inspired

The past few days have found me in an productivity whirlwind. An old co-worker commissioned me to paint the largest painting I've done to date. The biggest problem I was faced with was where to actually paint the canvas. My apartment is about the size of a shoebox, and my room is basically a glorified closet. I spent an entire day re-arranging and cleaning, attempting to position everything so I had a good chunk of space to work in. I did the best that I could, and am quite happy with the turnout.

Since it's been a few years since I've oil painted, I decided I needed some inspiration. Sunday I woke up early and found myself walking amidst the old Polish ladies of my neighborhood as I made my way to an early mass. After being both infuriated and inspired by the homily (as it generally goes), I headed up to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Much like most things in my life, when it comes to museums or galleries I prefer to go solo. I don't understand how anybody can consider the museum-going experience a social activity. I find it to be a very solitary and reflective time. Art criticism leaves me feeling agitated; when I overhear people reciting, usually in a highly pretentious manner, some regurgitated critique they read or have been told, it leaves me with a bad taste in my mouth.

"Nothing touches a work of art so little as words of criticism: they always result in more or less fortunate misunderstandings. Things aren't all so tangible and sayable as people would usually have us believe; most experiences are unsayable, they happen in a space that no word has ever entered, and more unsayable than all other things are works of art, those mysterious existences, whose life endures beside our own small, transitory life." —Rainer Maria Rilke

Now as far as museums go, The Met is one hell of an intimidating place. This intimidation is enhanced by the fact that I have only been twice before and don't yet know the layout very well. Not wanting to overwhelm and frustrate myself, I decided it was best to visit just one or two areas that I was comfortable with. The European Painting and Modern Art wing was my muse for the morning (as well as that of about 99% of every tourist who visits The Met). As much as Flynn feels weird and anxious in museums, they are one of the few places where I oddly find myself at ease (well, that is as long as I go at a time where crowds are at their minimum. We all know how much I hate crowds - and yes, I realize living in NYC makes me a complete hypocrite here). I'm somehow able to block the majority of people out and get entranced by whatever is in front of me. I tend to make the security guards a bit uneasy, as I'm one of those people who likes to get very close. There is so much to be learned from experiencing a painting in person. Everything from the texture of the brush strokes to the thickness of the paints is a true inspiration.

A few highlights:

Warhol

Rothko

Corot

Van Goh

Picasso - this Gertrude Stein portrait is one of my favorites

And this guy fell asleep for a good half hour as I was walking through this particular section.. but could have been there for much longer after I left. I couldn't resist taking a picture.


With inspiration oozing out of me, I started carving into a piece of linoleum I've been meaning to conquer as soon as I got home. I bought it a while ago, but after being so used to carving in wood I could never bring myself to use it. And my apprehensions proved correct; as soon as I started I felt like I was cheating. Pretty much the entire experience was a disappointment, from the texture and simplicity to the unsettling smell of the linoleum. I instantly missed the unique complexities that each individual piece of wood challenges me with, not to mention the distinct sweet aroma. Although I'm happy with how the piece turned out, and am anticipating the ease of printing compared to that of un-even wood, I don't think I'll be working with linoleum too much in the future.