Now at Artfinder, I’m having a sale on some of my works. Click on over to see more.
You can see more of my work at http://www.mkhajdin.com
This is number 9 in the series. You can read the other posts here.
It’s Easter, which in most religions is about celebrating new life. Let’s hear what Clyfford had to say on the subject:
These are not paintings in the usual sense; they are life and death merging in fearful union. As for me, they kindle a fire; through them I breathe again, hold a golden cord, find my own revelation.
— Clyfford Still
On a blinding white background flame spirits leap and flicker and cool as they sink toward the bottom of the painting.
This is number 6 in the series. You can read the other posts here.
Clyfford Still turned his back on the the art world and went on rejecting its elitism and snobbery for the rest of his life, only to be embraced and immortalized after his death. It’s a genius strategy, because after you’re dead nobody can argue with you. Nobody wants to disrespect the dead. Still was perfectly aware that artists who have starved in obscure garrets all their lives are suddenly pounced upon as soon as they die, gobbled up and assimilated into the world of the “culturati”. He just didn’t want that process to happen while he was alive, because being part of high society is fucking tiresome.
This is number 5 in the series. You can read the other posts here.
This week on Sundays with Clyfford Still we will be talking about a little known but vital part of Clyff’s life and work: his wife, Patricia.
Patricia Still, like so many other wives of Great Artists, was an artist herself who got subsumed into her husband’s life and work. As happens with so many other wives, all of her energy and lifeforce went into sustaining her husband, until she lost her own identity and became part of him. After he died, she managed his estate and made sure his last wishes were carried out. The Clyfford Still museum in Denver was the result of her labor.
I couldn’t find a single image of her work anywhere. (If anyone knows where I can find some, please contact me.)
However feisty and independent these women may be, as wives they are sucked into the gravitational pull of the genius male and are overshadowed, if not obliterated altogether.
This phenomenon is accepted uncritically by many male historians and critics who assume that women and their work are naturally inferior and that they are glad to shed their own lesser talent for the opportunity to be part of a legend, although a legend with a man’s name and a face that is not their own.
These women were not weak, foolish or unwise. They are the products of a society that systematically deprives women of resources until they are forced to align with men for survival — then demands their submission, their energy, their will and even their very lives as payment.
Is it Clyfford Still’s fault? No, I can’t say that it is.
Contrary to the popular idea of artists as being wayward, romantic substance abusers, Still was a quiet, responsible family man. The process of subsuming another human being and holding them in subjection is ubiquitously held as tradition in our culture; he alone cannot be held responsible for it – though it could be asked: since Still rebelled against so many other institutions, why didn’t he rebel against that one?
My answer is this:
He couldn’t rebel against the very thing that kept him alive.
The erasure of women artists is not the fault of any single person, but the result of an oppressive framework which must be identified, targeted and dismantled before all of us have the freedom to be full and complete humans in our own right. Only then will women stop disappearing.
Today’s painting is from 1937, when Still was still painting figuratively. Still’s work was deeply influenced by his father’s life as a poor farmer. The viewer can almost feel the aching backs of these these laborers as they scratch a meager living from an unwilling earth that will eventually swallow them whole.
The canvas was his ally.
The paint and trowel were his weapons.
And the art world was his enemy.
I never even knew I had a favorite banner, until now.
I got it from this tweet from the Clyfford Still Museum:
The canvas was his ally. The paint and trowel were his weapons. And the art world was his enemy. twitter.com/Still_Museum/s…
— ClyffordStillMuseum (@Still_Museum) February 28, 2012
Okay, the lines are a little angular to be 100% lyrical, but close enough.
Deep, brooding, oceanic atmosphere broken up by strange angular structures that look like sticks bound together. Love the iridescent effect of the background.
See more of Terry Chipp’s art at his website.
We learn just as much if not more about what works from what doesn’t work. We see what we never want to be, or what we never want to do. The things we love show us a bar to set.
This is especially relevant to me right now, because over the weekend I was unexpectedly confronted with something that bothered me very much on an ethical level, and I’ve been turning over in my mind whether to write about it or not. If I confront the issue, I run the risk of alienating some people, even friends. If I don’t confront it, I run the risk of alienating myself.
Integrity, as they say, lies in being true to yourself. So I guess I have one more blog post on the back burner now.
P.S. : LOL.