A big pile of rejected drawings- things that got out of hand and couldn't be saved or were dead almost from the first mark- and a sleeping dog:

These just back from the framer, to be sent for October group show to be announced soon:

Qinglü (Blue & Green), 1-5, 2005, Pencil, watercolor & ink on paper, approx. 8.75 x 6.75" each
One from this set, don't mind the reflection:

Thanks to Kim Smith for her help with the framing. Take a look at Kim's excellent collages.
Around the house: two paintings by Ann (left, ca. 1982), two drawings by me (right, 2005 and 1979).

This is a drawing of my sister, Tobi, 1979, about 8 x 10 inches, in a frame I made for it.

A couple of fellow artist webloggers have posted their own music- Tom Moody and Douglas Witmer. I thought I'd post a few very ragged little recordings of me on guitar, not that these are even in the same league of production as Tom and Douglas.
I haven't recorded in quite awhile. These are all a year and a half to two years old. All recorded with an inexpensive Sony lavalier mic on an IBM laptop. Sound quality is poor. Multi-tracks are funky and low tech. I'm playing six string, twelve string, and tenor guitars and some mandolin here and there. These are all simply little snippets.
I saw two Pollocks in NY in May that made me realize I've never given him his proper due. Sure, everyone admires Pollock, but I felt that his work was very uneven, that the drip paintings was something he stumbled on and couldn't sustain, and I really don't like much of his early, more Surrealist-influenced work. However...
On Wednesday, May 18, I saw Autumn Rhythm (Number 30), 1950, at the Met:

On Thursday, May 19, at MoMA I saw One: Number 31, 1950:

These paintings are very much about the body being the center of gesture- the lines show Pollocks reach, his rhythm, and although large are really about human scale; because they are made with the whole body we see them with the whole body.
Seeing these two paintings two days in a row was a revelation. You can see how there was nothing before like them, and how influential they are. These two paintings show Pollock in a perfect groove, on top of every bit of the surface, knowing how to hold back, act, and stop.
Still more from the May NY trip-
Barnett Newman's Vir Heroicus Sublimis at MoMA: this is how you look at the painting- sit a bit, walk across the front of it, get really up close, stand back. I hadn't seen the painting for a very long time. If you spend some time with it, get really up close, move across the front of it, the zips set up pauses in the surface that your body reacts to. You become very aware of your body and its relationship to the field of color. At times, it's very much the feeling of looking at, say, Half Dome, but without the specific landscape getting in the way- it's a feeling of nakedness, of things stripped down, of your own breathing.


My time walking past the Newman made me see a yellow and red Rothko in the same room in a new way...

All this time I thought the white lines through the red middle were painted, but they're not, they're scratched into the paint. It looks like the scratches were made with a large brush hande or, maybe more likely, a flat screwdriver; the edges of the paint along the scratches make it look like a screwdriver or very small flat palette knife. In order to make these lines Rothko had to stand in the middle, arm out, and walk to the edge at either left or right, pressing in and pulling those lines across. If you walk along and follow those lines it's like you're the one making them along with Rothko.


More May NY trip photos: a treat to see so much Mondrian in one place. Look at how the bars wrap around the edges or stop a centimeter or two from the edge. The black bands are like channels in fields of white. Early on Mondrian took a unique approach to the frame- he'd put a band of white painted wood around the painting, say, and then another flat panel back behind the stretcher, and then maybe a thinner band sticking out from the edge around like a flange. It shows that he had thoughts about how to read his paintings- he painted the edges, the frames lifted the canvas off the wall, the painted edges and the channels of black give the surface a depth.


Everything is handmade, just beautiful. Mondrian's are not flat planes, not designs. He considers the entire object.
Recently I went to a party at a condo that had been remodeled by a guy with a lot of money. No detail in the whole place didn't have money thrown at it. He was especially proud of his "Mondrian" bathroom- white tiles on the walls with black bands running through, red, yellow, and blue porcelain. The bathroom was no closer to a Mondrian than a 60's dress with black bands and red, yellow, and blue rectangles. Here's a guy who thinks he's very cultured, but the result was offensive and completely missed the point of Mondrian. He'd obviously never really looked at a Mondrian.


Another photo from the May NY trip- this is a wonderful 1951 Matisse, Platane (Plane Tree), ink and gouache on paper. Fast and direct- Matisse is making cutouts at this time, working on the drawings for the tiles, windows, and chasubles for the Vence Chapel. This is from the Gelman Collection at the Met.

Manet's Boating at the Met. See following cheap digital camera pics from the May NY trip- look at the paint and the strokes. Little details, small things, the artist's hand- that's what makes the paintings. Paintings are handmade. I wrote about Manet's The Dead Christ and Angels not long ago:
...you go up and you see, and you look at his other paintings, and in some ways, if you read the paint, he's telling you pretty directly that painting is a means to representation and that there are lots of shortcuts to it. The paint is like tempera- you know when pre-schoolers stand at their little easels and cover sheets of paper with tempera paint, and it just goes on and covers and colors and has this strong presence, very direct? That's the paint in this painting. It's just such a straight shot from his brush. There isn't a lot of messing around; well, there probably is some fussiness, but it doesn't show. And to get even more direct, look at the dark outlines around the hands- he's really drawing with the brush with such confidence, just like our young pre-schooler would outline an object.
More May NY photos- these two by Malevich are just so powerful. Neither is probably higher than twenty inches, and they're both just so human- the surfaces and edges of the paint tremble with the presence of their maker; so vulnerable, just oil paint on fabric- they breathe. And the space in both paintings... you just soar. What's wonderful is the space between these two, one above the other. You come upon these in a large room- Duchamp is at one end of the room, then walk to the other end of the room, past a window looking out on 53rd St, and there are these two, waiting to pull you in and take off.

Tyler Green
posted about Clyfford Stills at the Met. Here's some shots from May, but I avoided
the David Smith in the middle of the room. These Stills are unlike anything typically
hanging at SFMoMA at any time- smaller, a different touch (not quite the same
feel of the palette knife), and that orange and green is unlike any Still I've
ever seen, and I've see plenty.


It seems that few people like Still- many are indifferent, many hate his
work. But I think they're missing something. You have to hang out with them,
to walk in front of them, to stand close and look up and across the surface.
Still was indifferent to us, I think, and his paintings are kind of stoic.
It's kind of corny to talk about the heroic situation of the lone viewer confronting
the terrifying void. Blah, blah, blah. On a good day, a good Still can do
that.



Tentatively called "Green Mountain" or, in Irish, "Sliabh Gorm," these are from late 2004, oil on canvas, 16 x 12 inches each. These were made in a matter of minutes from thinned blue green oil. I've left them as is. I take them out every once in awhile to look at and see what I can learn from them and why I want to leave them as they are.
The cheap digital camera at work again. I didn't know the time stamp was turned on.
I live in Oakland, California in the 9th Congressional District. My representative, Barbara Lee, "was the only member of Congress to vote against the resolution authorizing President Bush to 'use all necessary and appropriate force against those nations, organizations, or persons he determines planned, authorized, committed, or aided the terrorist attacks that occurred on September 11, 2001, or harbored such organizations or persons, in order to prevent any future acts of international terrorism against the United States by such nations, organizations or persons.[1]'"
The only member of Congress to vote no.
Congresswoman Lee called for a town meeting at the Grand Lake Theater to discuss the Downing Street Memos on Saturday, July 23. A number of these events occurred across the country yesterday. Two days earlier, on July 21, she "introduced a Resolution of Inquiry calling on the Bush administration to produce information to answer questions raised by a series of classified British memos that suggest that pre-war intelligence was fixed in order to justify the invasion of Iraq."
Outside the Grand Lake Theater:

The theater was packed; all seats were taken, and people lined the aisles. The moderator was Medea Benjamin, Founding Director of Global Exchange. The panel consisted of Barbara Lee; Steve Cobble, of AfterDowningStreet.org; Daniel Ellsberg,; Bill Mitchel of Gold Star Families for Peace, a man who, after his son was killed serving Iraq, turned to peace activist work; and Harvey Tharp of Iraq Veterans against War, a young man who served in the Air Force and worked with the Iraq people in Iraq but ended his fourteen year career after being assigned to do work that forced him to have to consider the Iraq people has faceless, inhuman targets.
A full house:

Lots of applause, a little humor, much passion. Big hiss everytime Diane Feinstein is mentioned. Good to be among people who feel and know that this is a very bad situation that has to end.
Barbara Lee gets a standing ovation:

No real new information except this: the latest budget estimating future costs of the Iraq war (I'm trying to track a source for this) includes the cost of 3,000 more dead soldiers. That budget includes things like insurance, death payments to surviving family members, transportation and burial costs- the entire cost of a dead soldier that the military must bear. So, our government has budgeted for more dead. Sure, they don't want 3,000 more dead, and like any business there are always estimated costs for things that may or may not happen, but it would be nice if, along with this estimated cost, there was a plan for not having to spend this money- a plan to get out of Iraq.
Daniel Ellsberg:

Looking Into the Divine Eyes of Spiritual Sculptures
Holland Carter
NY Times, 20050722
Garner, 2005, HTML, 280 x 960 pixels
Coburn, 2005, HTML, 280 x 960 pixels
Bronson, 2005, HTML, 280 x 960 pixels
McQueen, 2005, HTML, 280 x 960 pixels
I was flipping around on TV the other night and The Great Escape was on. I first saw this movie on TV when I was ten or twelve. It's about POWs in Germany during WWII, mostly British and American, and the huge escape through tunnels that they attempt.
At that time I was really impressed with Steve McQueen's cooler and motorcyle scenes. In the cooler he has has a ball and glove, and sits on the floor throwing and bouncing the ball off the opposite wall, playing catch with himself to keep himself occupied during period of isolation as punishement for escape attempts. After the final escape of a couple hundred POWs the film follows several characters attempts to get out of Germany, and McQueen's final attempt is on motorcycle through fields and jumping fences once he is detected by German soldiers; it's sort of a typical rugged individualist scene, but kind of thrilling, and McQueen stays vulernable through it, ending in his recapture.
The thing that struck me when watching the film again recently were that there four American actors: McQueen, Charles Bronson, James Coburn, and James Ganer. I don't know if in 1963 each of these actors were the big name that they are now, but it's interesting to see them in a single film even if they are rarely, if ever, in the same scenes. Another film that is interesting to see as an ensemble piece of big names (and it's a good film besides that quality) is Cool Hand Luke (1967), with Paul Newman, George Kennedy, Strother Martin, Dennis Hopper, Harry Dean Stanton, Wayne Rogers, Ralph White, and several other faces one by now easily recognizes.
This set of four drawings is about the four characters played by McQueen, Bronson, Coburn, and Garner. I decided not to extend the series to other actors; for example, other strong characters played by Richard Attenborough and Donald Pleasance. This set is just about how these four characters stand out.

Texas at. Oakland, 20050717, bottom of the first

Texas at Oakland, 20050717, top of the seventh
This is not the kind of thing that anyone is going to notice without it being
pointed out, but since June 1st I've been including my own attributes in the table
tag for every HTML drawing:
author="" title="" date="" height=""width="" URL="" comment=""So, yesterday's drawing, for example, is like this:
<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" bgcolor="#000000" author="Chris Ashley" title="McQueen" date="20050714" height="280" width="960" url="http://www.chrisashley.net/weblog/archives/week_2005_07_10.html#000888" comment="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0057115/">

This picture is for Steve Karlik. The blue painting on the left is Steve's, which he gave me during a visit to his Brooklyn studio last May:
Fox Fur and Teal Series 2004, acrylic, oil and wax on panel, 16 x 16 inches
For now it's hanging in a spare bedroom next to an old painting of mine:
12th Street, Oakland, 1985, black and white housepaint on canvas, 47 x 73.5 inches.
Currently wrapping up an interview with Steve that will be on Minus Space in August.
Ithaca Series 1-12, 2005, HTML, dimensions variable
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3. Slow Train Coming, 1979; 4. Saved, 1980, 20040712, HTML
July Set 1, 1-5, 2005, Pencil, watercolor & ink on paper, approx. 8.75 x 6.75" each (scanned)
July Set 2, 1-5, 2005, Pencil, watercolor & ink on paper, approx. 8.75 x 6.75" each (scanned)
July Set 3, 1-5, 2005, Pencil, watercolor & ink on paper, approx. 8.75 x 6.75" each (scanned)
July Trio, 2005, Pencil, watercolor & ink on paper, approx. 8.75 x 6.75" each (scanned)
Buttermilk Falls, Ithaca, NY, 2005, HTML, 520 x 440 pixels
Tompkins County, NY, 2005, HTML, 380 x 340 pixels
Auburn, NY 20050701, 2005, HTML, 425 x 394 pixels

Finger Lakes, 2005, HTML, 325 x 340 pixels
(Suggestion: view while standing back six feet or more from your monitor)
Cornell, 2005, HTML, 400 x 380 pixels
(Suggestion: view while standing back six feet or more from your monitor)
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Fox at Twilight, Freeville, New York (20050629), 2005, HTML, 480 x 440 pixels
(Suggestion: view while standing back six feet or more from your monitor)
Last Friday, July 1, 2005, I drove from Ithaca, where I spent the week at Cornell, to Buffalo, NY to visit the Albright Knox Gallery. I specifically wanted to see the Forman Collection of (mostly) monochrome (mostly) painting, given to the museum a couple of years ago, as well as the Albright's collection of Clyfford Stills. The Albright is only one of two museums with a substantial collection of Stills, a gift from the artist with the condition that a portion always be on display in a dedicated room. The other museum is my hometown modern- SFMoMA. I also wanted to see as much as possible of the museum's permanent collection.
It's a long drive from Ithaca to Buffalo for someone more used to California freeways- about 150 miles. Sure, the bulk of my drive was on the NY Thruway, but I also had to drive about 50 miles of two lane road just to get to the thruway. I left Ithaca about 1:15 p.m., and got back to my hotel at Cornell at almost 11:30 p.m. Grueling.
I arrived at almost 5:00. The Albright is in a grand old building in a park setting beside a small lake, and I had high hopes. But at the front desk-- free on Friday nights until 10:00 p.m.- I was told that except for one small room the permanent collection was closed because the next large show, Extreme Abstraction, is being installed. The one small room held Pollock's Convergence, de Kooning's Gotham News, Rothko's Orange and Yellow 1956, Kline's New York, NY, 1953, and Reinhardt's beautiful, tall and narrow, all blue No. 15, 1952. All excellent, but I didn't drive 150 miles for five paintings. The AK website, which is ugly and really sucks, didn't say a word about this.
First impressions- the Albright needs a makeover. It's drab, feels dirty, there are too many layers of paint on walls, and it's dark. The place feels old, neglected.
I asked the young man at the desk who the artist was of the new, brightly colored metal piece freshly installed outside (below). He didn't know. I asked other people- no one knew. All they could tell me was that it was newly installed and part of Extreme Abstraction.

Unknown, Albright Knox Gallery
I took the elevator down to the newer, attached galleries- newer as in, say, 1961 rather than 1901. It reminded me a bit of the old Walker in Minneapolis, but felt more rundown and without good sightlines.
The Forman Collection comprises over one hundred and sixty (mostly) monochrome (mostly) paintings and sculpture, and about two hundred works on paper, none of which were shown. The collection was built over about ten years or so, from the early 90's to around 2002. There are some beautiful works and big names-- Marioni, Hafif, Sims, for example-- but strong work that struck me was by Ebnother (see my interview with Alan here or here), Meyer, Howell, Tollens, and de Crignis. It was fortunate that these painters were represented by small bodies of work, say four to six paintings, installed together.
Good light is important to see much of this work, which is why it's so unfortunate that most of these galleries are artificially lit with spots. The lighting was terrible- yellowish and often poorly aimed, it interfered with seeing the work. Marioni's five paintings, for example, suffered a great deal because of inadequate, badly aimed, reflective lighting.
No photography was allowed, though I don't see the harm in installation shots. Normally my cheap digital camera would be up to the job, but the light was so bad, combined with the need to shoot quickly and surreptitiously, that the pictures I took are pretty worthless in terms of seeing color and surface.

John Meyer (left) and Peter Tollens (right) in the Forman Collection, Albright Knox Gallery, 20050701
I have nothing too brilliant in general to say about the Forman Collection that hasn't been said elsewhere (for example, see Marcia Hafif's texts). Stuff I've said before: Monochrome paintings aren't monochrome. Each artist's approach is different. These differences are part of each painting's subject. Craft is important. Size isn't everything. But also, if you spend time with the work, just like with any other art, there are personal politics and attitudes at play in each artist's work. How is that possible? See what I wrote about George Lawson's San Cai paintings last fall.
James Howell's gray paintings were surprisingly engaging. John Meyer's heavily braced wood panels are very object-like; he veered close to furniture making. I was very drawn to John Beech's quirky sculpture. Each of the surfaces of Alan Ebnother's three paintings had varied brushwork made with different brushes and different-sized strokes. Marcia Hafif's work is very conceptual in that it refers to painting in history. Phil Sims was represented by smaller paintings scattered throughout the exhibit rather than hung together like the other artists's work, and was far better than the work in his show I wrote about last fall. The sides of Rudolf de Crignis's canvases are made smooth and seamless with plaster and gesso, which combined with his front surfaces makes the work smooth, fast, tight. (Read a very positive review at Artcritical.)

Marcia Hafif (front) and Joseph Marioni (rear) in the Forman Collection, Albright Knox Gallery, 20050701
When I was ready to see the Stills I asked someone at the desk where his paintings are.
"Oh, yeah, we showed him a few months ago."
"You mean there are none on display right now?"
"No, we just showed them."
"Doesn't that violate the conditions of his gift, that a portion be displayed in a dedicated room at all times?"
(Shrug) "I don't know anything about that."
Huh? On the same page linked to above regarding the Albright's Stills it says, "According to the terms of the gift, the paintings must be shown in their own room, all of the time, and never loaned to other museums." OK!
I have a love-hate relationship with Still, know the SF paintings pretty well, and wanted to study whatever the Albright Knox might be showing. My loss. But what a ripoff, and what a long drive back to Ithaca.
See Donald Kuspit's excellent 2001 essay on Still: "Frontier Abstraction."
The Art of Richard Tuttle at SFMoMA is a wonderfully fascinating and engrossing exhibit. There is a lot of work, much of it small with lots of details to take in, and his continual invention, renewal, and joy in making and the visual is present at every turn. The work is all closely connected to attuned seeing, and especially pushes the moment of insight that transforms everyday survival vision into the something new, alive, sparkly, and transcendent.
I intend to see the show, which just opened last week, two or three times, and so my visit Sunday was supposed to be no more than an hour to get an overall feel. Instead I spent nearly three hours; first, I walked through all the galleries from beginning to end, then started at the beginning slowly making my way from one room to another, then walked backwards through the whole thing again.
Tuttle's work has the feeling of being made with scavenged pieces and materials from a hardware store. There is a feeling not only of reusing found material, but also reusing his own work- some works feel that they're made with pieces that have been laying around and suddenly found and joined. Much of his work, though constructed, is really collage, yet so far in what I've read in the literature accompanying this show the use of the word or the idea of collage isn't really present.
Nowhere does the museum use the word "retrospective," yet this is clearly a career overview. But still, I have the sense that I haven't seen a full representation of his work, that there are more areas that could be shown. And it is very useful to have full series of works together, so I wish that there were more examples of a complete series. I highly encourage setting aside a good chunk of time to spend with this show, which eventually travels to NY, Des Moines, Dallas, Chicago, and LA.
Images from Sperone Westwater used without permission

Raoul De Keyser installation currently at Das Kunstmuseum St.Gallen, CH.
Tubman House, Auburn, New York (20050701), 2005, HTML, 480 x 420 pixels
Ithaca to Groton (20050628), 2005, HTML, 440 x 520 pixels