Staff Pick: Unfinished Thoughts

Dreamlike, a summer pastoral landscape emerges through a haze of atmospheric light, as if conjured by our own vision.  Brushy suggestions of clouds meander across an otherwise ambiguous and aleatory sky while we stand at the edge of a field fading into scattered optical unconscious. This oil painting by Jonathan Wilde, exhibited in his current show with Craig Clifford entitled Birds and Boundaries, as its title suggests, is in name, unfinished. However, as it hangs framed on a white gallery wall, its name is a bit of a paradox.

 Unfinished Thoughts, Jonathan Wilde, 17.5" x 28"

Unfinished Thoughts, Jonathan Wilde, 17.5" x 28"

Unfinished Thoughts belongs to a class of works that Art Historians call non finito, that is to say, intentionally left unfinished. Though the technique traditionally was used in sculpture during the Renaissance and Baroque periods, nineteenth-century artists during the Romantic era began applying the style to their paintings. Many scholars, myself included, argue that this quality signals the beginning of Modernism as we know it. 

Artists, especially painters, have historically struggled with the finishing their works. While Jacques-Louise David and Paul Cézanne embraced non finito works, deliberately leaving large areas unfinished or blank entirely, others, such as Claude Monet and Joseph Mallord William Turner, never felt their works were finished and rather continued to develop over their careers, returning again and again to paintings to make small additions here and there. These works represent the problem of infinite of possibility, finite time, and the possibility of over working (of which I am myself, a watercolor artist, acutely aware). Camille Pissarro even famously proclaimed that “[t]o finish a work, is to kill it.”

Non finito works are, at their core, experimental; we can see the artist’s process as he works out visual challenges— his thoughts leaving their mark across the canvas. I believe that works like Unfinished Thoughts hold a particular power as they insist the viewer actively participate; our inherently creative minds make sense of the “partial” image  by filling incomplete portions— we too become artists in our own right. Looking becomes making.

Q&A with Jonathan Wilde and Craig Clifford

 Wilde's responses as they were sent to Abel Contemporary Gallery

Wilde's responses as they were sent to Abel Contemporary Gallery

Established Wisconsin artists, Craig Clifford and Jonathan Wilde, will be featured in an upcoming exhibit entitled Birds and Boundaries. We emailed these two with a few questions as to what we can expect to see in this exhibition of their newest works and their artistic processes— Clifford emailed his answers, while Wilde sent us a delightfully handwritten response on the back of a local library book sale flyer (see image).  

Throughout my art education I have become fascinated by artist notes in all forms: pieces of scrap paper half-discarded in the studio, new ideas both fleeting and overworked, and small notes never meant for eyes other than the artist's-- they all reveal an inner life often hidden from the public eye. However, I would suggest that these "answers" provide a greater insight into the artist than any type-faced, seriffed response. 

 

-Lauren Miller 

 Craig Clifford,  Range

Craig Clifford, Range

Why did you decide to work in your chosen media?

CC: Clay works the way my mind works.  The material allows me to change course quickly, cut off a part and add a new part.  There isn't another material that looks like glaze.  The more times, I fire a piece the deeper and richer my colors get. I'm not great at measuring, but if I'm off somewhere clay is soft and I can fill the gap with another piece of clay.  My first ceramics class was in 1988 and I still learn new things about ceramics all of the time.

JW: I am attracted to oils mainly because of the strength of the colors, feel I can get more “umph”. As well I like how the  paint can be maneuvered for effect. Partially, they are easier to frame than works on paper which generally require mattes, glass, etc

How has your work changed over time?

CC: My work has always been sculptural in nature, but the main aspects of the pieces were functional; teapots mostly.  This body of work starts to move away from the functional object, although a couple of teapots still show up.  

JW: Technically I try to pay more attention to value changes, how they lend themselves to enhancing the subject matter

 Jonathan Wilde,  Life Getting Easier , 25 x 37

Jonathan Wilde, Life Getting Easier, 25 x 37

 

What's the most indispensable item in your studio?

 two of Clifford's favorite tools in his studio   

two of Clifford's favorite tools in his studio

 

CC: My favorite tool is a long nail cleaner, from a beauty shop (image attached).  I'm not even sure how I got the tool, maybe a student left the tool in class.  One end is pointy, but rounded, while the other end is flat, perfect for smoothing.  I've probably have had the tool for ten years and will go into a beauty supply store looking for for a replacement, but can only find the short ones.

JW: Most indispensable… Well I suppose Me! The usual— paint and brushes— good quality, being important. Speaking of brushes, an unusual “ingredient” I really like is “lard oil” which really helps to keep brushes in good form.

 

Is there an artist who has strongly influenced your work?

CC: Tony Marsh has influenced my work the most.  Tony was my undergraduate teacher, his work isn't anything like mine, but Tony taught me how to work and be an artist.  I look at a lot of artwork and take something from all of it, but there isn't really one person.

JW: Winslow Homer, Andrew Wyeth, Peter Poskas, Marc R. Hanson.

 

Can you tell us something noteworthy about your current work?

CC: It's hard for me to comment about the current body of work, I'm still in the making process.  This work is more narrative to me.  It's small, but there little bits of story spread out through the pieces.  I maybe the only person who is aware of these stories, because I make them up in my head as I make.  

JW: I feel I’m getting more “out of the paint,” or  at least I’m trying to push it. When it works it can be responsible for paintings that are closer to accomplishing what I set out to do/capture.

 

Birds and Boundaries opens Friday, April 20th 2018, please join us for an opening reception from 5-9pm with the artists  and light refreshments.

Staff Pick: Iceberg Jars

The death of a glacier is an ear-splitting event. A cacophonous chorus of moans, groans, shrieks and wails accompanied by rounds of shotgun cracks create a deafening atmosphere unlike anything else on earth. These death rattles are the loudest natural phenomenon—louder than volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, and thunderstorms combined. However, sound cannot travel in a vacuum, like that contained in a bell jar, a vessel which became immensely popular for the display of taxidermy and other curiosities during the Victorian era. Richard Jones’s Iceberg Jars, part of the Abel Contemporary Gallery’s Water exhibition, play with the imminent reality that glacial ice, due to man’s interactions with the environment, will soon become such a curiousity.

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The Iceberg Jars are reminiscent of biological specimens in a natural history collection, preserved for study so that future generations may study these bygone relics. Their striking beauty is bittersweet and in their viewing one is confronted with a mix of emotions: awe, loss, veneration, introspection, a desire to touch something so transient, fragile, and breakable. Upon lifting their lids and reaching in to feel the glistening texture of the exposed tip of the iceberg, one discovers the surprising weight of the sculpture which invites further investigation after the realization that the inner “berg” may be lifted out to enable functional use (I envision these as fantastic ice buckets and imagine watching the ice melt down around the inner piece, dripping down along the long contours of submerged half of the iceberg, and pooling at the base of the jar). 

 

 

-Lauren Miller

Staff Pick: Scene of the Crime

Rounding the leaden door of the so-called “Cooler” gallery, we are transported, like Alice down the rabbit hole, into a world in which our existence is diminutive in the presence of an enormous severed string of pearls. Of course, the sensation of being made small by a work of art is nothing new, evoking the sublime often being the artist’s goal. However, in the case of Lisa Gralnick’s Scene of the Crime, what dwarfs the viewer is not only the colossal sculpture, but rather the act which created this spectacle and our interactions with the piece. 

Pearls are the world’s oldest gems, found among the tombs of Egyptian queens, referenced in ancient Chinese texts, and imbedded in Greek jewelry. Before the discovery of modern cultivation techniques, pearls were both financially and, at times, legally out of the reach of anyone not of royal or noble blood. Functioning as symbols of the wearer’s purity, piousness, and often femininity, strings of pearls often stand in for their iconic owners, Coco Channel, Jackie Kennedy, Grace Kelly and Marge Simpson to name a few. 

Curiously, from their conception, pearls are products of irritation— being formed by particles covered in layer upon layer of a crystalline substance excreted by their mollusk craftsmen. Gralnick’s work is also seeded by a similar punctum. The gesture of tearing off one’s pearls— be it by one’s own hand in a fit of hysteria, like the femme fatale staring in a film noir, or by an assailant, as in the case Bruce Wayne (Batman)’s Mother’s tragic demise— is a trope of climactic rejection of their emblematic affluence. 

Scene of the Crime poses the viewer in the position of witness, or perhaps investigator, of such a dramatic and pivotal episode. The larger than life evidence imbues the claustrophobic “Cooler Gallery” with echoing and inescapable lines of questioning: “What happened here?”; “Who has done this?”; and “Why?” A single matching pearl stud lays discarded near the exit, its partner no where to be found— hinting that the owner escaped the Scene of the Crime and still is at large. 

-Lauren Miller

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About the author: Lauren is the newest addition to the Abel Gallery, bringing with her a BA with Honors and two years of PhD work from the University of Wisconsin— Madison in Art History and Visual Cultures; several years of curatorial and exhibition work for the Chazen Museum of Art, the James Watrous Gallery, and the Ebling Library; and an unrelenting enthusiasm for the Arts. She engages with interdisciplinary topics running the gamut from nineteenth-century spiritualist photography and victorian sorcery, to phenomenological examinations of Cézanne and his contemporaries, to early anatomical texts.

Madison Essentials - A Farmer at Heart, A Printmaker at Hand

The latest issue of Madison Essentials had a lovely feature on S. V. Medaris, a painter and printmaker represented by the gallery. Read the article below, and see her work at the gallery!

A Farmer at Heart, a Printmaker at Hand

"I think we are slowly losing our tie to the land, as the percentage of people who live in the country is much smaller than times past." Hearing S.V. (Sue) Medaris, you wouldn't expect her to be a printmaker. She's so enamored with her muses that you almost miss the way she chooses to honor them.

Home Elements and Concepts - Creating Art Pt. II

"Meaningful art is an important part of our society. You may purchase art for the joy it brings and to enhance your home’s interior, but it also helps support artists so that they can devote themselves to their craft. How does one become an artist and how is art priced? In my last article, I explained how one becomes an artist through formal education and practical experience followed by the challenge to create a professional and consistent body of work. The final steps include getting the work from the studio to exhibition, then hopefully to being purchased. "

-Theresa Abel

Read the rest of the article by following the link below.

Creating Art Part II

Meaningful art is an important part of our society. You may purchase art for the joy it brings and to enhance your home's interior, but it also helps support artists so that they can devote themselves to their craft. How does one become an artist and how is art priced?

Gerit Grimm turns ceramic figures into storytellers

Diane M. Bacha, Special to the Journal SentinelPublished 9:30 a.m. CT Dec. 18, 2017

  (Photo: Courtesy of MOWA)

(Photo: Courtesy of MOWA)

Most of us know figurines as ornamental trinkets. They’re diminutive, breakable, and invariably sentimental. Modern-day iterations are often angels and fairies, rosy-cheeked children and big-skirted princesses.

I’ve never been a figurine collector, but I’ve been thinking about them a lot since viewing Gerit Grimm’s ceramic sculptures at the Museum of Wisconsin Art.

Grimm, who teaches at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, is a meticulous and accomplished ceramicist. Her work reflects an accumulation of influences and interests that date back to her childhood in the former German Democratic Republic, her years as a production potter, and her early fascination with the California Funk ceramic movement. She is a voracious consumer of art history and a determined boundary-pusher at the potter’s wheel.

Her calling card is a method of creating figures and tableaus by fusing pottery and sculpture. Grimm begins with wheel-thrown pots that might become a torso or a skirt, a tree trunk or a boat hull. On to these foundational shapes she layers delicate and telling details that give each a story to tell.

“Gerit Grimm’s Fairytales: In a Time Neither Now Nor Then,” curated by MOWA’s Graeme Reid, fills the changing-exhibits gallery with the results of this painstaking process. Seven groupings of figurative ceramic sculpture are installed to easily accommodate 360-degree viewing. All are rendered in the unglazed, stone-brown clay Grimm has been working with exclusively since 2011.

Walking through the exhibit can feel like a stroll through an enchanted forest populated by characters from – as the exhibit’s title implies – a book of fairy tales. (That Grimm shares a last name with the famous storytelling brothers is a delicious coincidence.) But the “fairy tales” label, rich as it is, risks putting Grimm’s sculptures into too small a box.

Her inspiration springs from a stew of classical mythology, Biblical stories, folklore, Renaissance paintings, children’s books, and decorative crafts among many others. In describing her work, she has referenced dolls, puppets, and the theatrical traditions of commedia dell’arte. Her earlier work – colorful, highly glazed, and smaller in scale – hearken to Meissen figurines of porcelain shepherdesses and gentlemen. To this she adds her own lived experiences and interests (she tango dances and sails in her spare time).

The MOWA show spans seven years of Grimm’s output. It is populated by villagers, peddlers, children, lovers, boaters, mourners, a nobleman, a bride, an executioner, and an alchemist. They play out scenes from the Bible, Greek mythology, folklore, and Grimm’s own imaginative (and often witty) re-interpretations of all the above.

 Gerit Grimm's "Entombment" (2017) at the Museum of Wisconsin Art in West Bend. Grimm's art fuses pottery and sculpture.  (Photo: Courtesy of MOWA)

Gerit Grimm's "Entombment" (2017) at the Museum of Wisconsin Art in West Bend. Grimm's art fuses pottery and sculpture. (Photo: Courtesy of MOWA)

“Wedding Procession of Psyche” (2015) is a scene from Greek mythology in which the doomed bride is surrounded by attendants, some carrying bouquets and others sheathed in funeral attire. “Fountain” (2011), which evokes the centerpiece of a village square, is seething with frolicking couples and fish spitting water. In a series of four trees (2011-'15), Grimm tells stories about gloom, happiness, love, and community by festooning each tree with mothers and babies, couples and lovers, children at play and adults at work. Elsewhere we see a horse-dawn carriage, a monument to an 18th century ceramics patron, an assembly-line of beauty-salon body parts, and mythology’s Ulysses encountering sirens.

 

It’s easy to greet this exhibit, at first, as a collection of dolls and puppets. Grimm plays with that first impression, then upends it. Seeing puppet-like figures chop off a head (“Guillotine,” 2012) and doll-like characters carry a corpse (“Entombment,” 2017) is our first clue that something else is going on here. Three of her sculptures are life-sized, looking us straight in the eye. We notice, too, that the garments are from no distinct era, which plays with our sense of time and setting.

This upending also has much to do with the astonishing results Grimm coaxes from her medium, imbuing each figure with a sometimes haunting, sometimes humorous sense of presence. Hand gestures, facial expressions, even the eye contact between figures are magically expressive. These details add complexity to the stories each character tells. Along with the absence of color, Grimm is renegotiating her relationship – and ours – with the ubiquitous ceramic figurine.

We can see that relationship evolving. In her most recent works, Grimm’s pots take on more qualities of fabric, revealing the movement of limbs beneath. The detailing is more sparse, and a subtle note of abstraction is introduced. Her “Sirens” (2016-'17) squirm in their Martha Graham-like garments – are they trying to extract themselves, or conveying a message? It’s a universal human-vs.-wardrobe tussle choreographed so artfully your eye keeps returning to the dance.

The most recent sculptures are installed at the back of the gallery: five groupings depicting the crucifixion and entombment of Christ (2017). They are more distilled and, to my eye, more intensely felt. After her father’s unexpected death in 2016, Grimm found herself turning to the topics of mourning and grief by using, as usual, age-old symbols as touchstones. Her “Lamentation” is suffused with tender sadness. Her “Pieta” merges an animated figure with a clumsy, lifeless one, in a sobering juxtaposition of love and loss.

Even setting aside subject matter, this exhibit begins on a lighthearted note and slowly insinuates an unsettling theme. Grimm is aware that there’s an awkwardness to her figures. The tension created by joining high and low themes is a conscious one for her. It’s as if she’s rescuing the figurine from its enslavement to coyness and decoration, which disrupts accepted and long-held associations.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that so many of her figures recount stories about women, especially women under duress. Grimm’s female figurines have grown up, found their own voice, and are much less delicate than their antecedents. Despite initial appearances, you have to take them seriously.

“Gerit Grimm’s Fairytales” is on view through Jan. 7 at the Museum of Wisconsin Art, 205 Veterans Ave., West Bend. For more information, visit www.wisconsinart.org.

Diane M. Bacha is editorial director at Kalmbach Publishing Co. and a former arts editor.

Home Elements and Concepts - Creating Art

Theresa Abel's latest article in Home Elements and Concepts.

Creating Art

Aspects of the art world can appear very opaque to those outside of it, with one of the murkiest topics being price. I am frequently asked how to determine the value of art, so it seems appropriate that since this publication encourages you to include art in your home design, inside and out, we address the question of why art can seem expensive.

Staff Pick: Richard Jones - Only Connect

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Richard Jones' recent show, Only Connect, is a challenging exhibit. Though this is his second show in our cooler space, the thoughtfulness in each of his pieces always impresses me. This level of care and attention to detail goes beyond what I consider reasonable in my own work, which inspires me to push myself even further.

The large structure Jones constructed in our cooler space was built specifically for the room. Small openings cut into the shell reveal the construction in limited cones, relying on multiple viewpoints to assemble a complete picture of the charred city within. In doing so, Jones has made internal conversation, or, preferably, conversation with one another a necessity to form understanding. As such, these ideas are not solely mine. Not by half.

Jones’ use of material as metaphor enchants me. While an artist working in glass might create mirrored surfaces, the use of literal mirrors is interesting, and feels especially poignant in this context. Through the inclusion of found mirrors and other such objects in his wall work, I see Jones drawing a direct connection to self reflection. Using found objects creates the impression that this is an assemblage of memories, artifacts, and remnants. His altering and augmenting of them creates a dream-like space; a location that becomes inhabited by everything you bring into it, filling the gaps with your own context and understanding. Although Jones has left ample room for the viewer to draw their own conclusions about his installation, it seems clear that he has a profound concern for the health of the environment and the earth we live on.

When I approach Only Connect, I feel a sense of loss, and of warning. I’m an optimistic person--almost to a fault. No matter the situation I encounter, I can’t help but see it for the benefits it may bring. This isn’t to say that I don’t acknowledge tragedy, but that I think that the universe has a tendency to drift from pain to absolution. Only Connect feels to me an acknowledgement of the potential for human tragedy in the situation we find ourselves in.

I take great comfort in the idea that if we manage to destroy ourselves, in some flight of idiocy, madness, or malice, the Earth does not need us. It should be entirely selfishness that we try to recover. We could potentially cause a catastrophe so large that all it leaves is the burned husk of our civilization, setting the evolutionary clock back millions of years. Still, no fire yet has burned so hot or so long that the plants, microbes, and fish haven’t found a way back.

If we really want this relationship to work, we should probably start trying a little harder. Unlike us, the earth could move on.

--
Aedric Donovan
Gallery Associate