Significance, Subject and Aesthetic

I've been having an extended e-mail discussion with DH (fellow-sculptor, friend and mentor) about, among other things, his statement that : 'Significance and subject are merely vehicles, and just as in the saying The Medium is the Message, the quality of the aesthetic is the message.  It is the subject.'
Something I initially disagreed with, as in my own work significance and subject are the message and the aesthetic is the vehicle. I like my work to stem from somewhere within that gives it a significance (and feel inspired by others’ work that does the same) and if I can make it pleasing to the eye, that is my vehicle to enable the significance to be conveyed. 'Significance' here is not just a thematic meaning, it also includes the in -depth, genuine exploration the artist has undertaken to arrive at the final artwork. A work of art speaks to me much more if I sense it comes from that kind of place.
I then began to read up briefly about Zen Buddhist art, in my search to understand my seemingly innate urge for simplification, to seek out the essence. Basically Zen Buddhist art seeks out the ‘essence’, which is what interests me primarily in what I do sculpturally; essence, clarity, simplicity.
Zen artists accept the object, i.e. the artwork, as is and present it for what it is, not what they think it means. Their art depicts spirit; they seek to interpret the spirit of an object - unlike Western art, which tends to be more interested in photographic representation and work with man-made symmetries and super-imposed forms, manipulating nature to fit the artist's own ideas. Zen artists seek to suggest the essence, the eternal qualities of the object. And they use the simplest possible means to suggest the inherent nature of the object.
This means of course that the ‘object’, i.e. the artwork, is what it is, stands for itself, has no significance other than being itself. Which, interestingly, comes down to DH's statement. And if you go with this theory, aesthetic is the message.
A fascinating evolution in the discussion ... and much food for thought.

Next Stage in the Relief

Some images of where I'm at in the relief. Difficult to photograph well; the surge coming from the left is not very visible in these images. So I'll point out the new developments:

- firstly the surge from the left, which I was very excited about because I've felt all along that something needed to happen from that direction but only today found what it was;

- secondly, the breaking wave - top right - is slowly growing in height. I'm letting this wave grow and rise organically and the full break, I think, will ensue from that. 

The whole composition is really beginning to move now and the water element is manifesting ever more strongly.

Wave Relief - Initial Stages

My exploration of the relief as described in a previous post is progressing. Have been reading up on how waves form, how water flows - one fascinating in-depth study of flow in nature entitled 'Sensitive Chaos' by Theodor Swenk and some publications with incredibly beautiful images of all kinds of wave forms - with the aim of beginning to really start to 'feel' the motion within. The movement comes from below the water's surface (seabed and currents) and from above (wind). Working in 2D of course makes this more of a challenge, but that, as I said, is what interests me in this approach to relief.

So, here is the initial swell - the board measures about 1.20 metres (4 ft) square:

Then the breaking wave:

which now needs to begin to rise higher. That means swell from below - the other side of the board, so to speak, and what is immediately on top of the board, i.e. the water beneath the actual breaking wave - and the forces from above, but also from other directions, to generate the swirl.

So the whole composition is created from planes coming and going in all directions and angles.

The composition is growing both upwards in relief (and downwards), but also outwards to the edges of the board. I've now reached a stage where the clay covers the entire board - pictures to follow shortly - so am slightly concerned I will run out of space.

Watch this space.

Stages 1 to 4 in the Metamorphosis

Here are some images to illustrate what I described in my previous post:

Stage 1:

 

 Stage 2: 

 Stage 3:

  



Stage 4:

The purpose of this Metamorphosis exercise is twofold:
1) to practise the double bend, i.e. convex in a concave, in such depth for such a number of repetitions that it really becomes embedded in your whole being as a sculptor. Indeed the double bend is fundamental in creating proper movement in sculpture;
and
2) to explore and experience this double bend in a number of forms all of which are different in nature, e.g. rounded/doughy, thin, ...
The reason for working through a variety of types of forms is to experience the differences in what these forms convey, how they feel, given their particular characteristics. So you start from an archetype, which determines the 'laws' within which the exercise should be performed, with which the differences as per 2) clearly manifest themselves.

Metamorphosis

The OED (yes, I know; forgive me, it's the - by now almost latent - translator in me. It has been, and cleary will remain to be, my first source of reference in whatever I write or read) defines metamorphosis as: 'The action or process of changing in form, shape or substance. Change of form in animals and plants, or their parts, during life. The change of form which goes on in the elements of living organic structures.'
As I said in a previous posting, I am currently taking part in a weekly seminar exploring metamorphosis.
We've reached stage 5 by now. All the forms up to this stage are hand-forms, i.e. they fit into the hand and are meant to be held, not presented on a base.
Stage 1: we started off with an archetypal form, the saddle plane, which is a convex inside a concave, the convex moving in one direction and the concave moving at a right angle to it (like the saddle in horseriding, or a Pringle, but more accentuated). We started from a disc,which was then pushed into a shape that resembles a Pringle and then manipulated further to obtain the saddle-like shape.
The saddle plane is totally symmertrical and the symmetry makes it feel very still, even though there appears to be a lot of movement. The trick to making this form interesting despite its symmetry is to avoid parallels.
To really get the form moving, however, you need to come out of the symmetry; that's when it begins to twist and turn. And that's when it gets really exciting - although there's also something very exciting about working with symmetry: when you achieve a stillness, a self-contained, but not restrained, quiet.
But within the remit of this exercise, there is first Stage 2 to work through:
Stage 2: taking the archetypal form and making it very young and doughy - young because it has no edges yet; like a baby all round and cuddly, maturity brings the edges. The process basically involves adding small amounts of clay to the initial archetype, and it's amazing how different the form begins to feel as more substance is added and how it begins to express something different. It sits solidly in your hand, pertly self-contained.
Stage 3: the doughy, young form comes out of its symmetry, and now it can really begin to move (although I haven't achieved as much movement as there could be, but I am working within the restraints of the exercise, i.e. a slow, gradual transformation from the basic shape into another).
Stage 4: from the fat to the thin. This was a very enjoyable experience for me, as, rather than adding clay, this required pressing the clay between the fingers to make it thinner. This brings a levity to the whole form - and within me as a person - and allowed me much more to go with where the clay wanted to move to. The movement seemed to come from the form rather than being imposed by me, which means that it is more consquential as a result.
This stage highlighted again how strongly I am affected by the form I'm working on: a gentle, quiet form makes me feel quiet and settled, and a turbulent form can bring about a maelstrom within me, so much so I sometimes have to abandon it all together.
Stage 5: a combination of thick and thin, with edges - this no longer has the doughiness of youth. A lot of movement, coming and going, a real playfulness.
Images to follow once I've had a chance to 'tidy up' the five forms. They first need to dry out (which takes quite a while in the autumnal weather) before I can start to file (using a riffler) and sand (with sandpaper) them.

Seeds, Seed Pods and Buds

Went to Wakehurst Place this afternoon for a walk in the gardens and a visit to the Millennium Seed Bank there. The MSB is a fascinating place, with amazing scientific research going on, and of course it's full of extraordinarily beautiful sculptural forms: seeds and seed pods are Nature's artwork at its very best.
Fear of being got by the copyright police prohibits me from posting the images I'd like, but ...
here is one of my own images of a magnolia pod: initially almost like a slumbering dragon, most of its eyes still firmly shut, but some just beginning to open:

And then most of the eyes fully open, the seeds working their way out:

AMAZING!
And the potential and information seeds contain! Scientific observation (and legend) tells of seeds germinating after hundreds - some even thousands - of years, if kept under the right conditions. Mind blowing!

Buds inspire me with the same admiration:
have you ever stopped to think or look at what actually comes out of, i.e. what is essentially contained in, one single bud? A whole branch a metre long can grow in one year and a huge number of leaves. All contained in that simple, unassuming form (of course, as it was pointed out to me, it needs the right conditions to grow that ... but then don't we all?)

I like to similate this process when I work in clay, starting off with a tiny seed-like shape and gradually building on that, increasing the volume and definition (as illustrated in my initial exploration of the Acceptance theme on my Work In Progress page on my website [right at the very bottom]).

Relief in the Relief

"We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch, we are going back from whence we came. John F. Kennedy
The sea is a constant inspiration to me. Having grown up by the sea, it brings me peace and solace, at times, and at others, excitement and exhiliration, and those feelings are not necessarily mirrored from the mood the sea is in at that particular time.
I have, for the past two weeks, been working on relief. The OED defines reliefs as: 'the elevation or projection of a design, or parts of a design, from a plane surface in order to give a natural and solid appearance; a composition or design executed in relief.'
I personally find a relief interesting when the 'design' ensues from a motion that emanates from far beyond the actual work-plane. If you imagine that the board, which is erected on an easel, forms the concentric point of an infinite number of planes that project into infinity in all directions (not just 2D, but 3D; this is vital!), you can begin to see how the movement culimates and concentrates on the board.
The sea, of course, moves in a similar way: waves are formed far away and gradually build up from a swell to the crashing breakers.
The first stage in my exploration of the relief was simply to get a feel of how the movement comes from infinity and continues into infinity, to explore the infinite planes crossing the board.
The next step is to create that 'swell', as metioned above, and then the third and probably final step - at least for this particular relief - will be a curling wave moving across the board. (Images to follow shortly.)

With the summer exhibition season now over, what a relief to be able finally to concentrate fully on the creative process again!