A forgotten class
An essay…
What is it about the weekend that compels us to believe in it as the ultimate promise of rest? Monday gets here, we got to work, and many of us mutter the words “can’t wait for the weekend!” Like many of us I thought this weekend, or at least Saturday, would be a low key day hanging out in my pajamas.
I had signed up for an online class taught by Jeanne Oliver titled Cy Twombly with Jeanne Oliver. I saw a few emails during the week as reminders but I get so many that I did not pay too much attention. But yesterday, I opened one with details about an upcoming class which prompted the “did I sign up for this?” And yes, I had.
I scrambled to get all my supplies and was ready on time. Cy Twombly is one of my favorite artists because of his integration of text in the work. Some have classified his work as calligraphic painting. And that designation is music to my ears.
Cy Twombly was an American artist regarded, along with Jasper Johns and Robert Rauschenberg, as the most representative artist who distanced himself from abstract expressionism. Yet, one can still catalog his work as abstract expressionism. Except that unlike abstract expressionists Twombly did not fill the canvas. There is a beautiful interaction between what he puts on the canvas and what is left alone. Almost like a counterbalance of sorts.
Twombly’s work is gestural, organic, seemingly disorganized, chaotic, and sometimes it can come across as accidental. The lines and words are scribbled and sometimes erased as if trying to cover them like a secret or a whisper. He spent nights in a dark room (not a photography one) drawing to unlearn and disconnect the act of looking from the process of drawing. Almost as disconnecting one activity from the other. What do you draw when you draw in darkness or not looking at something? In that sense I can only describe his work as daring and assertive. The scribbles may look shapeless but there is a determination and certainty in each stroke. Akin to like writing without writing, he developed a type of abstract and gestural mark making style often alluding to classical subjects. He often integrated classical literature and poetry in his work.
I am not certain when I came across Twombly’s work but ever since I encountered it, I have been a fan. In 2021, I had the opportunity to see his work in the Philadelphia Museum of Art, specifically the show 50 Days at Iliam and I was in awe. His work, the movement, the colors, remind me of Santiago Calatrava’s sketches. Of course the output is different but there is a looseness in the lines and in the shapes that compels me.
The class by Jeanne started with a short talk about Twombly’s work and to hear someone else talk about his work with such enthusiasm, inspired me. My ears perked up when she said he almost exclusively worked in large, oversized canvases in a small studio. I love to work big but I feel a tad constrained in my space. Mostly because I need a wall. I guess it is time to think about reorganizing my space. Hehe! Jeanne, our teacher, was showing you how to study Twombly’s work, to analyze it, and to then try to emulate his brush work, and mark making. I loved it.
I took the class as a challenge to try something different. I worked tiny. For the record, I do not like working small. I had pocket sketchbook on my table, about 5 x 3 inches and I decided this would be my canvas. Rather than repeat what Jeanne was doing, I explored the techniques and methods exploring the small page. The advantage is that it dried quickly under my blow dryer and I made several.
The class was welcome change of pace from the week. It was an intense week at school and painting words, letters, and marks always gives me a sense of calm. It is very meditative to me. I even wrote a poem while listening to Jeanne explain Twombly’s work and influences.
Well, I will share both the work I did and my poem. The poem is a meditation of my fascination with movement on two dimensions.
The poem.
A deep desire to fly, to run, and to speed
nurtures my envy for the grace I once had
A horse gallops gloriously across the road
its mane bounces and its hair while looking coiffed it is free and fluid
The dancers jump, land, and moves, all in one motion
their movements precise as the sun’s daily routine
commands the eyes towards itself.
Obsession persists. Movement pursues me.
Invites me to dance with it with tools, with thoughts, with images, with color.
In joy.
In unity,
In pain.
In love.
In peace.
In war.
In sorrow.