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To All News Agencies: Obscene Auction Results Are Not Art News

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Dear News Agencies, Newspapers and News Outlets,

This morning's news is full of reports about the sale of a Picasso painting for $179 million dollars. These reports are dominating the "Arts" pages of the world's newspapers and the "Arts" verticals of many websites. However, this is not an "Arts" story: it is a Business story.

Art is about expression: it was never intended to be an asset class. In the future, please report stories like this one in the proper section, which is Business. That way, real arts stories including reviews, profiles of artists and information about exhibitions will take their proper place on the Arts page. Stories about high-end auction results can and should be reported alongside stories about commodities transactions, the sales of corporations and fluctuations in the values of precious metals and pork bellies.

Stop confusing the public, as they are beginning to believe that art is something that should be detested. Thank You.

Reflections on Five Years of Blogging for HuffingtonPost Arts and Culture

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The past few weeks have been busy, so an important career milestone almost slipped by with my having noticed: May 13th was my "Five Year Blogaversary." On that date in 2010 my first blog appeared in the HuffingtonPost. Titled "Picasso's Recession-Proof Harem" it appeared in the HuffPost "New York" section, as the Arts page hadn't opened yet. HuffingtonPost Arts--now HuffingtonPost Arts and Culture--officially opened a month later on June 15, 2010 under the direction of its amazing founding editor, artist Kimberly Brooks.

"Picasso's Recession-Proof Harem" was the first of a total of 259 blogs (this one included) that I have posted over a five year span. That means I have averaged just under a blog a week over time. When I started, I had absolutely no idea that I was capable of writing so much or so often. Blogging has been a huge surprise for me: it has been a life-transforming experience and a door-opener.

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Ex-voto painting by Matthew Couper
Matthew Couper's wonderful ex-voto painting, sent me to me as a gift early in 2011 does a great job of capturing the spirit world of my newfound avocation. Seated productively at my computer, a grid of red circuitry connects me to Mat Gleason--another early HuffPost Arts blogger--and also to an all-seeing eye and to a painting by my mentor, the late Nathan Oliveira. A head by Jean-Michel Basquiat--an art world frenemy from many years ago--rises over the floor tiles to my left while my journalistic patron saintess, Ariana Huffington, raises a knowing eyebrow to my right. Christ, crucified for art, adds an additional touch of religiosity and devotion to the tableau.

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At work in my office
Matthew's painting captures some of the imaginative and psychological forces that surround my interest in writing. A photo of me at work in my real office shows some interesting correspondences. I do spend a great deal of time leaning over my laptop, and a work by Nathan Oliveira--one of his "Tauromaquia" monotypes-- does hang in front of me as I write. A large model plane that I built and put too much work into to actually fly hangs over my head, a reminder of a hobby of the past. The energy that I used to put into making things seems to all go into writing these days. After recently re-organizing a bookshelf in my office to contain all of the catalogs and books I have contributed to over the past few years all the effort suddenly seemed tangible.

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Art catalogs and books
The following list contains some reflections, notes and comments from five years of blogging:

  A few things I have learned: Every word matters. You never know who is reading your blog. Every blog is important.

  My favorite quote from an artist:"The bravest thing in the world is to take a position without a pre-planned fall back." - Kyle Staver quoted in "A Brother Honored"

My favorite reader comment:"Read it. Excellent. Loved the Mao." Steve Martin responding to my blog "I Don't Deconstruct" on Twitter:

Blogging is different from other kinds of writing: You wake up in the morning, drink your coffee, and blog about what you want to write about in the way that you want to.

Blogging is truly social: I have never had so many friends. Oh, and a few frenemies too...

Something I need to do again: The "Paintings and Palettes" and "Studio Visit" blogs were a lot of work, but a lot of fun too. Click here for one...

A common misconception. I have written predominantly about representational painters. For that reason, some people have come to think that I don't care for other types of art. That isn't true. I write about representational painting because there is simply so much good work out there that hasn't gotten the attention that it deserves.

Humor is important: You can say things with humor that you can't say another other way. A list of my satires can be found at this link. 

I'm often asked if I have a favorite artist: Yes, it is the artist I am writing about at any given moment.

Artists need to have their stories told: Interviewing artists has allowed me let artists tell their stories. An index of the 75 interviews I have conducted since 2010 can be found on my personal website.
http://www.johnseed.com/p/interviews.html
Some Acknowledgements: I owe a great deal of thanks to Arianna Huffington, Kimberly Brooks, Kathleen Massara and Katherine Brooks (my editors). I owe even more to my wife Linda who has supported me, even when I have been writing when there is laundry that needs folding.

To my readers: Thank you for reading. There is a lot left to write... more blogs are on the way.

Poets and Artists: Heightened Perceptions

Siddharth Parasnis at Campton Gallery, SoHo

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Siddharth Parasnis

Siddharth Parasnis, whose work is on view at Campton Gallery through May 31, knows how to play geometry against instability. His architectural fantasies are improvised constructions built from planes of color that collide, overlap and coalesce into form. Parasnis works from his memories of places he has lived and traveled -- including India, Guatemala, Costa Rica and the Honduras -- but it isn't quite right to say that his work has a sense of place. It would be more accurate to say that he creates new places that demonstrate his affection for buildings and cultures that haven't lost their souls. The buildings he admires, and the buildings he paints, all bear traces of eccentricity and individual effort in their construction. In a way, Parasnis manages to say some things about people without including them in his pictures.

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Installation View

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Eternity #65, Oil on canvas, 55 x 45 inches

A native of India who currently works in the Bay Area, Parasnis has hybridized a wide range of influences from Indian miniature painting to the works of Richard Diebenkorn and other American abstract painters. He has a dynamic color sense that enlivens his compositions with unexpected juxtapositions and fresh harmonies. Underneath the slight leanings of his structures is an ease with perspective and a firm, athletic command of line.

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Eternity #53, Oil on canvas, 48 x 48 inches

Eternity #53, which balances representation and abstraction, features a brilliant blue door that is shaded by a slightly tilted corrugated roof. Surrounded by energetically carpentered planes and stripes that are streaked with underpainting, the door offers entry to an invented world that is both dilapidated and enticing. It seems to suggest a delightful state of deferred maintenance that goes with a slower pace of life and less concern for upkeep.

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Hometown #33, Oil on canvas, 36 x 36 inches

In Hometown #33 a symphony of jagged rooflines, tilting timber and unstable planes is bathed by a pale blue sky. It is a remarkably welcoming picture that makes you want to knock at the front door... if there is one. Inside you would likely find people who are have learned to improvise as the world around them shudders. Like the artist who invented the world that they live in, these imaginary people would likely offer you genuine warmth and conviviality.

Siddharth Parasnis: Solitude
May 9 - 31, 2015
Campton Gallery
451 West Broadway New York, New York 10012

Video Trailer for "Heightened Perceptions," curated by John Seed

John Seed: Interview for iARTistas

Melanie Daniel: 'Piecemaker' at Shulamit Gallery, Venice Beach

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The Long Way Home, 2014. Oil on canvas, 90 X 140 cm.

Canadian-born artist Melanie Daniel, whose work is currently on view at the Shulamit Gallery in Venice Beach, has lived in Israel for the past twenty years, including seven years in the mixed Arab-Jewish city of Jaffa. Her most recent paintings, which are vivid and thematically multivarious, are ruminations on personal identity that also reflect the hybrid culture and socio-political tensions of her adopted homeland. I recently interviewed Melanie Daniel to ask her about her background, her art and her sources of artistic inspiration.

John Seed Interviews Melanie Daniel:

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Melanie Daniel

Tell me about growing up in Canada and how it shaped you. 

I grew up in a city called Kelowna, British Columbia, nestled in a beautiful valley of forests, lakes and orchards. It is extremely arid and blazingly hot in the summer (up to 40 °C) and then winter inevitably comes and outdoor life continues on the ski slopes or in the gentler woods for snow-shoeing and tobogganing. My younger sister and brother and I were always outdoors in all seasons hunting for critters and frogs, fishing in the creeks or excavating clay from the cliffs behind our grandparents' house. We returned daily to our childhood haunts where only kids went, a parallel universe for us and our posse.

Those were different times, I realize now, and we were never supervised. Free to roam, we invented games, dares, bizarre rituals, and protocol for deep forest sport. The neighborhood creek, an all-season kid headquarters, also served as the final resting place for countless pet gerbils and lizards. At sunset, our deceased beloved pets were regularly sent downstream on blazing Viking ships improvised with popsicle sticks. On less somber occasions, being the avid pyromaniacs that we were, more than once we watched from a safe distance as the local firefighters extinguished the contraband Playboys that had started it all. My brother and his nervous friends would frequently incinerate their forbidden erotic stash once discovered by us, their older sisters, the killjoys.

Although we would have happily watched endless hours of TV sitcoms and cartoons, my parents were frequently heard saying, "shut that thing off and go outside", which we grudgingly did. But "outside" never disappointed. It was always a place to escape into and to be happy. The dead silence of snow, the smell of cut grass, the deafening drone of cicadas in afternoons and the melancholy return of autumn and the dreaded classroom - the reliable cycle of my formative years in Canada. It has never left me.

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Wrestling Bears, 2015. Oil on canvas, 99 X 101 cm.

Why did you move to Israel and what kind of culture shock did you feel? 

Love brought me to this place. Not adventure and certainly not ideology. In the early '90's I travelled through India and one day I set my eyes upon a curly haired, dark stranger. I was sure he was Italian. I knew nothing of Israelis. After a while, each returned to his respective country and only many months later did we commence a slow correspondence through posted letters. Email was not yet widely available. Rather impulsively, I dropped my final year of university studies in history and philosophy and boarded a plane for Israel, certain that I would be greeted by a swollen silver moon over Jerusalem. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Jerusalem was a rough city, its denizens crustier still. I returned briefly to Canada to make some money tree-planting and ultimately to figure out what to do about this man. Eventually I did return to Jerusalem, and I knew that my success or failure would depend less on matters of the heart and more about what I would do there.

Soon after my arrival, the prime minister was assassinated, later the second Intifada was unleashed, and all hell broke loose. It lasted five years and it changed everyone, deeply. Perennial engagement with mortality is humbling. I live in constant proof of the fragility of life and it's something that follows me everywhere. And although I don't believe that this knowledge gives me any advantages in life it has sharpened a keen regard I've always held for the present tense and a solid respect for the material/natural world. Communion with nature has always been enough for me and requires no further pontificating from men with snowy beards.

 The culture shock I experienced here was an ongoing hiccup, lasting years. Israelis are without a doubt the most tactless humans on earth but this abrasive quality has a very important flip side. They also happen to be the most generous, candid, creative and humorous people I have ever met. I have learned much from my Israeli friends. The other culture shock was Israel's natural landscape, the desert and its open unforgiving sky. I recoiled at my first encounter with the desert; I felt I had no where to hide. It took me many years to embrace this existential landscape as it was nothing like the towering pine giants that protected me in my youth.

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Patchwork Landing, 2015. Oil on canvas, 140 X 160 cm

Your art has been characterized as dreamlike. Have your narratives always been this way? 

Yes, I think so. Even at school I was painting when the craft was decidedly unpopular and to the dismay of my instructors, I was also bent on weaving impenetrable stories into the work. For me, the paintings invent the places and characters, not the other way around. My paintings are so much about physicality which despite their reliance on narrative are still somehow resistant to language, interpretation, or even memory. I hope to induce a sense of dislocation by being both strange and recognizable. By keeping the narrative dreamlike and just beyond reach, I let the viewer bring something of their own to the painting. The narrative can unfold once the sense of familiarity recedes from the encounter, those scenes familiar to us through the landscape genre. My art is anti-nostalgic because I don't try rehashing actual experiences but invent them at the edge of my perception.

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Scruffy's Emerald Secret, 2014-15. Oil on canvas, 140 X 120 cm

Can you tell me about one of your current paintings and break down some of its narrative and themes? 

One piece, Scruffy's Emerald Secret is a favorite of mine. It's moodier that the others and I can identify with the bare-footed loner sitting on a tree stump, hunched over his campfire. Behind him looms this tall green patterned tree, a beautiful freak specimen. It shouldn't be there, but it is. The man shouldn't be there, but he is. Where is his family? Why is he alone in keeping vigil over this odd tree? This piece is one of several in a group I call Piecemaker in which I incorporate conflicting cultural motifs, embedded traditional Arabic patterns in a Canadian landscape. They can't be fused and remain irreconcilable. Not unlike quilt-making I "stitch" together disparate symbolic forms and patterns from both of these worlds which have become part of me.

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Spellbound, 2014. Oil on canvas, 140 X 180 cm.

As you have dealt with the cultural and political challenges of living and working in Israel, how has your art sustained you? 

One of the conditions of my decision to remain here depended on my ability to carve out a corner for myself, professionally. Making art and functioning competitively in that arena was a necessity for happiness and my own sanity. I started from zero and got a very good education and training in the arts. Self discipline was already established from my previous five years at Canadian universities, and I was very sure about how I wanted things to play out. Unlike many immigrants who arrive as adults, I had a huge advantage: art school was a big lingering bear hug. All of my friends, my political views, professional networks, and direct access to Israel's cultural carotid artery were all gifted to me during those years. I would not have survived here without it.

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The Drifting Patch Tree, 2015. Oil on canvas, 190 X 180 cm

What are your interests outside of art? 

My family is the heart of my life, always. Everything else falls into descending order after that. I like being outside as much as possible. As a family, we do a lot of hiking and swimming, and picnics with friends. I live a street away from the Mediterranean Sea and need to see it daily. Most days are started with a run along the sea to stave off cabin fever in my studio. I'm an avid gardener and a member of a community garden and often get my son's kindergarten involved with horticulture. It's important for kids to understand where food comes from and to really see how we're all part of a shared life cycle. They also get a real sense of pride and ownership from their hard work. I read a lot, everything from Annie Proulx to Walter Mosley, mostly at night when everyone is asleep. Music, nonstop, but that's when I'm painting.

Who are some artists who have directly influenced your work? 

Daniel Richter: he's the best living painter as far as I'm concerned. I can look at as his works for hours and they just keep unfolding. Violent and absurd, apocalyptic. 

Peter Doig: a constant source of inspiration.

Cecily Brown: fleshy, carnal paintings that just disintegrate and then re-galvanize, pulsing. They take time to get into and you can't hurry them. This is one of the things what makes any good painting last. Brown overdoes everything, pushes the painting to the brink and I love that.  

Mark Bradford: layer by layer, he builds up a thick-skinned topography from cultural detritus. It's like he maps out these strange mute neighborhoods replete with their own secrets and you want to scrape down to get to them.

Velazquez: bold mark-making and outbursts of sensuality erupting through thick globs of paint. He didn't want a smooth porcelain finish but rather wanted to show us the true corporeal surface of paint. For me, moving paint around is a steady point of fascination and Velazquez always delivers the goods in that regard.

Dana Schutz: she's madly prolific, restless, ballsy, and brilliant. I hit a wall over ten years ago and discovered Dana's work. It was like rocket fuel for me.

David Lynch: His scenes are permanently lodged in my brain. An unapologetic storyteller of storytelling.

 Sally Mann: raw, haunting and achingly personal.

 Kwakiutl and Haida art and myths: I grew up with the imagery and stories of First Nations peoples of the Pacific Northwest. Masks and totems and legends are always with me even if they don't find immediate expression in what I do.

 PK Page: Canadian poet. Her vivid descriptions of fleeting moments of life hang in the air when I'm working. I just have to reach up and grab them. Here's a title: "Deaf-Mute in the Pear Tree."

James Ensor - He literally attacked his canvases with violent gusto, making these taut, weird and nightmarish scenes. Totally unsettling.

Melanie Daniel: Piecemaker 
Shulamit Gallery
17 North Venice Blvd.
Venice, CA 90291
May 21-June 27, 2015

Alexandra Tyng: 'Ways and Intersections'

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Alexandra Tyng, whose work was recently on view at the Gross McCleaf Gallery in Philadelphia, is a realist painter whose approach to her subject matter is distinctly contemporary. In her exhibition, titled "Ways and Intersections," Tyng brought together imagery rooted in personal experience alongside landscapes and cityscapes painted from above and a selection of smaller plein air studies.

I recently interviewed Tyng and asked her about her background, her artistic development and her imagery.

John Seed Interviews Alexandra Tyng:


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Alexandra Tyng painting at Baxter State Park in Maine

I understand that you were born in Rome. Tell me about your early life and exposure to European art and culture. 

I was only 10 months old when my mother and I returned to the U.S., so I don't have any early memories of Rome, but my mother used to tell me stories about the villa where we lived with my uncle, aunt, and cousins, and our other travels around Italy, so the stories and accompanying photos made me feel as though I remembered it, plus we revisited the street when I was 11.

 My father was very deeply influenced by the ancient architecture of Italy and Greece. So I heard a lot about European architecture in family conversations. I made two trips to Europe when I was 11 and 18 and the highlights for me were always art and architecture. My father liked to go to old-and-rare bookstores and find books on artists he thought might inspire me. Some of the books he gave me were on Gustav Doré, Albrecht Dürer, Canaletto, Hogarth, Cruikshank, Beardsley, Rackham. I was slower to learn about painters because as a child I was so focused on drawing. But by the time I went to Europe at 18 on a youth hostel bike trip, I was discovering the 17th century Dutch painters and it was a thrill to see their original work at the Rijksmuseum.

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The Unseen Aspect, oil on linen, 44 x 56 inches

Tell me about your college years in the U.S. Were you an art major? 

I went to college in the early 70s when Abstract Expressionism dominated the art scene. I had a lot of intellectual curiosity so I wanted to go to an academically challenging college. I went to Harvard, where the art department was very small, almost nonexistent, but the art history department was excellent. Art History proved to be the perfect fit because I loved learning about the different periods of history though the lens of art and architecture. I could take a few art classes so I signed up for a drawing class taught by William P. Reimann. He had us drawing all sorts of objects, and fellow students. One day he brought in a twisted tree stump for us to draw. We drew self-portraits at the beginning and end of the class, and I couldn't believe the difference between my "before" and "after" drawings. Taking this class really changed the way I approached drawing.

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Perigee, oil on linen, 50 x 42 inches

What did your art look like when you began to paint seriously? How has your work changed over time? 

When I was in high school, our school librarian bought a painting from me, and from that moment on I was serious about painting and totally hooked on oils. My early paintings were all reliant on photos so the color looked like 1970s color photos and the values were really exaggerated. I knew how I wanted to paint, and I knew I wasn't there yet, but I couldn't imagine the long road ahead of me.

In college I saw a lot of art in museums and was particularly taken with how Sargent painted the illusion of air in the shadowy darkness. I was determined to figure out how to mix color so I could achieve that illusion. All through my 20s, my art was slowly improving but it was not until I had two very young children and was not finding much time to paint that I had time to think about color; more specifically, the relationship between direct sunlight, indirect light, and shadow. I developed my own color theory, and a systematic way of mixing paint colors that resulted in a big breakthrough in my painting skills.

Another big hurdle was values. When my kids were a little older I began painting outdoors and from models on a regular basis, and within a year or two I noticed a drastic improvement, so I've kept on with that, going on painting trips every summer and painting from models whenever I can, even with my commissioned work. Today I use a combination of oil sketches from life or nature, photo references, and imagination to make paintings. I think, if you looked at my early work, you'd notice a similarity in subject matter, but a great difference in skill. Hopefully, I'll be way better twenty years from now. Learning is a lifelong process.

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Rittenhouse Square in Snow, oil on linen, 32 x 44 inches

Who have your mentors been? 

I've had the good fortune to meet and become friends with the husband-and-wife team who illustrated so many of my favorite children's books, Beth and Joe Krush. Beth died a few years go, but I still see Joe and sometimes I bring him a painting I'm working on. He's great at pinpointing problems with composition and perspective, and he gives me excellent advice. I admire him so much and consider him a true friend.

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Downtown Routes, oil on linen, 38 x 66 inches

Your current show seems to have two themes: "Intersections" which are cityscapes and also "Ways" which are works that come from personal experience. Tell me about these dual tracks in your work. 

It's interesting to me that you see these two genres as separate "tracks" in my work because, when I first started painting, that's the way they were--not in my head, but as they appeared to the outside world. I had two totally different careers painting commissioned portraits and landscapes for gallery shows. The separation felt more and more artificial until, about 12 years ago, I made the decision to bring landscapes and figures together in my work so people could actually understand what was going on in my head. It's important to me that the figures are totally integrated with the environments.

So the theme "Ways and Intersections" actually refers to both genres. In the cityscapes it's literally about the ways of getting from one place to the other, and the interconnections between places that you see more clearly when you are looking down from an elevated perspective. The idea of "Ways and Intersections" also has to do with people and human relationships, the journey through life and the interactions between people. I like imagining how things look from different people's perspectives. My figurative paintings are about the people I paint and also a little about me--so each painting is like an intersection of thoughts, feelings and experiences.

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Jannipäev, oil on linen, 34 x 46 inches

Can you tell me about the imagery of the work Jannipäev

Jaanipäev is the Estonian word for Midsummer Eve, or St. John's Eve. My daughter spent a year in Estonia, studying in Tartu and researching her grandfather's (my father's) early life on Saaremaa. While she was there she went to a Jaanipäev celebration and came away from it with a strong impression of this ancient tradition involving a bonfire and dancing in the long summer twilight. The painting is about her memory of Estonia and her connection with her own roots. The fire also refers to her grandfather's childhood on Saaremaa where he burned his face and hands in an accident with hot coals when he was three years old. This was a life-changing experience, to almost die from burns and then be disfigured for the rest of his life. Fire appears in my work quite a lot as a symbol of transformation.

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Off the Grid, oil on linen, 48 x 46 inches

What are your interests outside of art?

That's a hard question because everything I do these days seems to relate to art in some way. Every year I go to Maine, and when I'm there I love to hike, canoe, kayak and swim. I try to stay active all year. I read a lot, mostly fiction, historical fiction, biographies, Jungian theory, fairy tales, mythology, and folklore--but that relates back to art again because I get ideas for my paintings. I'm also passionate about Victorian architecture, furniture, and fashion; my husband and I live in a Victorian house that has been in a perpetual state of restoration in-process for more than twenty years.

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Parallel Ways to Center City, oil on linen, 24 x 42 inches

Is there anything else about your work that should be said? 

It's hard for me to judge what's worth saying about my own work. I put a lot of thoughts, feelings, and ideas into my paintings, and I don't expect everyone to see or care about all that goes into them. The important thing to me is that a person looking at my work will enjoy it and bring his or her own associations into the experience. If there's a little overlap, then there is a communication between the artist and viewer. This area of overlap is not a visual experience--it's sensed rather than seen. It's what gives art its mystery and impact. This "unseen aspect" of art is what I strive for and hope to express in all my work.

Links:

Alexandra Tyng at Gross McCleaf Gallery

Alexandra Tyng: Paintyngs (Blog)

Can't Sell Your Art? Try Jacking Up Your Prices...

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Here is a true story for you:

 A few years ago a young artist from Europe walked into an upscale Los Angeles gallery. He carried with him a portfolio of his recent work, including a number of smaller paintings that he had put tremendous effort into. When he showed the gallery director his work it seemed to go well: there were murmurs of approval and meaningful glances.

Then, the gallery director asked a much-anticipated question: "How much do you want for these?" The artist responded without hesitation. "I need to get about $1,000 each for them, so I expect you could sell them for about twice that amount."

The conversation came to an immediate halt. "Hmmm..." said the gallery director; "Come back in a a few years when you are getting some higher prices for your work."

Yes: that happened.

Here is what this anecdote says to me. The problem wasn't the art, as the gallery director clearly liked it, but rather that the artist didn't price his art high enough. It seems counter-intuitive, doesn't it? Yet the gallery director made the right call, as he knew his clientele well and understood that low prices would put them off.

Rich people need to feel rich when the collect and they need more breathtaking "price points" to feel their affluence when they choose art. Add to that, art dealers have to pay the rent, and they like high priced art too. One of the reasons that more and more art dealers are interested in re-selling blue chip works is that a single transaction might bring them ten times the profit of selling work by an emerging and lesser-known artist.

Art is a luxury, not a necessity, and when it hangs on your wall part of what it is meant to broadcast is that you can afford fine, expensive things. The comedian Steven Martin apparently understood this and parodied it very nicely when he put price stickers on all the art that hung on the walls of his first apartment. If you are a serious collector, you don't want to be seen as what one former curator for a local billionaire once characterized in an interview as "Another fucking Jaguar driving dentist from Encino."

Welcome to the wacky world of art pricing where the word "bargain" can curse a sale and an artist's reputation. Whether you are a collector or a collector/speculator you are going to respond to the enticing idea that an artist's prices are moving up, not down. You don't want to stand in your living room explaining that "I love my Rolf Smeldley painting: I got it just as his reputation and prices were tanking." Upward marching prices are erotic while declining ones are just sad.

If Picasso paintings from the 1950s are now going for $179 million a pop, that makes you want one even more, right? When it comes to luxury items conspicuous consumption rules and bargains are for mall shoppers. As a collector, you want to generate envy among your peers, and buying relatively inexpensive works is unlikely to do that as only connoisseurs will appreciate your taste. Money, on the other hand, is a universal language that everyone understands. What many don't understand is that art and money have some strange chemistry together.

Think about this: if you don't have taste, but you do have money, art can hide your deficiencies. Expensive art flatters those who have the "wisdom" to shell out for it. You are always going to look "smart" when you what you have bought keeps going up in value.

We all learned the laws of supply and demand in Econ 101--the law of demand states that the quantity of a good demanded falls as the price rises--but the art world defies this maxim. Andy Warhol, Thomas Kinkade and other sharp artist/businessmen understood this and they upped production knowing that the more walls their work was seen on, the more demand would rise. They also kept moving up their prices as they moved up their production, and both died wealthy men. If you can make yourself into a brand in a capitalist society, you can sell lots of art and move your prices up at the same time.

In the gallery world, the emblem of "success" is the posted price list, stickered with red dots. Who knows how many of these prices and dots are real--dealers have been known to fudge the results a bit to heat up the market--but doesn't this price list for the works of Ross Blackener, posted at the Mary Boone gallery two years ago, stir up feelings of envy and competitiveness? If people are lining up to pay six-figure prices for Ross Bleckner's work it must be good, right? Assumptions like that hold up the foundations all art transactions, as art has no real practical value. if your family was starving you would trade your Rembrandt for a ham sandwich to feed them... at least I hope you would.

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Ross Bleckner's price list: red dots indicate sales.

Before the housing market crashed and burned in 2008 a friend leaned across the table at lunch and bragged to me about a recent real estate investment. "My father told me," he explained,"to buy California real estate because it never goes down." A few months later his father was proved very wrong--at least momentarily--and many people I know think that art is the next bubble, ready to burst when the world's billionaires lose confidence in art as suddenly as the Dutch once lost interest in tulip bulbs.

Until that happens, I say move your prices up. It's a shell game, I know, but it apparently works. If you find this advice cynical, keep in mind that if you are a modest person who doesn't brag about what you do and who is embarrassed by the idea of over-charging for what you do, you may actually deserve a raise. If the art world hasn't seemed to "value" you are your work enough in the past few years, you may need to tease it a bit.

Yari Ostovany at Stanford Art Spaces

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Chelleneshin #21, oil on canvas, 30 x 22 inches

The paintings of Yari Ostovany, now on view at Stanford University's Paul G. Allen building, are stylistically related to works by second-generation American Abstract Expressionists -- for example Helen Frankenthaler and Jules Olitski -- but as curator DeWitt Cheng notes, they also are inspired by and refer to the artist's Iranian cultural background. For example, the title of Ostovany's painting Chelleneshin refers to a period of solitude:
Chelleneshin is a compound word in Persian consisting of the words Chelleh; which describes a period of forty days; and Neshin, which literally means sitting. It refers to a seeker going into solitude for a period of forty days and forty nights to pray and meditate. In several mystical traditions, The Cycle of Forty is a common duration needed for spiritual metamorphosis and transitions to another, transcendent dimension.
Ostovany's interest in and ability to reference culture strikes DeWitt Cheng, who organized the exhibition, as admirable: "I find his seriousness about spirituality and his cultural heritage interesting and inspiring. I wish that more artists today took it upon themselves to attain a modicum of cultural literacy both inside and outside of their disciplines/professions. And Yari makes beautiful, gutsy paintings too."

I recently interviewed Yari Ostovany and asked him both about his background and his art.

John Seed Interviews Yari Ostovany

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Yari Ostovany

What can you tell me about growing up in Iran? Were you always artistic?

My father's love of music (both western classical and Persian classical music) meant that music was always filing the air in our house when I was growing up. My first love was poetry, modern Persian poetry to be precise. When I was 14 a friend of mine who had started taking painting classes encouraged me to do so as well saying that she thought it wold suit my temperament perfectly. My first art class was a Tehran University extension class while I was still in high school (my sophomore year). I was hooked. Gallery hoping in Tehran became my favorite pastime and the newly built Tehran Museum of Contemporary Art my hangout.

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The Third Script, #30, oil on canvas, 36 x 36 inches

Tell me about your studies in Nevada and San Francisco. 

I did my undergraduate work in Northern Nevada (University of Nevada in Reno) and my graduate work at the San Francisco Art Institute. I was fortunate enough to cross paths with some wonderful teachers in both places. I think living in Northern Nevada instill a sense of space, a sense of vastness in ones work.

How did your art develop while you lived in Cologne? I maintained a studio at first in Merten (halfway between Cologne and Bonn) and then in Cologne proper. I work on many pieces at the same time and so change manifests itself slowly in my work, so I can't quite put my finger on exactly how living there affected my work.

Have you had any important mentors? I have been fortunate to have two outstanding mentors, both from the San Francisco Art Institute; the late Carlos Villa and Jeremy Morgan whom I continue to learn from still.

Tell me about some of the poetic sources that inspire your current work. 

For me it is not about any specific poetic sources. I am interested in the non-linear and in general it is the lyrical and poetic quality in things that draws me towards them. I suspend myself in an atmosphere, a feeling and let it wash over me. True, occasionally a book or the oeuvre of an author or an artist kindles a creative spark (flow) as in the work of John Berger whose sensibility I connect with in a very direct way but for the most part it is the general atmosphere of a piece for example Attar's Conference of the Birds or Beethoven's Grosse Fuge.

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Conference of the Birds #55, oil on canvas, 30 x 30 inches

Can you describe some of your working methods? 

I approach my work in the studio with as much of a Zen beginner's mind as possible, quieting the mind, connecting to a greater energy and using the energy of the gravity of the earth to push and move paint. There is a lot of pushing and pulling of paint using traditional as well as non traditional tools. I start with gestural marks (sometimes calligraphic-based), solid forms and shapes which then begin to disintegrate as the layers explode and implode, are added, rubbed out, re-applied, scoured into and scraped away and built back up, expanding and developing in a rhizome like, lateral structure until the distinction between the foreground and the background and the spatial hierarchy begin to dissolve - somewhat akin to layers of memory - and give way to another, ephemeral sense of form and visual phenomena.

Are there any living artists that you admire? Too numerous to mention but to name a few Gerhard Richter, Pat Steir, Tony Magar, Anselm Keifer, ...

What are your interests outside of art? Music (mostly classical, jazz and world music) philosophy, mysticism, literature and theater.

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Yari Ostovany: photo by DeWitt Cheng

Exhibition Information:

Two concurrent solo exhibitions, Numinous, by Yari Ostovany and We Will Never Not Have Been by Jamie Bollenbach, will both be on view through July 10th in The Center for Integrated Systems of the Paul G. Allen Building, Stanford University. The exhibitions continue in the adjacent David W. Packard Electrical Engineering Building.

For a map and directions, visit the Stanford Art Spaces Facebook Page

About Stanford Art Spaces

Stanford Art Spaces is an exhibition program serving the Paul G. Allen Building, housing the Center for Integrated Systems, the program's longtime sponsor, and the David W. Packard Electrical Engineering Building, with smaller venues located throughout campus. All are open during normal weekday business hours.

For further information, or to arrange a tour, please contact Curator DeWitt Cheng at 650-725-3622 or dewittc@stanford.edu.

Re-Contextualizing the Masters: An Essay in Photofunia Collages

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The Gypsy Girl (1628), cropped from a painting by Frans Hals gives a contemporary newscaster "the eye" in an online photo collage, made at photofunia.com

When teaching Art History I always stress to my students that art exists within social and historical contexts. It matters where you see a work of art, as do the things that surround it. Meanings emerge and change -- sometimes slightly, sometimes dramatically -- in relation to context. Modern and contemporary artists have been well aware of this situation: social context is the reason that Marcel Duchamp's Fountain created a such sense of shock when it was first exhibited as a "work of art."

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Marcel Duchamp's 1917 Fountain, was a signed urinal re-contextualized as "art." 
Image via Wikispaces

By turning Duchamp's thinking around, I have recently been using the instant photo collage generating website Photofunia as a way to virtually re-contextualize well known works of art. Interesting things happen when you take works of art outside of museums and galleries. As it turns out, the results don't always seem so odd, as we live in a media society where we commonly see works of art in advertisements. Despite that, I had some fun shifting contexts and hope that some of these Photofunia collages will at least make you think or smile.

***

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Rembrandt's 1659 Self-Portrait looks out of place and a bit forlorn appearing on a heavily tagged delivery truck in a busy city...

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On the other hand, the graphic energy of the animals in the Paleolithic Hall of the Bulls at Lascaux fits in rather well with the vibe or urban graffiti: a shared human impulse to decorate surfaces comes to the forefront.

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A Diego Velasquez portrait of a Spanish Infanta (princess), painted to advertise her desireability as a child bride, makes a very formal and awkward beer bottle label.

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An odalisque from Picasso's Women of Algiers fares rather better in replacing Benjamin Franklin on a $100 bill, since Picasso's paintings seem to have themselves become a form of currency.

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Three leering heads from Christ Carrying the Cross by Hieronymus Bosch rhyme rather nicely with the expressions of politicians in conference with Vladimir Putin.

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Jacques-Louis David's image of Napolean Crossing the Alps -- which has appeared in far too many cognac ads -- radiates triumph on a rooftop billboard. Goya's Third of May, 1808, which can be glimpsed on the billboard below undercuts David's painting by dramatizing the atrocities committed by Napolean's troops in Madrid.

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A sense of kinship is apparent as a man walking glances at Rodin's Walking Man.

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Pieter Bruegel the Elder's Tower of Babel feels like a cautionary tale seen as a New York mural.

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A hand-held photo of Pieter Claesz'Vanitas Still Life suggests that the contemplation of mortality continues through time and technological change.

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Finally, a "wild-card." What happens when you take an Instagram post by suicidegirls, which artist Richard Prince recently re-contextualized as a work of art for sale, and re-contextualize it again as a work of art in a traditional museum, where people might take photos of it and re-Instagram it?

Is the result "art" or just an empty exercise in context? I'll let you decide...

A Note to Readers:

If you are inspired to try re-contextualizing works of art at photofunia.com, I hope you will email me some of your best efforts at seedblogs@gmail.com. I'll share some of the best ones on Facebook and Twitter.

Four Skype Presentations.

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Here are video captures of four recent Skype visitors to my art appreciation class.

PE Sharpe: Artist


Francis Sills: Artist


Michael J. Ruple: Director Arcadia Contemporary, New York


Michael Klein: Freelance Curator

Jennifer Pochinski

David Park

Peter Zokosky (detail) of a painting from the 1980s. #FredFlintstone


Playing for her grandmother

China’s Young Post-Modern, Post-Mao Artists

Coming soon: "Artist's Statements of the Old Masters", the book #satire

Squeak Carnwath at the Lux Art Institute

Artists (and Others) Talk About Art and Destruction

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Digital collage by Photofunia.com based on a photo by David Michael Slonim
"Every act of creation is first of all an act of destruction."― Pablo Picasso During my last year of graduate school one of my art professors came by my studio one evening to lead a group critique session. "Someday," he told me, "you will have a storage problem." Those were wise words. I took most of my graduate school work to the dump two years later.

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The author's post grad school dump run
Being an artist means making things, and those things can pile up fast. Only lucky works of art survive -- or deserve to survive -- while numerous other works are slashed, smashed, burned or trucked to the dump. When I recently asked artist friends on my Facebook page to tell me stories about art and destruction I found that I had opened up a nerve-hitting topic. Artists destroy works both during and after their making, and they both savor and sometimes later regret their destructive impulses. Here, in edited form, are some of the many anecdotes, comments and bits of wisdom that artists and others had to offer on the topic of art and destruction.

***
‪Stacy Rosende Bykuc

"Every piece has several destroyed compositions beneath. I call it 'process.' If a piece sucks, it's just not done.‬‬‬"

April Zanne Johnson‬‬‪ 

If, as an artist, you love everything you make all the time and are never self-critical, it is impossible to grow and evolve‬‬‬.

Maria Teicher‬

"Shredded by hand with a razor (or ripped if paper)... the sound is intoxicating and freeing. Never had a single regret. I took photos before so I had it archived but have never looked back. I do a purge of work every 3-4 years and it's great. Not everything goes but those I am not proud of or works that have lost their meaning in my life.‬‬‬"

Kate Shepherd

Just today. Etchings.

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Nathan Lewis 

"I destroyed a 52 ft. wide painting. Tired of storing. Tired of hanging onto it. Some things are better in memory."

Lauren Levato Coyne 

"In an essay I just posted I detail throwing a six foot drawing out the window. No regrets."

Joe Fay‬‬‪ 

"When I left LA I threw out a few really old paintings in the dumpster at my studio. Before I left I saw a homeless person had made a shelter out of them. I was happy. More recently I've been cutting up and recycling old paper pieces and using them on my painted wall reliefs."

Kenn Raaf‬‬‪ 

"75% of the finished work I do is deconstructed. Cut, torn, burned, sanded and then reassembled and recomposed into something radically different. As for paper used in sketch work I oftentimes cut into strips and weave to use as texture in my abstract work, and filler in my sculpture.‬‬‬"

Eric Armusik 

"I did a fire sale in 2010 and actually sold all 19 paintings. Some people wanted to crucify me for posting this video, in which I said I would set all the unsold work on fire, but it worked."


Carol M Dupre‬‬‪ 

"A large, favorite, painting -- leading work in a series -- slashed with a razor blade because of a comment (from an intimate). The act still generates feelings of triumph following anguish, after many years (and a relatively easy divorce). Another 'purge' of some twenty canvases stacked in a city alley: sweet thanks that someone came with a trolley to carry them off with grace."

Mimi Jensen 

"To me, the perfect answer to 'What's your best painting?" is 'The next one.' That answer, which is not original to me, speaks to the realization that rarely does a finished work live up to the original vision in the artist's mind's eye. A few times I've finished a painting that was so off the mark that destroying it was my eventual response, one time even vigorously slashing a failed painting with my x-acto knife, providing high drama and great relief. That was years ago and I never regretted it."

Leslie Brown 

"While working on one large piece, I tore several of my own prints to collage into it. Throughout the process I kept saying to myself 'Nothing's sacred. Nothing's sacred'. Oddly enough it was a sort of homage to De la Tour's Mary Magdalens. When the piece was finished I spray painted across the top the word Sanctified! My mentor Herb Olds used to say that in order to feel the true breadth of the artmaking process you must both create and destroy simultaneously. I think my best works employ this."

Jason McPhillips 

"A few days after meeting the woman who was to become my wife, I asked her to sit for a portrait drawing. I was focused on landscape at the time and a little rusty, but was still able to convey a lot of feeling in the drawing. A few years later, in gathering work together for a show of portrait drawings, I decided to rework (shakes head ruefully) one of the eyes from memory, as I just wasn't happy with it. Six hours later, though a symmetry issue was improved, the drawing had lost something vital. The 'corrected' eye now looked glued on, and that mysterious feeling of young love initially present in this time piece from our first few days together had left. I trashed it, painfully, and it didn't make the final cut for the show. Though I regret lacking the foresight to allow a piece it's integral imperfections, taking the piece to the point of collapse was still valuable. It taught me an invaluable lesson about how to rework things, which is to once again to readdress the whole."

Walt Morton‬‬‪ 

"I have two strategies, the most common one is to just paint over the older work and make a new painting. But if the work is 'too good" to paint over', I have been leaving my work at thrift stores, the good will, or the Salvation Army since 1990. Often with cryptic messages inscribed on the back of the canvas. This is more fun because I have gotten phone calls and emails decades later from new owners asking for explanations. Bizarrely, some of these 'collectors' later bought work from me directly.‬‬‬"

  Domenic Cretara 

"About a year after I got my MFA I was teaching painting at a private art school in Boston. I had just finished a painting of a seated petite female model holding on to a hobby horse. I thought it was pretty good so I invited one of my colleagues, a respected painter and teacher to visit my studio and look at the painting. He took one look at it and started in on one of the most devastating critiques I had ever received. He must have talked for 30 minutes dissecting every fault real and imagined he could find. Not only was the color bad but the image was sentimental and the composition awkward. I was so devastated that after he left I took my palette knife and slashed the painting to ribbons in a fit of rage. About two months later the same colleague and I were talking at school and he said, "Hey, Domenic, where's that beautiful painting of the girl with the hobby horse you did recently?"

Heidi Wastweet‬‬‪ 

"Some things don't stand the test of time. No regrets for anything I've destroyed (purged). There are a few remaining that I would like to destroy but don't have the strength to yet because I have so much invested in them. A body of work is like evolution in that one leads to the next and the next. Sometimes that evolution branches out in multiple directions. To destroy a piece takes it out of the gene pool and alters the direction moving forward.‬‬‬"

Steven DaLuz‬‬‪ 

"I was working on a medium-large commission, about 4' x 5'. I really was ambivalent about taking this commission...my heart was never fully in it. No matter what I did, I felt like I was engaged in battle with the piece. I turned it upside down, painted over it, altered the composition...but could not change the color scheme (client had specific requirements on that aspect). I let it "simmer" for a while, thinking I could get some kind of epiphany to help me salvage the work. I took it home and lived with it for about a week. Feeling particularly frustrated, I realized there was no hope for the work, so I tossed it into my backyard, stomped on it, squirted lighter fluid on it and torched it. (This piece had to die). Man, that felt good! I started fresh, changed my direction and produced a piece that was only marginally better and shipped it off to my gallery. The client was pleased, but I still felt I had delivered something I would not have hung in a gallery. That was the moment I reevaluated how I would accept commissions in the future. I take precious few to this day.‬‬‬"

Britta Erickson‬‬‪ 

"A very important Chinese art group, Xiamen Dada, held an exhibition in the mid-80s and then burned the works.‬‬‬"

Danielle Fafchamps

"I rushed to fire a 26" figure (interpretation of a Modigliani drawing) and it blew up in the kiln. But I loved it so decided to redo it even though the initial spark was gone. It took me forever to finish it. The second version (bottom right) was not quite right, the torsion at the waist was weak without the energy of the first one. The face seemed heavy. The hallali sounded when a friend said the right hand seemed to uncork the head. Off to the dumpster it went. That was a mistake I could have kept in in my backyard."

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Lauri Lynnxe Murphy‬‬‪ 

"I usually destroy my work by accident or carelessness when I do, rarely deliberately, although sometimes I repurpose things. However, when I was recently going through a divorce and cleaning out my house of fifteen years I found a painting I had done about a tragedy in my life, as catharsis -- I forgot all about it. Since I didn't really want it to be seen and I didn't want to take it with me, I burned it in the back yard, which was it's own cathartic moment. Even though I'd forgotten about the painting (and honestly, it wasn't very good), it was completely freeing to have that smoke bathe over me and be released to the sky.‬‬‬"

Joseph Bravo

"Artists may destroy works because they are depressed or are in a creative slump, or simply because their tastes and aesthetic priorities have changed. I have spent the last few weeks mounting several retrospective exhibits of the artworks of the late Mel Casas. The curator of these exhibits has been frustrated by the fact that the artist destroyed many of the most important works from the beginning of his Humanscape series. These paintings were powerful pieces that demonstrated the formative ideas for a body of work that was to include over two hundred paintings produced over three decades. Yet for personal/sentimental reasons, he kept several of the lesser early works intact.

Now his posthumous retrospective exhibit tells a perplexing and incomplete story in which from a few relatively unimpressive works another body of exceptional works seem to arise ex nihilo. Historians and ordinary viewers have been denied the evolutionary context for this important body of work. Sometimes it takes decades for the significance of a group of paintings to become evident. Oft times, the artist is the poorest and least reliable judge of which of their artworks deserves to be recognized by history. This is why it is not generally desirable for artists to curate exhibits of their own work, they are too close to it, too subjective, too psychologically engaged with it to perceive it objectively. But we are not the best judge of what constitutes our failures or our successes and the totalities of our legacies are legitimately as much the product of our failures as our proudest achievements, perhaps even more so."

Farrell Brickhouse 

"Sometimes one has to let go of the old to truly make room for the new. Like shedding skin. Sometimes a dumpster is needed."

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Virginia Bryant‬‬‪ 

"I left the first van full of my art (at least 500 paintings) with coke addicts when I left San Francisco in the late 80's‬‬‬."

Kurt Kauper‬‬‪ 

"I've destroyed a few of my own paintings. I really wish I could destroy several that are out there, but I don't have easy access to. Might be worth a shot.‬‬‬"

Colin Darke‬‬‪ 

"I've painted over a lot of work because I thought I could create something better. About 17 years ago someone in one of my art classes stopped me from painting over a large painting, and now that painting is still hanging in my living room and gets probably the most compliments of all my work‬‬‬."

Cesar Santander‬‬‪ 

"A legendary Canadian art dealer named Walter Moos told me a story about visiting George Roualt. As Walter drove up to his house, Roualt was burning some of his paintings in his yard. I commented that I never liked Roualt's work and Walter replied that Roualt obviously didn't like his own work either.‬‬‬"

Michelle Waldele-Dick‬‬‪ 

"I was once given the advice 'Save your kids the heartache of trashing the bad paintings after you die. Do it yourself now!' So I do!‬‬‬"

F Scott Hess‬‬‪ 

"I burned all the erotic drawings I did as a kid. From the age of seven through high school I did thousands of drawings, and kept them in a padlocked foot-locker in my bedroom. I lived in a small Wisconsin town, where such things were considered a little odd! Before going to college I went into the backyard woods and burned them all. I was going to turn over a new leaf as I embarked on my university adventure, and not a single image survived my thorough cleansing. I regret deeply not having even a lone sample of these twisted little drawings that taught me to be an artist.‬‬‬"

Ron Anteroinen‬‬‪ 

"I've had 5 years worth of my art destroyed by fraudulent storage providers who threw it out in an alley in freezing rain after letting a rock band play in the space and vandalize it. A few years ago, I had to destroy all the stretchers for my paintings because I couldn't afford storage space anymore and had to put the work on rolls. So most of my work that was destroyed was destroyed because of circumstances beyond my control. I'm curious how often this is the reason for artists losing work more than self-editing and such.‬‬‬"

Elin Pendleton‬‬‪ 

"I destroyed 323 paintings in a bonfire over two days after realizing that the works held no merit for me other than being a learning moment (as in, 'I'll never make THAT mistake again.'). It was prefaced by the destruction of my marriage, and many of those marginal (to me) works represented that relationship and the connection through the art to it. It was freeing. My remaining works are of intrinsic value to me and fully represent my growth and artistic journey. 'Cleaning house' carries more meaning to artists, I think.‬‬‬"

Vincent Desiderio‬‬‪

"I once spent 6 months on a large triptych. It was a totally depressing experience and the painting looked it. Nonetheless, I sent it to the gallery. ‬‬‬‪It bothered me that people would see such an overworked, muddled piece of shit so I asked for it back. I intended to salvage it. Work on it some more but never got around to it. ‬‬‬ ‪

One day, I got a call from Marlbough. A collector was interested in purchasing the painting and asked 'Did I still have it? Was it finished?'‬‬‬ ‪I told them that I still had a few more things to do with it. ‬‬‬‪I unwrapped the painting and immediately took a knife to it. Quality control. I was out $50,000 but I never felt better in my life!‬‬‬"

Jim Wilsterman 

"When I was an undergraduate student in the 1970's, most of my instructors were from UC Berkeley and were there during the golden era of the1950's and 1960's. As a student, I made it a point to try to work for most of them in their studios because I saw my education as an artist as two tracks for my training. One was academic and in the classroom, but the second was based upon gaining as much real world art world experience as possible. After working for several other artists in the department, I was approached by the department chair Marjorie Hyde, who said that she had heard that I was becoming quite a good studio assistant among her colleagues. She asked if I was available to assist her on an ongoing basis. I was very pleased because she was a legendary artist and a very influential educator.She asked me to her home studio where I was to do various tasks to support her production. 

The very first job I was assigned was to cut up and destroy just under a hundred paintings representing 5 years of her work. I was visibly shaken and upset by this as I loved and respected her paintings. When she saw my discomfort, she gently explained that a lot of these works were primarily experimental, and she considered them as exercises resulting from her working out her ideas and compositional direction. She wanted them destroyed as they were not up to her personal standards, and she did not want them out in the world representing her incomplete and unresolved ideas. Apparently she held herself to the same standards she demanded from her students. Since she was due to retire for our school soon, and was clearing out the older work for the big push for her upcoming retirement exhibition.

As painful as it was for me -- I cut up all of the paintings, saved the frames and stretcher bars and burned the canvases in her backyard fire pit. As I prepared to head home, she told me that in addition to my pay -- I could select any painting from her retrospective and take it home! That was an amazing and inspiring gift considering she completely sold-out the show in less than an hour after the gallery opened. It taught me a lesion about professional practices in my own work, and set me on my path as an instructor as well as an art collector. That painting is a painting I still own, and I treasure to this day!"

Regina Jacobson‬‬‪ 

"I asked an elderly man if he would consider modeling for me; his face seemed to express an interesting history. He agreed, we did the photo shoot and he brought a selection of coats, hats and even a pipe that he wanted me to paint. I worked on the painting, a large scale portrait, for several months. I saw this person at the gym a couple of times a week and I would give him updates on the progress. One day he approached me with a letter from an attorney demanding that I destroy the painting. This person came to my studio, watched me cut the painting into little pieces and then I put it in a trash bag for him to take with him. I had to destroy all my photos that I had taken as well. I never saw him again; he never came to the gym again and I understood that he moved from the area.‬‬‬"

‪Evan Woodruffe‬‬‪ 

"The sound of tightly stretched canvas popping under the knife is delightful but terrifies anyone else witnessing it there's enough art out there without adding mediocre attempts to it and sometimes it must be done. Preferably in front of an unsuspecting audience, just for effect!‬‬‬"

Gord MacDonald‬‬‪ 

"Art Students League 1985/86 = 8100 drawings. I kept 40.‬‬‬"

‪Aron Kylene Rook‬‬‪ 

"Ahhh! John . ... art + whiskey -- Smear, drip, wipe, glob ... And then comes morning ..... 'Ohhh Faaaahhhhk' .....‬‬‬"

Mark Mellon‬‬‪ 

"I destroyed every piece i created from the years 1998 - 2002. Certain things ended. Certain things began. I decided the work i was doing was not work, but just nonsense. It was a method of starting over. i did not paint again until 2006. Then again, a few pieces stay with me even now, but for the most part I destroyed them, until 2011, when I finally began what i consider my real work now.‬‬‬"

Julyan Davis‬‪ 

"A piece of advice I have given over the years is this: when you reach that point where a painting is clearly unremarkable, and that no effort will raise it past that, do not lose your temper. Do not punch the canvas -- canvas will chafe your knuckles. Do not kick it across the room. Canvases do not fly well -- it might strike something of value in its trajectory. Kicking it will also destroy a reusable stretcher. Be calm. Reverse the brush in your hand. In a Sicilian fashion, lean into the work and whisper the point of the handle through the center of your canvas. Set aside to dry. Re-stretch at leisure to some cheery music..."
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