"Lemon Yellow Sky and Blue Stones," 3.75" x 5" acrylic on paper.
Seven Rolling Stones
“Seven Rolling Stones,” 5” x 3.75” acrylic and charcoal on paper.
“Stacked Stones,” 3.75” x 5” acrylic and charcoal on paper.
Intentionalism: Abstract Art
Intentionalism is the idea that an artist's intentions determine the meaning of a work of art, not necessarily the content or subject of the work (sometimes it is or can be relevant). It can also refer to the theory that all mental states are intentional, meaning they are about something. This theory is also known as "representationalism." In psychology, intentionalism is a synonym for act psychology.
What does all of this mean in relation to abstract art? For me, it means that art created with intention and with some direction is difficult to make successfully. And it is even more difficult to communicate those ideas to an audience. There’s a book called "Why Your Five-Year-Old Could Not Have Done That: Modern Art Explained" by Susie Hodge. I thought it might be a good read on the topic, but it turns out that she doesn't really defend "intentionalism" very well. There are no deep explanations for the theory and ideas behind modern abstract work. It was a bit disappointing to me and doesn’t really do justice to abstract art, or even art in general.
“The aim of art is to represent not the outward appearance of things but their inward significance.”
Addressing this topic poses significant challenges as it is filled with subjective opinions, preferences, and various perspectives. It stands in stark contrast to the objective nature of science, which is one reason I love science as much as art. Many contemporary artworks are challenging to advocate for (or defend), with a majority being seen as unoriginal, lacking depth, and artificial in their conception. We have become very shallow in a lot of ways in our culture; this includes making art. I suppose what I’m saying is that a lot of work done today lacks intention.
I have a deep appreciation for painting because it provides a unique avenue for expressing my intentions within a picture, whether implicitly or explicitly. While photography allows for a degree of expression, it doesn't offer the same level of freedom that painting does. This artistic medium has been a source of liberation for me over the past few years. Painting has unlocked numerous avenues for conveying my thoughts and theories in ways that photography couldn't achieve. I believe that combining paintings and photographs will create a compelling and lucid exploration of where I discover the most impactful expressions related to existential terror.
“Yellow Stacked Stones,” 3.75” x 5” acrylic and charcoal on paper.
How does one make “original and interesting work”? Can it even be done? I’m making paintings every day—no master pieces, that’s for sure—but it makes me wonder about all of the people doing the same thing that I am. And even more photographers are making photographs every day. It drives me mad sometimes to think about these things, but at the same time, I’m fascinated by the question. How many “artists” can really defend their work in an honest and authentic way? Moreover, how much work out there is interesting or intriguing? For me, not much. Some would say that includes my own work. That’s okay; I get it, but I can defend what I’m doing; whether or not the viewer understands or likes my intention is another question all together.
The answer to the question, at least for me, is that it doesn’t matter. It’s irrelevant to me because I’m not trying to sell anything, I’m not trying to gain fame or popularity, and I’m not after exhibitions and gallery representation. Take all of those things away, and you’re left with a personal drive for expression. That’s my goal, or objective.
One thing I do desire and would like to have come from my work is a better understanding of the theories I’m working on: death anxiety, the denial of death, and terror management theory. That would be my main goal for the photographs, paintings, and writing. If someone could come to the work and walk away with some understanding of the importance of how humans cope with the awareness of their own death, that would be a wonderful reward for my efforts. Far better than money, fame, recognition, awards, etc.
“Fish No. 6,” 3.75” x 5” acrylic and charcoal on paper.
“No Books Have Been Banned,” 3.75” x 5” acrylic, charcoal, newsprint (mixed media) on paper.
Book Banning (Moral Panic) and Death Anxiety
I’ve been thinking about book banning as it relates to death anxiety and terror management theory. It’s such a perfect example of how our fear of death drives these ideas. I found an interesting article published by psychiatrictimes.com. Here’s the gist of the article.
Human history is replete with instances of book banning and burning. A few examples:
In 1242, King Louis IX of France (“Saint Louis”) ordered the burning of 24 cartloads of priceless Hebrew manuscripts, including the Talmud, which he regarded as an insult to Christianity.
In 1497–1498, the Dominican friar Girolamo Savonarola (1452-1498) instigated the infamous “bonfires of the vanities,” which destroyed books and paintings by some of Florence’s greatest artists. Ironically, Savonarola himself, along with all his writings, was burned on the cross in 1498.
In 1933, a series of massive bonfires in Nazi Germany burned thousands of books written by Jews, communists, and such luminaries as Albert Einstein, Sigmund Freud, Ernest Hemingway, and Thomas Mann.
It appears that the most frequently challenged books tend to have the following themes:
LGBTQ topics or characters.
Sex, abortion, teen pregnancy, or puberty.
Race and racism, or protagonists of color.
The history of black people.
In their 1994 book, “Moral Panics: The Social Construction of Deviance,” Erich Goode and Nachman Ben-Yehuda identified five defining elements of “moral panic”:
A heightened level of concern over the behavior of a so-called “deviant” group and its potential for negative effects on society.
An increased level of hostility toward the identified “deviants,” who are then designated “the enemy” of respectable society. This leads to the creation of “folk devils.”
There is a substantial consensus among the accusing segments of society that the “folk devils” represent a real and serious threat to society.
The perceived harm of the “deviant” group is out of proportion to the objective data, leading to disproportionate reactions by the accusing groups.
Moral panics are highly volatile and usually tend to disappear quickly as public interest wanes and the media shift to some other narrative.
In short, as Kane and Huang put it: “…moral panic draws up a line between upstanding citizens defending the social order, and the nebulous folk devils who threaten it. The folk devil is exaggerated into an existential threat that, left unchecked, will raze society and completely reshape it in a dystopian mold.”
Sheldon Solomon et al. point out that this kind of panic is directly related to our mortality. It’s a classic case of “in-group” and "out-group"—making the argument for absolute truth for one side. “My worldview” sees the truth clearly, and “yours” doesn’t. This leads to hatred, “othering,” isolation, and even harm or death.
Book banning and many other forms of “you are offending my worldview” are on the rise. We lean so heavily on cultural constructs (in this case, mostly religious beliefs) that these books are “sinful” or wrong and need to be destroyed. These worldviews allow us to buffer our death anxiety. They give us purpose and meaning (even misguided meaning). There is no way to reason with this; the psychology is so strong that we simply have to recognize it and try to help people understand why it’s happening. This is terror management theory, death anxiety, and the denial of death in a nutshell.
“Book Banning Dredges Up Memories of World War II,” 3.75” x 5” acrylic, charcoal, newsprint (mixed media) on paper.
“Barcode,” 3.75” x 5” acrylic, charcoal, newsprint (mixed media).
Simulacra
Simulacra are copies of things that either don't have an original or no longer have one. The word simulacrum comes from the Latin word simulacrum, which means "likeness, semblance."
Definition: Simulacrum. SIMULACRUM (simulacra): Something that replaces reality with its representation. Jean Baudrillard in "The Precession of Simulacra" defines this term as follows: "Simulation is no longer that of a territory, a referential being, or a substance.
"Red Moon," 3.75" x 5" acrylic, charcoal, and newspaper (mixed media).
Red Moon
"El Toro," 5" x 3.75" acrylic, charcoal, newsprint (mixed media) on paper.
Psychology and Art: An Interesting Question
I recently got an email from someone in New Zealand that really caught my interest. They're in a Ph.D. program for creative writing and posed a very interesting question. I won't spill the whole email to keep things private, but here's the scoop: they wanted to know about artists influenced by death anxiety and terror management theory, seeing them as potential genres in art and literature. They gave a shoutout to my website and wished me luck in 2024. (Thanks for the email if you happen to see this post.)
I've been thinking a lot about this question. I've only come across one article about a painter diving into Becker's theories for their art. It's a fascinating question that could kick off a bit of a "movement" in the creative arts world if artists could accommodate and assimilate these theories. Most of the information on death anxiety and terror management theory is wrapped up in the world of science and academia. Most artists won't read these kinds of books and papers.
Imagine if artists from all walks of life hopped on board and started creating based on these ideas. It could add a whole new layer to humanity that other genres might miss. Sure, these ideas are a bit tricky to grasp and even tougher to apply to your own life. But once you get them, they're a game-changer.
How awesome would it be to encourage artists to dig into Becker's work and create stuff directly tied to death anxiety and terror management theory? Here's the kicker: a ton of art already revolves around these ideas; we just don't always see it that way. Death is something we all grapple with, and we're all kind of in denial that it's coming for us at some point. It's a universal theme that could make art even more relatable and powerful.
"Culturally Constructed Meat Puppets," 3.75" x 5" acrylic on paper.
“Crow: The World is Your Stage,” 5” x 3.75” acrylic, charcoal, cardboard, newspaper (mixed media).
Why Abstract Work?
“Abstraction allows man to see with his mind what he cannot physically see with his eyes...Abstract art enables the artist to perceive beyond the tangible, to extract the infinite out of the finite. It is emancipation of the mind. It is an explosion into unknown areas.”
It’s a good question. I’ve thought about it a lot. Let me try to answer this with some basic reasons; there are more, deeper reasons than these, but this is the superficial answer to the question “why abstracts.'“
WHERE MY INTERESTS ARE (CURRENTLY)
I’m most interested in abstract work, or specifically abstract impressionism (and expressionism), for several reasons. I’ll try to articulate the main reasons why I’ve chosen this style. I don’t have any interest in realism or straight representational work. This is what most people think about when they think about painting. I like a lot of it, but I’m not interested in painting in those styles. I’m sure a large part of it is because of my years in photography. I want to explore the polar opposite of what photography does. I find myself kind of bored (visually) with photography these days. It doesn’t feel emotional enough or connected with expression—maybe a bit mechanical to me. It lacks a lot for me visually. On top of all of that, everyone does it, which is not necessarily a bad thing. However, not everyone can make expressive, interesting paintings. That’s what I’m working toward.
“In our culture anyway, especially in modern times, the heroic seems too big for us, or we too small for it. Tell a young man that he is entitled to be a hero and he will blush. We disguise our struggle by piling up figures in a bank book to reflect privately our sense of heroic worth. Or by having only a little better home in the neighborhood, a bigger car, brighter children. But underneath throbs the ache of cosmic specialness, no matter how we mask it in concerns of smaller scope.”
Making abstract paintings gives me a lot of freedom. I work from intuition (mostly), and it allows me to connect to something beyond the physical. When I paint, I recognize the psychology behind it all as well. The lack of representation is refreshing (at least representation in the photo-realistic sense). I absolutely love it. It brings me joy. It gives me meaning, and it feels significant to me. I can’t express this enough. I’m not painting to earn money, win awards, or even garner the viewers approval. I think it’s great if the viewer finds my paintings interesting, but that’s not my goal. I want to express ideas that I can’t express in other ways. Ideas about the human condition go beyond words or photographs. That’s a tall order, for sure, but I want to take that challenge on.
The texture of the paint, the vibrant color, and just the feeling of the work excites me. The paintings are rich and tactile. That’s intriguing to me. They are “aiive” in ways other mediums can’t produce—maybe sculptures, but nothing else for me. I find myself craving to paint every day. I want to get in there and throw paint and media down on a piece of paper, make marks, scratch, and intuitively feel my way through each piece. Just writing about it makes me want to go do it right now. It’s like when someone’s talking about food, it can make you hungry. Thinking about painting makes me want to paint.
“The hope and belief is that the things that man creates in society are of lasting worth and meaning, that they outlive or outshine death and decay, that man and his products count.”
Abstract paintings are (mostly) non-representational and use shapes, colors, and forms to allow viewers to interpret and connect with the artwork in a personal and subjective way. Abstract art allows artists to communicate emotions, ideas, and experiences. Abstract art's purpose is to encourage involvement and imagination, not to tell a story—at least not directly. I like to imply ideas with the paintings. Others say that abstract art is "art for art's sake" and creates an object that stands on its own. That’s a valid argument in my mind as well.
Abstract art has existed since the Tang dynasty (618–907). The rise of abstract art movements came in the late 19th century, when artists began to deviate from classical and traditional modes of painting.
This style of work gives you the freedom to explore the artwork and assign your own meaning to the piece. In my opinion, this intensely personal process enriches a viewer's experience of an artwork.
All of these ideas and comments are some of the reasons I’m pursuing making abstract paintings for my project.
“Red Feather and Blocks,” 5” x 3.75” acrylic, charcoal, cardboard (mixed media).
“Yellow Bar,” 5” x 3.75” acrylic and charcoal, mixed media (newspaper, paper figures) on paper.
Small Paintings (Abstract Warm Up)
I thought I’d share these small (5” x 3.75”) warmup paintings that I can mount on greeting cards and send people some (small) original works. I think they’re really cool. I worked with the theme of “circles” and color theory on these (the group of four images). I’m sure that’s obvious. I’m quite pleased with them. Not masterpieces, but interesting nonetheless. I see improvement with every piece I paint, and I find joy and meaning in every one I do.
Lately, I’ve had people comment and question my painting journey. I want to be perfectly clear: I’m on an exploration, a journey of discovery. I know I’m not Picasso, and I’m not trying to be. I’m not interested in the “academic” approach to painting or drawing either. I have nothing against any of that, and I’m open to learning if it helps my journey, but I’m simply not interested in painting apples and peaches in Rembrandt lighting (his apples are amazing, just not what I want to pursue).
I will learn and grow by doing. I posted a while back about painting a piece every day; that’s what I’m doing (at least one). I’m not after commercial success or “likes” or recognition; I’m simply trying to express some of my ideas about the human condition through putting paint and marks on a surface. That’s all. Whether people like them or not, that’s what I’m going to do. And if I end up painting pieces that really speak to me and my project, I’ll put them in my book. If I don’t, I won’t.
I believe there’s a part of me that is rebelling against photography a little bit too. I love the craft I spent my entire adult life in, but for the past few years, it has felt very mechanical and distant to me. There’s a part of me that feels “bored” with it. I feel like I’ve seen everything a dozen times. I’m not interested in that at all. It was time to break out the paint. I’ve threatened for years that I would eventually paint, and here I am. Something inside of me knew that long before I started. A big part of my (later) life has been about growing, changing, and challenging myself. What was left for me to do in photography? Not much. I accomplished almost everything I wanted to do. So I’ve changed lanes a little bit anyway.
Please don’t misunderstand me. I will always have a darkroom, a camera, and the ability to make photographs. And I will. For now, however, I want to explore and learn to paint. I’m loving it! I think that will occupy the majority of my time for the foreseeable future (with a bit of photography in there too).
The one thing that I don’t want to do in my sixties is live life burdened with what others think or feel about what I do or don’t do and feel any pressure to do what others think I should. I want to love, live in peace, find joy in everything I pursue, and not have any of the world’s pressure influence me (money, recognition, awards, etc.). That time of my life is over, and I’m happier for it.
I’ve tried to adopt the motto, “Awe, humility, and gratitude in every day.” That’s what I want to pursue and have in my life.
I really appreciate the kindness of the people I’ve known over the years. I’m honored to have met so many wonderful human beings. I have wonderful memories of good times and great people. I’m forever grateful for that. So, whether you like what I’m doing now or not, it’s okay. We’re still good. You’ll never offend or hurt me if you don’t like or agree with what I do. We’re individual human beings and have different tastes and ideas about life and reality. I get it. I want to encourage you to find something that truly brings you joy. In Beckerian terms, “meaning and significance.” That’s all that really matters. You need no one’s approval or “likes” for what you find enjoyable and meaningful. Just do it.
“Before Denial,” 8” x 10” acrylic, charcoal, and pastels on paper.
I’ve tried to paint something both “primitive” and “cold.” Implying the structure of the human brain, but still primitive—pre-conscious, if you will. Not fully developed, surviving but unaware of its impending death.
Before Denial: A Primitive Painting
I’m exploring some ideas about figures. I have posted some abstract figures before, but I’m trying to work with ideas closer to the theories I’m exploring through art.
I had an idea that came from a book I read last year (and I’ve posted before about it) called “Denial: Self-Deception, False Beliefs, and the Origins of the Human Mind,” a book by Ajit Varki. It is an expansion and adaptation of a Danny Brower manuscript that he left behind (he recently died).
The book presents a theory about how the human mind evolved and the obstacles it overcame that allowed us to be the way we are today. The theory is based on the idea that denial of reality is a factor in how the human mind evolved and how we became intelligent, creative, and innovative.
Varki and Brower believe that humans are the world's ultimate risk-takers, ignoring scientific facts such as the dangers of smoking and climate change. They believe that this denial mechanism became essential once our brain evolved a more comprehensive understanding of ourselves and others. They call it “full theory of mind” or “theory of mind” (TOM).
Denial offers a warning about the dangers inherent in our ability to ignore reality. Denial makes you doubt your own perceptions; it is gaslighting and disturbing, and the effects of it are hidden and unconscious. There are some very powerful theories in this writing, mainly about how humans became conscious, or the point where we realized that we would die. Varki follows through with a detailed analysis of the steps that it took to get there, or here, and the price we’ve paid for it.