I don’t tend to be a believer in inherent aesthetics. It’s my supposition that we bring to an artistic encounter our own cultural biases, aesthetic training (informal or formal) and — ultimately — personal taste — that has been developed more or less deliberately throughout our lives. That is to say, nothing is beautiful in its own right — it only is beautiful if we decide it is so.

When Steven LaRose’s blog page loaded yesterday morning, I greeted it with a sharp inhalation and then let out a low four-letter word. More on this later, but the image to the right is of the painting I was reacting to: Glittering Generalities and Blazing Ubiquities.

I follow his blog pretty regularly, I have seen a lot of his work (just saw some in person at Snoose Junction here in Seattle recently), and generally have a high regard for what he does. Which isn’t to say that I like every painting he does… but I have an appreciation for his work and his process and his aesthetic. And, most of the time, I do like the paintings he makes.

But this painting was different for me — and I could immediately recognize that he had stepped over some threshold. When I clicked on the comments, it was evident that the body of folks who frequent Steve’s blog felt the same. I don’t think they are shining his shoes, either… I get the sense that this is genuine.

So here’s the question: among an admittedly self-selecting group that already appreciates his work, how is it that one painting could garner such a consensus in the comments? Is there something inherent about this painting that makes it special — something separate from the aesthetic experience we bring to it?

I really don’t want to believe that to be the truth, but I’m hard-pressed for an answer otherwise, shy of sheer coincidence.

You can read all the comments here.

6th and Pike in Seattle. I honestly can’t decide if this is masking for maintenance of expansion joints in the sidewalk, or if this is guerilla art. Either way, it made me hyper-aware of the rhythm of the breaks in the concrete.

I took Rob down to the Delridge Playfield yesterday to show him one of my favorite pieces of public art. These three stones arranged at the intersection of paths hold a lot of interest for me. See the darker stone in the distance?

It’s cast bronze.

Rob wasn’t so impressed.

But here’s the thing: this isn’t about amazing execution, this isn’t about grand statements. Hell, this probably passes under the radar for 95% of the people who walk past this park. Probably more than 95%. It’s stealth art. There’s not even a plaque that I can find to identify the artist who did it. Maybe it wasn’t even an artist. Maybe the Parks Department just hired a bronze foundry to cast a stone to fulfill some 1% for art requirement when they built the Community Center. I don’t know.

So why do I love it?

Because the surprise you get when you discover that it’s not a rock, especially if you’ve seen it a hundred times before, causes that momentary flash of insight and awareness. Because it is like a Zen koan. Because it forces, ever so briefly, a different point of view. Because it allows a moment of presence and awareness of the human experience that is currently yours. It causes you to look back at the other two stones and question their authenticity. It makes you awake.

That’s hard to do when people expect to be looking at art. If somebody walks into a gallery, they are expecting to have an art experience, and they have a frame of mind that is open and ready to have their perception adjusted. A person encountering this piece has no such expectation, so the surprise — the adjustment in perception — is that much greater.

MAN has a nice little series covering Doug Wheeler, one of the so-called “light +space” artists who kept making work, but didn’t follow the path to fame like Turrell and Irwin did:

Talking with Wheeler part one, two, three, and four.

I showed with Philip Lynam in a two-person show in DC back in 2001. He dropped a comment on one of my posts the other day. It was good to take a look and see what he has been up to. He layers using squeegees, but I can’t tell you much more about his process. Maybe he’ll tell us more in the comments of this post, yeah? Here’s a recent piece of his:

Fin
12″ x 12″
2007

Wisp
oil on canvas
21.5″x21.5″
Julie Alexander, 2006

A nice recent painting from a Seattle colleague – Julie Alexander. Julie and I have shown together in group shows a long time ago; both her work and mine have changed a lot over those years. A choice line from her artist’s statement:

At the painting’s surface there is a multiplicity – a this in conjunction with that. The lines assert and deny narrative.

Portland painter Abi Spring seems to be treading similar ground. Why haven’t I heard of her before? I need to get out more…

From her artist statement:

The white paintings are part of a series that explore a very limited palette. The use of very subtle color opposites creates a visual tension making the surface of the work hard to locate, drawing the patient viewer to the work.

Note the requirement of patience. Crucial. Slow art, to be sure.

Received this week in the post: one Sporozoan Hankie from Rob Roy Chalmers. He is doing a project called “embroider this” where other people send him clothing or other items, and he will embroider one of his Sporozoan drawings on the item, then return it.

I’m sort of old-fashioned in that I carry a hankie every day. And yes, I use them. Why waste all that paper? And besides, a clean cotton hankie is always handy for cleaning your glasses or wiping food off the face of your four-year-old.

So now I need to decide whether to carry and use this hankie. I think I will, but still… feels funny.

Recently, Steve was wondering how to hang his small works on paper for his upcoming show. I suggested archival tape hinges, floating the pieces off the wall on small wooden blocks. This, of course, leaves the question of how those small wooden blocks attach to the wall. A quick rumble through my flat files turned up a variety of methods I have used over the years to build similar blocks that I used to mount to the back of panels. I’d recommend poplar as a wood choice for this. Home Depot has little racks of nice poplar boards – they are clear-grained and light in color. It’s also a soft enough wood that it takes well to the things you need to do to it, and sands up nicely without too much effort.

The one below is great if you need the piece to be really snug against the wall and not go out of level every time a door closes, or something. I used these keyhole hangers a lot when I was making bent panel pieces that would protrude off the wall – having the ability to snug the screw up meant that the mounting block wouldn’t sag off the wall because of the leverage.

The one below is simple and cheap, but would require a two-layer block for Steve, so I don’t think it’s practical.

This one is closer. The sawtooth hanger has been hammered flat, and a square has been carved out of the block using a chisel. Not too tough, but a little labor-intensive, especially considering the number of these things I think he has.

Baby bear thinks this one is just right. Flattened sawtooth over a quick hole made with a paddle bit.

This arrived in the mail today from Steven LaRose, a colleague from Ashland, Oregon. I “earned” this by responding to a question posed on his blog.

It’s a beautiful little gem, and is now in the queue for framing.