In this instance I had some acrylic cutouts for a project that wasn’t working out. I melted them together with the result that a draped effect emerged with an enrichment of colors and surfaces. Roughly three feet across.

This represents a free wheeling approach where a number of elements came together. The mish was so mashed that, in the interests of some uniformity, I gave it a single color.  It’s interesting how the whole thing resembles welding in metal in that pieces can be tacked on and integrated through the judicious application of the flame.

The heat can bake the plastic somewhat like bread. There are some surfaces here that have assumed an alligatoring like something you might see at a bake shop.

An application of silver paint to unify the object.  Roughly four feet high. Making allowances for structural and handling issues there is no real limit to how large such assemblages can be made.

Overall a rather humble piece with spiky appendages composed of ceramic items left over from another time. This melting approach allows for the incorporation of a variety of elements – in this case stuff that has a personal history.

A nice gooey example.

An aspect of this that I rather like is the presence of  a certain subdued detail within a simple shape overall.

There’s a lot of room for more work to be done if not, necessarily, to be stored.

One might refer to these items as baked goods as they represent the application of fire to one form or another of plastic. The first image began as a sheet of expanded polystyrene that was scored with a knife and scorched with a propane weed burner. This process opened the score lines and created checkered patterns which guided my application of paint and varnish.

The next is an example  of slump molding where a sheet of plexiglass is laid over various objects. Heat from the propane burner causes the plastic to soften and assume the underlying shapes to a degree.  This and a few other pieces in this post employ an application of interference paint.

This is a further version of the  above composition.

Another slumped plastic object much worked over.

This rather tidy triptych started with the expanded polystyrene upon which a design was painted in tempera. The paint served as a barrier to the flame. I have used common mud to much the same effect.  The scored and scabbed surface was then covered in powder which filled crevices. This was fixed with a layer of varnish and highlighted with touches of interference paint.

At some point I had painted a checkered pattern on the back of a clear sheet. It was insipid, so I decided to put it to the torch. Some fallen branches served as the underlying forms.  Highlighted with interference paint. Note the variation in the surface caused by bubbling of the plastic. I had initially tried to avoid bubbling but came to embrace it as an enriching effect.

This is another example of a back painted panel that underwent the slump forming process.

Finally, a rather aggressive example of over painting.  I invited my son Bret to add the red additions.

I’m swimming in notions about how to create visual effects, whereas I should be advancing messages. The kit is there, now for more of a narrative.

On the one hand the chandeliers are happy being themselves: it’s the paint application technique that I’ve come up with that’s causing trouble. It produces results easily but, for now somewhat too randomly. I’m trying to harness it’s propensity for doing its own thing by finding things for it to do. Things that tend to be rendered in stone is one approach that I am playing with.

In this instance I have used black, white and green paint.  The result I’m getting reminds me of sections of  metamorphic rock. The technique is simple, but I’ll leave it to you to guess how it’s done.

Here is a triptych using the same method.

In previous posts I have described the use of heat to slump plexiglass over shapes. Here the slumping was done over a closed chain of oval links. I then applied repeated layers of black and white over the formed surface to get this heavily worked effect. Not surprisingly I have found that the complexity of the paint should be matched with a certain simplicity of design and the other way around.

This example below has a more involved underlying texture and I had to cut down on the paint patterns to get it to work.

Sandy edge, 18 inch x 18 inch, oil on birchwood panel

Vertical seems to be an ephemeral property. A sandy edge molded by ice and waves will soon crumble. The jaggedness of the Great Teton Mountains will be replaced by rounded shapes demonstrated by the juxtaposed older Gros Ventre Mountains.

In much of the cosmos, there is a wealth of curved lines – the planets with their elliptical motion, our double Helix and the curvatures of our spine.

Why then is verticality inspirational with gothic and current architecture reaching into the sky?

‘What I learned when I learned to draw’ by Adam Gopnick, The New Yorker, June 27th, discusses Jacob Collins‘ approach to drawing, which involves perceptual rather than conceptual viewing. The idea is to disengage from drawing symbols – conceptual schema of an arm or a face – and draw what you actually see. What you actually see may be a funny shape, a frog or an outline of a new African state, due to the play of light and shade on the body of the model. Thus, Gopnick was guided to learn to draw by ‘searching for strange shapes to break his symbol set’.

Jacob Collins in his “traditional realist revivalism” paints nudes, still lifes and landscapes. I may understand how the artist can draw a person modeling for him or cherries in a bowl by searching for shades and shapes rather than by using conceptual symbols. But doesn’t this approach break down when landscapes are drawn that contain water?

Water does not hold still for the slow musing approach to drawing that Adam Gopnick tells us Jacob Collins uses. My question is does Collins paint water using his symbol set of water?

I have been working on plastic chandeliers for the last while. This is a close up of one composed of clear yellow acrylic and mirrored rhombs.

Rearranged some bits and pieces of wooden chains. A bit of paint.

This is a closeup of a chandelier composed of a variety of components.

The speakers of the last two talks at the Glen Arbor Art Association – Michael Letts on June 9, 2011 and Rachel Meginnes on June 23, 2011 – had things in common.

Both Michael Letts and Rachel Meginnes focus on geometrical patterns – Michael paints landscapes in abstract symbols and Rachel paints geometric shapes on cloth.

Both artists professed a zen-like attitude towards, what one may consider, tedious tasks. Michael paints ‘marks’ on his large geometrical sketches achieving a fabulous 3-D effect with shadows and highlights. Rachel, to generate the orthogonal grid underlying her painting, pulls threads out of fabric, usually cotton.

It was inspiring to listen to both discussing further development of their art – Michael Letts is experimenting with new motifs and Rachel Meginnes is developing a novel technology in fiber art.

Geometry and meditation are an ancient combination, an example are Mandalas, while the quest to developing new forms of art is an individual expression rather than one based on ancient belief systems.