I have been thinking about why I am working on this series about "the visit." Above is the beginning of numbers three and four. A visit requires planning, there are economic considerations, often it means more with time and space. A visit is constructed and has a precarious set of circumstances within. Sometimes after a visit I wish I said more or less, and many times this seemingly meaningless event takes an unexpected or important turn. There is a vulnerability, an area of feeling opened. These are all things that are true of the painting process, as well as a curious need for human contact. Why do we do it? I have thought a lot about a comment from a colleague whom I respect about my figures looking wooden. This has made me think of the people who first turned me on to painting, particularly Max Beckmann. His woodcuts and paintings are only separated by color. Stiff celebrations of drawing and composition, layers of hands like limbs. Wood has a life after death that is intriguing to me. There is a static breath in these wooden figures that I enjoy. They are easier to understand than actual people. After all, movement can be implied in a figural painting, but we know they are still.
In regards to the paint itself, I am enjoying the increase in awkwardness, and the decision to be less decisive in areas. I don't want to paint pretty things, or things that entirely make sense, that would be really abstract. These paintings are of the same subject, my ninety year old Grandmother-in-law. In these two, a man from next door who I have always admired named Ryokusan (6th son) is the guest. As is usually the case, she defers to him being the host, everything is for his comfort, and this is why she sits lower in the paintings, I think she would feel awkward about the reverse.
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