Art & Perception

In response to Birgit I went back to the original post in an attempt to temper the blur.  Birgit has come to accept, perhaps embrace, the blurriness, while I have gone in the other direction. I tried the sharpening and blurring tools with unsatisfactory results and turned to the old standbys, poster and watercolor, in the artistic filters.

This is the image posterized. It’s alright but has lost the softness of the original.

This is watercolored and has the usual silk screened look. The view through the window has gone flat.

This is it now; time to declare the first post the winner – or perhaps the least loser.

You Gloaming commentators have done a splendid job as com-mentors.

The right combination of detail, color and air seems to be at issue. In this version I have blurred the contents of the window, lightened the blues and have shown more of the right wall hanging. The left hanging cannot be retrieved without going back to the raw image. If, however, it is missed, then I’ll go back. That would be O.K. as one of my new year’s resolutions was to persevere.

In response to Steve’s comment about the red spot and the common positive about the blueness and negative about the blurriness, I took up residence last evening by the window and wall and waited. A series of exposures was required as I had but a vague memory of the original lighting conditions. Fortunately, a few came close.

I took the opportunity to make the blue a bit more theatrical and to emphasize the red spot in the window (a bag full of straps). I also cleaned up a number of distractions.

Is it better?

Leaves are beginning to come out here now, but branches were quite bare a week ago when I payed a visit to the strip of woods along Sourdough Trail. I’ve gone there occasionally through the winter, but much less frequently than I used to while actively engaged in that project (I never closed the books on it, but I’ve done very little in the last year). I’m thinking seriously of re-activating it. In any case, the new season seemed to call for a little experimentation.

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You must forgive me if my language about SE McLoughlin Boulevard is a bit crude. I refer to the Boulevard, actually a long strip of sleazy or derelict buildings, warehouses, and defunct businesses, as “the armpit of Portland.” It is fairly unsightly and often smelly.

McLoughlin Boulevard was originally US Route 99E, part of the major north-south Pacific Highway through Oregon’s Willamette Valley to California. US Route 99E had its heyday just after WWII until it was eclipsed by Interstate 5, finished in 1966. Thereafter, the Boulevard, demoted into Oregon Route 99E, declined as Portland grew. The decomposition of the Boulevard, helped along by the curbing of the highway which restricted access to businesses, was accompanied by its enclosure by warehouses and industrial compounds, all gone slightly to seed. The farmland and residences that had been behind its initial length of business ventures got pretty much decimated over the years by other kinds of cheaply built warehouses and small factories.

I first learned about McLoughlin Boulevard because, when we moved to Portland 18 years ago, the Pendleton Mill End fabric store was located along it. I would take the bus to the Mill End store; to return home, I had to cross 8 lanes of heartless traffic and wait for the return bus in front of The Odysseus, a saloon and strip joint. I avoided looking at the patrons — and they avoided looking at me!

It was that kind of street — an American urban highway that makes used car lots look good.

Still, however sleezy the street has become, it still speaks to my love of urban archeology and history. Jer and I have been investigating the Springwater Corridor bicycle/pedestrian trail that has a new bridge over SE McLoughlin. The Trail runs along Johnson Creek, a major urban creek wont to flood in the wet season and stink in the dry. But between the creek and the biking trail, there is a pretty wondrous set of scenes through the Portland cityscape, including McLoughlin Boulevard.

Springwater Trail over McLouglin, Oil on board, 18 x 24″

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A light was burning in my workshop this last evening and there was something so Cotswoldish about the whole affair that I grabbed my camera in a race with the dwindling light.

I set the dial on aperture priority to avoid a flash exposure and the result was a little smeared. I can’t make up my mind about it. On the one hand it creates a sense of remove, but on the other, it appears simply blurry. Maybe a foggy quality would be better. What do you think?

This is an exercise in filling the Art and Perception news hole, deja vu or a naked bid for attention, take your pick.

A technique in these architectural paintings – and something which has appeared in previous posts – is the use of underlying intaglios or raised portions. Such a pattern can act to hold a design that comes through whatever terrain of filler and paint is later applied.

I swim at Notre Dame College, a school whose modest campus is dominated by an imposing main building. This began as a shot, in white board mode, of a corner of that structure. This was then traced out on plywood with whatever appeared as black becoming a raised area. This was then followed by a period of back and forth with opaque colors and glazes. The structure ended up as both firm and dissolving.

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