Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Sculpture


I try to blend art, nature, and science and am sometimes slightly successful.  But this, this, is the real deal. 





I've been thinking a lot about sculpture lately--how I would sculpt, what materials I would use--and it's tricky for me.   Like my paintings, I would want my 3D work to have a deeper narrative that's not always apparent at first.

This ant colony "sculpture" is exactly what I want my 3D art to be.  It's a product of interdisciplinary exploration.  It's abstracted, but upon closer examination, completely honest.  It's beautiful, but terrifying in reality.  And, just like my paintings, it highlights the spirit of discovery.

So, now that I'm thoroughly inspired, time to think of my own sculptural work.  My brain twists and strains for stability in such a boundless medium.

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

Thanks again familyguiding.com !

This month topic for www.familyguiding.com was "Gratitude for Grandparents".  Luckily for me, as a contributor for their arts page, my grandmother was a painter, and a very good one.

Around the age of 50, when she began her undergrad education, she picked up painting and loved it.  Now, my parents house is filled with Ruth Papin paintings that show the 30 year transition from realistic still-life vases, to thick impressionistic sun-lit gardens, and finally, lively, raw abstract paintings opening up fluctuating emotion as it is translated through oil paint.  Toward the end, the image mattered less than the act.

Here's the article from www.familyguiding.com :

Arts – Memories of Grandma at 70 Miles Per Hour

Last month, I embarked on a 10-day long road trip from Washington D.C. to Tahoe, California. My sister and her fiance were moving from East to West coast, and my boyfriend and I decided that helping to drive was a great excuse to escape the horizonless confines of New York City.
Moving 70 miles an hour across the country, my eyes tried to absorb every geographic change, from the dead and heavy 100 degree plains, to the commanding puffed chest of the rockies. We felt the mass of being circled by the earths edge, and the vulnerability of seeing canyon walls pinch the clouds above our car.
On the third day of our trip, my grandmother passed away. She, my mother, and I all paint and I have, and still use, some of her art supplies. I’ve learned about her through seeing the tools she used to interpret the world. Lots of blue and green paint, stiff wide brushes, and a thickening medium. I oddly feel like an extension of her work by using the materials she used. Growing up with her paintings on the wall, I knew that our personalities were different, that we didn’t always see eye-to-eye, but we somehow possessed the same hobby −the same love of color and nature.
Do we all see the world the same? We definitely don’t recount the world the same. Does my body become euphoric when I see bright green because I’m from a city where concrete grey is the dominant shade? Or, is it something inherent in the mechanics of my vision and mind? Am I like my grandmother more than I like to think I am?
Scrape away the generational gap, forget the petty judgements that last beyond rough holiday dinners, and family members offer us answers to questions about our being that even close friends can’t. I wonder now if she painted like I paint, if her methods were like mine, and if she would see and feel the same impact from a certain pale green succulent in Utah that I did. And then, if she’d start to mimic it in her art like I have.
With air beating against my ears, the desert that is so absent from my daily life and thoughts, became all too present after the first hundred long, empty miles. And, driving toward a city at night shining like christmas lights tangled on the horizon, my sister and I shared stories. We share a family, we share a history, and we share DNA−that importance can’t be understated. The people that you can learn the most from, and who can learn the most from you, are family members. Open up, be forgiving, and listen hard−you’re closer than you might realize.