THE QUEST FOR THE
IDEA / OBJECT
by James Hayward
I’ll be seventy-seven in a few days. I had not painted in almost three years, rendered incapable by physical injuries.
Earlier this year, in a deep funk, I began to muse fondly of my dear pal, Ed Moses, making these gorgeous little paintings, he called them “Popsicles,” while sitting in his wheelchair, small canvas on the floor. He didn’t need to lift his arm, but he could direct the nuancing of the pigments and, arm dangling, effortlessly manipulate the chosen colors. They reminded me of both Morandi and Joan Mitchell, two of my favorite painters. That these little gems could elicit such a response, left me smiling. I felt a bit ashamed of my capitulation, in the face of adversity. A part of my intellect that had been in hiding, burst forth and began playing with the idea of “painting.”
My muse was a devil, leaping naked thru the cathedral. Ed had a photo, on his wall, of this much admired Guitai painter, who suspended himself, by his feet, naked, his long black hair hanging brush-like. There was a canvas on the floor and a pan of black ink, or paint? His assistants would pull him to where he could dip his hair in the paint, then release him to swing above the canvas, using his head to fling paint. It was such a radically cool idea.
I also recalled Peter Voulkos, doing a “Master Demonstration” of ceramic techniques, at his studio, to celebrate his return to the faculty of the University of California, Berkley, after a “Leave of Absence,” self- imposed following a drug raid and trial, in Oakland. Peter was a tenured member of faculty and the charges were insufficient to warrant dismissal. Tenure rocks. The leave was a voluntary gesture, on Peter’s part, to stem the conservative outcry.
Peter’s studio was packed with faculty, grad students, and ceramic artists from the Bay Area. Peter entered wearing a yukata (Japanese robe). He proceeded to the front of the room. He was accompanied by a female assistant, also in a yukata. When he arrived at the anointed wheel, one among many, he sluffed off his yukata to reveal his unabashed nakedness.
He stepped into the wheel and seated himself. His assistant handed him a tray, from which he pulled the makings and proceeded to roll a joint, which she lit.
That done he began to kick the wheel, which was set up to throw pots with his feet. I was a “Visiting Artist,” just returned from a cultural exchange year in Japan. I was steeped in the stoic and precise decorum of the Japanese Arts. I had studied Tea Ceremony, and Zen practice and gardens. If I had met Ed’s hero, I may have been better prepared. Or not. I was dumbfounded, wondering where I was and how I happened to be there.
Peter proceeded to smoke and talk while he manipulated the clay with his feet. It was the most memorable master class ever. Far from chastened by his misfortune, Peter flaunted his disdain for authority and celebrated his appreciation of freedom.
I knew that I admired their behaviors and bravado, even if they lay well beyond my abilities. But now, my mind was full of images of these two incredibly creative, and completely naked, iconoclasts dancing, cheek- to-cheek, with my muse. I am certain that this is a dance I aspire to.
With this realization came an instantaneous wave of notions, thoughts and ideas about various steps necessary to realize my new preoccupation. I like the idea of being suspended, because my feet could dangle and dance across the canvas below. I bought a sling chair and began an elaborate experiment designed to suspend my toes just above the canvas below. Many adjustments and trips to the hardware store were required to get it right.
Because the painting was to be for my dear pal Frank, I decided to paint a tondo, after Frank’s painted CDs. We cut two 22” diameter circles, from 24” x 24” plywood. The size was determined by tracing the circumference of a trash can lid (the most convenient and appropriately sized circle). These plywood circles were then sanded and multiple layers of gesso were applied to all surfaces. I then attached a hanging apparatus, so that the top was predetermined and left to chance.
I made two of these circles; one for Frank and one for Pam. I asked them to select a color for my debut Toe Paintings. Frank chose cobalt violet and Pam ultramarine blue.
It was easy finding ample tubes of ultramarine blue; the cobalt violet was another story. I wanted to use acrylic so I could wash my feet in a 5 gallon bucket to clean up.
I decided to do the ultramarine first, wishing to perfect my Toe Painting technique before dealing with the cobalt violet. I was not comfortable with the idea of painting naked, especially as I wished to video tape the process to share with Frank and friends.
On a previous performance piece, titled “The Horse Sniffer,” where I imagined myself wandering naked in the pasture and slowly approaching my horses, lifting their tails, and sniffing their butts. For this piece I ended up covering myself in baby powder and wearing a loin cloth. So conservative. The piece was a failure because the horses were terrified of me and I never got in a single sniff. Unfortunately for her, my daughter, Ashley, was witness to the entire thing. With this in mind, I sent away for white body paint. I would use the incredibly complicated chroma systems I had developed for the ebonies, a series of incredibly complicated monochromes, painted on ebony cut offs (those parts that are removed because the pure black was adulterated by slight streaks of yellow-orange), to set off the visible edge of the tondos. The colors were specifically chosen to play off the color of the painting.
Finally, I was ready; not for my close up, but as close to naked as this old fool was venturing. I had made a loin cloth out of a white hankie and a bungie cord. I had slathered on the white body paint; it was blotchy and uneven, but somehow seemed right. I had figured out that if I mostly kept my back to the camera, it was far more discreet.
I asked Caitlin to set up the camera, on a tripod, on the small deck outside my office. It was slightly above the Toe Painting Platform.
I got my paint and set about making my very first Toe Painting. Because of the body paint and my Covid-19 theater-like long hair, I began referring to this as the “Noh Toe Painting.”
Needless to say, I made quite a mess, but I was truly pleased with what evolved out of this most unique, for me, set of protocols and practices. Somehow, the marking fit beautifully into the tondo. It looked effortless and completely natural, like it was meant to be. I was beyond charmed, beguiled and totally pleased with the results and deemed it a most delicious success.
It is at this point that I learned something new. My intent had been to create an idea/object. I wished to make an object that was the uncompromised equivalent of the idea. Not an easy thing, in fact I used to say it was like throwing a picture puzzle into the air and having it land totally in place.
There is a perfection to concept that is almost always compromised in the process of the piece coming to be. It was at this point that I found myself conflicted: did I want the piece to exist, as an exact and perfect record of its realization in this reality, or did I wish to make accommodations that would make it more like the conceptual ideal; a simulacra of the ideal concept.
My choices were the “authentic,” even if compromised and less than perfect, or a simulacra of the idealized concept, not authentic, but closer to the ideal than the authentic? This has me wondering. Life is good.
__________________
Author James Hayward at Roberts Projects
James Hayward's focus on the monochrome easily positions his interpretation within the lineage of abstract painting, from Malevich and Mondrian to Reinhardt and Ryman. They exist as immediate visual experiences apart from any representational reference, where the reception of the work is reflected within the work itself. Hayward's paintings are phenomenological things-in-themselves, inhabiting the space between complexity and singularity as self-contained entities; the paintings record time, and are akin to non-literal diaries. Every subsequent marking, built up from the surface to the point where they form sculptural peaks and fissures, is pivotal to the structural physicality of the work. This process creates an irreproducible distinct identity that dually epitomizes and affirms the physical act of painting. The end results are seductive studies of color effortlessly intertwining with the materiality of paint.
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