Entanglement

As part of the summer 2023 SAIC residency, the month of July has been a very busy time. In recent weeks I continued developing ideas and approaches discussed in previous blog posts—focusing on large-scale drawings and visual explorations. In this blog post I discuss the development of two drawings.

Drawing 1: On Wednesday, July 5 I purchased a large role of Canson mixed media paper. In the studio, I cut a large sheet and taped it to the west-facing studio wall (the height of the sheet covers much of the wall from top to bottom). I have never worked on a paper surface of this size before. As I describe below, the experience of building an image at this scale was at times challenging.

As with previous images rendered during this residency I began this project with a blind gesture drawing. I then spent thirty minutes translating the linework from this sketch into a rough composition—interpreting marks, clarifying forms and defining a sense of space and texture. This intermediary drawing served as reference for the large-scale image developed between July 5 and July 10. The large drawing (see picture below) remains incomplete but does build on visual themes developed during this first summer at SAIC: the juxtaposition of organic forms and stark geometry, subtle elements of collage, and a degree of improvisation in rendering visual material. I also made use of detailed mark-making in order to create subtle textures, and applied different levels of softness in graphite (from HB to 9B) to develop contrasting tones of grey.

As I worked on this drawing I experienced ambivalence, and at times doubt, regarding the direction and quality of the emerging image. I spent many hours defining braid-like formations in the bottom left of the image. I also aimed to contrast these small-scale elements with a bold and gestural component (namely, the two overlapping circular forms in the top half of the sheet as well as the wavy shapes in the center). 

The end-result is a drawing that (more than anything else) shows a process of exploration. The large format paper served as a surface for play, unexpected juxtapositions and experimentation.

Drawing 2: On July 13 I started another large-scale drawing (similar in size to the last). Before working on this image I went through a similar process to previous works—beginning with blind gestural marks (including a large piece shown at the bottom of this post), followed by a refined preparatory sketch outlining key features.

This latest drawing includes elements that are comparable to what appeared in the previous piece—contrasting geometric forms and organic shapes. However, the sense of space, use of colour and visual components are developed and configured in a more carefully considered manner. Furthermore, as I developed this image I often referred back to the entanglement of lines evident in my gestural line drawing (see image below). 

In theoretical terms, the notion of entanglement is also discussed by various scholars in the humanities, including archaeologist Ian Hodder and physicist/philosopher, Karen Barad. Ideas explored by these authors often challenge the human-environment divide that informed early to mid twentieth century social science research. Unlike the dichotomous view of reality suggested through such research, Barad, Hodder and others describe fuzzy boundaries between things at the micro, subatomic level, or a profound sense of interconnectedness at the level of social and material relations. These relational ideas are also at the heart of literature by Indigenous scholars (such as Viola Cordova) and authors in the field of human ecology.

In rendering this latest drawing I attempted to embody ideas about entanglement/ecology (as noted above) by visualizing links within the drawing and by expanding my linework outside the boundaries of the paper surface. The drawing (along with material outside the drawing) reveals a field of relations (connecting different places and times). This idea of visually depicting entanglement remains ill-defined at this point, but does provide a foundation on which to build further work in the fall of 2023.

Studio interviews with Peter Tristram Walz

On Wednesday, July 12, I had the opportunity to interview (and be interviewed by) artist, Peter Tristram Walz as part of a Professional Practices course (taught by artist and researcher, Kelly Xi) at the SAIC Low-Residency MFA program. Through our conversations we discussed (among other things) the role of writing, sketching, and material within creative practice. Both interviews are included in this blog post.

Peter Tristram Walz interview.

Studio space(s) and initial explorations during the SAIC residency

During the initial weeks of my residency at SAIC I realized that the studio can be a relatively malleable and mobile space. Though I enjoy having a dedicated location to make things (a traditional studio), I also benefit from a degree of movement and change in environment. Depending on the project I am working on I may spend two hours writing and/or sketching at a coffee shop, and then shift to the traditional studio space, followed by an evening walk. Overall, I appreciate switching things up and maintaining a sense of balance when developing creative work

The residency schedule thus far has kept me very busy. But I have done my best to develop creative material in two areas: drawing, and visual/written concepts for an artist's book. Following the idea of a malleable or mobile studio (mentioned above) I devoted part of June 28 and 29 to shifting between different spaces—I spent time drawing within my SAIC studio, I went for a walk, and then spent time at a coffee shop writing (further time was spent on the computer in my dorm preparing the artist's book).

During this exploratory phase of the residency, I am finding it helpful to mix and match different spaces as well as different modes of making. Between June 28 and 29 I made use of automatism as a starting point for a small scale graphite drawing. I used a similar approach for an image created earlier in the residency. Each of these images were created by finding meaning and form within initial improvised mark-making (executed in rapid and loose manner without looking at the paper). I intentionally use automatism as a starting point in order to create images that emerge in an unplanned manner.

During this time I also began piecing together content for a possible artist's book (for potential screen printing). As part of this exercise I gathered previously captured film stills or photos and turned each into a coarse dot pattern in Photoshop (accentuating the aesthetics of screen printing). I also wrote text for the book—the verbal part of the book revolves around ideas about line-making. As it stands, I may not end up printing this book during the summer residency, but the experience of writing/reflecting on aspects of drawing and philosophy helped me to define ideas for the current project I am involved in (described in the remainder of this post).

Later in the week I decided to tackle a new drawing through the same approach mentioned above (starting with improvised marks)—but on a larger scale than previous work. I don't usually render imagery beyond 18" x 24" (the size of a standard illustration pad). However, I imagined that changing the size of my drawing surface would help in the exploration of new aesthetic possibilities. 

My decision to pursue this large scale drawing emerged on the morning of Sunday, July 2 (as I awakened). Later that day I walked to my studio and created a landscape drawing surface on the East-facing wall by taping three 18" x 24" sheets horizontally and two vertically. I then proceeded to begin a graphite drawing. I started with extensive gestural marks before indicating details. 

I continued adding visual elements and texture to the image throughout Sunday afternoon and Monday (I used a range of graphite media and erasing techniques). The drawing is unfinished but has already played an important role in suggesting a new direction for my image-making.

In addition to this large drawing I also explored a form of mark-making through movement and chance. I created a basic method for creating a drawing by walking. Using packing tape, I made a makeshift chord that allowed me to drag a piece of paper along the ground (admittedly this is extremely rudimentary but it was all I had in the studio when the idea popped into my mind).

The images below show the large graphite drawing, a spread from the book, and the drawing-made-by-walking with chord.

A reflection on practice

In this entry I reflect on what I do as a creative practitioner by considering Adrian Piper's (65) description of how "process is as important as the work itself." In writing this text I considered the broader context of my practice (beyond finished creative outcomes such as an edited film) and reflected on the processual dimension of creative activity.

Through the remainder of this post I will briefly describe the areas in which I practice, and also explore the significance of time within my work. I will conclude by sharing ideas on the notion of professional practice.

The question of what I do is multifaceted. I engage in different roles as an educator, arts-based researcher, and filmmaker. My work is often collaborative. At times I facilitate participatory experiences that help members of a community or classroom explore an issue or problem (as part of this facilitation, I often create tangible tools in the form of activity prompts, or card games that help initiate discussions).

My filmmaking/animation is often reflective of research activities—several projects over the last decade communicate lived experiences or cultural memory. In recent years I have also explored speculative fictional accounts of present-day human ecological challenges.

Within these different contexts, time plays a significant role. For instance, as part of community-based research I take time (often months and even years) to build ongoing relationships with people. I also devote considerable time (often thousands of hours) to the making of hand-rendered animated films. Sensitivity to the rhyme and rhythm of events—to how things unfold in time—is integral to my practice. 

To further expand on issues discussed thus far, I will add that before creating final art for animated films I engage in hands-on visual explorations through sketching. As part of this process I also combine traditional and digital media. I usually render visuals and or textures by hand and then digitize.

Practice is also a meaning-making experience—in other words, meaning emerges through the very process of developing a project. My decision to conclude a project will often result from the degree to which the work is meaningful to a community or audience. 

To conclude this post I will briefly reflect on the notion of professional practice. Through this reflection I offer a succinct etymological breakdown of the words professional and amateur.

The current English meaning of the word professional (rooted in the Latin, "professionem", meaning to publicly declare or profess) usually refers to an occupation that provides financial support or gain  ("Profession (n.)"). Dictionary definitions of "professional" are often juxtaposed and contrasted with the word "amateur." Etymologically, "amateur" is rooted in the Latin, "amare" which literally means "to love." In this sense, to be amateur is to literally love what you do ("Professional (adj.)"). 

As we ponder art-making in 2023, it may be helpful to consider the extent to which professional practice is informed by the heartfelt work of the amateur. The etymological root of this word offers a perspective that moves beyond exclusively pragmatic or practical connotations often associated with professional practice.

References:

Piper, Adrian. “To Art (Reg. Intrans. V.” In The Fox, edited by Sarah Charlesworth, Michael Corris, Preston Heller, Joseph Krosuth, Andrew Menard, Mel Ramsden, Art & Language Foundation, 1975, pp. 60-65.

"Professional (adj.)." Online Etymology Dictionary, 22 June 2023, https://www.etymonline.com/word/professional.

"Profession (n.)." Online Etymology Dictionary, 22 June 2023, https://www.etymonline.com/word/profession.

Tools of the trade: extensions of the imagination

Material culture is an often underrated aspect of creative production. Despite diligent efforts, an artist may struggle to build a project beyond conceptual exploration without adequate tools. In the realm of time-based media, the right gear and suitable equipment can be vital to getting a project off the ground.

A skilled practitioner's relationship to material involves intimate knowledge of surface texture, as well as sensitivity to form, pressure, and technical operation. Through year's of practice, an artist or designer may develop, what Tim Ingold (116) describes as "gestural synergy of human being, tool and material".

Camera gear and equipment—the material resources of filmmaking—are among the many things offered by The Film and Video Arts Society of Alberta (FAVA). As one of the oldest artist-run co-ops in Canada, FAVA offers an abundance of material to learn the craft of filmmaking—providing the basis through which to build synergy with the tools of the trade. As a long-standing FAVA member, I have been fortunate to work with a talented community of Edmonton-based artists on various film projects over the last 15 years. In a recent FAVA interview I discuss my experience of working with FAVA, as well as memorable collaborations in the Northwest Territories. These and many other projects resulted from creative collaborations as well as the availability of material resources—tools that facilitated the making of films. Through extensive use and intimate knowledge, a tool can become more than a practical object—a tool can become an extension of the imagination.

Reference

Ingold, T. (2013) Making: Anthropology, Archaeology, Art and Architecture. London: Routledge.

New (and old) ways of seeing

On March 14, 2020 I planned a brief and informal visual communication design exercise: while driving in Edmonton's south side I asked my 11 year old son to document the city (using a camera) from the back seat of the car. I encouraged him to capture street scenes he found interesting, and I occasionally drew his attention to sights I noticed from the front seat. The exercise was collaborative and spontaneous. The intention behind this rapid photo-journey was to explore the extent to which informal photography may communicate the current lockdown in the city of Edmonton.

After the drive I briefly inspected the pictures. As I perused each street scene I realized that I could not easily identify features that were reflective of a city in lockdown. With some exceptions, most of the pictures looked like they were captured on a quiet and ordinary Sunday evening in the spring (showing reduced traffic, empty parking lots, and random patches of snow).

I shelved and disregarded the pictures for several days. I remained undecided as to whether anything had been accomplished through the photo-journey.

A careful second inspection of the photos a week later, however (as the pandemic crisis deepened), revealed a new layer of meaning. I recognized (during this second viewing) that the street scenes, though mundane, did evoke the current reality of lockdown—their evocative power, however, was only apparent from the perspective of global events. In other words, by situating these images within the unfolding history of the coronavirus pandemic they took on new meaning.

As I reflected on this curious shift in perception I remembered a quote from John Berger's 1972 book, Ways of Seeing. The quote is the following: "The way we see things is affected by what we know or what we believe."

I found this sentence relevant to the photo exercise because it relates to how knowledge shapes perception. Although the city (as represented in pictures) looked familiar after the March 14 photo-shoot, my perception of the city—the following week after the virus spread—changed in a significant way. My point of view was altered in a matter of days, as socio-cultural circumstances evolved.

Shifts in perception is something Berger explores in the opening pages of his book. The author describes how the invention of vanishing point perspective during the Renaissance helped establish an ocularcentric worldview—elevating the sensory modality of vision in art and culture. A visual convention, as manifested in drawing, encouraged a new way of seeing in the fifteenth century.

The global pandemic of the twenty-first century has also led to a new way of seeing. The coronavirus has prompted heightened sensitivity to, among other things, our perception of urban environments—specifically, the spaces between people. Empty space has taken on new significance in recent weeks.

Distance between people has become a delicate field of negotiation. Buying groceries may now take the form of a subtle dance between strangers—one takes the initiative to avoid proximity, the other remains motionless, while the amorphous space between people shrinks and expands.

On the other hand, vast stretches of empty urban space—like parks, soccer fields, and undeveloped land—have become a type of refuge. Visiting such places I am reminded of Edward Casey's description of how "place is sensed." This evening, for instance, I stood in the middle of such a field—after looking at the sky for several minutes, I roamed the terrain before the sun went down. I stopped when I found the right "place"—out of the evening shadows, where I could feel the warm fleeting sunlight.

Admittedly, it had been years since I deliberately watched the sun go down. The experience was strangely familiar. It was a new (and old) way of seeing.

Collage and storytelling

On Thursday, February 27, I had the pleasure of running workshops for The Greater Edmonton Teachers’ Convention Association (GETCA) at MacEwan University. Participants included high school teachers in Fine Art, Design, Drama, and English. The first workshop was on visual narrative—front end activities prompted storytelling through futurist tools, and collage.

A noteworthy outcome from this workshop had to do with the adaptability of collage as an interpretive tool. Through image-making activities several participants generated a story/collage that evoked discipline-specific knowledge (appropriate for each teacher’s subject area).

This brief activity suggests the potential use of collage as a teaching and storytelling tool, that moves beyond an exclusively formal understanding of the medium. As discussed in this post, collage offers unique opportunities for storytelling and interpretation through the assemblage of disparate visual elements (images below are by the author).