During the first few weeks of a fine art course the one material that is nearly always supplied for people to work on is cartridge paper. The fact that it's called cartridge paper because it used to be used to make cylinders or cones containing both the bullet and its gunpowder is though nearly always forgotten.
A paper cartridge
History and the fact that everything ages are stories that can be woven around all materials and paper is so central to the production of art that it's worthwhile considering some of these narratives in more depth. If you go to the 'see also' list at the bottom of this post you will find links to stories already told about paper in this blog, but there are many more.
There will be times when you need to either repair an old drawing or be in a position whereby someone wants to buy a drawing and wants to be reassured that you have thought about conservation issues. On the other hand it may be that you want to work with papers as building materials and want to make sure that all the materials you use will last and be compatible. If you need to ensure that your papers are of the highest quality just make sure that you get your paper from a reputable manufacturer or art supplier such as Atlantis, Lawrence, Strathmore, Canson, Arches or Fabriano etc. however you may not want to use expensive acid free papers, you may want to make your own, embed found papers into your work or use the fact that some papers are acidic and easily light damaged as a specific quality that is used as part of your idea. Paper is a material that is easily effected by dampness, acidity, dirt, insects or fungi and can have a very short life span and if you don't have to worry about conservation issues, you can work with a cheap paper's propensity to be easily effected by the changing world and build in an acceptance that your work will change over the years.
Daniele Del Nero: After Effects
Daniele Del Nero uses the mould that grows on paper to give life to the miniature models he makes out of it. He uses damp paper's susceptibility to mould as a central aspect of his working process.
In many ways we are foolish in thinking that we can hold back time and I strongly believe that artworks are for the moment, Del Nero's work bridges both these aspects, on the one hand he doesn't try to hold back time and yet on the other hand his work suggests the long unfolding of time, in that his models work like a speeded up film of a full sized world. However some think that art is eternal, that old quote 'ars longa, vita brevis' suggests that art is long-lasting and life is brief. Perhaps as usual it is in the dialogue between these two standpoints that interesting things emerge. If you look closely at the image at the top of this post the classical head drawing is surrounded by mould spots, that look like a constellation of fungal stars. These signs of ageing add a second layer of meaning to the drawing's attempt to attach itself to classical values. The age spots verify the age of the paper and therefore enhance the drawing's associations with an ancient culture. The fact it is old gives the drawing a certain gravitas or worth. I'm reminded of the difference between icon paintings as used in Russian orthodox Christian ceremonies and the mud sculptures used in Indian Durga Puja ceremonies. In the case of the icons, they are often encrusted in gold leaf, and have semi-precious stones embedded within them and are treasured as doorways into an eternal religious experience, many of them are hundreds of years old, their value as spiritual guides related to their centuries of use, as well as the fact that their value in terms of materials used in their making, reflects their owners' awareness of a link between spiritual value and material cost. In contrast the Indian Durga Puja ceremonies have short lived statues of the Goddess Durga at their centre. These statues are made each year especially for the ceremony and use local materials, often from examples of earth taken from various local sites and once the ceremony is over the sculptures are put into the river Ganges and they dissolve back into the world they came from. Both objects are central to people's religious experience, but one is valued more and more as time unfolds and the other has a very limited use, the Goddess only 'inhabiting' her statue during the period of the Puja ceremony.
A statue of the Goddess Durga being pushed out into the Ganges
Spiritual value can be earned over long periods of use within a religious context or it can be something that only enters into the situation at special heightened moments of ritual and both these situations can be seen to affect the way we might work with a material.
Whether or not you are using paper at its archival best, or full of acids that will act to destabilise it and make it fall apart after a few years, a deep knowledge of the processes involved can be very useful.
Sometimes you will want to engage with your paper in such a way that you want to ensure its integrity and if this is the case then you might need to think about your work from a paper conservationist's viewpoint. For instance, sometimes I tear or rip my paper and then later I want to repair it. I often use Document repair tape or transparent mending tissue for this. These are readily available from suppliers of paper conservation materials as are glues that are also designed to be used in conservation.
Acid free PVA
You might not think that glue is very important, but if you are working using various collage materials it will be vital. I have some collages that I made over 50 years ago and they have deteriorated considerably by now. The big issue with papers is acidity, for instance in an earlier post on Oak Gall ink I pointed out that some drawings and early documents written in this ink are now falling apart, because the ink is acidic, over time it will gradually corrode through a paper's surface. Sometimes you will need to use paper pulp to repair holes in your paper, this can also be supplied by specialist suppliers for the conservation industry. Once again what is initially used for one purpose can easily be used for another. Try drawing directly with the pulp, first of all to add texture to the paper surface, gradually as you get more used to it, you can dye the pulp different colours and employ it as an image making material in its own right.
David Hockney: Paper pool 6: Coloured and pressed paper pulp
Conservationists use a wide variety of tools, many of which can be put to use by inventive artists. For instance, specialist dry sponges such as 'smoke sponges' made of either vulcanised or natural rubber, will effectively remove soot and smoke damage from papers but can also be used in conjunction with fumage techniques to make very interesting drawings.
Antti Keitilä: Fumage drawing
Some conservation specialists have ranges of tools that you cannot get elsewhere. For instance the American company Talas supplies a wide range of brass tools designed to work with paper, that you won't find anywhere else. They are though very expensive and you would need items shipping. Even so the idea of exploring the possibilities specialist tools open out for you is a powerful one and it ties in very neatly with media specificity. Every tool that is new to you as an artist opens out the imagination and takes you places you have never been before.
A Japanese push drill for cutting round holes in paper
A punch set for punching holes or embossing circular forms
Sometimes tools made to do other jobs, can be repurposed. The process of getting to know paper and what it is capable of is one that could take a lifetime and become a way of earning money as well as a way of making art.
Jihyun Park: Using burning incense sticks to burn holes into rice paper
Jihyun Park
Just as with an icon, that becomes more powerful the longer it has been operating as a religious artefact, layers of meaning can build up around any object if there is a long term engagement with it. It is as if bits of the human lives that it touches rub off and become integrated into its fabric. Paper conservation also adds layers of meaning into the materials you are working with. The more an old sheet of paper is repaired and holes in it filled, over the years it develops a patina of use that becomes meaningful and the further away from its original use the more it seems to develop another meaning due to a nostalgia for lost uses. The old ledger papers below reflect the rise of computer technology, spreadsheets having replaced ledgers in most parts of the world.
Old hand made papers
Edward Allington used old ledgers to draw on and the combination of a drawing style based around cross hatched pen and ink drawings and the old ledgers made for fascinating images, their subject matter suggesting questions about the status of Classical art within a modern context and the role of history in our lives.
Edward Allington
Like everything else the more you research it the more interesting it gets.
Of course if you are to repair papers you also need to know how they are made. For 500 years European paper makers could only produce Laid papers. This was a process whereby the papermaker would dip a mould into a vat containing diluted pulp of hemp or linen fibres, then lift it out, tilt it to spread the pulp evenly over the sieve and as the water drained out between the wires, shake the mould to lock the fibres together. In the process, the pattern of the wires in the sieve was imparted to the sheet of paper and the wet paper was then 'laid' down on a sheet of thick cloth or felt to dry. Many artist's papers are still made in this way. In 1757 John Baskerville the printer began to use a new kind of paper, called Wove (known in Europe as Vélin). This paper is smoother because the mesh that the paper is strained over was 'woven' thus creating a much finer surface for the paper to sit on; one that could also work with shorter fibres, a fact that allowed for even finer papers to be manufactured. James Whatman's name, the man who invented the process, still survives in the name of the company that produces industrial filter papers. With the establishment of the papermachine (1807), the manufacture of paper on a wove wire base became the norm. Key to this process was the introduction of the Fourdrinier Machine, which uses a moving woven mesh to create a continuous paper web by filtering out the fibres held in a paper stock and producing a continuously moving wet mat of fibre. This is dried in the machine to produce a strong paper web, and today more than 99% of the world's paper is made in this way.
You can however reverse engineer the process. If you tear sheets of paper up, soak the results overnight and put the soft torn fragments in a blender with plenty of water, you can reduce the sheets back into paper pulp and with pulp and paper sheet combinations you can just about shape any forms you like and when dry they can be coloured. Adam Frezza and Terri Chiao are just two of a wide range of artists that have built practices around the possibilities inherent in paper as a construction material. For LAU students if you want to try it out, the ceramics technicians have all the equipment you need as well as sheets of wood pulp that you can add into any paper mix to get a blend that is perfect for your needs. For anyone else there are lots of videos on YouTube about how to make your own paper and you don't need to invest in frames if you just want to start by using paper pulp to make things.
Adam Frezza and Terri Chiao
However it could be that you approach paper from a very different angle, that of its position within a performance or action. In an earlier post on the languages of paper I pointed out that in certain prisons paper becomes central to an underground communication process. Within the average 6′ by 8′ cell with its toilet and two bunks, paper is one thing that is thin enough not to take up room and it can be used in a variety of ways. Prisoners have access to books and magazines, writing and drawing paper, legal paperwork, letters and toilet paper. What most prisoners do with all those paper things , besides reading and writing , is make other things. Some of these items, like kites (messages, see earlier post) and crafts, (the prison paper mâchè recipe is toilet paper and water: wetted, moulded, dried and wetted again), are mostly benign, but some, like the paper or cardboard knife are a threat to the safety of the prison. The act of creation is empowering and gives prisoners some measure of control over their strictly monitored lives. Yet even the unaltered paper object can hold power, such as the information and ideas found in books and magazines. All prisoners have access to a library, and there exists another, perhaps busier, underground lending library: books and magazines are passed around and letters shared, porn is bartered, and original pencil drawings are swapped for cigarettes. And so an environment of oppression becomes the mother of invention. With nothing but time on their hands, prisoners find ways to communicate, play, trade and fight each other and the system with altered paper, often in ingenious ways. A New York Times report found that the narcotic Suboxone was getting into prisons using paper. Pills are crushed and then mixed into a paste and then very inventive ways are used to get the Suboxone into or onto papers. For instance in one case it was spread across the page of a child’s colouring book, its yellow stain then coloured over with crayon. Prison social worker Edward Matthews had this to say about the situation, “paper absorbs drugs like a lover’s perfume..." Paper in this case is a central performer in a powerful drama and as an artist this might be a very useful direction to take an idea into, especially if you felt the more traditional methods of working with paper were getting stale. I'm sure many of you have your own stories about paper and stories have a way of making themselves visible.
Greig Burgoyne has used paper several times in his performances and it is interesting to see how he builds a very personal relationship with his materials as the performances develop.
Greig Burgoyne
As well as making art in a variety of ways with paper, there are of course jobs in this area and it could be that an interest in paper conservation could lead to a career that you had not thought about before. If you are interested in this area, look out for paper and photograph conservation technician traineeships, which are often associated with big national museum collections.
I remember first coming across Matthew Barney as a performance artist. He seemed to be pitting his body against the art spaces he found himself in. He was climbing walls, trying to get into inaccessible spaces, jumping, running and variously challenging us in his exhibitions to think about the athleticism of a human body in action, rather than providing static works for the traditional contemplative spaces that art galleries were thought of being. These actions in gallery spaces were titled 'Drawing Restraints' and they followed the implications of something I was writing about recently when thinking about 'curves'. The drawing of a line is when drawn by a hand held implement, a drawing that demonstrates a particular set of restraints. An arm is only so long, a body so flexible, fingers only capable of holding things of a certain size and weight etc. Barney seemed to push at all the boundaries, taking his pervious experience as an athlete who had to test his body to its limits and using this to make us aware that all human made drawings are physical exercises of one sort or another.
Matthew Barney: Drawing Restraints
However he quickly moved on and the next time I came across his work was as a series of films. The Cremaster Cycle was a series of five feature-length films, together with related sculptures, photographs, drawings, and artist's books.
Film stills from 'The Cremaster Cycle'
Cremaster 1
The Cremaster Cycle had materials such as fat or vaseline as a sort of visual glue that was used to hold things into a sort of gooey suspension. As scenes moved from one to another we were reminded of metamorphosis as a very physical transformation. Some of his drawings for the time were embedded in resin, others suggestive of machines becoming organic or people melting into animals as if arriving from ancient myths.
Matthew Barney
Storyboards are central to Barney's practice, however they are not like the ones we normally associate with artists' plans for films. They are images and objects set out in a sequence and then when exhibited they are presented as vitrines filled with specific objects, drawings, books, and photographs. Rather than drawing two-dimensional sequential images of action, he plans his projects via a strategy of building relationships between things. These storyboards are more like collages of visual relationships.
Matthew Barney: Storyboard for a film
Matthew Barney is a very useful artist to explore if you are thinking about how a drawing led practice can unfold into performance, video, sculpture and installation work. Drawings driven by the possibilities of the body, material invention and collage are approaches to practice that in Barney's work morph into each other. Drawing is like life, sometimes we get stuck into the physicality of existence, but at other times we escape from reality into a fantasy world.
Time has always been central to how we engage with drawing. Whether this is to do with the amount of time it takes to make a drawing, the period of time a drawing is a reflection upon, the difference in how time is perceived in looking at a drawing or how historical time impacts on the way we read drawings from different periods of history. Recent performative drawing practices have explored duration as being central to an understanding of the making of drawings. Often pushing duration to exhaustive limits, these artists look at how their bodies can cope with the extremes of drawing conditions. For example Katrina Brown's drawings that are choreographed images resulting from her dance centred preoccupation with movement, or as she puts it, 'Drawing as a durational activity that opens up a time-space'.
Duration minimum 30 minutes – 90 minutes or longer
This is how Katrina Brown describes her drawing 'Unfolding spine':
'A performer moves and draws on the ground with her limbs organised around her bowed spinal axis. She works on her knees low to the horizontal surface, breathing and drawing while retreating backwards over the paper sheet. Her eyes resist following the line that she draws whilst still aiming for each line to be parallel to the previous. She co-ordinates breathing line and drawing line – breath follows line and line follows breath including the turn of breath between in and out. As lining and breathing sync in a real-time working, line is breathed and breath is scored. Lines appear and spread over the surface of the paper on either side of an emerging central track and a kind of flat diagram of the body unfolds. Charcoal as a fragile brittle material punctuates the event and continual rhythmic flow of movement.'
Drawing and breathing are closely connected and in some of my posts on drawing and mindfulness this is reflected upon. Breath is central to an understanding of what it is to be alive, our first breath signifies the moment of arrival into this world and our last breath, the moment that we exit it. We are very aware that the rhythm of our breath is an indicator of the relationship between health and ability to control our breathing. The oldest connection I can point you to is the way that blown drawings were made in Palaeolithic times. Charcoal or another pigment like red clay, was crushed into powder and diluted in water. This was then taken up into the mouth and then blown out as a spray, in a very similar way to how spray painting is done today. Each blown breath becoming a directed spray of spittle mixed watery pigment, its image being in effect a frozen breath.
Palaeolithic stencilled hand images using blown pigment
These Palaeolithic images bring two durational issues together. They are of course very old, made approximately 30,000 years ago. They have endured so long that their origins are obscure and their meanings completely open to interpretation, but the very fact that they are so old impresses upon us meanings about what it is to be what we are as a species and it makes us reflect upon what short time spans our lives have. On the other hand these drawings still reveal the freshness of their making. You can see the spray on the wall and connect with the person making these images. In your mind you can 'see' one of your ancestors spitting paint out onto his or her hands. This physical recording of an action can be read as a durational piece very similar to Katrina Brown's drawing, as it records the time taken for a human to interact with some materials in such a way that the activity leaves traces.
Jordan Mckenzie, in his exhibition ‘Drawing Breath’ made the public on entering the exhibition space, place their hands over his heart. They were meant to feel his breath go in and out. He then filled a small plastic bag with his breath, coated it in charcoal and exploded it in order to leave a trace of this breath on the wall for the duration of the exhibition.
The durational aspect of drawing was essential to Robert Morris's 'Blind Time Drawings'. Morris sets out the instructions for making one of his drawings like so: '‘With eyes closed, graphite on the hands and estimating a lapsed time of 3 minutes, both hands attempt to descend the page with identical touching motions in an effort to keep to an even vertical column of touches."
I have posted on his drawings in much more detail here. Anyone wishing to develop a drawing practice involving duration should look closely at his drawings and then read his instructions, as they are seminal to an understanding of this area of performance drawing. In particular, by removing the drawer's ability to see what they were doing, (most of these drawings were done in total darkness), he was able to reinforce touch as an essential control mechanism in the making of drawings. Time is also very subjective, therefore Morris introduces several ways of thinking about how to measure the duration of actions. For instance by counting. By having a certain number of actions to undertake, the drawing has to be done over an extended amount of time. Also by extension, by having to cover a certain amount of the paper surface, again the drawer is forced to extend the time period in order to achieve the task.
Robert Morris: Blind time XIII 1973
Frank Auerbach
A Frank Auerbach drawing gives us a slightly different insight into drawing and time. This drawing is as much about the long hours of looking at the subject, as about the long hours of making marks and erasing them. The drawing has been erased so many times that it is beginning to fall apart, new sections of paper being added in when the older paper is no longer workable. Just like the Brown and Morris drawings you can see a lot of time has gone into the making of the image, but in this case erasure has covered up previous decisions so it is much harder to ascertain exactly how long this drawing took. But the drawing is also about how to hold on to fleeting perceptions. It is as if Auerbach thinks that if he persists for long enough he will be finally able to capture the un-capturable. Our eyes scan over things, they don't settle on one image, the image we think we see is a product of our mental processing of these fleeting perceptions. Auerbach sets out to see if an image on paper can in effect be arrived at in the same way that our cognitive processes arrive at one. What takes a few thousandths of a second of mental processing is though now taking hour after hour, an exhausting exercise in fruitily, which paradoxically begins to work as it communicates to us about the search for something that is impossible to find. How we as humans deal with this attention to the phenomena of experience is something that many philosophers have engaged with; 'phenomenology' and 'embodied knowledge' being areas of thinking that have made us very aware of how important our physical nature is. If you are interested in these issues a good start would be to read Merleau-Ponty's essay 'Cezanne's Doubt'.
Cezanne
Cezanne remains central to our understanding of the process of making an image from observation, if only because he was so stubborn and awkward in his nature, and in that particularity of character became a stereotype of the artist struggling to visualise what it is to actually 'see' anything. He is the anti-photographer, the opposite of the quick win and the instigator of 'the hard won image' school. He was the man who dragged out time and embedded it back into his work.
William Coldstream
William Coldstream taught a certain approach to drawing at the Slade for many years. This method involved searching for points of measurement across the surface and as you did so your search was recorded by a growing grid like structure of points and lines that both contained the image and became part of it. It was as if the clock ticked very slowly, these images feel as if the air was sucked out of the room as the artist held his breath for that moment of exactness. Cezanne's wavering lines becoming converted into something more controlling, more organised and disciplined. I sometimes think of Coldstream's influence as being military like, his drawings and paintings freezing time, as if we could capture it in a tin.
This approach to drawing was at one time heavily criticised. I have reflected on what was called at the time, 'Giron and fesspoint drawing' or post-coldstream drawing when thinking about past approaches to drawing here at Leeds College of Art; it was argued back then that Coldstream forgot to breathe when he drew and that the 'giron and fess point' method allowed for the movement of the body to be reinserted into the process. In this case 'rhythm' being seen as essential to an understanding of time when reading a static image.
When you look at a drawing you see it all at once. (Of course there are huge drawings that are too big for you to do this but most drawings are human sized) The simultaneity of experiencing a drawing is part of the specific nature of it as an art form. Many art forms are durational, like music, dance or theatre, therefore they tend to often have narratives attached to them. However the simultaneity of a drawing's perception privileges experience over narrative. This heightens a particular type of awareness of time. It is also of course why we can walk through an art gallery in 5 minutes, glancing at each image as we pass and like a tourist at the Louvre being happy to simply have 'been there'. More than one thing is going on at once here and your mind can flit between them. The first is the awareness of one thing being done after another. It is easy to see this if marks are laid on top of each other. You can unpick their order and as you do so, in many ways you are reading the drawing in a similar way to a musician reading a music score. This approach sits theoretically much more easily into the phenomenological or embodied drawing terrain and is closely linked to concepts such as drawings as 'traces' of actions, or recordings of encounters. However the graphic mark can also be thought about in other ways. As an 'inscription' for instance, whereby it is seen as a type of visual expression of a thought. For example we have all looked at the way handwriting differs and it is very easy to slip into ways of interpreting this as being a reflection of the character of the writer, hence the discipline we now call graphology.
Eugen Peter Schwiedland: The Graphometer
In Schwiedlnd's case it was the angle of handwriting that was the most expressive aspect of the marks made, we have all looked at 'cramped' handwriting and thought that this might reflect something of the character of its maker. This graphic trace when transferred to art making was in French art criticism called 'La Patte' or the artist's signature style. The artist's touch or personal style being something that still resonates through certain corridors of the art world, as the search for the unique individual on which to invest money continues. This aspect of the artist's mark is embedded into the rhythm of an image and it is within this visual rhythm that another type of time is revealed. This is one linked to our own inner clock, our heartbeat. We intuitively understand the link between physical exertion and our heartbeat. The faster our heart beats the more exertion we have been involved in and therefore as we recognise a fast scribble of a signature as opposed to a carefully and slowly written one, we link into the recognition the excitement associated with fast movement, the flight or flee moment, as opposed to the calmness of contemplation. These changes in awareness are associated with changes in rhythm, the changes in rhythm eventually becoming associated with meanings. It is easy to see how this works in music, a military beat being very different to the rhythm of a dance tune, or the slow beat of a funeral march. But as more refinement is added, such as 'tone' a much more sophisticated set of associations can be constructed. The best example being Christian Schubart's 'Ideen zu einer Aesthetik der Tonkunst'. For example: B flat major: Cheerful love, clear conscience, hope aspiration for a better world. B flat minor: A quaint creature, often dressed in the garment of night. It is somewhat surly and very seldom takes on a pleasant countenance. Mocking God and the world; discontented with itself and with everything; preparation for suicide sounds in this key. B: Strongly coloured, announcing wild passions, composed from the most glaring coulors. Anger, rage, jealousy, fury, despair and every burden of the heart lies in its sphere. B minor: This is as it were the key of patience, of calm awaiting ones's fate and of submission to divine dispensation.
The communication of excitement via speed of rhythm now being conjoined by mood changes depending on tonality. In a drawing the speed of execution of a mark, being conjoined with other qualities such as changes in pressure, direction, types of materials used etc. will all be used in the reading of 'time'. In this case 'time' no longer being simply to do with awareness of duration but also an awareness of 'feeling tone'. This is also what is read in the simultaneity of experiencing a drawing. In this case we can begin to read a drawing in other ways, one as a type of cardiograph, whereby we can read something about the condition of the maker from the marks and another to do with a more formalist approach.
Mark Toby
This is how on one web-site we are told to approach abstract art:
'Rather than trying to figure out what the painting looks like, just allow yourself to be taken in by the painting. See what emotions, sensations or memories emerge. Let your eyes relax and travel around the piece without expectation. Examine the colors, forms, materials, surface, and how they interact with each other. Take your time. Let the painting "speak" to you.
Notice how the various elements like shape, color and form affect you. An intricately detailed, vibrant painting will affect you differently than a calm, cool Malevich.' The writer believes that an abstract painting is something that will 'speak to you', emotions and sensations will also emerge alongside memories. This points to a different experience of time, one about getting lost in looking at the painting. You are meant to travel around the image, follow the movements indicated by form and shape, as if you are moving around some sort of map. You are asked to enter the image as if it was some sort of window through which you could travel in order to begin exploring new unfamiliar landscapes. A fascinating idea and one that would have appalled Clement Greenberg, who argued that one of the values of abstract painting was that it removed the tendency of people to regard paintings as 'windows onto the world'. I suspect what we are looking at here is the time of the daydream or of the reverie, a time where we are not being pressured to make immediate actions. But what happens to time in a photorealist drawing as there are no clues as to how it is made? A conceptual puzzle as to 'how was it done?', fills the mental space where we would normally be looking for a way into a thoughtful recreation of the image by following traces of the artist's hand.
John Baeder White Tower 1974 Graphite
A photorealist drawing or painting like the one above is in fact a very conceptual work. First of all you have to know that the image is made from a photograph. If you think about it, it is pretty obvious that it is, but some people are fooled by appearances and think that it could be possible to create an image like this directly from nature. What they have done is begun to think that we see like a photographic image, because most of the images reproduced in our society are from photographs. Our probing eyes are constantly looking for information, so everything is moving in and out of focus, but there is a certain link between how we see and how images like this are made. A common method of developing a photorealist image was using a grid placed over the image to be copied and another one over the paper or canvas on which the image was to be reproduced. This allowed for the artist to focus on the details of tonal or colour change, without getting distracted by what it was that they were actually drawing. This in may ways brought the world back into a pre-linguistic state, a state whereby we see changes in tonality or colour rather than dogs, cats, trees, humans or other things. We had to be taught how to recognise objects out of the flux of experience and the techniques of gridding and turning the image upside down, often used by photorealist artists are to ensure that no trace of 'knowledge' enters the image. Because of this I find this sort of image outside time, or 'timeless', it's 'experience' is restricted to copying the surface of an already existing image, therefore the experience is very 'thin' and the image often finds itself being a place where our restless minds can fill its emptiness with narrative meaning. For instance think about how easily we invent a narrative to explain what we think is going on in old photographs.
Some of Terry Hammill's drawings of 'Klocks'
The clock can itself become a subject. In Terry Hammill's drawings time division extends on past the circular clock face and becomes a regular rhythmic divide that suggests that clocks, (Klocks) tick away in alternative formats as they enter the logic of two dimensional space. Like the shapes in Abbot's 'Flatland', these 'klocks' live rich lives dependent on an internal logic that makes perfect sense to a flatlander, but perhaps not to a fifth dimensional time traveller.
Hanne Darboven's subject matter was often the passage of time. Sometimes she wrote the date over and over again. It's was if she wanted to trap time in the way she used numerals to indicate it. All numerals indicate time in one way or another, from the old childhood game of hide and seek, whereby we count to ten before we start looking, the counting in some way entangling time, so that we don't get to begin looking too quickly, to ideas such as infinity, whereby the implication of a set of numbers is that we could go on generating a sequence for ever.
Hanne Darboven
I sometimes think of Hanne Darboven's drawings as 'time traps'. You can get stuck in the intricacies of her numerical thinking, especially in her tendency to valorise repetition. Like alien calendars her images appear to make sense but the longer you work with them the more you realise her logic is not as easy to follow as you might think. The time spent trying to understand her drawings being an integral part of the experience.
Nadine Redlich
Of course the comic book page format is also about repetition, and Nadine Redlich is an expert at holding on to those small moments that hover on the edge of experience. Most of the recent exhibitions I have seen whereby drawing and time have been interlocked have been performative, therefore I'll leave you with a performance drawing.
Am Rand: drawing performance by Jaanika Peerna in Berlin