ARTIST STATEMENT
Don’t be scared of the dark is what we hear when we are small. As we grow this takes on new meaning. What happens when we stand outside at night? Our eyes adjust. We slowly regain focus and fear subsides. The dark is not so dark after all and the stars become brighter.
What are we scared of? Not the actual dark. We hold out our hands, step tentatively. We are afraid of the unknown. It leaves us vulnerable. Yet some of the most amazing things live, are made, and are found in complete darkness. In the dark we rediscover other capacities to assess information. Sound, smell, taste, touch, memory, and intuition are just a few things we tune into. When we do, we create and grow.
Currently my work explores identity through portraiture. I work in charcoal, pastel, acrylic, oil and printmaking. I am presently drawn to monotypes, a print process meaning 1 edition. Its do or die. It either works or it doesn’t. It requires courage and detachment from result. Reiterating the idea, time and again, that it is all just practice.
The process goes like this. Several layers of ink are rolled out onto a zinc or copper plate. The ink is wiped away, again and again, using brushes to subtractively draw the image, removing more ink with each correction. To start, the ink needs to be very dark and opaque. It must be worked with medium, creating the perfect consistency, the right sound when rolled out, coating the plate evenly and thoroughly. 6 – 8 layers applied becomes a fertile ground in which to dig.
Gradually I carve the image out of the dark. I describe the surface of the persons face with brushstrokes. It is subtractive painting. If I don’t carve out enough, the ink will take over and the details will drown in the excess. But if I become obsessive and fussy, and wipe away too much then the image will wash out and start to disappear.
I use a few different presses; a pasta maker, a washer ringer, a traditional printing press, but the process is the same. To transfer the ink from plate to paper just the right amount of pressure is needed. The resulting print is reversed, flipped. Likeness is shifted, but the FEELING of that person remains. The effect is that we tend to look FOR the person a little longer, a little harder. Before the printing process, the face is seen from an observer’s perspective. As one person would look at another. When the image is flipped we see how that person would see themselves in a mirror. We are given an opportunity to see through their eyes, stand in their shoes. This process has revealed insights about how I see myself and how I see others.
I believe that one of the functions of portraiture is to help us learn to connect to each other, just the process of looking, being able to search through another’s face, allows us to look longer than would be normally, socially acceptable.
I have been drawn to this my whole life. This opportunity to connect deeply with another has encouraged me to look at my own face, my own self, in a less judgmental way. I have learned to see myself as beautiful and human, instead of flawed or broken.
When I look at another, I search through the skin and features and emotion. However, I will only dive into the story their face holds and have empathy for them in as much as I am willing to look at my own face, my own story and have empathy for myself.
I must be willing to look at the aspects of myself that I have judged and labeled as bad. For those parts are NOT bad, they are just human. If I cast them in the dark, then I do not have to look at them. I am giving myself an out. I am saying it doesn’t matter, that I don’t matter.
Just like art, judgment is a language. If I speak that language to myself then odds are I am speaking it to everyone else. I must let go of the judgment of these parts of myself, for that is the beginning of the process which increases my capacity for compassion and empathy towards another.
When making art, the dark is necessary. It is the birthplace. It is the womb. It infinitely mixes with the light and makes greys, midtones, and earthtones. If it is not addressed in the image, just as within myself, then it will eventually fall apart.
When I draw a portrait any judgments I may have had about how that person looks just disappear. I fall in love with their face. Every single time. I see the crooked of a smile, the different size of nostrils, the length of eyelashes, the path of crows feet.
I see which eyelid droops more, how locks curl around an ear, the dimple in a chin, a receding hairline, and it is all beautiful to me. All. Of. It. It is a balance of shape and line and pattern and texture and light and dark.
When you look at the night sky, at first, the vast is overwhelming, but if you sit there long enough, the sky grows darker, the space gets deeper, and slowly, gradually, one by one the stars will all come out. More than you could possibly imagine.
Imagine if we were to look at ourselves with that much patience. If we were willing to sit there long enough with each other, allow ourselves to fall into the lovely depths of which our pupils speak, we may just begin to see the stars…
Gypsy Schindler
Don’t be scared of the dark is what we hear when we are small. As we grow this takes on new meaning. What happens when we stand outside at night? Our eyes adjust. We slowly regain focus and fear subsides. The dark is not so dark after all and the stars become brighter.
What are we scared of? Not the actual dark. We hold out our hands, step tentatively. We are afraid of the unknown. It leaves us vulnerable. Yet some of the most amazing things live, are made, and are found in complete darkness. In the dark we rediscover other capacities to assess information. Sound, smell, taste, touch, memory, and intuition are just a few things we tune into. When we do, we create and grow.
Currently my work explores identity through portraiture. I work in charcoal, pastel, acrylic, oil and printmaking. I am presently drawn to monotypes, a print process meaning 1 edition. Its do or die. It either works or it doesn’t. It requires courage and detachment from result. Reiterating the idea, time and again, that it is all just practice.
The process goes like this. Several layers of ink are rolled out onto a zinc or copper plate. The ink is wiped away, again and again, using brushes to subtractively draw the image, removing more ink with each correction. To start, the ink needs to be very dark and opaque. It must be worked with medium, creating the perfect consistency, the right sound when rolled out, coating the plate evenly and thoroughly. 6 – 8 layers applied becomes a fertile ground in which to dig.
Gradually I carve the image out of the dark. I describe the surface of the persons face with brushstrokes. It is subtractive painting. If I don’t carve out enough, the ink will take over and the details will drown in the excess. But if I become obsessive and fussy, and wipe away too much then the image will wash out and start to disappear.
I use a few different presses; a pasta maker, a washer ringer, a traditional printing press, but the process is the same. To transfer the ink from plate to paper just the right amount of pressure is needed. The resulting print is reversed, flipped. Likeness is shifted, but the FEELING of that person remains. The effect is that we tend to look FOR the person a little longer, a little harder. Before the printing process, the face is seen from an observer’s perspective. As one person would look at another. When the image is flipped we see how that person would see themselves in a mirror. We are given an opportunity to see through their eyes, stand in their shoes. This process has revealed insights about how I see myself and how I see others.
I believe that one of the functions of portraiture is to help us learn to connect to each other, just the process of looking, being able to search through another’s face, allows us to look longer than would be normally, socially acceptable.
I have been drawn to this my whole life. This opportunity to connect deeply with another has encouraged me to look at my own face, my own self, in a less judgmental way. I have learned to see myself as beautiful and human, instead of flawed or broken.
When I look at another, I search through the skin and features and emotion. However, I will only dive into the story their face holds and have empathy for them in as much as I am willing to look at my own face, my own story and have empathy for myself.
I must be willing to look at the aspects of myself that I have judged and labeled as bad. For those parts are NOT bad, they are just human. If I cast them in the dark, then I do not have to look at them. I am giving myself an out. I am saying it doesn’t matter, that I don’t matter.
Just like art, judgment is a language. If I speak that language to myself then odds are I am speaking it to everyone else. I must let go of the judgment of these parts of myself, for that is the beginning of the process which increases my capacity for compassion and empathy towards another.
When making art, the dark is necessary. It is the birthplace. It is the womb. It infinitely mixes with the light and makes greys, midtones, and earthtones. If it is not addressed in the image, just as within myself, then it will eventually fall apart.
When I draw a portrait any judgments I may have had about how that person looks just disappear. I fall in love with their face. Every single time. I see the crooked of a smile, the different size of nostrils, the length of eyelashes, the path of crows feet.
I see which eyelid droops more, how locks curl around an ear, the dimple in a chin, a receding hairline, and it is all beautiful to me. All. Of. It. It is a balance of shape and line and pattern and texture and light and dark.
When you look at the night sky, at first, the vast is overwhelming, but if you sit there long enough, the sky grows darker, the space gets deeper, and slowly, gradually, one by one the stars will all come out. More than you could possibly imagine.
Imagine if we were to look at ourselves with that much patience. If we were willing to sit there long enough with each other, allow ourselves to fall into the lovely depths of which our pupils speak, we may just begin to see the stars…
Gypsy Schindler
