Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi: dona nobis pacem.

"Casualty" (based on a photo by John Freeman)
2006 Graphite

PRAY FOR PEACE.

The Betrayal of Images

OK, let's do the math. Let’s consider the thirteen potatoes and two eggs we see here. From our surrounding universe we find such things with which we feed ourselves and our children. Potatoes, eggs, cutting boards, potato peelers all have value in the real world. Those very potatoes and eggs were in fact consumed by myself and my family. But that's not true at all. What I consumed was not a painting but, rather, real potatoes that grew beneath the cold soil when the sun called them to life with its penetrating energy force, and the rains dampened that particular earthen plot. The eggs were likewise consumed with a grateful thought to certain barnyard fowl that exist under the same sun and breathe the same air that all living creatures depend upon. These are things we often take for granted, but they are the fabric of our daily existence. If we consider their real intrinsic importance and meaning in our lives we can see that the value that is placed upon them is quite a bargain. Indeed, their real value becomes painfully clear to us in times of famine. But, as I have said, I did not consume those potatoes and eggs because, obviously, they are but painted potatoes and eggs. My dog, who salivates in the finest Pavlovian tradition, would slobber nary a drop over the painted canvas. That is not to say that the painting holds no value beyond dog slobber. At the very least, we place a value on the craftsmanship needed to finely weave a piece of cotton fabric, which is then pulled over a wooden stretcher, to be covered with carefully applied paint. It is nowhere near as valuable as life sustaining consumable food when we get right down to it, but value-added cotton fabric can certainly bring meaning or happiness to our lives if done skillfully and with enough sensitivity. Therefore it does hold a certain relative worth, which we refer to as “art.”

But regardless, just as Magritte’s pipe was not a pipe, we are not looking at potatoes, eggs, and the rest. We are looking at a painting of potatoes and eggs. But that's not true at all. What I painted was a real canvas titled "An Irish Blessing" measuring 18inches by 24inches in oil paints and oil medium applied with brushes of various size and type, and then placed in an ornate frame. What you are looking at is not the painting. I know this to be true since I have the actual painting here. What you are looking at must be something other than what is in my possession. Clearly, what you are seeing is the surface of a computer screen that is lit in a particular manner, made to resemble the image of the painting. If you suddenly lost power at this instant, you would no longer see the image of the painting, and would be staring at a small darkened piece of glass or synthetic material. Now, I'm sure the computer hardware was expensive enough, and in that regard holds value, but in an artistic sense, I am also certain you would not hang a computer screen on your wall displaying an artistic image that appealed to you. You could print it out, true, but you would not be able to reproduce the subtleties that can only be experienced in an original artwork, such as depth and character of the brushstrokes or the nuances of the charcoal or graphite or pastel on a richly textured paper. And although it would hold a considerably lesser value than the original, it would at least be an “artifact” that exists in a material sense and can be held, hung, or thrown out as may be appropriate.

But this is outside the scope of our discussion concerning the computer display. Focusing on the computer image, we are at this point three degrees removed from the reality of potato and egg. Not potato. Not egg. Not pigment. Not canvas nor frame. Not any image at all that is actually concrete. Much like the television, the computer screen is just the vehicle that was in front of you before you clicked this webpage and will remain in front of you after the image is gone. The image itself is an abstraction, an orderly arrangement of pixels. It is a soft transient glow of light and nothing more.

If you consider reality as the ultimate art, the essence or spirit of all art, and assign it a value of 1, and then relegate painting, drawing, sculpture, etc to its corresponding artistic value of less than one but greater than zero, we must view the ephemeral emitting of light from the computer screen imitating that piece of artwork as then having a value of zero. Or less, since it is “artwork” that exists not at all.

Anyway, all of this is my way of explaining the somewhat convoluted subheading beneath the blog title. Being a pragmatist (if not an outright hypocrite), I take advantage of the blog format to post my work, because all artists must capitulate in their compelling need to communicate to the world. The internet is an ideal vehicle for this, though clearly, "Ceci n'est pas une pipe."

The Lincoln Street reference represents that place where we first dreamed our dreams, and where all things were possible.