stuckism

Thank You for Coming Out to Little House of Big Stuckism

Another week ending dining room gallery exhibition of painting output, which I have produced to add flavor and sweet to a bitter winter on the way. Please join me as I talk about my work with too much commentary. Thank you!

P.S. There is mention of latest art news (not ARTnews) of ongoing and upcoming events in my area of unpower and no control.

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A Painter’s Small World: Some Very Short Story With Godfrey Blow

damrananne

Damian unwinding a yarn. (Photo by Terrance Manion)

Lots more at https://stuckismwatkinsglen.blog/

The bloke telling the story to disbelieving couple in the photo is Damian, my friend, and fine art connoisseur of the Northern New York Midlands. It’s a unique story about a very small world, yet a big one too if we still wish it to become more than what the newspapers tell us.

Last May Damian, who is a professor at a nearby college, hosted a group of students for a week long tour of Australia, and then took a personal trip out west to Perth to visit with old friends from a past much more studded with global color than mine.

He posted on Facebook his upcoming travel itinerary (a curvy line with an icon airplane on it stretching from Melbourne to Perth). I commented to have a nice time and jokingly, to say “Hello” to Godfrey Blow, a painter I know. Suddenly in the comment feed, a woman, (who was actually Damian’s hostess in Perth) wrote back something like, “OMG, that is my best friend’s Dad! I know Godfrey Blow!”

That is the smallest art world story I have ever heard. With nearly 8 billion people on earth, and all of them knowing personally one painter in their lifetimes, it’s an incredible coincidence, don’t you think? A month later, Godfrey Blow’s paintings (shown below) were leaving Perth on that long convex real life, real airplane journey to Watkins Glen, N.Y.

Please take a good look at these treasures below. The Internet doesn’t do them justice—it’s an okay storyteller, sure. But let’s be like Damian, and put some adventure into our lives. We can get closer to a Godfrey Blow, and a painting is almost as good as knowing his daughter’s best friend in Perth.

Call Kathy and Joe at (315)527-4263, or visit Wednesday through Saturday, from noon to 5 p.m.

GodfreyBlow_BeforethestormatCottesloe_oilonpanel_ (1)

Godfrey Blow: Before the Storm at Cottesloe Oil on panel, 27 x 48 cm

MonumentatAlbany (1)

Godfrey Blow: Monument at Albany Oil on panel, 27 x 42 cm

Home Gallery Show of a Week’s Output of Paintings

Yesterday morning I began a dining room gallery exhibition of the week’s painting output, which I will continue to produce weekly to add flavor and sweet to a bitter winter on the way. Please join me as I talk to you about my work which is mostly pleasure. You can talk back, but you’ll have to stop by the gallery—The Little House of Big Stuckism! Thank you!
7 minutes long, so get an extra large sandwich to chew while watching. I’ll try to make future episodes a bit shorter, about 5 minutes.

Our Opening Went Well as Far as Understatements Go

Please watch the video below, which covers just a sliver of the night. Quintus gallery has more rooms than I captured, chock full of other paintings and pleasures. There is another Stuckist room, but I would hope that during exhibition season one would keep focus on the invitational downstairs. 36 painters living in 9 countries did me a great turn this year making my path into a new winter an enticing mystery worth the trouble of more cold and more bleak.

 

Now this “thank you”:

Acknowledgements

“She said ‘Somewhere there’s a faraway place
where all is ordered, and all is grace.
No one there is ever disgraced,
And everybody there is wise, and everyone has taste’”

—Lou Reed from “Think It Over”

I would like to thank warmly Kathy and Joe Matus of Quintus Gallery. This exhibition would not have happened if they did not visit Round Trip Stuckism last year, acquire my work for their gallery and home, purchase several Russian pieces, and then happily show up at my door last February to talk shop. I set up our meeting in my basement studio, dank and cold and dimly lit with dollar store lamps, and we planned like true novice-professionals inhabiting a sane world.
I remember Joe, sitting in my painting chair, asking if I’d like to do a “Russian” show, and me answering, “Great, but let’s give it a more international flair, and with more Stuckists!”
Yes, the more the merrier. I insisted they leave all the start-up details to me, then led them upstairs and served quiche and bread and cake. It happens they were full from a late breakfast, so my family gobbled it all up while we talked about anything under the sun to take us away from the gloom and doom of a northern winter.
Kathy and Joe are the type of art professionals that artists want and need. Quintus Gallery can house any artist with a genre, but stands as shelter in the storm for Stuckism. We thank them for their inspiration and enthusiasm.
Now, about that “leaving the details to me”.
Once again, the over-elaborater, Ron Throop, setting up the very difficult task of getting other painters to participate in his super great art plan.
That night I floated the idea past Charles Thomson, and caught his attention. Viola! Suddenly it became two fools instead of one. Almost a party.
With his expert advice, adept organizational and editorial skills, and undeniable patience and dedication to this movement called Stuckism, I was able to fuel up for the demands of an exhibition of this magnitude.
Great thanks to Charles Thomson! He wrote once during our frequent e-mail exchange that Stuckism operates on a national, regional, and of course individual level, and that he would like to see more collaboration among U.S. artists. His frequent input into the creation of this exhibition has been very welcome. We can bet on the continuation (and growth) of Stuckism in the United States. Unless Americans are actually so determined to forego the joy of visual art-making and appreciation, (and there is evidence pointing to paradigms leaning this way), we painters will have to persevere against the cold shoulders of the confused media, entrenched academia, and non-essential establishment critics.
Thank you Charles Thomson.
Thank you Stuckism. You wake art up. You bring people together.
Thank you Stuckist painters for trusting me and Quintus Gallery to exhibit your work on your time and dime.
And thank you local and world wide audience for clearing these walls of Stuckist paintings.
Please bear in mind though—Take one down, and two spring up!

Ron Throop
Oswego
August 2017

I have more thank yous to offer during exhibition month. Meanwhile, stock up on your wine for the holidays, deep reds for the solstice, dry whites for the equinox. Remember please that no wine is worth the winter trouble of a blank wall to stare at while the cold winds blow. So mark a stop at Quintus in Watkins Glen, N.Y. on your day trip itinerary. I’ll introduce you to these painters, many whom I know very well—about as much as you, but only because we’re human and hold dear these darling imaginations.

Bring the color to your winter!

One more thing.

A visitor at Friday’s opening asked me to show him the Henderson paintings. He shared the same last name, and wanted to see what possible genes and genealogy were spread and sent his way. When gallerists or curators connect more to the idea of painters rather than paintings, private vistas can widen significantly even a skinny finger lake.

I walked him over to Holly Henderson’s paintings, and then escorted him and his wife to the video table to show how his many great grandfathers and mothers unwittingly saved the world with Stuckism.

Instant connection! Unless he was a cardboard man. I expect him to purchase her paintings soon. If not today, then tomorrow. Imagine sitting in a cat hair chair thinking on nothing during the intellectual season, or dreaming a hungrier life in a London club getting to know the band before the lights go out.

Absolute magic!

We’re still alive. Go start your painting collection!

Quintus Gallery
65 Salt Point Road
Watkins Glen, N.Y.
14891

(315) 527-4263

 

Been Very Busy this Past Week Exhibiting and Painting and Space Staring

Pressingon

“Just Keep Pressing On” 2017. Acrylic on canvas, 24 x 18″

passionate

“Are You Passionate?” 2017. Acrylic on dead man’s canvas, 18 x 24″

amandaland

“The New and Slightly Improved Landscape of Mandy Schandt” 2017. Acrylic on canvas board, 20 x 16″

smalltalk

“Illustration of Space From the Back of my Tongue to the Underlayment of my Solar Plexus Whenever the Mouth Engages in Small Talk” 2017. Acrylic on slab of Styrofoam®, 12 x 16

Will

“How to Break a Person’s Will Without His Being Aware of It” 2017. Acrylic on cardboard, 22 x 21″

 

My Silver Dollar Campaign Updated

Newtie

“I’d Rather Rendezvous With This Sexy Italian Newt Than Wait Around Here For Tasteless Billionaires To Win Again” 2016. acrylic on discarded press cleaning sheet, 7 x 17″ (In private collection of a friend)

Repeatedly, I suffer bouts of intense self-doubt that usually presages a light epiphany of sorts. I get a new idea or a reaffirmation of a past philosophy, and all is set back right with the world. Always temporary though. Another self-doubt monster will invade my pshyche in due time. It never fails to torment again and again.

Last night was bad. I won’t go into it, because the good idea that transpired has charged me back onto a positive path.

For some unknown reason, the life of my great grandfather sprang into my mind this morning. Henry Throop lived in the central New York area all his life. He was born in 1880, raised in Lebanon, N.Y., attended Colgate when it was still a prep school, went to Cornell to study civil engineering, married, and settled in Syracuse, where he worked as a railroad engineer, and then on his own as independent engineer/contractor until his death in 1956.

I use his life often in writing and conversation to juxtapose today’s culture to the one of a hundred years ago. Was it a better time? Who knows? I can say with certainty that Henry was a very mature twenty-something year old. He kept a journal—observations and day to day life for the most part, and also an expense account book, showing where every penny went. This morning’s idea was to use this account book to revolutionize the way I intend to sell my work.

My Silver Dollar Campaign

I have had it with business and art. It doesn’t work. The moment the painting gets offered, haggled, denied, etc, on the market exchange, the entire culture of the thing created gets violated. I lose all semblance of its original innocence as soon as the money door opens. Only once have I made a painting thinking about money, or a sale. Here it is:

_DSC2347

“My Heart’s Desire Is That One of You Is Drunk Enough To Buy This Painting” 2014. Acrylic on canvas, 16 x 16″

I was invited to a rock concert with some friends where there would be a section of the parking lot cordoned off for vendors. I painted this the night before, and had it sold before we finished putting up the tent.

It is stated in my great grandfather’s account book that on September 14, 1907, he purchased the following for one dollar:

2 loaves of bread
1 dozen cookies
toothpicks
paper
salt
chestnuts
peanuts
pound of butter

and a haircut…

A dollar in 1907 had the spending power of about $25 today, without the haircut (some small luxury to prove how contemporary inflation experts always seem to get it wrong). So, about $40 today would buy these goods Henry bought in 1907. A dollar was a dollar and it purchased what forty more dollars could buy today.

I love the silver dollar because it has an ever changing value on the money market. For several years I have watched its value move between about $15 to $35. And it’s just a dollar! It also feels good in the hand, and I bet many of them in a small pouch attached to my belt (a lá Rimbaud), would feel even better.

Henry’s items I listed above are worth any one of my paintings. No one is buying the luxury items I have made available. So I have sweetened the pot in order to avoid the money exchange problem for the rest of my life.

I will amass silver coins!

From this day forward, any one of my paintings not hanging in a gallery can be bought for a silver dollar. Not what a silver dollar will buy, but exactly one, shiny silver dollar. I don’t want to barter anymore. I want to jingle coins in a pouch. I have set the value, and it is universal. Any size. Any painting not in a gallery. Of course, the buyer must pay for frame and also shipping on top of the silver dollar. I have some very big paintings. If they were purchased, I would have to charge a handling fee. (Quite a bit of work goes into hiring a tractor trailer to pick up at a residence). Frames, shipping and handling could be exchanged in paper currency, however, the painting itself—always just one silver dollar.

Now imagine the creative time we could have. No more of that embarrassing “real” money exchanging hands. You can stop at the local pawn shop on your way to my studio and deal with the proprietor. He or she will certainly have silver dollars to sell you in trade for the paper money. Get it. Heck, get two, and stop by to pick out any painting(s) you want. If framed, I will price it fair, and you can give me the paper money that I will spend on groceries, or a dress for Rose at the second hand shop. I will mark your name, painting, and date of purchase in a little cardboard envelope, and if I make it to seventy-five, cash in on retirement fried eggplant sandwiches once in a while, thinking of you and our shared human experience.

(Please note: I can only accept silver dollars, and not paper money of what a silver dollar is currently worth on the pretend money market. I made the effort of the painting. Now you can go the extra mile to pick up the actual silver dollar).

Please think about this, and spread the idea far and wide. There must be some painting that you like for such a fair price. Think of birthdays, upcoming holidays. I am just so exhausted from these encounters with the self doubt monster. It’s time to kill the money.

Several of my recent paintings can be found here. I look forward to jingling coins in a pouch.

Ron