Shop in my Suitcase (Chapter 3 - Abstract work)
Here I am, the nomad observer, looking at another chapter of my art career, namely, my abstract collection. This post will seem a little “dotty”, just like some of the abstract works. I want to keep it light and as brief as possible, which is rather difficult for my teacher's brain, I must confess. Forgive me if you think I become too “airy fairy” as I skip along the abstract avenues in my mind – which may indeed resemble the true nature of this genre?
At heart I am an abstract expressionist and my preferred mode of expression in this genre is oil colour, because it dries slowly and one can scoop it and manipulate the surface to the heart’s content – and it also involves one’s tolerance for turpentine odours. My abstract painting process, I think, is something like “spontaneous visual mathematics”, akin to composing music.
As an artist, it is interesting to view the progress or evolution in one’s own style. It is a pity that the busyness of life often prevents us from critically looking at our own collections. It is almost like looking in the mirror and seeing all the years revealed in one’s face. It can be bewildering but it is also a moment of true reflection and gratitude for what one has created over time; the growth in stylistic features and techniques become obvious.
In 1997 I was exhibiting my abstract pieces at a South African national arts festival, and a new musical friend told me that I would struggle to sell my paintings, because they reminded him of jazz music and people are scared of jazz. I thought his observation was spot on, and I liked the simile he used. Fortunately, he was wrong about me struggling to sell my creations. I did manage to sell quite a number of abstract works over the ensuing years. So, “somewhere out there, beneath the pale moonlight” … are “jazz lovers” who can “hear the music” of an abstraction.
Just before Covid-19 made the world lock all doors, I was frantically busy getting things ready for my section of a group show, called Five Visions, which were to open at the Tasami Gallery at the Serafi Mall in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia. My section would comprise of about 100 medium-sized abstract works and the title of my body of works was, Approaching Abstraction.
Our excitement was erased just three days before our opening. The whole world dealt with disappointment in a big way, so suffice to say, I accepted my loss and went into hiding too. For my body of abstract works, I attempted to write something to build a bridge between the audience and the artist. I trust you will understand the little “poem” below. I am providing the link for the group show that never happened, but in our hearts it stayed alive. May you enjoy our diverse perspectives. 5 Visions group show online exhibition - Compiler P. A. Pienaar
Approaching Abstraction
abstract art affords artists
artistic adventure
although an audience
anxiously awaits
an awareness
and ameliorating analysis
I this poem I try to acknowledge the fact that some people may be disturbed by the lack of subject matter and that the proliferation of shapes and colors do not provide comfortable cognitive hooks to ease the searching mind that may need reassurance. It may seem a little complicated, but perhaps it is not? Let me tread carefully and joyfully through this maze of seemingly incoherent colour and texture.
Let us get back to the aforementioned jazz idiom or reference. I am an amateur self-taught musician who plays jazz songs on the clarinet and the saxophone for my own satisfaction and education. I can completely understand that people who listen to jazz in passing may want to avoid it perhaps, simply because they hear part of a tune that sounds illogical or too slow and it does not ring a bell in their memory banks. As a developing jazz musician (or student should I say) things look truly different from my point of view, because I am immersed in the creation of sound and I can read the music.
Without my knowledge of the “mechanics” of the jazz genre, I may have opposed it too? I know my little deviation here does not really elucidate anything, but maybe what I am getting at is: we have to open up to experience new things; abstract art may just be a new frontier for many? May we all become willing to get closer to things we don’t understand and once we are in closer proximity, the shock of the new may deliver new insights, hopefully. Please allow me to introduce a wonderful YouTube link here that could highlight this idea with musical tenderness. It is a wonderful rendition of “The Nearness of You”. Sit down somewhere with a cup of tea or coffee and let it touch your heart, the way that good art should. The Nearness of You (Hoagy Carmichael, Ned Washington) Cover by Sitti. I am sure you will be touched by the sincerity of Sitti’s rendition
Please allow me to provide a few highlights taken from my almost four decades of playful and calculated abstract practice. I made my first abstract painting in the early 1990s and during the late 1990s I had found a few buyers who kept me creating more “jazz”. One cannot easily rely on selling art as your main income stream, because the market is capricious and I fortunately, I had a job as an art teacher for about three decades to cater for my daily needs. However, creating art fulltime is a dream most creatives desire and so did I. Now I am almost wading into the inevitable deeper waters of retirement, and it is time to activate that dream fully - at last.
When one exhibits one’s abstract creations the public may regard the work with strange looks and comments from time to time, which can be very humorous too. In 1997 I was exhibiting my abstract work at an art in the park occasion, and I was slightly hidden from public view behind an umbrella which shielded me from the harsh sun. Two upper class ladies came towards my works, and they were unaware of the fact that I could hear every word they were saying. One lady turned to the other and said to the other with a measure of disgust or irritation, “It must be wonderful to be able to take a brush, make a few swoops and you get away with it”. I could not help but laugh and this little incident is one of my art gems I enjoy recounting to friends.
Now I am thinking of one of the most beautiful abstract works that I saw for the first time in 1983, in a book someone gave me as a gift. It is a work called, Creating painless light, by Roberto Matta. This work is one of my all-time favourite abstract creations. I think this work left a lasting impression on my subconscious, because years later I started producing works which contained a similar over-populated picture plane abuzz with bulbous detail.
Enjoy spotting similarities between our styles. About five years ago I became conscious of this possible link between us. It is a common phenomenon in the artists’ arena, because what we observe we somehow digest and present in a different manner at a later stage. To be honest, we are never truly original because our observer stance is fed by the world we live in.
Allow me the privilege to tell you about a few highlights of my abstract art career. In the late 1990s I exported three large abstract painting on canvas (1,2m x 2,4m) to Germany and Korea respectively. Once these painting were dry, I rolled them and I placed them into a PVC-pipe for their flights to their new homes. It usually took about three months for the oil paint to dry before I could roll the works.
In 2017, when I was teaching in China, I had the privilege to exhibit with a Chinese professor. We called our exhibition Abstract Order. He made black and white works, and I made colourful linear works which were inspired by the busyness of the city where I stayed. I am including the link for your viewing pleasure. XIAODONG and PIETER'S TALK - P. A. Pienaar 2021
I think it is time to conclude this post and to put all my ideas in the suitcase again for another day. Let me say more about to the suitcase in the title. During my stay in China, the manufacturing location of the world, I had much fun printing my abstract art on a few clothing items. Being a nomad creative observer, creating little curio items for friends and family became a delight of mine. I could put these into my suitcase and fly home; it resembled my own shop or a little miniature gallery in transit; I want to believe.
I trust that I have succeeded in explaining a few of the abstract issues that I had on my heart and that you may feel a little more positive about the random items floating inside the frames of abstract works, or perhaps all of my effort does not apply to you because you have always been a jazz-loving-ardent-abstract-devotee. Regardless of the verdict, let me conclude with: Remember, there is art in your heart.
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