How does the mind engage with abstract painting?

  This is a question  which has interested me as long as I have been painting.  I see  
painting functioning as a psychic screen, onto which consciousness is projected.  This outward projection constitutes a self-organizing map,
and in this it becomes a “representation” of selfhood.  A painting is a diagram of subjectivity which interacts with the viewer, and through
its outward projection of meaning becomes organized as a subject.

Each of my paintings expresses a new possibility, an opening into a new direction where meaning is continually at play and in flux.
most interesting pieces are those in which something has been left unresolved; its reason for being has not been entirely spelled out for the
viewer or even for the artist.  In the painting’s openness it becomes a reflection of the self; the meaning of the painting unfolds in its
unspoken dialogue with the viewer. 

Memory filters through the imagination; visual and emotional memory.  Cities seen, love’s body, nature’s bittersweet dawning.  These
fleeting moments constitute the wonder of the world.  Much like a city is a structural diagram of human history, a painting could be
conceived as a structural diagram of the human psyche.  Like cities and dreams, the internal logic (or non-logic) of painting is structured
upon absurd rules and deceitful perspectives.  In my work, receding spaces suddenly abut against flat planes; geometric stability is
overthrown as are sensical spatial relationships.  Much like the human psyche, contradictions are usually left unresolved. 

Calmness and chaos hang in the balance in my paintings, and it is this balance which usually determines the success of the work.  It is in this
state of simultaneously held oppositions that we can discover for a moment that ever-elusive enigma of self-hood.

 Jessica snow

I make immersive, collaged works on paper that draw on the language of maps. The impetus for this body of work was my
longing to connect to my father, a truck driver who drove eighteen-wheelers across the country; he died when I was a teenager.
Based on road maps of the United States, routes my father often traveled, and an invented conglomeration, mutation, and
fragmentation of those passageways, my works on paper help me piece together the past and make up the parts I cannot know.

My mixed media abstractions map not only physical locations but also psychological and emotional spaces. Since my pieces are
not planned, I am compelled to put myself in an explorative mode, employing the abstract space of the map to create a pliable
structure for intuition, improvisation and chance. Connecting paper fragments together through collage, drawing, painting,
staining with salty washes of ink, printing, stitching and cutting paper have become my methods for navigating the blurry
terrain of memory and imagination.

Spending time constructing the small parts that accumulate to create a large work, I find a meditative possibility in working
with my hands, creating a closeness and depth of value for me. Painting through staining, seepage, and absorption becomes a
metaphor for the fluidity of remembering, mimicking the geologic layers that constitute memories. The handmade element of
craft allows for the beauty of imperfection. Using hand-cut paper shapes as collage material and cutting into the ground paper
of a work brings the drawings into a sculptural space that hovers between two- and three-dimensions. Recently, using recycled
materials in an effort to reduce my environmental impact has informed my work in unexpected ways, imbuing it with unknown
histories.

An ongoing concern in my studio practice is how to push the language of abstraction in order to create a visceral sense of
movement through space and an emotional impact. I am interested in how my work can explore the tension between chaos and
imposed order, the concrete and the imaginary, the known and unknown. Traveling, navigating routes, mapping our
experiences, making choices at a crossroads, viewing purpose as a destination: these common metaphors link experiencing life
with the notion of a journey. In my work I often think about how the retelling of our stories, the reconstruction of our journeys,
helps us make sense of the now, and how the retelling is its own journey. Mapping serves as a metaphor for searching, an
implication of the unknown in wide, open spaces, and a trace of how we see where we've been.
Val Britton
April 2011

Q. To what extent does formal training inform what you do? did you study any formal or classical system (such as
cast copies or sight-size excercises) at the pennsylvania academy? If so, how far has your process strayed from your
training?

A. The formal training was some years ago, so you might say I have strayed quite a bit. When I was at school I did
all the casts and site-size exercises and what not, but never very enthusiastically. I pretty much treated classes as
opportunities to paint models anyway I saw fit. So I was asked by my teachers several times why was I in their
classes in the first place if I ignored the assignments. You know: why paint with limited pallet, for example, just
because some guy to told you to do it, when you can use all these colors? I suppose I always thought of good
painting as something that happens as a reaction to, not because of schooling.

Q. How do you approach measuring? how about the block in? are you very precise, or are you allowing for
correction in subsequent layers? it seems to me this sort of “rubbing out” or painting over without removing the
artifacts from the previous layer is key to the richness of the final works. An evidence of process perhaps?

A. I don’t really measure anything. I try go purely by sight. Not because I am so precise, but because I need
opportunities to make “mistakes”. Some struggle, conflict with reality is what makes perceptual painting interesting
to me. You are right – there is a lot of fast, imprecise painting that goes on with subsequent repainting in hope to
find the illusive reality. The evidence is, of course, present in the paintings. They are in some ways diaries of their
own creation. If I give them opportunity to get out of control, my work becomes a form of dialogue rather than mere
exercise in imposing my will on them.

Q. On your website, you have an interesting section documenting the progression of several paintings.
Approximately how long does each session/phase take you? Is the model always there, or do you use photography
ever?

A. Each session is between 2 hours and an entire day. This can go on for weeks or even months with interruptions
when I loose my way. The models are not always there. Some of the best work happens right after a model leaves
for the day, while the memory is still fresh. Depending on the painting it might be purely work with a model or
purely from a photo. Or a mix of the both. Photography is very useful, but not as a form of reference. It is mostly
useful as a way to remove oneself one step away from my own perception of reality which is colored by all sorts of
sentiments.

Q. In criticism, we often ignore the physicality of paint itself. With this in mind, I’m curious about the alchemical
mixtures you’re using. what are the ingredients in your paint “soup”? Do you use any industrial (wall) paints? what
kinds of mediums if any?

A. There is not much soup. I don’t have secret formulas. Just good quality oil and sometimes alkyd paints, Liquin
and sometimes turp. I don’t use any industrial (wall) stuff. I rely on subtle color and texture shifts, and the industrial
stuff is formulated for consistency and uniformity. It is hard to push around. Besides, I don’t trust their quality.
Judging from my own experiences in house-painting, the manufacturers of the wall painting want you to have to
repaint your wall every few years.
Q. what’s your approach to mixing colour? do you mix on the canvas or on the pallette? How many pigments are
you typically working with?
A. I try to arrive at canvas (actually, more often board) with a color already well mixed. Then I can see it clearly for
what it is. If I am not satisfied with it I will continue to change it, but always by working into it something already
mixed. The less you push around the color already on canvass, the fresher it looks. If I can’t get what I want after
one or two attempts, I return to it when it is dry. Keeps things fresh.

Q. How deliberate has the journey been in developing your style? did you (and do you) have a clear overarching
vision of what you wanted ( a “how to” journey), or was the process more trial and error (a “what if” journey)?

A. I am not interested in style. Style is for fashion designers. They have the problem of maintaining a signature look
while trying to fit into this or that general trend. I am interested in neither one of these objectives. If my paintings
express my own perception of the world with clarity and commitment, they will always look like they are mine. If
my perception or creative process changes, the painting “style” might also change. I just have to let the cheeps fall
where they may and deal with consequences.

For each individual painting I have a very clear and concise vision of what it should be. I am committed to it. But,
as I said, my work is a form of dialogue, so as a result of my experiences while working on it my vision of what it
should be, my ideas of what I want often change quite drastically. There are also times when it becomes clear that
what I wanted is impossible, and it has to be abandoned. This is very disappointing and it takes a while to accept the
fact. For example, the painting of the male figure in my website’s progression series eventually crushed and burned
after two years of struggle.

Q. Who are some of your key influences?

A. Diebenkorn, Morandi, Freud, Rembrandt, Velasquez, Lopez Garcia, Ingres, Kline, Giacometti, Cezanne…

Q. biggest challenge?

A. There are things that appear very difficult if not impossible. I would like one day to try to do a good painting of
either Elvis or kittens. At this point i don’t even know where to begin. What I am trying to say that it would be
interesting to take an iconic image overloaded with industrial strength sentiment and try to rescue the image,
overcoming this sentiment. To distill it free of all ascribed meaning, as it were.

Q. What contemporary artists are you interested in these days?

A. Cecily Brown when she paints well, Hokney’s drawings, Nan Goldin, William Eggleston, Euan Uglow, Sophie
Jodoin, Peter Doig, Ann Gale, and many others – in no particular order
Q. Is painting a comforting endeavour, or is it terrifiying? maybe neither? what’s your relationship to the process?

A. Certainly not comforting. Who wants comforting? It is not a sofa. Nor is it terrifying. Painting is not something I
do to a canvas. It is a form of conversation, and just like a conversation it can turn out exciting, boring, ugly,
beautiful, enlightening. Like a conversation, it can have unexpected turns, sudden discoveries and hidden subtext
and periods of silence. All this is what makes painting endlessly fascinating

To see Amore of Alex’s work, visit: http://www.somepaintings.net/Alex.html

If you are interested in other interviews, go to: http://www.vivianite.net/alex-kanevsky-3.aspx

Also be sure to check out the latest Charlie Kaufman film “Synecdoche” which features Kanevsky’s art
Vivianite: Your use of motion, light and color is truly stunning, how did you invent or learn your technique?
Alex Kanevsky: I didn’t really invent or learn it as a technique. I am a slow learner, so it developed over a long time. I am also
fairly slow when it comes to actual painting. Slow but impatient. That can be a problem, but over time I figured out how to turn
this contradiction into my own way of working. I can’t do slow and methodical accumulation painting: I get bored with careful,
planned sort of activity. I also depend on freshness of perception, what zen-buddists call “beginner’s mind”. That is difficult to
sustain over a long period. After a while you are just not a beginner. So I work fast, trying to hit the right note every time. That
is nearly impossible, so I constantly fail. But I keep coming back to a painting. It accumulates layers, each one - more or lass a
complete painting. Complete but failed. The layers are sort of like Swiss cheese - they have holes through which in right places
you can see the previous layers. Eventually there are enough of “good holes” and also, because of all the repeated attempts, I
manage to do a good top layer. And then I have a painting that has enough intensity in every passage to satisfy me. Then it is
done.

You have said, “Everything is in motion. Fast motion”; could you go into detail about how you are thinking?
Well, everything IS in motion. “Fast” is a relative thing, of course. You know, glass in a window is actually a form of liquid. It
is very slowly cascading down the window frame. That is why, you often see glass with slight wrinkles in very old window
panes. People, whom I paint, are never still. They want to move, they are built for motion. It is actually painful for models to be
still longer than 20 minutes. I like them, I find them endlessly fascinating, how they are built, the way they grow and shrink
over time, how they move, act, express their emotions, etc. So I want to paint them the way they are, and to me they are defined
by their motion. A brick is defined by its shape and people are defined by their motion.

What inspires you?

Everything. All first-hand experiences. John Adams wrote a beautiful composition titled “Naive and Sentimental Music”. He
took this title from a Friedrich Schiller essay “On Naive and Sentimental Poetry”. Schiller decided that there are really just two
kinds of artists: naive and sentimental. Naive artist works with the first-hand experiences, uncompromised by self-analysis.
Sentimental are works that are self-aware of their place in history, theory, etc. One usually sees this kind of work accompanied
by an artist statement. I think I am more naive than sentimental in the things that inspire me.

You have been educated both in Lithuania and the US, how do they differ from each other?
Things were a bit more formal and conservative at the University in Lithuania. More stratified. You were actually expected to
be terrified of your professors. Then again, maybe it has more to do with the fact that in Lithuania I studied theoretical
mathematics, and here at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts - painting.

When I look at the progress of one of your paintings it’s about 6 month from start to finish, how long does your average
painting take to finish?
If I get lucky - two weeks, but usually it is several months.

What is the difference of painting landscape and the human figure?

You see a figure from outside. A landscape you experience and paint from within. It is like eating soup versus swimming in it.
Very different.

How do you choose your models?

I wish I had a clear answer to that. Then I would actually be able to choose them. As it is, I am always hopeful, but few models
actually work out for me for very long. When it feels right, I tend to work with the same model for years. K.B. modeled for me
for close to 15 years. When it works well, it is usually because a model is comfortable in her or his own body, open emotionally
and interested in the proceedings. The best ones have certain silent emotional intensity. “Silent” in the key word though.

In your photograph “Girard Ave. #3” there is a lot of interesting motion, do you use photos as reference when you
paint?
More as a departure point. I have always been painting both form life and from my own photographs. What attracted me to
photos at first were aberrations, the unintended artifacts they produce, especially for a sloppy photographer like myself. When a
camera produces an image it alters the reality in the ways that are not influenced by any aesthetic conceptions, emotions, etc.
Being a human I cannot do this, can’t be neutral in leaving my own imprint. I find both points of view, mine and the camera’s
equally interesting and useful. So I go back and forth between them. I have been doing it long enough, so now, if I wanted, I
can paint from photograph and it will look like painting done from life and vice versa. Photography is completely integrated as
a part of my work process. However as a straightforward reference it is not terribly useful.

Could you tell us something about the painting “The Bride” (Above)?
The people in my neighborhood are addicted to flea markets. Every summer they descend upon us like some sort of pestilence.
I dislike them and usually don’t stop to look. However once I was going by on my way to the studio and saw a woman selling a
wedding dress. I stopped on a whim and bought it for $6. It was a horrendous affair: all sorts of shiny polyester, fake lace and
plastic pearls made for a grenadier of a bride, who must have been at least 6 feet tall and massive. A battleship of a bride.

A wedding dress is fascinating object. It is a very complicated construction, made to be worn only once on the very important,
life-changing occasion. A bride wants to look her best regardless of all the expense and trouble.

In the studio I started putting it on my models, both female and male of all sizes. Eventually there was a young woman, who
had this quiet intensity that I mentioned earlier. When her and the dress were combined the effect was devastating, it was
almost tragic. There is no point in describing it further; it is all in the painting. It was as if several harmless elements were
combined to produce a powerful explosion. At least that was my perception of the event.

What would be the ideal space to show your work?

A room with white walls and plenty of space between paintings. Moderate light of a neutral color. I like squeaky wooden floors
near my paintings. The rest is unimportant.

What would you say to an artist just starting out?

Build up your self esteem to the level that might seem unwarranted. This will help you ignore both positive and negative
responses to your paintings. Both are usually misguided, since they come from the outside. Be your most severe and
devastating critic, while never doubting that you are the best thing since sliced bread.

The moment something works well and is under control - is the time to give it up and try something else.

Put all your eggs in one basket. Precarious situations produce intense results.

Forget subjective, it is mostly trivial. Go for the universal.

Thank you very much for your time!