A whitewashed gallery in an achingly cool part of London might not seem like the most obvious place to be discussing the sweat, grime and struggle that characterised the early oil industry. But as the artist Piers Secunda shows me around his new exhibition, it makes perfect sense. On the Tube one day, the 35-year-old was reading The Prize, the Pulitzer-winning history of oil by Daniel Yergin. Inspiration struck. Secunda wouldn't just attempt to chronicle the discovery of oil - and therefore some of the most important developments in our time - through art. He would actually paint in crude oil itself.
As it sometimes happens, it sounded great in theory.
"Actually getting hold of the crude oil was quite a challenge," he says with a smile. "You can go on to a website and buy 100,000 barrels of the stuff, but of course you never actually see it. It's not delivered to your door. But there are tiny specimen samples and novelty bottles from museums if you look hard enough. I spent a lot of time on eBay. A lot of time. "
It would have been easy enough, having obtained the oil and made it function as paint, to produce abstract artworks. Instead, Secunda found old photographs from the pioneering age of oil exploration, of wells and fields, and transferred them on to a silkscreen printed with crude. They're hugely effective as nostalgic records of a bygone age, reminders of oil's immense importance and, in their fragmented, almost ghostly appearance, as art. And one depicts a significant development in the history of the Middle East.
"This one is called Dammam No.7 Blowing In," he says. "It shows the moment in 1937 when the first oil blew out of this tiny little well head in Saudi Arabia. And this is the point at which global politics, economics and the history of energy shifts in a colossal way. It was the beginning of something completely new in the Middle East."
To Secunda's immense credit, he didn't just search some archives, find important photographs and dash off a silkscreen using any old crude oil. The work had to have an authenticity - which meant Secunda waited until he actually found oil from that exact well, Dammam No.7, before he made the work. He waited a long time.
"Two years," he laughs. "And then I found a corporate paperweight on eBay with the oil on the inside, marked Dammam No.7. You might think that a bit obsessive, but I really wanted the story of that specific well to be portrayed through its medium."
Such attention to detail - all of the work in the room, whether it depicts a Texan, Canadian or Californian oilfield, is painted using the oil from the correct well - is refreshing. As is his refusal to make any political statements about the provenance of oil, even though that might be a fashionable discussion to have among the chattering classes of London.
"It's an inherently political material, I realise that, but I genuinely don't think I'm in a position to say oil is bad," he says. "The incredible thing about crude oil is that it's absolutely and totally inseparable from everything we do. It facilitates everything - if you remove it, you'd have mayhem. At the same time, it's strangely politically incorrect in Europe to say that crude oil is good. I don't take a position because I want this to be a record of an amazingly important time. You have the Stone Age, the Iron Age, the Bronze Age, and the petrochemical age will be acknowledged in the same way. I think it can't not be - it's too significant."
Such interest in recording seismic moments continues in the next, unrelated room of his exhibition, where a series of friezes are shattered by bullet holes. And specifically, Taliban bullet holes from suicide bomb-attack sites. Like his work with crude oil, Secunda's attention to detail is miraculous; he actually went to Kabul with a suitcase of silicone putty, got a police chief to take him to a house that had been the scene of an atrocity, and cast the holes.
The results have a solemn majesty, but I wonder why Secunda felt compelled to make the work in the first place.
2011年11月2日星期三
Rico Solinas' Saw-Blade Paintings Elevate a Folksy Tradition
My grandfather died, quickly and unexpectedly, on Thanksgiving Day in 1987. My mother returned from his Ohio funeral with a suitcase full of Grandpa's circular saw blades. Mom, a prolific oil painter, gessoed the blades and used them as canvases for landscapes that she gave to each of her five children as a remembrance of her father-in-law, a career carpenter who'd loved making things with wood.
I thought she was mad. I didn't know then that saw-blade painting has a long history, dating back to the 18th century, and is among the earliest versions of tole painting, which for a very long time was limited to folk art renderings on tin and other metal ware. (Somehow, tole painting has grown over the years to include any kind of folksy painting on wooden objects and furniture.) I've run across saw-blade paintings since, always done on circular blades and always too pastoral for my taste.
Rico Solinas' saw-blade paintings, now on display at the ASU Art Museum, are neither folksy nor circular. His "100 Museums: Paintings of Buildings That Have Paintings Inside" is a stunning collection of architectural portraits done on old hand saws, and may — if the exhibit travels and receives the acclaim it deserves —elevate saw painting's folksy reputation.
Solinas is a native of Oakland, California, who studied at Corcoran School of Art and who's best known as a painter of figuratives and landscapes. In the late '80s, he created a series of saw-blade paintings of trucks and service vehicles that paid homage to the American work ethic; a later series depicted the homes of fellow California artists. The new series, despite its title, is an exhibit of 102 paintings and features stunning, photo-realistic depictions of the world's museums, painted over a 13-year period. Some are solemn in muted grays and tans, like Rome's majestic Galleria Borghese; others pop with joyous splashes of color, as with the hyper-moderne Museum Ludwig in Cologne (home to Gottfried Helnwein's shocking Last Supper).
Solinas, a preparator at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, brings the genius of a gifted miniaturist to each painting: here, the minute detail of a wee outbuilding of the Stedeljik in Amsterdam; there, the tiny scrolling on the pillars of the Museo Morandi in Bologne. There's some playful irony in these paintings, too — the tension between the rough, old-fashioned hand saws painted with depictions of modern glass-and-chrome structures, the paradox of a hallowed home of exquisite fine art depicted on a homely hand tool.
Those tools — or their gorgeous, often ornate handles, at least — nearly steal Solinas' thunder. Hand-carved, paint-chipped, and rubbed smooth by sweat and a firm grip, the saw handles are themselves a kind of art. I resisted the urge to discuss the collecting of saws when I briefly met Solinas at the exhibit's opening-night party last month. Instead, I asked why he paints on saw blades. "I don't want to make something that's already showing in a museum," he told me. "I wanted something unique that would make sense hanging there, but that you wouldn't find around the next corner."
He's succeeded. Presented in a more traditional manner, these would merely be neat, accurate oil paintings of a lot of interesting buildings. And while their presentation is quite dramatic — five groupings of roughly 20 saws each — it's an up-close inspection of the paintings that reveals their genius.
I thought she was mad. I didn't know then that saw-blade painting has a long history, dating back to the 18th century, and is among the earliest versions of tole painting, which for a very long time was limited to folk art renderings on tin and other metal ware. (Somehow, tole painting has grown over the years to include any kind of folksy painting on wooden objects and furniture.) I've run across saw-blade paintings since, always done on circular blades and always too pastoral for my taste.
Rico Solinas' saw-blade paintings, now on display at the ASU Art Museum, are neither folksy nor circular. His "100 Museums: Paintings of Buildings That Have Paintings Inside" is a stunning collection of architectural portraits done on old hand saws, and may — if the exhibit travels and receives the acclaim it deserves —elevate saw painting's folksy reputation.
Solinas is a native of Oakland, California, who studied at Corcoran School of Art and who's best known as a painter of figuratives and landscapes. In the late '80s, he created a series of saw-blade paintings of trucks and service vehicles that paid homage to the American work ethic; a later series depicted the homes of fellow California artists. The new series, despite its title, is an exhibit of 102 paintings and features stunning, photo-realistic depictions of the world's museums, painted over a 13-year period. Some are solemn in muted grays and tans, like Rome's majestic Galleria Borghese; others pop with joyous splashes of color, as with the hyper-moderne Museum Ludwig in Cologne (home to Gottfried Helnwein's shocking Last Supper).
Solinas, a preparator at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, brings the genius of a gifted miniaturist to each painting: here, the minute detail of a wee outbuilding of the Stedeljik in Amsterdam; there, the tiny scrolling on the pillars of the Museo Morandi in Bologne. There's some playful irony in these paintings, too — the tension between the rough, old-fashioned hand saws painted with depictions of modern glass-and-chrome structures, the paradox of a hallowed home of exquisite fine art depicted on a homely hand tool.
Those tools — or their gorgeous, often ornate handles, at least — nearly steal Solinas' thunder. Hand-carved, paint-chipped, and rubbed smooth by sweat and a firm grip, the saw handles are themselves a kind of art. I resisted the urge to discuss the collecting of saws when I briefly met Solinas at the exhibit's opening-night party last month. Instead, I asked why he paints on saw blades. "I don't want to make something that's already showing in a museum," he told me. "I wanted something unique that would make sense hanging there, but that you wouldn't find around the next corner."
He's succeeded. Presented in a more traditional manner, these would merely be neat, accurate oil paintings of a lot of interesting buildings. And while their presentation is quite dramatic — five groupings of roughly 20 saws each — it's an up-close inspection of the paintings that reveals their genius.
2011年8月8日星期一
Amy was suffering a killer disease. And the name of that disease was Blake...
WHEN you walk into Sam Shaker's jazz club it looks like a shrine to Amy Winehouse set up since her tragic death last month.
But the striking portraits of the singer on the walls of Jazz After Dark - one of Amy's favourite places - were lovingly painted by Sam throughout his decade-long friendship with her.
They have been on display in his club in London's Soho for years as a tribute to her talent.
Now, though, there are four gaps on the wall where thieves have stolen some of the precious portraits since she died.
Sam - the man Amy called her "second dad" - is devastated and disgusted that people could be trying to cash in on the star's death.
Pointing to the wall in the side room he calls Amy's VIP area, Sam says: "Before Amy died, people called her names and they would ask me why I had so many paintings of her. They would say, 'She's a junkie. Why do you put a junkie on the walls?'
"Nobody liked Amy. They focused on her drug addiction. Now they want to steal Amy."
Egyptian-born Sam was at his studio in Alicante, Spain, when the pictures were stolen last week.
He fled there after her death to work on three unfinished oil paintings of Amy, commissioned by the star before she was found dead - aged just 27 - at her flat in Camden, north London.
But when he was in Spain he was too grief-stricken to work on the remaining canvases.
Sam, 72, says: "When Amy died I couldn't stand it here so I went to Alicante to finish some of the paintings. But I found myself completely stressed and distraught.
"I couldn't find Amy's CDs - they have sold out in Spain, just like here - and how can I paint Amy without listening to her music? I always listened to her albums when I painted her."
It was at Jazz After Dark that Amy's family and close friends held a tribute on July 28, two days after her funeral.
The amazingly lifelike images of the star - including those on these pages - stare down from every wall, her trademark beehive and tattoos re-created with photo-like precision.
But the striking portraits of the singer on the walls of Jazz After Dark - one of Amy's favourite places - were lovingly painted by Sam throughout his decade-long friendship with her.
They have been on display in his club in London's Soho for years as a tribute to her talent.
Now, though, there are four gaps on the wall where thieves have stolen some of the precious portraits since she died.
Sam - the man Amy called her "second dad" - is devastated and disgusted that people could be trying to cash in on the star's death.
Pointing to the wall in the side room he calls Amy's VIP area, Sam says: "Before Amy died, people called her names and they would ask me why I had so many paintings of her. They would say, 'She's a junkie. Why do you put a junkie on the walls?'
"Nobody liked Amy. They focused on her drug addiction. Now they want to steal Amy."
Egyptian-born Sam was at his studio in Alicante, Spain, when the pictures were stolen last week.
He fled there after her death to work on three unfinished oil paintings of Amy, commissioned by the star before she was found dead - aged just 27 - at her flat in Camden, north London.
But when he was in Spain he was too grief-stricken to work on the remaining canvases.
Sam, 72, says: "When Amy died I couldn't stand it here so I went to Alicante to finish some of the paintings. But I found myself completely stressed and distraught.
"I couldn't find Amy's CDs - they have sold out in Spain, just like here - and how can I paint Amy without listening to her music? I always listened to her albums when I painted her."
It was at Jazz After Dark that Amy's family and close friends held a tribute on July 28, two days after her funeral.
The amazingly lifelike images of the star - including those on these pages - stare down from every wall, her trademark beehive and tattoos re-created with photo-like precision.
2011年7月28日星期四
Shorewood Artist Pleased with New Location for Controversial Painting
A Shorewood artist's oil painting that triggered public outcry after being taken down at the governor’s mansion has found a new home in Milwaukee.
“Wishes in the Wind,” by David Lenz, depicts three children of different races playing together along a snowy sidewalk. In early August, it will be relocated to the Milwaukee Public Library's central library, at 814 W. Wisconsin Ave.
“I met with the library director and we picked out a really nice spot on the first floor,” said Lenz. “It’s a very high traffic area and they’re going to fix a light for it. It will be open and accessible to the public during regular library hours.”
The painting was removed from its perch above a fireplace mantel and replaced by a painting of the bald eagle Old Abe, a Wisconsin military mascot during the Civil War. Gov. Scott Walker was criticized for the move and it sparked national attention that surprised Lenz.
“Yes, that was pretty wild,” said Lenz. “I guess that’s because it’s associated with Governor Walker and he’s such a national figure now, such a polarizing figure, that it seems that anything that is associated with him is almost certain to become national news.”
Lenz said public support for the painting has been largely split along political party lines.
“It’s kind of interesting the way it’s broken down,” said Lenz. “If you like the image, you don’t support Governor Walker, and if you do support Governor Walker, then somehow you think the painting is bad or it’s cheesy.”
Lenz summed up his whole experience this way.
“Just very disappointing. I tried really hard to make a painting that would appeal to everyone,” Lenz said. “I spent a long time on it and it didn’t work out. Hopefully, some day it can go back.”
“Wishes in the Wind,” by David Lenz, depicts three children of different races playing together along a snowy sidewalk. In early August, it will be relocated to the Milwaukee Public Library's central library, at 814 W. Wisconsin Ave.
“I met with the library director and we picked out a really nice spot on the first floor,” said Lenz. “It’s a very high traffic area and they’re going to fix a light for it. It will be open and accessible to the public during regular library hours.”
The painting was removed from its perch above a fireplace mantel and replaced by a painting of the bald eagle Old Abe, a Wisconsin military mascot during the Civil War. Gov. Scott Walker was criticized for the move and it sparked national attention that surprised Lenz.
“Yes, that was pretty wild,” said Lenz. “I guess that’s because it’s associated with Governor Walker and he’s such a national figure now, such a polarizing figure, that it seems that anything that is associated with him is almost certain to become national news.”
Lenz said public support for the painting has been largely split along political party lines.
“It’s kind of interesting the way it’s broken down,” said Lenz. “If you like the image, you don’t support Governor Walker, and if you do support Governor Walker, then somehow you think the painting is bad or it’s cheesy.”
Lenz summed up his whole experience this way.
“Just very disappointing. I tried really hard to make a painting that would appeal to everyone,” Lenz said. “I spent a long time on it and it didn’t work out. Hopefully, some day it can go back.”
2011年4月11日星期一
Tigo Raises $10 Million For Solar Electronics
Tigo Energy, one of a growing flock of startups touting chips and equipment to boost the output of solar panels, has raised $10 million.
Tigo’s technology effectively lets solar panels in an array controlled by a centralized inverter operate independently from each other. In conventional string inverter deployments, individual solar panels can only produce as much power as the weakest one. Tigo routes the power from the panels through a device called the Maximizer and thereby masks the real power output of each individual panel for the inverter. In the end, this leads to an increase in power production of 7 to 12 percent.
To date, the company has shipped most of its products to the residential market but will place a greater emphasis on the commercial market this year. It will also try to reduce the size and cost of its components through the magic of Moore's Law. Integrating the components directly into solar panels could drop the cost by 33 to 50 percent. Tigo says that demand will double this year and that 10 megawatts of power courses through its chips (on various solar arrays) a month.
Once a somewhat obscure niche in solar, solar electronics are now a big deal. Enphase Energy, which popularized the microinverter, is arguably the best known and most successful new type of solar electronics company to date. It swaps out the traditional string inverter for individual inverters for each panel. It will come out with a third generation product in June. Competitors like SolarBridge will also soon start to market microinverters.
Tigo, and competitors like InfiniRel, take a slightly different tack. Instead of replacing central inverters, they enhance them.
Whose vision is the correct one? Who knows at this juncture. We will likely see a plethora of different configurations and concepts. There is one thing for certain: there is no lost love between them all. Many companies in this market are fond at taking swipes at each other.
Tigo will also have to watch out for competition from Texas Instruments. Earlier this month, TI announced plans to buy National Semiconductor, which makes solar maximization chips.
Tigo’s technology effectively lets solar panels in an array controlled by a centralized inverter operate independently from each other. In conventional string inverter deployments, individual solar panels can only produce as much power as the weakest one. Tigo routes the power from the panels through a device called the Maximizer and thereby masks the real power output of each individual panel for the inverter. In the end, this leads to an increase in power production of 7 to 12 percent.
To date, the company has shipped most of its products to the residential market but will place a greater emphasis on the commercial market this year. It will also try to reduce the size and cost of its components through the magic of Moore's Law. Integrating the components directly into solar panels could drop the cost by 33 to 50 percent. Tigo says that demand will double this year and that 10 megawatts of power courses through its chips (on various solar arrays) a month.
Once a somewhat obscure niche in solar, solar electronics are now a big deal. Enphase Energy, which popularized the microinverter, is arguably the best known and most successful new type of solar electronics company to date. It swaps out the traditional string inverter for individual inverters for each panel. It will come out with a third generation product in June. Competitors like SolarBridge will also soon start to market microinverters.
Tigo, and competitors like InfiniRel, take a slightly different tack. Instead of replacing central inverters, they enhance them.
Whose vision is the correct one? Who knows at this juncture. We will likely see a plethora of different configurations and concepts. There is one thing for certain: there is no lost love between them all. Many companies in this market are fond at taking swipes at each other.
Tigo will also have to watch out for competition from Texas Instruments. Earlier this month, TI announced plans to buy National Semiconductor, which makes solar maximization chips.
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