For my research and art project, I am focusing on the work of artist Paul Pfeiffer. Pfeiffer works in a variety of media, including sculpture and photography, but focuses mainly on video work. Pfeiffer explores themes of identity, celebrity, spectacle, and interaction with the supernatural. One of his most common techniques is the removal, through digital manipulation, of elements of an image. Pfeiffer does this by digitally painting background over top of objects in the scene. I found this technique fascinating, as it allows the artist to explore the way we view the spectacle of sports by removing the sport, leaving only the spectacle.
Another common element of Pfeiffer’s work is the manipulation of perspective. Several of his pieces rigidly limit what the viewer can see. For instance, one work takes video of a basketball game and crops out everything but the ball and the area immediately surrounding it. By showing us such a small area of the scene, Pfeiffer displaces the ball from its usual context. All we see is a ball and a constantly changing blur of colors in the background. Another piece, Dutch Interior, features a live feed of one perspective inside a reproduction of a staircase while a peephole gives another perspective of the interior. I was especially fascinated by this piece and how, by only allowing the viewer to see the reproduction through two very specific viewpoints, the artist almost turns the three dimensional piece into a two dimensional picture. Pfeiffer can frame our view of the piece however he wants.
The use of a peephole in Dutch Interior was very interesting to me. After seeing the piece, I thought about how merely adding a frame can allow an artist to enclose a part of the world and show it as an image. Ordinarily, we move through three dimensional space and two people rarely see the world in exactly the same way, even as far as just the composition of the image before our eyes. By adding a frame, we can ensure that everyone who looks through it will see something similar. The smaller the frame, the more controlled the view. When the frame is small as a peephole, all viewers will see essentially the same composition of forms, even if their eyes perceive colors and light differently. For my studio project, I plan to experiment with this kind of forced perspective. I plan to place viewfinders, telescopes, or peepholes in specific places in order to frame elements of the three dimensional world in a way I find aesthetically pleasing or interesting. This will essentially create living photographs. These images will constantly change based on time of day and movement of objects, but the basic framing and immobile elements of the images will remain constant.
I would also like to experiment within the idea of the forced perspective. I may try frames of varying sizes, thus controlling the amount of variation of composition. Larger framing devices would give more power to the viewer to control their image while smaller ones would put the control more in my hands. I would also like to experiment with altering the image seen through the frame through magnification (telescope), refraction (kaleidoscopic lens), and other methods (paint on the lens). I might even explore Pfeiffer’s technique of removing part of an image by painting background over top of it. I could digitally paint the background of an object in the frame the same way Pfeiffer does, then print out that “background” and place it in the frame so that is covers up the view of the object. This technique would only work in an extremely restricted frame such as a peephole.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
The Semester So Far
The first half of ART105 has helped me grow in confidence as an artist. First of all, I’ve simply learned that I can somewhat competently use a variety of materials to create something approximating my vision. This was a big step for me, as I’ve always considered myself “one of those” who can’t draw, paint, or generally function in the visual arts (excepting photography). Another thing I’ve learned, or really a part of the previously mentioned lesson, is that even when what I put on the page doesn’t match what I envisioned, it can still come together into something interesting. This is one of the most important lessons I’ve ever learned to help someone like me (perhaps anyone?) get started as an artist: go with the flow. High school art classes tended to encourage exact replication of other works or objects without first allowing us to experiment and learn in a looser situation. This class has finally given me this opportunity. The combination of out-of-class drawing exercises, live model sketching, and interpretive drawings has given us a balance of experience in several different artistic mindsets, while always being loose and quick, making it a low-stress environment in which to discover ourselves a bit artistically.
Over the semester so far, I have also gained more confidence in my ability to conceptualize artworks. From the beginning of the semester, we’ve had frequent in-class exercises, both individually and in groups, that gave us limited materials or even limited shapes, and otherwise allowed us total freedom. These exercises have really helped me learn how to come up with ideas for the direction of a piece and discover the abilities of conceptualization that I already had.
The first in-class activity, the depiction of calm or tension with six lines, a circle, and two shapes of our making, was a real growing experience for me. I found that Rachel and I could come together and play with our seemingly out-there ideas and come up with something that really seemed to work as an interesting piece of art. I also found that we thought kind of similarly about creating the work, which was interesting and exciting (partially because she’s an art major. “Can I think like an art major?!”).
The drawings we did while listening to instrumental music were also fascinating. This time, we were forced to conceptualize very quickly, on-the-fly in fact. The pieces varied wildly in success, but all of them taught me something. I didn’t come particularly close to “finishing” any of them, but I was able to form an idea of what I wanted the piece to look like fairly quickly and adapt that vision as the I went, allowing the work to shape itself to some degree. A couple of the pieces actually turned out to be something I was quite proud of. These exercises also marked the beginning of what I think will be a life-long love of pastels.
Our first major studio project was a flipbook. The only “rule” with this assignment was that it must be, in some way, a flipbook. This kind of freedom was wholly new to me and very exciting. As I toyed with ideas in my sketchbook, I found myself really drawn to the idea of transformation over time. I soon had several ideas that I found interesting, all of which essentially came from redrawing a starting shape with something changed and seeing where it wanted to go. The idea I ended up using was actually the very first one I sketched, and I still have really no idea where it came from. It seems the best ideas are often this way.
The freedom of the flipbook project also meant that we had very few guidelines for the method by which to create our book. This meant that I had to solve problems on my own, another important lesson of this project. I devised my own tracing table and eventually, after a lot of struggling with ideas and frustration over poor flipping of the book, I came up with a method of binding that allowed the book to flip fairly smoothly. I am quite happy with my final product on this project. I have been sick and thus have missed the latest project so far, but after looking at the prompt, I am very excited for this project and the rest of the semester!
Over the semester so far, I have also gained more confidence in my ability to conceptualize artworks. From the beginning of the semester, we’ve had frequent in-class exercises, both individually and in groups, that gave us limited materials or even limited shapes, and otherwise allowed us total freedom. These exercises have really helped me learn how to come up with ideas for the direction of a piece and discover the abilities of conceptualization that I already had.
The first in-class activity, the depiction of calm or tension with six lines, a circle, and two shapes of our making, was a real growing experience for me. I found that Rachel and I could come together and play with our seemingly out-there ideas and come up with something that really seemed to work as an interesting piece of art. I also found that we thought kind of similarly about creating the work, which was interesting and exciting (partially because she’s an art major. “Can I think like an art major?!”).
The drawings we did while listening to instrumental music were also fascinating. This time, we were forced to conceptualize very quickly, on-the-fly in fact. The pieces varied wildly in success, but all of them taught me something. I didn’t come particularly close to “finishing” any of them, but I was able to form an idea of what I wanted the piece to look like fairly quickly and adapt that vision as the I went, allowing the work to shape itself to some degree. A couple of the pieces actually turned out to be something I was quite proud of. These exercises also marked the beginning of what I think will be a life-long love of pastels.
Our first major studio project was a flipbook. The only “rule” with this assignment was that it must be, in some way, a flipbook. This kind of freedom was wholly new to me and very exciting. As I toyed with ideas in my sketchbook, I found myself really drawn to the idea of transformation over time. I soon had several ideas that I found interesting, all of which essentially came from redrawing a starting shape with something changed and seeing where it wanted to go. The idea I ended up using was actually the very first one I sketched, and I still have really no idea where it came from. It seems the best ideas are often this way.
The freedom of the flipbook project also meant that we had very few guidelines for the method by which to create our book. This meant that I had to solve problems on my own, another important lesson of this project. I devised my own tracing table and eventually, after a lot of struggling with ideas and frustration over poor flipping of the book, I came up with a method of binding that allowed the book to flip fairly smoothly. I am quite happy with my final product on this project. I have been sick and thus have missed the latest project so far, but after looking at the prompt, I am very excited for this project and the rest of the semester!
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Ways of Seeing
This week we read an excerpt from John Berger's Ways of Seeing. The essay explored the unique way in which sight positions us in the world, how images position us in relation to their subjects, and how the meanings of images are affected by their context. I came away from the reading with several questions:
1. Berger writes about tack boards in bedrooms that combine reproductions, original artwork, and writings in such a way that "all the images belong to the same language and all are more or less equal within it." Is this a good, perhaps even ideal way of displaying and experiencing art? Is it noble to give a seven year old's drawing the same importance as a photograph of a Vermeer "masterpiece"? Is it sacrilege?
2. In the excerpt, Berger uses Van Gogh's Wheatfield with Crows to exemplify the effect of captions on our perception of an image. When we are told beneath the picture that it was the last painted before the artist's suicide, the meaning of the image immediately changes. For me, it became more haunting and I looked more closely and reverently than I previously had. Is this ability for our perceptions to be affected by a description of the background to a work something to be ashamed of or merely to accept? I believe that it is good to appreciate works of art based on their own merits, but is my perception after having read the caption not just as valid as my perception before the fact?
3. I like that Berger explores how reproductions alter the reception of a work, but never condemns it. Besides the fact that it would make him a hypocrite, his lack of a judgment on the effects reproductions have leaves us to question it for ourselves. Is it a bad thing when a reproduction isolates a part of an image or presents it to us in a specific order and context or is it just another artist creating a new work by pointing at a specific aspect of another work?
1. Berger writes about tack boards in bedrooms that combine reproductions, original artwork, and writings in such a way that "all the images belong to the same language and all are more or less equal within it." Is this a good, perhaps even ideal way of displaying and experiencing art? Is it noble to give a seven year old's drawing the same importance as a photograph of a Vermeer "masterpiece"? Is it sacrilege?
2. In the excerpt, Berger uses Van Gogh's Wheatfield with Crows to exemplify the effect of captions on our perception of an image. When we are told beneath the picture that it was the last painted before the artist's suicide, the meaning of the image immediately changes. For me, it became more haunting and I looked more closely and reverently than I previously had. Is this ability for our perceptions to be affected by a description of the background to a work something to be ashamed of or merely to accept? I believe that it is good to appreciate works of art based on their own merits, but is my perception after having read the caption not just as valid as my perception before the fact?
3. I like that Berger explores how reproductions alter the reception of a work, but never condemns it. Besides the fact that it would make him a hypocrite, his lack of a judgment on the effects reproductions have leaves us to question it for ourselves. Is it a bad thing when a reproduction isolates a part of an image or presents it to us in a specific order and context or is it just another artist creating a new work by pointing at a specific aspect of another work?
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Right Brians Mayans Hiya Aroww
We have recently read several articles taken from or inspired by the book Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain by Betty Edwards. The philosophy of the book relies on the division of tasks between the left and right hemispheres of the brain. It is currently believed that the left brain operates in an analytical, logical way while the right is more spatial. Thus, when drawing, the left brain tries to organize visual information, be it from the eyes or imagination, by labeling its components and turning them into symbols. It then throws away all of the information not relevant for simple categorization. The right brain, however, can perceive images merely as forms, without assigning them labels. Therefore, the key to realism in drawing is to shift dominance to the right brain, allowing oneself to draw the forms one sees, rather than the icons one associates with them. Most of the articles include an exercise meant to help one recognize the differences between left and right-brain thinking so that one may eventually learn to switch between them (and thus in and out of “drawing mode”) at will.
I find the ideas presented in the articles fascinating and I think there’s probably a lot of credence to Edwards’ ideas. I’ve noticed that I’m generally only able to draw anything decently realistic when I’m observing the subject merely for its form and ignoring what it is. However, I don’t think that developing this way of thinking is all it takes to draw well. There’s a hand-eye coordination that I think is separate from the shift into right brain thinking that is extremely helpful in realistic drawing. It’s really more of a hand-mind coordination, as the problem pertains to translating the image in your mind, even when it is being thought of in a spatial, right-brain manner, into physical lines on a page. Even during my best, most right-brained drawing sessions, I’ve always struggled to make the drawing match what’s in my head. My brain seems to be telling my hand the right things, and it’s doing the wrong ones. By thinking spatially, I can produce an image about as close to the subject as someone with a natural “knack” for drawing. However, it takes me at least three times longer to produce my image. This hand-mind coordination is probably developed most through practice, as is the ability to shift into right-brained thinking. I am not expecting a quick fix and I know Edwards is not offering one, but I thought it necessary to point out that her assertions that her methods are the key to becoming “good” at drawing don’t sit very well with me. This leads me to ask, does the ability to translate one’s perceptions into physical forms rely solely (or almost solely) on the shift into right-brain thinking, or is there another skill that must be developed beyond an “average” level to make that possible?
Last Thursday’s class was a joint lesson with Ancient American Art History. Professor Cash helped us explore Mayan conceptions of time by explaining the prevalence of dates in Mayan writing, and their importance to it. She also taught us how Mayans wrote dates, which involved both lunar and solar calendars. The Mayans wrote their dates using several units of time, all of which are based upon a certain number of days. Unlike the Gregorian calendar, in which months are based on days, years are based on months, and centuries are based on years, Mayan units of dating are not necessarily any multiple of the next smallest unit. How did the Mayan dating system, with its use of both solar and lunar calendars and its day-based units, affect Mayan perception of time in contrast to our own?
I find the ideas presented in the articles fascinating and I think there’s probably a lot of credence to Edwards’ ideas. I’ve noticed that I’m generally only able to draw anything decently realistic when I’m observing the subject merely for its form and ignoring what it is. However, I don’t think that developing this way of thinking is all it takes to draw well. There’s a hand-eye coordination that I think is separate from the shift into right brain thinking that is extremely helpful in realistic drawing. It’s really more of a hand-mind coordination, as the problem pertains to translating the image in your mind, even when it is being thought of in a spatial, right-brain manner, into physical lines on a page. Even during my best, most right-brained drawing sessions, I’ve always struggled to make the drawing match what’s in my head. My brain seems to be telling my hand the right things, and it’s doing the wrong ones. By thinking spatially, I can produce an image about as close to the subject as someone with a natural “knack” for drawing. However, it takes me at least three times longer to produce my image. This hand-mind coordination is probably developed most through practice, as is the ability to shift into right-brained thinking. I am not expecting a quick fix and I know Edwards is not offering one, but I thought it necessary to point out that her assertions that her methods are the key to becoming “good” at drawing don’t sit very well with me. This leads me to ask, does the ability to translate one’s perceptions into physical forms rely solely (or almost solely) on the shift into right-brain thinking, or is there another skill that must be developed beyond an “average” level to make that possible?
Last Thursday’s class was a joint lesson with Ancient American Art History. Professor Cash helped us explore Mayan conceptions of time by explaining the prevalence of dates in Mayan writing, and their importance to it. She also taught us how Mayans wrote dates, which involved both lunar and solar calendars. The Mayans wrote their dates using several units of time, all of which are based upon a certain number of days. Unlike the Gregorian calendar, in which months are based on days, years are based on months, and centuries are based on years, Mayan units of dating are not necessarily any multiple of the next smallest unit. How did the Mayan dating system, with its use of both solar and lunar calendars and its day-based units, affect Mayan perception of time in contrast to our own?
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Gondry's Visuomusical Experiences and What is Art?
We have watched several music videos directed by Michel Gondry in class. Gondry, a French director who has worked extensively with feature films and music videos, often incorporates ideas about how the progression of time relates to musical structure. The first video we watched was made for The White Stripes’ The Hardest Button to Button. The video featured the two members of The White Stripes playing their instruments in various city locations. However, rather than merely film the band playing, Gondry used stop motion and duplication to highlight the rhythm and repetition in the song. For example, every time guitarist Jack White plays a certain melodic line during a “shot” of the video, he appears at the beginning of the line, plays it, and disappears at the end, leaving behind an amp. He then reappears for the next line and, if it is the same as the other, plays it with roughly the same motions. The distance between each appearance is proportional to the time between the lines in the song. As the same occurs with the drums, this formula allows the viewer to essentially get a look inside the rhythmic structure of the song.
Another Gondry video we watched was for a Kylie Minogue song. This video focused more on visualizing the structure of the song than the rhythm. The song has a cyclical construction of several verse-chorus sections of equal length. The video represented this visually by showing Kylie walking around in a circle several times. Every trip around the circle, another version of herself and many of the people she passes is added. Thus, by the end of the video, there are five or six Kylie Minogues walking together and interacting with each other.
The third Gondry video we watched was for Chemical Brothers’ Star Guitar. The video consists of a view from a train as scenery passes by. However, it soon becomes clear that each element of the scenery is representing an element of the music and has been digitally inserted at the proper moment and position to coincide with the rhythm of the song.
The ideas expressed in the music videos of Michel Gondry are fascinating. His perspective on the art of music videos is very different from that of most directors. Rather than show what’s discussed in the song or merely stick a video onto it, he entwines the actual musical structure of the song with his videos, enriching both the film and the song. Gondry’s work makes me consider how video and music can be utilized together in the future. Thus I ask, can video and music someday interact, not just as a way to enhance and promote one’s music or add emotion to one’s film, but as equally vital parts of a piece? Do artistic, musically-based music videos such as those of Gondry prove that this has already occurred?
Our in-class discussion on the idea of “what is art?,” while interesting, did not seem to me to go much of anywhere. Everyone seemed at times to agree that basically anything can be art, but then there always arose exceptions. This discussion made we wonder, what is the point in debating such a vague, general topic? Is there any value, artistic or otherwise, to having a working definition of “art” or is the topic mostly just useful because it makes us question the boundaries of art and perhaps then push them?
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