Process: Schnabel and Goodwyn

Planned a stopover in Toronto on my way to Sudbury so that I could visit the AGO. Perfect timing, as I was able to see substantial work from Julian Schnabel and Shary Boyle — Flesh and Blood was an impressive collection of her intriguing and masterful porcelain pieces while his Art & Film exhibit was the first time I had seen so many of his works in one place.

A series of his paintings dealt with the practice of bullfighting — very large surface areas with smudged shapes, as if he had dipped beef quarters or sheep carcasses in paint to then imprint them onto the canvas. I found El Espontaneo (for Abelardo Martinez) (Oil and banner on tarpaulin, 1990) more successful than the scarlet Anno Domino because of the colour choices. The pink and tan make the gory scene subtler somewhat, but nonetheless disquieting, muffled. I also enjoyed the slick and almost quivering Portrait of Bella and Lolita (Oil and resin on canvas, 2007). The purity of the colour, l’éclat, seemed to match the lucid gazes of the girls.

I appreciated his reflection on process:

“The movies were more real to me than my life was at home. And whether it’s a screen in a movie or whether it’s the rectangle that is the perimeter of a painting, it’s an arena where this battle takes place, between everything that you know and don’t know. And I think that I apply the same system to both paintings and films. I don’t know what it’s going to look like when I’m done. I know how to start. I know how to lean towards the divine light. But I figure it out as I’m going along. And the process of doing, that’s the thing.”

There were also exhibits dedicated to three artists who shared a deep commitment to their studio practice: Betty Goodwyn, Work Notes, Eva Hesse, Studiowork and Agnes Martin, Work Ethic. I was instantly drawn to the Goodwyn room because it included a large display of her notebooks. A small room set the stage before entering the exhibit. It displayed all the process materials related to Parcel for Karachi (Parcel VIII), 1971: the parcel that was used to make the soft ground impression on the copper plate, the copper plate itself, and the final etching.

A series of photos (Gelatin silver prints, 1942) by Welsh artist Geoffrey James depicted Goodwyn’s Montreal studio on Avenue Coloniale in 1994. It was an unprecedented glimpse in the objects and forms that moved and inspired her: a mirrored cabinet, a copy of Rilke’s Selected Poems, rusty metal tools laid out like an anthropological display, postcards, photos, sketches, box-like containers and ephemera such as nests, twigs, moss and wire.

Audio interviews with art dealer René Blouin and photographer Geneviève Cadieux gave insight into Goodwyn’s studio practice. Blouin recollected on how the artist’s studio space had no windows so that, in her words, “energy could not escape”, though a skylight did give the effect of shadowless pure light. A video in another room revealed how she had gutting out and redesigned her studio space. The light quality was indeed ethereal, like a sealed, quiet bubble.

Cadieux talked of her own art process and how “space affects work of art”. For her, Goodwyn’s studio was a continual work in progress, gathering all the pieces that were not yet resolved.  Indeed, her notebooks were infused with this incomplete aura, filled with fragmented sentences and hurried sketches at times, and at other times, elaborate plans and detailed scribbles. Out of all the notebooks, I saw only one with a French sentence: veste sur un support – foncé, vulnerable (Notebook 62, 1972 – 1976). Another notebook has stamped dates as if the dates were inserted after the fact. Of interest was her rigid documentation process: if she gave someone a sketch from her notebook, she would make a photocopy and insert it in her notebook as a placeholder (Notebook 93, 1985 – 1988).

I responded to the following entry — wavering between self-chiding and encouragement — the exclamation marks like a nudge in the ribs to work harder!

Betty Goodwyn, Notebook 90, 1985

2.25.85
Hovering fear – greatly [disappointed] with myself about the “Pierre incident” – the whole circle of bitterness  - anger – competitiveness – Focus on studio – work “notebooks” and catalogue! What a dispersed weak psyche – discouragement – pulled into the tornado – right into the heart of it. So anxious to put all that aside and move, develop drawings further – how to start on structures. Where to start with notebooks – [Losing] part of my privacy – but that is the burrowing and releasing”.
[transcribed as borrowing]

It was truly an inspiring show. To be able to glimpse into another artist’s creative process was quite humbling especially knowing that her studio was such a private creative space. She had created a luminous space free of outside distractions.

 

 

I thought of my own art studio and how I was not free of interruptions with the large window, the e-mails and the incessant phone calls. Yet, the light that filters through the greenery at a certain time of day is a welcome diversion, as is the dusk light at the waning of the day. Where I related most to Goodwyn was in the sense of urgency that emitted from her notebooks, the pressing need to create, to give form to vague thoughts and visions. After viewing the show, I myself was itching to get work on my Tongue Rug project.

I had originally wanted to build a life-size version of the Rolling Studio and then had settled for a virtual representation because of a lack of funds and space. The ironic thing is now that I do have the space and the time to create physical objects, I’ve come to reconsider my process. I do not necessarily need to construct objects in space. They already exist on a conceptual plane.

While I was doing my fieldwork, collecting data on my lakes during my cycling trips, the wheels of my bike became a sort of Rolling Studio. Likewise, the computer screen became the window facing onto the world of the structure. Between the bike and the computer, I have already created the studio. I don’t need to illustrate it; the Rolling Studio is about process. As Schnabel said, "the process of doing, that's the thing".

In the same way, the web nurtures online communities. I do not need to create a formal Parlour Room to house the tongue rug and solicit feedback. The blogosphere itself is the tongue rug.