. As an artist I am somewhat aware that I may not be able to differentiate which of my works are more successful, but I also grant that the failures help inform and spur on the greater successes. Such is obviously the case with Deacon, and perhaps my surprise was that I couldn’t be certain if he actually viewed the weaker work as successful or just maquettes for the breakthroughs that have earned him his standing in the art world.

Timberline

I’ve often been told that Timberline Lodge on Mt. Hood is a masterpiece of craftsmanship. In fact, this was a common conversation thread throughout my years at Portland’s one and only craft college. It would begin with my telling a stranger I was getting a degree in craft.

There would be silence.

Then there could be a range of clunky questions seeking clarification, or there would be the question about Timberline.

“No.” I’d say, “I have not visited Timberline. Yet.”
And that would inadvertently derail that conversation.

After being an Oregonian for over a decade I finally wandered through Timberline Lodge. It contains many remarkable evidences of hand work; with the wrought iron hardware and massive hewn beams being the standouts. Over one doorway I spied a butterfly tenon larger than both my fists put together. Carved rams support chunky oak slab table tops and telephone pole beams are cut short and topped with friendly carved animals. A handmade cohesiveness provides harmony as well as quirky surprises on each floor of the lodge. In one side hallway I came across a simple wooden bench with protruding iron handles on one side and a single heavy metal wheel on the other so that the bench could be wheeled about if a new location was desired. I could not find another one. This singular bench made me wonder when we might again build buildings that would be erected to not just serve a function to the public but would also honor the ingenuity of a hand laborer.

As I see it, Timberline’s crafted beauty isn’t nearly as important as the sentiment that wrought it. In the bleakest of times for America a president saw fit to think outside of advisors, analysts, and political tradition to empower the impoverished. Among the hundreds of people working to fashion Timberline there were many who discovered previously hidden talents and were awarded not just a check, but with the feeling that their labor mattered. Simply stated, the New Deal valued its citizenry and unlocked their potential.

Critics of FDR’s plan proselytized the end of capitalism with the advent of the New Deal but I think of it as a very heart felt attempt to counteract an international crisis of economy and the subsequent feelings of worthlessness that it engendered.

Ultimately, government should not be just a gnarled web of mandates and bureaucracy; it should inspire and support the dreams of its populace. As a democratic population we should not allow our government to operate solely as a short-sided arm of disaster relief for the victims of its own inefficiency. FDR was not the primary culprit of a national economic downturn and many of his solutions to it live on today— can we have much faith that our current president will leave us with a similar legacy?

*Feeling it imprudent to take a camera on the slopes I turned to Flickr for an image. Fellow photographer Sherri Jackson graciously provided the picture above. It manages to capture not just the fantastic scale of the woodwork and masonry, but also reveals a bit of the impeccably considered lighting that exists throughout the lodge. Much thanks to Sherri.

Paper Tree

During lunch today one of my students spontaneously suggested that it would be interesting to fashion a tree made entirely out of paper. The interest would, naturally, be tied to the fact that trees produce paper. Her classmates agreed that creating such a tree would be a unique project, while I forced myself to not blurt out some inane definition of irony or post-modernism. After all, such a good idea deserves to remain in a state of imagination for a child. If it ever came to pass that she actually created the tree then she would instantly be labeled an artist and susceptible to all the critical discourse that robs ideas of their purity.

Illustrious Company

The Regional Arts and Culture Council (RACC) Community Report arrived in the mailbox last week. Flipping through the booklet I ran across my own name, which wasn’t terribly unexpected considering my sale of Interlude to the City of Portland last year, but I was stunned to see who else was on the rather short list with me— Brian Borrello and Storm Tharp! I’ve greatly admired the work of both these artists from the outset of my art studies in Portland. While they are both representational painters they operate at different realms of the conceptual spectrum: Borrello hovers around the decorative simplicity of the botanical specimen while Tharp shovels about in the emotional morass of psychological portraiture. I won’t presume to locate myself in relation to either of them: I’m simply honored.

Ten Months of Goodbye

Pneu passed away on Friday, December 14th, 2007. She had bravely contended with renal failure since the last days of January— putting up with daily injections of fluid to help flush her system, an inconstant appetite, queasiness and fatigue. At the time of her diagnosis we were told it was unlikely she’d see the week through. In classic Pneu style she amazed everyone and comforted us for another ten months. We were so profoundly grateful. . .

Pneu is a legend among cats. Born feral in Atlanta, a mother by one year of age in Oregon, and a skin cancer survivor after relinquishing her ears in California: I’ve never known a cat of such character. She was small but fierce, and as loving towards people as she was disdainful of other felines. Pneu boldly slept in the middle of roads, consistently woke me at 5am for years, and slept, without a note of self awareness, on a hot tin roof for a handful of summers. Even before her death she was the subject of a comic, numerous artworks, and countless stories, but she used one of her nine lives per year to build her mythology.

Now that she’s gone it is easy to dwell on the unfairness of her illness. For the most part she did not suffer and we did our best to make her comfortable as she slowly slipped away. Perhaps the hardest thing is to come home with her name on my lips, only to open the door to an empty house and no greeting. Then I remember that she’s gone and I wonder. I sit and wonder in the quiet. And the whole house is an ache.

Art on the Vine

There has been no shortage of projects in the past two months and, consequently, I wanted to make sure and add another so as to avoid any of that pesky sleeping that is such a barrier to productivity. Therefore I decided to create a new work for OCAC’s Art on the Vine 2008 auction. This is the second work I’ve created for this particular live auction, the last being Every Man Sings to His Own Sea, which was the first drawing that I ever created in this style (and, oddly enough, the only drawing I’ve ever created twice, making it an “editioned” drawing).

We were jostled by the light. captures a moment when sun and storm fought over a stand of trees during the first minutes of a visit with my father. We braced ourselves against the wind and pondered the possibility of burning bushes.

Thanks

I want to give thanks for those things that are so vital to my art practice— those tools, entities, and ideas that assist me in realizing my myriad creative efforts.* Family, friends, and pets should not feel slighted about being absent from this tally as you are all well loved and much appreciated. This is a list for everyone and everything else. With the exception of the top three, they are presented in no particular order.

1. X-acto knife— The single most useful item of any creative artist (even after the advent of the personal computer). Sleek, dangerous, high-maintenance, and impossible to live without.

2. Metal ruler— The x-acto knife’s less glamorous sidekick who keeps it all straight.

3. Glue stick— Now that everything is cut out what are you going to use to put it all down? It dries quick but is fairly forgivable. It also dries clear. But beware that purple kind and make sure there’s plenty of scrap paper about to use as a blotter in order to avoid messy glue migration.

4. The studio— A designated space away from home that gives you room to work and a place to focus your creative energy. I had no idea how important this was until I was lucky enough to obtain one. 2007 has allowed me to move out of the dining room corner and into artistic legitimacy. Bonus feature: the cat can’t sleep on my charcoal drawings any longer.

5. Kneadable eraser— Beloved by everyone who encounters it, the kneadable eraser can be shaped for precision erasing and used as a tension taming sculpture medium when there’s nothing else around.

6. Clickable eraser— Handles like a pencil but with far more erasing power.

7. Gesso— The single most important paint medium. Don’t ask me to justify that statement because believe me, I can. My photographic transfers would have to rely on fairly toxic means without gesso. Gesso is around when I need a quick white paint. You can sand it smooth or build it up around a form to take on impressive dimension. Did I mention it was a primer? Now that I’m thinking about it, gesso should really be in the number two or three position on this list. I’d cut-and-paste it up there except for the implicit irony that would engender.

8. Large format photocopy machine— Meant for architects and contractors to reproduce plans this machine turns tiny pinhole photographs into massive black and white vistas.

9. Rives BFK— King of papers. Run it through the letterpress or use it in lieu of canvas. BFK can be purchased in a roll that will last even the most ambitious painter a few months.

10. India ink— Black. Permanent. Enough said.

11. Pushpins— How else can you put something on the wall and gain some perspective? The clear-headed push pin is an ubiquitous feature in art school classrooms around the world. Pushpins are used daily and, I’ve recently discovered, available in a very fashionable matte black that elevates the pin to an acceptable means of display on the gallery wall.

12. Nikon FE SLR camera— Not delicate and fussy like those new-fangled digital cameras, the manual FE can be dropped, exposed to horrible weather, and neglected for years without forgetting its primary function: to take pictures when I want it to. The built in light meter keeps me close to the mark but the fully manual operation gives me the freedom to take whatever out-of-focus blurry image I want. Perfect. Why did the photographic world ever feel the need to evolve?

13. Lensbaby— While on the topic of photography lets here it for Portland innovation! The Lensbaby makes me think I’m Keith Carter every time I release the shutter. Of course, upon receiving the prints, it’s clear that Mr. Carter and I are at different stages of our photographic development (no pun intended), but the Lensbaby always helps me live the dream for a little while.

14. 2” Paintbrush— Skip the over-priced art store and head straight for your hardware supplier. One high-quality house painting brush has helped me complete 80% of the painting I’ve done in the past decade. Treat it well and you’ll save a bundle on bristles.

15. Powdered graphite— Very useful for getting a quick overall tone. It prevents me from having to shave the tips of pencils and a little goes a very long way.

16. Benefactors/Patrons— I’ve been luck enough to have a few over the years. Without their support art-making probably would have proven to difficult and too demoralizing. The enthusiasm and generosity of others prevents you from believing too firmly in all those ridiculous Romantic ideas about mad, suffering, artists.

17. Adobe Creative Suite— The sky is the limit. Design anything you can imagine and see it take 2D form. While it seems contrary to the handwork of my art practice, I’ve found Adobe’s programs to be life-savers in helping manipulate images and ideas over the years.

18. Cordless drill— Install hardware, hang pictures, and build whatever inane maquette you like. Free of the restrictions that a plug brings you can quickly move as quickly between tasks as you do ideas.

19. Chop saw— How can you make picture frames without a chop saw?

20. Sticky tack—Earthquake insurance that also keeps your frames level. . . and it’s reusable. A great product that should make tape feel ashamed.

* I’m not being paid to endorse any of the items on this list. Trademarked names are used because, in many cases, that is how all the artists I know continue to refer to them. Those companies should feel happy to know that their branding efforts are paying off. Any person or company listed above who’d like to pay me for this endorsement is welcome to contact me.

Necks

I just completed a beginning graphic design course. I don’t offer that information as an excuse for why I haven’t posted so much as an explanation for what I’m about to write.

I’ve had to ask friends and family if they’d let me photograph their necks. This request has garnered a mixed response— from the wary “Ok.” to the flat-out “No.” The neck, after all, is a sensitive space, tucked away between chin and chest. It is a vulnerable spot that has earned at least two telling cliches over the years:

1. ...sticking your neck out...
2. ...going for the jugular...

I’m sure there are more.

Perhaps due to its vulnerability it is also a place of desire. Tender and recessed, it wraps around our power of speech, swaddling our vocal cords through a life-time of inspired and mundane words.

Considering that it allows food and water to travel to the stomach, messages to travel between brain and body, air to travel to the lungs, and words to travel into the world the neck can be viewed as a conduit. The sexiest conduit in existence, but a conduit none the less.

But I digress. . . these are the reasons why I chose to photograph necks but they do not explain the end product.

Our final project in the design class was to redesign the CD packaging for a favorite album. I’ve long since moved beyond attempting to clarify what my favorite album might be so I chose an album that I was exceedingly familiar with but hadn’t given much attention to over the past ten years— Tricky’s Maxinquaye.

Upon listening to it again I was struck by how raw it still seemed: Tricky’s vocals coercing Martina’s delivery with both of them indiscriminately singing atop one another. The album has a sexual bravado juxtaposed with a crippling vulnerability that makes it hard to describe to others. I had expected that I wouldn’t have to do much explaining to my classmates as they’d all be familiar with the album, but I was proven wrong. Apparently, Tricky was only an inspiration to me in the late nineties.

I proposed to create packaging that over-layed photographs of necks printed on vellum with lyrics from the songs. That way it would appear as if the words were stuck in the throat. Furthermore, there would be odd images of textures and locations placed alongside these combinations of necks and words. It was my hope that this might produce some approximation of both the alluring and disquieting qualities of the music. For the most part it succeeded. The vellum had a skin-like quality compared to the heavier paper stock used for the photos and lyrics. Some of the photos chosen were cropped in such a way that the compositions themselves were confrontational and confounding. When people picked up the packaging to examine it they rarely had smiles on their face which, while not always an indicator of success, somehow seemed appropriate.

There are still many details I’d like to tweak before I would feel completely satisfied, but that requires asking more people to offer up their neck, and those conversations have proven to be just disquieting enough to prevent me from exploring this project any further.

Bus

As an adult on a school bus my thoughts mimic the landscape through the window. Short bursts of memory align with the racing autumn colors. Yesterday I was a quiet student and today I’m the quiet teacher.

The rain pelts on the metal roof of the bus. It is especially audible under the rooftop emergency exit. I take a few pictures of colors. Perhaps someday they will remind me of remembering.