Motherwell, Part 3

Ah, the last of my art classes this Fall. A month of Mark Rothko followed by a month of Robert Motherwell. I am now moderately educated about the mid-century Abstract Expressionist art movement, although my skills with a paintbrush need work. Tonight is the last class. Is my personal Renaissance over? After tonight's failure, maybe.

In his 50's and 60's, Motherwell painted his Open series. These appeal to me in their simplicity and depth of color. The color is broken by sparse, contrasting, angular lines.

Open No. 156. Robert Motherwell, 1970.

Premonition Open. Robert Motherwell, 1974.

Untitled (Ultramarine and Ochre) Open. Robert Motherwell, 1973.

Teacher explained that Motherwell was likely influenced by the open windows Matisse painted. Artists are almost always influenced by the styles of other artists.

Open Window, Collioure. Henri Matisse, 1905.

Now we were instructed to begin with automatic drawing, as we had done for the prior 3 classes. I chose a blue pencil for this. Then we were told to wash our canvas with color - translucent color.  I mixed green to cover my blue pencil scratches.

Blue and yellow make green.

My canvas with blue pencil sketching and green wash.

 Then we were told to be motivated by an open window. We were to keep color and balance in mind as we worked. I could not really get the feel for my project tonight. It evolved every 20 minutes, without real focus.

Didn't like the window. Added the fat black border.

Added thinner lines to draw the eye down from the ugly window.

Blacked out the window entirely.

I was sad on my final night of class that I just couldn't get into it. Last week was such a good time; this week felt like work.  When I flipped the canvas upside down for perspective, I saw the Star of Bethlehem and a black stable. I asked Teacher if I should paint a little Baby Jesus in the darkness. He said, "Motherwell's Open series is about depth and simplicity. There is nothing simple about Baby Jesus, so NO."

I decided the only part of my work I liked was the texture of the brush on the canvas, and the contrast of dark on light. I may take a scissors to it and end up with just the window itself.

A classmate, the guy who owned the shoe store, was really into it. His work didn't move me, but neither did my own so that's not saying much.

After class, I texted Jo a picture of my newest piece. She asked me if I was hanging my paintings throughout my house. "NO, are you kidding?" I said. "Half of them are already in the trash."

"That's too bad," she offered. "It would have been fun to give them to people as Christmas gifts and see their looks of horror when they opened them."

Nice, Jo. Real nice. Maybe SHE will be the recipient of them ALL!