When you start working, everybody is in your studio- the past, your friends, enemies, the art world, and above all, your own ideas- all are there. But as you continue painting, they start leaving, one by one, and you are left completely alone. Then, if you are lucky, even you leave.
If these words from John Cage are true, and I believe they are, what is the role of the Goat Rodeo? How to manage the the chaos that proceeds most projects? I have watched myself pursue wrong headed paths—sometimes for days—while transforming interior babble to bold, useless forays with paint. And yet, there may be something there—and maybe that thing is something I’ve never thought of, something new that may possibly emerge, a way to push at the edges. The chaos is rich, nourishing and in no small part crazy-making.
I like to invite artists I love into the studio. This is an ever changing group, Right now I’m entertaining Cy Twombly’s mythological scribbles, Gary Komarin’s imaginary narratives, Thomas Nozkowski’s fabulous paint handling and Kiki Smith’s haunting prints and drawings—and of course, the usuals, Ellsworth Kelly, Anselm Kiefer, Catherine Cassidy and that light wizard, James Turrell.
What thread runs through all this? Something about owning your work—knowing what you care about, letting that inform what you do. Finding ways to befriend both gods and demons. And then, without looking, to make the leap, to let them all go.
Goat Rodeo Part 2: Artists In The Room
11/20/2020
When you start working, everybody is in your studio- the past, your friends, enemies, the art world, and above all, your own ideas- all are there. But as you continue painting, they start leaving, one by one, and you are left completely alone. Then, if you are lucky, even you leave.
If these words from John Cage are true, and I believe they are, what is the role of the Goat Rodeo? How to manage the the chaos that proceeds most projects? I have watched myself pursue wrong headed paths—sometimes for days—while transforming interior babble to bold, useless forays with paint. And yet, there may be something there—and maybe that thing is something I’ve never thought of, something new that may possibly emerge, a way to push at the edges. The chaos is rich, nourishing and in no small part crazy-making.
I like to invite artists I love into the studio. This is an ever changing group, Right now I’m entertaining Cy Twombly’s mythological scribbles, Gary Komarin’s imaginary narratives, Thomas Nozkowski’s fabulous paint handling and Kiki Smith’s haunting prints and drawings—and of course, the usuals, Ellsworth Kelly, Anselm Kiefer, Catherine Cassidy and that light wizard, James Turrell.
What thread runs through all this? Something about owning your work—knowing what you care about, letting that inform what you do. Finding ways to befriend both gods and demons. And then, without looking, to make the leap, to let them all go.
