IGY stands for International Geophysical Year (1957-1958). In reality it lasted 18 months but that's bureaucratic thinking. I've just finished six 12 x 24 inch-acrylic marker and paint pieces for a show in January. It is the last show I will have. (This is a favor for the gallery curator.) I spent a couple of months trying to figure out the subject, medium, number of pieces, old or new and came organically with these pieces. It was going to be 7 but when I finished the 6th I knew I was done. All drawing was freehand and all images are original to my mind.
My previous post is about the impact that IGY had on me and these are the comic book illustrations I created in part to tell a child's story and in part to heal. I must add that, although I have two degrees in studio art, I, like all artists am self-taught and part of my early education was comic books and the Clairol shampoo ads in women's magazines. That's how we learn, by copying from life and print images. Many artists perfected their crafts by taking their easels to museums and copying the old masters.
As a little girl I always had No.2 pencils, a sharpener and crayons and paper. My parents understood. I was an artist. One day my third-grade teacher had me do a chalk mural on the spare black board of houses around the world. She commented that she wished I was as smart as I was good at art. She meant no harm though I was hurt. That's because the pressure was on for teachers to churn out scientists, mathematicians, engineers and doctors. The arts and music suffered. Those teachers fought for the arts but I don't think any of the kids, certainly not me, ever knew. I only really understood what was happening in retrospect. Programs were dropped. It's a miracle they still had band although I secretly believed they only kept band going to rally around the sports teams because there is real money in school sports.
Back to mid 20th century history. The Space Race was on and we couldn't let the Russians beat us. Sputnik happened. Laika happened (first dog in space and it still makes me sad). Mandatory Science Fair Projects happened. I did a display of the kinds of clouds we saw in New Jersey. The principle only spoke with the kids who did "real" science. I saw it. This was the last time I was forced to do this and I was never in a science fair again. I knew what they wanted and I tried to deliver but that's not where my 8-year-old brain lived.
Here's a sort of self portrait of me as a child using crayons to draw a picture of Blue Macaws.
This painting is obviously about turning STEM into STEAM. Yes, the technos reared their ugly heads again but art educators fought back and made them put the A in STEM to make STEAM. I get all the fun there is in creating computer games and computer art and animation. It's something I wanted to do but I was too early for this. I studied programming. Just enough to understand it and did better than the non-art students. Creative minds adapt really well. Computers are great tools and I'm certain that even if I had been offered more art programs I would have tried my hand with computer technology. It's just another medium with a keyboard instead of a pencil. Ive used PowerPoint to create animated story books. The animation was very simple but I had fun.
This just came to me as I was creating a portrait of a cattle egret. In my story, this is an early warning signal. Note the weed taking hold in the rubble of a street and the lovely egret checking it out. Egrets and herons are so cool. They just move around gracefully totally ignoring what man has built. In this painting, the egret is admiring the flower, not the cracked pavement. The caution tape is for the humans. Wildlife just ignore it and go on being who they are. Life is simple.
This is the late fifties and early sixties. While the world was on the verge or war and blasting off into space, or at least trying to, I and other kids were just trying to be kids. Even the sci fi movies were aimed at us. I fantasized about become a scientist or going off into space. Lots of us did. The movies about artists and musicians were made for adults. They weren't shown at Saturday morning matinees. That was a great time to be a kid though. We were allowed to have adventures and explore our neighborhoods and play make believe so that grown up reality stayed in another room. We knew what was going on from the evening news and listening to our parents. On the surface we believed we would be safe because they told us we would be. We buried the fears as deeply as we could without even realizing it.
I call this the Great Shift. In this image however, I've made this seem like a scene from a movie where all of the art kids give up their instruments and art supplies and notebooks to go into the science lab and be converted into science kids. Take a look at the shadows to see what we left behind. Now, they didn't really make us give up our art supplies and instruments; in retrospect it just felt like it.
When I was a kid, I lived in a great middleclass neighborhood where just about everyone was a first- time home buyer. This was the only home my parents ever owned. It was the late fifties and my friends and I were all white. Although we didn't know what segregation meant yet, we were segregated. We were Irish, Polish, Italian, Swedish, German, and more. We were Catholic, Protestant and Jewish. Some went to parochial schools and some public. But after school we played. On Saturdays we headed to the closest corner candy store to buy a comic and candy. Then we headed home and sat on someone's stoop reading comics and talking about the superhero's exploits. We were friends. We were innocent. There were four boys and one girl. Me. Everyone else in my neighborhood was older or younger than us so I was a Tomboy. This was my world.
Anyway, about this painting. We five sat on a porch imagining ourselves as superheroes. There I am with the golden J on my chest flying off on an adventure. And, in the forefront all my crayons because, while this was my first book group, this was my first art school. The real excitement in my life was receiving the 64 crayon set from Crayola. That was golden. My parents knew their kids. Too bad the Board of Ed didn't.
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