Posts Tagged ‘Yellow’

Blackpaint 29

January 4, 2010


Got to Susan Sontag in “Art Theory for Beginners”, and she sounds just the ticket for an abstract painter like me.  The search for meaning in an art work misses the point, apparently – art is irrational, a sort of magical transmutation which is beyond rational explanation.

She also has a good word for pornography, in the sense that in “goes to places” that others do not; the transgressor  (the producer of pornography, presumably), she is quoted as saying, “knows things that others don’t”.  It’s not clear whether this attitude extends to the consumer too.

No doubt her argument is distorted by compression, but it came as a surprise to me.

Theo Kuijpers

In “Intensely Dutch” – lovely, loopy triangles and half squares in oily black over deep, glowing, heavily-scored patches of colour – reds, blues, turquoise.  The paintings in this book are so rich I can’t be bothered to read the text.


I chickened out – appropriately; toned my yellows down with splotches of ochre & smears of grey, and framed them with slashes and rods of black.  Now it’s messy and sort of tough, but back to what I was doing before.  Got to make that break.

Listening to “Freddy Freeloader”, Miles Davis, and “Fables of Faubus”, Charles Mingus and “Lonely Woman”, Ornette Coleman. 

 “Two, four, six, eight,

They brainwash and teach you hate..”

( Faubus/Mingus.)



Blackpaint 28

January 3, 2010


I’ve been afraid of using yellow on its own up to now;  it seems to make everything else on the canvas look somehow childish when I put it on.  Or perhaps “bilious” is a better word.  A sickness seems to pervade the picture when the yellow arrives and not a good sickness.  Consequently, after applying the egginess I feel I have to frame it up, with good, virile slashes or straps of black, to restore a bit of grit.

Why is this?  It always looks pretty good in de Kooning’s stuff, or Joan Mitchell’s.  there’s the answer, I suppose – be de K, or Joan, or copy them.


I’ve been calling him “Updahl” – sorry.

While I’m on Scandinavians (again), how can it be that we have the Branagh version of Wallander still with us, while the incomparable Swedish version has finished, following the suicide of Stephan?  Private obsession; sorry (again).

Listening to “I played Dixie” by Dwight Yoakam.

“Way down yonder in the land of cotton,

Things down there ain’t half so rotten

As they are on this damned old LA street…”