Mentor

(Photo courtesy of Deitch Projects)

Just wanted to make sure things were firmly established before I let on...

My mentor for this semester is Kurt Kauper. NYC-based, he currently teaches at Princeton and Queens College. Prior to his current positions, he taught at Yale, New York Academy, UCLA, and The School of the MFA Boston, to name a few. He's shown solo at ACME in Santa Monica and L.A., and Deitch Projects - numerous times!

I'm in the midst of setting up a visit this month to his studio in NYC. I'll be preparing some concepts to show. But I shall post these concepts after I meet with him. Don't wanna give anything away, eh?

What the...

Whoa, who did that?

I did. I don't know what to call it, so "Untitled #1" will have to do for now. It's charcoal on paper, 18" x 24".

Now, don't get all up in arms about this. It was strongly suggested that I experiment, so I did. Oddly enough, it was quite fun, and I'm glad I did it. Of course, the real "fun" of it was the process itself; the evolution of the image from very basic mark-making. Turns out, in order to make a successful abstract, you really DO need to know how to draw. At least, you need to know the medium well enough to get the effects you desire. Making the forms fade, coalesce and turn while overlapping and ribboning away from one another was not as simple as it may look. This was a 3 hour session.

Of course, once I was done, my reaction was, "So?" It doesn't hold much meaning other than that of a technical exercise, which isn't too much different than, say, a nude figure study from life. Nevertheless, it is different in terms of my overall process in that I usually ascribe an image to an idea as opposed to the reverse. So what meaning(s) can I ascribe to this?

While still in the studio, I sat there with a Guinness in hand and just looked at this thing on the easel for a while. I turned it in all different directions. There was something, but I think the surface tricks were getting in the way. To be sure, I knew there were some frightening things, but I needed to look past the obvious. I took a crappy photo of it with my phone and brought it into Photoshop. There, I turned it, cropped it, blurred it, colored it, solarized it... all kinds of wacky things. After a few passes with some filters, I think I landed on something. It's bizarre, but I think it can gel with what I need to express in my MFA work.

We'll see. I'll keep you posted.

Group 1 AIB MFA Residency Summary - January, 2010

(Boston in January from The Buckminster Hotel, Kenmore Square)

The fact is, I entered the graduate program at AIB with no true expectations. This is not to say I was thinking the experience was going to be bad in hopes that it would be good, so I'd be happy in the end. No, this was not the case. Luckily, I was so out of my regular element, I had no idea what I was getting into - therefore, I had not formulated even an inkling of what I should expect. Truly, I was a naïf. And to be bluntly honest, I do not generally perceive myself as such, so this was a unique, not to mention genuine acknowledgement of my situation. It was this lack of the burden of expectancy that allowed me to approach the first residency at the Art Institute of Boston in a most pure way - that being one of complete objectivity. As grandiose as this may seem, one can see that it was a number of factors that organically mitigated the process. In other words: right place, right time.

Certainly, it was a rush. The sudden sweep into a 12 hour day, each one replete with canonical regimentation, definitely spun the heads of my fellow newbies and me (Group One students) around. Adhering to the bible that was our schedule packet mined one's personal stamina with its rigors - both intellectual and physical. In my estimation, it was exhilarating to be subjected to this total immersion. One could not help but ride the high of artistic endorphins released by such sudden and demanding activity. I suppose it was noticeable in me, as a Group Five (graduating) student warned me that sometime between Days 3 and 5 I would wipe out under the interminable weight of this big, beautiful wave. Forewarned, but heedless, I later blessed her accuracy (with a smile, I might add).

Speaking of assistance from my fellow students... Upon hanging my work in my assigned space, I was immediately aware of the consistently raised eyebrows of individuals passing by. Not a few seasoned students warned me that my depiction of the female form made me a target for the faculty to riddle with all kinds of critical darts. I came to understand that this was exacerbated by the fact that I was a representational realist, male and white. All told, this spelled big trouble for the little minnow stuck in his little current, surrounded by expert-class anglers.

Initially, I was pressed by more students in my crit group than faculty. I knew from general impressions and inside info who the more "hardcore crit" faculty members were (in other words, the people who can make you cry), and the nature of my early crits was merely due to a luck of the draw. At this time, I was unsure of where people were coming from, speaking of the "male gaze" and "gender mythologies." Regardless, I wasn't very defensive, taking in what the consistent reactions were and what kinds of opinions my work generated. One thing that did validate twenty-plus years of painting was the fact that, to a person (faculty and students), I was identified as a master oil painter whose skill was at least equivalent to not a few big names in the representational art world. Yes, that made me feel good, but as I came to realize, that is all that I had. That's nowhere near enough. Not for the program, and not for me, either.

My experience with Critical Theory 1 needs to be addressed at this point. The incomparable Stuart Steck, the professor of this class, happens to be my Advisor - a position of great importance in this program. He was a very unassuming Morpheus to my Neo, as it turns out (I had to kind of explain this allegory to him later - his "Matrix" recall was a tad fuzzy. He did agree with me, though.). In class, after the traditional beat-down of Bouguereau as the straw man for postmodernist thought, I began to see what I'd been missing as Stuart continued from there. I took the red pill. It was a big moment of clarity - one of which ran the gamut of emotions -- right there in class, day two of Crit Theory 1! When he stated that "culture builds filters at levels specific to the individual" as a way to explain/expound upon the heady "no act of the personal is truly personal," I got it. It was awful and totally liberating all at once. I was exhilarated to actually have a context for art in its evolution from the neoclassical through to postmodern/contemporary, but at the same time, I was almost in tears: I had not only missed out by failing to include such rich and relevant discourse in my work - I did not, at that moment, have a clue as to how to begin this task.

I knew now that my work was, when put up against 150 years of art since the Paris Salons, bereft of salient content. In a meeting with Stewart as my Advisor, I mentioned that I was now looking at my work through a sudden filter of nostalgia, knowing I could (and would) never work that way again. I think he found that terribly appealing, and I know he was happy about it - not in a mean way - just happy that he got through to me.

The crits, at this point, became very interesting, for my sudden "liberation" and awareness left me totally and utterly guileless with respect to defending my work as it now stood. I think it became a little difficult to crit my work for some people at this point. It became clear that I wasn't going to defend my choices, for I knew they were empty and indefensible. Ripping me apart would have been pointless. Some particular phrases and ideas became watchwords. "Smarter not harder" was one (despite the overused corporate connotations), the directive being: focus on the ideas and concepts with new reflectivity in mind, never mind the technique - it can take care of itself. Then came the notion that representational painting is - now - a signifier unto itself; it is self-referential. The languages of representation have changed, perhaps even become staid and bankrupt of power. The question kept rising in my mind: How might it be approached afresh?

Some rather serendipitous events gave this new tack some fresh wind. The first guest speaker happened to be Vincent Desiderio. Rather coincidental. I was fresh from seeing his Works on Paper at Marlborough (57th St.), and had seen the BIG show at Marlborough Chelsea at the very end of '08. His work has always been challenging, yet somehow irresistible to me. His writings were so abstruse as to be impenetrable; I could not negotiate his hyperintellectualism to save my life. But, there he was, moving through an abridged (still impressive) catalogue of his work, speaking with great authority and intellect, yet in a more layman-esque prose. His representational work, whose narratives seem so impermeable on the surface, is encoded from deep within, with the application of technique itself enforcing a hidden dialectic between the viewer and the artist. Indeed, that was something unknown to me as an existing device until this revelation. It is no mere sleight of hand, though. This sort of thing requires pointed and extensive research. Desiderio pulls it off with aplomb, since he is a veritable compendium of erudition and scholarship. At the end, I was far more informed about the capabilities of representationalism in a contemporary context. And I understood there is a LOT of work involved in getting to a place where I am capable enough to even begin to encode my paintings in such a way. Even his writing is becoming clearer to me.

But - beauty is not enough. It won't save the world, and it won't save painting. Not by itself. Sure, I'm fortunate enough to have a command of how to make things beautiful with slippery pigmented oil, and there is a value to that. It is mainly commercial value, mind. In an art historical context, it does little if nothing at all.

What is real desire - desire for beauty, desire for content, desire for painting (!) - and where does it lie? Through layered subtexts, there needs to be a mediation of the dialogue I wish to occur between the subject and the audience - whether it's about beauty or that the beauty of the execution points out other issues perhaps not so beautiful. My approach must have a more informed intentionality. Once I put brush to canvas again, it will. I can't NOT do it, now. It's like that old pictorial illusion of the two profiled silhouettes. Once you see that the negative space is the silhouette of a chalice, you can't un-see it. But this is just a vision of the Grail. Now begins the quest.

Artists online:

Kurt Kauper

Vincent Desiderio

Gerhard Richter

Ellen Harvey

Richard Estes

John William Waterhouse

Mark Tansey (excerpt on Artchive)

Books And Articles:

The Picture in Question: Mark Tansey and the Ends of Representation - Mark C. Taylor

Vitamin P: New Perspectives in Painting - Barry Schwabsky

Painting People: Figure Painting Today - Charlotte Mullins

Endgame: Reference and Simulation in Recent Painting and Sculpture - ICA

Vincent Desiderio: Paintings 1975-2005 - Bradway/Archer, eds.

The Expanding Discourse: Feminism and Art History - Broude/Garrard

The Endgame of Postmodernism - Matthew Nash (link)

Defining a New Paradigm

In the words of the true and faithful Samwise Gamgee, "Well, I'm back."

If you were wondering (all two or three of you - and you probably weren't because you know me well enough personally), I did get into the Master of Fine Arts program at Art Institute Boston. It is a low-residency program - which means - I attend 10 days in January and June each year for two years, with a 5th residency at the end to deliver and defend my thesis. During the rest of the year, I am assigned an Advisor and a Mentor, with the former acting as a guide for my research work and the latter as a guide to my artwork. It's actually a little more esoteric than this, but I'm going for a general description.

I have been home one week since the end of my January residency, and suffice to say, I am a changed artist. It is not yet clear how this change will affect my work, but there is no doubt that there will be some major shifts in the old paradigms.

In fact, one of my tasks is to give a summary of that very experience as my first piece of writing, so I won't give away all that much with this post. Consider it a preamble of sorts. It is more than worth mentioning at the outset here that I have encountered the most intelligent and focused people I've ever seen in such a large group. I speak not only of the incredible faculty, but the student body (about 85 +/- groups 1 through 5) as well. Also, I have made fast friends with all in my group. We all have. It's quite the bonding experience, when we're pinned like a herd of jacklit deer as the klieg lights of Critical Theory are suddenly turned on us en masse. We did indeed have to decompress in the evenings at various establishments in the Kenmore area, such as - Eastern Standard, The Lower Depths, Foundations, and of course, the venerable Cornwall's. More on this later.

Noteworthy, too, is the fact that I am back at MECA, teaching the Majors Studio in Illustration, as well as a CE course in oil painting. I still very much enjoy both, and am amused by my being in front of the class again, just when I was getting used to being in the class. It's a great contrast, and such lessons are not lost on me (not completely, anyway).

This blog, which has been on the outs of late, will begin its own new paradigm, documenting my current practice. This, of course, refers to my course of study and practical applications of such in my artwork while I move through this excellent MFA program. It should be quite a ride.

Video Interview at Rabelais for Portland Food Heads

Erik Neilson has a Q&A video series called "Vidappetit," which he posts to his Portland Food Heads blog.

Check out the interview - HERE

If you like this sort of thing...

...read on. It's my MFA statement of intent. I've omitted the institution's name, in case someone thinks it should be confidential:

Artist's Statement of Intent

Robert M. Sullivan

September, 2009

When John Singer Sargent's teacher, Carolus-Duran, invoked the cardinal rules of painting to his students with a cry of "Velazquez, Velazquez, Velazquez!" - he was essentially exhorting them to follow "tradition, tradition, tradition." His reasons for such an emboldened and singular proclamation follows the logic of all realist pedagoguery that has existed in the art world: A successful approach containing specific techniques regarding drawing and painting has existed since the time of Giorgione (at least). Therefore, the teaching should follow that one should learn those techniques prior to any "reinvention" of said approach.

Since that time, as art history clearly shows, the classical approaches have not only been reinvented, the traditions themselves have been largely eschewed; cast aside for the sake of a more contemporary, "relevant" context. Yet, the tradition still lives on - however, in a much less catholic atmosphere. Nevertheless, I have been schooled in these painting traditions, and they are my province.

That I am a skilled representational realist painter inexorably ties me to the millstone of anachronism as popularized in the contemporary art world. In the review columns, critical theory runs on autopilot in this regard, deigning such skill sets as superfluous and facile, having nothing new to offer the art world, let alone affect any cultural change or interest. And ultimately, the question gets proposed: "Is representational painting dead?" And I have to assess my relevance as an artist in such a genre, not to mention the relevance of the genre itself.

But, what gives rise to this rather moribund query? Well, before any attempt at fully answering that question is made, other questions must be proposed: "Is photography dead? Is the written word dead? Is sculpture dead?" Or, are these questions sort of ludicrous? Of course they are. None of these things, just because they are "old" (two centuries, 4000 BC and 20,000 BC, respectively) requires that they are inapplicable to 21st-Century thinking. It is notable that no one is asking questions about these subjects with the same sort of vociferousness as regards representational painting. The proclamation of the imminent "death" of any established art form is a foolish venture. The relevance of art is subject to larger cultural shifts, borne on the shifting currents of broad society and not a closed coterie of critical theorists.

That said, my personal take on how my art is viewed has shifted, as well. No longer am I angry or dismissive of the modern art scene at large, with its intent to pigeonhole me into a world of kitsch and sidewalk festivals. Having been not only trained in classical traditions, I also had the benefit of training in classic illustration tradition, borne from the same wellspring as 19th Century French atelier traditions, but with a decidedly American twist, thanks to Howard Pyle and those who followed after. So, when the Norman Rockwell retrospective was shown at the bastion of all things contemporary in art - the Guggenheim - in late 2001, and brought in the biggest crowd (not to mention a box office record) to date in that institution, I felt completely validated. Someone who was so completely vilified by the contemporary art scene as a practitioner of "bad art" was suddenly embraced into one of its most sacred temples. The lesson learned is that I need not try to impress any particular faction with my art; there should be no concern with these kinds of thoughts, and they should be removed from my process.

So, I am a traditionalist living in contemporary times - therefore - I can reflect both of those things... and why not? That is the journey of the representational painter, anyway. Being inundated with all things contemporary - be it technology, media, or cultural environments - cannot be avoided completely. So, it comes out in the work in some way, perhaps not discernible, perhaps bold and confrontational, but it will be in there. We record, we reflect, we invent, we narrate. The "soul" of any artist is their work, and one's soul reflects one's experiences. I do not recall whether or not I've had a past life, so I cannot draw experience from that. No, I live in 21st Century America, and my art will reflect that when I am long gone, and my work remains.

The whole argument of "old" and "new" is also irrelevant, in my estimation. Anything new is just an interesting amalgam of the old. My own brand of art stems from old and new: The 19th Century academics; Sargent; the Hudson River School; the Golden Age illustrators; the Wyeths; Edward Hopper and Rockwell Kent; fantasy art such as Frank Frazetta; comic art such as John Buscema and Frank Miller; and new realists Vincent Desiderio, Bo Bartlett, Alyssa Monks and Tula Telfair, to name a few. Looking at all those names and eras combines into an artistic soup that is certainly new. Granted, there are a lot of artists who take their cues from what's listed here, but not from all of it - and, if so - certainly not the way I have done it. Plus, if all these are added up against my personal, contemporary experiences, then we have something familiar and expressive enough to draw an audience into the experience without the oftentimes impregnable barriers of requisite critical thinking that pervades todays Post-postmodernist era.

But, such as it is with my artistic journey, it is decidedly incomplete. There are many artists of like and unlike mind: peers and contemporaries who participate in the world of art at this time whose experiences are no less relevant than my own. And there are teachers whose deep scholarly examinations provide a plenitude of information reckoning art in this time and in times past. Were I to invest in the time to learn from these folk, who are indeed kin to me within the world of art, it would allow me to move into the next phase of my journey. What that is is unclear, but I do know that the Master of Fine Arts program at the [name omitted for confidentiality] can provide that opportunity for me to make that investment.

In my visit to an in-residency open house at [XYZ U.], I was more than impressed at the level of focus and commitment of not only the faculty, but the students as well. It touched off a realization of the fact that the kind of detailed exploration into looking at one's own work (not to mention others') with a group of one's contemporaries is more than critical to the next stage of artistic development. It may be trite, but it holds true that one cannot artistically grow and mature in a vacuum. My art is not merely part of my livelihood, it is who I am as a person. It needs to grow right along with me. An MFA at [XYZ U.] would facilitate that growth, and I am willing to accept the school's excellent curriculum as my guide, should I be accepted into the program.

How do people keep up with this stuff?

(please check out the Eli Phant and Rabelais sites - both places are very much worth a visit)

I don't know about you, but as you can see from the above invitations, I've been busy. Busy enough not to be able to post any of this stuff to the blog. I suppose this is very bad of me and not at all business savvy, but, man, there just wasn't any TIME. I had a hard enough go of it just finding time to add this stuff to the robsullivanart.com website, which, to me is a little more important, as it showcases my work, and not my written diatribes.

So, yeah, I was right out straight with these shows. I am happy to say that they were both successful in terms of my expectations. A lot of good people got a lot of good artwork for not a lot of money, and that's totally cool. Plus the food, the drink, and the excellent conversations with new people was worth doing this alone.

Just prior to the Rabelais opening, I was really spreading it thin. My post as adjunct faculty at Maine College of Art was solidified, and a syllabus had to be written, plus my MFA application had to be made, and, of course, the paintings had to be done for the show a week before, since a family vacation was planned for that last week in August. Somehow, I managed to do all those things. I will be the first to admit that I have poor skills when it comes to this level of multitasking, but when the pressure is on, it gets done somehow.

So, right after a wonderfully relaxing vacation, totally unplugged from the world out on an island in the middle of Casco Bay, it was suddenly not summer anymore. The kids went back to school and I went back into the front of the classroom at MECA. I am teaching the juniors (and a few seniors) in the illustration department, and the course is all about the narrative in illustration. Lots of stories, lots of preliminary work, lots of good stuff is already happening. But, man, was THAT sudden!

And tomorrow, I start my Continuing Ed @ MECA class of outdoor painting - which we will take indoors in a few weeks, taking a study from the outdoor session and making it into a "studio work." I've taught the same class at Sanctuary a few years ago, and got good results.

Maybe I will blog this stuff, maybe I won't have enough energy. I don't know right now. I'll give it a shot. But I think the world would rather see some new paintings from me than read stuff. Nevertheless, Studio Berehaven has served me well this spring and summer- it was more like a second home to me, I was there so often - and any new and excellent stuff that comes out of there will make it onto this blog at some point in time.

PS - Both these shows are still up if you want to see them in person! But, the Eli Phant show may come down soon, and work was taken that was sold. Nevertheless, the store is worth a visit, like I said. And there are PRINTS there! Yes! Also, the work at Rabelais is going fast! Two works were sold to a buyer from San Jose, sight unseen!