What Painting Is: How to Think about Oil Painting ... - Victoria Vesna

What Painting Is: How to Think about Oil Painting ... - Victoria Vesna What Painting Is: How to Think about Oil Painting ... - Victoria Vesna

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WHAT PAINTING IS 75 alchemist could fix his on mechanical chemistry. I have put this clumsily—but I am certain that you understand. 6 It’s very beautifully put, this warning about thinking too much. It seems to me that there are only a few self-reflective texts in practical alchemy because when substances are at work, they can’t also be the objects of intellectual speculation. Jung couldn’t think about the laboratory partly because he only saw substances as psychic allegories. The same failure haunts this book, because every notion, every concept and allegory, pushes me a little away from the subject I am trying to describe. My book makes Auerbach “extremely nervous” because it threatens the alchemy —in the usual, loosely allegorical sense of that word—of his work. It makes me less nervous, because I am no longer a practicing painter: but I still want to stay close enough to the “foul rag-and-bone shop” to put at least some of it into words. The analysis of paint is a danger for any painter: those who get too analytic about paint—who get involved in picking just the right exotic oil, or finding the latest Nepalese drawing paper— risk drifting away from what Auerbach calls, with unavoidable awkwardness, the “creative identification with the subject.” Fundamentally, thought about paint comes after paint. Jung’s psychology could only get underway when the laboratory doors closed; this book began for me about ten years after I left the studio. Things only get harder to articulate when the religious meanings come into focus, and it begins to appear that the studio work—the labor—really is about redemption. In my experience it is rarely apposite to talk directly with an artist about the underlying spiritual meaning of his or her work. For any number of reasons, religion is no longer an easy subject, and many artists do not link it directly with themselves or their work. The buried spiritual content of modern and postmodern art may be the great unexplored subject in contemporary art history. Still, any book devoted to the subject is bound to fail because it would have to spell out so many things that the artists do not even tell themselves. Such a book would mercilessly transgress the boundary between the experience of paint and its meanings. It is the same with alchemy: in both cases the underlying act is spiritual — and especially redemptive—but the public language is only inconsistently and weakly so. The advantage of alchemy over theology, Jungian psychology, or art criticism for exploring

76 THE MOULDY MATERIA PRIMA spiritual meaning in art is that it is a sister discipline. Alchemy is also shy, and it also keeps to substances and lets them silently fill with meaning rather than blurting out what seems most precious. Yet redemption is a root idea of this book, and it is a principal reason why the starting-point of alchemy or painting must be perceived as more than a brute lump of matter. In artistic terms, it has to seem potentially expressive, and in alchemical terms, it must have the spark that signals an incipient spirit. Because those requirements are both crucial and vague, it is no surprise that the materia prima goes under many names. Often the alchemists call it lead, meaning not so much the chemical substance lead as the heaviness and darkness of lead. Lead is like compacted waste, dull and blunt and poisonous. Even pure lead grows a crust of lead carbonate, sullying itself with a whitish mould. Both gold and lead are heavy, both shine—one with light, and the other with darkness—and both can be nicked with a few taps of a hammer. Since lead is heavy (eleven times heavier than water, so that a bucket of it can weigh hundreds of pounds) some alchemists thought it was a degraded form of gold, a “sick” or “leprous” gold. Others supposed it was young gold, immature and “green.” 7 The mission of alchemy was to administer to the lead and cure it into gold, or to nourish it until it grew into mature gold. (There were also opposing voices: Gābir is supposed to have said only “idiots” think lead and gold are linked. 8 ) An artist who thinks of starting from lead is experiencing raw paint as a kind of sickness, and painting as its convalescence: a common enough feeling. A whole chain of associations bind artists to lead: lead (along with tin) was said to be Saturn’s metal, and Saturn was the sign of melancholy, and melancholy was the traditional artists’ affliction. Those ideas have faded from consciousness (except in popular books like Born Under Saturn 9 ), but the sadness, darkness, and heaviness of lead are still very much entangled with depression. For some artists the studio is a blight until the work is well underway. The sight of the paints is disheartening, and it brings on a leaden sadness. That is the monstrous heaviness of the materia prima. Aside from muck and lead, the materia prima went under a bewil dering number of aliases. In pictures, it is often an egg—a natural symbol for a starting point. Another common symbol is a toad, for three surprisingly different reasons: first because they

WHAT PAINTING IS 75<br />

alchemist could fix his on mechanical chemistry. I have put<br />

this clumsily—but I am certain that you understand. 6<br />

It’s very beautifully put, this warning <strong>about</strong> thinking <strong>to</strong>o much.<br />

It seems <strong>to</strong> me that there are only a few self-reflective texts in<br />

practical alchemy because when substances are at work, they<br />

can’t also be the objects of intellectual speculation. Jung couldn’t<br />

think <strong>about</strong> the labora<strong>to</strong>ry partly because he only saw substances<br />

as psychic allegories. The same failure haunts this book, because<br />

every notion, every concept and allegory, pushes me a little away<br />

from the subject I am trying <strong>to</strong> describe. My book makes<br />

Auerbach “extremely nervous” because it threatens the alchemy<br />

—in the usual, loosely allegorical sense of that word—of his<br />

work. It makes me less nervous, because I am no longer a<br />

practicing painter: but I still want <strong>to</strong> stay close enough <strong>to</strong> the<br />

“foul rag-and-bone shop” <strong>to</strong> put at least some of it in<strong>to</strong> words.<br />

The analysis of paint is a danger for any painter: those who get<br />

<strong>to</strong>o analytic <strong>about</strong> paint—who get involved in picking just the<br />

right exotic oil, or finding the latest Nepalese drawing paper—<br />

risk drifting away from what Auerbach calls, with unavoidable<br />

awkwardness, the “creative identification with the subject.”<br />

Fundamentally, thought <strong>about</strong> paint comes after paint. Jung’s<br />

psychology could only get underway when the labora<strong>to</strong>ry doors<br />

closed; this book began for me <strong>about</strong> ten years after I left the studio.<br />

Things only get harder <strong>to</strong> articulate when the religious<br />

meanings come in<strong>to</strong> focus, and it begins <strong>to</strong> appear that the studio<br />

work—the labor—really is <strong>about</strong> redemption. In my experience it<br />

is rarely apposite <strong>to</strong> talk directly with an artist <strong>about</strong> the<br />

underlying spiritual meaning of his or her work. For any number<br />

of reasons, religion is no longer an easy subject, and many artists<br />

do not link it directly with themselves or their work. The buried<br />

spiritual content of modern and postmodern art may be the great<br />

unexplored subject in contemporary art his<strong>to</strong>ry. Still, any book<br />

devoted <strong>to</strong> the subject is bound <strong>to</strong> fail because it would have <strong>to</strong><br />

spell out so many things that the artists do not even tell<br />

themselves. Such a book would mercilessly transgress the<br />

boundary between the experience of paint and its meanings. It is<br />

the same with alchemy: in both cases the underlying act is spiritual<br />

— and especially redemptive—but the public language is only<br />

inconsistently and weakly so. The advantage of alchemy over<br />

theology, Jungian psychology, or art criticism for exploring

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