Ongoing collection to chart the passage for painting in the continuous current, with writing for work informed by or informing painted practice. Images, modelled and actual paint all twisted like a vine, etc.
PAINTED,ETC. is a broad research initiative currently produced by artist Ry David Bradley to document the practice, understanding and lineage of painting and its descendants in the internet age...
PAINTED,ETC. accepts contributions, brief reviews, short artist essays, statements and images....... send suggestions.
Children are now born into a world where typing takes precedence over cursive writing. Unwittingly the centre of this shift is gestural. At some point perhaps it will be artists who refuse to type. In 1922 Captain Cyril Turner of the RAF dropped oil on his aeroplane’s exhaust pipe and wrote letters in the sky over Times Square in New York City at approximately 10,000 feet. In the late 1960’s artists James Turrell, Sam Francis and Marinus Boezem started to employ skywriting as a medium. As seen in the work of Georgia O’Keefe, Lee Krasner and Joan Mitchell, 20th Century art is characterised most strongly by approaches to the painted gesture. But now in a time where gesture is no longer a daily activity (entering PIN codes in place of signing one’s name for example) perhaps the value of this activity is increased. In this century already so dominated by the use of a keyboard to communicate with others, the advocacy in art for the hand remains staunch. Yet the parameters for this type of movement are in a new set of circumstances.
The freedoms of the air are a set of commercial aviation rights granting privilege for countries to enter and land in another’s airspace. The sky, a place once of gods, and now freight, is tenuously shared. When we look up we do so as Romantic painters did, as terrified passengers now may, or as children who see figures emerge from brushstrokes. Everyone can see the sky at once but the cloud has been arrested both as a metaphor for data and environmental change. Artists, tourists, delegates and expensive abstract paintings are flown in jets to various locations across the earth in search of admirers. Their messages are written in opportunity, beginning to disperse as vapour before completion. Form is witnessed in the moment of its passing, but in memory it may remain. To fix the movement of bodies on jets or on the dance floor, as in nature morte, is to freeze the reflection. In strokes that are imperfect, those who seek to counter these gaps do so in holding on to something otherwise changed.
A trained statistician, Jeroen van der Most input no less than 129 Van Gogh paintings, each with 5,600,000 pixels, into a specially-designed computer programming code. The program’s analysis generated a statistical model, which Van der Most used to paint his own prediction of a never-realized Van Gogh canvas.
Isn’t it striking that the most-typical and most-maligned genres of Instagram imagery happen to correspond to the primary genres of Western secular art? All that #foodporn is still-life; all those #selfies, self-portraits. All those vacation vistas are #landscape; art-historically speaking, #beachday pics evoke the hoariest cliché of middle-class leisure iconography. (As for the #nudes, I guess they are going on over on Snapchat.)
PE began humbly in 2009 as a place to write about and document how painting was being interpreted by an emerging generation of artists less native behind an easel… but not exactly wanting to throw away its histories.
Since that time many artists featured on the site in the early days and many who were not have begun to produce an increasing amount of work in this new terrain. The last chapter of Gene McHugh’s book ‘Post Internet' (2010) was dedicated to painting, writing about the time of a then burgeoning PE network. Who could have guessed what would happen since then? A whole generation of artists inspired to think through painting, whatever that means to them these days.
In the years since that time the contemporary art market has begun to catch up somewhat to the digitally engaged painter, even though it is still early days. For all that is being bought and sold, how is this emergent work being assessed? There are still a heap of questions, if not more than before. For the 150,000 solid audience members of this site, a huge thanks for your support to date.
Expect a few changes to the PE site to begin to occur, as well as some return to the blog-style commentary that built the audience in the early days. There are still many questions to ask, better suited to be taking place on a site like PE than in a traditional magazine with certain editorial requirements.
Even though we are five years into the journey, we are still at a point one may understand as early. For those who arrived late, scroll back a little bit and see where it has come from.
With your continued support the next stage of development for the site is possible. The challenge is to respond now as we begin to hit the halfway point of this, the second decade of the 21st Century. Afterall, painting wasn’t always about just paint, was it?
Digital tools can both mimic material phenomena and become art historical reference points. These three artists trace image manipulation devices like paint-brush, gradient, and alpha-mask to produce works that translate emerging vocabularies of digital image production back into analog painting and sculpture.
Arunanondchai, Parma Smith, and Wolf Noam explore questions about the heroic artist and the universality of expression:
-Is the laptop hermit heir to the Modernist ingénue? -Is the blackbox of technology today’s eccentric genius? -Does algorithmic precision realize or relegate the promise of a common visual language?
In search of answers, the gallery will be transformed into a temple for the digital age by Wolf Noam’s series of 15-foot gradient painted columns. Arunanondchai builds a stage from manipulated denim that fuses networks of global commerce, fashion, and spectacle. On the stage, a denim “painting” created using digital printing and superimposition is part MC, part runway model, part sacrifice. Parma Smith takes to the walls as an easel painter gone rogue. His oil painting of original graffiti call up cultural references that point to his own artistic identity.
Physical elements of lived scale, personal history, and expressive gesture fuse with digital processes and aesthetics. The formal strategies and material consequences of digital manipulation emerge: compression, transposition, and texture-mapping become physical, personal, emotional, (and vice versa) in our artists’ varied, networked pursuits.
For Flip City, Lund will create forty digital paintings, of which a selection will be on view during the run of the exhibition and the others will be presented at art fairs in Europe, Latin America and the United States during the next twelve months. Each work has elements sampled from paintings by other emerging artists, yet Lund’s works are so thoroughly remixed that only a very astute observer might see familiar passages. Lund will install a GPS tracking device on the stretcher bar of each painting so that he can track its movements and approximate whereabouts. He will also maintain a website with this information in the years to come.
I feel like I experienced mild depersonalization/derealization on the plane. It felt unpleasant. These symptoms that can be induced by stress of caffeine, or can be signs of a burgeoning, serious, mental illness. I landed and went to sleep for 13 hours. I woke up and felt better. I worried about my weight which indicated that I was ‘back to normal’. If I didn’t feel like myself I wouldn’t care. I opened this .txt file and began to type. Before sleeping for 13 hours I had gone to dinner with Beny, who was kindly subletting his apartment to me. We talked about what ‘worked’, what held up. It was obvious to both that we would begin by talking about art. We talked about Jon Rafman, Parker Ito and Artie Vierkant. Then we talked about Oscar Murillo. I said things like ‘the power of the obvious’, Beny said things like ‘that’s boring’. I felt like a dull blob of non-judgement; Beny was angular and shining. Beny told me about some guy who had walked into a project space he happened to be showing in. This guy had challenged the keepers of the space to explain why things were like they were. Why was art like that? Why were there so many gays everywhere? Beny called this encounter ‘a bridge’. A bridge to where? He asked me what I would’ve done if I had been in that situation. If I would’ve had to explain why this art looked the way it did to some regular angry Polish guy. Why was that flatscreen leaning on the wall in that corner? Why was this photocopy framed in a blue frame and hung high with a bike lock? Why were climbing ropes criss-crossing the space? I said that I would’ve told him that it was because these things looked cool. “It’s 2014 and these things look cool”, I would’ve said. Beny said that my reply would’ve been read as ‘arrogant’ and as ‘shutting down’ the conversation. I nodded my head in agreement. “It’s true though”, I said. In Helsinki a contract had been made to replace the word ‘cool’ with the word ‘crispy’. We were tired of cool. I had given an interview where I’d semi-accidentally pigeonholed myself as a kind of Dr. Cool, a stylist-wolf in artist-sheep’s clothing. The word was tainted. I had also began feeling too old and anxious to confidently blurt out dumb things, which meant that I couldn’t hold onto my previous public persona. I wanted to be a kind person, a wise old man. In Beny’s world my paintings were uncool. You’re doing them for the money, right? he asked. The question was justified. Kinda, I said, and began explaining how they were *about* money or something. Then I proposed that the paintings were actually the most direct expression of myself that I had, because the process of making them was so straight-forward: I made marks on this file that was then sent off to be manufactured into something that looked like a painting. They were beautiful (;_;). I said that I thought it was uninteresting that the images started out as Photoshop files and that I didn’t want to make that point. This wasn’t an ironic (or post-ironic) twist on abstract painting. Rather, this was abstract painting. The closest I could get to it from airports and rental apartments. Nothing between me and the painting but the screen. Nothing between me and the screen but air. Then I said that I wanted it to be like a soap opera. In the next video, it’s like I’m a vampire and I’m really rich and I have these mute servants. And it’s like, what kind of a person would make this kind of work? I felt apologetic for becoming the kind of artist that makes big, dumb things that look hot. I felt like my hands were big and inelegant. I felt like a mediocre dad explaining all the compromises he had made. At the same time I felt a fire burning within. I felt a desire to employ color.