The Layman's Almanac

THE LAYMAN'S ALMANAC A MODICUM OF USE :: A LIFE WELL SPENT

Today in 1775, the U.S. postal system is established by the Second Continental Congress, with Benjamin Franklin as its first postmaster general.

The Forecast

Participation is the new consumption.

The News

Amid death threats, Paul the Octopus retires from the oracle business.

Wisdom

"It's been a prevalent notion. Fallen sparks. Fragments of vessels broken at the Creation. And someday, somehow, before the end, a gathering back to home. A messenger from the Kingdom, arriving at the last moment. But I tell you there is no such message, no such home -- only the millions of last moments . . . nothing more. Our history is an aggregate of last moments." :: Thomas Pynchon

The Monthly Report

...the need for recognition and status is at the heart of every consumer trend.

An Interview with Meri Bourgard

Envy

Meri Bourgard’s exploration of half-forgotten memories is striking in that it allows us to experience our dreams again…

David Kim

The most precious Art pushes deep into our mental fabric by exploring what it means to be human today. Mixed-media artist Meri Bourgard’s exploration of half-forgotten memories is striking in that it allows us to experience our dreams again…

The above piece is:
Family, VI
39 1/2" x 29 1/2"
Pastel & Charcoal with wash on paper

Here’s the transcription of our conversation with Meri on a warm New York Summer afternoon, 2010.

LA :: To start off, who or what inspires you as an artist?

There are so many artists over the years that have taken my focus and interest but the first person who jumps into my mind is an artist named Betty Goodwin, who is Canadian. She did these enormous paintings of swimmers. By chance I caught this show the very last day, and actually even after it had closed. I lived in Burlington Vermont at the time and I got on my bicycle and rode up. I found out the show was closing - I didn’t even know it had happened - and I went up there. The director of the gallery was still in his office and he gave me the key and let me go into the gallery. I had a chance to be with those paintings of these swimmers for as long as I wanted. That was really fabulous for me. Its funny that I’m talking about that b/c I’m searching for those paintings and haven’t been able to see them again.

It’s fascinating how somebody’s work will just touch you and I’ve thought of it over and over again all these years. But there were long periods where I was influenced by De Kooning, Soutine, Monet and of course Degas. (I was) going back and forth to France and I had a chance to study Degas’ original work, so that taught me a great deal. I’ve gone through a series of artists’ work and learned from each one of them and I owe a big debt to all of them.

LA :: At what point in your career did you see Betty Goodwin’s work?

That was back in the 70’s when I was living in Vermont… quite a bit after that I had decided to go back to Graduate school at Pratt Institute.

LA :: Was this a sea change for you in relation to how you were working prior, and if so, how did your work change?

It was like night and day, because I had made my living as an illustrator and an observational artist. I worked totally from observation and loved doing that and made a lot of contacts through that type of work. When I decided to come back to Graduate school, I was looking for the opportunity to find my voice as an artist. It’s just unbelievable that it really worked. My teachers especially, Phoebe Helman, was incredibly instrumental in helping to find my own path

LA :: What were some significant points of discovery for you? Usually it takes artists quite some time to discover and understand their voice, so was that the line of demarcation where you found your voice?

Well it took me 3 years to get through Graduate school, and for 2 years I was totally bewildered at what it was I should or could be doing. I just kept going because I trusted in the process, and trusted in the education I was getting. I had a few pieces of work that gave me glimmers of hope. It wasn’t until I was out of school for a year or 2 that my most mature work – the work I do now as an artist – began to develop. It came to me in a flash really. I was traveling a lot; I would sit at night, very tired, with my pillow on my knees and just work – very, very kind of quietly. All of a sudden I started to see these figures coming out of the random marks I was placing on the page, and it just took off.

LA :: And was that by happenstance? Your process seems more sculptural in a sense, where it’s additive and subtractive…

Absolutely!

LA :: So were you going through your normal motions then something changed, or was it more an extension of your process?

It’s funny you mention sculpture because I started my education with sculpture and painting, but through sculpture I learned how to do that simultaneous additive and subtractive process. And that was a breakthrough for me. I learned about painting through working with clay.

One summer I taught at the Governor’s Institute in Vermont, and that summer I started doing these bigger paintings that started to look like figures. I realized I could find things out of my imagination rather than always having to be recording what I saw. The recognition that I had an inner life that I could draw upon was really great. So these were some of the little stages that came along the way.

LA :: It seems as though scale is an important part of your process – have you always worked this large?

No, not at all. When I started I would sit on my bed and make these very personal scale drawings and eventually had a series to exhibit – and I felt comfortable in that scale. Then as fate would have it, I got married and moved into this beautiful house with tall ceilings and great big walls which encouraged me to work larger for the first time in my life. So the big scale was always something I wanted to do, but my circumstances didn’t allow me to create that kind of work before.

LA :: Do you think you’ll go back to the smaller scale?

I go back and forth – the scale does not dictate the process. The scale is only a vehicle to support it.

LA :: Where does the impetus for your style and the voice you’ve developed come from?

That’s a good question and I don’t know if I have a clear answer right off, but I think we all love to find images within something. Like the clouds. I know people like to look at clouds and find faces in them I think that playfulness is very important to me – the work that I did previously fueled me with many, many images. I learned along the way that I don’t have a photographic memory but I retain a visual image for quite a long time with accuracy. So I have a store in my being of all these previous observations, and some of that comes out in a new way. I don’t even recognize the images in what I’ve discovered, in what I call internal work, but I certainly think it’s based on something that I’ve experienced, if not through sight, through feeling. Sometimes when I’m drawing dancers, I have to feel that gesture, to get my body in the pose and I start to find it better.

LA :: I think that is what’s so wonderful about your work… it becomes a dialogue about your discovery. Stan Brakhage painted on film, and he described how so many areas of art are getting smaller and smaller, but his kind of art is ever expanding. I think the same is true for your art; since inherently it’s about this dialogue, it continues to expand. What direction do you see your process headed?

I feel very comfortable in the discovery of the imagery; I am most excited to try different mediums. Different combinations of media so I can keep challenging myself all the time. It seems that when I have that resistance of the surface adding to the excitement, the adrenaline starts rushing and I feel really alive. When that’s happening I feel that the work is flowing clearly.

There are these times when I want the imagery to come so fast that my desire to find an image forces it a bit. So I’ve learned to feel when I’m forcing it. Really it’s an edge. If you go over it and force the image, you can tell. Or I’m less proud and even feel uncomfortable about the work. So I have to destroy it and find a new image within it. That’s something I’m constantly learning, you have to keep finding that place all the time.

LA :: Do you have certain paintings that mean more to you? Since it’s a relationship of that conversation and where you were at a particular moment.

Oh yeah. I have a portfolio of pieces I just hold on to and they’re not always great big things, sometimes they’re something small that I’ve decided I’m not going to sell. A few times in the past I’ve sold a piece very quickly after completing it. One specifically, I completed on a Friday and it was sold on Sunday morning, and so gone out of my life. I have the slide, and I just scanned it this last Spring. For the first time I got to see that image on my computer screen and I was so excited because it was like a friend coming back. There are some that I feel very, very attached to and yet I’m here to make new work. So once I get ready to part with a piece I feel very settled about it.

LA :: Albert Camus said: “A person’s work is nothing but a slow trek to rediscover through the detours of art, those two or three great or simple images in who’s presence their heart first opened.” What would those two or three images be for you?

It seems I keep going back to the image of women, sometimes men, but especially women working with cloth. It’s mysterious to me because I certainly haven’t worked in a factory, but I have made a bed with someone and I love that process. I’ve hung up sheets on a line. I have watched women with some of these movements, and the movements involved in that speak really deeply to me about femininity and the universality of women and work. That’s one image that recurs.

LA :: Are there any others that stand out to you, because it seems as though dancers…

I was just going to say dance seems to come in and out. I haven’t done a lot of dancers and some times consciously stayed away from dance because I didn’t want to follow in Degas’ footsteps so closely. But it does seem as though dancers come to me. I’m not a dancer but I like to dance. I am attracted to that, the grace of that. I’m also attracted to men working physically. That can be anything from playing a violin, to working with their hands in construction. Any type of manual involvement interests me a great deal.

Actually, when I was in Vermont, I was seeking out opportunities to draw (these things) I was passionate about. One of my loves is music, and I would go to the rehearsals of concerts. I was invited by Effrain Guigui, the conductor of the Vermont Symphony Orchestra, to sit up on the stage as they rehearsed. I was there the whole day capturing every pose; oh my God it was just extraordinary.

Living in a small place like Vermont gives you opportunities that you don’t always get in big cities, because it’s so local you can get to know people.

LA :: Are there colour palettes you’re drawn to more than others?

It seems that I often end up using red. Even when I try not using red, or put on a colour that’s not red somehow there’s red in the painting, which is really funny. I’m so interested in so many colour combinations and yet choosing does not come easily to me. I have to be either trying not to think at all when I choose the colours so that its random, or maybe choose them because I’ve seen them some place else. Like on Lichen. I like those colours together, so I use them in my painting and make them work.

I don’t have a favorite colour, but I just enjoy the task of saying ok, so this colour goes with that and really finding that other colour I need to add. That’s a search that is new every single time I do it.

LA :: Is that more cerebral or more of a guttural response?

Oh it’s both, I try to use all the knowledge I have about colour, of course.

LA :: Many writers and musicians won’t listen to records or read while they’re creating. Do you close yourself off to an extent while you're working so that your voice feels more pure?

I couldn’t look at Degas’ work for a long time because I felt I knew what I needed to know. There are some situations that I avoid not because it’s going to influence my art but because it makes me jealous or drives me crazy. I would go to museums all the time. I would fly down from Vermont for a weekend to see a show, or go to Paris and try and see every museum, but I don’t do that any more. A friend of mine once told me, “Meri, you’re gonna look at art, and gonna look at art, and than there’ll be a point when you don’t need to look at art any more.” Sure enough he was right.

LA :: Is there an overarching narrative to your work, or do you consciously work with narrative? I’m wondering since there’s a level of abstraction almost always present.

There seems to be a narrative in every piece. I try not to decide that for the viewer. For instance, some of the drawings are vignetted, and flow out to nothing, and the narrative is read differently by different viewers. I have a very strong sense about what that figure is about, or who that figure is. I don’t give it a name or something like that, but I have a feeling of the character of that figure.

Sometimes that’s not seen by other people, or they think that the figure is involved in a different task than I see, but I’ve learned to accept the fact that the work needs to mean different things to different people. Not be discouraged by that or even think that that’s a negative thing. I think it’s actually a positive aspect.

But I don’t try to tell a story. The task that the image is about is something that’s very real to me, so I think its imbued in it.

LA :: Since you often work with multiple mediums, which would you say is your favorite?

Yeah, it seems that I’ve gotten to a point where I don’t just use one medium very often. Of course I would go back to charcoal if I had to pick one. If I’m stressed out and don’t have a lot of time, maybe I’ll do a charcoal drawing because I feel that, ok, I can do this without it being too challenging for me. Even when I use pastel I put water on it, or I work into it with some acrylic paint. I’m not traditional; it’s almost out of a desire to be non-traditional in combinations so that it stays fresh.

LA :: Is there a medium you can’t stand?

(Laughter) It seems as though I haven’t chosen to work with Turpentine because of the smell and toxicity of it. Over the years I’ve become much more aware of that, also it’s become a bit problematic for me health-wise. I haven’t chosen to do much oil painting but I love oil painting. I haven’t chosen it very recently and I’m seeing that it’s becoming a trend (Laughter). But no, there’s really no medium that I don’t like. I’ve combined markers with pastel, and watercolours… really, whatever is there I want to grab and use it.

LA :: Are there certain things that get you stuck as an artist? It’s not about being stagnant… maybe frozen is a better word. What have you learned that gets you through that?

Oh yeah. I think the first thing to do is to figure out why you’re frozen. Is it because you’re afraid? Fear of course enters into doing anything new. Creating something from nothing. So if it’s fear you must conquer your fear. You must get in there and find some way to just do it one way or another. I’m lucky because my process in the beginning of my pieces involves the turning of the paper, and if I get stuck in one direction I turn it. Some times I destroy what I’ve done in the one situation. You win some and you lose some; there’s a profit, there’s a loss.

Stuck other than that happens to me if I haven’t worked in a while, and then it’s just really uncomfortable to do the work for at least a couple of hours or days. But having worked through that enough times, I trust that there’s something to come… and you just have to put in the time sometimes.

I think I’ve been lucky enough in my career as an artist to get to a point that I trust the core, and I don’t lose that. I’m aware of it and I don’t lose that artistic core and that’s really valuable.

:: View Meri Bourgard’s work ::

Past Features

Funambules

The Life & Times of E.E. Hale :: She Loves Me Not

The Life & Times of E.E. Hale :: The Finishing Touch

Ask a Layman

Where do my 911 calls go after they've been recorded?

Into a database file of course! However, & keep this close to the chest, sources say that Google stores your frantic & frankly embarrassing 911 call in a maximum security shipping container on a Venezuelan off-shore cargo ship. Watch yourself. Everything you've ever searched for on Google is also stored in said container. Big brother, I mean Google is watching.

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