We expect 20+ open studios, great wine (I’m supplying) and a pretty raucous crowd, thankfully. I’m also literally putting all my work up for sale, the walls, it’ll be like walking into a book, they’ll be covered. I can’t seem to find a gallery for my pretty little esoteric work, so it’ll be gallery for a day, well, 4 hours at least.

In the meantime, for those of you that haven’t checked it out in awhile, my official artist website: davidnielsenart.com

Ok, out. See you there!

That said, below is the complete Le Morte de Gaia, some of which is posted on my site davidnielsenart.com. I can’t get a gallery to show them, fuck it, so here you go!

Ah, and if you want the complete text, hmn, well let me know. They’re a triptych of triptychs with the first line in the first set beginning with NO and the first in the second begins with I WISH and the last with THANK YOU. I don’t have these in any particular order, but you get the point. I made them all to appear burnt, scorched, antiquated, like something lost, buried, forgotten.

Enjoy…

And this, ah ha, not quite a little joke, but it does make me happy:

Now then, new work. Here’s a pic which we’ll break down in a sec:

What we’ve got going here are a few larger text bits, fewer words, bigger letters, smaller communication, louder method. I’ve been a MASSIVE critic of the school of ‘large and short’ in text-based work (and still am) where all someone has to do is bang out a half-wit slogan such as “EAT YOUR VEGETABLES” then hire someone to paste it to a Zeppelin and bing-bang whambo slam bam you’ve got art! Expensive art, too. Here, hmn, what I’m trying to do (beside move away from the denser storytelling I’ve been up to this past year) is learn to take a smaller phrase and imbue it with some kind of abstract emotional/intellectual content via the handling of materials. In short, trying to learn how to paint, something I really don’t know how to do. It’s a kind of half-ass birthday present to myself, a challenge that’s going to make me cry, I don’t see how it doesn’t.

That said, hmn, here’s a few more pics of crap in process before I tell you why 1. they suck and 2. what to do about it:

To this:

I like words but I have no idea what to do with them. Check this mess out:

Slow moving train of text and abstract and what the hell is happening? It feels like a college freshman trying to be deep and bang senior prospectives on weekend campus visits. Not that I know anything about that. The Be A Man line is taken from my fave rock and roll line of all time, “How can he be a man if he doesn’t smoke the same cigarette as me?” from Satisfaction by the Stones. Quintessential man, rock thru and thru. The other line I like, well another line I like is “It’s such a gamble when you get a face” from Blank Generation by Richard Hell. I could do a whole show based on that song, or line.

Then there’s this fragment:

Ok, what you’re seeing is my interest in covering over work but letting the text stand out. Remind anyone of the Le Morte de Gaia series where text was both legible and obscured? True this is what grabs me, making the straight-forward difficult, adding complexity thru disintegration and forcing the viewer to work for what they get. The more recent heavily layered pieces (Richter and Checkers) work the same way:

One thing that’s also thematic thru my work is use of limited palette. I don’t get color complexity, even my clothing today is black and blue w/ white laces. In fact I feel most comfortable working in black and white so while laying out Rainbow in color (Neil Young, by the way), I can’t get past the color, I can’t fathom what to do next because each color element seems to stand on its own, there’s no cohesion with each section fighting to remain viable. It’s like a schoolyard of children screaming for attention. Feh, who needs that? So I’m going back to black and white, and shades of black and white.

Which is where my friend Mark Gatewood comes in. Hold on, check out his website: markgatewood.com. I asked Mark for help this morning. I KNOW what I want to do, I know how I want to work with the larger text moving forward but I needed an art lesson. So Mark gave me New Acrylics / Essential Workbook by Rheni Tauchid. Looks damn fine with techniques to die for. Technique, I have no technique so this’ll be a tome worth seriously reading over the next few days. Honestly, look at the paintings on pages 133, 136, 141 and 147. Acrylic! So yeah, I’ve got a lot to learn.

There you have it.

If you’ve got acrylic teaching thoughts, think Layers and Semi-transparent Obscuring, drop me a line. Otherwise go do something that makes you happy. Ok?

Pretty standard, that, I’m told.

So it gets me to pondering my work and direction. One thing I’ve been considering of late is content, as in ‘Would I hang that in my apt?’ Also as in ‘If I wouldn’t, and I make it, why should I expect someone else to?’ Which leads to ‘If they’re not going to hang it, chances are they’re also not going to buy it.’

Pretty standard, that, the damn formula: No hang = No buy. And what’s the artist’s goal? To sell your $%@& work in order to keep going. It’s been the constant formula for thousands of years. And now I’m staring at it, kicking the tires, and it feels right.

So ok again, let’s look at what I’ve produced: A) A triptych of tritychs about nuclear war. Z) A ton of autobiographical text pieces. You’ll either hang my point of view about what happens once the first bomb drops or you’ll read about something stupid I did in college. Hardly the oomph to make you want to rip out your checkbook and start scribbling, eh? On the other hand, subject matter aside, I have over the past few diligent years, and they have been diligent, learned something of a craft. I have mastered the stencil technique, the most recent pieces are all basically perfect, so that’s a nice thing. And in coming to understand one’s craft one can theoretically look more critically at one’s work and understand it better in the moment. Thus, this moment.

*

I think I’m done with stories for 2013. I don’t see the point, and I’m bored to death with the current full-panel stencil technique. I can do it, but to what end? What’s getting my attention lately are the multi-layered pieces (Richter) which remind me of Glenn Ligon, and the full-color bits I’m working on now in shop, like What That Hat below. There’s a verbal/visual language to these new pieces that work in an entirely different fashion than straight text stories, and even far different from Le Morte de Gaia where I covered over the work to the point of obliteration. A lot of the new work if not all of it will be covered over, but in the service of something abstract, meant to come out later, nevermind the very very very small quantities of words, singular phrases and size of text.

In short, I’ve begun to create new work with a new emphasis, a new language for me, and it’s actually pretty exciting. The old process didn’t involve artistic creativity so much as it involved the learning of craft. The new bits are interesting in that I don’t go into the shop with text in mind, I just pull out a panel and start working. It’s all freedom, as Jimi said, before he proved it.

In any event, adios to one and hello to another. In any event again, spitting into the ocean. Even this blog is a speck in the coldest speck of outer space. ZERO response to 2 years of work. It’s something to consider, it really is.

PDX art critic Richard Speer gives it an AOK. Excellent! Plus there’s a nice pic of Lorca in the print edition. Interesting too in that the current WW’s feature story is about a local gazillionaire pumping $ into saving the Portland fine art scene. I feel honored to be in the same issue.

No need to comment on this site, but if you check out the show, up for another 2 weeks, let me know and give me yer thots. Gracias!

Also, new werk. I built a massive 6 x 7′ panel. Too heavy to move, too large for the sake of material costs, but I had to do it. Then I tried to give it away to my friend Dory who refused it. Which was the genesis of my saying Fuck It, laying it on the floor and getting to work. Traditionally my work is just a manifestation of what I envision while sitting at a computer banging out a story or two. That’s the fun part, the story, whereas the crafting of the work is mostly anxiety because it HAS to be right, it HAS to be exact. Here, hmn, here’s new piece called Ape:

Like I said, it’s large and so all you get is a pic of it thru my door into the hall. What you see however is LARGE text but very little of it. My work has also traditionally been autobiographical, but for the past half year or so I’ve been feeling like that’s a trap, a small box that I’m screwed if I can’t get out of. I’ve had an interesting life, but so have you and so what? I’ve also been studying text art/ists for the last few years, I can tell you pretty much the entire history going back to Simmias of Rhodes, 3rd century B.C., and I suppose the study has been fermenting in my brain a bit, or I’m fermented, but a new direction is underway.

Of which, here’s another piece called What That Hat:

Beside the fact that you’re only seeing underpainting, initial layers before the text changes, you’re also seeing a multitude of new things:

1. Large text
2. Few words
3. Lack of biography
4. A bit of wordplay
5. Beginning of an observational, declarative mode
6. Immediate, non-revised use of text
7. Housepaint acrylics
8. Abstract style

That’s a fair bit to bite off all at once, hey? So not only am I delving into new territory (the content part is a pure freaking joy!), but I’m crashing hard into the world of abstract, which gets us back again to Dory who thinks I shouldn’t use paint to begin with. I actually agree with her. I suck at painting. I have no idea how to paint, I don’t inherently understand color and I’m just as likely to dip the entire painting in a bucket of thinner or set it on fire as I am to pick up a brush and swipe it. That said, I’m also studying my abstract-expressionists (de Kooning in particular) as well as our fave contemporaries like Wool, Ligon, Holzer, Basquiat, Ruscha and dorks like Mel Blochner whose work bores the shit out of me.

In fact, here’s a few examples of each of these geniuses, and also Blocher just because:

Basquiat.

Christopher Wool.

Jenny Holzer.

Ed Ruscha.

Richard Prince.

Mel Blochner. This is actually one his his more dynamic pieces.

Awrite, off to go hang art at La Merde. Thots, comments, offers of free studio space in foreign cities all welcome!

The interesting thing about La Merde is that it draws a much more diverse crowd than most art galleries. I sat next to Wesley Mathews of the Portland Trail Blazers a few nights ago. Filmmakers, musicians, biz folk, out of towners, a real melange of folk visit the joint, which from the perspective of an artist is about all you can ask for.

Today I’m rearranging the studio. I’m getting a new apt and have to clear out my attic. All my early work is coming to the shop including JOB, RESUME and the original Le Morte de Gaia series. And as space is at a premium, hmn, I’ll be selling a boatload of early and middle work at the June open studio event my building is having. I’ve kept a library of work as I’ve moved thru methods and content, each step really, and it’s time to clean house and use the money for new materials. I’ll post thumbnails of the work as we get closer.

In the meantime, here’s a nice pic of Muhammad Ali. I got to see Tyson fight a few years ago in Louisville and am thinking of learning to box, something I’ve always wanted to do. MMA, feh, I don’t like the yahoo culture, but boxing, I remember when Ali fought Foreman, my dad backing Ali as they went to high school together. Plus gyms bore the hell out of me and as I’ll be 47 in a few weeks, yah, I could use the workout.

Ok, see you at La Merde!

Lorca. 32 x 49″. Blue on blue and n i c e. I’ve just finished 4 new pieces including 3 from the Fluffer panel, redone, b&w and blue on blue. Some of these will hang in La Merde next month. Come check it out, hey?

I’ve also been working on a revised mashup of Checkers, doing 2 new versions and working on finishing a third.

Still haven’t written pt. 4 per below, but soon enough. In the meantime it’s getting cold and I’m off to make some soup. Split pea, I believe. Mmn!

The kid next to me, Sean, marked 1 for 297 career choices and 5 for the final 3. Viva Sean! The exam loved him and told him exactly what his career should be. Must have been a relief as he’d also recently shot his neighbor’s dog and came to school both drunk and high in 8th grade before getting expelled. Sean, I always liked him. Never seemed quite right which seemed quite right to me.

The point being that Sean knew what he wanted and might have followed thru on it. I followed thru on my exam which said I’d never be anything, or didn’t know enough to know enough. Except now I do and I look back at this exam as a giant RED FLASHING SIGN in the sky telling me all I needed to know. In short, pick something and go after it like a crazed wolverine and you’ll be alright. That’s why the exam loved Sean and pretty much forgot I existed the moment it spit out my nondescript, wonderbread, soft molasses results.

* * *

Having just reread the above paragraph, hmn, it occurs to me that a lot of folks don’t do what Sean did, don’t say NO to 297 options and beeline for the other 3, but instead they do what I did which is to keep yer eyes open, hit the road and see what falls into your lap. What usually happens is a whole lot of nothing. What really ends up happening is that you find yourself making choices based on what seems best at the time, the best of a bad lot, and so you incrementally creep along wondering at why you feel increasingly unfulfilled but justifying it each step of the way. Then suddenly, relative to whatever proverbial light crushes against your skull, you find yourself in an entirely untenable situation wondering how the holy hell you got there. Sound familiar?

You need to live a bit and have allowed yourself to be something of a pinball to fully get this. By saying YES to the 297 you became something of an experiential blob, probably good at small talk in a bar scene, but also probably behind on your mortgage and/or miserable in so many other ways, most likely because you realize you fucked off the majority of your life following some kind of cultural-communal idea of what your life should be versus what would have made you, in the long run, happiest. Get in line motherfucker, get at the back of a very very very long line and wait. Like, forever.

* * * 

Here’s a nice picture of a dolphin.

* * *

Next posting, part 4: THE FINAL WORD. Or BIG CONCLUSION. Or something equally awe-inspiring. Think too, after having read these past few posts, where I might be going with this and whether part 4 is up to snuff or if it veers somewhere unexpected. Right now I’m not entirely sure what I’m going to write, but like all things for the middling-man I have an idea. It might even have a picture of a rainbow stapled to an inspirational plaque. You’ll see it on Etsy soon enough.

Hold on, I promised a nice pic of Captain Kirk’s chair from EMP, so here it is:

Note how it’s really a Danish teak bit of furniture with some bizarrely wide armrest chock full of plastic buttons meant to infer real freaking authority, responsiblity and power. It works! Plus those nice ergonomic wooden arms make for some truly comfortable intergalactic transport comfort. Bravo, future, bravo!

While we’re at it, here’s Obi Wan’s light saber:

Cheap plastic. Looks like hell in person. Something crafted out of old batteries and a broken vacuum cleaner. Still, give George Lucas credit for turning $1.60 in plastic parts into an iconographic weapon for the ages. Real men use light sabers! Hear that NRA? Which reminds me of a massive sign I saw along I-5 on my way back from Seattle. Some yahoo noted that 22 died in Newton, CT because it was a gun-free zone, thus, arm the shit out of yourself and live forever. The fallacy of this argument is grotesquely obvious, as is the culture of thinking behind it. In fact reality is grotesque compared to science fiction which, generally speaking, at least in the Golden Age, sought to lift mankind UP. Now a bullet in your brain is your own damn fault for being such a pansy. Hmn.

Back to my digression. Detritus. Scars. Decisions and a dead-certain finite arc to one’s life. Fuck it. I’ll start again with pt. 3 in a moment. This is going to at least 4 parts, yep, with pt. 3 tentatively subtitled “All You Ever Needed to Know.” Ain’t wrong about that either.