Archive for painting technique

Peter’s Crazy Aunt as of 22 January 2012: Before I Got My Eye Put Out

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , on January 22, 2012 by spinoza1111

Listen!

Edward G. Nilges, “State of ‘Peter’s Crazy Aunt Dances on the Strand to the Music of Bach, and to the Sweet Zy-Deco Sounds of Clifton Chenier (the KING of the Bayou)’ as of 22 January 2012″, acrylic on canvas, 60 * 80 cm

Before I got my eye put out,
I liked as well to see
As other creatures that have eyes,
And know no other way.

But were it told to me, to-day,
That I might have the sky
For mine, I tell you that my heart
Would split, for size of me.

The meadows mine, the mountains mine, –
All forests, stintless stars,
As much of noon as I could take
Between my finite eyes.

The motions of the dipping birds,
The lightning’s jointed road,
For mine to look at when I liked, –
The news would strike me dead!

So safer, guess, with just my soul
Upon the window-pane
Where other creatures put their eyes,
Incautious of the sun.

Emily Dickinson

Come on, come on, you bastards: Vorwart! This ain’t no pork chop, this is Chloris, this is Pandora, this is Artemis, this is Chang-Er, Goddess of the Moon, and I’se Jade Rabbit.

Over and over again. Painting on the floor, me dancing around like Jackson Frigging Pollock…love his work, could never accomplish something like that…but no wonder he smoked…I pound Nicorette.

If you’re glazing (dark and transparent over light) or scumbling (light and translucent over dark) you have to be an Action Painter at this phase despite the realism of the work, for there are patches of light in darkness and darkness in light. You need not be afraid of the way the Light shoots (zuschammen) into the darkness and the way the darkness climbs towards the light as in Milton:

Hail, holy Light, offspring of Heaven firstborn,
Or of the Eternal coeternal beam
May I express thee unblam’d? since God is light,
And never but in unapproached light
Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee
Bright effluence of bright essence increate.

Constant glazing and scumbling. NO GOUACHE, as Daniel V Thompson, author of The Practice of Tempera Painting said, “we are not here to paint with poster paints, dammit.”

In The Lady’s Not For Burning the Lady says why was I born why did I give my mother pain. Why did you buy the pure white gesso canvas?

My painting series as displayed on wordpress are what Henry V would call “another Fall of Man” in th’old play when the King arraigns Cambridge, Scroop and Grey:

I will weep for thee;
For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like
Another fall of man.

I mean, generally speaking the earlier versions are better, and I care not, because it is Man’s Fate to Outsmart Himself. This painting has suffered less of a decline than my painting of the Holy Terror of Chattanooga, dancer, artist, activist Lana Sutton. That started out great and went to hell you ask me. I was lucky to preserve its grisaille.

And the intersecting glazes and scumbles are slowly fusing the thing. There is a single column of highlight that starts at the top of her head and goes all the way down, it’s her Soul, it’s her pillar of fire: but matching it is a single Shadow and a deep vermilion middle tone (that Vermilion I got in place of Cadmium Red, which sucks, is working out well).

Sir Joshua Reynolds would simply darken the background with tinted varnishes made of ground bones of Egyptian Mummies. Sir Joshua was an idiot and Benjamin West, the first real American painter, was way better.

Sfumato, the smokiness of tone that strangely makes form more and not less distinct. Leonardo strove for this in La Joconde but succeeded in Virgin on the Rocks.

Modern materials make his effects easy. The question is where the sfumato goes.

I’m thinking once in Italy of continuing to do the Grisaille in acrylic but the svelatura in oil. I’m up against the limitations of a petroleum byproduct. But I need to be more familiar with different oils and drying agents.

We admire a van Eyck because it has the appearance of a manufactured product: this is of a piece with the fact that, in Adorno’s reading of Odysseus and the Sirens, the old myths were a proto-science, a way of controlling reality. But the difference between what’s sitting in my flat and what you see is that in the actual art object there’s a piece of me, a secondary Soul in the Buddhist sense. A sort of Buddhist, I believe that living things have souls, and that first-order handicrafts have a secondary soul. Whereas, as I discovered to my dismay as a software engineer, technology is always such a collective venture as to be a sarcophagus, the trace of dead souls.

A new way of authenticating artworks has been found: the artist’s fingerprints as verified from a known attribution where all of most of the fingerprints are known to be his. Perhaps also fragments of sweat, blood and tears, that is, DNA.

We cleanse our world of aura, the human stain, and wonder why we’re so discontented. Mediaeval man on the other hand prized the skin and bones of saints as holy relics. Perhaps even piss and shit, we don’t know.

Keeping everything transparent & translucent has preserved the nobility of the line drawing. That’s all one can do. Richard Strauss risked his life protecting his Jewish grandchildren during the War and went on to write Four Last Songs. I can draw a line in the sand and preserve it, highlight it, glorify it. Unum necessarium.

When I stop painting and photograph the painting for upload here I usually do a Hitler Video, fuming with rage. This is because anything to do with technology fills me with anger. All programmers seem like incompetent little lower-middle class dweebs, probably because I wasted so much time programming. That little “rainbow spinner” on the Mac really, really sets me off. I gotta cool it since my landlord doesn’t like it when he hears me raging.

I knew it long ago. I might not have talent but I gots duende, the magic fire, up the ass: unlike some art students I have something to “say”, a “vision thing”. Dang, one leg is still bigger than the other (needs to be adjusted in the old style, glazing and scumbling, like Wellington at Waterloo): but every time I look at the damn thing that gal LEAPS out. It expresses for me the fact that I’ve been leaping as an hart ever since I left my kids thirty years ago, as if my ex wife cursed and blessed me at one and the same time: he will run and not stop running hee hee until he wises up. Which he won’t.

Go straight for the feeling, the jugular, the bone. Learn tricks of the trade but don’t worry about them too much. Every time we know we feel every time we feel we know: this is University of Chicago philosopher Martha Nussbaum’s point in Upheavals of Thought: a physical feeling is identical to a physical fact but an emotional feeling is based on what we believe to be true. “I have a headache” is different from “I am sad that my father has died” because if in fact your father has not died, your sadness would go away…whereas the fact of the headache is ONE fact.

Therefore in any image or text there’s a sort of grisaille backstory, the emotional trace. Shakespeare’s life story isn’t known in detail but we get a good feeling from it, because he left his wife and kids and succeeded as an entrepreneur whilst ripping Early Modern English a new asshole. Of course, jagoffs like Emmerich, being jagoffs, like to destroy this trace in that new movie Anonymous. They confuse knowledge with lack of feeling.

The ancients knew this. It wasn’t history if it didn’t either edify or instruct through pity and terror. The modern, scientific (or pseudo-scientific) distinction between emotion and cognition was to them unknown.

Therefore I think I’ve communicate a feeling. And without being “painterly” or overtly clumsy in the modern way. I love Matisse and Leroy Nieman, the guy who paints the Super Bowl, ain’t all bad, but never wanted to paint like them.

Which probably means I should. Sometimes I do. We have to turn ourselves inside out.

Listen!

Peter’s Crazy Aunt as of January 15 2012: She Never Stumbles, She Got No Place to Fall

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , on January 15, 2012 by spinoza1111

Listen!

Edward G. Nilges, “State of ‘Peter’s Crazy Nuts Flibbertigibbet Knucklehead Aunt Dances on the Strand to the Music of Bach, and the Sweet Zy-Deco Sounds of Clifton Chenier, Le Roi du Bay-oo’ as of 15 January 2012″, acrylic on canvas, 60 * 80 cm.

Edward G. Nilges, “Detail of State of ‘Peter’s Crazy Nuts Flibbertigibbet Knucklehead Aunt Dances on the Strand to the Music of Bach, and the Sweet Zy-Deco Sounds of Clifton Chenier, Le Roi du Bay-oo’ as of 15 January 2012″, acrylic on canvas.

Poussin decomposes on close examination in the Louvre to a clumsy hesitancy in the details, especially in his nonetheless sublime Inspiration of the Poet.

Whereas the forgotten Vouet, who conspired against Poussin in Paris, is perfect down to the brush stroke.

But Poussin had *Duende* and Vouet was a hack.

Moral: even if your “friends” say, “your band sucks, man” and you nonetheless want to BLOW, kid, then you gotta WAIL. It’s the closest damn thing for a man to giving birth, luckily without the pain for the most part.

When I drew this somewhat graceless and antique step, a step from the 18th century, I knew I was going all the way.

Because dang, you feel clumsy even at a Rave especially if you’re an old guy, and you start dancing by yourself, a gesture I pioneered in Jersey at Rave ups sponsored by my recovery group.

Felt faint during today’s session even though I’d eaten because I put the painting on the ground and, danced around the sucker and knelt on the hard floor to do details, reasoning that if Michelangelo could paint lying on his back I could genuflect. Noted down this health data point for follow up in my diary.

Peter’s Crazy Aunt as of 14 January 2012: The Painted Veil

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , on January 14, 2012 by spinoza1111

Listen! And, I must confess, I like Kitschy Native American Great Spirit (WeltGeist) art, and I miss the American land.

Edward G. Nilges, “State of ‘Peter’s Crazy Nuts Flibbertigibbet Knucklehead Aunt Dances on the Strand to the Music of Bach, and, to the Sweet Zy-Deco Sounds of Clifton Chenier, the King of the Bayou’ as of 14 January 2012″, acrylic on canvas, 60 * 80 cm.

Edward G. Nilges, “In-situ State of ‘Peter’s Crazy Nuts Flibbertigibbet Knucklehead Aunt Dances on the Strand to the Music of Bach, and, to the Sweet Zy-Deco Sounds of Clifton Chenier, the King of the Bayou’ as of 14 January 2012″

I had to take a shower after today’s session, for to save my clothes, I paint in shorts like hers. And, my method requires a very careful adjustment of the “charge” or amount of paint on the brush, so I am continually wiping the brush on a rag or my body to adjust this. I ended up savagely painted. Fortunately, acrylics are washable, especially with a stiff “loofa” style wash cloth such as I have.

Part of the romance of art is to go about paint-splattered as by a god, and to dwell in chambers smelling of turpentine, although my room does not so smell, for acrylics are far safer as regards fumes.

The goal is to reconcile Modernism and the Traditional, for the next step are color-form planes that reconcile things far-distant. There’s this incredible Shadow that unites her twisting dancing body, and it has to be echoed by the plunge you cannot make, on the Island whereupon I live, into the monsoon forest, at least, without a machete and boots like to destroy it (stay on the causeway). This plunge is into shadow.

I walked to the beach for a memorial get-together for a Scotsman today, and once again noticed the way in which the Banyan seeks the light. Used to be one of my father’s books, The Cypresses Believe in God. Written by a right wing Spaniard, but a great title all the same.

Buddhist ontology: discussing this with a Lamma mate: Buddhist ethics based on the idea of many souls in living things. A 747 has no soul, but a tree does. But so does a limb, a branch, and a leaf, each regarding itself as an end in itself, like an actor with a bit part who think that Romeo and Juliet is about this Apothecary.

The Painted Veil: to get to the thing in itself, the person you’re married to. Kitty, in the Maugham novel, pierces a veil of illusion when she realizes her Hong Kong lover was a fat fuck and her husband, who dragged her to a cholera-ridden mainland hole, was a good man, and, upon return to England, she asks her father, appointed to be the Governor of Bermuda, if she can not accompany him, and she says, o let us be good to one another.

Easier said than done in my experience. There’s this (German?) rage for pure Recognition which has to be calibrated at all times perfectly to the Recognition you give the other. Spielberg shows how dysfunctional this got in the German psyche, in that shocking (almost unendurable) scene where Ralph Fiennes as Amon Rath torments the naked Jewish woman.

This may have to do with Germany’s experience after the Battle of Jena and before 1870, a time of Idiocracy when my patrilineal ancestors had to play feudal roles in a bourgeois economy. Beethoven resolved this after “letting go”, in the modern parlance, of his nephew Karl, and the “letting go” became movements of his final quartets of unspeakable tenderness and beauty.

The joke in painting a female in sexy clothes, for me, is that I can slowly, slowly, build a radiant and saintly expression. The women on the Web sites, whom I do not use to get off, look so damned tired when in search of “pretty nudes” such as are marketed by Peter Hegre that damned Japanese web site cuts in. And, of course, the commercial Web sites aren’t two way. So there’s a complete absence of mutual Recognition, which is what the male porn consumer wants…the Benthamite Power to see while being unseen.

Whereas I can make her see by way of a careful analysis, in paint alone, of the inexhaustible bones of the eye and mouth, and how they interplay in complex planes of shadow and light. Digital technology pretends it can reduce this essentially to a single large “Godel” number, the exponential sum, if you must know, of all the bit values in a digital photograph. So, I have to stay one step ahead of the digital daemon. My daemon can beat up your daemon.

It’s absurd commodity fetishism to think of even an iPod reproduction to be “the same”, “effectively the same”, “ceteris paribus and kiss my ass, the same” as going to the symphony. I went to the symphony recently and noticed that one ear could apprehend not only sound but the exact distance between itself and the instruments. It made a difference that the Hong Kong symphony places the second violins where traditionally the cellos go.

Albert Borgmann’s Crossing the Postmodern Divide names American depression as a commodious depression. We’ve been sold ersatz lives, I told myself that a software career was just as good as being a doctor or artist, and I was lying to myself. We do this because the cash nexus makes things of the same price the same and dis-enchants the world.

Ironically, my Yuppie generation knew this, and refused to wear polyester. But as Adorno knew, “authenticity” can always be prefixed with “pseudo” because the very concept of Authenticity is post-lapsarian.

[In simpler English: "organic whatever" contains the memory of the whatever in the sense that the person buying the authentic stuff is paying a premium whereas her housekeeper is buying the dreck.]

To return to the gaze of Peter’s Crazy Aunt: it is breaking a boundary, it is a moment of insight and Spinoza’s Knowledge which was mathematically the same as Love.

I do not know what she’s looking at.

Poussin’s triumphant final painting: the God, who’s in a tree gazes upon the nymph but she not on him, for she grieves, for, I think, her father. As mon cher Maitre’s sight failed, his paintings, such as Blind Orion in Search of the Rising Sun, were more and more about vision. God does not see Adam and Eve, the Winter of the Flood is blindness and dark water, Boaz recognizes his servant Ruth as a human being.

I have dirt cheap reader eyeglasses bought at stands and slowly their magnification increases as I get older. I have to think about Poussin, who could not get eye-glasses in Rome: they were a high tech rarity primarily available a bit later in the 17th century from lens-grinders like Spinoza. I have also to think about Chief Dan George, who plays the Lakota chief in Little Big Man, who says, thank you for my blindness for in it I have learned to see.

Peters Crazy Aunt as of 11 Jan 2012: and it was all shining

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , on January 11, 2012 by spinoza1111

Listen!

Edward G. Nilges, “State of ‘Peter’s Crazy Nuts Flibbertigibbet Knucklehead Aunt Dances on the Strand to the Music of Bach, and to the Sweet Zy-Deco Sounds of Clifton Chenier, the King of the Bayou’ as of 11 January 2012″, acrylic grisaille on canvas, 60 * 80 cm.

And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
The sky gathered again
And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
Out of the whinnying green stable
On to the fields of praise.

- Dylan Thomas, Fern Hill

Grisaille is just about done. Calm sea so I don’t have to worry about waves, one leg slightly larger than the other, a bit more pentimenti (corrections) may be in order. Sunshine Tian’s school crest and Hello Kitty need enhancement. A spray of absolute Flowers between her legs may tie the flowers on her left and right together nicely.

It is said that before Chloris’ apotheosis, the world was black and white.

Chloris eram quae Flora vocor – Ovid Fasti V

Peter’s Crazy Aunt as of 10 January 2012

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on January 10, 2012 by spinoza1111

Listen!

Edward G. Nilges, “State of ‘Peter’s Crazy Nuts Flibbertigibbet Knucklehead Aunt Dances on the Strand to the Music of Bach, and the Sweet Sounds of Clifton Chenier, the King of the Bayou’ as of 10 January 2012″: acrylic grisaille on canvas, 60 * 80 cm.

Have bought a SIMPLE palette of colours (burnt siena, yellow ochre, Prussian Blue, Winsor Blue, and Vermilion). The matte-translucent style sets off more earthy and basic colours to great advantage: Daniel V Thompson’s classic The Practice of Tempera Painting recommends earth tones for yellow and red. Cadmium is poisonous and overpowering.

The vermilion cinnabar in being more orange than purple should be more useful for skin tones. Also acquired a sap green in the event I cannot fashion one.

Colour is all about the line as is chiaroscuro. Strive at all times for a perfect edge. Even a distant object can pleasingly reflect a smidgeon of color of a close object as if there’s a sort of wormhole or communication going on between them. Everything is everything else, more precisely related to everything else by the medium of language.

Everything as in Poussin’s Triumph of Flora must conspire to produce the dancer in order that it is known and fulfilled by her.

Finishing the Grisaille: the child’s face needs work and those are supposed to be clouds.

Note on reproduction: I always adjust it using iPhoto and other tools as do “real” art reproducers, perhaps using more sophisticated tools. Here I retain the color to show how the light will basically warm and the shadows, cool, but not blue as in Impressionism.

How to show she’s not en pointe but rather leaping with great turn out? By making the water look deeper. The problem being that I’ve already painted quite a splash which causes the eye to assume that she’s touched bottom. But the diver enters the water without a splash. Not sure how to resolve this.

Constantly returning to the figure to paint absolute black inside black, white inside white. This causes it to emerge more and more. But every time I examine an Old Master I realize how far I am from their level of workmanship…and the sheer amount of time they spent.

It seems that as long as I keep a balance between black and white, time spent on the figure, thinking hard about my own body’s kinesthesia, its pressure and movement, the more it emerges as the apex of the landscape, produced by the landscape to reflect on it…as in the anthropic cosmological principle where the universe meant to produce its witnessing.

Having run, almost never missing as much as a week except once or twice, for thirty years, I find that even today, as was the case in Chicago in 1981, I produce a world in a run. It forces you to take a fresh look at the world. This is an act of creative synthesis which painting also celebrates.

Cezanne said he did not paint nature, he painted “about” his sensations. We do not experience the thing in itself. Otherwise we’d be the same thing as that which we experience. In painting we reify this process and in so doing celebrate it. We take responsibility for our relationship to the world.

For most of us most of the time, there are two things. “Poor me” as in “pour me a drink”, and the world, whether Nature and bugs, or Second Nature and unemployment. A work of art is a third way. Music (Schopenhauer) says, “it could have been otherwise” whereas painting says “here is how I saw it.”

And when we take responsibility for our relationship to the world,
Nothing can harm us, and we’re free.

Note on landscape: very pleased with myself for learning from Asian art to just sketch in scrambling Banyan branches and leaves that float in a Chinese way I never saw in the USA. These flowers shall just have to escape the general rule that “all parts of the painting shall be translucent with respect to the gesso ground” because I’m not Andrew Wyeth and need not be as compulsive.

It’d drive me nuts to do justice to the monsoon forest. Intermediate between forests in temperate zones (except for the “temperate zone rain forests” of the Pacific Northwest) and the Jungle, the monsoon forest in which I live is a scramble for light, branches and elephant ears go where they must to support photo-synthesis. So I’m trying to suggest it.

Why make a photograph? Let the painting be as drawing is, a form of writing that aspires to be not-writing, with me taking-responsibility for this aspiration, this romance. And let the series itself be Mahler, a refusal of completion.

State of Peter’s Crazy Aunt as of 8 Jan 2012

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on January 8, 2012 by spinoza1111

Listen!

Edward G. Nilges, “State of ‘Peter’s Crazy Nuts Flibbertigibbet Knucklehead Aunt Dances on the Strand to the Music of Bach, and the Music of Clifton Chenier (the King of the Bayou)’ as of 8 Jan 2012″, black and white reproduction, acrylic grisaille on canvas, 60 * 80 cm

Edward G. Nilges, “State of ‘Peter’s Crazy Nuts Flibbertigibbet Knucklehead Aunt Dances on the Strand to the Music of Bach, and the Music of Clifton China (the King of the Bayou)’ as of 8 Jan 2012″, color reproduction, acrylic grisaille on canvas, 60 * 80 cm

Edward G. Nilges, “Detail of State of ‘Peter’s Crazy Nuts Flibbertigibbet Knucklehead Aunt Dances on the Strand to the Music of Bach, and the Music of Clifton Chenier (the King of the Bayou)’ as of 8 Jan 2012″, black and white reproduction, acrylic grisaille on canvas, 60 * 80 cm

The true colour reproduction shows that the shadows’ predominant colour is blue.

I died for beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room.

He questioned softly why I failed?
“For beauty,” I replied.
“And I for truth, — the two are one;
We brethren are,” he said.

And so, as kinsmen met a night,
We talked between the rooms,
Until the moss had reached our lips,
And covered up our names.

Emily Dickinson

Almost time to buy colours: burnt sienna, blue, yellow ochre. Perhaps a little cadmium red but no cadmium yellow. Trees with scrambling branches and leaves that float in front of them should be added in grisaille to the base of the Boring Mountain. The child’s face needs a bit more work.

The soul unto itself
Is an imperial friend, —
Or the most agonizing spy
An enemy could send.

Secure against its own,
No treason it can fear;
Itself its sovereign, of itself
The soul should stand in awe.

Emily Dickinson

Peter’s Crazy Aunt as of 7 Jan 2012

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , on January 7, 2012 by spinoza1111

Listen!

Edward G. Nilges, “State of ‘Peter’s Crazy Nuts Flibbertigibbet Knucklehead Aunt Dances on the Strand to the Music of Bach, and Clifton Chenier, the King of the Bayou’ as of 7 January 2012″. Acrylic grisaille on canvas, 60 * 80 cm.

“I am nature” – Jackson Pollock

Edward G. Nilges, “Detail of State of ‘Peter’s Crazy Nuts Flibbertigibbet Knucklehead Aunt Dances on the Strand to the Music of Bach, and Clifton Chenier, the King of the Bayou’ as of 7 January 2012″

Prior: [Wrestling the Angel] I will not let thee go except thou bless me! I will not let thee go except thou bless me! I will not let thee go except thou bless me!
The Angel: You have prevailed Prophet. The choice is yours. Now release me; I have torn a muscle in my thigh.
Prior: Big deal. My leg’s been hurting for months.

- Angels in America

State of Peter’s Crazy Aunt as of 5 Jan 2012

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , on January 5, 2012 by spinoza1111

Listen!

Edward G. Nilges, “State of ‘Peter’s Crazy Nuts Knucklehead Flibbertigibbet Aunt Dances on the Strand to the Music of Bach, and the Sweet Old Zydeco Sound of Clifton Chenier (le Roi du Bayoo)’ as of 5 January 2012″, acrylic grisaille on canvas, 60*80 cm.

Oops, the Dark Land between her legs is now the sea, for I live in a drowned world: Lamma Island and Hong Kong were mysterious, and perhaps accurst, or sacred, or both, mountain peaks at the end of the last Ice Age, when the seas had receded into frozen glaciers and the lands between China and East Timor were grasslands.

Which means she’s on the edge of a cataract of recent rain falling into the sea behind her and needs to mind the music and the step.

The tree’s giving way before her elbow is a disaster and it’s going to take more than a delicate spray of flowers against the sky to correct this; it makes it seem that the trees and the elbow are in the same plane and they aren’t.

But after my experience, a couple of years ago, with pentimenti on the portrait of Aung San Syu Kyi, I no longer fear making corrections: I’d tossed it aside because the eyes were out of joint, but started on it again a few months later, doing major eye surgery and the result was my best work so far.

My source technique (based on egg tempera painting as taught in Daniel V Thompson’s book) forbids correction and is unforgiving, but this is nonsense. “Shoots (zuschammen) into the mirror writing of its opposite”.

Grandiosity and its inverse depression are going to have to fight it out between themselves in the corner, since creating something new while listening to the strains of Bach, or Scott Joplin’s “Genuine Negro Ragtime”, is the most fun I can have with my clothes on.

State of Peter’s Crazy Aunt as of 2 Jan 2011

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , on January 3, 2012 by spinoza1111

Listen!

Listen!

Edward G. Nilges, State of “Peter’s Crazy Aunt Dances on the Strand to Bach, and the Zydeco Sound of Clifton Chenier (The King of the Bayou)” as of 2 Jan 2012, acrylic grisaille on canvas 60*80 cm

Edward G. Nilges, Detail of State of “Peter’s Crazy Aunt Dances on the Strand to Bach, and the Zydeco Sound of Clifton Chenier (The King of the Bayou)” as of 2 Jan 2012, Gimp modification of acrylic grisaille on canvas 60*80 cm

Edward G. Nilges, Chiaroscuro Study, Detail of State of “Peter’s Crazy Aunt Dances on the Strand to Bach, and the Zydeco Sound of Clifton Chenier (The King of the Bayou)” as of 2 Jan 2012, Gimp modification of acrylic grisaille on canvas 60*80 cm

Edward G. Nilges, Colour Study, Detail of State of “Peter’s Crazy Aunt Dances on the Strand to Bach, and the Zydeco Sound of Clifton Chenier (The King of the Bayou)” as of 2 Jan 2012, Gimp modification of acrylic grisaille on canvas 60*80 cm

The Da Vinci code a piece of s*t but Magdalene is Mary in the important sense, that of the heart.

Palestrina. The purity of Quattrocento Italian painting, translucent layers on a gesso ground, became painting on brown perhaps owing to the Reformation and its notion that there is no salvation through works. The gesso cannot be pure white.

Palestrina, nonetheless. The polyphony of Fra Angelico’s layers.

Tiziano Vecelli (Titian) said, svelatura, trento o quaranto, glazes [of colour], 30 or 40, but I say, grisaille, 30 or 40.

The color study above shows me that red needs to be in the mid tones.

The Old Masters knew all about Cubist planes, for a plane of shadow here is painted by me with a round bristle brush to unify her shoulder and her leg, and it overlaps her bikini top, belly and shorts. It is then answered with another plane of purest white that joins her arm with the left twisty torso, which expresses the Chakra of Joy (Freuden) in Sorrow (Klagende).

State of Peter’s Crazy Aunt as of 31 Dec (Start of Grisaille)

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , on December 31, 2011 by spinoza1111

Edward G. Nilges, “Detail of State of ‘Peter’s Crazy Flibbertigibbet Knucklehead Aunt as of 31 Dec 2011′, acrylic grisaille on canvas 60 *80 cm”

Edward G. Nilges, “State in-situ of ‘Peter’s Crazy Flibbertigibbet Knucklehead Aunt as of 31 Dec 2011′, acrylic grisaille on canvas 60 *80 cm”

Because I suck at photography I cannot communicate accurately what happens when I start to highlight her face, the sky, her body with purest white. Nonetheless I have commenced the grisaille phase. I find it so magical.

Listen!

Yes, in the beginning God created the heaven and earth, and Ihr Sprache, let there be light. I can only celebrate this through mimesis. Beats working.

This re-enactment of the Apollo 8 Christmas message is kitsch, but one nice thing about being one of Edward Said’s “disobliging old gentleman” is that you don’t have to worry about going “through” Kitsch, around the moon (like Munchshausen) to the other side where things “shoot” (zuschammen) into the mirror writing.

This clip mythologizes the romance (sad story) of the divorced technical male who, from either the complexity of what he does, or state secrecy at places like Lockheed, cannot speak of what he does or accomplishes to his children (seinem Kinder) and is, like Mike Douglas’ character in Falling Down, on the dark side of the moon. It tugs at the heart-strings because you want the children and “that wretched Anne, thy wife” to see you on the TV in front of which they parked themselves so long ago.

Besides, they really did go, didn’t they. One of the oldest conspiracy theories is that it was a simulacrum, and this was believed by a bitter, twisted and prematurely aged philosophy graduate student of my acquaintance after he failed to get his dissertation completed.

The common element of conspiracy theories, apart from the logical fallacy of unfalsifiability (for the conspiracy theorist can at one and the same time appeal to documents and call inconvenient documentary evidence a fabrication), is the denial of suffering, struggle, death and victory in the name of the triviality of the flaneur.

It is inconvenient to some clown who can’t get his act together that Shakespeare did, leaving his wife to start a business and at the same time creating the greatest works of the English language.

It is inconvenient to some on the island that I live, artists who cannot draw the human figure, editors who cannot write a complete sentence above a low upper bound of complexity, and earth lovers who can’t walk to the pub, that I climbed Mt Stenhouse with a mate, so in the dysfunctional site it was bruited that I just didn’t.

It is an Inconvenient Truth that, while the neocons evilly chose to exploit 9-11, a collapsing building does blow out what looks to idiots like explosions and are merely cement, concrete and the souls of men and women squashed like fucking bugs…thanks to our abandonment of Afghanistan and military presence in Saudi Arabia.

It is an Inconvenient Truth that we’ve fucked up the earth so much as possibly to change even plate tectonics (cf Global Catastrophe, a Brief Introduction, Oxford).

It is an Inconvenient Truth that Jews were murdered by people like us who sit in fancy restaurants in gracious arrondissements and locate Evil in the Other.

In a sense, in the rejection of a father by a son, there’s this element of conspiracy theory.

Therefore I leave like the astronauts this trace. I trust that Chinese Taikonauts, when they arrive on the Moon in 2020 will not even if ordered to do so by some clown in the Party eradicate the footprints in the still Moon dust made by Neil and Buzz and the gang. That’s because the Chinese are good people.

Happy New Year. Listen!! Glenn Gould compared the slow elaboration of the tune, like the creation of a galaxy, to Hindemith. It is a mind blower to which I have danced alone on our football pitch on Lamma Island.

Slow elaboration and refinement, for its own sake, is how the artist participates in Creation. What’d Jackson Pollock say? “I am nature”.

Edward G. Nilges, “State of ‘Peter’s Crazy Flibbertigibbet Knucklehead Aunt as of 31 Dec 2011′, acrylic grisaille on canvas 60 *80 cm”

“Chloris eram quae Flora vocor” (I am Cloris who was Flora called)

There shall be colors, anon, even as Cloris brought color into the world.

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