Michael Turner

Michael Turner is a comic book artist who I have admired with almost religious devotion for many years. His crisp, stunning artwork has been featured on many covers of Marvel, DC, and Top Cow comics alike, though he is probably best known for his Aspen work. Aspen Comics is the publishing company that he started himself, as a vehicle for some of his original characters such as Fathom. Aside from his heroic work as a comic artist, I also admired Turner for his tenacity; he was a fellow cancer survivor. Diagnosed in 2000 with bone cancer, Turner continued to work and produce beautiful, breathtaking artwork until his tragic passing in 2008, coincidentally on June 27, my birthday.

Turner's talent for illustration far surpassed most of his peers in the comic industry. Though he is most revered for his ability to render beautiful women, his work in general is nothing short of spectacular. His figures, male and female, are dynamic and mysterious, even when standing still. He was unparalleled at having his characters express raw emotion. His figure work, exaggerated as it might be, was nonetheless very informed, and his characters always come across as clean, intriguing, and almost vibrating with life. I really admire (and envy!) his skills as an artist. My one disappointment is that Turner didn't branch out into other modes of art. I really would have loved to see what he could have created if he tried to depict his cancer experience. His death last summer was a real loss to the art world.

John Huck photography

Breakfast & Couples
by John Huck

There is definitely something powerful about these two photography series by John Huck. There is a simplicity in the approach-- faces, point-blank, looking directly into your eyes; not aggresively, just connecting with you by breaking the fourth wall. There's a very "eyes as a window to the soul" quality to the photographs, each person has their own imagined personality, an apparent mood, and you get the impression that you get to know these people, just a little. It may or may not be a false impression, but it is compelling nonetheless.



The "Breakfast" series does something really interesting by having you connect with these faces on a second level, by sharing a birds-eye perspective of what they had for breakfast. I never thought of breakfast as an intimate moment, but in many ways it is; you usually spend it in quiet reflection, it often requires careful preparation and is crafted to meet your cultural and nutritional preferences. And when it doesn't, that too reflects your personality, as in the case where breakfast simply equals coffee. Breakfast is also often eaten alone, unless with a spouse (and in those cases he did indeed portray both partners and breakfasts together, further referencing the intimacy).

The "Couples" series does less for me, conceptually, although the photographs are very striking when viewed as a full series in the gallery. I just feel that it lacks the comparative depth of the "Breakfast" series, which in itself is not particularly profound. There is definitely a beautiful quality of sincerity and emotion here, but ultimately, the message is "these are couples" or "these are people and this is what they eat". I may be off the mark with this interpretation, but this is not for lack of trying; Huck does not offer any statements on his web site. And then again, not all art has to have a point. For myself, I prefer to enjoy artwork with multiple layers of meaning. Still, for directness and clarity of purpose this project does not waver from its goal. I think this is a intriguing foray into sharing a brief, personal glimpse into the lives of individuals you will probably never meet.

Fighting Cancer With Facebook

by Christ Berdik
[an article from the Fall 2008 issue of Bostonia, BU's alumni magazine]

The article is about Eric Ding, a high school athlete who was diagnosed with a malignant chest tumor and 5 years to live. Ding survived his battle with cancer and went on to devote himself to medicine, earning dual doctorates from Harvard by 24 years old. Almost equally important, Ding devotes himself to cancer advocacy, creating a "cause" on Facebook to raise money and spread reliable information about cancer risk factors. In one week, he attracted 10,000 members, and a million in a month. He has since gone on to launch a cancer research foundation called "The O Campaign".

This is a great success story of someone who not only conquered the disease, but took advantage of his survivorship to contribute something positive to the world. I can relate to this experience of survivorship; the heightened desire to help eradicate the problem of cancer. There is also the emotional, more individual perspective; remembering the difficulty of going through it, and wanting to spare anyone else from having to go through it themselves-- that's where the importance of awareness and preventative cancer screenings come into play. As a survivor myself, I feel that I've been given a unique chance (and responsibility) to do what I can. I may not be a doctor or a scientist, but if my weapon is art, then that is what I will use.

Modern Living/Neurotica

Modern Living/ Neurotica
by Han Hoogerbrugge



Someone introduced me to this animation series, and I immediately loved it. According to BIS Publishers, who published a book and DVD on Hoogerbrugge's work, this series is "about a man - Hoogerbrugge’s alter ego - who is struggling with the trappings and everyday inconveniences of modern life." I'm not entirely sure that's what I get from the work, but my interest is in the masterfulness in the craftsmanship. Modern Living is composed of 99 short animations, varying in length, style, and interactivity. Some have a clear message, others are more abstract. They often involve a visual gag or a certain amount of commitment from the viewer, to "find" the hidden message or to search the screen for secret buttons. It becomes highly addictive to watch, quickly consuming each little animation and move on to the next one.

This work appeals to me less for its concept and more for its formal elements. As a student of animation, I am always interested to see how it can be utilized beyond traditional storytelling, and I think this is a great example. Hoogerbrugge's shorts seem like miniature experiments, each is unique yet easily consumed, like potato chips that you can't stop eating. I also admire the work for its interactivity, it literally demands for get involved and become a participant in the work, always leaving you wanting more. I definitely want to utilize these two elements (animation and interactivity) in my approach to my thesis project.

Sister Mary Corita @ Zach Feuer Gallery Review

Zach Feuer Gallery

I needed a break from painting and sculpture, so when I heard about the Sister Corita design exhibit, I happily sought out the Zach Feuer Gallery.

I wasn't familiar with the artist, but reading a bit about her was very enlightening. Sister Corita is described as a nun, a teacher, and a pop artist. Right away, "pop artist" and "nun" are two words that don't seem to fit in the same sentence. I was shocked to discover that a nun born in 1918 could produce such vibrant, powerful, and unconventional work. One can hardly refer to her work as subtle, given the neon colors and bold text, but there is a kind of wit in her approach to religious art. Rather than stodgy, conventional religious painting, she utilizes typography, color, and appropriation as an expression of her faith and ideals.



I was most drawn to her typographic work, which mostly depicted quotes and passages from the bible, using many different hand-lettered type forms. I admire the power and potential of quotes, I have always seen them as art objects than can stand alone rather than a just collection of words and letters and occasionally wisdom. Sister Corita used quotes from many sources, some of which included Psalms, song lyrics (Jefferson Airplane, Simon & Garfunkel), and individuals like Mark Kent and Albert Camus. The latter had a quote which came up in several of her works, "I should like to be able to love my country and stil love justice". What is wonderful about Corita is her experimentation-- seeing her multiple approaches to depicting this quote almost felt like being in a undergrad design crit.

Her use of appropriation is particularly clever (and funny!) in her piece "Wonder Bread", as she poaches the logo of a popular bread as a way of referencing the miracle (or "wonder") of the Catholic Eucharist; the breaking of the bread in the last Supper. I could be wrong, but I don't feel like many artists are comfortable with sharing their religious convictions these days; it's become somewhat taboo. Seeing Corita take the opportunity to use her unique artistic skills to celebrate her faith with bright, modern colors and a pop-culture references feels more like genuine celebration than the usual depressing, sanctimonious religious art one usually encounters. I'm reminded of a comedy sketch by Eddie Izzard in which he makes fun of the passionless, drone-ish Catholic style of "celebrating" Mass.

"All those sort of Christian religions, which is mainly Caucasian white people... with enough power and money to make Solomon blush. They're the only groups of people that could sing, "Hallelujah" without feeling like it's a "Hallelujah!"

Sister Mary's artwork definitely does not fall into this trap. I really enjoyed the exhibit and it definitely had an impact on me. In regard to my own work. I believe that positivity, humor, and levity can have the unique power to transform or resuscitate a timesome subject. Mary's methods were a refreshing affirmation that design can be powerful, and can be used to express conviction without being preachy. It is possible to create assertive design that is still profound, welcoming, and dare I say... fun?

Zimmerli Museum Review

There were 2 new exhibits at the Zimmerli Museum since the last time I visited (last winter). The first was Trail Blazers in the 21st Century, the second called Four Perspectives Through the Lens: Soviet Art Photography in the 1970's-80's. I also spent some time looking around the Blocks of Color exhibit.

The Zimmerli can feel like a maze. The rooms are unsual shapes and sizes, and sometimes multiple artists are randomly interspersed through a room. In some ways, it can lead to confusion and difficulty following a specific body of work. On the other hand, it takes some of the pressure off of any one particular artist and allows the viewer to appreciate all the works for their differences and similarities. The division of the gallery also creates lots of varying spaces, some intimate and others that feel more communal. And thanks to thoughtful curation, I think the different artworks benefit from the diverse spaces they occupy. I certainly prefer this to a large white personality-less box room with pictures around the perimeter.






The Blocks of Color exhibit featured many artists, but the work of William Seltzer Rice and Sibyl Andrews stood out to me. Considering the medium (woodblocks), the line work is crisp and clean, and accentuated by the use only one or two fields of color. The work shows real mastery of the craft, solid fields of color with no mess or imperfections. In "Salmon Fleet-Oakland Estuary" (shown above left) Rice creates a highly controlled zigzag line of white through the field of blue, to indicate the reflection on the water. It couldn't have been down better with a paintbrush or a pen. There was something about these images: simple, yet assertive graphics that reminded me of comics or book illustrations.

The exhibit I came with the most hopes for, Trail Blazers in the 21^st Century, turned out to be the most disappointing. I was expecting to see something exciting, cutting edge, maybe using some new technologies. The exhibit consisted of about a dozen prints by various artists, none of which really seemed to "blaze any trails" in my opinion. Not to say that some of them weren't beautiful-- Petah Coyne's ghostly female image and Elizabeth Murray's colorful, cartoony abstract lithograph were quite striking-- but they didn't really challenge me. I was happy to see some straight-foward design work; Papo Colo presented 2 portfolio covers which I liked, particularly the "FAITH" cover featuring dual matchsticks. I would really like to see more design work in general in the galleries we visit-- unfortunately this seems prevailingly uncommon, and the timing never quite works out (the Sister Mary Corita design exhibit opens in 2 weeks).

To my surprise, I really connected with a lot of the work in the Soviet Art section of the Museum. There were 4 books on Soviet Art, which gave me a chance to compare different design approaches to common material. Diane Neumaier's "Beyond Memory" book was the most visually dense, displaying sketches, photos, paintings, collage, Photoshop work, etc. The balance of typographic elements to artwork followed no real pattern. Book #2, by Boris Michajlov, favored images over text, showing almost all photos laid in very minimal grid layout, sometimes with as little as 2 small snapshots to a page. The 3rd book, by Vladimir Kupriyanov, featured very compelling photo projects where a large image would be created by tiling (in the loosest sense of the word) 6 or more smaller photograph, resulting in large, uniquely-shaped panoramic images. I really enjoyed this spin on photography as art. Finally, my favorite book was Francisco Infante's, featuring the strangest landscape photography I've ever seen. His interest is in basic geometric shapes and textures, and his work deals with imposing, applying, and siphoning these shapes onto different landscapes often using mirrors or overlaying several photographs. I found his work innovative and absolutely stunning, and his commitment to finding new ways to explore his area of interest is really inspired.

7 Days in the Art World-- THE STUDIO

• On the role of art dealers: "At the end of the day, our business is to sell symptoms articulated as objects."
• interesting factoid: national Japanese ritual of rajio tiso, i.e. 10 minutes of calisthenics at the beginning of the day, beginning in primary school, performed by artist Murakami's painting assistants
• painting assistant with recurring dream of being yelled at: "[Murakami] is always angry. The atmosphere is usually intense." Another assistant, when asked if there was any room or creativity, replied "None at all". I don't understand how they can continue to be creative in this environment? What is the incentive to work under these conditions?
• "Murakami is unusual among artists in acknowledging the collective labor inscribed in his work... The names of the twenty-five people who worked on the piece are written on the back of the canvas... Murakami's desire to help his assistants launch their own careers is unusual. Many artists loathe losing good help and... the appearance of creative isolation is central to their creditibility." I think this is admirable. From the chapter so far, it sounds like Murakami is kind of a jerk, but I can respect the fact that he gives credit where credit is due, and does not take advantage of his assistants at the expense of their own careers.
• In regard to the "Second Mission Project Ko", I find it interesting that Murakami differentiates between editions by experimenting with colors, often changing the race of the female figure from albino to Caucasian to dark-skinned to unearthly jet-black.
• Murakami quote: "the most important thing for creative people is the sense that they are learning. It's like a video game. They have frustration with my high expectations, so when they get 'yes' for their work, they feel like they've won a level."
• "I change my direction or continue in the same direction by seeing people's reaction. My concentration is how to survive long-term and how to join with the contemporary feeling... I work by trial and error to be popular." -Murakami
  
• "Sometimes you see all the [artist's work] together-- boom, boom, boom-- and it doesn't make things better." -Schimmel, on cohesiveness in a retrospective gallery exhibit
• Defending the choice to exhibit a controversial artist: "If there is already absolutel consensus, is there is nothing you can do in terms of illumination, why do it?" I think this sums up my opinion on what makes art "art"-- I believe the ability to debate, interpret, and experience is the true measure of value of a piece of art.
• I thought it was impressive the way Marakami was willing to relinquish control of the placement of his "Oval" to the curator Schimmel. I never really thought about the fragile distinction between the creation of the art and the placement of the art, and how the two might collide. Schimmel makes a good point that "the best solo shows come when an artist and curator are connected and highly invested"
• Murakami's referring to his Louis Vuitton work as "his urinal" is interesting, especially in the wake of the recent "IS THIS ART?" flyer campaign at Mason Gross. The line between common objects, art objects, and commercial objects is a very blurry one, and Murakami definitely straddles this line in his work.

I like Sarah Thorton's writing style. I often find myself wondering how she can possibly remember and observe such specific details as she is whisked through these unfamiliar situations: such as the length of Murakami's meeting room table, the "vintage 50's glasses" of their tour guide, the name of the radio station the assistants were listening to. She also seems to resist interpreting everything she sees, letting the reader draw their own conclusions (as when she neutrally points out that 6 out of 7 of Kaikai Kiki's artists are female). The result is an interesting read.



I also found myself very impressed with Murakami's work. Despite the substantial length of the reading, the descriptions of his work were compelling enough that I wanted to do outside research. As the chapter went on, I checked the Internet for images of Mr. DOB in his many incarnations, as well as SMPKo2, Hiropon, and finally Oval Buddha itself. All were very odd, but striking images, obviously influenced by Japanase anime style. I think the way Murakami has embraced his own interested and "geek" aesthetic to create challenging artwork is commendable. The (d)evolution of Mr. DOB from a cutesy Mickey-Mouse character to a huge, multi-eyed vomiting blob feels like a very organic decision. It is as if the artist simply created the character and let him go, allowing him to fall apart into a horrific yet highly marketable monster, and definitely commenting on the all-consuming Japanese cartoon industry. One can easily feel his emotional investment and devotion to the craft. He is also very committed to embracing the commercial aspect of his work, which can be interpreted as a "Warholian" critique of art, or simply a smart business move that allows him to continue his own work. Either way, I think the relentless merchandising of his work is an all-or-nothing move, and if that's what he's chosen to do, it certainly keeps people aware of him as an artist.