Hong Sau with reverance
illumination of the temple by a hundred thousand lights, lakshadipam*
crumpled paper is really satisfying
Project: WHITE DIARY
Image: abstract collage, calligraphy, Chinese bamboo pen
Media: Khadi paper, Khadi Nepalese-dyed Lokta, Indian ink
* Autobiography of a Yogi, by Paramahansa Yogananda
…the Bernard Jacobson Gallery held a preview of William Tillyer’s new paintings, a series of innovative metal lattice works inspired by Tillyer’s cloud study of the Helmsley sky in Yorkshire. Clearly a man of his word, Mr. Jacobson had promised to introduce my friend & I to the artist, and indeed, Mr.Tillyer snuck up on us while we were enthusiastically flicking through an archive book of his exceptional water-colours. It was a real treat actually, and a privilege, I mean how often does one get the opportunity to ask an accomplished artist such daft questions as ‘what prompted you to start painting?’, it was like asking a fish why they like swimming. More insightful, however, was Tillyer’s description of his long-term love affair with employing interactive materials as part of his creative process, while using the archive book as a reference point to demonstrate. ‘Do you remember every piece of work you’ve ever created?’ asked my friend, ‘oh yes, every one’ Mr. Tillyer replied. At the age of 71 that’s not bad going, given that I seldom remember what I had for breakfast. The last two paragraphs of the artist’s wall-mounted notes are especially poignant, and for me, sums up the motivation behind artistic endeavor:
‘This simple observation states my need to ‘prick the bubble’ and operate in today’s ever narrowing gap between order and chaos, the romantic, scientific, rural and urban, and most of all between control, and letting go.
In setting down these brief notes, I have started with the least important aspects of theme, or any other body of work. It is the very last point, that gap, that space between, for which I have no real name that is important, and in the end that which I am unable to verbalize.’ William Tillyer 2010
I can’t speak for anyone else, but I definitely floated away on a Tillyer Cloud 9.
V
William Tillyer etching Clouds 2010
Tillyer etching Clouds, work in progress 2009
Tillyer Bloworth Blue
Ed: note that from June 24th, the Bernard Jacobson Gallery is holding the first exhibition of new work by Pierre Soulages in London since 1972 – not to be missed!
Broken Dreams 2009 by the Campana brothers
Broken Dreams 2009, the highlight (excuse the pun) of the new Campana installation Glass Experiences at the Coach House Gallery, Waddesdon Manor. The bricolage wall light, made entirely from redundant glass objects, was created by the Campana brothers in collaboration with Venini, the Venetian glass makers. Almost as impressive as the Waddesdon tulips.
Apart from the obvious argument for sustainable art & design, there is something very satisfying about using found objects in the creative process. V
…Soul Fragments …a group of paintings on paper, using blue and black ink. I’m blending calligraphic style brush work with the mental domain of geometric forms. Narrowing the colour palette allows for concentrated experimentation with form and texture. The calligraphic and textural elements are indicative of the etheric body, while the geometric personalities represent thought forms.
This current project has been inspired by the shamanic practice of soul retrieval, of which the aim is to reintegrate soul fragments that have become disconnected through trauma. Soul Fragments will be launched on VA later this year.
V
On Saturday 10th April, I took a walk over to Madame Lillie’s gallery in Stoke Newington, to view Sounding Out, an exhibition of artwork, photography & sound by Richard C Beard. I originally met Richard during an open evening at his artist studio on Manor Road, every inch of wall space was covered with various experiments as if his mind had literally exploded over four walls… I’m amazed the ceiling escaped.
By utter contrast, there was a neat folio on the desk filled with his most recent work, of which i1123 0926 grabbed my attention; linear mark-making, primary-colored minimalism with texture and a sense of purpose.
∞ 
A few weeks later, the same image turned up on my door mat in the form of a postcard invite to Madame Lilly’s. Cazenove Road is tucked away and yet a stone’s throw from Stoke Newington Church Street, which is full of great pubs, cafe bars and general buzz on a Saturday afternoon. The gallery space used to be a corset factory and has retained some of its old character. Abstract sounds mixed with bird song chirruped along with Richard’s works-on-paper, delicately pegged, pinned, and having dispensed with costly framing formalities – this was art at it’s most raw. It was hard not to get excited about it, I’m so used to seeing art displayed in a clinical fashion whereas this felt immediate, welcoming and unpretentious.
It’s easy to spot various influences in Richard’s work, Rothko and Hodgkin being the most obvious, nevertheless, Richard’s voice is making itself heard; the leap he has made only in the space of a few weeks was marked and I can’t help feeling excited about what this artist could ultimately contribute if he persists… and I really hope he does. The thing that makes Richard an artist at heart is his unequivocal child-like courage for experimentation, and I find this incredibly inspiring. The enhancement of mixing sound with art seems obvious to me, and yet I can’t help wondering why sound isn’t used more often in artist exhibitions; engaging as many of the senses as possible has become an art form within the retail sector, and yet barely used where real soul engagement is possible, and preferable.
The bottom line is that the Richard C Beard experience was enjoyable and memorable. To paraphrase Elizabeth Gilbert, keep turning up for your job Richard, Olé !
TED. com Elizabeth Gilbert on nurturing creativity
www.madamelillies.org
www.theothers.uk.com
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#107 © vesna milinkovic 2009
The Annunciate, incorporeal being in blue, witness of Passion.Gabriel, 2009
acrylic on canvas
100cm x 100cm
A new abstract painting
by Vesna Milinkovic, also available as a gicleé print, online at
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Ink on Paper
11 works
11 months
born NOV 2009: 11:11
conceived JAN 2009: 1:11
1st full moon of the year
another heavenly body
Neil Armstrong APOLLO 11
21 DEC 2012 @ 11:11am
end of Mayan Calendar
WE: the human race
The 11th Hour
appears 11 times in The New Testament
illumination:illumination
Round, like the heavenly bodies that govern the measurement of time.
Movement: Guido Mocafico
PROJECT 11:11 has been inspired by
11:11
In The Shadow Of The Moon: Ron Howard
Movement: Guido Mocafico
PROJECT 11:11 now available on-line @ VESNA ABSTRACT>ART>INK ON PAPER
Why spiritual art?
Why not just art?
You’re weird aren’t you… you’re one of those?
Back in early 2000 and something, I did a couple years of undergraduate study in philosophy with The Open University. I was really excited about it. I experienced an amazing first year exploring The Human Situation, and my second year was a focus on the field I love the most… art.
What could possibly go wrong?
Music Conducted In The Rain
I was really organised, mind-maps at the ready, prepping from word go for my end of year exam.
While almost having completed the course, I spent one evening reviewing my notes. In doing so, I became aware of feeling intensely frustrated; I realised that I didn’t believe in any of the information I was willingly committing to memory.
When it came to exploring the question What Is Art?, nothing I had been instructed to read came even close to tapping the truth. At the time, I couldn’t quite grasp what the truth might look like… but I knew it was out there, like space… another frontier, hopefully not so final. This particular realisation came as a bit of a blow at the time, which presented me with a dilemma. Do I memorise utterly useless information and outdated concepts for the sake of passing my second year, or do I quit now before I do any lasting damage to my synapses?
I decided that encouraging my ability to think for myself was more important, and so I defiantly boycotted the exam.
While I continued to read the odd bit of Bertrand Russell, my imagination was being gently captivated by the metaphysics section of the book store. One mind-bending book led to another, which would thus lead to another five, and so on, multiplying like rabbits on Viagra. Years later, my home resembles some strange landscape of totem stalagmites, made entirely of books, depositing in obscure places, and in alternate subject layers of art and spirituality.
A good friend and Demartini practitioner said to me ‘ten minutes in a persons home and I’ll tell them exactly what their life purpose is.’
Well. It took me a little longer than ten minutes. Try ten years.
I now realise that the frontier had come to me; a precipitated truth in the shape of book deposits. The concept of spirituality in art was now dripping upwards from my book totems and slowly crystallizing between my ears.
Synchronously, in the summer of 2006, Tate Modern exhibited The Path To Abstraction, an impressive collection of 80 Kandinsky works charting his journey through The Blue Rider group and Bauhaus periods. The Tate describes Wassily Kandinsky as;
‘a modernist master’ who ‘began to conceive of painting as an alternative pathway to spiritual reality… In abstraction, Kandinsky felt that he had discovered a spiritual reality which was more powerful for not being tied to the outside world – an alternative music for the senses.’
Swallows In My Dreams
This was one art exhibition I felt compelled to visit. Even so, it was yet another two years before I read Kandinsky’s seminal work, Concerning The Spiritual In Art. The artist explores concepts of inner resonance or vibration of the soul as spiritual experience, facilitated by art, specifically the cause and effect of painting and colour on the soul.
It began to dawn on me that art and spirituality, within the current context of western culture, generally appear to be presented to us with an inference of mutual exclusivity. Mixing the two feels very much taboo. While there has been a renaissance in mind body spirit associated subjects in the past decade, there seems to be a black hole when it comes to serious exploration of the spiritual within art. This only serves to highlight, not only the significance of Kandinsky’s work, but the courage it must have taken to propose such theories, especially in a time devoid of the spiritual awakening we are now experiencing.
The spiritual in art is a part of every indigenous culture, indeed the indigenous Way is one of Spirit which guides every aspect of life, and is therefore inseparable from their higher forms of expression. This is not a new concept, this is an ancient practice that has been marginalised (as have the indigenous) in the race for egoic power. However, times are a changing, the feminine principle is making her presence felt, we are in the throws of rediscovering our spiritual roots once again. This is the early train to recovery, destination: Spirit.
Michelangelo is quoted as having said ‘the true work of art is but a shadow of the divine perfection.’ This implies a creativity that strives for such perfection. Our creations can only ever be a reflection of our true state. It is impossible to escape the reality of what we have created for ourselves thus far, and yet it is entirely possible, critical even, that we take responsibility for our creations. Only then can we truly expect to elevate ourselves from mere struggle for survival. It is in the striving, the creative process, that we reach for a better version of ourselves. It is time that we recognise, openly acknowledge, and celebrate the relationship between art and spirituality, contrary to what society would have us believe, as inseparable. Like Picasso once said, ‘God is really only another artist.’
‘Solka, that was terrible, you ruined my night, I think you should have your ears waxed!’ cried the Cobbler.
‘Yeh Solka, da woz well dodgy, yu gettin worz a’ dis, no bette, stik to old ones mayte,’ said the Tailor.
The Butcher raised her hands in the air, ‘hey, don’t be beatin’ up on the guy! Solka… don’t listen to them, they talk rubbish all night, I think you’re new song is great… I love it.’ The Butcher consults the Weaver, ‘it’s great stuff, right?’
PLAY ME!
They all turn to the Weaver, who shrugs, ‘I don’t know nothin’ bout music man, leave me alone.’
Solka would take a silent swig from his beer while grinning from ear to ear. This would vex the Tailor no end, ‘I don kno wat yu smile at yu bastar, but yu makin mi earz bleed!’, at which point the Tailor would take a sharp dig in the ribs from the Butcher.
And so it went, every month, every year, and every decade, until all the townsfolk had passed, including Solka the Musician.
Once the last of them had passed, they all gathered on the other side of the veil for a celebration of their lives lived. Solka joined the crowd, beer in hand, of course.
‘Solka!’ exclaimed the Butcher, ‘what you doing here with us, you should be up there playing your music?’
‘I thought I’d take a break and celebrate with you guys instead.’ Solka smiled sweetly.
The Cobbler and the Tailor looked at one another, and then at Solka, ‘no bein’ funni mayte bu’ probly bette chance of decen’ muzik from de angels right?’ said the Tailor.
‘Christ!’ exclaimed the Butcher, ‘you just can’t give the guy a break, can you, not even now?!’
Solka laughed, while re-directing their gaze to the angel musician who was right on time. The music started playing, and everyone jumped to their feet to dance. There was more love and laughter in the air that night than ever before, it was a great celebration.
‘Ang on a mini,’ exclaimed the Tailor, ’somthin’ wrong wid de muzic!’
The Butcher grabbed Solka’s arm, ‘oh my God Solka, the angels are playing your tunes!’
The Cobbler turned to Solka, ‘ok sunny, how much did you slip the angel?’
‘I always knu yu wer dodgy bastar Solka,’ said the Tailor.
‘You guys can just shut the hell up, because look, everyone is having an amazing time, including me… and the only miserable bastards here are you two!’ exclaimed the Butcher.
‘Well, I no care de angels pley yor staff Solka, iz still shit… wid capitol T!’ said the Tailor.
‘Are you ever gonna talk Solka, or are we faced with your grin for eternity?’ asked the Cobbler.
‘It’s not ‘my‘ shit guys, never was. I just listened carefully to what the angels were playing, and did my best to play it back to you, that’s all.’ said Solka. The Butcher gave Solka’s arm another squeeze.
The Cobbler turned to the Tailor, ‘it kinda grows on you…’
The Tailor turned to the Weaver and asked, ‘and yu, I supowz yu think iza fantaztik az well?’
The Weaver shrugs, ‘hey, like I said before, I don’t know nothin’ bout music man, leave me alone.’
From that day on, the Cobbler and the Butcher would always turn up to Solka’s gigs, and dance the night away.
The Weaver, well… he decided it was time to get educated, he’s now in music school, and loving it. He has a particular passion for bass guitar.
As for the Tailor, he eventually became one of Solka’s biggest fan’s, and now runs his fan club.
Δ
When I stand at the canvas, I never quite know what is about to take place. No matter how much planning, the work tends to do its own thing… if I’m lucky… if I’m listening… really carefully.
∞
PUSH MY BUTTON, I DARE YOU
To suggest that artists are an-archê, or without-sovereignty would be misleading; artists are sovereign alright, self-sovereign. What true artist stands poised at the canvas and thinks to themselves, how can I be original today? I’ll tell you… none. The artist is The Unconventional Anarchist, recognising no other master but herself, who begins from her core and works her way out to the current misnomer of reality. The very fact that she stands at a canvas at all, is testament to an independent spirit. She doesn’t give a stuff how her work is, or will ever be perceived, it would be missing the entire point of the process. To quote sculptor Louise Nevelson, ‘the very nature of creation is not a performing glory on the outside, it’s a painful, difficult search within.’
Think about the essence of how we are; creativity is innate, primordial and necessary to the survival and prosperity of the human spirit. But why? What is it that we are searching for exactly? Scientists, sociologists, psychologists, spend endless amounts of time and resource excavating how and what we are, but who is digging on who we are? The metaphysicians, thats who. The artist is the private metaphysician and alchemist rolled in one, excavating the soul by means of blending matter that happens to be at our disposal. The gold we are working to manifest must reflect us, all of us, an infinite number of facets and dimensions of who we truly are. This is no job for the feint hearted, especially in today’s material world. Everywhere we go, we are told what to do, watch, buy, appreciate, get angry about, how to behave and think, even how, when and who to love. We’ve allowed this state of play to continue at the cost of our spiritual integrity.
So what does being original really mean in the context of art, and society’s value system de rigueur? How about an independent mind, body and spirit? So when the true artist stands at the canvas, she asks ‘who am I now’, knowing full well that the answer morphs as a consequence of asking the question itself.
And so given this criteria, I ask you, how could the art be anything but original?
∞
Last night, in the spirit of Halloween, I walked into the darkness of How It Is, the Miroslaw Balka installation at Tate Modern. Moving up the ramp and into the blackness, slowly placing one foot in front of the other, I was hyper-aware of the symbolic significance of this experience. Balka writes;
How shall I move forward? you might ask yourself, as you stand at the threshold, confronted by the darkness ahead. The unknown can be terrifying, especially if it is also without light. How you approach it is unique, as your first encounter with anything can only ever be as an individual. Staring ahead into the black void may make you wonder whether to move ahead at all.
How It Is was inspired by the Samuel Beckett novel by the same name, published in 1964. Beckett conjures the image of a ‘man lying panting in the mud and dark murmuring his ‘life’ as he hears it obscurely uttered by a voice inside him… The noise of his panting fills his ears and it is only when this abates that he can catch and murmur forth a fragment of what is being stated within… It is in the third part that occurs the so-called voice ‘quaqua’, its interiorisation and murmuring forth when the panting stops. That is to say the ‘I’ is from the outset in the third part and the first and second, though stated as heard in the present, already over.’
The title How It Is, is a translation of the original French, Comment C’est, a play on words meaning to begin. So what is the character actually beginning? Could it be a new way of being?
A contemporary version of the man crawling through self-imposed mud to finally emerge liberated, is the Guy Ritchie movie Revolver. The main character, Jason Green, finds himself committing to a journey that requires a heavy dose of faith only to be faced with the ultimate challenge of confronting his worst enemy in his most feared environment (a lift), his worst enemy being his very own ego. The lift, a perfect metaphor for spiritual elevation, cuts out in between floors, and Green is forced to face himself in total darkness. This is his purgatory, in which Green battles with personal demons, to emerge without fear, purified, with inner-strength to sink battle-ships.
Beckett’s I that is already over would appear to be the process of dismantling the ego in order to begin again in a new way, free from the mind-induced sufferings that plague us, most commonly rooted in fear. The problem is that not many of us are prepared to consciously confront our fears, and so life has a way of organising itself to make sure that we do. If it were without purpose, then we may be justified in our sense of victimhood, however, that would be to miss the entire point of life, the great transformer.
How else does one expand emotionally and spiritually, other than to live out our experiences?
The most crippling of all is the fear of fear itself, the fear of living.
How many of us have lived in dread of a certain something, only to discover peace on the other side? How much time and energy do we waste worrying ourselves into an early grave? And can you imagine the possibilities if we were to drop our fears, by facing them head on, until they fall away like ash? Who could we be then?
Ceremonial darkness is an ancient shamanic tool for stalking the self, still being practised all over the world today, as a way of learning to see in the dark with our spirit self, rather than our often misguided senses, so that we may navigate through life from a position of self-knowing, and therefore truth. Darkness, for the Ancient Egyptians, was the The Hidden Place known as Amenta, a land between the earth and the heavens, whereby purification of the Self would be thorough and ruthless. This is a symbolic journey of transformation where the Self dies to the earthly world and is reborn conscious of its spiritual reality, ascending from the darkness, a creative spirit freed from the bondage of illusion.
The darkness, or void conjures in us the fear of the unknown, and as Balka states, it makes us wonder whether to move ahead at all. Why bother moving forward, I’m absolutely dandy where I am, right?
We can choose to stand still, but for how long? Over how many lifetimes? And at what cost too ourselves? Consider the effect of a dam on the river’s flow, where’s the freedom in that?
So here we stand, at the mouth of the void, in a year where dismantling the status quo seems to be the order of the day, how shall we move forward?
Be your own light in the darkness. Know that life springs eternal from the great void, there are new opportunities for us that we can’t quite make out from our current vantage point. Our approach is all important, we can either stand rooted to the spot in abject fear of the unknown, or we can choose to put our best foot forward with courage, in the knowledge that whatever we encounter, we will emerge a stronger, wiser, more spiritually-adjusted individual that knows no fear. Now that’s liberation.
V
∞
Ψ
otherwise, frankly, would would be the point?
If it’s a definition we need, we’d hit Wiki, right? So let’s cut out the foreplay.
click me baby for art's sake
I’m always fascinated to meet and read about talented people who have been submerged in a world of creativity from the beginning, it makes for great conversation. I was privileged to meet one such individual, the gifted sculptor Ros Newman, who was raised around art royalty, the likes of Henry Moore, Barbara Hepworth & Ben Nicholson. I have to admit, I was pretty star-struck with Ros’s recollections, which she found highly amusing.
My roots by modern standards are modest, being of first generation Serbian stock, family life was more about survival than creativity, we we’re pretty low on Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. I’ve been painting and drawing from a very early age, but earnest exposure to art started at university where I began exploring dada and surrealism. Revelation came when I first made eye contact with a Mark Rothko painting, I remember thinking to myself, are people really allowed to paint like that? Which instantly translated to Shit, I should be painting like that! I had no idea how, but I knew from that moment that I would. Rothko was very aware of his paintings potential to provoke religious experience in the observer, and it certainly did in me. And not just as a result of his extraordinary painting, but by Rothko’s ability to convey the spiritual in his work; every painting is another piece from his soul, he understood both intuitively and intellectually that personal growth was about process. I was overwhelmed.
I find painting from observable reality very dull, and still do, it’s just not my bag. And yet I have always been fascinated with creating on a blank canvas. Looking back on some of my much earlier attempts as a teen, I now realise that the urge to abstraction was always there, but didn’t know how to express itself with any meaning. Rothko was my first teacher and I’m still distance-learning. The Late Series exhibition at Tate Modern was an emotional and spiritual experience, it was like walking around a true church, of the soul.
Abstraction is like great sex and the purest love all rolled into one; it just hits the spot. A language of and for the soul, abstraction is a collection of symbols, movements and moments like hammers hitting piano strings, to paraphrase Kandinsky. A great abstract work doesn’t look like anything, and so we automatically look inward for points of reference. I’ve noticed that when viewing art created by others, it either works for me or it doesn’t. Why is that? It’s as if a hand shoots out from the image, reaches into my gut, grabs it really hard and refuses to let go. Thank you and goodnight, it’s like love at first site, a good vibration.
Ultimately all matter is vibration; light hits the retina and the brain attempts to make sense of it, when in fact the light is already speaking to the heart, which then translates for the soul. The language of abstraction is the language of light, it’s kundalini energy charged, erotically esoteric and esoterically erotic. And so the artistic process is synonymous with the journey to enlightenment.
Painting abstract is having sex with God, while the painting itself is proof that I did.
V
∞
The Patience of Crumpled Time
Duality
Mists of confusion crowd about
Not what I seem
or desire to be
Hurt and frustration play a tune
Anger creeps
from a darkened place
Slow stagnation not the way
Recognition brutal,
awake and raw
Light dispels illusion,
lead the way
Landscapes unfold in joyous form
Tears from my soul easing pain
Joy in truth,
a noble cause
Peace to sleep seems to touch.
Abner
Ψ
∞
Editor: while reading Abner’s poem Duality for the first time, it reminded me of this 2008 painting, pictured above. The painting’s title, The Patience of Crumpled Time (We Voyage Through), is borrowed from Pablo Neruda’s poem Furies and Sufferings. Neruda likewise borrowed the title for his poem from a line of Francisco De Quevedo’s poetry;
‘…There are in my heart furies and sufferings…’
In his poem Duality, it strikes me that Abner’s sensibility mirror’s something of Quevedo’s line of poetry. Of course, with art, we cannot help but project our own emotions while attempting to make sense of someone else’s… and perhaps this is yet another form of duality expressing itself, in contrast to allowing the event to just be for its own sake?
When reading any poetry, I aim to grasp a sense of the whole meaning, and yet what ultimately captures my imagination are isolated words, phrases and sentences that evoke a strong mental picture in my mind, like a string of pearls. These sensory impressions may only be strung very loosely, or even be completely unrelated to the original meaning or intent of the whole. No matter, for the point is to be inspired enough to dream, and so enough to act upon the dream.
Therefore, inspired by Abner’s poem Duality, and the original inspiration behind The Patience Of Crumpled Time…, I revisit Neruda’s Furies and Sufferings to create a collage of impressions. This collage, titled Heart Furies, is an abstraction of the original Neruda poem, posted in the category Concrete Poetry.
Art: The Patience of Crumpled Time is available as a giclée print on stretch canvas or sustainable archive-quality paper. Click on the image to purchase, or to view the VA gallery.
∞