process to final pt.2

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process to final pt.2
2007-03-11 7:52AM / 標準BLOG / 會員可以看

okey dokey- a few entries back i posted a start of a piece, just experimental and "free" in that i had no expectations or real plans for it. i have been working on it and trying to document it as best as i could for the blog. you'll have to forgive me as sometimes i get carried away and forget to document certain things. hopefully you can piece it together, i'll try my best to help along the way.

this is one of the desks in which i work on in the studio- it's not mine, but i try my best to clean up after.

i forgot to document the masking and the drawing on top, but i basically just masked off the top and drew in pencil, the image i wanted to show through after a coat of paint/gesso. this is the image after i had cut the masking off. i just recently bought a swivel knife and it's helped to make this kind of process easier.

this is the masked part partially peeled off after the coat of gesso. i used some ink in the wash too. before the wash i sprayed the masked part with some workable fixative to encourage adhesion while i did the wash.

stepping back to see the whole image after the peeling of the mask. it's somewhat of a tedious process and i don't know if i'd do it regularly, but it sure is rewarding in its process, (calming)- and in its unveiling.

you can see some fraying and uneveness here, but i guess it's what comes with using these materials. sometimes it can look kind of nice.

this is a detail of the circles i drew floating around the man in the boat.

i accidentally forgot to document the steps up to this stage, but i basically just painted the boy. i want to find a way of painting that is not so "realistic" yet conveys realism, if that is at all possible. stylistically it's kind of driving me nuts, but you know- all in all- very fun and exciting.

i put a gradually thinning wash on top of the boy. he is supposed to look "revealed", like a few other elements in the painting.

sometimes it's really hard to know when to stop and to be honest, i kind of feel that i have overworked this piece a little. i could be wrong, but i'm going to give it some space and then see if i can salvage it. if not- we'll just be moving right along and hopefully i can learn from my mistakes.

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i was born in indonesia. ...
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i was born in indonesia.
in 1989, my parents brought me to canada.

soyez amoureuses, vous serez heureuse.
d'où venons-nous? qui sommes-nous? où allons-nous?

I stopped and turned to look behind me. The slope twisted palely down toward the town like the tracks of some gigantic insect. I looked up at the sky then, under the moonlight, and glanced at my palm. With a rush of understanding I knew this wasn’t my hand anymore. I can’t explain it. But at a glance I knew. My hand was no longer my hand, my legs no longer my legs.

Bathed in the pallid moonlight, my body, like some plaster puppet, had lost all living warmth. As if a voodoo magician had put a spell on me, blowing my transient life into this lump of clay. The spark of life had vanished. My real life had fallen asleep somewhere, and a faceless someone was stuffing it in a suitcase, about to leave.

An awful chill swept through me and I felt choked. Someone had rearranged my cells, untied the threads that held my mind together. I couldn’t think straight. All I was able to do was retreat as fast as I could to my usual place of refuge. I took a huge breath, sinking in the sea of consciousness to the very bottom. Pushing aside the heavy water I plunged down quickly and grabbed a huge rock there with both arms. The water crushed my eardrums. I squeezed my eyes tightly closed, held my breath, resisting. Once I made up my mind, it wasn’t that difficult. I grew used to it all – the water pressure, the lack of air, the freezing darkness, the signals the chaos emitted. It was something I’d mastered again and again as a child.

Time reversed itself, looped back, collapsed, reordered itself. The worlds stretched out endlessly – and yet was defined and limited. Sharp images – just the images alone—passed down dark corridors, like jellyfish, like souls adrift. But I steeled myself not to look at them. If I acknowledged them, even a little they would envelop themselves in meaning. Meaning was fixed to the temporal, and the temporal was trying to force me to rise to the surface. I shut my mind tight to it all, waiting for the procession to pass.

How long I remained that way, I don’t know. When I bobbed to the surface, opened my eyes, and took a silent breath, the music had already stopped. The enigmatic performance was finished. I listened carefully. I couldn’t hear a thing. Absolutely nothing. No music, no people’s voices, no rustle of the wind.

-excerpt, Sputnik Sweetheart, Haruki Murakami

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職業: 畫家 , 作家 , 動物訓練師
性別: 男
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