Deluxe Black Heart

23 08 2010

Thousands of hearts once beat in these rooms on the south side of Lansing, Michigan. Some gave out here. Some were stopped by force. It was a place where many in their loneliness and despair heard their hearts beating over the buzz, squeals, chatter and swoosh of the traffic on the interstate just outside the door.

A view of the Deluxe Inn, © Michael Maurer Smith 2010

In its last days, the place was called the Deluxe Inn, but it was not Deluxe—that throwback name from a bygone era of big, over-chromed Olds, Chevys and Buicks.  From its beginning this was cheap place and over the years it had devolved through various owners and chains. Its last claim to respectability was when it bore the sign of a Motel 6. In the end it was just another “no tell motel,” a cheap and convenient spot for hooker’s and a place to score whatever substance might promise a quick escape from reality. It became a place of murders, fights, prostitution, break ups, breakdowns, and suicides.

Deluxe Inn, detail, © Michael Maurer Smith 2010

Finally, the self-selected good citizens; the police, city council and the very structure itself got tired of it all and said, “enough. It’s over.”

The Inn was boarded up and slated for demolition and the Ingham county Land Bank, which now held the property, decided to give the place a special send-off. They decided Lansing need an infusion of Art. So 20 or so graffiti artists were invited to paint what would be the Deluxe Inn’s death mask—its final makeover.

I found the graffiti interesting, but not unlike the graffiti found in almost any city. It was mostly predictable repetitions of common themes and characters. However, there was a difference. The graffiti here was done as a kind of funeral service. It was sanctioned and encouraged. It was not an act of defiance but rather one of homage and respect.

As I explored the grounds, I realized that no single photograph of these graffiti paintings would capture what I was feeling. Each door had been bolted shut from the outside as if to keep the ghosts in their respective rooms. It was eerie.

I began taking pictures of details, of what were like paintings within paintings with no clear idea of what I might do with them. Then I came upon a door with the painting of a heart. This black heart with its cracked paint had a powerful impact on me—I immediately thought of the many hearts that once beat in these rooms and I felt as if these rooms were now tombs—that I was walking in a kind of archaeological dig.

The result is Deluxe_Heart_001. This photomontage captures some of what I felt that day. There are more to come.

Deluxe_Heart_001, © Michael Maurer Smith 2010

© Michael Maurer Smith 2010

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On the Value of Painting

28 07 2010

In her essay, Creatives at a Crossroads, which appeared in the 27 July 2010 edition of the Huffington Post, writer Janelle Brown relates how the internet has glutted the creative market with work which is available free or at ridiculously low prices. The overall effect has been to make it nearly impossible for artists to survive from their art alone, no matter how good they may be. This has been most devastating for writers, photographers and musicians, whose work depends upon reproduction for its use and dissemination.

What this implies is an increased value of the hand-made work of art. As a painter I appreciate this.

Paintings, specifically those done by hand by an artist, using actual paint upon a physical surface, are unique in their singularity. They may be photographed, digitized and turned into representations however the original painting remains a single physical object—an original. Therein lies its value—a potentially a high value.

Consequently the reality of painting as a life choice, act and object is increasingly meaningful, valuable and important in a world that is becoming ever more digital and virtual.

© 2010 Michael Maurer Smith





The Artist’s Choice

19 07 2010

I recently heard of an artist who was asked why he painted abstract (non-representational) paintings. He answered “it is because I want to make something entirely new.” I share his sentiment. Painting in the abstract usually results in something not seen before—a new creation.

Metatopograph 01_2010, acrylic on canvas, 10" x 16", by Michael Maurer Smith

Conversely, painting in a representational manner forces cognitive dissonance upon the artist—the conflict and interplay of the impulses of creative expression and the demands of story-telling and narrative.  Of course painting abstractly is the representation of feelings and values and is therefore as “realistic” and “representational” as any other form of painting.

However, it is the representational artist who must resort to using those techniques necessary to render “appearances” that are recognizable as things, such as a dog, a tree, or a mountain. This results in a picture that unavoidably becomes a story about something other than itself. It divides the attention of the artist, and the viewer, between that which is represented or suggested, and the actuality of the painting as its own subject and meaning.

Of course the wholly abstract picture—without a hint of representation and realism—is also more than it appears. It is unavoidably a commentary on past and current aesthetic theory and a response to the culture in which it was created. Minimalism and Abstract Expressionism, for example, are both genres of abstract art which position themselves in the story of art history.

Art, and specifically painting, is inclusive of both the abstract and representational. It cannot be otherwise since all painting is to some degree abstract. Rendering the illusion of the observed world on a flat surface requires selectivity/abstraction—what to include and what to leave out. Likewise, it requires the use of perspective which demands recording size relationships in a manner that fools the eye into believing what it sees. We know the rails of the railroad track do not actually converge in the distance but they must in a picture, if it is to be convincing and appear realistic.

The issue is not whether the wholly abstract painting is a more pure form of painting. It is one of purpose. If the artist wants the meaning of her or his painting to inhere in itself and its making, then a decidedly abstract approach will better accomplish this. However, if the artist wants to tell a story using visual aid (painting) then he or she must communicate using culturally shared symbols and shapes—realistic appearing images germane to the story being presented—images that the intended audience will recognize.

What it comes down to is the choice of the artist to be a creator of new expressions and forms or an interpreter and story teller. Each approach is valid and valuable and no artist is exclusively one or the other. It’s more of where an artist falls on the continuum.

I prefer to paint as an abstractionist because the act of painting—the process and journey—is one of total expressive freedom and discovery. I like the feeling of aliveness and excitement as I face a blank canvas without knowing where the journey will take me.





Seeing Your Painting

26 05 2010

When I’m painting what I’m doing isn’t always apparent to me. In fact it may be years or even decades before I recognize what I’ve really painted. Even then I’m not sure. I suspect this is so for most painters.   

Peach Tree Morning 1, 24" x 24", Michael Maurer Smith

   

I am now 60 and have been painting since I was a boy. My formal art education came during the early seventies, just after my discharge from the Marine Corps. My goal had always been to be artist.   

As an Art Education major, I took classes in ceramics, jewelry, painting, drawing, printmaking, teaching methodology and art history. For my teaching minor I chose psychology. In fact it became my second major.  Later I would do my Masters degree in Graphic Design. The result was a good grounding in Art, Design and the Social Sciences, seasoned by my previous experiences in the Marine Corps.   

Now I look at the work I’ve done over the past 30 years and often see things in it for the first time.   

My principal mediums are painting and photography. I find them to be complimentary. Photography lets me capture and express what I see while painting lets me manifest that which I feel and see in my mind’s eye. Both practices sharpen my awareness and observational skill.   

The painter constructs, the photographer discloses. Susan Sontag   

In my paintings it is apparent I have the sensibility of the landscapist even though I rarely paint naturalistic interpretations. This is by choice. I draw proficiently and I can paint form convincingly. I simply prefer to paint what are commonly called “abstracts.” Photography satisfies my needs for representation, replication and documentation.   

The very physicality of paint and its handling requires the artist to be active and participatory—to manifest the image from inside themselves into a real object outside themselves, something that other people can see. Photography by comparison is a more passive activity. It depends on things outside the photographer that can be photographed—appropriated for the purposes of expression and interpretation.   

My painting is sometimes like writing a note—the quick reminder of something I’ve seen or felt. Sometimes it flows as a stream of consciousness—intuitive, compelled and direct. At other times it is measured, controlled and calculated. Yet almost always the sense of landscape is apparent. The geometric forms allude to the imposition of human concepts of order and culture. The colors suggest atmosphere and temperature and the amorphous shapes and textures suggest continents, valleys, mountains, boulders or forests. The overlapping and juxtaposition of forms creates the sense of space, movement and time.   

I want my pictures to be things. I want them to be made up of marks that are physically and individually self-sufficient. Howard Hodgkin   

I did not set out to be a painter of landscapes—abstract landscapes of my inner visions—metatopographs (a term I coined). I became one by listening to my inner voice and what my paintings asked me to do.   

What does your artwork tell you? What do you discover when you look at the work you’ve done over the past year, decade or several decades? What does it ask you to do?   

© 2010 Michael Maurer Smith