Deciphering the Divine

The following is my artist statement for the upcoming show, Deciphering the Devine, at Fort Point Framers (Boston), March 3 - 31. Psst...secret here, and spoiler alert...I never know what the show is going to be about until the work is all together and ready to be framed.

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My work is a visual account of my everyday experiences – a narration of the mundane and sublime in each day and how these seemingly varied experiences exhibit nature's transformative, restorative and live-giving forces.

The work in this show draws from two recent bodies of work, both using the human mind as a centerpiece and references neuroscience, meditation and the remapping of brain circuitry. While the subject of this show draws directly from my cognitive life, the abstract imagery references fragments of indecipherable characters and letters, as well as the natural world of aquatic organisms.

As I work, I try to tap into a state of flow and decipher something not immediately known. A secret alphabet may appear from the swoosh of a gesture line, or the shape of a human heart might be suggested by a crevice in a sea sponge.

All of the mediums exhibited in this show (watery inks pooled on paper or film, thinned oils, and human hair on paper) are difficult to control. This allows the mediums to come to life and exhibit their own natural properties, diminishing my power over the outcome. Working in this manner is like redefining how one interprets the world through cognitive remapping practices, such as meditation. The immediacy of finding a solution, or controlling the situation, seems to fade away and the richness of the details takes hold of the mind.

Kate Gilbert Miller
February 23, 2010

A life of letters

As a teenager I fantasized about living a life of letters. I didn’t know what it meant but it sounded cool. I interpreted it as a life of scholarship and solitude; part organic spiritually, part rigorous intellectualism. Ultimately, I realized I wasn’t the scholarly type (thank you Doc. P. for pointing that out) and as much as I liked alone time, I craved socialization too much to be a Virginia Woolf type. (Plus it turned out I wasn’t mad, just a little bit sensitive.)

But I’ve hung on to the letters part.

I write every morning. I love communicating through letters and cards. I read everything in front of my eyes; license plates, graffiti tag, signs (always rereading the ones I see daily and adding commas or removing letters) and look for the hidden or alternative meanings.

So it’s no surprise that I choose the words around my studio carefully and use them sparingly. Up right now:

• Painting is not about what you see, it is about what you don’t see - Bernd Haussman
• To find a form that accommodates the mess, that is the task of the artist now – Samuel Beckett
• Originality is the art of concealing your sources – Benjamin Franklin

As I work, I try to tap into a state of flow and decipher or form something new out of the drips and accidents on the page…I try to find form in the mess. Describing this process and condensing it into a catching one-liner for my show title is proving difficult. It’s flow. It’s deciphering. It’s a struggle, but it’s also a joy for me.

I have a few hours to come up with something clever before the postcard ships to the printer. Maybe I’ll drive around and look at signs…

Any suggestions?

image above: messing around with colored ink and this "y" appeared

Moving forward

Just now as I got off the station bench to board my train to the studio, the homeless man next to me -- who had not previously said a word -- grinned a toothless smile and professed, "You're a strong woman. You're moving forward, not backward". With his warm smile of insanity came a thumbs up...and precisely the encouragement I need as I enter a two week stretch to pull together the next show.

Recent Works (drawings and paintings)
@ Fort Point Framers
300 Summer Street
Boston

March 3-31

Opening reception: Thursday March 4, 5-8 pm
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

“Your work is sick!”

“It’s like a dream. Like there’s all this thought crammed into it. I could stare at it for hours.” That was my favorite comment about my work last Friday at the opening of Dénouement/Indéterminé. It came from a young woman from California who swayed every part of her body while she talked (head and hips one way, shoulders the other, while her feet made their own pattern on the floor) in the most adorable and free way. The lithe Valley Girl was one of several dozen Kimball Union Academy students who came to the gallery for some free snacks and stayed to share their uninhibited thoughts on my work.

Each student I talked with was earnest and brimming with energy. Yes, some were shy and didn't really look me in the eye but they were all honest -- not yet capable of being disingenuous or saying nice things for the sake of saying nice things. So refreshing!

Admittedly, it was one of the oddest openings I’ve ever been to but I walked away feeling great. I’d shared my work with the next generation and in return they’d given me some honest and pleasant feedback. I also had a new found appreciation for all who teach. (Julie, your work is so important!) That’s all there is after all – inspiration and conversation – or the indéterminé of life, love and art.

Me and Mom in front of her favorite painting, Maggy, which was also a big hit with the students. Apparently it looks like a popular album cover but I don’t know which one. Do you?

Lend me your couch and I’ll paint you a picture: a year in the studio

Setting: A slim man and his sister are looking at her artwork in a light-filled barn; sheets of drawing paper are spilled out across the floor; unfinished canvases litter the walls.

Artist: I’m using more color now.
(silence)
Brother: Huh.
(silence)
Do you look at your couch when you paint?
Artist: (sighs) I know. I’m using the same colors.
(silence) I can’t help it.

Somewhere in the back of my brain I knew my paintings and my studio couch were similar. Hell, it’s the only thing with any color in my studio. But I didn’t think I would paint pictures to match it and disrespect the fundamental oath of the contemporary painter: Never make art to match a sofa. Yikes! Not only does it match but I made it match.

This little couch (too small to call a sofa) was the first item I purchased for my studio when I moved in over a year ago. I love the colors. I love that it’s messy, a little wild, and so very unlike my decorating aesthetic. It was a little stake in the ground – my studio is finished, hurray! I survived three years of weekend construction and I allow myself to be creative!

In truth, the couch is rarely used in its manufactured function…I move around too much. I am incapable of napping. But it makes a handy place to store completed drawings, magazine clippings, exhibit postcards, and obviously plays a critical role in determining my color palette.

So if you would like to commission a painting to match your couch I will not be offended in the least. I could use a new color scheme.

Note: After seeing this picture I immediately removed the freaky viper head from the painting in the background that looks like it's going to eat me.

pumping iron to stoke the creative fires

This is the second year in a row that I am preparing for a solo show during the holiday season. It blows. I’m missing out on the yule tide cheer, developing a reputation as the no-show, rapidly losing friends, and even irritating my otherwise understanding, go-with-the-flow, Kate’s-in-one-of-those-moods family members. Yikes!

My bank account is on a dangerous downward trajectory as I desperately point and click, sending presents and art supplies around the country like rapid fire. My carbon footprint is nearing Santa’s.

Yet despite it all, I’m saving just a little time for me to exercise and ensure my creativity index doesn’t nose dive. I’ve recently joined a gym and I LOVE it!

While I’m there I count my blessings:
1.) a sound mind (hey you, stop laughing)
2.) a strong body (I said, stop laughing!)
3.) use of as many towels as I want (think soft sculptures)
4.) free body wash (ooh, la la)
5.) someone else cleans the shower and
6.) one peaceful, yet challenging, hour to myself!

What gift(s) are you giving yourself this holiday season? And I'm sorry if I've been out of touch...

a slight but meaningful correction (indéterminé)

My family is so talented. My sister pointed out that instabilité really means instability. Duh. And while I do like the unraveling thing that is going on, I really am not unstable. Nor do I want to project this image. (Unless it might help my career? kidding.)

So, the new title is Denouement/Indéterminé. Impermanence of the indeterminable variety, not instability.

Merci professor Gilbert!

Denouement/Instabilité

So here I am working my second shift as the evening artist, writing a press release for a show that will open in 6 weeks…at a point in the process where the paintings are screaming, “We’re so ugly, hide us!”.

Ugh.

The upcoming show is about exploring new ways of being, and in the process exploring new ways of painting. I went to France this summer expecting to find this ‘new way’, knowing there was raw energy waiting to burst onto the canvas. I also expected to find something I couldn’t even define…let’s just call it happiness…but somewhere in the process I became unraveled.

It turns out the painting part was relatively easy. Finding happiness is a life-long process and the unraveling, well, there’s nothing conclusive about it...but it is sort of cathartic.

While still in France, I entitled the show Denouement thinking that by January I’d have all of the answers. I am an optimist. Now I conclusively know denouement is purely a fictional device. No problem or spiritual quest can be neatly wrapped up into a final outcome. At least not in real life…in my life…or in a short amount of time.

So I have re-titled the show: Denouement/Instabilité

Definition of denouement from the Meriam-Webster online dictionary:
1 : the final outcome of the main dramatic complication in a literary work
2 : the outcome of a complex sequence of events
Etymology: French dénouement, literally, untying

Instabilité means impermanence.

The new title suggests the balance of two opposites – a final outcome (a fictional device) and the reality of impermanence. It is a reference to life’s continual unfolding, unraveling and state of flux, and a reminder to loosen the grip.

I kind of like it. Vive l'instabilité!

Neurons that fire together, wire together

I’ve been using a sea sponge as a starting off point for my ink paintings since late July. It was a simple prop Meesh lent me during class when we were directed to draw from nature. The rocks I’d been using were hurting my eyes with their severe angles. The rotting fruit I held hostage on my window was oozing a plea to be released back to the earth.

The sponge looked appealing with its countless circles.

I still have that sponge. I’ve collected a few others, but I still like that original one which I’ve folded, contorted into a variety of two-forming-one shapes, and studied from all sides. (As if a spherical object could have sides.)

I barely need to look at the sponge these days to complete a painting. It’s become a reference, a touch stone to keep me on track. Circle, circle, hole. Circle, circle, squiggly. Look at the object. Ad a big swath of white paint to suggest an edge. Circle, circle, circle.

The end result is anyone’s guess. And that’s what I love about these paintings. Is it a sponge? Something growing in a Petri dish? An extraordinarily ordinary doodle?

A brain?

As some of you know, I dabble in meditation. And thanks to some inspired people in my life who encourage me on my path, I continually challenge my own spongy brain. Breathe in, breathe out. Circle here, circle there. Here comes a thought…circle, circle, circle. Slowly, I am rewiring my brain and with enough practice hope to someday get to a point where meditation is as effortless as this series of paintings. As psychologist Donald Hebb put it, “Neurons that fire together, wire together”, and I’m doing some remodeling.

So while I’m working to rewire my brain through meditation and “mental hygiene”, the image of a brain starts appearing in my paintings -- especially since I started adding color. Is it just me, or do they look like brain scans?

Above and below are some recent sketches, testing different colored inks. Today for the first time, I searched “brain scans” in Google images. It’s a little spooky.

Three things I wish I could remember

The following is list of three simple things I wish I could remember while preparing for a show. Sadly, I relearn them every time.

1. The work will surprise you in the frame. Sometimes it looks as if it stepped into its formal wear. It cleans up really well. Other times it looks like the contestants on Survivor when they’re back at the TV set. They looked better in their natural habitat, like the artwork on the studio wall. Leave it there.

2. Do more than you think is necessary. This applies to creating more work than you think you need. (See rule #1 because without a doubt something will not be ready for its prime time debut.) It also applies to framing supplies. Inevitably no matter how well you plan, something won’t fit. Or it’ll be broken (because the FedEx man delivers boxes to your door and then stops on them with a pivot as he sashays down the walkway). Or you hmm, surprise, didn’t measure right.

3. Though it may not be apparent during the height of show prep, you did choose to do this show/open studios/exhibition…and in the end you like a good challenge. (Leave that to the psychologists to figure out.)

The third attempt to have 16"x20" glass delivered to the studio in one piece. Cool to look at. Maddening when it is supposed to be in your frame.