MKAC Installation Views

Opening Reception at Maude Kerns— July 17, 2009

The opening of my solo show at the Maude Kerns Art Center in Eugene this past Friday was both warm and (contrary to what you see in the pictures below) well attended. Many folks from Eugene braved blistering heat to come out and see new works by Yours Truly. I had the opportunity to answer a number of really insightful questions and I was pleased to see that different pieces really spoke to different people.

Installation View

I imagine that some artists dread openings, but I really enjoy the chance to experience the reactions of others to the work. After all, the art is meant to have a life outside of my studio and my life; exhibitions are the first step into a wider world. Selling work continues that process as it takes the artwork from my hands entirely and allows it to build an entirely new context.

Installation View

I couldn't have succeeded in realizing this show without the assistance, support, and guidance of the following people: my wife (for putting up with it all), Brandon "the Director" Spradling (for priming and leafing), Matt McCalmont (for an abundance of custom frames), Paul "the Mentor" Gentry (who provided both a couch and the photos you see here), Dena Brown at MKAC (for organizing and installing the show), Kevin Burrus (for additional framing support and cutting panels), and the Edwards family for ongoing support.

My sincerest thanks to you all.

Installation View

Opening Tonight!

Source image for The Sentinel

My exhibition at Maude Kerns Art Center (MKAC) opens this evening at 6pm. While you probably hear this plenty from artists, I must reiterate: the reproductions of the work posted on this blog and at Flickr cannot even come close to revealing the subtleties of tone and texture in the work. Now, I'm not patting myself on the back here— I'm just trying to impart to you the importance of taking a trip to Eugene in the next month and a half.

Here are the particulars. . .

Jeffrey T. Baker: Mixed Media Photographs

Maude Kerns Art Center

1910 East 15th Ave.

Eugene OR 97403

Opening Reception: July 17th, 2009 from 6-8pm

Exhibition Dates: July 17th-August 28th, 2009

The Best: Phone Conversation on Film

Source Image by Clarita at MourgeFILE

Texture courtesy of Bit Box

Ariana and I watched Dr. Strangelove, or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb the other night. Apart from being fantastically lit, carefully composed, wickedly funny, and boasting the sweetest credit typography* I think I've ever witnessed, it also has the single best phone conversation ever written for film (between the President of the United States, one of three roles in the film played by Peter Sellers, and Soviet Premiere Dimitri Kissoff). As there is no actor playing Kissoff in the movie, Seller's character does all the talking. He brilliantly manages to convey every word Kissoff must be uttering on the other end of the line over the course of two hilarious conversations— I can't recall the last time I saw anything on film half as smart.

*Even those who didn't like the movie still give props to the typography. . .

The Sentinel

The Sentinel, 2009

acrylic, toner, gouache, and graphite on paper

23" x 32"

Click on image for larger view.

Time constraints necessitated that I throw over tea-staining this week in favor of gouache. As you can see, this results in a much higher level of coloration across the entire image. Gouache (which is essentially a more opaque watercolor paint, for those who might not know) has another distinct advantage over tea: it can be reactivated with water and pushed to greater or lesser levels of opacity. This flexibility allowed me to reclaim some of the waterfall highlights in the background and create some selective areas of bare toner throughout the composition.

I almost entitled this Colter's Hell as it is derived from a photograph I found in a junk shop that has the word "Yellowstone" neatly written out on the back of the image. But, in the end, I decided it would be best to emphasize the act of standing rather than a place. This tree seems very stoic in the face of such majesty, and it has undoubtedly been so for many more years than I will ever see on this Earth.

Lawrence Lessig and the Remix Culture

I've been reading Lawrence Lessig's book Remix: Making Art and Commerce Thrive in the Hybrid Economy. Lessig is a lawyer and law professor who has been at the forefront of questioning copyright controls in the digital age. He presents a number of ideas about how the internet, crowdsourcing, and artistic remixing are the modalities for economic and cultural development in the 21st century.

Unlike other books that I've read about the digital revolution,* Lessig comes down squarely on the side of technological innovation and all that it has spurred: presenting a picture of the internet as a vast frontier of fodder for art, music, activism, education, and altruism. His primary objective with Remix is to demonstrate why 20th century copyright law and the uncompromising definition of property serves neither company nor consumer in the 21st century.

In Lessig's "hybrid" economy consumers are not just consumers, they are empowered to take an active role in shaping and advancing the things they consume. Images, music, movies, text: all are easily rendered into binary and therefore easily mixed up (or mashed up, for those of you who prefer more contemporary lingo) into a potentially cross-cultural and interdisciplinary form of new creative expression. This "remixing" is taken on by the very people who formerly just bought such entertainment to be entertained. It is, in some ways, the ultimate triumph of fan fiction** (just applied to every art form in addition to writing).

But Lessig isn't espousing a world where passive consumers simply become more active consumers and the wheels of the free market just fall into the fresher ruts formed by the digital world. Lessig believes that remix culture is a means by which democracy is enriched and ensured because it honors the way a new generation has learned to "write." As writing was fundamental to formulating our democracy (July 4th is ultimately about a written document, not beer or fireworks), democracy can only be ensured so long as a culture continues to be free to write. It's his definition of writing that is so intriguing:

Text is today's Latin. It is through text that we elites communicate . . . For the masses, however, most information is gathered through other forms of media: TV, film, music, and music video. These forms of "writing" are the vernacular of today. They are the kinds of "writing" that matters most to most. (68)

So, in my reading of Lessig's definition, it isn't an issue of the modern world becoming less text based so much as redefining what we mean by text. Like so much in contemporary life, access to more information and more context forces the critical mind to accept broader definitions for previously accepted ideas. At heart, that is a very democratic thing to do.

Whether or not you should read Lessig's book depends on your interest in contemporary culture or if you're in the profession of projecting business models into the future. It isn't a difficult text to read but it can be a bit dry and, for those of you who've subscribed to Wired magazine for the past ten years, you might be disappointed by the lack of material that hasn't already been a part of information-age-discourse. Thus far in my reading, the most salient points in Remix have centered around the need for an updated approach to copyright law. As this is Lessig's area of expertise, it only makes sense that his best moments are devoted to the ways in which new forms of copyright could benefit both artist and audience. As a founding member of the Creative Commons he has already done much to prove that he practices what he preaches.

* Such as Morris Berman's The Twilight of American Culture or Sven Birkert's Gutenberg Elegies: The Fate of Reading in an Electronic Age

** I recently read a short little article about the birth of fan fiction by Scott Brown. It had some real resonance after watching J.J. Abrams' Star Trek film the other night.

Titling Artwork, Pt. III

Sprightly, 2009

acrylic, leafing, toner, ink, and wax on board

6.5" x 6.5"

2. The Obliquely Narrative Title

This second style of titling that I'm inclined towards demands more of me than the simple explanatory title. It demands more in terms of time, as it takes longer to generate a title that must serve as a story, and it demands more in terms of trust, as I must feel comfortable with offering something deeply personal to the audience.

In essence, the obliquely narrative title provides a prompt to the viewer. Just like in English class, the prompt serves as the beginning to the story that you (in this case, you the viewer) must compose. The possibilities for narrative are endless following this first statement, but the first statement provides just enough information to establish some sort of subjective context for each individual. Allow me to present an example:

A heritage of red mist., 2009

acrylic, tea, pastel, toner, and graphite on paper

30.5" x 40"

Click on image for larger view.

Here is a title for a work that in no way seems to reference the actual image on the paper. Where is the red mist? Who's heritage? How can you have a heritage of unnaturally colored natural events?

In titling this work the intention is not to be misleading or obtuse— it is to provide the viewer with an evocative cipher into my personal experience. Will it ever succeed in conveying that the image was taken from a rooftop in Rome on the very same day that I visited the Colosseum and heard a docent discussing written records of a red mist of blood that would wash over the first rows of spectators when elephants were butchered by half-starved lions on the amphitheater floor?

No.

Might the shape of the water tower scaffolding resemble the shape of the Colosseum.

Yes.

Might the presence of two buildings; one modern and the other undoubtedly ancient, hint at a location that is both contemporary and antiquated.

Yes.

Is it possible that by referencing red one might think of something opulent, passionate, fiery, angry, or violent.

Perhaps.

Will anyone immediately assume the picture was taken in Rome, and that after days of traipsing about the hub of two empires (Rome and the Christian Church) I might have been drawing a comparison between the hedonistic tendencies of a waning military empire and a young religious empire.

Not likely. But the success of the obliquely narrative title isn't measured by how closely the viewer can recreate the exact ideas that shape those few words meant to give meaning to a visual product. The obliquely narrative title asks for your narrative as it relates to the image/artwork in front of you. It creates an active, rather than passive, viewing experience, and therein lies its strength. Your life, your dreams, your beliefs become a valuable component to understanding something that you took no part in creating and that makes the artwork a living entity, not just a seemingly overpriced commodity.

In my experience, how to title an artwork is not something that is given a great deal of attention at art school. It is acknowledged as another tool for assisting the viewer, but how to develop a means for titling artwork is left up to each artist. Ultimately, to name something is to value it. Names and labels allow us to organize our loves, our loyalties, and our world. I've committed so much time to bringing these images forth, it would be irresponsible of me to not Christen them and provide them another means for communicating their essence.

* * * * *

Coming soon: studio disasters, new artwork, and the reported demise of text!

Titling Artwork, Pt. II

Passing Through the Dust, 2009

acrylic, toner, and graphite on panel

10.5" x 10.5"

While I can't speak for any other artist, or for artists in general,* I can share with you my approach to titling artworks. Over the years I've found that my titles can be primarily categorized into two types: the simple explanatory and the obliquely narrative. Today, I will just deal with the first type. . .

1. The Simple Explanatory Title

In many ways, this is the easier of the two types as it requires only a word or two to convey meaning. In essence, this sort of title seems to state what the work seeks to depict: Orchard, Mirror, and Baubles are all titles I've employed before. But with the exception of Orchard, which is actually a drawing of an orchard, the title isn't a strictly literal interpretation of the artwork. Mirror is a drawn self-portrait derived from a photograph I took in the mirror. As such, it serves as a double entendre. Baubles illustrates a strand of globular beads on a necklace. The word 'necklace' would have provided a more literal title, but baubles alludes to something precious, beautiful, and rounded. With English boasting at least half a million words it isn't difficult to conjure up a host of synonyms that might offer a subtler statement than the prosaic declarative word.

Sometimes the simple explanatory title is anything but. There are many drawings I've created where the subject of the work is simply a foil for some sort of emotional or religious resonance. Interlude, which captures the sun setting behind a copse of trees as witnessed through a rain soaked window, doesn't need a title explaining the image, it needs a title explaining a confluence of moments: the fleeting moment of sunset, the wistful moment of staring out the window, the inspired moment of releasing the shutter, etc. The real magic of such a simple title is that it leaves the artwork open to the viewers interpretation while, at the same time, whispering a little something into their subconscious.

I recently finished a small piece called Weep that shows a tree that has been carved into and is oozing sap. If it was hanging on a gallery wall and you asked someone to describe it I doubt you'd get a much more narrative explanation than the one I just provided. But I have a tremendous amount of context that I want to share about that image and the title has to provide part of the means for that communication of context. Admittedly, a title is not going to help the viewer determine that this tree was outside a crypt at the Santa Barbara Mission and that I'd just been contemplating statues of Christ and Mary prior to encountering this desecrated trunk in the mission's garden. But they may understand the idea of violation of the natural world. They may consider how certain attempts for immortality can be destructive and, ultimately, somewhat futile. They may sense suffering, on some level, and the recognition of human suffering is paramount to the mission of the Christian tradition. And this, in turn, creates some small connection between the removed act of considering a drawing on a gallery wall and the spiritual impulse of Christianity.

Ultimately, the simple explanatory title offers the artist a quick way to either explain the image and/or invite the viewer into sharing in a more complex reading of the work. I think that the only one-word-title which fails to do either is the ever popular Untitled.**

Next up, the obliquely narrative title. . .

*Although I did it yesterday— "Most professional artists, when pressed, will state that titling is important."

**And I recognize that this is a contentious statement for any MFA students or philosophy majors, as it could be argued (usually after a few beers) that it is the very fact that it is a non-statement that makes it such a powerful statement. To which I say, "Meh." I see your post-modern drivel and raise you one example of preemptive self-aware retort!

Titling Artwork, Pt. 1

It leaks out., 2009

acrylic, tea, toner, and graphite on panel

12" x 24"

Click on image for larger view.

I imagine there are about as many answers to how you title an artwork as there are artists willing to sound off about it. The process for finding a title is often as personal as the process that shaped the artwork, and there is undoubtedly some correlation between how an artist titles and the intangibles of their creative vision.

Most professional artists, when pressed, will state that titling is important. Those same artists, when pressed further, may be unclear as to why they believe it to be important. At that point some small warning bells might go off about how galleries need to sell artwork to the public. Titles offer an avenue for the layman's entry into the "intangibles" of an artwork, which may explain why there are many creators who are aggressively disinterested in titling, resorting to the trusty Untitled #____ for the duration of their career— they don't want the title to be a Cliff's Notes addendum to their vision. They want the public to work for a connection. They want more than just consumption from the audience.

I'm not going to be so crass as to suggest that titling only serves to sell artwork. Judging by how obtuse some titles for artworks happen to be I also believe that titling offers the artist an opportunity to season their creation with another level of meaning. The title can be a red herring or it can provide contextual support for the image/object depicted (or experienced, as with installation or performance art). The title might also be a process that brings about closure for the artist. It becomes a finalizing statement that releases the artwork from the hand that birthed it and proclaims to the artist, more than anyone else, that their time with this work is done.

* * * * *

More on titling tomorrow. . .

* * * * *

It leaks out. was derived from a tiny little silver gelatin print of a somber field that my wife gave to me for Christmas. While not evident in the drawing above, the source image had quite a bit of underexposed detail in the field that flanked the small stream. When I began to work on it however, three things caught my attention and led me to disregard a great deal of other detail:

1. The rips in the image that occurred during the transfer process were so pronounced that I felt they had to become an integral part of the image.

2. The soft horizon line of bare winter trees and bramble cut an interesting shape against the sky.

3. The stream's appearance out of the center of the field, with no indication that it began elsewhere, had a sinister quality to it. It was like the field was being bled to do away with an infection. And while that may sound terribly melodramatic, it was the impression that took hold of me when I picked up my assorted graphite pencils.

In Progress

My wife joined the Director and I in the studio yesterday to assist with some of the tedium required to make the artwork I make. Lately, my hand has been cramping after I do some of the more repetitive tasks, like rubbing away all of the paper fibers from six square feet of gel medium transfer, for instance. While she slowly worked her way across the image shown above she inquired as to the other works I'd made:

"Where are they?"

"They're wrapped up." I replied.

"Why?"

"If I can't see them then I'll need to continue to work at a breakneck pace."

"How do you figure that?"

"If I can't take stock of what I've done, then I'll feel that I haven't done enough, and I'll continue to work as if I don't have enough work to fill the gallery space."

"But don't you know that you've completed a certain number of pieces? Doesn't that sort of invalidate your plan?"

"No."

"Hmmmmm, it sounds like a very Baker sort of thing to do."

And indeed it does. 

Lonely in the Snow

Winter Phoenix, 2009

acrylic, toner, and graphite on cheesecloth wrapped panel

6" x 6"

I didn't grow up with snow. Only in recent years have I had the opportunity to traipse about on mountainsides amidst snow flurries and I find the experience, for lack of a better word, chilling. Something about the silence of the snow enthralls me, but keeps me on edge. I cannot shake the awareness that this simple solidification of water has the power to bury the trees and smooth out cliff faces. 

My voice seems an ineffective tool against so much mass and, as I stand next to 100 foot tall conifers that have seen the first fifteen feet entombed for the season, I'm reminded of just how small a man is in the face of nature's simplest processes. 

* * * * *

I photographed this tree as it fought against the diminishing horizon line outside of Timberline Lodge on Mt. Hood. While it may have seemed lonely in the snow, there was something defiant in its shape. Perhaps experience had taught it that winter was transitory, and survival the norm.

Scratching the Sky

Tease and Tremble, 2009

acrylic, toner, leafing, graphite, india ink, and wax on panel

7.5" x 7.5"

I've returned to torrential downpoars and oppressive skies. For the past three days I was at the Oregon coast, which is notorious for foul weather, and nary a drop of precipitation sullied the trip. It just goes to show; in western Oregon, no matter where you are, it's only a matter of time until you get wet, and you can't predict the where or when.

* * * * *

A year ago I stood alone in a large field outside of Grant's Pass. Just out of sight ran the Rogue River, which put a murmur and birdsong in the morning air. I came across a stand of thistles and spent some time watching them waver in the wind. To me, they are a most aesthetic plant, with a linear nature that always cuts a dramatic silhouette against the sky. I never tire of photographing them.

That morning I was feeling a bit pressed for time. Soon I would have to be back at camp and packing up for a day on the river. I shot a few careless images as the clouds gathered overhead. I thought to myself, thistles are how we should card the clouds of the sky, and then I walked away.

The Disappearing Act

Taken at Discovery Park, Seattle, WA - Spring 2009

I have to go away for a few days. While I'm away there are a number of things I could use some help with. Feel free to jump in wherever you can. . .

• finish applying gesso to panels
  
• repair copper leaf on medium sized panel
  
• re-leaf two smaller gold panels to cover up bad transfers
  
• gold leaf large board for antique gilt frame
  
• update my artist statement
  
• photograph recent works 
  
• vacuum silver leaf bits and paper pulp off studio floor
  
• repair drafting table light
  
• transfer recent found photos to medium sized panels 
  
• build custom frames for paneled work
  
• deliver larger paper works to frame shop
  
• paint antique frames (and putty where needed)
  
• find appropriate image for oval mat
  
• storyboard the next movie
  
• contact cast about table read
  
• generate new web site
  

My great thanks in advance for all your assistance. When I return I'll treat you to a few new images from around Oregon!