The Long View

ihet october / november  2017 issue 230

When being kind, I regard my propensity to acquire random junk, as collecting. It’s an infatuation fed through impulse and curiosity, stilted toward harvesting discarded mechanical and industrial minutiae.

The reason I’m bring this up . . . I was attempting to implement a method for organizing my confused jumble of things . . . but what actually happened was an exercise linking the bits and pieces together into a celebration of imagined histories.  Here they are . . . The Monuments. Top Left. Monument for a Machine Painting the End of Time and a Hole to Fall Into. In commemoration of artificial nostalgia, this piece was the first official Monument and established the format for the series as theatrical vignettes. The vintage frame and interior images are photographs mounted on board. The frame stand was assembled with machine parts harvested from dental devices. A photograph taken in 2011 from the Paulina “L” stop on Chicago’s Brown Line, provides the backdrop. All Monuments are presented on an eight by ten inch panel.

Top right. Monument for Into the Wild.  In commemoration of the domestication of the natural world. (with thanks: Salvador Dali Riding In A Goat Cart).  The monument is constructed from locally harvested woods, a billiard ball, chain, brass wire, nylon replica of a quail egg, and bottle cap, on glass.  A photo of vintage paint by number, provides the backdrop.

Bottom Left. Monument for a Prime. In commemoration of organizational obsessions . A number five pool ball and cast metal obelisk balanced on a plinth of lacquered wood, glass, and map cube. The backdrop is a photograph of the prime number list I use to assign numerical designations to specific paintings.

Bottom Right. Monument to the Repudiation of Science. In commemoration of a future of the past. A quail egg with drawn elements, dental machine parts, steel ball bearing and painted wood. The backdrop photo was taken while traveling south on I10 toward Tucson.

It’s not all nuts and bolts, tongue in cheek, or just plain fun . . . the last couple of paintings are killing me. Attempts at progress are abominations. Hopeful in their application, disaster in their effect. A series of events painful yet familiar and reluctantly welcome.  It’s harbinger of change, and as the struggle goes on, I know for certain, this will pass.

Meanwhile, no sense letting the good bits go to waste.

It’s idle hands rendered in black and white, plus this detail, scaled down, reprinted, cut out, and applied. The garden of my secret life reimagined as landscape with beet stems and ribbons of paper, eclipsed by premonitions of transformation.

Thanks for reading.

Charles.

click here – To read November’s entries in the 1999 project piece It Happens Every Tuesday.

Notes on pesky problems, looking in on medium large nuts and bolts, and seaside for the soul.

ihet  july/august 2017  issue 228

This is my most recent pesky problem. I’m nibbling around the edges, to no avail. So I just look at it. and wait. Then ignore it, and wait. Look at it, and wait. Thing is, there’s always an open-ended space somewhere in there, a questing needing a proper answer, and dumping some thoughtless thing into that space, simply because I can, defeats the purpose. So I’m ok with the patience and perseverance the process requires.

I don’t get tied up in creative knots. I just go where curiosity leads, and most recently, that’s constructing compact stage-like vignettes.  These interludes begin where the narrative qualities of the paintings leave off. Looking in on medium large nuts and bolts.

O’ Those Beach Days. The customs of a well polished routine, illustrated.

Wherever your summer happens to take you . . . have a good one . . . and thanks for reading.

Thanks for reading.

Charles

How To Assemble The Kite (One Hundred Seventy Nine By Eleven Cubed)

ihet  june 2017  issue 227

How to Assemble the Kite  is the other one. Eleven drawn, cubed, and liberally applied to one seventy-nine.

I like the process of melding these identities. The mixing of fragments to an ordered fashion. Steps faithfully followed and applied to canvas. Its structure, a guiding principle, woven into the fabric of transformation.

It started with the temporary sculptures. Mostly small assembled groups of things, digitally documented, the pieces dispersed. Now the parts stay together. Stories collected, intermingled and named.  Machine painting the end of time and the hole to fall into.

Thanks for reading.

Charles