After two recent outdoor digital projects, I’ve returned to more traditional methods. But I suspect the two approaches will merge again before long.
The artist-run centre Gueulart recently put out a call to its members for an upcoming group show. The challenge? Repurpose objects or materials to create fresh, dynamic new work. For most artists, including me, this kind of invitation is hard to resist.
I had a stack of digital print colour tests gathering dust in the studio. They were too interesting to throw away. I’d been saving them for just the right project and this seemed like the perfect excuse to repurpose my experiments through collage.
Chopping up images is a chaotic business. When I’m in full creative mode, my studio rivals Francis Bacon's. No matter how much I try to stay neat and organized, inspiration tends to set the place ablaze, figuratively speaking.
We had workers in the house doing repairs while I was brainstorming ideas. One of them, my friend Ted, agreed to lend me his jig saw so that I could reshape some leftover plywood.
I worked on two works simultaneously. I wanted to create bird-like images because I'm currently enamoured with bird talons and the shape and texture of avian wings. For the first piece, I sketched an outline on the plywood and sawed a wing shape on Ted's portable table. (The last time I used a jig saw, I accidentally sliced through a bit of the kitchen table. Me bad!)
I unearthed two experimental monoprints on yellow rice paper from my inventory of "stuff I will use someday" and decided to work with one of them for "Momento Mori". Normally I begin with bold shapes and colours when working in collage mode but this time, I decided to "paint" using tiny bits of paper. My goal was to seamlessly merge acrylic painting with collage for these new works.
I constructed a figure out of sliced up prints and glued everything down in layers: first onto the monoprint, then onto white paper, and finally onto the plywood wing. Three layers deep, which created a subtle low relief.
I cut out bird shapes from my discarded prints and painted the plywood with various interference and iridescent colours. I also applied a special copper-hued stained-glass acrylic paint straight from a tiny tube onto the wood to draw textured lines in some areas. The dead bird silhouette near the bottom was essential, not just visually, but thematically. The title, *Memento Mori*, reflects my constant heartbreak over the global decline in bird populations.
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| Memento mori |
Meanwhile, the second piece was evolving in wonderfully unpredictable directions. I created more characters from bits of paper and couldn’t stop laughing when I crowned my Napoleonic bird-man with a bat hat. The female figure grins wildly and sports breasts inspired from prehistoric, fertility goddess figurines.
For the background, I painted a moody sky tangled with electrical wires. To borrow a line from Snoopy, “It was a dark and stormy night.” I wanted the piece to evoke a window and briefly considered adding curtains and a frame, but that felt too literal. Keeping in spirit with birds, I chose to make the window fly.
Out came the jig saw again. I sketched more wings on the leftover plywood. Ted’s table wasn’t available this time, so I risked the kitchen table once more. I’m pleased (and slightly amazed) to report there were no casualties. Living with an artist isn't easy. Fortunately my partner Mart tolerates my escapades as long as I steer clear of his office.
I screwed the plywood wings onto a wooden panel and got to work.
I cut pieces of canvas into feather shapes and glued them onto the plywood with acrylic medium. I layered cigarette-sized rolls of canvas along the panel edges to create a three-dimensional curve. Then I smoothed everything over with modelling paste.
After applying black Gesso, I used transparent stained-glass paint to give the feathers texture, followed by shimmering layers of iridescent and interference paint to mimic reflective wing surfaces.
I hung the piece on the wall and realized it had a kimono-like silhouette so I added a few more canvas feathers to kill the illusion of clothing. To achieve the look I wanted, I had plumage sliding down the sides of the panel and a few tiny feathers crowning the corners. The final touch was a glossy varnish on the “window” section to mimic the sheen of a rainy night. A very funky "Flying Window" was born.
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| The Flying Window |
For the third piece in the show, I exhibited an older work titled "The Throne". It’s an irreverent assemblage painted in the iconic colours of King Tut on an oak toilet seat. Inside is a sculpted clay figure, complete with a serpent and a smattering of old costume jewellery to conjure a sense of ancient bling. Think bathroom meets burial chamber.
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| The Throne |
There are many more fascinating pieces to view in the group exhibition Seconde Vie at Gueulart Artist-run Centre. The show is free and open all summer, until September 14. Everyone is welcome.
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