I find it irredeemably frustrating to try to take pictures of my paintings, and yet I constantly attempt this seemingly Sisyphean task. New patterns are emerging, forms being born behind closed eyes.
More than anything its the way that digital captures the colour range. All of the intensity is gone from neon colours, all of the warm and light gone from metallics. I feel like I am painting more and more in colours that can only be seen with the naked human eye. Colours that have to be experienced in person to be understood and truly seen.
In the end these are just fodder for the scissors and part of the new dimension the work is taking, but I long for the ability to really represent what it is I am doing in the digital domain.
Two days after moving to NYC in the mid 90s I found myself relating the story of how my guitar and all my gear was stolen off of a greyhound bus on my recent move to a very familiar stranger in the Rogue Music shop in NYC.
We chatted for about 30 minutes, mostly about moogs and pedals and total music geekery. Toward the end of the 30 minute conversation, feeling that I must have met this guy someplace before (thinking likely in Ann Arbor where I had just moved from) I extend my hand and introduced myself. He said “I’m Adam” and just in the split second it took for me to realize this was MCA of the Beastie Boys Mike D came running up shouting “It’s White! It’s White!” I proceeded to follow them both to a back room where they had just purchased a custom white vintage Moog Liberation keyboard as a birthday gift for Adam Horowitz. We stood around in awe and laughing at the insanity of how cool it was. I rode the elevator down with them out of the building and said goodbye on the street as I went off to have dinner with some friends.
That was my introduction to NYC. MCA was a polite and unassuming person who gave much of his time and effort to many good causes. It is an incredible shame that he is gone now at such an awfully young age.
Adam, you will truly be missed in this world.
I just discovered that the first person who ever bought my art, who also was my first art dealer, passed away just over a year ago. He was a Danish surrealist who had somehow found himself living in the desolate Michigan town I was born in. Without his cantankerous wit, world worn humor and many long conversations about the world, life, and art I would have lost my mind as a young man. He once imparted a truth I till hold onto – that if you are going to be an artist, you have to make it your job, you have to live art, it has to feed you. RIP Helmuth.