Questions and an answer

Fifteen under-paintings Megan Chapman & Stewart Bremner

In a little over a month, Megan Chapman and I will be having an exhibition of new works at the Art Center of the Ozarks, titled "A place called home".

Megan and I have a home each, spaced four and a half thousand miles apart and we have both spent many months visiting each other's homes. Neither of us having planned to ever engage in such a long-distance relationship, there was never an expectation that not knowing where home was would ever arise. That was, of course, before the internet changed things, leaving us at a point where the places we once called home are no longer quite as clear in our minds as previously they had been. Where, then, is our home?

Given that this has become such a prominent, if unanswered question, and also that both of our recent bodies of work are so autobiographical, it therefore seemed entirely apt that we should title our next show with this in mind. Due to the nature of exhibition scheduling, these considerations, and the title that sprang from them, took place some time ago.

Now here we are, back in the sticky heat of an Arkansas summer and we have a lot of painting to do. Already we have began fifteen pieces, all of them underpaintings that contain a mix of shape, colour and texture. As these pieces progress, we are faced with squaring up the work we have began with the title we have given the show. This seems a difficult task, although one that as abstract artists we have faced before.

The problem has led to several discussions and not a few hours of missed sleep. In the heat and in the stress, the solution was not forthcoming. And then the answer occurred to me, the answer that is always the answer and yet is one that seems somehow to be easily forgotten. The work will conform to the title because the idea behind the title is so very much at the forefront of our minds that in our mark-making, we cannot help but reflect it. This is to hark back to the idea of éciture automatique, that I touched on almost a year ago. Basically, if we relax and just keep painting, we should find our way to a cohesive (and hopefully great) show.

Now to put that into practice…

Not quite crystal clear

A few days ago, less than a week after returning to Northwest Arkansas, Megan and I made a visit to Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art. The museum, which opened in November 2011, holds a large and diverse collection, housed in a purpose-built, glass, steel and concrete structure in a snug river valley. It is the fruition of many years work, that was funded by Wal-Mart scion Alice Walton.

Rosie the Riveter
Norman Rockwell, 1943

On a bright and sunny afternoon, the approach to the museum is lined with brightly-coloured wild flowers, in the midst of the endless, verdant, treescape that covers much of this part of Arkansas. The museum itself is housed below and almost out of sight of the entry way, making for a slightly confusing and unimpressive beginning to our visit. Likewise, the entrance foyer is another counter-intuitive space, further muddled by a profusion of crowd barrier tapes. After some backwards and forwards wandering, we found our way into the first room of the collection and began our tour.

Before I'd even clapped eyes on any piece of art, an attendant pounced on us, asking if we had visited the museum previously. On discovering I had not, I was given a lecture on the rules of the museum: do not to get within eighteen inches of the art; do not point at the art; do not use flash photography. It was an embarrassing and intrusive beginning to our visit, which made me feel unwelcome and intimidated. A few minutes later, when Megan forgot herself and did indeed point at a painting, an attendant was on us in a heartbeat, telling her off.

While I understand there are likely to be many visitors who had never been to a major art gallery and therefore might not know how to act around art, this only makes the intrusive approach more wrong. As a visitor who has been to many large institutions and understands how and why not to fuck with the art on the walls, I felt intimidated by the ever-present attendants for much of my visit. So to I was fearful of getting to close to a painting, as I always want to and have often done in the past, lest I should be further accosted. It is hard to imagine how much more intimidated first-time gallery visitors must feel.

Mask with Golden Apple
Georgia O'Keefe, 1923

Given the funds the museum appears to have available, one can only wonder why they do not simply invest in some museum-grade picture glass and some rope. Maybe then their attendants could stop intruding and leave the visitors to engage with the work on show.

Art should be an enriching and valuable experience for all and the potential for Crystal Bridges' approach to nip latent interest in the bud is dangerously self-defeating. If their visitors really have so little gallery experience, and the evidence of our eyes and ears on our visit seems to confirm this, then it is even more important that they are not put off on their first visit.

After the initial experiences on entering the museum, it took a while before I could even really begin to look at the art. As it happens, the museum is laid out in chronological order and so this did not prove to be massively problematic. The entrance floor hosts work from the colonial to late nineteenth century period and I found little here to engage me (although this is not an uncommon reaction for me to have with art of this period). This is a subjective opinion and no real judgement on the collection, although even so there are a few stinkers in here, including James Earl's Lady Mary Beauclerk, Daughter of Lord Aubrey and Lady Jane Beauclerk (1793-94).

Ward
George Tooker, 1971

The twentieth century work is found on the lower level of the museum. Again, the initial impression here was a little odd. The first galleries are self-contained and windowless rooms built within a glass pavilion. It seems a somewhat perverse way to lay out a purpose-built museum, however in them I found the first pieces in the collection that genuinely engaged me. 

First was Norman Rockwell's Rosie the Riveter (1943). It is always strange to encounter such an iconic work, where one often feels a mix of familiarity and wonder, and this was such an experience. It is a big work, that is as defiant and robust as anyone would expect such a patriotic American work to be.

In the same room, I was also drawn to Georgia O'Keefe's Mask with Golden Apple (1923), for its captivating and elegant simplicity, and the glowing twilight world in Maxfield Parrish's The Lantern Bearers (1908), the colours of which seem unlikely to ever be re-produceable, no matter how many thousands of prints are made of it.

Our Town
Kerry James Marshall, 1995 (with visitor)

In the contemporary area, George Tooker's Ward (1971) stands apart, although not in any obvious manner. It is a quiet painting and, located in a small side gallery, it could easily be overlooked. However once it has been noticed, the undercurrents of disquiet and alienation in the work arrest the attention. The faceless and near-identical bed-bound figures, together with the partly-covered flags, hint towards the flow of dead and injured returning from the then ongoing Vietnam war. All the while the upright members of society, barely healthy themselves, turn away and in that act give hints towards Dixie's "look away, look away" and its pro-slavery viewpoint – for while those in the beds may be helpless, those looking away are just as much slaves. It is a powerful painting and one which signals that Tooker was an accomplished artist, with a strong social awareness.

Another similarly hard-hitting piece is Kerry James Marshall's Our Town (1995). This massive work dominates one whole wall, positively shouting its disquiet to the viewer. Here a perfectly-rendered suburban American Dream is subverted. Like the elephant in the room, the children at the centre of this picture unexpectedly have neither blond hair, nor blue eyes and with troubled expressions, they ask "what about us?" Elsewhere crude and rough daubings obscure the unrealisable dream. From its scale and the brightness of its colours, this piece at first appears a large and fluffy work, it is only on second glance that its political subtext begin to shout.

Round
Kenneth Noland, 1959

Almost the antithesis to these two strong pieces is Kenneth Noland's Round (1959). Using stains rather than brushstrokes, Noland sought to remove the artist from the art, to instead concentrate the focus on the colour and form, on simply the art itself. It seems to my mind a rather futile undertaking, wilfully at odds with what art is for. Nonetheless, this did not stop me from appreciating the composition of this rather unfinished-looking piece. Standing front and square in front of the work, not much further away than the regulation eighteen inches, gave the colours of the work quite a breathtaking dominance of the field of vision.

Towards the end of the museum, Wayne Thiebaud's Supine Woman (1963) was also strongly attractive. Thiebaud's best-known work featured products and items of food, painted in a realistic style using artificially bright colours. Here in a lesser-known work, the absolutely motionless figure is rendered in the same manner and through this product-perfection gives rise to questions about woman's place in the a male-dominated society, that sadly seem increasingly relevant in contemporary America.

Crystal Bridges both confounded and reinforced my expectations. As a new museum, there are of course few big name works, while many of the works by big name artists collected here are at best lesser ones. The Mark Rothko and Jackson Pollock pieces currently on show would arguably be lost to the mists of time, where it not for their creator's later efforts. Added to this is the restriction to only show work by artists of the United States, which gives the museum something of a provincial air.

Supine Woman
Wayne Thiebaud, 1963

It would be easy, in light of these points, to therefore leave the gallery feeling that the collection is a bit thin, that it is simply a large collection of second-rate work. However, that would be to overlook the merits of a collection of lesser-known work. Herein are many hidden and unexpected gems. If it is inconceivable that a corporate-bought, patriotic-seeming, American-only art collection could hold such political works as those above, consider also Marsden Hartley's Madawaska–Acadian Light-Heavy (1940), which is one of the most homo-erotic paintings I have seen in any gallery or museum. One can only stop and congratulate the museum for housing such works.

The museum, in all its modern architectural glory, sits in a lush green valley, surrounded by a system of trails and it is undoubtedly a beautiful place to look at and be in. However the collection is hit-and-miss, while the atmosphere is somewhat unwelcoming – other than the intrusive attendants, we saw many cleaners noisily at work (during opening hours) and the cafe inexplicably closed at 3pm on our visit, six hours before the museum (there were no hints as to whether or not it would open later).

In its defence, Crystal Bridges is still a young museum and it is only to be expected that the bugs in experience are not quite ironed out. Should these subtle yet many flaws be attended to, Crystal Bridges is sure to become an important destination in the art world.

Hello Arkansas!

Yes, I'm back in the land of trees, thunder and… something else beginning with T… um… trucks! It has been almost six months since I was last here, which seems to have passed in the blink of an eye. Right now I am quite jet-lagged an unfocussed. Please do come back soon to find out what exciting plans are afoot!

Worlds Apart - the book

In October of last year Alison Auldjo of Union Gallery approached me to be part of an exhibition, Worlds Apart, with Kevin Low. I agreed straight away and was very, very excited. I could not believe I would get the chance to show so much of my work at once in Edinburgh!

It seems as if this happened just yesterday and yet today that seemingly long-distant exhibition will close. The journey to this point has been at times a delight and at others a trial, nonetheless I would not change one moment of if.

I'm very grateful to everyone who helped me on the way to make the series of paintings that were my half of the show: to my supporters and patrons, to my family and friends, to Kevin, Alison and Rob and most of all to Megan. Being an artist can be a lonely calling. Without this network of special people, I might never have completed a series that contains some of my strongest work to date. Thank you all.

From today onwards, a book containing my complete Worlds Apart series goes on sale. It is a square book of 74 pages with a clean, modern design, that includes close ups of what I regard as the key works. As a bonus, the book also features an edited selection of my journal entries made as I created the series, giving an insight into the whole process. I am particularly pleased with the colour reproduction of the printed photos, that make these images look very close to my original paintings.

For those who made it to the exhibition, or those too far off to drop by, this will make a great souvenir of a key moment in my painting career. I really hope you'll pick up a copy – please let me know if you do, as I would love to say thanks!

Worlds Apart by Stewart Bremner | Make Your Own Book

Ps. until May 2nd, you should be able use coupon code IHEARTMOM to get free shipping

It's all the rage

This week, Megan and I took a trip through England, visiting many big public galleries. In London we visited the Tate Modern, the National Gallery and the National Portrait Gallery; in Birmingham the Ikon Gallery and the Birmingham Museum & Art Gallery; in Manchester the Manchester Art Gallery. I learned that I have almost no affinity whatsoever for conceptual art and that, if I am to believe what I saw in some of these galleries, I am only interested in art that was made before 1950. Does this not make me seem rather like a philistine? It certainly made me feel like one and that was most unwelcome.

I have documented here my problem with conceptual art several times, going as far as to label it Fashion Art. I am now, frankly, tired of this it. I'm tired of seeing it in all the major modern galleries, I'm tired of talking about it with every artist I know or meet, I'm tired of getting angry about it and, most of all, I'm tired of thinking about it. And even with all of that, I still can't stop myself from once more rehashing my experiences of it.

Having seen so much of it in the past week, at the Tate Modern and Ikon Gallery, I feel like an idiot for not understanding it, for not caring one jot about it and for thinking that it is simply cannot be art. How can I call my self an artist and yet be so completely at odds with what seems to be the major art movement of my time? When I read "As the title suggests, Steel Zinc Plain represents a territory or a space as much as an object. By placing it on the floor rather than on a plinth and allowing it to be walked across, Andre alters the viewer’s relationship to the work of art" why do I keep shaking my head and wondering what I am missing, before feeling stupid and excluded? If I had been alive in the nineteenth century, would I have shunned those appalling new pieces by the so-called Impressionists, with all of their mess and unlife-like appearance?

Conceptual art depresses me. It depresses me because it is omnipresent, seemingly to the exclusion of every other contemporary art form. I want to see work invested with feeling, that has been wrought by artists using the hand, eye and heart, rather than this stuff of sensation and empty questions. Alternately, as an artist I could simply be jealous that conceptual artists appear to be swimming in the depths of accolades and money, while the sole of my foot is barely even wet.

I ought to take a lesson from this and totally avoid conceptual art in future. This, however, would appear to be no easy task at a time when there seems to be almost no other form of contemporary art on display in public galleries, almost as if each and every curator is dancing to the beat of one drummer, following in the wake of the unclothed emperor.

In many of our public galleries, we see vast spaces taken up with a small number of thin-seeming conceptual pieces, while enormous collections are held in storage, away from the public's eye. It seems wrongheaded, especially when one considers how disengaged audiences seem to be with conceptual art, compared to more traditional forms. At the Tate Modern viewers drifted through the spaces, never seemingly stopping for long, whereas in the National Gallery some paintings held constant and barely-moving crowds in front of them like magnets.

If we are to believe these admittedly-jaundiced memories, then something is clearly amiss. It would seem that many of those in charge of the public's art purse are purchasing and showing work that the public does not particularly care for.

Recently, Edinburgh's Fruitmarket Gallery held an Anna Barriball exhibition, that featured around twenty works lost in the brilliant white space of this mid-sized venue. On top of adding to the gallery's reputation for hosting unpopular and unlikeable art, it was shockingly empty when compared to the nearby Royal Scottish Academy. That building was playing host to the annual exhibitions of Visual Arts Scotland, the Scottish Society of Artists and the Royal Scottish Society of Painters in Watercolour, all at once. Here was an exhibition showing a cross-section of contemporary art; a vibrant, lively and attractive show, where walls had to be jammed full of paintings and which ran for only a month.

One of the many empty spaces in Sarah Browne's
How To Use Fool's Gold in Birmingham's Ikon Gallery.

Last week in the Ikon Gallery, another attractive mid-sized space, Sarah Brown's exhibition How To Use Fool's Gold took up one whole floor. This time less than ten pieces failed to fill the space. There seemed little unity in the work and if there was a vision for the exhibition it was far from evident. Once again an exhibition of contemporary work in a modern gallery lacked any emotion and had few visitors.

When most of the money and public gallery space in contemporary art is stuck to what appears to be vacuous gimmickry, it is not just the majority of artists who suffer, but the viewing public too. The artists starve or give up to take a soul-destroying job; the public turn away from art thinking they do not like it and live an unenriched life of corporate entertainment and large-screen televisions. We can surmise that, just as with our financial world where the 1% have all of the riches, so too the art establishment only notices the fashionable 1% (some of whom it would appear are even part of the financial 1%). It is a sad state of affairs.

The "Fighting Temeraire" Tugged to her
Last Berth to be Broken up – William Turner, 1839

Happily, our England trip was not totally consumed by conceptual upset – we also got to see justly famous artworks of beauty and emotion. At the National Gallery we saw several rooms of great Impressionist works, including Degas' Combing the Hair, as well as a wall of van Goghs and Turner's stunning Fighting Temeraire. Here Megan fell for even older pieces: Hans Holbein's The Ambassadors and Jan van Wyck's Arnolfini Portrait. Up north we particularly enjoyed two Modiglianis, with one in Birmingham and one in Manchester.

Our last stop at Manchester Art Gallery, turned out to be an unexpected highlight. With an impressive, well kept and well laid-out collection, covering an almost 700 year span, it packs an impressive punch for a gallery of its size. Its rooms of Pre-Raphaelite and Victorian art (including John William Waterhouse's Hylas and the Nymphs and Charles Mengin's Sappho) were a particularly treat, which was a genuine surprise given my previous lack of interest in work of that type.

While much of this work was often beautiful and even at times emotional, little of the contemporary work on show was either. I am an artist, who by very definition makes contemporary work, work that is, to me, both emotional and beautiful. Over the past few years I've met plenty other artists who are similarly engaged. I believe that this kind of work, made using the hand, the eye and the heart, would be well received by the viewing public, if only they knew of its existence.

Today I am part of the unfashionable 99% of artists. Being unfashionable does not upset me, neither does being one of the masses. What does upset me is the skewed perception of contemporary art that our public galleries foster. It think it is time for the 99% to get their turn. Who's with me?

Don't talk about…

The period of time after an exhibition opens can be, for the artist, amongst the hardest. Here now the work of the previous months, or years, is out in public. The artist, feeling the pressure of having their work exposed, will doubtless be asking many questions. Does anyone understand the work? What are their responses to it? Will they share those responses? The biggest question, however, is likely to be 'will it sell?'

It always seems tacky to mention selling one's art. This is an unfortunate preconception, that seems to suggest that to make art to sell is somehow less worthy, that commerce pollutes the ideals of art. Sadly we do not live in a socialist utopia, where artists are maintained by the state as a necessary part and expression of life. Artists, unless they are very lucky, need to sell their work to live.

The patron who is buying art is doing more than taking home something that will hopefully enrich their life, they are buying the artist a future. Each piece an artist makes has been paid for long before a patron is likely to see it – the artist has already invested their time and money in the work. When a patron buys a piece, it allows the artist to continue making new work.

There is also a question of validity here because, for all of the positive responses the work in an exhibition can garner, be it from friends or in media reviews, it is very hard not to use sales as a measure of success. In many ways, this is quite a false measure, for who can tell why a patron does or does not buy art. For example, in the middle of a recession sales of everyone's art are certain to be lower than in more buoyant times. Does this therefore mean that all art made in a recession is less worthy? Patently, this is a foolish statement.

Nonetheless, sales remain an important gauge to an artist. A week after my work went on show, it is something that is hard for me not to ignore. It is ironic that at this time, when I should be sitting back, relaxed and enjoying the paintings that I have worked so hard to produce, I am instead almost more worried now than previously. I know this will pass.

The exhibition runs for just over two more weeks. If you are in Edinburgh, please drop by Union Gallery and have a look. For those further afield, you can see the work here.

Worlds Apart opens!

It doesn't quite seem real yet, although at the same time it all feels very ordinary: my latest series of paintings, the series I have worked on for the three intense months, is on show. It opened last night.

The opening was a hectic affair, a crowded room full of family, friends and numerous others. For almost three hours I talked and talked and never stopped. I love being able to share my work and one of the best things about having such a great opportunity as last night is being asked questions about my paintings. Be it a question about meaning, or a question about technique, it is just a thrill that people are interested enough to ask!

In the past few months, I have worked hard to create the body of work for this exhibition. I have produced some of the strongest paintings of my career and have enjoyed the experience thoroughly, for all of its highs and lows. Last night was an intense night and, on a deep level, a very emotional one for me. This soon afterwards, I can't quite sift through the complex web of thoughts and feelings, that such an evening leaves behind. I do know, however, that somewhere in there is acceptance and I value that more than I can express.

Thank you all of my friends and family who have supported and encouraged me. Thank you Kevin, Alison and Rob for giving me this opportunity. Thank you especially to those who came along last night, to Mum, Julie, Dad, Steven, Raymond, Adam, Annabella, Craig, Dave, Elaine, Fiona, Graeme, Iain, James, Janet, Jonathan, Joe, Kenny, Lou, Neil, Ruth and especially the amazing art star herself, Megan. It is through all of your support that I am able to do what I do. Thank you.