(Conversation between , Victoria Chapman and Los Angeles based artist, Shane Guffogg continues)
“Color is a power that directly influences the soul.” – Wassily Kandinsky
VC: Have you ever thought about who created the first abstract painting and why? To me, abstract painting represents something cerebral. The colors often portray a significant role, which then guide our emotions to think or feel a certain way. In some cases, there is an interweaving of borders that are made of divisions of colors or shades of non-color. It can be a type of landscape waiting to be discovered or a junction willing to begin a new path. I often wonder, how does this come about? I asked Shane and he answered me by explaining,
Shane Guffogg: “Wassily Kandinsky was known to be the first abstract painter, If you really think about what abstraction is and break down the word abstraction, it means, something pulled or drawn away. That is exactly what J.M.W. Turner (1775- 1851), did; he abstracted moments in time.”
VC: I thought more about this and decided to do some research. I found that Turner’s use of color in his paintings was innovative and emotional. Paintings like, Light and Color (Goethe’s Theory), The Morning after the Deluge – Moses Writing the Book of Genesis (1843), moved away from what the public was typically seeing in art. At that time, the European art world consisted of paintings that were representational. The Royal Academy in London asked Turner to provide an explanation for his painting Light and Color. He replied “Red, blue, and yellow,” and cited Goethe’s Theory on the plus and minus colors which he read in Eastlake’s 1840 translation. Turner did not oppose naturalism, but he did seem to move toward abstraction. A shift was taking place and the artist was seeing color differently, which was reflected in his landscapes. The beauty of the internet is that one can type in an artist’s name and year and start to see the pattern or transition that took place, which is clear in Turner’s work during this period.
J.M.W. Turner, Light and Colour (Goethe's Theory) – The Morning after the Deluge – Moses Writing the Book of Genesis, oil on canvas, 30 x 30", 1843
V.C: Shane, your paintings have a similar effect where the color invites the viewer into the abstract composition. I think this is where the artist uses the language of color to convey a narrative that can be mood-driven. I am reminded from my studies that the “plus” colors of yellow, and red-yellow bring about an optimistic feeling, while the “minus” colors like blue, or shades of gray (blue-gray or purple-gray, for example), bring about melancholy feelings. Like most of Turner’s contemporaries, yellow was associated with the sun and other energy sources. I think it is safe to say while creating his new works, Turner kept key elements of the past but initiated new ideas on what colors can do emotionally. For instance, he was known for strategically placing colored dots into his compositions. Toward the end of his career, I read that Turner lectured at the Royal Academy sharing Goethe’s color theories.
I am wondering if Turner’s work has any influence on your painting? I imagine it may have, especially when looking at your early works like Untitled #40 (1991), oil on canvas. It seems to have an intuitive quality as though you were having a dialogue with Turner. Also, the way you used yellow reminded me of Turner’s painting, Light and Color. When you began painting a great deal of your works were or referenced realism. When did you catch the abstract bug? (I ask that in a similar way actors talk about catching the ‘acting bug’.) Did Turner’s use of color and how he developed his compositions aide you in the transition?
Shane Guffogg, Untitled #40, oil on canvas, 16 x 12", 1991
Shane Guffogg: As per your inquiry about the "abstract bug" I really think it was after seeing images of Kandinsky for the first time. But it took a few years for the bug to find its home within my daily painting practice.
Turner has had a big influence on me. I first became aware of his paintings and techniques in college. I remember clearly, sitting in the class looking at the images of his work that was being projected on the screen and the teacher talking about his glazing techniques. What struck me was that he wasn't painting an actual thing so much as creating a sensation of the places or events he was painting. Every museum I visited thereafter I would search out the Turners in the collection. I was fortunate enough to see a retrospective of his work in New York at the Met in 2008. I was already deep into my glazing process by the early 1990s, but seeing his entire body of work was an affirmation of my pursuit of making the abstract into a new form of realism.
Turner painted light and recreated atmosphere through his glazes. As I have stated in the past, when we look through the air at something in the distance, the colors change because of the atmosphere. Glazing replicates that. But Turner also depicted memories that get stored away deep in the subconscious. Often his images, especially his late works, are like a coded image that needs to be decoded as it reaches or consciousness, which is where the viewer comes into play. The twisting energy of the storm clouds or the burning light of the sun are not real depictions. They are images that resonate on a primordial level and I think that is what is so amazing about his paintings. He would also go back into the surfaces and using his palette knife, make a mark of paint that is meant, for instance, as a reflection of light on the water. And that thick slash of paint is swimming in a lake of thin glazes made up of faint blues and yellows. It all adds up to an abstract moment that bridges our senses with our own memories.”
J.M.W.Turner, Slaves Throwing overboard the Dead and Dying - Typhon Coming On ('Slave Ship'), oil on canvas, 36 x 40", 1840. (one of the paintings on view from the Metropolitan Museum, New York exhibition 2008).
Shane Guffogg, Untitled #45, (diptych), acrylic and oil on canvas, 14 x 20, 1992
VC: Wow, your approach is really fascinating and as you know, this natural flow of experimentation with color progressed with several artists, leading to the beginning of Impressionism. I have heard you speak of Monet on a number of occasions. What is it about Claude Monet’s (1840 - 1926) water lily paintings, (approximately 250 paintings in the series, from 1897 - 1922) and his use of color that fascinates you? I know from our talks whenever you have the opportunity to visit Paris, you always make a point to see the two rooms of the water lilies at L'Orangerie Museum. I read the exhibition opened a few months after his death in 1927. In 1999, the museum did a special exhibition of displaying sixty of these works from around the world.
Shane Guffogg: Monet! Imagine, it is the end of the 19thcentury and he is hitting 60 and feels the need to break away from what he is known for and delve into paint for paint's sake. He forgoes the horizon line in his earlier works and replaces it with reflections of the sky and trees that are surrounding his pond. I read that he had a panic in 1905, or thereabout, as he was preparing for an exhibition of his new, medium-sized water lily canvases. The idea that there was no horizon line in this new work made him wonder if what he was doing was good, bad or just plain crazy. In his panic-stricken state, he destroyed some 40 plus paintings and his exhibition had to be delayed for another couple of years. It is easy for us to look back at his work and say, yes, he was in the flow of life and making masterpieces, but hindsight is always 20-20.
When I first saw the two oval rooms in Paris of his long, monumental sized water lilies, honestly, as I walked in, it took my breath away. I had to wait for a moment to be able to fully appreciate what I was witnessing. The paintings, the space, were all transcendental and I was transported into another state of mind. I know he built a special studio to make those paintings and worked for many years on them. The paint that lies on the surface, layer upon layer, show that and more. The violets that he puts next to a cadmium yellow pop and the imprint of his brush is captured in the dense paint. When you stand close to these works the illusion of his subject disappears and the physical reality of how he made the paintings, dabbing on thick globs of paint, take over. These colors then float on top of the blues and greens of the water. The paintings are so pure and of course, the ab-ex painters, starting in the late 1930s, thought the same thing. Rothko's colors float over one another like the lilies float on the water and de Kooning's early abstractions of gestural marks are made with thick paint. Monet's late paintings and his use of direct and at times, forceful brushstrokes and pure colors opened the door for the abstract expressionist movement. The way that he painted two realities, the body of water and the reflections on the water, found its way into my work beginning in the mid to late 90s. I liked the idea of seeing two moments simultaneously and I began exploring that with the Stills series. With those paintings, I returned to the ribbon motif after leaving it behind for more abstract paintings of patterns but returned to it as an image that would now exist under the patterns, creating a duality very similar to the way Monet was painting reflections on the water.
As an artist, the thought of making your best work in your twilight years is inspiring. I always tell myself, the next painting I make maybe my best. And that keeps me returning back, day after day. Monet did just that, and what he created at the end of his life set the stage for the 20thcentury of art. Was he aware that his late works would have such an impact? Based on what I have read, no. He was full of doubt and often thought his life was a failure. But I think that freed him up to take huge risks with color. The final paintings of the bridge over his pond are a summation of his life as an observer of light and color, which translates to an emotional purity that is without time.
One of the many panels of Monet water lily at Musee de l'Orangerie
Shane Guffogg, Stills #14, oil on linen, 24 x 18" 1997
VC: I am so inspired by what you just said, it makes me want to jump on a plane and go to Paris to visit these marvelous works and see the color and texture myself.
As I continue my studies into color theory and the abstract picture field, it would not be complete without revisiting the Futurist Movement. I found that Umberto Boccioni (1882 - 1916), and works like Dynamism of a Soccer Player (1913), and Giacomo Balla’s (1871 - 1958), Girl Running on a Balcony (1912), are in some part a kinesthetic study that recalls peripheral vision. This was also achieved via color and composition. When I first looked at your Still Point paintings, I didn’t understand the type of feeling that would come over me; I had a push-pull like sensation. By studying these two Futurist works, my feelings started to make sense. The art not only begins but also continues outside the picture plane, which is exactly what your Still Point paintings do. I am guessing this is done by contrasting colors combined with the recurring movement? In your case, your physicality marks a journey that multiplies over and over again, becoming part of, and ultimately is the composition.
As you may have over 200 layers of paint with these patterns of color and repetitive movement, it takes the viewer with you, fluttering between order and chaos. The composition has a story – you capture it in motion. This can sometimes be an overload for the senses. When I am in the studio viewing these types of works on a large scale, I sometimes feel a bit off-keel: it’s a sink or swim for me, and I always swim through them paddling across the composition into the next dimension. What are your thoughts about my observation? I am wondering if this is all played out ahead of time, and like a skilled Tai Chi master, you know exactly what you are doing?
Giacomo Balla, Girl Running on a Balcony, oil on canvas, 49.21 x 49.21", 1912
Shane Guffogg, At the Still Point of the Turning World - The Black Cloud Carries the Sun Away, oil on canvas, 86.6 x 78.75" 2019
Umberto Boccioni, Dynamism of a Soccer Player, oil on canvas, 6'4 1/4 x 6'7 1/8, 1913
Shane Guffogg: You are very astute! What I am doing is all of that but I am doing it intuitively. I learned many years ago to trust my instincts and do what I am being called to do, and figure out what that is, after the fact. The idea of order and chaos, the dualistic nature that is balance, has always been a fascination of mine. I have read many books on the subject that range from ancient religious texts from different parts of the world to contemporary scientific theories. The colors I choose in the Still Points helps to create those sensations you are talking about. Putting a red over a neutral grey makes the red jump off the canvas and into the viewer's psychological space. It also creates movement out of stillness.
The Still Point series works on so many different levels for me. As I use different colors, I keep discovering new things about how we see. The layers of colors are like peeling an onion but in reverse. The more layers I apply, the deeper I go into my memory with certain color combinations unlocking moments from my past. As an example, it may be the way the sun was setting when I was a boy and the emotions that go along with what I was to be doing, for example.
Another thing I do with these Still Point paintings is to interpret the way a camera lens records a moment. By that I mean, I create an out of focus event effect by applying the first few layers of lines with a wide brush and work into wet paint, then blend the line with the background color. As I build up the lines, session after session that goes into months, the lines become more precise, more in focus. That way I can guide the viewer into the painting. But, as you point out, once inside the lines, there is a confrontation between chaos and order and you, the viewer are holding it all together.
Shane Guffogg, At the Still Point of the Turning World, Time Present and Time Past, oil on canvas, 58 x 48", 2016
VC: This has been fascinating listening to you speak about color. Another area I am curious about is Pablo Picasso’s, (1881 - 1973), Blue Period (1901 - 1904), which to me represents a type of psychology as well as color. I am intrigued by your Sapere Aude series and after studying Picasso’s work during this time, I think there is something similar going on. Through my studies, I found that Sapere Aude, stems from the Latin phrase, dare to know or dare to be wise or even dare to know yourself. It was first thought to be used in Horace’s Book of Letters (20 BCE) and later became an expression during the Age of Enlightenment (18thcentury), used by Immanuel Kant after his essay, Answering the Question: What is Enlightenment? (1784). Kant wrote this,
“Enlightenment is man's emergence from his self-imposed immaturity. Immaturity is the inability to use one's understanding without guidance from another. ... [dare to know] ‘Have courage to use your own understanding!’ — that is the motto of enlightenment.”
I am so moved by this phrase. Let me revisit Picasso’s Blue Period to make my case. Coincidentally, your Sapere Aude paintings have been mostly of a blue palette with some introduction of flesh tones. This connection for me is that the color touches on the human experience through an intellectual level. I also believe it is a step forward in the same direction as Picasso, whose work revealed the evolution of the human psyche during a time of massive change. From an analytical point of view, your quote of saying you are a realist painter and abstraction is your subject, is always ruminating in my mind to try and understand it to its fullest. It’s kind of like a math equation. With every painting I see of yours, I want to understand it deeper, because somewhere within your work lies realism embedded within the abstract painting. With this claim, I am wondering if the composition and color components are also exploring other subjects that are engaging in a conversation you are having with artists of the past?
Shane Guffogg, Sapere Aude #12, oil on canvas, 84 x 60", 2019
Shane Guffogg: Yes, I think of painting as an ongoing conversation between artists throughout history starting with cave paintings. We are all trying to make sense of our world, commune with the invisible and bring the spirit world into focus to see, and then experience.
VC: Picasso’s Blue Period featured images of destitute individuals, making known their misery and despair. The artist did this by painting in cool tones of blue to capture the necessary emotion. As well as painting his friends and other subjects he also painted himself in the same manner to commiserate the suffering he felt. Art Critics of the time remarked Picasso’s color techniques as abnormal, but his luminosity to be correct. What followed was his Rose Period (1904-1906), where the artist introduced soft pinks, reds, greens, and tones of blue. I read that this shift in colors was because Picasso finally started to experience some success in his art career and personal life. I wonder what the truth is?
Picasso’s close friend Jaime Sabartes, said this about the artist,
“Picasso believed Art to be the son of sadness and suffering … that sadness lent itself to meditation and that suffering was fundamental to life … if we demand sincerity of an artist, we must remember that sincerity is not to be found outside the realm of grief.”
As a colorist, why do you think Picasso’s paintings are so moving on an emotional level?
Pablo Picasso, Melancholy Woman, oil on canvas, 39 x 27.1", 1902-1903
Shane Guffogg: I read the first two volumes on Picasso written by John Richardson when they were published. Picasso was gifted from a very early age, but then again his father taught art at a local college and Picasso was groomed to be a painter from a young boy. As most teenagers do, they push back, rebel, and try to carve out their own place in the world, which is what Picasso did. The Blue Period was, in my opinion, his first original works of art. There were a lot of factors playing into those paintings via his life at the time. He was poor, trying desperately to get people to buy his paintings or find an art dealer to sell them. He was a small man but had a giant ego that filled a room. For me, when I look at his Blue Period paintings, of which there is a great one at LACMA, they are a road out of the history he was handed. I don't see them as melancholy so much as a new way to look into a picture frame. He was on his way to rejecting the traditional Renaissance illusionary window, which culminated with his cubist works. In the LACMA painting, the man is centered, staring back at us, while his female companion is to his right and is painted into a corner, which we see behind her. His face is realistic. Hers is more stylized. The scene is that of a Parisian Cafe, with a white marble table and a pitcher of water. But there is only one glass, meaning the woman is most likely for hire, which I think is what the red flower in her hair suggests. The scene is in a dimly lit bar – the light is blue, but the red flower in her hair explodes visually against the blue. That is my clue about what he was doing. Blue was an emotional vehicle, yes, but also a realistic representation of his nightlife in Paris with his newly found artist and poet friends.
His early years in Paris reads similar to the Buddha story – he had lived this idyllic life and leaves the protection of his family to seek out what he feels is rightfully his. He (Picasso) encounters people that are suffering, poor, diseased, prostitutes, homelessness, and as an artist, he felt compelled to really see what was in front of him and document it. I read years ago that he used blue because it was the cheapest color to buy. I don't buy that, no pun intended. The paintings are lathered with deep blues, thick as if he was squeezing tube after tube to build up physical, tactile surfaces instead of a flat surface, which is about an illusion. His thick surfaces were their own reality. And that is not cheap to do in terms of using paint. Like most artists, they make a painting and like what they see, so they try their hand at another painting using the same colors and techniques. It doesn't take long to have a series. Hence, the Blue Period.
Pablo Picasso, Portait of Sebastia Juner Vidal, oil on canvas, 49 3/4 x 37", 1903
VC: You still may be asking, so what does this have to do with your Sapere Aude paintings in relation to Picasso’s Blue Period? I think it is your use of color. Because if you made these paintings in pink I don’t think I would feel the same implication: to reflect about a higher purpose. The way I understand these paintings and please correct me if I am wrong, is you have introduced flesh tones to overall blue composition, symbolizing the human figure or human-ness through a subconscious lense. I think your use of color is very successful as it grants contemplation!
Pablo Picasso, La Vie (The Life), oil on canvas, 77 x 50", 1903
Shane Guffogg: Thank you for your observations and I appreciate your insight. With the Sapere Aude paintings, I am painting flesh, or what I think of as flesh. I am not so interested to paint a person doing what a person might do. I am interested in the fragments of memory that are floating around in my mind and tapping into them to use in another setting. The blue is a combination of blues, but primarily cobalt and ultramarine French blue. The different shades give me the ability to create different volumes of space. The flesh is floating within that space, twisting and turning, touching, retracting, moving away and being pulled back as if by gravity. It is a moment of truth for me that has been frozen for eternity for us to witness. I am saying to the viewer, this is my truth, suspended in blue, which is like a deep ocean. The ocean is the unconscious, the flesh is the subconscious and the viewer is the consciousness. I think Picasso's Blue Period paintings work in a similar way. Blue is a retracting color and allows us into the picture. Picasso is inviting us into his world as a young artist. We are not only seeing, but we are also feeling what he was feeling.
Shane Guffogg, Sapere Aude #8, oil on canvas, 84 x 60", 2017-2018
VC: This brings a close to Part 3 and we have not even fully begun to understand color based on Matisse’s work. In Part 4 we continue with Matisse onward to Jackson Pollock, Willem de Kooning, Mark Rothko, Gerard Richter, and how each artist has made major achievements into color and how we understand painting today. I am keen to continue this dialogue with Shane as much of his work, if not fully seen in his painting, has some sort of personal acknowledgment to each one of these artists.
Stay tuned for Part 4
Victoria Chapman
Studio Manager