Showing posts with label Gary Petersen. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gary Petersen. Show all posts

Sunday, July 28, 2013

hot time in the studio

Martha Clippinger studio

MARTHA   C L I P P I N G E R   +   ANDREW  L U B A S  

A L B E E    F O U N D A T I O N

SUMMER 2013


Life is good at the Edward F. Albee Foundation. Despite brutal heat and unprecedented crowds on the East End, residents at "The Barn" are thriving this summer, just as they have since 1967 when the artist colony was founded by treasured American playwright, Edward Albee

Located on six acres in the hills of Montauk, the foundation houses small groups of writers and visual artists who live and work during one month residencies through spring, summer and early fall. Run by the artists Diane Mayo and Rex Lau, residencies here are coveted for their privacy, peacefulness and spacious studios. Earlier this week, I visited with Martha Clippinger and Andrew Lubas, artists working virtually side by side under the 40' ceilings of this 19th century barn.                    

Following is a conversation we had in each artist's studio:


Martha Clippinger, 2013

Janet Goleas:  The architecture here is so spectacular -- has it affected your work?

Martha Clippinger: I think the architecture comes through in the work, but it's more about the relationship to the wall. Still, it's nice having this huge floor where I can rearrange things. 

Sometimes I find it hard to say "this is how it should be" -- there are so many possibilities -- so it's been a really good place to process through these ideas. I walk in the studio in the morning and think, "what am I really interested in pursuing today."



In a recent review on Hyperallergic, the art critic John Yau said of Clippinger's debut show at Elizabeth Harris Gallery, "...they might be small, but some of the pieces have sharp, star-like points. The combination of modest size, implied danger and confidence is magnetic."
 

 


Clippinger's work is playful and smart. Her assemblages are installed variously on the floor, at the ceiling or near eye level, or they hug corners, windows or doorways creating myriad relationships between object and environment.  


JG: Are these made from found objects?

MC: The wood cuts are found objects – cast offs and negatives mostly.  I find them at a sculpture facility at Rutgers or on the street. That's a pan I used to make brownies in (she points to the painting on the floor, lower right)




MC: I rearrange things all the time, sometimes to find more space, but here I've been thinking of ways to keep that openness available to whomever is experiencing the work.  It's sort of tricky territory -- I realize I would be giving up a lot of authority. But the idea of having floor and tabletop structures that were not anchored in place is interesting to me. 




JG: How do you get acclimated on a residency? Do you have to grow accustomed to the environment?
MC: I brought some beginnings and endings of pieces with me, but most everything I've made here. My work is about engaging space, but I had just moved when I arrived, so the first week I just didn't feel like dealing with objects. I started doing these very colorful drawings -- something I really never do.


Clippinger's work table
 
JG: Your palette is so brilliant and so saturated with color.

MC: I used to live in Little Pakistan, in Brooklyn -- it's a beautiful neighborhood with color everywhere.




JG: Tell me about this easel covered with textiles. Do you often work in fabric? 

MC: Not really. I made this last summer for an impromptu show I had in an apartment in Hudson, New York. There was a flagpole outside. 


Martha Clippinger

MC: I don't want to leave! It's been my favorite residency -- the raw studio is perfect for me. And I like being able to cook. Stirring things in a pan is sort of meditative. Also, the group dynamic here has been wonderful. We're all very compatible. 
 

On the other side of the barn, works by Andrew Lubas hug the wall with an entirely different sort of focus. A recent graduate of the Maryland Institute College of Art, in August Lubas will return to Philadelphia to live and work.


 


JG:  Were you familiar with the spaces here when you applied for the residency?

Andrew Lubas: No, but I knew it was a barn. All my works are inspired by or in reaction to the environment in which they're made, so I knew I would use the space as a catalyst for everything I created here.

Andrew Lubas in Clippinger's studio, 2013

JG: So you are engaged in a spatial reaction to the environment?

AL: There are different ways to react, but, yes. The first thing I did when I got here was to acknowledge all the things that were not me. Actually, all I really brought with me are the paints on that table.
  



JG: So this shape is a reaction as much to the lingering marks of other residents as it is to the existing architecture?

AL: I think of the walls and the architecture as collaborators and of this and everything in it as a collaborative space. And so, yes, whoever made that black mark that leads up to the white square -- that is also a collaboration to me.






JG: Can you tell me about your use of color?

AL: My work has been getting more and more reductive. I'm interested in found color -- the blue is representative of the planning process in construction and architecture, and of blue tape. The orange is the same as safety orange -- like the color of construction zones. 

JG: The orange around that white square looks pearlescent.

AL: It is; it's high visibility chalk dust -- the kind they snap on the street.




JG: And the dart board?

AL: That was here -- I put it up on the wall because I see that one square as a counterbalance to the other square on the barn door.




JG: Does this shape -- the white shape on the gray wall -- does it replicate anything?

AL: No -- I wanted to create a painting by a subtractive process. It's sited like that -- it looks like a white square painted in a gray space, but it's actually an additive and subtractive process. The white square wouldn't exist without the gray wall, which I painted when I got here.

JG: I see, it's actually sort of carved into the wall, with layers removed. It reveals something about the psychic history of this place.

AL: I think so.




JG: When you leave here, will any of this work continue to exist in any way other that photographic documentation?

AL: Well, not much.

JG: But in some ways it will always have a life here. 


Martha and Andrew then walked me through the residence, showing me the upstairs commons and their private rooms. The writers get big rooms with desks, the artists get small rooms with big studios. 

On the second floor, the commons overlooks each of their studios and the grand ceiling under which they work. It's sort of breathtaking.



 
Over the years, a lot of artists have donated works, and they hang in bedrooms and hallways, prominent walls and corners.




a Gary Petersen, former Albee resident, hangs in Martha's room

Martha seemed super excited to be sleeping under a vintage Gary Petersen.

"Gary was an early Casualist," she said. We all smiled.





Thanks to Martha, Andrew, Rex, Diane and, of course, Mr. Albee, for giving me an inside look at The Albee Foundation, one of the great places on earth.











Sunday, March 24, 2013

cool tectonics on chrystie street

Tectonic Drift
Brian Morris Gallery
                                 

Amanda Church, Engagement, 2012, oil on canvas, 30 x 24"

Tectonic Drift at Brian Morris Gallery offered up a slice of perfection this winter, commingling painterly ferociousness with optic precision in varied works by Amanda Church, Brian Cypher, Stacy Fisher, Gary Petersen and Russell Tyler.


Odds n' Ends (5), 2012


Stacy Fisher's sculpture, Odds n' Ends (5), appears in the window like a mushroom cloud, setting the stage for this bright amalgam of works that become visible as you descend into the gallery, situated just below street level on Chrystie Street. 
 
Fisher's studio practice is of the take-no-prisoners variety and it yields a melange of incongruent form, spatial/architectural hiccups and things that make you feel as if they carry memory inside them. Her imagery -- rectangles, wood anatomies and hulking, globular shapes -- possesses a lingering anima that feels partly human.    

  
Stacy Fisher, Orange Striped Wall Sculpture, 2010
                                                       
Fisher has commented about generating her work from key phrases like "irregular squares" or "bunches." Like concrete poetry, her use of salvaged house paint (and otherwise ordinary materials) allows her to employ a "found" palette and this, alongside the samplings of wordplay that are framed in the service of creating her work is provocative, and it lends a mystique to pieces that play in the margins between flatness and depth, painting and sculpture, and the anthropomorphic and its opposite, whatever that might be.


Brian Cypher, Deep Divide, 2013, oil on canvas

In a similar way, Brian Cypher flirts with the recognizable in paintings that transform thought and process into imagery. The resulting canvases appear to be in a constant state of reinvention -- as if they will continue to morph in concept and form while they're on view. Cypher's paintings are a topology of furrows and fissures, filled with visual references and abstract form that defy categorization. 

 


The imagery in Deep Divide conjures inflated lungs or yin/yang, and of burrowing in like a feral cat might -- as if meaning was buried deep inside the canvas. The process of discovery is palpable in these refreshing works.



Amanda Church, L: Blondie, 2012; R: Resistance, 2012, both oil on canvas

Eros and artifice meet in works by Amanda Church, whose blithely sexual paintings celebrate the flesh amid dreamy landscapes, sinuous, meandering lines, and fictive pink and lemon yellow figures. 




Church employs frank sexuality as if she's descended from Francis Bacon -- sans his brutality, darkness and downright scariness -- placing the figure in and out of dimensional expanses where it hovers between flatness and deep space. Her elastic forms and use of torqued perspective glide the viewer into a netherworld of candy colored sensuousness. 

In Engagement (at the top), cranberry contours swirl around plushy orbs like so many silk scarves. Church's brushwork is tactile and it lends a toothiness to the sexual metaphor with soft striations of paint and the velvety, pigment-rich surfaces she creates. 



Gary Petersen, Point the Way, 2012, acrylic and ink on masonite

Gary Petersen, Ray Waves, 2013, acrylic and oil on masonite


Gary Petersen's use of line is intuitive, ricocheting from corner to corner to corner like the trajectory of a billiard ball. As his linear motif accumulates across the surface, it crisscrosses at various junctures and -- almost accidentally -- frames out spacial forms (mostly trapezoids and wedges) that anchor the imagery within the perimeters defined by kinetic pathways.


Gary Petersen, Somewhere in Between, 2013, acrylic and oil on wood

Petersen animates the picture field with lines that vary from dense color bars to labyrinthian architectures that fracture, push and weave through the composition. His palette is plastic and prismatic, invoking contradiction, playfulness, and a space-bending joie d'vivre that is full of life.



Russell Tyler, TV, 2012, oil on canvas
Russell Tyler scavenges technological debris such as television test patterns and early computer graphics, commuting it into subject matter. In his paintings, structure and process lay cheek by jowl, slathered on to canvas with a smart and precise sense of total abandon.


Russell Tyler, Computing II, 2013, oil on canvas


For Tyler, whose imagery ranges from lateral bars of thick gradient color to frenzied game boards and reconfigured Nintendo backgrounds, the painting process is something of a throwdown between himself and the canvas. The results are exhilarating, carrying within an overwhelming sense of immediacy, freshness and a not so subtle commentary on the sort of dystopian universe that defines much of modern living.

For the writer, poet, martial artist and occasional healer Brian Morris, the gallery business is clearly one that reflects a broad range of contemporary and contemplative thought. This is definitely a gallery to keep your eyes on.



Stacy Fisher



Brian Morris Gallery
163 Chrystie Street
New York City, 10002

brianmorrisgallery.com