Next Landscape . . . from page 1
An unhappy result of this is the speed that the viewer moves through the painting. The angular elements result in a fast pace of viewing; our eye is traveling so fast that we can't see the painting as a whole, cohesive piece. The viewer is either totally entrapped by a section of the work or too speedily led out of the work, leaving no time for contemplation of the subject matter. This was not the artist's intention as evidenced in her statement and her other work. We feel the same weak compositional dynamics in other works; especially in "Landslide" but also "Landslide 3", "Flood Reflection" and "Aftermath."
Though it is visually appealing, "Flood Reflection" |1| is so brightly painted with an abundance of hues in blues, greens and yellows, one can scarcely relate it to this series as far as color palette is concerned. At mid frame we see, perhaps stenciled, two ethereal buildings suspended in mid air below and above a mass of clouds. We are overwhelmingly surrounded by light, like we are floating in heaven's waiting room, almost hearing a chorus of cherubim as we expect a pearly gatekeeper to be jetted into the scene on a cloud. In color, composition and form, Konopasek was influenced by a number of surrealist images and stenciled pop art forms. This results in an image and color palette that is set apart from the series.
In the end these composition and color problems hurt the series because they conflict with the artist's intent. We cannot be convinced of disaster when we are transported to heaven. We can't notice the elements of destruction because we are trapped in a pinball machine of geometric vectors, served to us as trite pop stencils. Because of these examples, I would have to venture a guess that the artist is starting a new series, or these are older works, or a failed experiment.
Unfortunately, we are so taken aback by these few paintings that we miss how effectively the other pieces in the series are achieved. For example, "Tsunami 2" |2| contains many compositional elements similar to "Landslide 2." Here we see a tsunami crashing into geometric shapes, a pagoda, a highway and a crowd of onlookers. Konopasek uses the same linear vectors leading us into the piece, such as the light pole in the lower left side of the frame, but this time she helps us into the scene where as in "Landslide 2" she pulled us out of the scene with just the same attempt of use of line.
This time Konopasek's painting doesn't overwhelm or trap us because organic and geometric, linear and loose are balanced. We see the tsunami as the strength it was meant to be and the weakness of architectural structures. Our eye is set to rest, to contemplate the painting as a whole; we are not speeding through it, but see the tsunami and feel the disaster and its horror.
What we see in "Sand Cloud Army Installation 1" |0| is a muddied effect of color in a dust storm in the sky about to engulf the forms on the horizon and the geometry of the tent in the lower right foreground. Konopasek uses these colors in a way that evokes the presence of the tumultuous movements of a natural disaster. This is necessary for us to read the situation correctly. Instead of a surreal, heavenly presence attempted with the brighter color palette, we are more convinced that this is a real situation. We can feel the heaviness of the impending disaster of the dust storm by her effective use of these muddied colors.
In "Sand Cloud Army Installation 1," Konopasek steers away from the use of the simplified forms used in the buildings in "Flood reflection" and instead paints the more realistic form of a tent. This realistic quality is much more engaging because instead of an unstable look of flat lines and color, we are taken by how the tent's geometry is responding to the dust storm. We see the reflection of the light of the dust storm on this object and, therefore, we can feel the effects it may have on the viewer and the rest of the landscape.
While Konopasek's work shows the devastation that natural disasters can have on all things man-made, Charles E. Uibel's photographs reveal the intrusion of man on the landscape. He sets out to find something new and unspoiled but more often finds evidence of human presence in these pristine landscape photographs. Whether it is his own footsteps in the sand of the flats or a road in the distance, Uibel does nothing to hide these hints of our mortality, suffering by the salty effects of the salt lake. This is truly a signature of his work and should not be dismissed or overlooked a just a pure coincidence of placement.
Uibel's photographs are executed with the whole arsenal of recent digital phenomena. He manipulates his prints with an over saturation of color revealing vivid oranges, blues and contrast of stark whites and blacks. He doesn't do this sparingly but he does use this with great efficiency. We are initially drawn into the frame by these unnatural colors.
Once we are in the frame, we can easily identify that this is not just another landscape. For example, in "The Plans We Make," at a distance you see a brilliant blue sky with an equally shocking blue reflection. The closer you get to the print the clearer you see the spiraling footprints made in the sand. A hint of evidence in the once unfettered landscape.
The same is true in "Around the World." |4| At first we see the typical gleaming white cracked salty ground, and then, like a shock, we realize that these automobile tracks shouldn't be here, and certainly not crossing 3/4 in the middle of the frame. Yet, it does nothing to hinder the merits of the photograph.
Uibel's textural elements are tempting because he uses a beautifully thick paper to print many of his works including "Clear Days", "Long Distance Runners," and "The Plans We Make." The paper adds a dimensionality to his work that would otherwise not exist. This dimensional quality especially works in "Asteroids." |5| We can see the reflection of the mountain as it is seemingly floating in space because of the similar paper quality in both the natural sky and its reflection. In a far off area where there is much contrast there seems to be a dwelling area at the base of the sloping "asteroid". This recalls the theme of a cultural remnant, but more importantly, it is a place for the eye to rest while absorbing the immensity of the whole "universe" this asteroid is reflecting in.
What we can take from Charles E.Uibel's photographs is that he has an original aesthetic we should regard with respect to his technical knowledge. His use of digital media is a trademark of his unique style. He takes the subject of the landscape and presents it to us in a way uncommon to most landscape photographer.
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Organization Spotlight: Park City
A Good Idea is Not Enough
Spiro Arts Residencies & Workshops
by Shawn Rossiter
A good idea is not enough. And while blood, sweat and tears goes a long way, sometimes it takes a case of serendipity -- and the willingness to embrace it -- to make something happen. Take Spiro Arts as an example.
Spiro Arts, a 501 (c) 3 arts organization in Park City, began when Paladin Development Partners (Rory Murphy and Chris Conabee) had a good idea. In 2004, inspired by Anderson Ranch in Aspen, Paladin decided they wanted to develop the parcel of land they owned on the former Silver King mine in Park City to include a cultural element; and they wanted to utilize what remained of the mining buildings to do it. So, they decided to build a series of high-end condominiums and subsidize the cultural programming of the neighborhood, at least in a modest way, with dues from the home owners' association. Which was a good idea. Silver Star Resort was conceived. The condos sold quickly, the Sundance Institute decided to move into the neighborhood and last month an artist residency program, under the title of Spiro Arts, began. This last part was possible because Kathryn Stedham likes to ski, and some people out there like to eavesdrop.
A native of West Virginia and professional artist for the past decade, Stedham came to Utah for the recreation. |1| A little over a year ago she was in a restaurant talking with a friend about wanting to participate in an artist residency program when an eavesdropping patron at another table interrupted and suggested she might check out the residency program at Silver Star resort. Which Stedham did; but what she found was a framed building with no walls and an organization with no leader. Stedham was offered a residency, but as the organization's executive director rather than as an artist. Stedham laughs a bit at the title. "Executive director means a lot of things including office manager, pencil sharpener, chauffeur, maid. " She does work with an assistant, but as in the case with most fledgling non-profits, Stedham has had to do a great deal of work on a limited budget to make the wall-less, artist residency idea into Spiro Arts.
Spiro Arts now has walls, a whole series of them that form one and two-bedroom apartments for visiting artists and writers (designated as affordable living spaces, they serve as housing for seasonal workers in the winter, Spiro's off-season). Visiting artists have 24 hour access to the facilities, a work space, room for visiting family or assistants and receive a $600 stipend. Spiro Arts can accommodate up to 16 artists, but have limited the initial residencies out of budgetary considerations. And the mine's renovated mill works serves as a large common studio space.|0| The first group of resident artists -- all painters -- spent the month of April at Spiro. The last bunch, three artists and two writers, arrived last week. The writers were locked away in their spare bedrooms, which serve as working space, when we visited but in the communal studio space we found Sarah Hewitt, a textile artist, Joshua Reiman, a filmmaker and performance artist, and Duane McDiarmid, who well, is a little hard to put into a box, but we imagine he likes it that way.
Hewitt is a soft-spoken, deliberate individual. Accompanied by her dog, Buster, she drove up to Park City from New Mexico. A native of Texas, she went to New Mexico first to study philosophy at St. John's College; she switched to Fine Arts (painting and photography), first at RISDI and later at SMU. She returned to New Mexico, where a long-time friend taught her how to weave. In addition to running her own design company and pursuing her art, Hewitt teaches fiber arts at workshops every year. She chose the Spiro Arts residency as a chance to concentrate on her art, away from the distractions of home or teaching at workshops.|3| Hewitt brought with her materials and inspiration from across the country and the world. She says her creative process can sometimes have a long gestation period. A trip to Australia and time spent with its Aboriginal population last year is now starting to surface in the forms she weaves. Before coming to Park City, she traveled to the Gulf Coast to get rope from Louisiana shrimp farmers. Now, after carrying the rope a couple thousand miles and 10,000 feet up, she will untangle and dismantle it for use in her fiber art.|4| Much of the hiking Hewitt had planned to do while here -- intimately linked to the themes in her works -- has been derailed by a recent ligament injury. She has faith, though, that something unique will come of the experience here; and she looks forward to a trip to visit the Great Salt Lake, where she plans on submerging her Gulf Coast rope, adding the salt of an ancient inland ocean with that of the modern Gulf to create a unique material with which to weave.
Reiman's |5| choice of Park City is more deliberate. A visual anthropologist who explores and deconstructs the visual apparatus Americans use to define themselves, he came West from his New York home to explore American stereotypes of Native Americans.|6| He comes to Park City after a month-long residency in Wyoming, where he began his current film project. A Native American (half Creek, half Navajo) he met there played out the role Reiman had scripted of an individual working through, against and around stereotypes placed on Native Americans. In Park City, Reiman will be shooting additional material and editing the work. He has opened himself to the possibilities this month will present to him and hasn't given himself any sort of deadline with the project. "There's a point where dreaming ends, reality comes in and you have to roll with the punches," he says.
McDiarmid also came West on purpose, mostly because Ohio, where he is from, is very short on desert and the desert is crucial to the Trickster, a piece he has been working on for more than twenty years. When he was 18, McDiarmid too went and spent time with the Australian Aborigines. He describes it as a magical, if eye-opening, experience. He had the rare opportunity to live in the desert, hunting by spear with his "brethren." But he found couldn't stop thinking about ice cream. Twenty years later we have Trickster, |7-8| an Arabian-nights-styled moon-lander and popsicle-dispenser McDiarmid plans on launching into desert environments to allow the lucky visitors who stumble upon it a refreshing treat and the chance to be on both ends of a system of surveillance, and contribute to Trickster lore through an interactive, web-connected computer system.
Part of the Spiro Arts residency program requires the participants to interact with the local community. Hewitt has already arranged to meet and talk with weavers in the area (to participate contact Kathryn Stedham). Reiman will be presenting a working version of his film to the public on Main Street. And McDiarmid will be hauling the Trickster into a location in Utah, after which he will recede into the distance and allow serendipity to guide hikers or travelers to encounter it on their own. To maintain the spontaneous aspect of the interaction, McDiarmid won't be disclosing the location, but volunteers who are willing to help him haul materials can go along for the ride and see what happens (contact Kathryn Stedham).
After the residencies are completed in May, Spiro Arts will begin its summer-long series of workshops, which include workshops in June by Doug Braithwaite and Mitch Lyons, July workshops with Court Bennett, Mike Hamby, Daniella Woolf and Kathryn Stedham and a Kid's ArtLab in August. For more information, click here.
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