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Jeff Bergman: This particular work Pincers seems to have both the elements of the folded objects you are creating portraits of and it exists as it’s own form within the painting. That is to say that your work is successful as both conveying the theme of the forms you are exploring but also the image can stand alone on the plane. The color offers a way to emphasize the shift in space and the way the folded shape exists.

I think that Thomas Nozkowski does this best in contemporary art, but many try and succeed at either making these gestures more complex (Julie Mehretu) or less complex (Mary Heilmann). I think it would be instructive for you to look at Sol LeWitt’s Complex Forms images from his wall drawings.

I wonder if you always make these paintings from a real model or if you ever imagine the form and try to access a truly expressionist folded form?

Marie Kazalia: Hi Louisa

I like your work! The contrast of bright and muted with this painting, and the "pop up" quality of the central form brought to mind folded paper and books. The central fluorescent color and form, the illusions and aspects, as you mention--I enjoyed reading your artist statement description in relation to this work.

Louisa Chambers: Hi Marie, Thank you for your comment! I have been working from an already creased piece of paper that is primarily used by architects for building models. As well as recording the tessellations and the main form of the shape- I am also interested in the shadows that the shape casts. I wanted to try and emphasise these inbetween spaces with strong gestural and colourful marks. Recently I have become interested in the façade (the front), middle and the behind spaces primarily in structures/buildings but also displays - in shops and/or installed artworks in gallery spaces.

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Jeff Bergman: I enjoy seeing works like this in situ. I can see that "Reconstruction" is site-specific and I wonder if it would function as a series. I have a great fondness for for Sol LeWitt's wall drawings which can appear in many places, even at one time. The rectangular field and the broad black line recall many artists, from Malevich forward, but that combined with the specialized location recall LeWitt.

I agree with Dan that the space, decaying and possibly demolished by now, makes an apt juxtaposition. The document speaks well of the work. David Wojnarowicz did this often on the piers on the west side of Manhattan, knowing that they would decay rapidly. What is it to make art that will degrade or be demolished? Can it be recreated or would there be a reason to?

The overall image, photograph of the space rather than the installation, is wonderfully composed and draws me in immediately. Clean lines and broken lines play off one another. I see the complexity of criss-crossed telephone wires strung overhead in the composition. I see Kandinsky’s Point and Line to Plane (the very name sake of this site) at play as well. I see the broken lines of Franz Kline.

A question for the artist: Tom, Have you installed any of your constructions posted here in spaces like this? I think the idea of taking your painting into the spaces to photograph would be rewarding.

Well done Tom, the work is good and novel and neither thing takes away from the other.

Daniel Leng: I remember seeing this image on Tom's Twitter feed a while ago and am delighted to see it appear on Point and Line for discussion. The image seems so still and contemplative to me, as I really seem to feel the space that this installation sits in. It pushes me to see. For this viewer, it works on many levels, revealing it's complexity to me as I think about it more...

I immediately start to see the obvious juxtaposition of smooth and rough, clean and dirty, cold and warm... but move on to thing about more abstract concepts like the essential vs the existential... and then start to notice and think about the nuances of the materials and execution... the fact that this emulsion and tape are really just a a thin veil on top of the rough surface underneath... eventually I come to the idea that the artwork here is not simply the black and white fragment in on the wall, but the room itself, the concept of "reconstruction". What is this work doing here exactly anyhow? What reconstruction? The fact that in the end, the cleanly presented construction here will certainly lose the "battle" to the rough reality of this decaying building.

This work seems a wonderful statement about art itself... Art is so starkly beautiful in juxtapostion to reality. It is temporal and fleeting, but necessary... The "conceptual", "construction", "reconstruction", and "the ability to picture and create something new" are wonderful. This room would literally be ruins without it... but in the end, the room wins.

Some thoughts, with a grain of salt...

Discussion

Revad David Riley: Hi David. I'm going to respond by saying what I see.

I see energy divided. The energy is emitted by the quality of the marks. This impression is enhanced by my own experience of making such marks, which I have found take some vigour to achieve. I say 'divided' based on the alignment of marks on both sides of the gap. This alignment encourages (in me) the idea of a single surface divided into two. Usually, when I see a diptych, I automatically find myself looking for a dialogue between the two components. I know this is a single outcome, but I can't help myself if the divide attempts to encourage (in me) the idea of a dialogue. The continuation of marks defeats this initial impression and I am left with a divided single entity. I am wondering how this might be different if the marks had not aligned.

There is so much going on in these marks, I could spend hours with the original and enjoy every moment.

NOTE: One practical observation: should the dimensions for all three works be the same? The works appear to have the same ratio of dimensions, but the stated dimensions do not match this expectation.

David Minton:

Hello David'
Thank you.Yes some strange dimensions! I have removed 1000mm from this one. The drawn surface on this is 760mm x 1330mm. The central line was made by drawing over a stencil made with airbrush masking film. The marks remain implicit in the white line/space and in that sense there is no division; there is a single surface with a central occlusion, a notion which had not occurred to my in this literal sense until just now as I read your comment. In retrospect, I am aware that the 'feeling' of occlusion was present in the making and remains with me. These drawings, connecting intuitively to my mother and our relationship continue to suggest things that surprise me.

Revad David Riley: Thank you for the clarification re dimensions. As human beings, we are very good at seeing the pattern and reading what might be absent. Such a limited separation being quite easy to fill in (by continuing the trajectory of the lines). So, I certainly get that 'the marks remain implicit'. Implicit for you especially. Having been present when the marks were drawn and subsequently erased, you have a real memory of their existence, while for us (the audience) the marks can only have an imagined existence.

Discussion

Jane Boyer: David, these new works are really powerful and take your work far more in the philosophical realm. My following comments are for all three pieces, because they seem very related to me.

The first thing I note is the progression in the three, from left to right. The simple but enforced rule constraining the 'child' figured in the loosely random mark making which fill each block. That division is as strict as prim Mrs. Fox, dressed in black, with her ruler tapping out a heart beat against her outstretched palm. The middle image bereft of any individual mark, the child has conformed and knows his place. And finally this image, where rules merge to become unity, with ghostly vestiges of remembrance. All the rules, have become a map, demarcating location, event, time, interaction. The division no longer menacing in its authority, but a reliable feature, a known quantity, a familiar structure.

They are beautiful in their expressive qualities.

David Minton: Hello Jane, thank you, I have always been a little suspicious of ‘beauty’ fearing and feeling that it is in danger of a sentimentality reflecting something at the core of the artist. The narratives ( are they narratives?)are the thoughts that ruminate around these things retrospectively, concerning my sense of myself in relation to these surfaces, divisions, separations. There is something poignant in the vulnerability of surface that is beautiful in its fragility. The drawings were not conceived of as a progression, but rather arose through acts of making which became kind of incomplete sentences pointing at things.
I’m coming to the position where I feel that I have been mistaken about beauty, maybe having too limited a concept of what it can be. I have to an extent been creeping up on it wearing a mask of denial. The thought occurs to me that I have no choice in the matter of what my stuff looks like - but then a thought replies that maybe I do.

Jane Boyer: As always David, your thoughts are so insightful. I'm glad that you are re-evaluating your notions of beauty. I think of beauty not as pretty, but something wondrous and fascinating, which can be aesthetically pleasing, or often, not. For me the thing that is beautiful has a fortitude that cannot be ignored, is compelling in its call, and is unforgettable. It's a thing that causes awe, and like the sublime, can be fearsome and overpowering in its presence. To my mind beautiful is not pure or innocent, but assured. Pretty is sentimental, beauty rocks. I think a lot of people dismiss things as beautiful, perhaps equating beauty with being insipid. Beauty is a word that has been overused. It should only be reserved for things that stop you in your tracks, make your knees go weak and follow the phrase 'Oh my god!'. But that's just my opinion.

As to whether you have a choice as to what your work looks like or not - I know exactly what you mean. We probably have more choice than we think and less choice than we'd like.

David Minton: Hello Jane, David Riley referred to the division in ‘Rules are Rules’ and prompted me to see it anew. I made the line by working across an airbrush film stencil. Removal of the stencil removed a section of the surface, producing a form of separation but not strictly a division. The marks remain an implicit threat. The white becomes engaged in an occlusive role that resonates in feelings of claustrophobia engendered by the unfeeling enforcement of rules, at the same time remaining defiant. Am pondering on beauty !

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Discussion

Revad David Riley: Without reading the discussion text, what I see and/or feel is: energy, sun, potential, explosion, containment, escape, confine, time.

I can only imagine the rich texture and the scale. The simulacrum you offer here is just 25cm across (on my screen) and I can zoom a portion of it to pan around a 40cm version. With the original being four times that size, and 3D instead of 2D, my imagination becomes an even more important factor. Of course, the imagination of the audience is always important, but viewing a scaled down 2D version makes it even more so.

Maybe strangely, 'hash' had me thinking about food, or drugs, or making a mess. Without the preceding '#' I would never have made the leap to the virtual world. And, before the advent of the hashtag, I would probably have been thinking of hashing in terms of data. But, all of that says much about my history and very little about this work, except for its ability to invoke connections from the experience and history of the viewer. Which is a most excellent thing for an artwork to do!

Jane Boyer: Thank you David, your single word descriptions of what you see is an interesting collection of words because they are analogous and opposite to each other in equal measure. I find it curious and enticing. Yes! A leap is required from this work to the virtual world, but that is the whole point. It was made at a time when I was communicating a lot through social media and I felt the strain and tug of communicating that way, feeling isolated and confined away from those I was communicating with, while at the same time feeling great agitation and anxiety of communicating in such a public way. So in many ways, this painting is entirely about the virtual world, but it is a very real and tactile experience - and meant to be so. It could be seen as a collision of the sensory and the virtual, the intangible inner and the tangible outward expression. It's its own tag and an ambiguity that others can read their own meaning into. It is a simulacrum. This is one of my favourite explanations of what a simulacrum is “…at once removed from and infinitely proximate to its point of origin…it is essentially displaced elsewhere than itself. But, as the ambiguous “return” of a model that it at once renders visible and withholds, it is also fundamentally untimely: nonsynchronous with and becoming other than itself. The encounter with the simulacrum is thus more akin to memory and fantasy than it is to perception or communication…[appearing] at the limits of the visible and the articulable, the simulacrum is at once the object of a struggle between image and language and the problematic site of their ultimate convergence” (Durham, 1998).

Revad David Riley: The more I view this image the stronger an image of sun I get (the version presented here as I cannot speak to the original having not experienced it).

Coronal mass eruptions - the explosion, the escape.
The vast majority of energy contained within a seething surface of activity.
The potential to explode at any time.

As artists, we put our life and experience into making an outcome. If it satisfies us in some way it becomes an outcome we share. As viewers, we use our life and experience to interpret what we see, so we might make sense of what we see and place it correctly in our memory of experience. Unless we know the audience in advance, it is pure coincidence if/when the two overlap. But, when that overlap occurs, we get an extra buzz of excitement and a sense of validation.

I think you transmitted your feelings to me through this piece rather well. I may not have got the references you used, but I did get the feelings you explored in relation to some of my own experience.

Would you agree?

Daniel Leng: I had the recent pleasure of seeing this work as part of Jane's meticulously crafted and curated exhibition entitled "A Project Space Called I" at Arthouse1. The show moved me both emotionally and intellectually, so I feel compelled to catalogue my experience of it, although I admit I haven't fully processed it in my mind yet.

To me, the work in this show eloquently captures the search for human truth through a repeated process of dialogue, examination, creation, re-examination, and re-creation. Although each work was articulate in its individual expression, it seems to me that none of the pieces are an "end" for the artist on their own. They are merely artifacts created on a journey towards something bigger, words embodying ideas on their own, but part of a mysterious, unfinished, and self-aware narrative that is the self.

This particular work, #Hash, seemed a wonderful embodiment of this artist as a painter, or at least a moment in the life of a painter. As a piece of dialogue, it speaks to the post-war american painters who we're all intimately familiar with. This work is big, but not nearly as grand and limitless in scale as a Pollock canvas might be. The artist begins with a canvas that human scale exactly (an armslength from the edge to the center), applying paint as a outer bound, working and scraping within those bounds, stretching physically to reach the center. I personally love the question of what might happen if you hollowed out, or dug into an expressionist painting... but I also think that the idea of continually scraping back to reveal what lies beneath former ideas, what was created before, or a former self is a good analogy for Jane's work. Ther result is the creation of something new that can then be built upon. Something quite elegant as a whole, but physical, taxing, and sharp in each individiual stroke. For me, it's wonderful how the mid-century idea of painting's move from 2 dimensions into 3 dimensions (via a focus on the physicality of paint) has in many ways moved into 4 dimensions here (through the focus on a dialogue that unfolds over time).

Visually (and metaphorically), it's interesting how scraping sits a layer on top of painting when you step back. The whole piece is alive with energy and volume, which appeals to me in a different and more emotional way.

Overall, a wonderful experience on many levels. More thoughts soon perhaps...

Jane Boyer: Thank you Dan for that insightful commentary. Your insights go even further than mine, which is why dialogue like this is so valuable!

I'm particularly drawn to your view of mid-century painting moving from 2D into 3D via the physicality, and with #Hash into 4D through a dialogue over time. I think this is exactly right, and something that had not occurred to me in quite that way.

I think the dialogue over time is what fascinates me working with the self as subject. It's a fascination with Being and it's a dialogue that has a questionable beginning, I mean does the dialogue start with our earliest thoughts or does it start with the earliest interaction with others who form our view of self? Social psychology would say the latter. There is no extricating the self from the other, just like there is no separating time from Being, surface from ground, dialogue from monologue. There is no self without the other, no being without time, no surface without a ground. And all monologues are dialogues.

Speaking of no surface without a ground, there have been some very interesting explorations by artists pushing those boundaries and removing the painting from the ground, literally peeling it away from the surface. This would seem to go against the ideas of inseperablity, but even with the ground removed, it's influence on the structure and formation of the paint matrix remains. Much like the influence of the other on our own selves, the other may disappear, but the formulating influence remains.

Daniel Leng: Very interesting. Thanks for elaborating on the idea. Lots to think about. On a separate note, I was just thinking about the title of the work, #Hash. When I originally viewed the the show, it occurred to me that the title was about this work as a "hashtag", a symbol representing a concept... describing something, like a hashtag on twitter. Meta-information.

In computer science, we also use the word hash to mean a "digest". The idea is that some piece of data/information is run through an algorithm that processes it down to a (hopefully) unique representation of itself. It is a derivative of the entire thing, in some ways like a fingerprint... but created from the original... digested, and re-created, perhaps distilled.

It's similar to the former idea in some ways, but very different others. I was wondering how you think about that, or is #Hash totally different in your mind?

Jane Boyer: Thanks Dan. You're absolutely right, the twitter hashtag analogy is exactly what I had in mind when I titled the piece, but I think I was probably thinking about different aspects of the hashtag. When I was working on this piece, my main line of communications with my art 'community' was via social media. I was building my profile, increasing my use of social media while still learning and finding my way in a new communication media. There was a sharp contrast in my actual lived experience of life at home in France, and the majority of communication I was having online relating to practice and work. In a way, I was navigating between two worlds and I felt the anxious and sometimes frenetic virtual communications as an internal strife, while my home life was relatively calm and peaceful. I think that is one of the main reasons #Hash is a closed circle, demarcating a distinct boundary between inside and outside.

However, your reading of meta-information from the title is absolutely appropriate; it is information about information, a symbol about symbolism, with gesture as the symbolic structure and the structure of symbolising so many things. That is fascinating to know about the meaning of the hashtag in computer science, because what you describe sounds to me like another form of the simulacrum - a distilled derivative, digested and re-created from an original. That's the thing I love about simulacra, its ability to be so many things in so many settings. I mean, anything can be copied and copies happen in so many circumstances, but the simulacrum is always a multiplier which moves the copy away from its original, allowing something different to form. Since beginning to study simulacra, I see it everywhere now - constantly.

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