Monday, October 24

one million hair-brained schemes

andy and i have agreed that pursuing the realization of normally un-realized hair-brained schemes is what artschool is for.
this is andy's studio/bike shop

this face happened because he had just finished the contraption he has been building for weeks. what you don't have is the photo of his face after i tried riding it and broke it. the next day he had made 'jared proof' reparations.

this bicycle will show films powered by and viewed by the viewer/powerer

i make mix tapes. at first i would wheel my tapes on these wheely carts into people's studios and have them browse and select albums for me to mix.

now i just frame the cassettes on my table and have visitors come to me. i had new york artists spencer finch and diana cooper choose mixes last week, but due to flight cancellation i missed my visit with eric fischl. little does eric know how enriched his life would have been this week when he got that mix tape in the mail. i've done nine or ten mixes so far for mostly other painters. they're pretty solid stacks of tunes.

you can also see some of my favourite cutting boards in this shot. they are about to become computer art.

one million proofs that i'm becoming a computer artist

this is my second print. i forgot to photograph my first giant print.

this is the large giclee printer that makes my paintings - here making my first stripe painting.

i'm a stripe painter!

this mad face completley misrepresents my true feelings about becoming a stripe/computer painter, ironic grin was what i was actually going for. way to go, face, misleading my blog readers.

one million things that are pretty much collages

one million specific objects

one million mini stacks

this little guy is the finished version of the little piece i showed in my last post. it marks the transition from my early more anonymous minimal forms to the specific masses of stuff in my big stacks. for my next trick i will now blog the work which i did before these stacks. thank-you.

Thursday, October 13

one million artist statements

The Diorama Tragedy of 1984
tracing the origins of current artistic practices

j a r e d l I n d s a y c l a r k
October 2005

There were a few collections in those Ann Arbor, Michigan days: my rocks, my shells, my He-man guys, my M.U.S.C.L.E (millions of unusual small creatures lurking everywhere) men, my woven construction paper springs, my garbage pail kid cards, my folders, my eraser dust savings…you know, normal stuff. The way I organized and stored them was just as important as the objects themselves. In fact, when it came to playing with toys I was more of a curator than a kid. This distinction was pronounced one afternoon when a neighbor came over to play He-man. I reluctantly allowed Prince Adam and Battlecat into his hands only to furiously repossess them two minutes later after they had been abusively dirtied and grass-stained in a tousle. He wasn’t a good friend anyway. Durable plastic war hero men with solid muscular limbs were not a thing to be treated roughly. Rather, they were to be carefully arranged and admired for the small sculptures that they were.

So it was that as a new Cub Scout I was excited for the assignment to bring a diorama to the pack meeting. I really had no idea what a diorama was, except that it sounded like it played right into my strengths. I ambitiously stacked every treasured stone from my rock collection into a precariously balanced form I thought of as a ship with a broad sail. Larger coarse fossils and small smooth agates sat balanced in a mound on a shoebox lid. I refused the tyrannical notion of gluing these precious objects together and opted for re-stacking the sculpture several times on the car ride over to Angell school. Re-building the thing had begun to agonize me and after the tightrope walk to the display table the agony heightened into embarrassment. That’s when I learned that the definition of diorama was foreign to my expectations.

Diorama : a meticulously crafted model scene conceived and built to a greater or lesser degree by the parents of 8 to 11-year-old Cub Scout boys.

My confidence in my talents sunk into my shoes, pulling my head down with it. Already red-faced, I lost it when I was called-up for some sort of participation award with the expectation of bringing my artwork to the stage. Didn’t they understand that my work could not be touched without disastrous consequences? My eyes pleaded to my mother, “Shouldn’t I leave it at the table?” Trapped by my obedient nature, I gingerly lifted my masterpiece. Of course it slumped into a pile. The rest is blurry – the climax of the tragedy selectively blanked-out - because I’m pretty sure there was some ill-concealed crying going on.

Obviously scarred, I abandoned the fruitful artistic direction of stacking, arranging, and collecting until now, twenty years later. It’s remarkable that my artistic career made it past “the Diorama Tragedy of 1984. Luckily my drawing hadn’t been traumatized. I focused on my plans to become the next Jim Davis, the creator of Garfield. That Garfield! It was clear to me that he was not only the most hilarious, but also the best -drawn comic cat out there. My best friend, Alex Bigelow, liked to draw too, but he never believed that I made my drawing of Garfield and Pookie without tracing, (even though I obvioiusly had blown-up the scale). Man, was he going to eat his heart out when we grew up and I had the Garfield gig!

small build in progress

studio shot with roundies and tube collection in background

Monday, October 3

one million nieces

san francisco niece, sammy jo, and natalie meet president lincoln

i didn't do any volunteer diaper changing, but i couldn't help but notice in the national gallery that reubens had the same view of fat babies that i was having last week. ruebens has sammy's legs down pat in this painting - no exaggeration. natalie calls them "her best feature".

me and the brother-in-law, jonny, with a tall pointy representatin of washington, proving him to be our tallest and pointiest president

and the original nieces: kirsten and madeleine - karen's kids.

and that's where i disappeared to last week