Matthew Linden King: From B7

From Brush to Lens

This quarter I’ve ventured outside of the painting department and enrolled in a photography class.  I’m taking Documentary Photo I.  It’s been a great course and it caters to my (secret) love of photography.  My professor is very knowledgeable and insightful (it could have something to do with the fact that he trained with Ansel Adams, but whatever).  As part of the documentary photography process, we were required at the beginning of the course to submit a proposal for a documentary project.  I knew immediately what I would undertake because it’s something I’ve had stored in my vault of ideas for some time.  I am photographing kids (or anyone, really) whose mother intended to abort them but then changed her mind, seeking adoption instead.  The idea of someone standing in front of you who was not intended to be there is a powerful subject.  The ripples of decisions and the impact they have on the world around us is very much something I’m interested in capturing through a living, breathing subject.

I have mainly been working with a non-profit organization based out of Macon, GA called Covenant Care Services.  Through their case workers and one of their directors, I have been able to contact some families who have adopted children through Covenant Care.  Below are a select few photos from my first shoot.  It was a great time.  This particular family has adopted two children and live on a small, four acre farm forty-five minutes outside Savannah.  They were a lot of fun to photograph and I even left with my stomach filled and a dozen free-range eggs in hand!  On a side note, this project took over a month to get going so as a side project, I photographed trash cans.  Yep, that’s right.  I’ll post those later.  Enjoy!

The Evolution of a Painting

My paintings change a lot.  I usually begin with a vague idea inspired by a sudden moment either stumbled upon accidentally or pulled from an internal, pensive archive.  My latest painting was inspired by a walk from the SCAD library to Alexander (the painting building).  I turned onto Indian street down near the Savannah River and immediately saw a traffic cone and fire hydrant having a conversation…of sorts.  Sometimes the best ideas present themselves without your permission and you just have to let them in and brew some coffee; this was one of those ideas.  In that light, I tend to notice things around me and how they are organized or dutifully presented, so sometimes when I see something, it strikes me in a way that cannot be dismissed.  I particularly notice things interacting with each other; it’s foundational to human existence, after all—the need for relationships.  In a way, the objects I paint exist in a context with each other for narrative purposes but also to comment on a fundamental need for relationships.

In this scene, I noticed the traffic cone and fire hydrant rooted in the same space, but they seemed to be leaning slightly away from each other.  It was as if they acknowledged each other but with a slight sense of discomfort.  Maybe there was a conflict between them or one was contemplating consoling the other.  Or maybe they were just getting to know each other.  Silly, I know.  In my painting, though, I felt that I wanted to portray one as the aggressor and the other as a victim but I wasn’t sure which one was who.  I still don’t know.  The hydrant seems to be bleeding as if attacked but the cone is behind the fence as if incapable of the assault.  Maybe the cone is helpless or perhaps locked away in a future sense for his crimes against the hydrant.  Maybe the hydrant got what he deserved.  Perhaps it was an external force against it or something altogether innocent.

In the space of the canvas itself, I used the chain link fence as a means to disrupt the narrative of the painting and distort our sense of what could have happened or might be happening.  Some areas of the painting are thrust to the foreground while others seem to recede.  The fence, however, flips the scene in an awkward way.  Although I don’t completely understand my intentions for this painting I have a basic understanding.  It is about relationships, conflict, and the need to resolve that conflict in order to sustain the relationship.  The painting changed a lot over the course of its creation (probably a sign of the uncertainty of what it means) but I think its evolution is necessary to arrive at a point where I’m at least ready to start another.

The Process of the Screen

I’ve been experimenting in my studio this quarter with screen printing and I’ve found that I really enjoy the process.  When you go to an art gallery or museum, so much of what you see and experience represents itself in its finality on a wall or floor and does not translate the process by which it was created.  Very rarely can you sense what the artist experienced in the inception and creation of an artwork; screen printing has taught me this.

My process for this project has been one of searching through my personal archive of photographs, selecting specific objects I find interesting and that I feel would create a compelling narrative, Photoshopping them, then screening them onto 9”x11” panels.  The photographs act as documents because they depict images from trips I’ve taken or certain scenes that have caught my eye.  Once I print the image, I add color to create a specific context for the object.  The resulting conversation between the bold color and flat, black image creates a stark contrast, allowing the finished images to read like punch lines of jokes or sarcastic one-liners.  I try to find some humor in them.  I’m excited to see where this process takes me!

 

The Discontinuous Mile: A White Glove Affair

I recently had the opportunity to help uninstall a great exhibit at the SCAD Museum of Art by Artist Liza Lou.  You should look her up if you don’t know her work.  She makes very large scale, ambitious pieces composed completely of small, glass beads.  Her work addresses ideas of community, life and death, continuums, religion, etc.  She had two pieces in the gallery that I assisted in “unravelling” called Continuous Mile (Black) and Continuous Mile (White).  At first sight, these works appear to be extremely long strands of rope wound in a circular form on top of themselves, forming well-like forms.  Upon closer inspection, though, you see the “rope” is in fact millions of miniscule beads stranded in a complicated stitch (called a peyote stitch), each a mile long.  I had spent months around these two pieces, constantly telling visitors, “Please don’t touch,” “I’m sorry, you can’t touch that,” “Ma’am, please don’t let your child touch the artwork,” “I know you’re trying to find the end of the rope but you can’t touch” “Watchout, sir, you’re about to back into the continuous mile.”  One time when I was working by myself in the gallery, it got real busy and my back was turned when a little girl pushed herself up on Continuous Mile (White) and put a large indention on top of it, causing it to lose its perfect form (it is installed in a circular mold to create a perfect cylindrical form).  The Exhibitions Committee was called in (picture black suits, ear mics, sunglasses) and tried to fix it but to no avail.  It took them six hours to uninstall it and eight to reinstall it.  Then they disappeared into the ceiling.  So parents out there, “do not touch” is your friend!  I spent so much time telling people not to touch it’s all I ever wanted to do.  Like a reverse placebo effect.  So when I was asked if I wanted to help uninstall the two Continuous Miles at the end of the show, I donned the white gloves in immediate style.  It was great to be able to experience the tactile nature of Lou’s work.  It’s definitely something missing from museums and art galleries—the ability to confirm with your skin what your eye and mind tell you is real and beautiful.  Or at least confirm with a white glove.

Construction Zone Ahead

It’s been a while since I’ve blogged—so long that I had to type the complete website in my browser because my computer’s history didn’t even recognize it!  I’ve had a six week break between fall and winter quarter (I’ll pause to let you get through the jealousy).  I stayed busy, though.  I didn’t really make any “art”, per se—that is, anything I would feel comfortable turning in for an assignment in graduate school—but I did a lot of reading, researching, thinking, sleeping, working at the museum, and playing video games.  The latter of these is the best justifiable means to mindless activity so as to alleviate overexposure to mental stimuli.  Too bad I couldn’t have thought of that as a kid when my parents forced us to shut down the console.  Anyway, the one thing I spent a lot of time on was constructing things and I think my time spent working on those projects was very valuable to my practice as an artist. 

I’ve always enjoyed building things.  I remember helping my dad and brothers build a treehouse in our backyard when I was a kid.  I guess it was really more of a tree platform but it was nonetheless an imaginary space suspended from gravity—the imagination’s greatest mortal nemesis.  We even had a zip line.  I fell off one time.  My mom happened to be outside taking a picture of me zipping down a la Batman and the harness clip somehow came undone and I fell on my keester.  Knocked the wind clear out of me and I nearly passed out.  But I was proud to fall off of something that I helped create.

Over the break I built two things; two simple things, really.  The first was a light exposure unit for screen printing.  The second was a work table for the garage.  I plan to do some printing this quarter so I wanted to set up some equipment in my studio.  I started off with the intention of building a simple box with some lighting units contained inside and a switch to turn them on, but as I was constructing it I realized that what I set out to build was very monotone and boring.  So I decided to elevate it, build a shelf beneath it, use quarter-inch tempered glass as a covering, screw hinges on the top panel so it can be slightly elevated as a drafting table, then put it on rolling casters.  Anything with wheels has value, after all.  I painted it white because I had an extra quart of the stuff.  The wiring took me a while to figure out.  I tripped the circuit breaker around twenty times and went to Lowe’s twice to hunt down someone who knew something, anything about electrical work.  It eventually all came together and it works like a charm…however a charm works.

The work table I built entirely from scrap plywood I had leftover from a failed bookshelf project.  I’m sure Mandy was tired of dodging the scrap wood whenever she pulled her car into the garage and got out.  She’s a patient wife, quick to endure my projects.  The table is seven feet long with a long lower shelf and a second shelf halfway up and half as wide.  The work surface is composed of strips of plywood turned on their side and laminated, revealing the natural striping of the laminated plywood.  It’s basically a dream come true as I’ve never had an official work bench.

So, how is this all relevant to painting?  Let’s just all remain calm and I’ll tell you.  I think working on these projects reminded me that I enjoy the constructive process.  Sometimes I approach my artwork by simply having a basic idea in mind and “attacking” the canvas or surface in a cavalier way hoping to give life to the idea.  The result is usually a constantly changing and evolving piece of art.  While this process can be beneficial at times, it tends to leave me frustrated and the work unresolved.  Working on these two projects over the break inspired me to take a more deliberate, constructive approach to my work this next quarter so I plan to stop and smell the roses, think things through more carefully, and build my paintings instead of forcing them to unfold spontaneously in ways not intended.  Hopefully the construction won’t cause any delays! 

Not bad for minimum wage.

I’ve worked a lot of jobs in my day.  Everything from neighborhood self-employment to a truck stop…kind of.  I’ve made good money and I’ve been cheated out of good money but somehow always seemed to make it by.  In fact, before I explain this post further, I think it only proper to list my many employments.  So here goes, in chronological order, of course.

1.  Church league basketball score keeper - $8/game

2.  King’s Lawn Cuts (local lawn maintenance) - $35/yard

3.  Kroger bagger - minimum wage plus tips (lets just say I was bankin’)

4.  Kroger Graphic Designer - $8.75/hr

5.  Cabana Boy (this is not a lie) - $8.00/hr

6.  Resident Assistant - free college housing plus $100/wk

7.  Golf Course Maintenance - $7.75/hr

8.  Hotel Laundry Attendant - $7.50/hr

9.  Server at Austin’s Steak House - $2.35/hr plus tips

10.  Server at Red Lobster (the only job I’ve ever been fired from!  Suffice it to say it’s never a good idea to give me an embarrassingly low tip!) - $2.35/hr plus tips

11.  Local consignment/retail shop - $8.00/hr.

12.  Sign Shop (I worked this job after college for a week helping put up enormous truck stop signs.  It was cool )- $10/hr

13.  Lifeguard - $10/hr

14.  Middle School Art Teacher - priceless

15.  Church Youth Director - eternally priceless

Number 16?  Although it is officially the lowest paying job I’ve ever had, it might be one of the coolest!  I was hired recently as a docent at the amazingly renovated SCAD Museum of Art and started my first day this past Friday.  Don’t feel bad, I didn’t know what a docent was either and I just smiled and nodded during the interview.  Basically, I stand in museum galleries with world famous, priceless pieces of art and tell people that if they even think of sneezing in the vicinity of such grandeur that is the artwork over which I preside, I will taze them with an app on my iPhone.  In addition to this intimidating role, I will also lead tours and facilitate conversations about the museum’s work.  The SCAD MOA is built around a historically preserved train station—the oldest in the USA, actually.  It is linear and concise in it’s construction and if you really squint your imagination, you can almost feel platform 9 and 3/4.

My First day on the job I got a good sense of my crucial role in the success of the museum.  I was manning my post in the Kehinde Wiley exhibition (a popular contemporary painter who paints urban youth in a Neo-Classical/Renaissance setting) when suddenly the artist himself walked in for a photo shoot with one of his signature pieces.  Behind him followed an entourage of people I could only assume were important, including one woman whom I discovered to be the SCAD president and co-founder.  Who knew.  Later, a guy who I found out to be a famous designer named Andre Leon Talley entered the room, but I only recognized him as the guy from America’s Next Top Model or some other silly reality show that Mandy watches:)  For most of their stay in my highly guarded space, I was no more than ten feet from them.  I don’t think one of them looked at me.  They probably would have been more interested in me as a table so they could at least have somewhere to put their designer sunglasses.  At one point the artist approached one of his paintings uncomfortably close for my taste.  Fortunately for him, he stepped away before I was able to utilize my keen training.

All in all, this will be a cool job.  Yes, good experience.  Yes, a line on the resume.  Yes, exposure to great art and artists.  Yes, connections with other students.  All in a day’s work.  And yes, all this for $7.25/hr.  I’ll take it.

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I meant to enroll in art school, not the Army

I’ll be entering week seven of graduate school at SCAD and I liken it to boot camp (except I can sleep in if I want and the yelling and screaming is more of a metaphor).  Creativity, and especially painting, is a humbling process.  There is very little instant gratification in it.  I’ve learned very quickly not to take pride in my creative work but simply take pride in working.  One essentially enters the MFA in Painting program knowing that it could be years before your artwork finds a true voice (and years before the money required to attend is paid back).  The process is invigorating, though, and it is a greenhouse for artistic growth.  It is not a prescription.  This is where the boot camp aspect comes in.  One of my professors told our class the other day, “When you come to SCAD, you sign up for scrutiny.”  It’s a teddy bear version of the military’s propensity to break down then rebuild, but it’s the same concept.  I feel like my work and ideas have been civilly ripped apart and I am left to pick up the pieces, but it’s figuring out how to rearrange the remnants into something fresh and innovative that keeps me going.  It’s also knowing that other students empathize and suffer from the same tumultuous introspection and yet are determined not to succumb to its accusatory tendencies.  In short, this is my place to be!  I will begin to post my work soon, so stay with me! 

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