The inner child
Keep it alive.
On Christmas Day, I am drawing in the kitchen. Noisy-le-sec, France. circa 1986
My love for “all-things-cozy,” as I call it, comes from looking for the warmest, most welcoming, and friendliest place to work, get a coffee, or read a book. I realized pretty recently that I judge things on a scale of “coziness.” Being cozy or in my comfort zone is my thing; some say it’s not ideal for creation, but it is actually for me.
The Cozier, the better; I am drawn to Swedish artists such as Carl and Karin Larsson, Anders Zorn, whose most beautiful paintings represent their homes and scenes of their daily life, but also David Hockney, who painted his dachshund dogs countless times, Tove Janson who is for me the embodiment of “coziness” in her paintings, novels, and graphic novels.
Hi from the heart of wintertime
About my work process + Art shows I have seen recently.
Okay, winter in Los Angeles is nothing like the grey, humid, and cold-to-the-bones Parisian winter. I find myself swimming in the ocean in February, and I love it. I often speak to my family back in France; they admit they feel pretty miserable when winter comes, the days get shorter, and the rain and cold are upon them. When I grew up in the Paris suburbs in the 80s and 90s, the snow would cover our garden with a thin coat of white powder each year around Christmas time, and my dog regularly brought us little birds in his mouth for us to revive and set free a few days later.
My fondest memories were those days after Christmas, using the wrapping paper from my gifts (Pic above) to draw on it and use my new toys; this time, it was a Spirograph set that made me feel so creative and was fun to draw with. Was I too lazy or eager to start drawing to bother fetching a nice piece of paper?
My guess is that I was too eager, and I didn't change that much; most of the time, I start a drawing with the wrong tools, but the idea of setting up my brushes, oil paints, or beautiful paper scares me, it scares me that I would lose the "momentum" and so I often go head-on and draw on whatever I have at hands.
A portrait of me in my studio by Roman Jehanno. circa 2017
If I have to dig deeper, I would say that to draw on a piece of paper that is too fancy isn't appealing to me; I need it to be a bit dirty, stuck inside a sketchbook, the back of another painting to start with no pressure, and no fear of disappointing myself.
My home studio at the back of the house.
My work process with ceramic is entirely different; some say at the studio where I work that I am very organized, and the truth is I carefully set up my station so I have everything I need before I start. When I go to the pottery studio, I know that I will produce and that work will be done. In contrast, the home studio where I draw/paint is more of a chaotic space where inspiration might or might not strike, and it can be debilitating at times or super gratifying at others.
Enough about me.
In this blog, I also want to share what I have been up to lately; I saw a few Art shows in and around Los Angeles.
In February, I saw Ed Templeton Wires Crossed: The Culture of Skateboarding, 1995-2012 exhibition at the LBMA (Long Beach Museum of Art) It was fantastic and powerful; his photographs testify to a not-so-polish era with no social media, but who needs social media to be immortalized when Ed Templeton is faithfully documenting the most intimate moment of your life on tour? That’s how you end up in museums.
By photographing the people around him, Templeton brought an artful and poetic spin to the skateboarding culture and their life on tour, where provocation, irreverence, testosterone, and dirty hotel rooms ruled. His photographs are unbelievably beautiful and real.
In January (The show is now closed), I saw the William Blake: Visionary Exhibition at The Getty Center. I have always loved William Blake’s work; I have seen many exhibitions about him over the years in London or Paris. I witnessed his unbelievable, unique, and unmatched skills. He was developing his very own colored etching techniques, and the fine details of his illustrations or watercolors were visible only through magnifying glasses provided for us, the mortal kind with declining eye sight.
Last week, I visited the OCMA (Orange County Museum of Art) to see the Joan Brown exhibition, a “cult” Californian artist from the Bay Area. It resonated with me a lot; she loved to paint about her life, she painted lots of self-portraits, she painted cats and dogs, and she was an avid swimmer and part of the Dolphin Club of San Francisco (hardcore brrr), while I am a Polar Bear from San Pedro. She used to swim in the swimming pool a lot, too. I swim almost daily at the pool, and she painted these activities in memorable oil paintings that I was so glad I could see in real life.
Looking at her work, I could see how she influenced Californian artists such as Margaret Kilgallen and Ed Templeton. I also feel a connection between David Hockney’s work and hers; I need to look into that.
I saw Luna Luna: The Art Amusement Park installation in Downtown Los Angeles in January.
I kept that show for the end because it was…meh (Bof, as we say in France). There was so much hype around it, so many Instagram ads flooding my feed daily, and even my dentist urged me to see the show while cleaning my teeth…I had to go.
DTLA mural of Rihanna in front of the Luna Luna Exhibition
I checked who the artists involved were: David Hockney, Kenny Scharf, Jean-Michel Basquiat, Keith Haring, Salvador Dali !!! Well, I was sold. I was ripped off a little bit instead.
I booked (expensive) tickets and was already dreaming about a wholly immersive experience, a ‘voyage’ in the minds of these gigantic artists and what I imagined their creation would be: Taking me on crazy rides, losing my senses in wild installations that would transport me in another dimension. It wasn’t quite the experience I anticipated; the artists are all great, that's a fact, but the whole show felt like someone had found an old amusement park and asked them to paint all over it, nothing more.
It forced me to recognize that the 1980s, in which I grew up as a child, were a bit cheap, and our dreams were limited by technology when our own young kid’s minds were already ready for the 21st century.
Below are the pictures of my favorite installations because it was still a fun show to see. !
The disappointment I felt watching this installation reminded me of when, as a child, I asked my dad to build me a robot, dreaming of intricate and complicated tricks and mechanics. My dad built me one, with two pieces of wood and a battery so the nose, a bulb sticking out of the wood where he drew a face, could glow.
I'm grateful for my dad’s “failed robot” because it made me want to get as close to my expectations and dreams as possible.
Thanks for reading this blog; there’s so much I want to share here. I will be back at the pottery studio to finish some work. I am gathering some mugs, cups, and bowls for a restock this Monday, February 19th !
Picture taken on my way to buy some pottery supplies at Aardvark Clay.
Pieces in the studio.
Leave me a comment below or a review on my shop if you own a piece I did!
Have a great week,
Mayon
Follow me on @muddythings and @mayonscrayons