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Thomas Kinkade—Faust rising?
April 8, 2012
Should you one day stumble upon an old tombstone declaring, “My disdain for kitsch precedes my passion for art,” then your path had led to my forgotten resting place. Why kitsch even play into debates between Modernism and Postmodernism is bothersome. By critic Stephen Smith’s definition of those disciplines, I can be considered loosely as a Postmodernist, where “the work of art stands on its own … the idea of the author (not the author) is primary,” (whereas in Modernism, “the author—‘genius’—was all-important … the quality of the artwork was secondary to the presentation.” ). But I digress. Smith was unforgiving—“Norman Rockwell was an illustrator … selling your work meant people understood it—bad, very bad. Anything that could be appreciated by the masses was crass, worse, it was kitsch.” Et tu, Thomas Kinkade? For all his “success” (4K+ dealers, publicly traded company, record sales, etc., etc.), I nurse no thread of envy as from one artist to another. “Better a failure at something I love,” George Burns once quipped, “than a success at one I hate.” And I am obviously not a fan of kitsch. I’ve had my struggle with it. As by most definitions, I also see it as an unabashed pandering to popular demand at the price of a true, genuine self-expression of the artist. Even in life endeavors, shades of kitsch visit us—go with the flow, embrace the sentimentality, stay the stereotype, be likeably common. Expect no “limited edition” Kinkade just yet—the label may say so, but count on repeat “affectations” of the same flooding the market. My final resting place may be forgotten, but for the peril of being remembered for something I ought not to be defined by, oblivion is bliss.
The Digital Juxtapose
March 22, 2012
There is enhancement and there is image manipulation—and there is ethics. The encumbrance of the latter falls on the shoulder of the artist, or more perceptively, in the soul of the creator. I’ve wrestled with the dilemma from the perspective of an artist, and took the position that ethics, along with aesthetics, validated the integrity of the artist’s work. Superfluous imaging contrivance brings to mind those hats worn by ladies of modern societies in recent past. The hat, presumably to protect the wearer from the elements, became so obsessively ornate it turned into more of a grotesque load over the head than anything akin to the basis for its existence. Image manipulation did not start with Photoshop, little novel there—it’s been around since man first created images in the caves. Even long after the advent of photography, I had confronted the issue while processing prints in my darkroom—when does the pursuit of aesthetics violate our ethics? Artists lean toward their genre of choice, of course, but while I may find the digitized Salvador Daliesque déjà vu occasionally arresting and sometimes amusing, the span is short and abrupt, since the weight of the imagery rests mainly on its manipulation, predictably already a given, and therefore devoid of an exploration of any further meaning if at all—or is there? When initial shock dissipates, is there left of a meaningful imagery that takes the viewer to really experience that frozen moment which elevates a photograph to its higher human relevance? All things considered, I concur with Jerry Lodriguss’ analysis in his Ethics of Digital Manipulation. Writers, he wrote, massage the language of words, photographers the language of light; yet he succinctly pointed out, “It becomes a problem, and a question of ethics, when the artist or photographer lies about his motivations, methods, and conclusions, and presents images with the purpose to intentionally deceive.”
Abstract art—more than meets the eye
March 2, 2011
My interest in acrylic goes way back to my old airline days, a mere couple of decades then after the introduction of this new medium. But painting impressionistic abstract was a more recent foray for me. I would paint not so much a scene, as an idea. Surmounting the caution, engaging the energy—all are catalyst for the creative transformation, a journey of mind. Once dared the audacious strokes and intensity on the canvas, overcoming restraints, life begins to evolve. In my recent painting, Dawn Break,* my intent was not for a bucolic scenery of painterly flora, but the more edgy essence of overpowering angst—the vigor of shining light tearing away the cold dark of night, the straining outgrowth of new leaf heralding a symbolic renewal. A vision of promise, the searing birth of a new day.
* “Dawn Break” (© Ed Passi, 2011) was a commissioned art painting and now hangs on a wall of a Southern California medical clinic.
Art Casualties of 9/11
February 20, 2011
Along with the tragic loss of lives in the Sept. 11, 2001 attack was also the sad loss of timeless works of art. This included the James Rosati’s Ideogram stainless steel sculpture, the World Trade Center Tapestry by Joan Miró, Auguste Rodin’s 300 sculptures and drawings of the Cantor Fitzgerald collection, 40,000 negatives of Jacques Lowe photographs documenting John Kennedy’s presidency, among others. It is once again a grim testimony of the destructiveness of war and sociological turmoil that had marked the fragile history of civilization. Creative toil and lifetime endeavor die as well.
Cuture Shock of New Media
August 5, 2010
The creative arts in multifaceted forms are ingrained in the language of persuasion which drives modern society—in commerce, politics, entertainment, even science and education. It’s in every imagery, color, texture, and design of our man-made environment—an inherent persuasive social force. But the creative arts also suffer profound transformation over time, and it’s never been more fused with the accelerated advances in technology than we’re seeing today. When these two worlds collide, the shock jolts art perception and culture exponentially. Suddenly, the media is a vicarious abstract. The tactile experience is shattered. We are catapulted to a visualized realm. The language is transformed as is the experience. Yet the creative arts shine through intact. Though the medium may have morphed into different form and substance—for better or for worse—the artist still wields the conceptualizing, statement-making, imagining brush that brands the defining stroke of genius into the image creation. What really changed was our expanded options of which light to shine with on the image we’re viewing, or creating—a culture-rending leap.
Greeting card art—lost for words
August 1, 2010
Receiving a meaningful greeting card nowadays is well worth treasuring. It may well be the lost art of a vanishing rare gem. Time was when eager anticipation met with hope that a valued token of friendship would find its way into your mailbox, your own name personally handwritten by the sender who took the time to count you in among those special enough to share his thoughts with even just for that one time of the year. The experience is no more—demeaned, to put it kindly. All too often, after a year of absence, all you’d hear from someone is in a formalized gesture of a card—personable enough if you’re lucky—that may not even have your name in it. The once heartwarming tradition has been reduced to a cheap version of a booksigning ritual, only worse—the keepsake is as diminished as the magic. Businesses may put an extra effort in “personalizing” their greeting cards—theirs is a unique challenge to come across as “warm” and “caring” to their customers. Sometimes, just making their list is enough to elicit good rapport. It’s how they communicate the message that too often unmasks an overriding scheme. You don’t send a “Happy Holiday” card to a friend and then note, “you still got time for our wide selection of gifts!” or a “Get Well” card and then add, “don’t forget your donation to help others also sick!” It misses by a wide mark the spirit of the act and makes you wonder about the sensibilities of the source. It still stirs up that warm feeling opening truly personal cards kept over the years—like revisiting a long-lost friend. The words reach out—fine threads that bind our community of kinship. When all’s said and delivered, that really is what it’s about.
Lessons Teaching
Had Taught Me
March 12, 2010
Teaching is in itself an education and an art. Anybody who tells you he had already learned everything is lying. That is the first lesson teaching teaches the teacher. Having knowledge is one thing, imparting it is another—lesson two. You don’t adopt a creative skill, you nurture it—the hardest lesson of all. It’s also the toughest challenge for any teacher—and student. The only effective starting point in learning is a mindset one can work with. Leave that wanting and it’s already a daunting handicap to struggle with. It’s also the most valuable lesson I had come to terms with as a teacher—and as a learner. Teaching, as someone once wisely counseled, is learning twice. It’s a paradox in transformation. Indeed when you heed a good teacher or mentor—you change the world.
Birthday musings
March 10, 2010
I’ve pondered which of what we count today as truth would be reconsidered over time as part mystery, mythology, symbolism, or even just plain misconstrued art. Yet even if I’d known I would live this long, I would’ve still rushed my life through all the changes. Mistakes are more the stepping stones than the stumbling blocks. I find more regrets in things I didn’t do soon enough than in those I did too soon. Birthdays are bite-sized lifetimes—chunks of our formalized compartmentalization of time, as we cross through what Einstein dubbed the fourth dimension. I have two birthdays—one when I came into this world and the other when I came into my own. Not only was our world different in our past—we also saw it differently then. And the past grows on us over every birthday—makes the present a gift, the future a promise. Over the years, birthdays have become the window of time from where I could relish a refreshing view of life’s great portraiture.
Days of Friendship
January 3, 2010
Friendship, once nurtured and ingrained, is like a timeless work of art. It had taken me half a century and more than seven thousand miles to face up to the startling fact that friendship does incredibly break through the barriers of time and space. My reunion halfway across the planet with friends and schoolmates which links went as far back as distant childhood was straight from fiction, and it hit me how friendship, too often the underrated factor, so much impacted our life in a more far-reaching way than openly acknowledged. It was indeed fitting in 1935, when the US Congress officially proclaimed the first Sunday of August as the National Friendship Day. The noble idea of honoring the beautiful relationship of friendship had caught on since, with popular following in other countries, including India, among many others. The tradition of dedicating a day to friends was a grand celebration and rightly so. Friendship is like second family, to some folks the family—enhancing hues, textures, and touches of life’s fleeting imagery. Undeniably, even the best of lives is made yet fuller with friendship, and wanting without.
Kaffeeklatsch
January 1, 2010
You have just visited the newly evolved microblog from my now streamlined site. It’s in a free-form kaffeeklatsch (coffee chat) format on just about any impromptu human-interest subject under the sun, with bits of micro-anecdotes thrown in occasionally. This is the page that will be updated periodically, like a virtual café for connecting with and expanding friendships and community. You are still welcome to join in our real-life kaffeeklatsch on certain weekend mornings, a refreshing break from the busy world out there. Way of cultivating new ideas as well as revisiting life-changing moments.
~Ed
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Also related viewing: photographs compilation—Ed Passi Log