Bigindicator

Malado Francine Baldwin

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sept 4 2013 12:16 pm los feliz, la regained faith – a confidence in outcomes – a treasure of unexpected – of visions held fast, but hanging necessarily. also, new connectors between thoughts: pauses of glimpses / extraneous non-diagetic branching but singularly intended: a meditation in recurring tendencies towards certain things (ways of life: how time is to be spent; where, with whom, and how? coming back repeatedly to some early-formed idea of living; how i would be, an artist. how i would be believed in as i believe, how, to ideas formed by pen or mark or form or light (perhaps ideas shaped fragmentarily into diverse parts (media) open the receptive qualities of attention) to parallels, dialogues in context, webs between building: striving to create new architectures (if impermanent, still beautiful, still relevant) how i would move through the world: the things i would create; the conversations started; the qualities of spirit i would share, and the love partaken. -- sept 7 2:19 am there’s something about: right now – that’s so right now: here i am; i have arrived -- sept 17 sometimes the wishes do become: reality intervenes and succees,, flow happens -- 9.17.13 All Facing Wall dreams last night of a huge white big space – a loft full of small odd sculptures, someone playing the piano – some other large intricate grey/white ones, skylights and great lighting all grey medium size / small figurines, all facing the wall – suspended on a flat wood platform (from ceiling, but hung low, 3’ from floor) man playing piano obscured by sculptures, who are facing him like a crowd watching -- sept 29 2013 Yesterday a Dragonfly did a lemniscate infinity symbol on my windshield then landed on my finger in the parking lot of Trader Joe’s… Then we 3: Tristan + Sebastian + I saw a Hummingbird, also, and a Falcon with spotted wings. Harmony & Mutual Acceptance -a Silver Lake Reservoir Afternoon -- cctober 3rd 2013 we cannot ever escape the tentative feelers, tentacles of other’s psychic draw: look in to my eyes; speak to me: be for me. we’re all so attached & there’s no escaping – hold me closer tell me how it is with you how it could be do we dare to hope our perceptions and therefore our relaties are unique *** * october 8th 2013 * This man, so handsome; radiant and blushing so bright I could barely look ….. next to me at the diner, wearing yellow & grey; a hat. -- sunday october 13th 1:28 pm I find it odd to reconcile this strangeness of time & place and energies; meetings – slowness then sped up the strangeness of you; of me in my place seeking to out this true identity: this grace of vision and reality meeting who are you -- Thursday Oct 31st 2013 The Chaos of the Storm a year ago yesterday the hurricane in new york a year ago tomorrow I moved out of my greenpoint brooklyn home and to the studio until we could get out of new york entirely (but not, still __ if, ever)… and so here we are floating at: sea and ((be seen)) you’re moving in; we’re moving on ... our little life raft together -- Nov 2013 Liz said I could easily have the whole museum floor it’s true let’s do it -- Monday 11/11/13 I remember 11/11/11 in nyc In What Land Have I Been Cast YOU CAN ALWAYS START NOW ... [more]
Posted by Malado Francine Baldwin on 8/17/14

MY LIFE IN BOOKS

MY LIFE IN BOOKS © 2014 malado francine baldwin - Goal: One every two weeks, painting and drawing: multi-media pieces on resurrection, transformation (layers). Poetry-drawings. Borders inside, outside. (It’s from the border where I see from). Sky and earth, others and us, frame and painting (frame as land, insides as earth), horizontal and vertical, writing and drawing… To con­nect: ladders, ropes, tape, voices (conversation), words, trees (families), relationships (between). It’s from the border where I see from. September 26th, 3:00 am. Eclipse of the moon, Vertov’s montage fills my mind. Layers, I work in layers (of colors, of meaning, of sentiment, of seeing). Little things I happen upon, to be noticed, to notice, to see. Boxes pile up, are taken apart- fit together (-Don’t fit anymore) -Too ratty to display, now used for painting, now used to wipe the paint. - This dream/ dream becomes abstraction, this abstract forms reality, this reality loses. I dreamt last night I walked into a place and the view took my breath away, I could fly out, beyond the big windows into green and space. I felt my body move forward, still upright, but my limbs still…I floated forward. Thoughts I am having are not coming out, my verses are markings, what my hand draws has no consequence- just a series of moments (visions that keep changing, or grow clearer). Arthur Dove at the Whitney: burlap, sand paper, light dim blue, brown/green, green brushstrokes invisible. Black tips to brown at tan and base. Blues and whites. Thunderstorm. Élan vital: intuition and unmediated experience in the formation of art. Élan vital: vital spirit, essential spirit, essential element, vital element, component? - I want to travel everywhere, see my people. I came, looking forward, found my tape, it stuck on pause. I too often try to rewind moments that might not have been recorded. The escape key always escapes me. I did a drawing- I was dreaming wind chimes- and it turned into you: Miranda July. - The frame around it kept getting smaller as I drew. Octavio’s idea: if people could take other peoples’ paintings apart to make new ones. Octavio says: “I love your symbolic ambiguity.” Should I draw or write. - Box-valise. The crystal cage. Exhibition: “Through the big end of the opera glass,” Marcel Duchamp, Yves Tanguy, Joseph Cornell, 1943. Taglioni’s jewel case. All these structures in my head comprise me: my own Dogon cliffs. - It is as if this time is not about reflection like I used to reflect, having more time- but now I must learn to move forward and reflect upon it all at once. - I remember only composition, sometimes color. [Under drawing of Fra Angelico’s Entombment of the Virgin] But my mind warps in remembering- funny mirror? Do I keep drawing structures- in need? September 25th: Montauk, all alone. What are the thoughts that come to you, the images that linger, or a whim; can you conjure them? –Twist, add, a bit here or there- zoom in, focus. I want to learn your lens. - A year ago this time was so different; not fundamentally- but socially and consciously. Even in two months I see a move from inside my head, to a more inclusive picture. Working is good. Business is good- film is good for that: I need this right now. It has been ages since I wrote, since I painted, but I remember: everything relates to one another (it’s okay). It’s about the act of creation: the motion and intention, the pen to paper. That instant – draw first, then think? It’s amazing to be able to see (as in dreams) from above and from a certain perspective at once: 3-d and touching. -- I was always looking for, places to hide, noticing holes in the ground, sides of mountains. Space unaccounted for above and below our living compartments. Behind the pantry: chutes and laundry, wells and attics. - Wallpaper a dollhouse (on the outside, view from above: topographic or other map) Scratching at this [restricted] two-by-four only available surface; “This is me speaking.” Or: just me trying to “make the perfect mark,” to explain it all. And what is the myth about fingerprints? Multiple mini circles spread out to a Seurat. Create the space for something: a choice is everything. Maybe- I’ve been thinking- maybe I am meant to create art in a vacuum with no or very little access to other opinions, learning- I say (but with sarcasm). This keeps my work stupid, naïve original. I say, but I do not know: this keeps me purer than the rest. Such bullshit- just frustrated. My work has no meaning: I am just playing. Like a kid playing in the mud in the backyard. No direction, focus, just pure joy at hand/mind, physical and aesthetic combinations. Feel like an alchemist surrounded by roots, reeds, powders and jars. But I am just fooling around. Where is my focus, vision? My work has no meaning. There will be storms, at times the wind will blow, you will feel perhaps dizzy, disconcerted discombobulated, and weary. Live in the moment, appreciate. I noticed that I stop looking at the object I’m drawing, after a while, as the one on the page becomes more real. Can it be so precious that you cannot leave it behind? Special secret parts of you, all ugly and unkempt. - …How else to describe an angel, but with wings? The holy, the free, the watching… The blessed… Those are the images I search for. Trying to find and create my language. Maybe to look at Basquiat because of what he did with layers and the figurative {do I want to bring in the figure?} Maybe I need to… The Anselm Kieffer book Jesse gave me: what a gift! I feel I am learning to paint… but it is, my- so hard and frustrating. Feel I could paint over and over my canvases endlessly forever, and still never be satisfied. Will I ever be content with one layer, finally? I should do my human arm fish scales piece. Ripple. (Shivers down my spine) –when I brush my hand against it… [Wax-like skin scales lift up: to reveal fleshy, colored interior.] Cityscapes/villages/walled city/compound. Flying saucer city-shaped. I want to be old and vibrant, when I get to that point- smile (a lot) and making art, plus: good health and love life and kids. I don’t understand people with no passions, no goals. Lots of dreams last night. One: We were on a dune or wall, watching the waves raise and lower. (No foam, just water…) The frame stayed the same. The horizon line would change, and we would plan our lives accordingly. (Should we run for it? Were we safe? Peaceful?) Are there signs yet- (now), of something I will only discover later? Pollock: the way he persisted- stumbled across a fitting (though fleeting) style/ expression. (How will I know? I will.) Sometimes the feeling is stronger than the work. I do think I have a strong visual capacity which can translate well onto surfaces. I strive to: keep making art, making it more poignant (accessible? –I don’t know) and real. Ida Applebroog: palette-knife textures in oil. Terry (Winters): sketching on canvas… in different perspectives, layers, colors. Matisse at the MoMa: The Piano Lesson, so arresting. I spend a lot of time with this painting. - (History: on these walls. I left the frame lines open: not painted.) Large picture frames, empty?! Triangular pedestals to stand on, grass below, flowers; another world in miniature. Light mint green striped wallpaper, confetti (shiny, pearly pink), white leather. Taxidermy set (set crowded with styrofoam forms, figures: heads). What color to set them off? Yellow, sickly, Red, too intense. Brown, wood grain. Small props for table. Pictures on the wall? - I want to feel noble, deserved of opportunity and that I am carrying something to completion, or continuance. And who is noble without work, focus and task. Not just feelings but to communicate all the beatings of my heart, all the images in my soul, all the thoughts in my mind… I must remember: what I have to say is worthy, best judged by doing. Who am I but another being striving to make a mark, resonate beyond my small world. I can never forget that my experience is only mine and never may I forget that experience differs. I think, as a kid, I lived in fantasy probably more than most… Digging dwellings in the mud, decorating with sticks and stones. Holes in the mud: houses built. Worlds erected. Specific and … Repeated habits. To photograph the scratches on the wood floor. The marks leftover from moving. To photograph the construction markings done in spray paint on the road, under bridges, in subways. The knife marks on a bread board. Canvases like secret codes, languages to a few. - The Met. The face was smeared off from wear. Attenuated yet dense. Loamy, thick air. - The Badlands, North Dakota. The big, bad, lands. Locust sounds everywhere. Hands removing dried mud in puzzle piece patterns. Curled, dried earth. Ochre/sienna. - Noticing things incongruous or beautiful, connecting with people or without words, feeling loved and loving others. ... (books are the original blogs) © 2014 malado francine baldwin Posted by Malado Francine Baldwin on 3/13 | tags: graffiti/street-art digital photography traditional modern surrealism landscape realism pop conceptual performancevideo-art installation mixed-media sculpture figurative abstract drawing painting books artist books Sketchbooks Journals diary diaries > COMMENTS ON EXCERPTS: MY LIFE IN BOOKS (0) [add a new comment] ... [more]
Posted by Malado Francine Baldwin on 3/31/14