above: open window in Torino
early 2003
- stayed in Torino, Italy for 2.5 months, lived with
Antonio Rollo (thanks to Ken Aronson).
Walked around Torino taking 100 - 200 images a day then
editing out images that weren't interesting. Became interested
in the motion blur I'd get when taking *hip shots*. Found that
with *hip shots* it's fun to sit down after a days shoot having
no idea what's been taken that day.
At first the *hip shots* were taken by bringing the camera from
a relaxed position at the end of my arm up to my waist. This
movement attracted unwanted attention (especially from men)
so I started shooting vertical images. The camera would hang
from my relaxed arm being lightly held by my finger tips and I'd
push the button with my thumb. I found that if I kept my arm and
hand relaxed that I could *feel* when to take the image.
above: from a foto stroll in Torino
above: from a foto stroll in Torino
above: from a foto stroll in Torino
above: from a foto stroll in Torino
above: from a foto stroll in Torino
above: from a foto stroll in Torino
mid 2003
- the end of snarg
The images currently on the opening page of snarg are of
"The Last Supper" in Torino, Italy at Villa HELL with the
members of Bat.Hell.com.
Stopped using the comupter as the central medium in doing art.
Stopped answering all e-mail.
Started trying to remove the word *want* from my vocabulary.
late 2003
- "the Bunker"
Chris Terrell allowed me to setup a studio in the concrete garage next to
How It Works
which became known as "the Bunker". His shop became a source of free watercolor
paper leftover from the printing process (end rolls, misprints, scraps, etc.).
above: studio 2003 "the Bunker"
"the Bunker" was used as an environment unto itself emphasizing
the elements of that environment with painting being only a part of it.
There were mirrors and old hard drive disks reflecting the sunlight
that came through cracks. Objects channeling water that flowed
over the floor when it rained. Spotlights on the hundreds of lady bugs
that came in and walked on the ceiling when it got cold. Tissue paper
that would move when the wind blew. A routed 8'X4' piece of particle
board (thrown away from a boat building shop) outside the door that
melted as it rained and time passed. Rose pedals in glass containers
filled with coffee. Sculptures made from rotting apples. Mirrors beaming
the intense light of the sun through the only window. Music created on
an old laptop that emphasized the cave like qualities of "the Bunker" itself.
Download:
Artist: "4.43.56.56" - Album: "in a cave with a laptop" 13 tracks of
"bUnkeRmUsic" - Size: 105MB - File: ZIP file
bUnkeRmUsic is very location and time specific. It was never intended
to be used outside of *the Bunker*.
above: album cover for "in a cave with a laptop" by 4.43.56.56
4.43.56.56 was the IP address I used for "the Bunker" instead of using a domain name.
above: art inside of "the Bunker"
In "the Bunker" I did hundreds of pieces (usually 30 - 50 a day)
on paper, plastic, foam core, plywood, old cloth etc. using old
latex house paint, raw pigments, various pens and pencils, used
motor oil, old make-up, gifted art supplies, etc.. These were
balanced on objects, pressed between glass, covering every
flat surface and stacking up on each other becoming little towers
as time passed.
above: art outside of "The Bunker"
There were scraps of plywood (free from construction sites),
thinly painted/scraped regularly with a single color of oil paint
(using an old credit card). These were done *only* for the
smell of the linseed oil. I called these "internet art" in reference
to a comment Michael Samyn once e-mailed me saying,
"Painters paint because they are addicted to the smell of oil
paint and their paintings aren't usually very good."
There was "the Gravity Box". A large discarded double glazed
window in which found objects were placed in the top. When
it became full, objects were pulled out from the bottom as new
objects were place in the top. This piece was ever changing
and had a wonderful relationship to time.
During this time, I didn't call what I did "art".
I called it "stuff Ed can't do!"
above: art outside of "The Bunker"
This was when I realized I had truly lost the ability to judge.
Things are neither right or wrong, good or bad. They just are.
Everything has its place in time. It's how things relate to each
other over time that reveals their meaning, not what they appear
to be at the moment.
Around 8 years ago I started wearing all black. Black clothes
are much easier to take care of. All of the clothes can be thrown
in the wash at the same time (I've never cared about wrinkles)
and you don't have to think about what to wear.
During the time at "the bunker" I took care of the plants on the
grounds of How It Works for spending money. One sunny day I
got an *image* of me working with the plants in my head.
I saw myself in all black surrounded with the green of the plants
and the color of the flowers. I realized that as black doesn't reflect
color, absorbing the full spectrum of light, that I also was absorbing
the energy around me. That I wasn't reflecting (or giving) anything
back to my surrounds. That by wearing all black, my energy was
all about me.
This just didn't feel right.
I went to the thrift store and bought a blue shirt. When I put it on
and went back onto the grounds to work, I felt totally different.
I felt lighter, more buoyant. I realized that now I was giving something
back, giving some energy *to* my surroundings. Giving blue energy.
It felt good.
studio 2003 "the Bunker"
above: the bunker (swipe left)
early 2004
- started little dog for my daughter in London. My life as seen through the eyes of a little dog.
My Father starts losing his short term memory.
Moved into studio 2004 (the Cliff House).
mid 2004
- experienced incredible beauty and loneliness
above: studio 2004 (view from the kitchen)
Being at studio 2004 was fantastic, being there alone wasn't.
The minimal pieces I had been doing didn't engaged my mind enough.
Without anyone seeing them (and the changes they went through) they
had become as empty as the place I now lived in. They needed to be
shared and I needed something to do.
Thought I'd try painting again. Did 79 portraits and 15 abstracts in
three weeks. Would do 5 to 8 in the morning and 5 to 8 in the evening.
Found that works done in the morning have quite a different energy
than works done in the evening. After a couple of weeks I thought,
"This isn't working either." and stopped.
above: gouache, water soluble crayon and pencil on paper
above: gouache, water soluble crayon and pencil on paper
above: gouache, water soluble crayon and pencil on paper
above: gouache, water soluble crayon and pencil on paper
Found little insignificant leaves and painted them much larger.
above: gouache, water soluble crayon and pencil on paper
above: studio 2004 (living room)
I had developed a distrust in "art" and a guilt for doing it.
There was this fear in that by doing "art" again, I'd open
up something I'd regret later. I didn't consider the works
I'd been doing for the last year as "art". These works were
minimal, minimal in that they used few resources and little
was done to create them. They were about investigation,
experimentation, consciousness and exploring different
ways to see and be in this world.
above: rose pedal gravity piece and window
One evening while having diner and looking at "the beautiful view"
in front of me (alone), I heard the clink of my fork against the dinner
plate echo through the kitchen. I thought, "ok... this is enough."
So, I invited Jacob Vantiger and Hannah Guarisco to come and live
with me. For free. They were both 22 years old and we all worked together.
We had a great summer. With Hannah having graduated from LSU
earning a film degree, we watched countless movies. With Jake being
very good at playing the guitar, we played late into the night.
Now the minimal works I'd been doing had an audience. I found the
minimal works were like the view; empty unless shared.
above: view down on the rocks
Started listening to Death Cab for Cutie, The Postal Service,
Iron & Wine, Ben Harper, Sufjan Stevens, Nouvelle Vague, Feist.
studio 2004 "the Cliff House"
above: the cliff house (swipe left)
late 2004
- left studio 2004 (the Cliff House).
Came to a point where everything I'd been working on came
to an end. I loved the world around me, but my life felt empty.
It seemed I had nothing more to say. Days would just pass by,
one after the other, after the other... I remember thinking,
"I wonder how many people are alive only because they are
afraid to die?"
This was not the life I had known. No more color, music had
lost its luster, minimalism had lost its appeal. Something had
to change...
above: new view
early 2005
- met Colleen Westgard (on-line) who lived in Canada.
Colleen is not an artist and knew very little about art. At first we
communicated through photographs I'd post for her on the internet
of the things I love. Simple things, a cloud, a shadow, children playing,
spring flowers, the moon suspended over a sunset.
above: love
above: foto stroll images
Colleen had seen only a few paintings of mine. One day she asked,
"Why don't you do your art? You're so good at it." My reply was,
"I've locked that part of myself tightly away in a box. I'm not sure
I should take the risk of letting it out again."
A few months later she said, "That print in the hallway is old.
Why don't you paint something over it?" While she was at work
I took the glass framed print down, carried it into the garage,
opened an old can of house paint, grabbed a credit card, felt
tip pen and a pencil and started scraping and scratching away.
A few of hours later, placed it back into the frame and hung it
in the hallway.
She was very excited about it. I was still uneasy about doing
any "art", especially something that might be hung in a hallway.
above: house paint, mascara, pen and pencil on cardboard
Started teaching Colleen about art.
mid 2005
- London (Tate)
Went to London for a month to visit my daughter and her husband.
Macsen & Naomi were living in quite a nice apartment with a lot of
wall space. While Max & Gnome were in France,
I decided to do something for their apartment.
Found an old folding house painter's table in the back yard.
Mounted a cotton throw cloth to it with white latex house paint.
Opened up various other cans of house paint and got the usual
pens, pencils and markers. Spent the day painting it, then hung
it for their return. I was quite happy with the warmth it brought to
the room.
above: painting in London
Started thinking about how paintings can bring warmth to an environment.
Went to
Tate Modern
and saw the usual paintings you'd expect to be there.
They seemed ancient, foreign and distant, like the memories of an old friend.
Lots and lots of ideas. Started to get the same feeling I'd had earlier with the
Baroque style, except this time it was the ideas and not the symbolism that
was creating the claustrophobia.
Just too many ideas and I'd started to become quite tired of ideas.
Then I entered the room with the
Cy Twombly
paintings.
Wow! Such warmth and lack of pretense. They're just there. Open, tangible,
breathing paintings. I didn't care what they might mean, they felt right.
I fell in love with these. I felt inspired again!
late 2005
- Bermuda (ya gotta love blue water)
above: Bermuda
early 2006
- moved to Canada.
Immigration Canada said, "Now that you're here and have
filed for residency, it's ok if you stay. But there's no guarantee
that if you leave the country we will let you back in and you
can't work here."
I hadn't lived in suburbia since 1974 and found very little of
interest to do. There was a Mall close by but I'm not the shopping
kind of person. The housing blocks were huge gated communities,
taking a long time to walk around and are of little interest to look at.
However... I did find a forested park about a 15 minute walk from
the house that became a favorite place to go.
Having lots of time, I started to redefine my relationship to painting.
mid 2006
- set up a little studio and started painting again.
Insecurity opens up fear, fear causes one to fall back onto what
one already knows and is comfortable with.
I hadn't painted for sometime with the intention of making "art".
I thought, "What did you use to do? Start there."
So I painted...
The man across the street with the Rottweiler.
above: house paint, water soluble crayon and pencil on craft paper
above: house paint, water soluble crayon and pencil on craft paper
Tried using photographs taken in Torino that had simple spontaneous compositions.
above: house paint, water soluble crayon and pencil on craft paper
above: house paint, water soluble crayon and pencil on craft paper
These were done using brown craft paper, latex house
paint and pencil, costing practically nothing to produce.
But these weren't doing it for me. Once again found that
I really don't like working from photographs. It's just too
abstract of a thing to do.
Tried tearing the brown craft paper, gluing the pieces back
together with house paint using a credit card and adding
old make-up.
above: a mixture of leftover stuff that makes marks on craft paper
I was finding that ideas pull you *into* the work and the artist's mind.
This is not what I was looking for.
Started to think of ideas as being *a dime a dozen*.
Started to realize that an artist often will hold onto ideas as something
precious, thus stifling creativity, inspiration and interest in one's work.
That ideas often reduce the artist's output to vain conversations of past
ideas. That using ideas as the basis for one's work is possibly where the
stress and anger comes from I often saw in artists.
Started to realize that painting can be more than just the illustration of ideas.
Started to go through ideas as rapidly as they happened.
Started to discover how a painting can push out to you, bringing warmth
to an environment and simply be *with* you.
late 2006
- started using oils again (water mixable), mostly on unprimed watercolor paper.
above: oil and pencil on watercolor paper
Found that oils have a warmth about them and can push into an environment
better than any other medium. They have the capacity to be *in* and *a part of*
the environment.
Because my studio was in a small suburban bedroom, I created the
"virtual studio" with
blender 3D.
Designed it to look like what I (romantically) considered to be the ideal studio.
Based a little on past studios and a little on an imaginary Parisian studio.
I would scan the small paintings I was doing and place them on the walls
of the "virtual studio" to see what they would feel like large.
above: 3D rendering of "the studio"
Blender software (2006)
above: 3D rendering of "the studio"
Blender software (2014)
Created "the condo" to see what they would feel like in an
environment I normally don't have access to.
above: 3D rendering of "the condo"
Blender software
Because of the small economy car I have access to, I started buying
canvases that are divisible by 1ft (1'X1', 2'X2', 1'X3') and bolting them
together to create a large canvas. The dimensions of the work can
easily be changed, a 4'X4' painting can become a 2'X6' painting for
example.
above: water soluble oil on canvas (9 canvases)
With the work being assembled with bolts it can be disassembled
and rearranged. This helps to tear down the *idea of a final composition*.
Also the work can be disassembled to be transported in a small car.
Started to notice that while listening to music and painting, I was
getting that euphoric, timeless feeling I would get in the past.
While with a group of people the conversation became quite negative.
It was mainly anti-gay and anti-Islam and the evils they bring to this world.
I started to become quite angry and thought, "This is wrong! They have
no right judging other people!" Then I realized. I was judging them!
I wondered, "How am I going to deal with this? How can I not judge
those who judge?" Then it came to me. I won't judge them. Now I just
think of them as "the people who judge" and let it go.
above: water soluble oil and pencil on paper
Started to think about what it is after all these years I have really
loved about art and music.
Remembered the accordian player on the walkway next to the
Schelde River in Antwerp playing mournful songs until the sun set.
Remembered walking into John Moilanen's studio on a warm
sunny day without his knowing and watching him dance to Reggae
while painting a large canvas and sipping on Ouzo.
Remembered sitting with other painter friends painting the landscape
for hours and not saying anything to each other.
Remembered sitting at the large table in Luca's apartment in Torino
with Anto, Seba, Ken and other assorted Italian artists eating spaghetti,
drinking wine and laughing all night.
Remembered the *hundreds and hundreds of smiling faces* on people
that I'd met because of the arts.
Started listening to Sylvain Piron. Found a video of a couple of kids
dancing to pop music on YouTube, replaced the music with Sylvain
Piron's music and
sent this to my daughter.
Life at its best! :)
above: water soluble oil and pencil on paper
Came across David Hockney's latest paintings.
The simplicity of technique, simplicity of subject, simply wonderful.
I got this cough... nothing like I'd ever had before, coughed all the
time, day and night. After 2 weeks the pain in my chest was unbearable
so I went to the doctor. I have rarely gone to the doctor. She listened to
my lungs and took a chest x-ray. After looking at the x-ray she said,
"Your lungs look fine, the problem is a bronchial issue. The pain in your
chest is a small rib fracture from coughing."
She sent me home with two inhalers that I was to use for the rest of
my life. The cough continued day and night for another month. Now
coughing was nowhere near as painful as sneezing. After I sneezed
my whole body would tremble in pain. I became completely exhausted.
Started thinking, "Is this it? Is this the end?" One night, I'd given up.
I thought, "ok... just take me. I can't do this anymore. But before I go all
I want to do is paint a flower one more time."
The cough did go away. I'd stopped using the inhalers a few weeks
after they were given to me. They didn't seem to make any difference.
As I write this 3 years later, I've been ill once with a minor case of the flu.
And... I did paint a flower.
above: water soluble oil and pencil on paper
I've painted a lot of flowers.
studio 2006
above: swipe left
early 2007
- London, Torino, Venice, Florence, Rome
Went to the Tate Modern to see Cy Twombly again.
Visited my friends from BAT.hell.com in Torino again.
Went to Venice and fell in love with it.
Went to the Uffizi in Florence and got rather bored.
Went to Rome, saw the ruins of civilization and had great pizza.
above: great pizza
mid 2007
- Chicago
Went to the
The Art Institute of Chicago.
One of best collections I've seen in sometime. This time I was really
taken by Monet. The
Water Lilies, 1906
painting had me mesmerized. Wonderful surface, sensuous use
of paint. The only complaint I have is, it looks like water and water lilies.
It would be nice if museum websites sometimes would let you see
something like a Monet up close.
above: Monet up close
Saw the nicest sculpture I've ever seen
above: Crown Fountain, Chicago
above: Crown Fountain, Chicago
above: flowers
After 18 months, I became a Permanent Canadian Resident.
above: water soluble oil and pencil on paper
late 2007
- started the "Romantic Parisian" paintings.
Came across this store front and immediately had the feeling that this is it, this is where I'm going to be, this is perfect, this is the new studio!
above: HACKERS (new studio)
It's intense to have a studio that's open to the public. Anyone
can walk in when it says *OPEN*. This studio isn't about being
a gallery. I have no desire in being a judge, deciding who gets in
and who doesn't. This studio is about people and an intimate
connection to painting and sharing what I've learned about art.
However... unlike the other studios I've had, this isn't where I live
and it's relatively expensive.
Insecurity sets in... "What am I going to do? What will be shown here?"
I thought, "ok... paint what you love."
Started painting the "Romantic Parisian" paintings. Paintings that
tapped into the painters that have meant the most to me (Parisian or not).
Started painting the things I love.
Painted "faces, vases and landscapes".
above: water soluble oil and pencil on paper
above: water soluble oil and pencil on paper
above: water soluble oil and pencil on paper
When in Paris at around 11pm, I came upon a store front with
hundreds of
old gilded frames
on the walls (several deep) and hanging from the ceiling with
holders (30+ frames per holder). There was little empty space,
with a path winding through tables stacked with more frames.
Sitting just off the window was a woman dimly lit by a single
warm light bulb. A woman that was somewhere around 90 years old.
This woman was gently lifting gold leaf with a brush and applying
it to a frame. I stood there mesmerized by the grace and beauty of
this woman and the wonder of the setting she was in. It's one of
my favorite memories.
Now having a store front of my own, this memory is what I would
like to bring to the community I now live in. This intimate connection
to a person doing what is obviously loved.
friends and colleagues (2003-2007)
Jacob Vantiger -
YouTube
Malcolm McLaren
Jerry Gay