What I Like

 It would be cliche for me to say that I don't know a lot about art. But I do know what I like. We can start with those formative years when I was using the inside covers of coloring books to draw my own pictures. At that time, I was attempting to recreate the world I saw around me. Cartoons I saw, and most notably the pictures I saw my older brother and his friends make. 

Skip forward a few years, and we find young Dave trying his hand at acrylics, using a pallette knife to create what he hoped would be realistic flames in the style of Morris Katz. My parents owned two paintings by Mister Katz, who was renowned for his ability to crank out living room masterpieces at an incredible rate. I did not know this at the time, I was mostly interested in re-creating things I had seen. 

In junior high school, I was given the choice of taking industrial arts or studio art. Indulging my sensitive artist personality, I skipped the band saws and the sanders and the chance to make a lamp. I chose to work on my skills with a pencil. And other media. Including a weaving project that icluded yarn and chicken wire. In high school I took Basic Drawing, Advanced Drawing, Ceramics One and Two. This set me up perfectly for the opportunity of becoming a Studio Art Major when I reached college. 

The only course I failed in college was Basic Drawing. I could draw, but I rebelled against the idea that I should have to attend a Basic Drawing course. I knew how to draw. So I stopped going. It was for this lack of effort, the instructor failed me. Go figure.

It was right about this time that my younger brother started releasing paint. He started as a painter very much in the frantic style of Morris Katz. As my own experience as a graphic artist began to wind down, his was ramping up. He began to work more intently on his craft, creating a series of paintings depicting neon signs he encountered on his travels through Los Angeles. He was making art our ot what he saw. 

This past weekend, I met my younger brother at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. He invited me to join him at an exhibit by Frank Bowling. We walked from room to room, canvas to canvas, talking about what we saw. Vivid colors. Blurred images. Stories that would take too long to tell but fit neatly in a gigantic painting. As I listened to my younger brother describe these works, Listening to him talk about painting is my new favorite art.