DRAWING LIFE by fred hatt

2012/04/10

Ritual of Enchantment: Human Clay

Filed under: Dance,Movement Drawing: Performance Collaboration,My Past Events — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — fred @ 21:52

Claire Elizabeth Barratt in Human Clay, a motion sculpture movement installation by Cilla Vee Life Arts, presented by Chashama, 2004, photo by Fred Hatt

One of the most venerable functions of art is to transform the environment, to create a sacred space or a magical moment, to inspire the imagination or to open the mind to contemplate mysteries.  This may be the impulse behind the painted caves of the Ice Age, and it is why places to pray and places to play are often designed as majestic spaces, or filled with images or music, beautiful light, fine materials, costumed performers, ritualized actions, and sensual delights such as incense and candles.

It is a common conceit of modern society to think we’re past all that, or to segregate such things to churches and carnivals and festivals, to dismiss them as kid stuff or god stuff, therefore not real.  The paradigm for the contemporary art gallery is the industrial space with plain white walls and bright track lighting, the better to display work that is formally reductionist, coldly conceptual, or ironic, and of course, always very, very expensive.

Naturally  there’s a counter-movement.  I’ve always been drawn to alternatives to the white box gallery, and have mostly shown work in unusual venues or as part of collaborative multimedia happenings.  One of the organizers of such events is Claire Elizabeth Barratt.  She’s a dancer, performance artist, and installation artist, but I’d say her real art form is to bring diverse artists together in loose collaborative events that aim to create enchanted spaces.  Under the banner of Cilla Vee – Life Arts, she’s produced countless events in a wide variety of environments.

In June, 2004 and again in August, 2005, I created live ink drawings as part of Human Clay, a production Claire calls a “Motion Sculpture Movement Installation”, melding elements of visual art, dance, and live music, all improvised in the moment.  It was what some people call an “ambient performance.”  A variant on “ambient music“, this term generally describes an event with a designated run time but no beginning, middle or end, so the audience can come and go at will, taking a momentary taste or settling into the experience for as long as they wish.

Human Clay was done in one of the 42nd Street storefront window spaces hosted by the NYC arts organization Chashama.  (I’ve written previously about solo drawing performances I did in Chashama’s windows.)  In this space, people could see the performance through the window from the public sidewalk, or they could come in and sit down on the opposite side of the stage, with the city street as backdrop.  I believe the performance went on for four or five hours each time it was done.

In this post I’m presenting pictures of all the drawings I made during the 2004 and 2005 performances of Human Clay, interspersed with photos of the 2004 performance that I took during breaks from drawing.

Hisayasu Takashio, sculptor, in Human Clay, a motion sculpture movement installation by Cilla Vee Life Arts, presented by Chashama, 2004, photo by Fred Hatt

Claire’s description of Human Clay calls it “a constant shifting of landscapes composed of human, rope and twisted tree branch sculptures. The sculptor fervently constructs, molds and forms these elements in a race against time before they give in to gravity and gradually melt towards the ground.”  The sculptor, shown above, is Brooklyn-based Hisayasu Takashio.

Fred Hatt drawing in Human Clay, a motion sculpture movement installation by Cilla Vee Life Arts, presented by Chashama, 2005, photo by Marc Dale

While the sculptor was moving his dancers and objects into ever-shifting arrangements, I was using them as models for brush sketches.  I had hung long strips of white paper throughout the interior of the space, and over the few hours that the performance went on, I recorded my impressions of the fleeting tableaux with my dancing brush.  As each pose was set, it would only hold for a few seconds before heaviness or the impulse to move caused the fragile structure to collapse, so I had to use my quick-drawing skills.  There’s a shot of me drawing, above, and the finished panel below.  As you can see, the drawings are quite large, so I could move the brush freely, and didn’t have to worry about crowding the paper too quickly.

Drama, left panel, ink drawing by Fred Hatt from Human Clay performance, 2005

Normally, a sculptor’s work is long-lasting, but this sculptor was working with living bodies and transient arrangements.  It was up to me to capture what I could, covering the walls with my linear impressions of the slow, shifting sands of the dance.

Image from Human Clay, a motion sculpture movement installation by Cilla Vee Life Arts, presented by Chashama, 2004, photo by Fred Hatt

The ritual of continuous, slow-paced resculpting was sustained by quiet, trancy music.  Marianne Giosa, a soulful trumpeter, multi-instrumentalist and dancer was performing for the 2004 version.

Drama, right panel, ink drawing by Fred Hatt from Human Clay performance, 2005

The elements the sculptor had to work with were ropes: tough but limp, branches: stiff and serpentine, and living human bodies that could combine all those qualities.

Image from Human Clay, a motion sculpture movement installation by Cilla Vee Life Arts, presented by Chashama, 2004, photo by Fred Hatt

The performances maintained the same pace and substance for the full duration – no development, no narrative.  But when I look at the drawings, I can’t help but see dramatic events.  There’s no clear plotline you can read.  It’s like looking at the illustrations to a story book in a language you don’t understand.  The imagination is stimulated to fill in the blanks.

Youth, 2 panels, ink drawing by Fred Hatt from Human Clay performance, 2004

The dancers were smeared with clay, which gave them a crusty patina like cracked plaster.  Some of Claire’s other Motion Sculpture events are wildly colorful.  This one is austere, but with a strong dose of nature’s chaotic textures.

Image from Human Clay, a motion sculpture movement installation by Cilla Vee Life Arts, presented by Chashama, 2004, photo by Fred Hatt

The sticks and ropes added simple but powerful recurring visual motifs to the ever-changing compositions.  Look at the crossed twisty branches above, and in the drawing below, and in the photo below that.

Altar, ink drawing by Fred Hatt from Human Clay performance, 2005

To me the branches evoke the writhing life force, and when the dancers are crossed and suspended and tangled up, my imagination sees sacrifice and struggle.

Image from Human Clay, a motion sculpture movement installation by Cilla Vee Life Arts, presented by Chashama, 2004, photo by Fred Hatt

I had never met the sculptor before these performances, but Claire must have known his wriggly lines and mine would work in harmony!

Fire, ink drawing by Fred Hatt from Human Clay performance, 2005

Always slow, as if in a trance, there is constant change.  A journey through a forest.

Image from Human Clay, a motion sculpture movement installation by Cilla Vee Life Arts, presented by Chashama, 2004, photo by Fred Hatt

Gestures and attitudes, all the expressions of the human body.

Gesticulate, ink drawing by Fred Hatt from Human Clay performance, 2005

Contact, sensuality, struggle.

Image from Human Clay, a motion sculpture movement installation by Cilla Vee Life Arts, presented by Chashama, 2004, photo by Fred Hatt

Spreading out, rising up, sinking down, curling inward.

Relation, 3 panels, ink drawing by Fred Hatt from Human Clay performance, 2004

Pose of a hero, a warrior.

Image from Human Clay, a motion sculpture movement installation by Cilla Vee Life Arts, presented by Chashama, 2004, photo by Fred Hatt

Strife, stress, conflict.

Hitting, ink drawing by Fred Hatt from Human Clay performance, 2005

Pulling apart and holding together.

Image from Human Clay, a motion sculpture movement installation by Cilla Vee Life Arts, presented by Chashama, 2004, photo by Fred Hatt

Stride, strive, strike.

Arise, ink drawing by Fred Hatt from Human Clay performance, 2005

Angle, angel, anger, danger.

Image from Human Clay, a motion sculpture movement installation by Cilla Vee Life Arts, presented by Chashama, 2004, photo by Fred Hatt

Arise, arouse, arrows, errors.

Victory, 3 panels, ink drawing by Fred Hatt from Human Clay performance, 2004

Breathe, bathe, incline, align.

Image from Human Clay, a motion sculpture movement installation by Cilla Vee Life Arts, presented by Chashama, 2004, photo by Fred Hatt

Allay, ally, alloy.

Dance, ink drawing by Fred Hatt from Human Clay performance, 2005

In balance, imbalance.

Image from Human Clay, a motion sculpture movement installation by Cilla Vee Life Arts, presented by Chashama, 2004, photo by Fred Hatt

Every character finds its extreme expression, and its norm.

Individuation, left panel, ink drawing by Fred Hatt from Human Clay performance, 2005

Keep the clay wet, to keep it supple.

Image from Human Clay, a motion sculpture movement installation by Cilla Vee Life Arts, presented by Chashama, 2004, photo by Fred Hatt

Curl, curve, curse, cure.

Individuation, right panel, ink drawing by Fred Hatt from Human Clay performance, 2005

Everything tends to come to rest.

Image from Human Clay, a motion sculpture movement installation by Cilla Vee Life Arts, presented by Chashama, 2004, photo by Fred Hatt

Every body plays many roles as the endless dance goes on.

Fold, 2 panels, ink drawing by Fred Hatt from Human Clay performance, 2004

We are the stuff of stars and of earth.  We shine and we sink down, and new life is always emerging from death.

Image from Human Clay, a motion sculpture movement installation by Cilla Vee Life Arts, presented by Chashama, 2004, photo by Fred Hatto

This ritual has no story, no structure, no destination.  It goes on and on, and when the time comes, it ends.  In the meantime, it evokes every quality of life, but there is no definitive meaning.  This is my experience of this piece, from my viewpoint as a person who looks and loves and draws.  I’m sure Claire, the sculptor, the dancers, and the musicians all have their own rich and very personal experience of the piece.

Encounter, 2 horizontal panels joined, ink drawing by Fred Hatt from Human Clay performance, 2004

I wonder how the audience experienced it.  I imagine there was quite a range, from the passerby who thinks “Look at the weirdos” to the person who gets sucked into the trance and comes in to sit rapt for an hour or more.  As for me, I want to do more things like this.

Audience on the street watching Human Clay, a motion sculpture movement installation by Cilla Vee Life Arts, presented by Chashama, 2004, photo by Fred Hatt

Here are the credits for the performance:  Human Clay with sculptor Hisayasu Takashio, action gesture drawing by Fred Hatt, sound by Marianne Giosa, Judith Berkson and/or Sabine Arnaud, presented at Chashama 42nd Street Storefront, NYC, June 2004 & August 2005.  Dancers in 2004 (those pictured in these photos) were Claire Elizabeth Barratt, Pedro Jimenez, Jill Frere, and Kazu Kulken.  Dancers in 2005 were Claire Elizabeth Barratt, Maria Pirone, Jill Frere, and Judy Canestrelli.

The drawings from 2004 are sumi ink on paper 36″ wide, varying lengths.  The 2005 drawings are sumi ink on paper 48″ wide, also varying lengths.

See video excerpts from these performances here.

2012/03/30

Collector of Souls: Alice Neel

Filed under: Homage: Visual Artists — Tags: , , , , , , , , — fred @ 12:32

 

Nancy and Olivia, 1967, by Alice Neel

Alice Neel (1900-1984) is always described as an artist that was slow to find recognition.  It’s true, but I think it’s also true that her brilliance was of a kind that is only achieved through maturity and persistence.  Our culture likes to think that a genius is a genius, that they must be incandescent in their emergence.  If you pass 30 or 40 and you’re not a star, you should give up, pack it in, and do something useful for a change.  And maybe that makes sense if you think art is all about fresh concepts and the iconoclasm of a new generation defying the elders.  But what if you’re trying to do something very deep and subtle, and nearly impossible to master?

Alice Neel, 1944, photo by Sam Brody

I’m not saying Neel’s early work wasn’t strong, and I’m not saying her sex and her devotion to figuration in an era where the big money was on abstraction didn’t delay her acclaim.  Her early work shows the  influence of the Ashcan School of socially conscious realism, as well as of surrealism and psychological expressionism of the kind that Munch and Ensor developed.  Her paintings of the 1920’s and 1930’s are dark with lots of black paint, and heavy with romantic angst, symbolism, and working class politics.

Degenerate Madonna, 1930, by Alice Neel

Kenneth Fearing (poet, founder of Partisan Review), 1935, by Alice Neel

Those were the radical art fashions of the era.  Neel does them well, but you can see hints that the real essence of her talent lies in her intense focus on the individual human subject.  At the time, she was young, and dedicated to the romantic ideal of the rebellious and bohemian artist, which she lived fully, complete with abusive marriages, nervous breakdowns and suicide attempts.

Ballet Dancer, 1950, by Alice Neel

The Last Sickness (Alice's mother), 1953, by Alice Neel

She persuaded a diverse collection of people to sit for her – her neighbors, her bohemian artist and writer friends, children and old people, naked nudes and dressed-up dandies, the uptight and the laid-back, the pretentious and the naïve.  She found nothing more fascinating than to try to capture in paint something of what it was like to be with these people.  She said, “Like Chekhov, I am a collector of souls.”

Two Girls, Spanish Harlem, 1959, by Alice Neel

Robert Smithson (earthworks artist), 1962, by Alice Neel

Sherry Speeth (mathematician), 1964, by Alice Neel

Alice Neel painted directly from life, and directly on the canvas, without designs or preliminary studies.  She said, “I do not pose my sitters. I do not deliberate and then concoct… Before painting, when I talk to the person, they unconsciously assume their most characteristic pose, which in a way involves all their character and social standing – what the world has done to them and their retaliation.”  Doing a painting of someone was for her an interaction with that person.

Fuller Brush Man, 1965, by Alice Neel

Hartley (Alice's son), 1965, by Alice Neel

Charlotte Willard (art critic & author), 1967, by Alice Neel

The old saying is “Every painter paints himself”, and for most portrait painters this is a limitation.  It means they project something on the subject, some fantasy or ideal.  For Neel, it means she paints how she and her subject encounter each other, in the moment as they look at each other.  The directness of the look, and the directness of the act of painting, capture the uncanny aliveness that Neel’s pictures embody.

In the silent home movie above you can see some of how Neel starts painting, and how she develops the canvas.  Alice’s son Hartley shot this film as she was painting her daughter-in-law Ginny.  She starts out with a black line drawing in thinned paint, sure and direct.  There is no measuring, no roughing in.  It’s distorted and out of proportion, and that doesn’t matter at all.  As she continues to paint, areas of color are filled in here and there, seemingly haphazardly, but with a sense of painterly dynamics.

Andy Warhol (artist), 1970, by Alice Neel

Jackie Curtis (performer, Warhol superstar) and Ritta Redd, 1970, by Alice Neel

The Family (John Gruen, Jane Wilson and Julia), 1970, by Alice Neel. Gruen was a music, dance and art critic, Wilson a painter, and Julia is now director of the Keith Haring foundation.

The eyes are usually enlarged, making intense connection to the painter, and through her, to the viewer.  The hands are often oddly small yet expressive, with snaky fingers grasping the world, holding on tight or draping lazily.  Background elements are sometimes highly textural and at other times they are left as bare indications.  In the later work the use of unfinished areas is masterful.

Carmen and Judy, 1972, by Alice Neel

John Perreault (artist, poet & critic), 1972, by Alice Neel

The Soyer Brothers (Moses and Raphael, artists), 1973, by Alice Neel

 

Her pictures of people are distorted in proportion, but they are not distorted by idealism or sentimentality, nor by judgment or an agenda.  They are open, clear-eyed, compassionate, and realistic.  The probing engagement is the same whether the subject is a child or a power broker.  Some of her pictures could almost be caricatures, except that they are made with an openness to her subject that is foreign to caricature.

Isabel Bishop (artist), 1974, by Alice Neel

Margaret Evans Pregnant, 1978, by Alice Neel

Geoffrey Hendricks (Fluxus artist) and Brian, 1978, by Alice Neel

The riveting quality of Neel’s paintings convinces me that there is no greater subject for a painter than the individual human being, and that symbolism and theory and “statements” are nothing  but obstacles to true seeing.  Why do so few serious artists in our day attempt it?  The portrait is considered a fusty genre, suitable for sentimentalists and satirists.  It doesn’t challenge the status quo as the contemporary artist is expected to do.  It has no intellectual component.  But perhaps all that is just to rationalize avoiding a challenge that is extremely difficult to pull off, a challenge that engages not just the mind but the whole being of the artist.

Self Portrait, 1980, by Alice Neel

Alice Neel never stopped believing in herself, even as the institutional art world ignored her.  She had to wait for her moment of fame, which finally came with the rise of the feminist movement.  They came looking for the great neglected female artists, and for an approach to art that countered the macho culture of abstract expressionism and pop art.  Neel’s deeply embodied, personally engaged work, with its pregnant women and babies, its frank and unheroic male nudes, fit the bill.  She bristled a bit at being assigned the role of feminist art icon, but she reveled in her late-life fame.

Alice Neel, 1970's, photographer unknown

The illustrations here really don’t do justice to the original paintings.  They lose the subtleties of the color and the sense of scale, which in the later work tends to be half life size or bigger.  Last week I was thrilled to be able to look at some original Alice Neel oils in an exhibit at the Michael Rosenfeld Gallery on 57th Street in Manhattan.  It’s a three person show with pioneering African American artists Benny Andrews and Bob Thompson, whose work is also very much worth looking at, and it’s up for just another week, through April 7, 2012.  The asking price for all the Neels is about half a million dollars each.  I think even when she was 50 years old and living in poverty, Alice Neel knew her work was that valuable.

Check out this brief clip on Neel from ART/New York.  One of the art critics that’s interviewed is John Perreault, whose nude portrait by Neel is included in this post.

If you’re interested in learning more about Alice Neel, I recommend the excellent documentary on her made by her Grandson, Andrew Neel.

All the images here were found on the web, and clicking on the images links back to the site where I found them.

2012/03/20

Givens and Options

Filed under: Figure Drawing: Process — Tags: , , , , , , , , — fred @ 23:33

Shoulderblade Contact, 2012, by Fred Hatt

In an open life drawing session, the givens are simple:  There is a live nude model, who will take a pose and hold still for a designated period of time.  Using the materials of visual art, we must draw what we can from the model during the interval allowed.  Over a series of sessions, we can expect to see a great variety of models, and if we want to, we can try out many different materials and techniques, but for a given class, we take the model we get and use the materials we’ve brought.  If it’s a big class, we will probably have little or no say about the poses, and may not be able to move from the viewing position we have taken up in advance.  But in the moment the model takes the pose and the timer begins counting down, we still have many options, and must make choices instinctively or deliberately.

How shall we scale the figure?  Do we want to include the whole figure, or just part?  Do we focus our energies on trying to capture a likeness, or a feeling of structure, or what?  Do we isolate the figure, or include background elements?  What details should we include, and what can we omit?  Do we start with light and shadows, or with contours?  Shall we try to keep our hand as loose as possible, or as precise as possible?  These choices face us, in a way limited by our skill, even in a one- or two-minute pose.  If the pose is twenty minutes, or three hours, the options proliferate!  In an instructed class, the teacher may make many of these choices for us, but in an open practice session they are up to us, and the richness of the practice is greatly enhanced by not always making the same choices.

That’s a general observation, the sort of thing I’m always harping on, and would perhaps be best illustrated by work from over the years, specifically selected to highlight the various choices involved.  But what I have to share with you now is a few of my recent watercolor paintings and crayon drawings of the figure.  I’ve arranged them to bring out similarities and differences, and the theme of choices will perhaps provide a lens with which to view them.

Slim, 2012, by Fred Hatt

The first three illustrations are all 10- or 20-minute watercolor sketches of figures with crossed arms.  All of these have a loose, casual feel, but the scribbly strokes are anchored by contour lines that are carefully drawn.  The first two are standing poses, with the faces roughly indicated, and framed to include most of the body but not the feet.  The one below is a seated pose, framed closer, with more attention to the facial expression and the hands.

Arms Folded, 2012, by Fred Hatt

Lines of color on the face give a sense of color and shading, but also convey some quality of emotion or energy.  Below I’ve used a similar approach in a longer drawing – I think this one was about an hour.  I had started out sketching a full figure, but as I went on with it I found that what really interested me about this model was her face, and I couldn’t get the details of the face in a full-figure painting.

Thinking Back, 2012, by Fred Hatt

Including the chest as well as the face allows me to get plenty of expressive detail but also show something of how the head is carried upon the body.  In the watercolor sketches above and below, I’m using two of my favorite pigments, cadmium red and ultramarine blue.  The red shows where the blood flows near the surface, and the blue shows where the light is absorbed.

Relief, 2012, by Fred Hatt

In the long-pose watercolor portrait below, I tried optical color mixing to give a sense of flesh tones.  By cross-hatching using fan brushes with cadmium red and green oxide, with some lamp black and phthalocyanine turquoise, I’m trying to get the glow of life.  Adding bluer tones to the background also emphasizes the warmth of the figure.

Chuck, 2012, by Fred Hatt

The portrait below is drawn with white and reddish-brown aquarelle crayon on warm gray paper, with the darks filled in with black watercolor.  A wet brush was used to blend some of the white aquarelle crayon.

A.Z., 2012, by Fred Hatt

The model below, Julie,  has an inner happiness and confidence that I can’t help but express in my drawings of her.  Plump females may get no respect in the media culture, but they’re very popular as figure drawing models, because their rounded forms are beautiful on paper, and they’re a lot easier to draw than wiry, angular models.  Something about this pose just makes me want to dance, and I had to get the whole figure on the paper, from head to feet, in this 20-minute watercolor sketch.

Coquette, 2012, by Fred Hatt

The body leans to one side, and that violation of balance makes a still pose seem active.  In the long pose watercolor below, I chose to develop rectangular elements in the background to contrast the inclined body.

Piet, 2012, by Fred Hatt

Every Monday morning at Spring Studio I am the monitor for the 3-hour long pose session.  We do a set of 2-minute warm-up poses and then, subtracting the breaks, we have about two hours to study a single pose.  Once in a while, we have two models at once.  Two models isn’t just twice the work, it multiplies the geometrical relationships of elements and reveals every feature of the face and body by contrast to a very different face and body.  The intensity of observation required usually sends me into a more realist mode than I might otherwise pursue.

Two Women, 2012, by Fred Hatt

The realist mode of painting is obsessive, and when I really get into it, every detail of texture or color becomes achingly beautiful – even the way cellulite refracts light.

Center of Power, 2012, by Fred Hatt

Sometimes in a session you get an angle on a pose that, on first glance, doesn’t seem to offer much.  A back view, flat lighting, not much visible anatomical detail – not much to work with, right?  No, this is an opportunity to notice subtleties, and to find how simple details – the arrangement of the fingers, the way a scarf is tied around the head – can make the boring pose dynamic.

Back with Headscarf, 2012, by Fred Hatt

Here’s another example of a pose that at first seemed a bad viewpoint.  But look at how the angular joints stack up!  Look at how the light pulls everything up and to the right, while the shadows and the black hair give the figure gravity.

Listening, 2012, by Fred Hatt

Contrast the skinny body above with the corpulent body below.  The range of variation of the human form is a wondrous thing to contemplate.

An artist working with a model in his or her own studio would be unlikely to choose either of these sideways/backwards views of a pose, but in a class or an open session you get what you get, and what do you know, this is a great angle to reveal the energy of the body!

Column, 2012, by Fred Hatt

When I work with a model in my own studio, I can do experiments with angles and lighting that wouldn’t work in a class or open session.  The next two figures were drawn (in aquarelle crayon) by looking through a mirror set on the floor with the model standing above.  This gives a foreshortened view with a standing pose.  In this way, I’m looking up by looking down, while drawing on the floor.  The figure in the mirror is seen upside-down, and these drawings were made that way, with the head at the bottom of the page.  One of the pleasures of the foreshortened view of the figure is unusual juxtapositions of body parts.  Notice below how one elbow aligns with the head, and another with the cleft between buttock and thigh.  That’s something you will never see with the normal straight-on view of a standing pose.

Atlas 2, 2012, by Fred Hatt

My inspiration for these figures was ceiling frescoes, which often show cherubs and mythological characters as though one is looking up at bodies floating in the sky.  The figure towering above has a godlike quality.  This is how adults are seen by babies!

Atlas 1, 2012, by Fred Hatt

This pose was done lying face down on the floor, but it naturally conveys the feel of flying.  I was sorry to lose that left hand, but just couldn’t shrink the figure down enough to fit the entire thing on the page!

Soar, 2012, by Fred Hatt

Here’s a reclining foreshortened view from the head end of the body, with the light coming from behind.  This is a sketch painted with white gouache on black paper.  I love unusual, foreshortened views of the body.  In drawing them, I find it very helpful to think of the eyes as organs of touch from a distance.  The fingertips that are touching this body are rays of light, and it is that touch that the eyes receive and translate into drawing.

Morning Light, 2012, by Fred Hatt

All the pieces in this post are around 18″ x 24″, in watercolor, sometimes with white gouache, and/or in aquarelle crayon on paper.

EVENT THIS WEEKEND:

On Saturday, at Soundance Studio in Brooklyn, I’m showing an experimental video I made last year with dancer Kristin Hatleberg.  Kristin improvised movement at Ringing Rocks Park in Eastern Pennsylvania, a unique landscape with boulders that ring like steel when struck.  Filmmaker Yuko Takebe and I both shot video of Kristin in this environment, and then each of us made our own edits of the combined footage.  It’s fascinating to see how two different sensibilities transform the same raw material.  We’ll be showing both versions of the Ringing Rocks video at an event also featuring other video and live dance work at Soundance Studio in Williamsburg, Broooklyn, this Saturday.  Here are details:

    • Saturday
    • 8:00pm
  • 281 N. 7th Street in Williamsburg, Brooklyn
  • Free Admission! Reservation required!
    2 Excerpts From Generations: A Dance and Film Collaboration Conceived and Directed by Janet Aisawa with choreography by Emily Winkler-Morey and Judith Grodowitz
    Ringing Rocks Remember: Companion Films by Yuko Takebe and Fred Hatt, with dancer Kristin Hatleberg
    Additional Videos by Vanessa Paige & Dalienne Majors’ Video of Sarah Skaggs’ 9/11

2012/02/12

Dancing/Drawing Performance

Filed under: Movement Drawing: Performance Collaboration,My Events: Performances — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , — fred @ 23:34

Kayoko Nakajima and Carly Czach, dancing Contact Improvisation, 2012, photo by Fred Hatt

On Saturday, February 18, I was drawing as part of this performance by one of my longtime collaborators, Kayoko Nakajima.  Kayoko is a dancer and a deep student of the anatomy of movement.  Here are all the details:

 “ARt Seeds to ARt Sprouts Project 2012”

Concept: Kayoko Nakajima

Improvisational/Contact Improvisational Dance: Kayoko Nakajima, Carly Czach
Improvising Drawing: Fred Hatt, Michael Imlay,Ivana Basic, Jennifer Giuglianotti
Costume: Aya Shibaraha
Video: Charles Dennis
February 18, Sat. 2012
7:30pm
Cumbe: Center for African and Diaspora Dance
558 Fulton Street, 2nd Floor (near Flatbush Ave.)
Brooklyn, NY 11217
This performance was a part of NYFA Bootstrap Festival 2012 A Celebration of Movement and Interdisciplinary Art
featuring Nicola Iervasi, Artistic Director, Mare Nostrum Elements, Kayoko Nakajima with Carly Czach, and Clark Jackson.

2012/02/08

The Body Contemplated

Filed under: Figure Drawing: Energy,Poetry — Tags: , , , , , , , — fred @ 22:17

Ray, 2012, by Fred Hatt

a person is a bit of this and a bit of that

fuzzy tendencies overlapping, interacting

forged and scourged in the kiln of embodied life

 

Earrings, 2012, by Fred Hatt

eyes ions, black magnetic pools

 

A la plage, 2012, by Fred Hatt

zone in on tones

undertone, overtone, midtone

let the parts fall where they may

 

Elbows & Knees, 2012, by Fred Hatt

body takes a beating just doing the day by day

 

Brooder, 2012, by Fred Hatt

why are things so

what do things mean

how do things work

 

Curvature, 2012, by Fred Hatt

a serpent grows limbs

a head aloft partakes of the clouds of heaven

as well as the dirt of the ground

 

Sleep Tight, 2012, by Fred Hatt

a stack of bones

opal tones

 

Halt, 2011, by Fred Hatt

expand, contract

concentrate, dissipate

 

Defeat, 2012, by Fred Hatt

hands ground down while forces face forward

 

Muscles of the Back, 2012, by Fred Hatt

the bones are the slowest river

the flesh, the nerves, the blood grow to flow, each in its way

life is a convulsion of matter

 

Gray, 2012, by Fred Hatt

eyes tomorrow

seated present

 

Outward & Inward, 2012, by Fred Hatt

sentry and slave

guard the grave

 

Defiant, 2012, by Fred Hatt

the body of light harbors a shade

the body of shadow contains a glow

 

Graces, 2011, by Fred Hatt

Luna Triune: wax and full and wane and new

the new of course unseen

every cycle has its way, its period, its mystery

each single season’s unique, any noise has its timbre

all is oscillation, orbs in orbit

go down long, draw in and in, only finally open out

 

Degasian, 2012, by Fred Hatt

bow, bend, lay low

tack and parry, stealthy slow

like grass grows

 

Retrospect, 2011, by Fred Hatt

space is light

matter is force

time is mind

 

Rorrim, 2012, by Fred Hatt

feeling with eyes, rove over ridges and marshes and creeks

body is topography and self is weather

sometimes stormy, often calm

 

Fine Lines, 2012, by Fred Hatt

I am made of moss and ferns

mushrooms and minnows and dim glow worms

 

Faun, 2012, by Fred Hatt

man is land

containing imagination

soil to till

seed to spill

 

Heartache, 2012, by Fred Hatt

bereft chest

abject head

trunk bent

tower leant

 

Brothers, 2012, by Fred Hatt

a man knows a man, nothing said

 

All the images in this post are watercolor on paper, sometimes with a little white gouache.  I painted all these within the last two months.  Sizes:

Graces and Rorrim:  38″ x 50″ (96.5 x 127 cm).

Ray, Earrings, Elbows & Knees, Sleep Tight, Gray, Defiant, Retrospect, Fine Lines, Faun, Heartache, Brothers:  19″ x 24″ (48.3 x 61 cm).

A la plage, Brooder, Curvature, Halt, Defiant, Muscles of the Back, Outward & Inward, Degasian: 14″ x 17″ (35.6 x 43.2 cm).

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