Art & Perception

Artist and writer Jannie Regnerus has collected three paintings by my partner, Hanneke van Oosterhout. I went to Jannie’s house today to make a photograph of one of the paintings and to see if there was any chance that she would consider reselling them.

KARL ZIPSER: What do you think about these paintings you bought?

JANNIE REGNERUS: I like the intimacy of the painted objects. They have been cut off from their former lives as useful or functional things — especially the ginger pot. The ginger pot whispers its own history and has its own universe. The pears have a different feeling, they are sensual, almost like human bodies. And the strawberries have some humor because the proportions are confusing, the giant berries in the tiny cup.

KARL ZIPSER: Don’t you find these pictures a bit too dark?

JANNIE REGNERUS: I like the way the objects sink within this black background. They are very silent, but also very strong. I like these better than the paintings with the light background. Hanneke is very good in this dark and intimate night atmosphere. l like the tempered light, the sun has set, this is the best time for objects, they become more mysterious than they are in the broad daylight.

KARL ZIPSER: Would you sell these paintings? Perhaps you could buy something different, like a new stereo system?

JANNIE REGNERUS: Of course not. I bought them because I love them. I saw them and I wanted to have them close by. I didn’t buy them as an investment. When people come to my house they also want them. Hanneke made one picture for friends of mine who saw her work here. Every time I visit Hanneke’s studio I see new things, so it is very difficult for me to go there.

KARL ZIPSER: But you don’t like everything she makes.

JANNIE REGNERUS: Sometimes she works too long on a painting and I think that I liked it better at an earlier state. That is normal, it happens to me, I think it happens to every artist sometimes.

KARL ZIPSER: I agree, working too far is often a danger.

JANNIE REGNERUS: So Karl, what will be the prices of Hanneke’s paintings in the exhibition that begins this Friday?

KARL ZIPSER: That is an interesting question.
. . .

Hanneke’s show opens 15 December in Haarlem at gallery De Provenier (which does not have its own website). What will be the prices? Which pictures will she select for the exhibition? Will she, should she, sell on-line as well? All of these questions are unresolved. Hanneke will discuss the progress of the show on her own site.

Most photos don’t turn out as well as hoped for, and a rare few turn out better than expected. Some (like Colin’s hands and rock last Tuesday) can be turned to a new purpose. But the accompanying image seems to have turned on me altogether.

It was made in a mining ghost town last September, where I spent about 12 hours over two visits (once under hot sun, two weeks later in light snow). I was busy but unhurried, and the experience was entirely peaceful. I loved the light reaching into the rooms and hallways of the abandoned buildings, and I was thinking about that more than anything. It’s sometimes said that light is the only subject of photography, and it felt true then.

Developing the images later on my computer, I realized that beyond a feeling of nostalgia or mystery, many had something faintly (or not so faintly) sinister about them. I hadn’t been aiming for this effect, it just seemed to appear as I looked at the images ready for a first print. The image here, taken inside a shack built into a hill, elicited the term “violent” from a photographer friend, and I had to agree.

I’m really not sure how this came about. Am I inventing things that others don’t see? Is there inevitably a dark side to pictures about light? Was I so entranced by the light I just didn’t notice what was happening in the dark? Is it just poor preparation, led astray by my appreciation of darker tones — though the image shown is actually a bit lighter than my first version? Perhaps — an idea I rather relish — I have unsuspected psychological depths that are making themselves manifest…

I am interested in any thoughts you have on the image or the idea of light/dark in art or mind. Know of any similar pictures? If you’d like to consider a larger context, a dozen other photos from the same location are on my website. And if you want to adjust your monitor to show detail in both highlights and shadows, make sure all steps of gray are distinguishable on this test image.

I’m also wondering how often it happens to painters or other artists that one is surprised, looking back on a work, to discover something quite unintended. As a painting or quilt or whatever takes more time in the making than a typical photograph, and may entail more active decisions regarding content, is the chance of later surprise any less?

I will be checking comments intermittently, and will respond to remarks directed to me (or not!) when I can. I do work a day job…

Larger

Lake Michigan beside the Sleeping Bear Dunes shows a gradient of colors in the sun. The distant deep water looks purple, closer to the shore it turns blue. Small waves breaking on the sand are turquoise green.

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If a Tree Falls in the Forest Does it Make a sound? Only to the trees with ears. I am not at all being funny. Everything is dependent on a tuned in listener. When it comes to art, sometimes there is no one there, meaning that those who can or want to understand what it is that you are up to, are not in the room. There will be others in the room who find your work similar to learning that there is “only” broccoli left in the refrigerator to eat. (Sorry broccoli lovers). This is not the feedback you need.

When having your worked critiqued, here are two questions that need to be in the mix

1. Ask the person who is doing the critic “What does this work (the art, what ever it is) mean to you?”
2. Then ask “What does my work say about me?”

If the answer to number 1 is nothing, then by-pass 2 and go directly to finding another critic.

Now for some Turkey.