Way's Garden Art Show

I'm sorry to say that I missed the Way's Garden Art Show because I was out of town. If anyone has anything they'd like to share about it, send it to me at matthewparrish1@gmail.com and I'll post it on here.

The Inexhaustibility of Art

Dr. Joan Whitman Hoff
Philosophy professor at Lockhaven University

On Thursday, May 7th, philosophy professor Dr. Joan Whitman Hoff gave a lecture for the Bald Eagle Art League. As an audience member, I was excited to experience an academic lecture outside of the halls of academia. Kudos to Dr. Hoff for reaching out to a community art group. The lecture was loosely structured by what Dr. Hoff referred to as "the inexhaustibility of art." It isn't her theory and I don't remember who she said originated it, so, I can only discuss it in relation to how she presented it that night.

Dr. Hoff began by saying that her talk would go "all over the place" because she feels that art is all over the place and that's how philosophy should treat it. She said philosophy shouldn't try to pin it down. This, then, is partly why using the term "inexhaustible" makes sense. When something can go anywhere or is anywhere, there's no end to how we can talk about it. But her focus was mainly on how we can infinitely discover new things about a static work of art. Every time one sees a painting, one can see something different or relate to it in a different way.

This point immediately bothered me. "What's particular about art that makes it inexhaustible?" I thought. I could experience a space, just a general, public space, in infinitely different ways. Let's say that I went to NYC before 9/11 and then went after 9/11. Let's say I went to NYC before I was was an art major and after I was an art major. Let's say I went to NYC as a kid and then as an adult. Let's say I went to NYC and was in it for one second and then another. You get my point. Every time something with me (or with that place) has changed (which means practically any time), this makes for a different experience of that place. Since the variables of anything are always changing, anything is inexhaustible.

After her lecture, she asked if anyone had questions and I couldn't hold back. I raised my hand and asked, "What particularly about art makes it inexhaustible in contrast to anything else? I mean, I could experience this table in infinitely different ways." Her response was, "I think the difference is in the way we feel about it. We have a deeper connection to art than to common objects like a table." I smiled because of how wrong she was (And she did add, "That's the best I can do with that," acknowledging that there may be some philosophical problems with her position). We love when others are wrong and we think we're right. Well, at least I do. Here's my counterargument to her answer: family heirlooms. Regardless of the specificity of the object, it has gained value simply by being passed down from generation to generation. The fact that this object has been held by your great grandmother, your grandmother, your mother, and you, imbues it with profound meaning. You have a deep, inexhaustible connection with this object and it could be anything: a photo, a ring, a letter, a hat, a pocket knife, whatever. By being held through time, anything can create a deep relationship, the kind Dr. Hoff holds specifically for art.

I try to imagine what her response would be. Perhaps that the experience of art is different from the experience of a family heirloom, that art is a compositional gesture and this makes for a different relationship, one that turns on skill and form. But then my response would be: What specifically about artistic compositions makes them inexhaustible? Does the fact that something was made to be a, presumably useless, aesthetic object make it anymore inexhaustible? In fact, I might argue the opposite. If something has a use and is beautiful, doesn't that make it more inexhaustible than something that is beautiful without use? Isn't a house more inexhaustible than a painting because it provides infinite uses and infinite aesthetic pleasures?

Well, regardless of philosophical differences, I thoroughly enjoyed Dr. Hoff's lecture. She's very careful with her words, she's very familiar with several bodies of literature on aesthetics, and she makes great distinctions. Her discussion of art raised the bar for the Bald Eagle Art League lecture series.

Video Art in Williamsport!

Last Saturday, a delightful art show took place. Lycoming students scattered video art installations throughout the labyrinthine Pajama Factory. Despite being ubiquitous in larger cities, video art had yet to establish a presence in Williamsport until now. What’s caused the change? Lycoming College has hired Leah Peterson as a video art professor, opened a multi-media gallery, and is now reaching into unknown territory (for Lycoming students anyway), the other side of Williamsport.

There’s still a long way to go, though. For instance, when most people hear “video art,” nothing comes to mind. Unlike the history of painting or sculpture, video art’s story isn’t well known outside of the art world. Everyone knows Picasso, but what about Nam June Paik? The man built a sculpture out of a thousand TVs but superstardom has escaped him. Anyway, by describing the students’ exhibition, I hope to give a little bit of an introduction to the aesthetics of video art.

Everyone loves his or her favorite, so I’ll start with mine. The first thing I saw, as I entered the lobby, was a projected video of doors opening and closing. As I watched double doors shut, shutters fly up, security gates glide down and heard the distinct thuds and squeals of each, I became enthralled. It was so simple and yet stunning. “This is what video art can do,” I thought. The artists, Stephanie Knaus and Jason Heritage, used a camera to research their surroundings. They established a logic in their video through the repetitious movement of doors. Their “narrative” came alive through the relationships between outside doors, inside doors, doors with and without windows, doors in daylight, doors at night, doors with knobs, doors with handles, etc. Each door had its own feeling, its own action, and its own moment.

Another piece I enjoyed was an installation by Karen Gerofsky and Brian Fredo. It consisted of a TV deeply set (about 4 feet down?) in a hole in the floor surrounded by turf. Something very intriguing happened as people set their feet on the turf, leaned over the opening, nearly touched heads, and saw the image of a person staring back at them. I imagined what it would be like to view the situation from where the TV head was, that is, at the bottom of the well-like cavity. I pictured seeing the circle of viewers hovering above, curiously gazing down. Thanks for that moment, Karen and Brian. You made me more aware of the architecture of the space than I ever would’ve been.

Partly why I loved this show so much is because it was installation based. In Williamsport, where most art is shown on walls in places that are primarily venues for things other than art (I intend no offense to the businesses who support art. I am grateful to you), it was exciting to see artists given the opportunity to tailor a space for their art. I can only hope that Lycoming College continues to work with the Pajama Factory (even if the attendance wasn’t high) and that more places support video art because there’s lots of potential for cool things to happen.

Frigid

A photo from Nick Johnson's Transcendence
Showing at the PCT Gallery from March 17-April 9, 2009

When I started writing criticism, I made the decision to not write negative reviews. I based this choice on the idea that any review promotes artwork and if I didn't like an exhibition, why would I want to promote it? This logic follows the saying "any press is good press." However, I recently saw a show at the gallery at Penn College, the best art space in Williamsport, that made me break my vow...

As I walked down Fourth Street, I passed the corner space that advertises for Penn College's gallery. It had an intriguing poster for Nick Johnson's new exhibition, Transcendence. If I'm not mistaken, the picture I saw is the one I posted above. The precise spatial arrangement, the mirroring, rocky texture, and the line play in the photo excited me. This artist obviously had a sharp eye and knew what he was doing. I was anxious to see the work.

However, once I entered the gallery, I was appalled by Johnson's mind-numbing, flat repetition of technique. One sleek set of carefully arranged stones is cool. Two, okay. Three, I'm bored. Four, I don't care anymore. I know this sounds harsh and for me, my response is surprising because I am usually fond of repetition. Repetition is a good way of establishing boundaries for an artistic world. It gives one a sense of where the center is and then one can easily recognize variation and trace a journey. But, here, there is no journey. There are many pictures but only one thing. And a painfully cool, over-produced, vacuous thing at that.

Let me justify my position further: While Johnson's interest seems to be reinterpreting nature in vitro or in a tiny, sterile, highly-controlled environment, the result is artwork that would be better suited as the finishing touch in a freshly designed living room rather than as an aesthetic venture in it's own right. The black and white format successfully suffocates any life the images may have had and condemns the photos to a clinical existence.

I read that Mr. Johnson has been a fine art photographer for over 30 years and his skill is immediately apparent. But that's where this story ends.

First Friday Photos

The Coffee and Tea Room:


Java Juice:



Williamsport Frame Shop:

A Bias

Cadaver Bone, Return from the River Styx
Ed Wong-Ligda

oil on canvas
70" x 40"

Bob Dylan can't sing. Well, not in the classical sense. Despite this fact, he's the greatest singer I've ever heard. Even though Dylan cannot hit any note at will and he doesn't have a mountain-high scale (think Dream Girls), he can bend his voice in amazing ways that amplify his emotions and add a canyon of depth to his words.

If Dylan had tried to become a perfect singer, failed, and quit singing as a result, the world would've been deprived of one of the most fruitful, original, artistic paths ever trekked.

Thanks to Rock N Roll, most people would agree that a singer doesn't have to have perfect pitch to be effective. So--why doesn't the same go for painting?

Art historically, this is a moot point. Realism has gone in and out of favor on a strange cycle due to the fickleness of the art world. But generally (that is--not in the art world), viewers will always favor realism over anything else. An artwork is better if it looks real than if it doesn't. But is a song always better if it's sung perfectly? We've already answered that question.

This issue came to mind again because I just received a copy of the new Showcase in the mail today with Ed Wong-Ligda's painting on the cover. Now, I have nothing against Ligda, I can't--I haven't even seen his work yet. And some of the paintings on his website have me excited because they're about more than skill (especially the painting titled Fine Art http://edwong-ligda.com/framesetport.html). But I'm always wary when I see realism because I know that people will stop their considerations at being impressed. "Wow--that looks real!" they think and that's that. This result splits artwork into two categories: right and wrong. If it looks real, it's right. If it doesn't, it's wrong.

So, when you go to Penn College's gallery next week, on Feb. 10th, to see Ligda's work don't just marvel at the skill employed, think about what it's being employed for. What story is the painting telling? How does Ligda wrestle with finish? What emotion does it convey? Is there more to the picture than one expects?
Here's to hoping that I embarrass myself by being blown away at the exhibition...

An Eye of the Past with A Tool of the Future

Jeffrey Smith's Photo Slideshow from Flickr.com

In photography, the most important clicking used to be done by the camera's shutters as the photograph was taken. However, with the advent of digital art, the clicking of a mouse may have superceded it. Many artists these days bypass the darkroom and hit Photoshop to "develop" their photographs. Jeffrey Smith, whose photos are currently hanging in the Coffee and Tea Room, is one of them. This fact isn't always apparent. Upon first glance, one may think that his photos are straight but look a little closer and you'll discover some blurring here, a dash of saturation there. Or you might be tricked the other way around. Sometimes pictures look enhanced when they're actually not (like in his "zoom and spin" pieces in the stream above).

Anyway, some people think digital photography is cheating because it lacks the manual dexterity of developing film. I tossed this statement at Smith, assuming he'd vehemently deny that digital art is cheating (considering that he is a digital artist). Surprisingly, he said:

I am in favor of digital photography simply because its cheaper and takes less time than film. I taught myself how to develop film and prints once and it was ridiculously time consuming. But I respect the people who are skilled with film much more than I respect digital photographers. I feel that someone who has taken the time to learn the very hard manual techniques of burning or dodging is much better skilled than someone who can simply edit it in photoshop. There are those purists out there who don't use any editing and I hope that I will eventually be able to do that.

So, even though Smith works digitally, he respects traditional photography more than digital photography. I don't take this response as a negative, rather, I'm actually more interested in Smith's work now than I was before because he's wrestling with the "ethics" of photography (as opposed to blindly accepting Photoshop as if it's always been around). For example, he thinks enhancing photos with Photoshop isn't cheating but he thinks collaging photographs with it is. He said:

I do use photoshop quite a bit, but its usually just for slight touchups. I try never to do more then add a little saturation and work on the levels. I took a digital photography class in High School, and it was a joke. Our teacher was literally telling us to copy moons into our photos and the like. And I hated it. That was definitely cheating, and I'm not sure where I draw the line. I guess I'll use photoshop to get the necessary picture that I want, but I hope to one day be able to not use it.

From this perspective, Smith makes his use of Photoshop seem like a crutch rather than a dignified tool. I don't accept his rationale here. I think he uses Photoshop because he likes the way it makes his pictures look. I don't think he uses it because the photos would be bad otherwise. Smith has a good eye. Just look at the Curves photo on his Flickr account (the 14th image from the end) and you'll see what I mean. In his best pictures at the Coffee and Tea Room, like in German Romanticist Novalis' writings, nature feels directly connected to the sublime.

Part of me wishes Smith would own Photoshop as a legitimate artistic tool. It, like a pencil or a brush, has capabilities and there are artistic ways of using it. If labor is the key problem here, there are many ways of working in Photoshop that are time-consuming and that take patience and skill. His particular method, slight enhancement, isn't one of these but if he decided that Photoshop was a primary interest of his rather than a begrudged pal, he could change this. What's so ethically different from collaging images in Photoshop and collaging magazines? Click and move isn't so far away from cut and paste and in terms of refinement, it's better.

Perhaps asking Smith to own Photoshop is asking him to be something he's not. He's interested in framing actual nature and longs to be in a dark room. He uses Photoshop casually to simulate dark room effects. Maybe this contradiction is what enlivens his work: an eye of the past with a tool of the future.

I've been kind of hard on Jeff (only because I expect a lot of him), so, I'll let him have the last word:

When you look at great photographers, and how they could get the perfect shot the first time its really amazing how well they understood composure and exposure and light balance and every single element of the photo. So if I want to get better at photography it seems logical that I should try to learn all those things too. Maybe its also because I'm kindof old school, and I don't think photography and other types of art mix well. I dont think it looks cool to use stupid effects on a photo and call it a photo. You can call it something else but not a photograph. Photoshop is great for all those multimedia design jobs, but manipulating a program and taking something and making it completely undiscernible and still calling it a photography just rubs me the wrong way. But perhaps it makes an interesting image. As you say, who's to argue?