Collaboration isn’t always easy; particularly not the start-up phase. Over the weekend I worked up some more sketches for the new Palimpsest series. The operative word here is sketches, which signifies a nonstandard practice that caused a “spirited” exchange with my partner. Until now the opening image in a series has always been part of the final series; the series may evolve, but “sketches” haven’t been part of the process. Palimpsest has been a departure from my normal working modality. In the first place all of the base images come from three separate shoots over a one-week period in totaling about 12 hours. I took pictures of trees, or more specifically of leaves. This involved a fair amount of standing around waiting for the sun to get right, and working off the tripod.
In the past both Shel and I shot the base images which have been pretty much snapshot quality vacation pictures. Prior to this exercise I’ve never really had a clear concept of the final product while I was shooting. But for several years I’ve been carrying around this “vision” of a Fall series, Vermont, the Berkshires, and various past lives; Palimpsest hopes to be the realization of that vision. Add to this that I haven’t been working for the last six months or so, not quite sure why, but it’s led to a bit of insecurity. A couple of weeks ago some sort of karmic switch was thrown and I felt like working. The odd thing was that it was no big deal, but at the same time totally different. I bought a new Wacom table, took pictures of leaves, and built a new graphics machine which is by the way screamingly hot.
So I had the means, and material, but I also had a clear vision of the end product which was a new experience. It turns out, however, that the transition from vision to realization isn’t going to come easily. So sketches; the problem is Shel isn’t used to sketches, and when I proudly presented 6 x 8 prints (note to self: test prints are for your personal use and not for sharing) she was politely enthusiastic. The thing is Shel can’t sustain “politely” for protracted periods. Thus a bit later she was asking, still politely, “Why are you making wrapping paper?” “It’s not wrapping paper!” I replied and here there followed a long complicated, introverted, slightly defensive, art history ramble which concludes with, “It’s not wrapping paper to me, and even if it is wrapping paper, I don’t care.” What I didn’t say, was, “Please reserve judgment, wait-and-see.” It would’ve been little hard to say that because it would’ve made the possibility of failure more or less inescapable and it’s easier to work when you’re not worried about producing crap. The thing is that, art history aside, the line between abstraction and surface pattern design is about as fine as the one between art and entertainment. Here’s one of the sketches, and I have to admit it’s pretty much wrapping paper. I’d argue that it’s pretty nice wrapping paper, but really that’s all it aspires to.









