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.

The Birth of Man (La Naissance de l' Homme)

Several years ago, a friend invited me to Brussels, Belgium. He wanted me to meet some of the local photography group and make a couple of wet collodion images for them. I obliged. Brussel’s is a wonderful city. We enjoyed our time there. In fact, we went back a couple of times after that, too.

“The Birth of Man,” Whole Plate Ambrotype (Wet Collodion), May Claerhout (1939–2016), Brussels, Belgium 2009

I ended up doing a group portrait (or maybe a few), and I also made a plate of this wonderful piece of work by May Claerhout (1939–2016). She was a Belgian artist and made these amazing sculptures. This one sits in the courtyard of the Belgium National Archives; it’s called “The Birth of Man (La Naissance de l'Homme).

When I see this image and think about its narrative, I can’t help but think about Becker’s writing on “immortality projects.” In his 1974 Pulitzer Prize-winning book, The Denial of Death, he argues that “the basic motivation for human behavior is our biological need to control our basic anxiety, to deny the terror of death.” (Keen 1973). Becker suggested that a significant function of culture is to provide successful ways to engage in death denial.

Becker describes the human pursuit of “immortality projects” (or causa sui), in which we create or become part of something that we feel will outlast our time on earth. In doing so, we feel that we become heroic and part of something eternal that will never die, compared to the physical body that will eventually die. This gives human beings the belief that our lives have meaning, purpose, and significance in the grand scheme of things.

This is true for any piece of artwork, including books, buildings (especially those with names on them), building great wealth, or even having children. This is the human desire for immortality, literally or symbolically. It’s a very strong urge, and whether we admit it or not, we all participate. What purpose does it serve? As Becker said, it gives us meaning and purpose. When we feel that we have purpose and meaning in our lives, we feel psychologically secure; this quells death anxiety or existential dread. We need this to function every day.

Claerhout’s piece speaks to death anxiety in so many ways for me. The title alone is revealing. What does “The Birth of Man” imply? For me, it implies that the death of man is also waiting, silent, and hidden. Buried deep in the psychological bushes of our minds. There are five figures represented here—maybe symbolizing earth, air, fire, water, and spirit? I find it interesting that the top figure is stretching and reaching toward the heavens. This also symbolizes a type of immortality. It says that we’re not really going to die; we live on after this physical existence—literal immortality.

That belief has always been a great anxiety buffer—religion—but it comes with a lot of baggage and a heavy price (look at history and the role religion has played in death and suffering). In the 19th century, Nietzsche said, “God is dead.” And he goes on to say, “God remains dead. And we have killed him.“ This is often misquoted or misunderstood. What he meant was that humans had relied on religious beliefs for thousands or tens of thousands of years to quell death anxiety, and now technology and science have replaced them. Some say those are our new gods, and we rely on them as our ancestors relied on the religious gods. We’re always looking for cultural constructs to lean on to buffer our existential dread.

Existential Dread No. 8

“Existential Dread No. 8,” 8” x 10” acrylic and charcoal on paper.

“Existential Dread No. 8,” 8” x 10” acrylic and charcoal on paper.

“Existential Dread No. 8,” 8” x 10” acrylic and charcoal on paper.

Thirty Paintings a Month

I paint every day. Sometimes, I’m able to make two or even three paintings a day. Mostly, I do “warm up” paintings: ideas for possibly larger pieces in the future. These “paint sketches” are really important for me. They do two things: first, they allow me to apply paint, make marks, and give me ideas for larger pieces (as I said). Secondly, I get better with each painting. With every painting I make, I learn something. One thing I’ve realized (probably from making photographs for years) is that I’m too “uptight” and too rigid. I’m slowly learning to reverse this; it’s difficult. In a lot of ways, I’m trying to unlearn what I did in photography. Yes, there are a lot of things that help me because of my knowledge of photography, light, composition, and even color theory. But there are a few things that make painting difficult; one of them is rigidity. I’m learning to loosen up and allow spontaneous and free-flowing movements and experiments to happen. It’s a great feeling.

I turn 60 years old this month. I was thinking about this the other day. It’s a strange feeling in some ways. It seems for the last decade I’ve been revisiting events of my youth, or at least exploring my interests as a younger adult. After my military service, I started a business making free-standing wood-burning stoves and fireplace inserts. I oversaw a shop of four welders and two finish line people. I made good money and enjoyed the work. I built hundreds of stoves myself and was efficient and skilled in metal fabrication. I was also proficient in all kinds of welding, including MIG, TIG, and stick welding, as well as brazing and other minor metal fabrication skills. This came to an end because of environmental issues concerning emissions and laws passed that prevented the sale of the stoves (the late 1980s). I ended up at the university, which, in the end, was a good thing.

A few years ago, I started metal fabrication again. I was doing blacksmithing and bladesmithing work. People asked, “Where did you learn to do this kind of thing?” They seemed to be a bit shocked and puzzled. It wasn’t either for me; it was taking a step back to my younger years and revisiting the skills and knowledge that I spent so much time doing. I’m not sure why I did it—maybe to clear my head and create in a different way. It just felt right and comfortable. I really enjoyed the nostalgia and feelings of shaping steel and working around a hot forge and welder again. It wasn’t foreign or weird to me at all.

That brings me to painting. Again, some people are wondering, "What is this all about?” Well, remember, I did four years at undergraduate school, and I majored in photography, visual art, and communication (with a minor in Spanish). In that emphasis of visual art, I did the introductions to painting, drawing, color theory, art history, etc. I also completed 8 credit hours of “studio art.” I did painting and mixed media, with a lot of photography involved. Along with those courses, I completed two courses in “painting on photographs,” a beginning course and an advanced course. And I also have a graduate degree, an M.F.A.I.A. That’s a master of fine arts in interdisciplinary art. That is self-explanatory, I think. My point is that I have a history of what I’m doing and have been doing. I’m simply revisiting my past and using it to flesh out my new work and project. And I love it. If I take up surfing or paragliding, you’ll know I’m in unfamiliar waters (no pun).

I find it interesting that people tend to want you to stay in the lane they “know you for,” and when you veer from that, it seems a bit apostate to them—some even seem disappointed. If they understood your background and life experiences, they might think differently. In the end, it doesn’t matter. I just thought I would share what I’d been thinking about entering my sixth decade on this pale blue dot. It’s not surprising that I find myself painting or making knives; at least to me, it seems like a kind of natural course of self-exploration. It’s paid off for me both mentally and conceptually. It’s given me more to work with on this project.

Thirty paintings a month. It’s not about the number; it’s not even relevant, really. It’s about commitment, learning, and growing. As I said earlier, I gain so much from each painting I do. I’m trying to be present for the journey. To really be grateful and appreciate each day and each piece of work I make. Ultimately, that’s what’s important to me. Painting, like photography, is something you have to practice to become efficient enough to accomplish what you want to accomplish. In the end, I hope to publish several of my paintings, along with my photographs, in my book to make a complete, cohesive, interdisciplinary work about human behavior and existential terror. That’s my goal.

One more thing. I’ve posted a few times about how beneficial our walks are to me creatively. You might find this article interesting if you subscribe to this theory about walking and creativity. Check it out:
How Walking Fosters Creativity

The Color Blue and the Number Three

In some Native American cultures, the color blue represents the sky, water, and the spirit world. It can also symbolize peace, serenity, and spiritual awareness. Blue is often used in ceremonies related to prayer, meditation, and vision quests. In Native American mythology, the number three represents the vertical picture of the world. It represents the space between the Heavens and the Earth.

The Iroquois tribe also expressed the significance of the number three by smoking from a pipe three times. Traditional Native American gardeners have planted the Three Sisters (corn, beans, and squash) in many different regions of North America. Some versions of the Three Sisters legends involve the crops personified as three women who separate from each other only to find out that they are stronger together.

Existential Dread No. 5

There is something that I find both intriguing and fascinating about non-objective abstracts. Yesterday, I posted my representational abstract, “The Ballad of Curtis Loew,” based on a song and memory. This is a painting I did today based on an idea from within me—nothing representational or based on anything physical, at least when I started the painting. I’ll let the viewer decide what they see or feel in reference to the title. I have to say, I do love the underpainting on this. It gives the piece a lot of depth. It looks really nice in real life.

In the context of evolution, human existential crises may arise from our heightened cognitive abilities and self-awareness. As humans developed intricate thinking processes and self-reflective capacities, an increased awareness of mortality, the quest for meaning, and contemplation of one's existence became more pronounced. While an existential crisis isn't necessarily a flaw, it can be viewed as a consequence of our advanced cognitive functions. It might function as a mechanism for individuals to scrutinize and assess their position in the world, fostering personal growth and the formulation of coping strategies. In this regard, it can be perceived as a beneficial function that motivates individuals to explore purpose and meaning in their lives.

Ernest Becker said, “What does it mean to be a self-conscious animal? The idea is ludicrous if it is not monstrous. It means to know that one is food for worms. This is the terror: to have emerged from nothing, to have a name, a consciousness of self, deep inner feelings, an excruciating inner yearning for life and self-expression, and with all this yet to die. It seems like a hoax, which is why one type of cultural man rebels openly against the idea of God. What kind of deity would crate such complex and fancy worm food?” (The Denial of Death)

How Self-Awareness Awakens You

Do you think you’re self-aware? How do you know if you are? Here are a couple of questions you can ask yourself:. Do you understand your strengths and weaknesses? Do you practice empathy? Do you recognize your biases? Do you seek personal growth? Etcetera.

Being self-aware is the first step in understanding both who you are and your position in the world or your culture. And yes, it does feed back to death anxiety and terror management theory. However, part of coming to terms with mortality relies heavily on self-awareness. I often quote Albert Camus; he said, "There is only one liberty: to come to terms with death; thereafter, anything is possible." The only way to do that is through self-awareness.

Have you ever been around a person who isn’t very self-aware? I have, and it’s very frustrating and annoying. When a person isn’t self-aware, you may see egotistical or even narcissistic behavior, as well as a complete disregard for other people’s intelligence or feelings. It’s a painful and disturbing experience. I’m on board for people to “toot their own horn” or share their accomplishments through the avenues where they find meaning and purpose. There’s nothing wrong with that. Where it goes off the rails for me is when they seek to “be better” or even belittle others with these accomplishments. When it becomes a competition, it can get ugly. This is the malignant result of existential dread. It’s nasty stuff. Social media is full of it.

Let’s stay on the positive side of dealing with meaning and self-awareness. Here are some questions you can ask yourself regarding this topic:. They are from a course I just completed about existential anxiety:

What are some accomplishments you have already achieved in your life that you find meaningful?

What goals or ambitions do you have for the rest of your life?

Who are the people who are most important to you in your life?

How do you demonstrate importance to these people in your life?

How do these behaviors, goals, achievements, ambitions, and intentions align with your culture and worldview?

These will help you start the process of both being self-aware and coming to terms with how you buffer death anxiety or existential dread. Which are kind of the same things or at least one leads to the other. This is the process I’ve used to become more self-aware and awaken to memories and meaning in my life. It’s the well-spring where I draw my inspiration and creative life from.

My view from my painting station. I listen to music, make marks and throw paint onto surfaces. A beautiful life.

Connecting the Dots: Using Photographs and Paintings

Happy 2024! I hope this year brings you gratitude, humility, and awe. That’s what I try to remind myself of every day. I’m not into “holidays” and conspicuous consumption, but I do wish you a very healthy, happy, and joyful year!

I’m working hard and thinking deeply about what I’m trying to do with this body of work and writing. It’s a process that’s always evolving and changing, as it should. I think I’ve connected some of the ideas that I’m working on to the paintings I’m making and the photographs that I’ve made.

For me, photography falls short in the pursuit of fleshing out these theories and ideas. While it plays an important role in this project, I’m beginning to think it’s going to be used in a very different way than I first intended. In the end, I'm going to try to pair the photographs and paintings as diptychs (roughly speaking). The idea is that one shows the reality that we all subscribe to (the photograph), and the other (the painting) shows a clearer, non-representational, deconstructed reality that we try to bury, psychologically speaking (the denial of death and death anxiety). It’s a wonderful revelation for me and a big step in my work. To say I’m excited would be an understatement.

“Painting is a language, and brush strokes are verbs.”

— Albert Irvin

I’ve been reading about artists like Af Klint, Kandisky, Mondrian, Popova, Malevich, Klee, Rothko (which I like a lot), Pollock, and other abstract painters of the 19th and 20th centuries. And in the 21st century, artists like Paul Tonkin, Albert Irvin, who said, “Painting is a language, and brush strokes are verbs,” and Dan Perfect. Most of the older artists were dealing with theosophy. I don’t personally subscribe to the idea of theosophy, but I can understand why these artists were using it as the basis for their work. I really connect and understand what Rothko said about his “recipe” for a work of art.

“The recipe of a work of art—its ingredients—how to make it—the formula:

There must be a clear preoccupation with death—intimations of mortality.
Tragic art, romantic art, etc., deals with the knowledge of death.
Sensuality. Our basis for being concrete about the world. It is a lustful relationship with things that exist.
Tension. Either conflict or curbed desire.
Irony: This is a modern ingredient—the self-effacement and examination by which a man, for an instant, can go on to something else.
Wit and play... for the human element. The ephemeral and chance... for the human element.
Hope: 10% to make the tragic concept more endurable.

I measure these ingredients very carefully when I paint a picture. It is always the form that follows these elements, and the picture results from the proportions of these elements.”

— Mark Rothko, Achim Borchardt-Hume (ed.). Rothko (London: Tate Gallery, 2008), p. 91

In the pursuit of making this happen, I’ve been selecting color photographs of the work I’ve made and doing a variety of abstract paintings of them—abstract deconstructions, if you will. I’ll work with the non-color photographs after I establish what I want to do with the color work. The color photographs are much more complicated to translate. I am making progress. Selecting forms, colors, and shading is a difficult task. I never know when the painting is complete. I’m trying to reduce the image to the most basic forms and use color as an expression of the (hidden) reality of the object.

“To see the world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.”

— William Blake

Abstract Versus Non-Objective or Non-Representational Painting

I’m slowly honing in on the style of painting I want to pursue for this project. I think I’m leaning toward abstract and non-objective content and a kind of post-impressionist style. What does that mean? I’ll try to explain.

I’ve been exploring different approaches to painting. From color, style, size, content, etc. Just like photography, one process can differ enormously from another. I want the “correct” expression for this work. I’m starting to experiment with making abstract paintings of the RA-4 color work I made. I think that’s a great place to start. If you think abstract painting is easy, think again. It’s actually very difficult. There’s a lot you need to understand: color theory, light, shapes, shadows, etc. Not for the faint of heart (or people who think it’s nonsense).

The difference between “abstract” and “non-objective” or “non-representational” painting is this: Abstract painting is some kind of interpretation of something that exists. In other words, if I paint abstracts of my photographs, they would be some form of representational work. Non-objective or non-representational work is exactly that, it’s not from anything, it’s dealing with color, shape, lines, shades, composition, etc. I really like both styles, and they could play well with this project.

Let’s see how it all unfolds.

“Existential Crisis No. 2,” 4.5” x 4.5” Acrylic and Charcoal on Paper

Exploring Options for Making Art

“Cosmic Pepper No. 3,” 7” x 11” Acrylic

“Spiritual Fish,” 10” x 12” Acrylic

I never get tired of exploring and trying things. Whether it’s photography techniques, painting techniques, or anything else that I find interesting, I’m open to the best way I can express myself and my ideas. This week, I’ve been painting "studies." I’ve been painting how the light shows on balls, fruit, and a pepper. I’ve been playing around with the application of paint, too. I absolutely love post-impressionism, impressionism, and abstract expressionism. I’ve published two paintings where I’ve applied the paint in a “dabbing” fashion. This gives texture to the image and feels close to impressionism. Another area to pay attention to is color theory. Primary colors, complementary colors, split-complementary colors, analogous colors, etc. I’m working on all of this stuff while at the same time working on ideas for my book. Paintings will play a significant role in my book, along with photography.

A study concerning “spotlight” in grayscale.

Pears: a study concerning light - tints, shades, casting shadows etc.