Category Archives: From the studio

A Dialog…

Mazza_CHJen Mazza: (A Dialogue of Three Disciplines)
hi Richard,

I was just finishing Joselit’s piece and found it funny/interesting that many of the things he talks about are things I have picked out from other readings. Like this quote by Hito Steyerl, which refers to her medium and documentary film, but resonates with my concerns about painting:

But let me make one thing very clear: to engage in the language of things in the realm of the documentary form is not equivalent to using realist forms in representing them. It is not about representation at all, but about actualising whatever the things have to say in the present.  read more…

Painting = Machine

Blow-Up_(no._1)_2013_oil_on_canvas_36_x_47_inches

I think all of the ways of being affected by an artwork are valid and interesting, but my question centered around what it was I wanted my own work to do. I feel it likely that I stick to painting because I enjoy the physicality of it, the goo aspect. The way the goo makes the image come over on you, not just retinally, but with the complicity of the eye it works directly on the body to engage many more senses than the one. I decided that in fact, it did not matter to me so much what a painting looked like, but what it did.  read more…

 

Blue Vase

Mazza_OpenLetter_022

“The trick of the eye, a painting, a spectator and the painter is trying to make her spectator see something.  The spectator is fascinated with what she is seeing and she finds something wrong in the painting.  This of what isn’t apparent fascinates her and so she looks on some more…” Chennie Huang – read more

Second Avenue

From Second Ave:

What spanking opossums of sneaks are caressing the routes!
and of the pulse-racked tremors attached to my viscousness
I can only enumerate the somber instances of wetness.

Is it a triumph? and are the lightnings of movedness
and abysmal elevation cantankerous filaments
of a largwer faint-heartedness like loving summer? You,
accpeting always the poisonous stink of the spine,
its golden efflorescence of nature which is distrustful,
how is one borne to this caprice of a lashing betrayal
whose jewel-like occasion has the clarity of blossoming trees?
is it not the deepest glitterings of love whe the head
is turned off, glancing over a starnger’s moonlike hatred
and finding an animal kingdom of jealousy in parachutes
descending upon the highway which you are not speeding down?
It is this silence which returns you to the open fields
of blandest red honey where the snake waits, his warm tongue.
Dice! into the lunp and crush of archness and token angels
you burn your secret preferments and ancient streaming,

as a gasp of laughter at desire, and disorder, and dying.

Paperbacks

“In America such items were disparagingly referred to as “previously owned”; but this very continuity of ownership was part of their charm. A book dispensed its explanation of the world to one person, then another, and so on down the generations; different hands held the same book and drew sometimes the same, sometimes a different wisdom from it. Continue reading

The first time…

“We know that under the revealed image there is another that is more faithful to reality, and beneath this still another, and again another under this last. And on up of that true image of that absolute, mysterious reality that nobody will ever see. Or perhaps to the point at which every image, every reality, decomposes.”  Michelangelo Antonioni

The following two paintings of book pages are from “That bowling alley on the Tiber” – a collection of 33 “sketches” for films Antonioni never made.

from “Toward the frontier”
“She’s in trouble,” she says, serious. She has a face I never tire of looking at. Everything in her is to be looked at. The one thought that might take her away from where she is, that is, from my gaze, is unbearable. That’s why I start when (after a half hour) she gets up. “Let’s be going,” she says…”


from “Two telegrams”
“The first time I saw her she was simply a woman stopped at a gas station. Gas stations have a large number of shiny surfaces. Whenever the woman found herself reflected in them, she was startled. She looked around as though she were frightened…”