In Defense of Flowers.

My senior Capstone exhibit, the work I have been researching and executing over the course of the year, is up!



They say things like "paint what you know," "just put in the hours and do the work," "make art about what you feel strongly about," and so on. Well, such advice proved difficult to follow for someone who is constantly fascinated by new things all the time, who knows an average amount about a lot of things but isn't an expert on anything really, and whose strong feelings are better left in personal conversations or on the pages of my leather-bound journal tucked in a cubbie of my coffee table.

Only a few weeks before Christmas break I checked out a book from the library called How to Know the Wildflowers. I thumbed through the pages, bookmarking pages containing melodious excerpts from Frost or Emerson, and botanical illustrations whose lines or composition appealed to me. On rectangles of mat board left over from cutting mounts for a photography final I began to sketch the shapes of specimens I found especially alluring - whose lines, planes, patterns, all seamlessly work together to comprise something wonderful. In lieu of black line drawings, color - vibrant and bold.

It took me another month or so of paintings to realize what I was doing: painting what I know, doing the work, and making art about something I feel strongly about. And somehow, these things have culminated in a body of work that revolves around flowers. Flowers. I still get tickled over the fact that I ended up making paintings inspired by the most painted subject know to man for my senior exhibition, but I also don't plan to stop any time soon...

Blackbridge Hall Gallery
Milledgeville, Georgia 31061

In Defense of Flowers
Statement by Lucy Reiser Williams

            In my work I explore the pertinence of flowers across multiple facets of day-to-day life, and the often-overlooked role certain visual elements of botanical specimens play in the development of modern designs hastily deemed synthetic or manufactured.  

The practice of botanical illustration suggests a very human compulsion to attach terms and explanations to objects existing outside of our control. Flowers are used as tools for our own self-expression, taken out of a context and relocated to vases on a coffee table and pots on out front porches for the purpose of decorating a space. In essence, flowers are a medium of their own.

Since the onset of botanical illustration (traced back to the year 512), the way we have documented and shared the natural world has evolved. Photos of perfectly curated floral arrangements are constantly posted to the Internet where the specimen becomes seamlessly assimilated into a further detached, entirely non-physical world. The idea that something so notoriously delicate can withstand millennia of ecological, cultural, and societal transformation while maintaining unwavering relevance is noteworthy, to say the least. Through processes of isolating elements of design within the form, stylizing, and abstracting, I explore the notion that visual components of botanical specimens play an integral role in the development of manmade modern designs. 

When flowers, though commonplace and arguably cliché, are more thoughtfully examined, they reveal foundational truths of the human condition and help make sense of the aesthetic world around us. 

Homestretch.

A couple days ago I presented at the Georgia College Student Research Conference. A few other friends of mine also presented in their respective ares of study. The conference went well for a few reasons, the first of which being that I finally had a reason to wear the closest thing I own to "business/professional" and walk into the building with my Econ-major friend decked out in the classiest of navy suits. This experience made me feel like something I will never be: a semi-powerful CEO.
The other reasons the conference was a success are non-sartorial. My presentation focused on the work I have been producing over the course of this school year, the research and thought-processes that went into it, and technical elements of the paintings (use of negative space, composition, reason for square format, why oil for some and acrylic for others, etc..). Essentially, the conference gave me an opportunity to explain what I've been doing for the past several months, and why - things that can't simply be inferred by viewing the finished products alone. Also, some ray-o'-sunshine roomies and friends came to watch me. Too kind, I tell you. Too kind.

Coming up on Wednesday the senior Studio Art majors will install our exhibition. Eleven paintings of mine - the colorful, tedious, incredibly time-consuming paint-baby I have been spending the last four months producing - will at last make its grand-ish debut into the world, via collegiate group exhibition, Synchronicity. In the exhibition my show is tentatively titled In Defense of Flowers. A show within a show, that is. Much like Inception, only with lower stakes and fewer famous people.

On Sunday, several more of my paintings will be popping up downtown in Milledgeville's very own Blackbird Coffee. This past week was, this weekend is, and this coming week will be quite paint-centric, but despite the fact that producing two bodies of work at once can be a bit of a work load, it's very exciting. Huzzah for the homestretch!

Welcome to Colorful Colorado.

One week ago Ellie and I boarded a plane bound for Denver, Colorado. Other than where we would stay, we had zero plans. Inevitably, adventures ensued.

 First day in, folks. Too good. 

This day of "skiing" was followed by dinner at Woody's, home of the best pizza I have ever consumed. Or maybe I was just that tired and hungry and happy to be with such good friends...

Our friend Jessica not only picked us up from the airport and housed us for our stay, but also let us drive her silver-stallion-bullet-bug-vehicle around while she was at work, for which we are eternally grateful. Jessica, you rock.

 When Jessica has a day off, we head for Boulder. The day was spent eating sandwiches from a deli owned by a lady who, too, is a GA native and referred to us as "Georgia gaaalls" (Hey Georgia gals, need anything?... BYE GEORGIA GALS HAVE A GREAT DAY... etc.) and eating ice cream and weaving in and out of shops, even choosing a couple souvenirs along the way. We even won free maps for filling out a blank map of the USA almost perfectly correct (New England is tricky, okay?)

Candid, of course. This magnificent gem of a restaurant featuring Indian/Nepalese/Himalayan goodness: 

The Sherpa House, Golden, CO.

I told myself I was full and needed to take the rest of my spicy curry vegetable stew and naan to-go. Which I did... Only to re-open and finish approximately 16 minutes later back at Jessica's house. It's the thought that counts.

I almost cried when I ate these little angels-pancakes. A) Because Ellie and I had to hangrily walk over a mile along a highway carrying our luggage to get to this place, B) Because minutes prior I unexpectedly ran into a friend I hadn't seen in about 3 years, also in the restaurant (I always see people I know when I travel, it's weird), but mostly C) Because they were truly the pancakes of my dreams and perfect food makes me well up with pure joy. And the coffee was *free*

After the dream-pancakes, Ellie and I stashed our luggage in lockers at the Greyhound station, walked a few miles around the city, perched on the steps of the Capitol, trolled around Larimer Square, ate sandwiches, drank coffee, and eventually made it back to the Greyhound station before boarding the bus to the airport. We observed our fellow humans at the station - one shuffling around in an army fatigue and wizard cloak, a young angsty-seeming couple seemingly about to part ways, a friendly man who struck up a conversation with me by the charging station and discussed his plans to visit Chicago in hopes of assassinating a meth lord with a hefty bounty, as well as his theories regarding the missing Malaysian airplane. Soon enough, it was time to head to the airport. I wished my new friend good luck in his endeavors, returned to the bench by Ellie, gathered my belongings, and loaded the bus bound for the airport. At the airport we (again) ran into a couple friends as well as one of Ellie's professors, and soon enough we had made it on board. Sitting next to me was a very kind and very chatty man who quizzed me on my post-grad plans and commented on my "surprisingly neutral!" non-southern accent. 

And just a handful of hours later, we were home.

Spring Break 2014, thanks for being good to us.

Plantae + Polyphony.

Last Sunday I drove to Athens, Georgia for the day to visit a friend, see her amaaazzzzing/colorful/clean/bright/superbly-decorated home, eat a spectacular sandwich at The Grit, and spend some time at the state botanical gardens in the name of Capstone research.

Upon walking through the glass doors into the conservatory, I was struck by two things: a hot wall of humidity, and delightful music.

One thing (amongst a brief list of others including gothic architecture, live orchestras, and the perfect breakfast) that never fails to overwhelm me with its beauty is the sound of strong, pure voices sewn together in a polyphonic harmony, a cappella.  It is a specific thing and when it strikes, it affects me not simply on an emotional level, but physically. I find tears that have involuntarily welled up behind my eyes, and rapidly evaluate my surroundings to determine whether or not the context is suitable for said tears to escape. (Suitable contexts: dimly-lit concert halls, the comfort of my own home, etc. Unsuitable contexts: Botanical garden conservatory, crowded, mid-day...)

A group of approximately forty members comprised of both young children and men and women older than my grandparents sat in a tight group of chairs facing a central conductor who could not have been older than ten years old. I do not know what kind of group they were and I never tried to find out, as I was all too content studying the texture of maidenhair ferns and curvature of the Phlebodium aureum to such an ethereal soundtrack.

We strolled, lingered next to the ferns, met a few other friendly chatty visitors, finally identified a cactus I had been spotting across middle Georgia for a while now, pet the fuzzy tufts of Lambsear sprouting up outside (only when typing that out do I realize how weird that sounds... ugh.whateva.), and took in the goodness of an afternoon laced with sunshiny bliss. All the while I documented various specimens and gathered enough images to work from for the time being.

Day o' fun peppered with subtle productivity = success.

The Process.

[Ceanothus americanus, Gouache on mat board / Oil on canvas]

Making a cohesive body of visual art is a strange process. It's one I have never truly had to commit myself to until recently, seeing as the bulk of the past three years has focused mainly on individual projects or mini-series. I have collections of graphite and charcoal renderings from various drawing courses, a portfolio of anatomical studies and gestural sketches from Figure Painting, newsprint-swaddled monotypes and lithographs from printmaking, and similar documentation from just about every other studio class I have been a part of. But now instead of being given a task with guidelines, I am in the thick of creating not just a finished product, but the foundation on which I am to build my thesis, ideas, dialogue, aesthetic, and also the visual artwork.

 The process, I have realized, takes a great deal of time. Time to process and refine ideas until they become expressible thoughts, time to let the thought process be worked out in the physical method of sketching, painting, building, and time to carry out projects that cost not only time, but money, and more likely than not will end up in the "no" category come exhibition time, or prove to be nothing more than a stepping stone on the road leading to the right combination of subject/style/medium needed to communicate an idea more clearly.

So far I'm six months in, and am still constantly learning. I am beginning to understand what it might look like to make art as a job in which I grow and advance, not solely as a hobby I'm passionate about. I want to make art consistently for the long haul. Whether or not I'll be able to make a living off of it is unknown, but even if it's not my main source of income, I have to stick with it. There is something intrinsic about it, and I would hate to ever abandon a practice so valuable to me.

As my senior exhibition approaches, I'll post some more info about what exactly I'm painting, how, and why. Also, I will have an artist statement ready to share. Huzzah for progress!

To Staying in Bed.

Consider my glass raised.

I am a morning person. I like to wake up around the same time the sun does. It could be due to some kind of suppressed competitive nature I have yet to fully admit to, but if ever I am the last to wake up in the house, I hate it. I feel as though I have been beaten to the punch, because I wanted this precious, quiet morning to myself - uninterrupted by any of you goons' thunderous banter (mildly dramatic... but not always entirely untrue). 

Idyllic mornings consist of rainy conditions outside, hot breakfast, coffee via french press drunk from my favorite cerulean pottery mug, little to no speaking, sitting on the blue sofa adjacent to the corner window in my bedroom, breathing deeply, reminding myself of things that are Good, sometimes reading, sometimes writing, and trying to be quiet, be present. 

On a recent morning, however, I slept later than planned and having missed those fleeting hours, dared attempt a different course of action: I stayed in bed ... for quite some time. I ventured to the kitchen only to prepare my french press and cook some oats, and with my steaming breakfast and coffee in tow, hurried quickly back into the cocoon of flannel and down.

Curling up under the toasty comforter after finishing my oats, I picked up an outdated issue of Kinfolk I got on sale for $4 at Williams Sonoma (probably the only thing I have ever actually purchased from Williams Sonoma) and perused a few of the beautifully written essays and tales accompanied by stunning photos of magnificent places. Simple stories of humanity and beauty. 

For me, I have learned there is great value in beginning my day in a state of rest and imagination. And in that, I have learned those purest morning hours are not the only hours in which such a state can be experienced. And in that, I have learned sleeping in (past 8 AM) is not always in my worst interest. (As long as I have a warm, unmade bed and anthology of something Good awaiting my return)

Figuring.

{Re-cap of ARTS 4985}

A sampling of sketches and studies from Adv. Figure Drawing & Painting: