love school

Through painting and the close examination of what I see, time and time again, and this over time, I investigate the interplay between my own presence and that of the viewer. As physical beings, despite the abstract complexity of our computer age, core aspects of physical reality still continue to form our experience. Within this context I choose painting as my primary language. Between the poetic power of suggestion and the materiality of painting itself, I explore what it is in the making of an image, that affects the viewer’s willingness to engage. My question is: in a contemporary context, what does it take to touch the viewer in an authentic way, such that this may have an affect how they think and feel.

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The tolerance level today for people to respond and give of their time poses challenging questions in regard to communication. My case is, if one wishes to communicate in a meaningful way; a basic interest in something shared must be apparent. If a language fails to offer this, why should anyone really bother. In the self-absorbed pulse of our times, my creative instinct is drawn to the other. As an artist, I try to develop a language that invites participation in a non-elite way. I am from a broad social and cultural background and grew up with a non-verbal autistic brother. I am as interested in communicating with the casual passer by as with the differentiated critic. Using painting as a language, I try to explore what it is that is conducive to natural human response. It is this enquiry that shapes my approach to painting.

To transcend the representational, a palpable state of presence is necessary in order to render an idea communicative and trustworthy. In contemporary art, one often finds that which describes presence, but fails to go much beyond. A lot of what one sees lacks substance and fails to touch its audience. My investigation is an attempt to reach further. Despite communication being such a frequent word, often little is exchanged due to a lack of presence.

Presence implies that, by some means or other, something must be given in order for something to be present. I choose my subject matter such that the various themes become scaffoldings upon which to exert my ability and willingness to give something; this in the hope that the viewer feels naturally drawn to engage. When this happens, it is the viewer that completes the work. My choice of subject matter is important in this respect, that it is open, porous and offering a wide range of possibilities to enter. My challenge is to bring the painting to where it transcends the conceptual and has the substance needed to simply touch the viewer in a meaningful way.

 In the cedar paintings the needles become a language through which I attempt to convey I am here with you. The idea of simply writing such a statement and pinning to a wall has grown pale and unconvincing. The more I extend my cedar vocabulary, the more differentiated my ability to communicate is becoming. With this kind of language cheating does not work: there is no short cut. I have to be there for every single needle and every space between. In an engineered world this sort of presence becomes specific and significant.

In my own experience of art, there is nothing more wonderful than to be fully drawn to a work: one that lets you in and feeds you with lasting inspiration and presence; one that has the capacity to open you in amazement.

It is a confusing art world there is a lot that leaves one empty, far from life itself, and in end effect, makes little difference to anybody. I have found it takes courage to seriously ask what is it as an artist I am here for, and furthermore stand for this in my work.

At the baseline my response is a simple and human one: to create something that has the capacity to touch another and become something shared. In a time in which anonymity and selfishness prevail, this becomes remote. It requires a particular kind of exercise and persistence which I refer to as a kind of love school.

 In my mind the idea of love school opens one up to the essential idea that something has to be given in order for something to be received and that this is far away from self evidence or instant claim. In relation to art, it is the thought that one is not simply entitled to other people’s time; the artist has to give something and certainly has a responsibility that finally is an intrinsic part of the realization of his or her own inner freedom. As an artist today, it requires a terse will to stay close to this thought; one has the feeling of swimming against the tide. The mysterious phenomena that brings breath into a work of art is perhaps that which makes it communicative. In painting, by the mere fact of its history and all that has been done, essential dynamics of what happens when something works and when it does not become suddenly very clear. It is here then that painting interests me.

I ask myself what makes an image sustainable; sustainable in the sense that its impact on the viewer becomes part of the fabric of perception. Perhaps accountability and an awareness of limits. It is this then that gives space to the viewer to participate. Without participation a creative level cannot be reached and if nothing is created, then there is nothing to sustain.

There is no recipe as such to create a sense of accountability in a work of art, however in my own approach, the making of the painting itself becomes significant. In order for the image to resonate, I have to love everything into position, with no exclusion. It is slow work. The fineness of detail and my criteria that the surface of a painting must give something to the viewer at every possible distance remains a test of my sincerity every step of the way. My hope is that this reflects accountability and last but not least,  experienced as trustworthy. Knowing whether or not this has the capacity to sustain, simply takes time.

In a time where we have no time, time becomes precious, calculated. The willingness to simply give time is scarce; through its scarcity however, it becomes a measure of interest. Giving time adds presence. Branding this into a recipe does not work: when the focus is getting, it is no longer giving. When there is no listening, the resonance is lost.

It is this visibility that interests me in painting.

In landscape painting, I try to create a space inviting the viewer to enter and discover an own sense of time. The horizons evolve slowly, in this way developing an ambiguous presence that allows the possibility to mold to the viewer. They require an examination of every millimeter of the canvas; giving it breath and never losing sight of the fact that what happens does not belong to me. I am greatly encouraged by young people to whom this accountability seems to have an impact: the genuinity of their response is not self-evident.

Looking closely at things, I try to reflect on the dynamics of how we perceive what we see. I ask myself what makes an image draw us in to engage and give of our time. I ask myself if this does not happen, then why not. I reflect on the fragile spaces between one thing and another, examining the effects of distance and closeness.  As in pearls and passages I examine the fine threads upon which the positioning of things can make a world of difference, this becoming a sort of meditation on the fragility of our existence.

What is conducive to genuine involvement in a world that generally wants to get something rather than give something? I am very aware that when I paint, every thought and every grain of energy I use has been taken from somewhere or someone; the idea that I could simply claim this for my own would mean sadly to miss the point.

My case is, through painting, to create something trustworthy; that which in going beyond itself, touches the basic human response to feel and be felt.

                                                                                                                  Angela Lyn, May 2013

Footnote:

On giving way

In September 2012, I spent two weeks on Cork St, from morning to evening being the gallerist of my show giving way. Daily I watched people totter outside the window, deciding whether to come in or not, then tottering in, stopping or not, in front of a painting; watching the expression on their faces, and then responding in all sincerity, to their questions and comments. Facing the exchange of nearness and distance with the viewer, to experience what happens when people engage with my paintings, in such an immediate way, turned out to be a rewarding experience.

One man came in, having seen the picture of a cedar painting in an ad in the FT. He came up to talk to me. He decided to buy the piece and returned the next day with the whole amount in cash sealed in a plastic bag. All he asked for was my email address. He said his painting would be in good hands and that he would pick it up in Switzerland later when he had time. I was amazed that he neither asked for a receipt nor a guarantee.

Another gratifying moment was with a man in a business suit and tie carrying a heavy briefcase. He was in a hurry, but tottered in because it seemed he could not resist not to: he went directly to a large landscape painting, stood gaping before it and said “I want to disappear in there.” Later he asked me who is the artist. I told him I was and that I am happy to hear him say this. He left looking much fresher than when he had come in. It was an important day for me to see how engaging it can be when the vanity around art, artists and galleries is set aside.

Part of the work of those two weeks was washing the front door steps of the gallery in the morning, to rinse off the urine from the homeless guys that had slept there the night before. Cork Street doorways are generally quite spacious. One homeless guy told me it felt good to fall asleep whilst looking at my cedar paintings; he said they made him feel peaceful and at home. The stripping of vanity and the touching of two such different worlds, through my painting, was humbling beyond words. I realized this was the carving of a deep sense of responsibility that I stubbornly struggle to maintain as an artist. The experience was encouraging. At the same time I was fully aware the price of the painting was enough to feed and house him for well over a year. The unfathomable truth and contradiction of it all made me cry and still does. Love school.