indie
17 Nov 2005, 02:06 AM
Today, as I was browsing the galleries and exhibits at the Museum of Northern AZ, I was struck by a thought regarding artists' signatures on their paintings.
But first some details:
This particular museum's layout is such that one can browse, in a rectangular fashion of sort, various rooms and exhibits that are set around an outdoor courtyard. Picture a square within a square: the rooms transistion from one to another around an outdoor courtyard. The time of day was just before noon.
The gallery that hosted this exhibition of paintings was in one of the "corners" of this square encasing another (outdoor courtyard) square. In other words, when walking down the hallway, the visible and tangible transistion from the hallway to the room just happened to be the painting itself.
From afar, this painting was most intriguing. At a distance, it encapsulated everything a painting should: viewing it from the distanced perspective down the long corridor of a hallway, it was almost a quantum-leap into another realm. Indeed, the painting was so magnanimous that one need to literally "step back" in order to comprehend the full perspective.
It was an abstractish-type painting, of red-canyon walls reflected by pure greenish-blue water. This was discernable only from afar; up close, it appeared as a random (and large) brush-stroke of colors. So in the hallway, approximately 20-30 feet away from the painting itself, I was captivated. It was almost as though this painting had been specially chosen to be placed in this particular space as viewable from the hallway corridor.
And only up-close was the artist's signature discernable.
So it made me think. . . relative to the size of the painting, how much was this artist begging to be noticed? To shout out, in some fashion, her ability to capture essence? True artists supposedly are driven by a need outside their sense of "self" to create. So why the signature? Her quoted comment on the painting was that she knew it was finished "intuitively and intellectually" . . . that not another brush-stroke need be added.
So what of the signature? What of any artist's signature? Was her assertion that the painting was "finished" after she'd signed it or before? Why do artists sign their paintings at all? How can any artist truly be satisfied enough with their work to "sign" it?
I mention this, in part, because one of the transistional exhibits was of pre-historic rock writing.
BTW, the artist was Joella Jean Mahoney (http://www.redstonegallery.com/ImagesJoTYR/JoTYR_index.htm); her work is probably best classified as "abstract" and "larger than life." And (sorry) I could not find a link to the particular painting that captivated me so.
The environment in which one views her work becomes almost as important as the work itself. This seems to have some mysterious connection (in my mind, at least) with the fact that her "modern" paintings just happened to be surrounded by exhibits capturing pre-historic rock-etchings and artefacts. . .
So many tangents. I'm just rambly now. :)
But first some details:
This particular museum's layout is such that one can browse, in a rectangular fashion of sort, various rooms and exhibits that are set around an outdoor courtyard. Picture a square within a square: the rooms transistion from one to another around an outdoor courtyard. The time of day was just before noon.
The gallery that hosted this exhibition of paintings was in one of the "corners" of this square encasing another (outdoor courtyard) square. In other words, when walking down the hallway, the visible and tangible transistion from the hallway to the room just happened to be the painting itself.
From afar, this painting was most intriguing. At a distance, it encapsulated everything a painting should: viewing it from the distanced perspective down the long corridor of a hallway, it was almost a quantum-leap into another realm. Indeed, the painting was so magnanimous that one need to literally "step back" in order to comprehend the full perspective.
It was an abstractish-type painting, of red-canyon walls reflected by pure greenish-blue water. This was discernable only from afar; up close, it appeared as a random (and large) brush-stroke of colors. So in the hallway, approximately 20-30 feet away from the painting itself, I was captivated. It was almost as though this painting had been specially chosen to be placed in this particular space as viewable from the hallway corridor.
And only up-close was the artist's signature discernable.
So it made me think. . . relative to the size of the painting, how much was this artist begging to be noticed? To shout out, in some fashion, her ability to capture essence? True artists supposedly are driven by a need outside their sense of "self" to create. So why the signature? Her quoted comment on the painting was that she knew it was finished "intuitively and intellectually" . . . that not another brush-stroke need be added.
So what of the signature? What of any artist's signature? Was her assertion that the painting was "finished" after she'd signed it or before? Why do artists sign their paintings at all? How can any artist truly be satisfied enough with their work to "sign" it?
I mention this, in part, because one of the transistional exhibits was of pre-historic rock writing.
BTW, the artist was Joella Jean Mahoney (http://www.redstonegallery.com/ImagesJoTYR/JoTYR_index.htm); her work is probably best classified as "abstract" and "larger than life." And (sorry) I could not find a link to the particular painting that captivated me so.
The environment in which one views her work becomes almost as important as the work itself. This seems to have some mysterious connection (in my mind, at least) with the fact that her "modern" paintings just happened to be surrounded by exhibits capturing pre-historic rock-etchings and artefacts. . .
So many tangents. I'm just rambly now. :)