Untitled Space

No man can tell me of god. God is the earth. And the earth will tell me of man by the way he treats her

It’s strange to live in such a vast abundant sea of excess, feeling you can only have splinters of the ship

To stand in lines and spaces

Always in lines and spaces

Among strangers and how

How to shut off and blind

With kindness and focus

To do whatever you’re doing without exploding in fear of what that other really is

Or what any of us is really doing here

Don’t question it

What you are

What they are

What we are

When your eyes burn tired just say you’re tired and

And rest until you have to start again

Pretend

It’s not terrifying

How quick it will pass

Camera always watching collecting the receipts of your actions and information

Probably knows you better than you do

Don’t make complete eye contact with the screen

Or you might see something that cannot be unseen

Mannequin facades I don’t mind

How can pockets be so deep

Yet never able to find

what I need

Like car keys

Maybe it’s just me

Only human after all

Only human after all

20. The CHALLENGE TO KEEP UP WITH WHAT’S RIGHT NOW, THEN

No one is watching
or waiting
to send you away.

Guilt.
Either stop doing it
or stop feeling guilty about it.

The big pretenders,
stone birds in the water.
An ancient circle
anti-climatic in...
everything.

Dirt and clutter defined masses
little instants of secure definition 
These are a pair of shoes.
This is a rake.
This is a song.
which will stop your heart ache

Self-criticism and judgement are the downfall of creativity 

Why don't you just draw everything in the house then?...

Self-criticism and judgement are also the birth.

Maybe it just takes more than one time
patience and observation....

...I have the gift of observation at least.

You Can Never Hold Hands With A Painting- Revisiting Rothko…

Yeah, I know, I said it was over. Nope.

It’s taken this long to report on the response. Over the 2017 holiday season, my sister and I visited the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. It was decided regardless that we would spend Christmas as a family in Boston, and when she told me there was a Rothko exhibit at the museum…I was………skeptical.

I thought this was over. Why do I want to set myself up for another disappointing heartache? And yet, through the rain and shit snow weather we drove into the city and took the train to see our old friend, Mark Rothko.

Purchasing tickets, we could still pass for students, so I guess all the academia debt pays off in little ways. The magnitude of space in these museums evokes heart-stopping awe in my soul. It is a delightful experience to stand casually minimized by the sheer height of the ceiling, and for me, this experience of space is enough these days. The fact that I left the house and made the journey…the art becomes extra, like practicing a form of detachment, an art itself. If the Art is good then that’s the best and if not then oh well, remember how it was to stand in the space?

The space- The space of the MFA Boston is easy to get lost in. So naturally, we had trouble finding the exhibit. Of course we did. Isn’t that how the post-rothkoian-transcendence experience goes? My sister picked up an exhibit postcard sporting this image with the title ROTHKO printed on it. Pointing to the image she said, “Have you seen this man?” as if we were in search of a missing person. It was funny. And that would be enough if the exhibit experience turned out to be crap.

We eventually were pointed in the right direction, through a curved kind of hallway, then a straight hallway, then an empty room- which was actually really nice. We had a moment there.

and if nothing else. That could be enough.

Through some doors, up some stairs, in a mezzanine space with colorful striped patterns on the walls and people sculptures skydiving from the ceiling….we arrived.

Hey Mark.

Large squares of black on the first side wall. Upon closer inspection, many shades of black. Another black square on the far wall. More black on the middle pillar. A black bench. Thin rope barriers. Orange and red. Orange and yellow and green- ugh, repulsive. Not for me. Black and red and two neutral shades of benches far enough away to sit and either be in the room or not.

It was reasonably occupied with a little too much chatter. And when the muffling conversations softened for a moment you could hear a kind of classical music playing. That was nice. It would be ideal to stand in a room alone with a Rothko painting listening to classical music. Alas, I am not that type of privileged.

There is often an abundance of emotions surging around my insides, so the urge to cry is nothing spectacular. I felt comfort though, with a sense of particular sadness. Strolling with hands clasped behind my back, slowly. Where to begin? Quiet anxiety. Is the security guard going to say something if only preemptively, or maybe I’m too close to something or too far in someone else’s way. Oh its so rude and embarrassing to eclipse the moment view of another art viewer. Like the person crinkling ten bags of candy at the silent height of suspense in a movie theatre. Please no one attempt to strike up a casual conversation. Or an insightful conversation. Or the pleasantries of eye contact. Namaste to all you bitches, just…let me be here.

And I was. And it was ok. The pressure to move along is conditioned. The layered shades of black evoked the sensation of grasping at nothing like sitting in a sad void full and empty at once- as if I’d like to hold hands with a painting- sadness is present. The discomfort of people strangers and the oddness of feeling more connected to inanimate objects of canvas and paint. Is that a lonely thing? Maybe a death thing- a corpse is the closest thing a human will ever be to an inanimate object.

We took some pictures. A neutral bench was open and I sat there. It was nice.

More people. Less people. More.

A child explains to a younger child something about the largest black and red painting on a pillar in the middle of the room. At least from the gestures and inaudible speech it seems like it. And that is my favorite moment. I try not to be invasive. Or creepy. Because I know how much I despise being observed myself. But….

My sister gets a picture.

and that’s enough.

I don’t read the writing on the wall- the curator’s statement about the work I assume. Maybe some insight on the artist. I try not to take my knowledge and experiences for granted. I figure what’s the difference really- I don’t know much of anything at all, I don’t care for a direction on Rothko, and so I’m not going to try to get Art smart, at least not today.

In the audiobook I’m currently listening to titled “The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck”, the author, Mark Manson, talks about how we are really quite always wrong about what we know or think we know. With the process of learning and reflecting we sort of get less wrong. So, I don’t know if it matters to read anything about art anymore if I am comfortable enough to accept whatever level of not exactly rightness my current perspective and experience has me at in the moment.

It’s just…How much reworking can a person take of what they know and believe to be true? Remember when I believed Rothko Paintings had the ability to create transcendental, enlightening experiences? I learned. Although still somewhere I’m sure they do.

To have strong beliefs is human- even necessary to function- to have a frame of reference to experience life. So how are you suppose to have conviction in something and still be open to the possibility anything or everything is or could be something else? It can be devastating. Or I guess, enlightening in it’s own way- to be comfortable with uncertainty, disappointment, nothingness, and keep what bothers and/or pleases you about life and humanness arms length distance away, knowingly-like whatever it is is just beyond your reach. And that’s ok. That’s the human condition, that’s human limitation. With that though, can you still entertain the possibilities of what ifs and maybes? …especially when there is action involved?

…i suppose that would be the difference between Colorfield and Action-Painting- one is suicide and the other you die in a car crash…

so does that stop you from driving on the New Jersey Turnpike?

…

You can never hold hands with a painting. That’s good practice in radical acceptance. I will probably always see a Rothko anything when presented with the opportunity. I think thats what love and gratitude are like. And that’s enough.

Breakfast on the Lake

Don't stare.
The observational skill of academy drawing requires this.
I don't feel like it was always this way for me
and there's no reason to explain what happened.

To appreciate the formal qualities 
of shape and light and lines-
What an array of elements working together 
into the science of spheres or cones
or whatever is behind the eye.

I can't look long these days
no patience, no chill
It ruins everything
The questions start too soon
and the moment unenjoyable 
trying to answer or calm or accept
takes more energy than the sight is worth

For some reason
I think about the girls confessing their concerns on the beach of 
their bodies
yeah me too
oh well
but around the commons table I'm also questioning the sun 
and feel stupid for saying it out loud
or pretentious
or stupid
writhing uncomfortable 
i'm not special
but wringing my hands in my lap and concentrating on the etiquette of eye contact and anxiety doesn't seem worth it

I'm worth it
but your conversation is my trigger
your job
your car
your children
your plans
where you parked
where you live
the weather
and i'm tired of being considerate of yours
when you can't seem to figure out mine

or the fine line between 
being polite and communicating boundaries
like
some kinds of communicating make for more awkward circumstances.
maybe if people just learned to be comfortable with silence
and care less about anything
except maybe what is necessary and
i don't mind being insignificant
I am and it's comfortable.

theres a standard in certain sickness
and a competitive need
that I can't empathize or care about anymore.
I care about water, trees, and my needs.

derailed tangent. repressed anger. insignificant.
so look quick and as long as possible
theres people out on the frozen water
on the ice in winter
look as quick and long as possible
to the willow branches and green benches
as long as attention and eyes allow
when no ones around

look as long as the edges are still there
before they blur and blend and the
postmodern rage and nihilism kicks in

Love the lake and the water and trees and sky
until the end kicks in
Not that I know any of their troubles
but aren't they lucky to be other than human

I wish my body was one of purely water
and just for today I won't question the sun.

The Basics: Elements of Art

Art as it is today can be complicated. In pursuit of simplicity- this post reviews the Elements of Art. You can think of these elements as the building blocks of Art Making and Interpretation. Despite how big or small, detailed or abstract images are, you will always find these components in what you’re looking at.

 

In Nature there are elements that make up the physical universe- Earth, Water, Fire, and Air. In Art, there are elements that make up our visual experience. They are Line, Color, Shape, Space, Texture, and Value. What we do with these pieces makes up the Composition.

 

Below are very simple explanations of these artistic building blocks:

 

Line (My personal favorite!): Line , or marks that are longer than they are wide, connect two points together, creating boundaries or dividers of space.

 

Color: Color is the perception of light reflected off a particular object. Color consists of Hue (what color it is – i.e. blue, yellow, red), Saturation (intensity), and Value (lightness of darkness).

 

Shape: Shapes are enclosed areas of space in Geometric or Organic form. Geometric shapes are more regular like a circle, triangle, or square. Organic shapes are what you might find in Nature such as a puddle, splatter, or any irregular, asymmetrical enclosed area.

Space: Space is how and where objects fit and exist in an area. Negative Space refers to the area outside an object, around and between a thing and the edge of the viewing plane. Essentially, Negative Space is the background. Positive Space is the Focus of what youre looking at, the main focal point and what area it occupies.

 

Texture: Texture is how it would feel if you could touch what you’re looking at. Is it soft? Rough? Grainy, sleek, wooden, fuzzy? What kind of experiential sensation does the surface give?

Value: Value is the spectrum of light to dark . Chiaroscuro (also known as shading) is an application of using value in its natural order from light to dark to model (create the shape of) an objects form.

 

From these fundamental building blocks, Art is made and interpreted. Combined with The Principles of Art- Balance, Contrast, Emphasis, Pattern, Unity, Movement, and Rhythm, you can create and understand simple to the most complex of images and artistic pieces. I hope this brief overview has been informative, inspiring, and/or helpful.

Thanks for reading!

 

 

The Simple Expression of Complex Thought and The Personal Death of Rothkoian Transcendence

A rendition of fancy sounding words about the painter Mark Rothko and how our love has gone…ahem…

“SIMPLE EXPRESSION OF COMPLEX THOUGHT.”

This statement lives under the title “ROTHKO” in a college notebook. Above that, lives the sub-heading Colorfield, and onwards up, Abstract Expressionism- also known as big squares of color that “I don’t get it” and my five year old could do that paintings.

The main heading reads IMPRESSIONISM TO THE YBA’S: RAPID FIRE ART HISTORY, in my handwriting. For what feels like the first time, I understand clearly why Mark Rothko’s work has been so important to me.

The same way any great work is appreciated, this importance is only understood now that something has died- my loving pursuits for Rothko experiences. The larger than life colorfields will always live as masterpieces. The artist will be forever honored as a concept and a romanticized notion of a man I never knew.

The sad confession is, I cannot speak of having a transcendental experience with a Rothko painting, in real life.

I have looked at slides and pictures, quietly gushing over the images like a person looking at the image of a lover in a distant land. Perhaps it was the aggressive dismissals of his work as stupid squares by some that made me want even more for them to mean something.

My first Rothko experience was at MoMA in New York City and my fondest memory of the experience is a photograph I took of someone else looking at his work.

How one might imagine the inquisitive peace of experiencing Rothko’s work…

 

From the moment I learned about Abstract Expressionism, I loved him- I loved the sensational experience of being transported, humbled, quiet, in awe- somehow submerged into a rich mysterious ether of emotional response. To feel. To really feel, something other than all the daily garbage feelings life offers.

…

My most memorable Rothko experience was THE LATE SERIES at Tate Modern in London. We were given classroom instructions to take notes of our first impressions, reactions, feelings, associations, and memories with the works. I became very upset and agitated by the inability to experience the work due to external intrusions…juggling my pens, notebook, bag, audio guide, people. As a popular exhibit, it was very crowded

My notes reflected the desire for a life enriching experience as preached by academic studies. This was juxtaposed with a seemingly selfish quest by others and myself, tangled and crowded to the point it was nearly impossible to see anything. I distinctly remember being overwhelmed, upset, and then fascinated by a blank space on one of the museum walls.

“why is there one blank wall? The incomplete journey. The missing piece. The infinite oblivion of space and time.” This was written across from my notes on Room 9: “ Darkness and the Horizon. What I like about Rothko is he isn’t an artsy, pretentious bastard keeping his own spiritual “enlightenment” to himself. He shares. He shows the viewer his and encourages them to have their own. HIS ART IS TIMELESS THERE WILL ALWAYS BE EMOTION.”

My best Rothko experience was emotional. At the later end of my 20’s, with a degree in Art History and a Master’s in Illustration, living at home with my parents, I was working a temporary full-time summer position cleaning stupid expensive, put nicely, not very impressive apartments near Cornell University in my hometown Ithaca, NY. It was hot and hard work and a horrible job. I was doing what I had to do.

In the lobby of one of the buildings, between the entry doors and the elevator lobby, hung three framed Rothko prints.

It was the most Rothko had ever meant to me. Cheap reproductions of transcendence. A comforting friend in a hard time.

…

My latest and maybe last Rothko experience was at the Chrysler Museum in Norfolk, VA visited with a close friend. Approaching the Modern Art section, there were no expectations- whatever was there was there and I’d be happy to see it.

To my wonderful surprise, there he was. My old friend…Rothko. In a completely people-less space. A combination of blues and greys on a light blue wall with high ceilings and that beautiful hardwood floor. An opportunity from heaven. I approached with caution given previous disappointments but an open mind to a new day.

color distortions courtesy of my instagram filter choices…

 

When the loud ramblings and screeching of a young child and a supposed adult figure guardian entered the far side of the gallery space. Annoyed but with patience, I waited to see if they would pass. It’s rude to be chaotic in an art museum, but I embrace personal autonomy, and am not an asshole, public spaces are not meant for me alone.

They did not leave, so I did, with the comforting knowledge that I would come back later. And I did. As I assumed the viewing position, a ruckus of machinery and beeping from a nearby closed exhibit-in-progress started. I promptly questioned if there was a means of killing myself right then and there. Then I could ask Rothko myself in Art Heaven to show me a painting. Very dramatic. Incredibly frustrating. Absolutely absurd.

So, evidently, there is no time or place adequate for seeing Rothko today. In my reflections of what his work and art in general is and means, I find a radical acceptance and a strange sense of awareness, a cathartic peace. I have not and no longer believe I can or will or want to experience a Rothko painting- a Rothkoian Transcendence. Our modern…. or would you call it contemporary…world is too abundant, fast-past, crowded, full of people, things, stimulus, external and internal luxuries, issues, and bothers. I know too much. I know nothing at all.  It is, to me, profoundly tragic.

In that sense, I think Rothko would find that tragedy just as fitting. I wrote in front of the Seagram Murals that his art is timeless because there will always be emotion. There will always be emotion, even if that is the emotion in the absence of his work.

 

…

The most prominent personal influence is this idea of the simple expression of complex thought. In my work, I want to achieve this notion, but with representational and communicative images. How does a person condense the complexities of contradictions, paradoxes, and the entirety of our modern…contemporary times to be a simple expression?

 

am I even using modern and contemporary correctly?

 

Is that just the artists struggle? The complexities…not the proper use of modern and contemporary.

 

Unless by some miracle I find myself alone in the Rothko Chapel in Texas on a good day, I accept Rothko as a desire rather than an experience. Rothkoian Transcendence for me is dead.

 

I have sought transcendence through experiencing and making art. It’s cynical to say but with the bombardment of our world right now – there is no transcendence in Rothko. Or it’s rare. Or maybe it’s just me. Really I think though, the only true transcendence these days is in found in Nature.

 

How human beings collectively care about that is reflection enough of our condition. That isn’t something a Rothko painting can save.

 

 

 

 

Hiatus Pt. 2

So here I am and my prescription is….to live.

…..make art.

….listen to songs you like obsessively on repeat.

…be who you be.

Be kind.

I’m learning that, being kind doesn’t mean you have to be all touchy feely lovey dovey to every person everywhere or cater to the empathetic needs of every god damn being or even work to understand every person. It can mean just respecting they exist, accept your own and their limitations as humans, acknowledge your and their good qualities, and go about your business.

To take care of human being functioning is literally a full time job. I honestly have NO idea how parents manage, so good on you. I’m never having children. If you’ve got chronic sads and worries, its really important to focus on taking care of those functionings with satisfactory adequacy. This comes with knowing yourself.

 

So in conclusion this is what I have done and what I know about myself after this hiatus:

 

1. I got a day job. Full time employment at a place that is well suited for me, that I truthfully believe in, that treats their people with respect and kindness, appreciates beauty, and promotes joy along with functional purpose. My workplace respects the nature of an introvert and although the days are long is very rewarding to me. You would think this idea of “getting a job” to afford your existence should be simple. I cannot stress enough how long and agonizing it was to get to this point.
2. I got an apartment. Living with your parents at the later end of your 20’s after earning two degrees and having lived abroad is super detrimental to the soul and personal growth. I cannot stress enough how long and agonizing it was to get to this point.
3. I’ve decided, where I am currently, that my real job….is to support my art, not for my art is to support me. Placing financial pressure on my art work changes it. Suddenly it’s not about how I feel, what I want to see, or what any kind of truth is…it’s what will people like and how much is it worth. That is not the purpose of my art. In the same breath, my art work is not just a hobby. It is my passion. And as I and it develops and grows and does what it will do…..then good. Its my passion….even in the moments I loathe and hate it, I can’t get rid of it.
4. Not everyone is going to like my work or me and although it’s a fine line my existence and art rely on each other and also are independent entities. Im not always awesome and im not always garbage. I am both and also somewhere in between. And that’s ok. My personal growth now is to allow that attitude to merge into my art, behaviors, and actions, not just exist as a thought. To have confidence in the most holistic sense of conviction.
5. I am not a working illustrator. I cannot create art as commissioned pieces and collaborations are nearly impossible for me.
6. I am a solitary creature.
7. I know very little about anything and everything for sure.
8. And very importantly….who cares. Art, life, and all the garbage in between is not that important. There is a certain comfort in an odd variety of nihilism that nothing really matters. Change is constant. Do what you can. Help who you can. Do what you gotta do. We are here now and later we’re gonna die. So what.

 

It’s a fine line so….let’s just see where it goes….even if it’s slow and takes a life time. Maybe it’s possible to have some fun along the way….

 

 

 

Also, I’ve become very interested in science. It’s weird and strange and foreign. If you are looking for a good book I suggest Carl Sagan’s “The Demon Haunted World- Science as A Candle in the Dark”.

 

And some documentaries on food and whatever-

Sugar Blues

Earthlings

Food Inc

Vegucated

Forks Over Knives

Cowspiracy

 

Stay woke…thats what the kids call it these days, right? jk. but seriously. k bye.

 

 

Hiatus Pt. 1

It’s been a minute. So, hey…what’s going on?

 

These past four years have been wicked hard for me. Blah blah yeah, I know, everyone’s got their own thing. Well, my things got real bad and then they got “better” and then got real bad again going on about a year now.

It is excellent that the mental health discourses and dialogues exist more openly and discussable-ly. I don’t like to publically talk about it much because it muddles things up more than they already are. I guess this is why we turn to professionals for “help.” Which I have, along with doing what I got to do, taking responsibility for myself, nurturing some serious self-awareness, being gentle with myself, and doing my best to communicate and actively work with the cause, effect, and the garbage in between the garbage.

 

For me it comes down to this….

 

Scientifically, depression is some messed up serotonin and dopamine trash in your brain. I don’t claim to know the specifics.

 

I know that proper diet…the physical action of fueling your body… with good nutrition aka food, is crucial to the literal functioning of your body and brain.

I know that moving your body around whether its exercise or some active activity promotes physical well-being and has a huge impact of a persons emotional regulation.

I know that sleep is necessary to repair the body and mind after a day of exerting effort and human functioning.

 

Doing these things, chances are the chronic sadness and exhausting anxieties can be managed. Key word….doing- The action that the chronic sads and anxieties sort of hinder.

 

So I go to professionals and we articulate this concept back and forth to each other until we are blue in the face. And if I say I UNDERSTAND and intellectually grasp it and still need HELP physically carrying out the actions…besides guinea pigging it with medications… Why can’t anyone help me? Or maybe you too if you have the same problem…to create new habits of healthy existing manageability

 

This is my opinion:

 

1. The world is massively overpopulated, diverse, and I am not special. I mean this with the healthiest portion of self-deprecation. Everyone and where is limited by “resource” availability and the sheer volume, intricacies, and needs of people and specifics passing through- it’s impossible to really be seen and heard with the time and attention the uniqueness and complexity a whole human existence requires among the chaos and intensity of dysfunction. Especially among that dysfunction of a diversion-fueled dysfunctional world. So listen to yourself, no one else has any obligation to you. (except your therapist…because its their job (then re-read the beginning of this section and continue this cycle)

Which leads to 2…

2. The world is unbelievably dysfunctional. Which im sure you are already  aware. (Unless of course that is fake news or an alternative fact I just spewed. *eye roll. ) On top of painful political, cultural and societal issues, In the simplest thing as fueling your body…the sheer overwhelming bullshit to acquire the right food is maddening. You really have to do some research to choose genuinely good food and its mad that different experts will have different, even contradictory information. This is why, fundamentally, fruits and veggies, farmers markets, and buying local is real good. Alas, if you are part of the millions of people sharing this cognitive dissonance where you still find yourself in the mass market stores grabbing shit because it’s convenient and affordable and you have some weird psychological attachment to it  when you are short of time and energy then perhaps you understand the plight. Not only is garbage convenient and affordable, its addictive. Marketed and manufactured to keep you craving, even if you try to be rational about it. In my personal journey, Specialists have told me “everything in moderation”…..right. Because the world is a very moderate place. If I could just get “clean” of the excess first………….i’m talking about sugar….the excess that is literally everywhere in everything. Sugar…the serotonin and dopamine fuelers for most conveniently numbing the bullshit. Plus not to mention all the other addictive or harmful substances and the crap industry shit we don’t know about, don’t care about, choose to willfully ignore, or somehow actually manage to deal with. I’m talking about the health, humane, and environmental affects of the agricultural industry….eating meat and consuming animal products. Oh just shut up who cares. I care. Then why don’t I just live better? Why is it hard? Why does it never stick? Why is the garbage lifestyle literally in every direction I turn designed to manipulate my senses into desiring it? Why am I bombarded with contradictory information or unobtainable versions of endless things? What is this cycle? WHY? HOW DO I MAKE IT STOP? …well how else would all the people in the overpopulated world be fed and exist without it all? Good ol consumer mass.

 

Ok, I think that’s enough. Between points 1 and 2, human empathy, consciousness, and consumer choices …or the illusions of….that’s enough

 

Toss in religion, spirituality, and existential crisises….

 

….and the bottom dollar of existing……..money…

 

that’s enough. That’s enough to illustrate some roots of chronic sadness and anxiety that symptom treating band-aid professional help is helpless too. And after years of trying to fix some shit…here I am now.

Sketchbook Give-away!

Friends and Art Lovers this is a SKETCHBOOK GIVE-AWAY!
In honor and support of mental wellbeing and believing in yourself, I’m giving THREE (3) people a little space and paper for their own dreams, doodles, sketches, journaling, notes, and/or whatever a sketchbook is used for. FREE. It’s free. And simple…

Like, follow, and share (you don’t HAVE to share, but i’d super love if you did) the post and you are automatically entered. Enter on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter to increase your chances! Recipients will be drawn on LABOR DAY, MONDAY SEPTEMBER 4TH 2017.

The winners will be notified via the platform you entered on.

Find the entry posts on
Facebook: This Fine Line
Instagram: @kindkappamaki and @artofficialexistence
Twitter: @ThisFineLine

Godspeed and Good luck!
With Love,
Kristina

Believe!

Hey there,

some new sketchbooks are up. check ’em out. http://www.society6.com/kristinarose