Smudge 2014

For the last 8 months or so I have been working with photo transfers, and finally, with some technical success.  I just read Bonnie Lhotka's book, Digital Alchemy, after owning it for more than a year and working with the processes she writes about with my students for the last four years.  My learning curve is such that, unless I am desperate, I won't, absolutely won't, go to a manual for directions.  In other words, it has to be pretty dire for me to crack open that book of instructions.  I've also been reading  Digital Art, by Scott Ligon, a book that helps artists work with Photoshop.  I've had that book for about six years after one of my students, Cindy Jerrell, sent it to me(her piece is on the cover).  It's a good book for us intuitive, non-linear brain people, and I have been learning to do selections and masks, although am still shying away from using levels.  Shall we just say that Photoshop doesn't come naturally to me.

With all of that, in some ways I'm still as confused as I was 8 months ago.  I'm excited by the process, love the thrill of the transfer(will it work or not!!) and initially love the way it looks.  But after a bit, after it settles in, I feel like it's not quite enough, and I'm not sure where to take it.  With Smudge I went back to my beloved oils, which I haven't used in almost ten years.  This piece is a combination of a transfer gone bad, collage, paint peels, and oil paint. I'm pleased with it, but am afraid it's a step backwards.  In other words, been there, done that. I'm trying to go somewhere I've never been, never seen, and don't have a clue of how to get there except that I need to involve paint with photography, and that I need not to be careful, thoughtful, or to pre-plan where I'm headed.  Makes it hard to pack for the journey.

Dog Man with Black Tail 1999

In 1996, my good friend and neighbor, Bob Zachary, had open heart surgery to replace the mitral valve in his heart.  Once he'd recovered, he showed me his scar, a long thin line running from below his throat to to just above his belly with two puncture holes on either side at the bottom of the long scar. For much of the surgery, he was hooked up to a heart-lung machine so that he could stay alive while the surgeons worked on his heart.  Once he described the surgery, it was clear to me that Bob had gone over the barrier that separates life and death. When I began to work with the photographs I had taken of him, I realized that all the paintings I did of Bob with his scar were shamanic, Dog Man with Black Tail being the largest(48"x24").  Recently I asked him what he remembered--did he have any out of body experiences, any white light, tunnels, or have profound knowledge to to share with those of who hadn't made the journey?
"No." he said, "Can't remember anything.  It was too long ago."