Homage to Robert Ryman
Part 2 : Surface Veils, Light, Delight, Enlightenment
Click on this and all images to enlarge for optimum viewing
Homage to Robert Ryman ~ Part One: Introduction and Commentary
Homage to Robert Ryman ~ Part Two: Surface Veils, Light, Delight & Enlightenment
Homage to Robert Ryman ~ Part Three: Epilogue
Introduction
Robert Ryman avoided making "pictures," "images." He made paintings, aesthetically rich objects imbued with the intention of "seeing" what can be done with paint and the materials of painting, the affect of light upon his paintings and their surfaces, and the interaction of the paintings with the gallery wall and the exhibition space as a whole. Ryman experimented--improvised--in untold numbers of ways with paint applications and alternative ways of presenting his paintings. His work is at once earnest, self-aware, and yet intuitive, spontaneous. Despite the fact that I am a photographer who works in images, I like to think that he and I are kindred in spirit (our work certainly shares a love for light). He is part of who I am, who I'm becoming . . . and this project is helping me discover and learn more about that part of myself.
It should be obvious from the work I am presenting in these first two parts of the project--photographs made under the influence of his art and his words--that I have not (consciously) tried to make images "in the manner of" Robert Ryman's paintings. What is more interesting to me is the way my seeing photographically has been affected by his painterly "vision," his intuitive-improvisational approach to painting, his constant experimenting and searching for something "enlightening."
Inner necessity propelled me into photography when I was nearly ten years old. An epiphany--an act of grace, in 1955--directed me toward my life's work in photography. From the very beginning, grace has been at the center of my creative process, and it was grace that returned me to the painting of Robert Ryman for continued and deeper contemplation.
I was taken by surprise when my Creative Process essentially "insisted" that I recognize, acknowledge and pay Homage to Ryman and his art. I have since then reacquainted myself with his work and looked at what I as a photographer have in common with this extraordinary abstract painter. I will outline some of the things I have discovered below.
Direct, Immediate, To the Point
The following quote by Ryman could have been written by a photographer, even myself: The way I work, the painting is either finished or it's destroyed. It's a one-time thing. It has to be very direct; it has to be immediate, to the point.
The quote reminds me of the Chinese and Japanese zen brush-and-ink paintings that I love, which are spontaneous bursts of creative energy following periods of deep contemplation and meditation which have prepared the artist for the direct painting act.
As a student of Siddha Yoga Meditation, I meditate daily; I photograph sometimes once a week or less, usually in brief spurts of inspiration. So, in a way, meditation prepares me for my acts of photographing in those brief encounters with inspiration. I am quite aware that when I photograph it is an intuitive act in response to the grace, the inner necessity of my Creative Process, and I do the best I can to stay out of Its way. Meditation helps me stay open to the creative flow of grace
Light and White Space
I like very much the conscious use of white space in zen painting; and of course Ryman's work is almost completely devoted to white: white paint, white space, and the affects of light upon his paintings. Ryman once said "White makes things visible." He said the same thing about light. His works are in a constant dialogue with the changes of light that occur within an exhibition space.
Ryman's paintings often seem to me to be self-luminous. That is to say, they appear to be radiant with their own Imaginal (internal) light.
Thinking
Ryman's plainspoken self-effacing words sometimes remind me of the way zen buddhist monks speak, in subtle metaphoric ways that suggest layers of unstated meaning and enlightened insight. He once said of his painting: "you can think all you want before painting, and you can think all you want after the painting is finished, but the worst thing you can do is think while you are painting."
I am in complete sympathy with Ryman's highly intuitive approach to painting. His words about thinking reminded me of a zen story I liked very much as told by D. T. Suzuki in one of his many zen books, about a student who was studying zen and the art of sword fighting. During a sword fight, the student was doing quite well, so he started thinking about possible ways he could finish off his opponent. In that very instant the opponent cut off the student's head.
I have been very attracted to the use of white space in my photography. I first became aware of this, as a student in the mid 1960's, in the street photographs of Lee Friedlander. I have also been inspired by the use of white (and light) in the photographs of Ray Metzker and the Italian photographer Mario Giacomelli.
I made a series of Negative Print photographs that are dominated by white space. And I have in the past several years produced many projects which include photographs of snow. (See my project: Snow : Photographs from the Silver World.) I like the apparent simplicity of works dominated by white space; and in that regard I appreciate the directness and understated apparent simplicity of Ryman's paintings.
Seeing and Veiled Seeing
I could say that my photography is about seeing and picture-making, and Ryman's painting is about "seeing" as well . . . though of course in a very different way.
Vittorio Colaizzi's introductory essay for his book Robert Ryman (published in 2017 by Phaidon) is entitled "The Seeing of Painting." He wrote: "Ryman has always risked invisibility." He says Ryman's abstract paintings, often appearing at first to be nothing but white space, presents a challenge to every viewer, but especially one who expects to see a picture, or an image when facing the painting.
Indeed the uninitiated viewer could stand in front of a Ryman painting and see nothing but white space, though it may have layers upon layers of surfaces that veil the often difficult-to-see essential qualities of the work.
It is impossible to actually see a Ryman painting in a photograph or a book of reproductions, and yet I have enjoyed seeing how the better publications devoted to Ryman's work try to present his work on the printed page. I can feel an interior presence of light in his work even in reproductions, though it takes concentrated engagement and a willingness to imagine as well as look closely. Colaizzi writes: "the onus of perception" falls on the viewer as much as upon Ryman. Of course that's true of any really good, if challenging, work of art.
We often come to painting with expectations, just as we come to photography with expectations, and these expectations tend to veil or separate us from what is possible to be seen and experienced in the works of art (or life in general for that matter). The great modern day yogic saint and founder of the Siddha Yoga Path, Swami Mukatnanda, spoke about the veil like this:
Realism and Abstraction
In Part One of this project I attempted to write about the abstract nature of my photography in relation to Ryman's painting. A challenging complication arises, however, when one is forced to contend with Ryman's claim that his paining constitutes a kind of Realism. Indeed, photography has been often been viewed in very limited ways, particularly in regards to the idea of the medium's mechanical-chemical-digital capacity to "realistically render the world." Ryman says the paintings he makes are "real" objects made with real paint, real support materials; and the light playing on the surfaces of his paintings is real . . . thus his work is a form of Realism. (In other words, he makes real objects, not pictures, not images.)
I am comfortable saying, in regards to abstraction and realism: Ryman's painting exists between abstraction and realism, and my photography exists between abstraction and representation. This "space between" is the Imaginal world, a world that transcends the pairs of opposites of the dual world. The space between is the transcendent space from which emerges what I call Symbols.
The absorption of light, and the reflection of light on surfaces is a contributing factor in the photographs I make. In the Fig. 3 photograph above, the golden light from an illuminated lamp pervades the entirety of the picture's space; it's golden light is particularly noticeable as it is being reflected off of a metal frame which was being reflected in our picture window. And inside the reflection of the frame we see the reflected image of the illuminating lamp. This image is about "light upon light" and "reflections within reflections."
The yogic scriptures speak of the formless light, the Light of Consciousness that is projected out into the world and becomes manifested as the infinite number of created forms constituting our visible (apparent) universe. This Light is not in itself visible; rather, the yogic sages tell us, the Light of Consciousness is the divine creative power by which the eye sees. (See Swami Shantananda's book The Splendor of Recognition)
Jazz Improvisation
There is a video that Robert Storr wrote about in his essay published by the Dea Foundation in its 2017 monograph Robert Ryman. The video, made by Ryman's son, shows his father painting in a very concentrated state of mind while listening to a jazz recording of John Coltrane. Ryman's intuitive, spontaneous and yet deliberate, structured use of paint and other materials is unquestionably informed by his love, experience and appreciation of jazz. Indeed, Ryman studied jazz saxophone for two years, shortly after he arrived in New York City in 1952, with Lennie Tristano.
I have made several projects in response to various kinds of music, performers and composers, including Steve Lacy, Thelonious Monk, Morton Feldman and Charles Ives. (Click here to see my collection of music inspired photography projects.)
I once had an incredibly vivid dream in which I was performing with Steve Lacy and four or five other jazz musicians. I experienced in the dream what it is like for a group of musicians to enter into a sustained period of musical dialogue, playing and interacting together united within the creative flow of improvisational music making. It was an extraordinary, mysterious, beautiful experience. The dream was not so much about what I was doing, but rather what was happening to me. I was being carried along on the flow of a very powerful stream of creative energy that quite literally was the music itself, the creative unfolding of musical experience, musical performance, the sounds, spaces, structures, rhythms, colors, etc. of music.
The intuitive-spontaneous act of improvisation is an important aspect of my creative process in photographic picture-making. I often enter into a flow of energy that takes me where It wants to go. In a way, I become the "instrument" of my Creative Process, Its energy, Its grace. The photographs that emerge are not only the creation of that grace, they are the containers of that grace, images radiant with the creative power of the universe. This divine creative energy is referred to in the yoga that I practice as Shakti.
I appreciate what Ryman was experiencing as he was painting and listening to the music of John Coltrane; I often listen to music when I am working on my digital photographs at the computer. I listen to the music that seems most right, most in alignment with the Imaginal character of what I am working on at the time. Music helps to stop my mind. A still mind allows the shakti to do what It needs to do.
Seeing beyond surfaces: Darsana
Lifting the veil : Vimarsana
Robert Ryman has insisted that his paintings are not self-referential; rather, they are (he says) about painting, paint, light, etc. When he was asked where his acute attention to light in his painting came from, Ryman responded: "from looking, seeing things, looking at everything--but painting, particularly. And of course painting is a visual experience, so it only happens when we see light. (LAUGHS)"
Ryman created a series of paintings in 1970-71 entitled Surface Veil. The title is evocative in its poetic-metaphysical implications, and yet in his typical pragmatic plainspoken way, Ryman explained that the title was merely a reference to the material he painted upon: "Surface Veil" was the name of a diffusely woven fiberglass screen-like material designed by a manufacturer to soften the incoming sun through skylights.
Even in reproductions (see below) his Surface Veil paintings appear (imaginatively to me) to be atmospherically illuminated images in which variously colored, textured and reflective surface materials (white paint, woven fiberglass, wax paper, masking tape) are reflecting and absorbing light and subtle colors in differing layered ways.
In 1987, when I began practicing Siddha Yoga, I became fascinated by the yogic scriptures which speak so authoritatively to the issues of perception or seeing. Indeed perception is a major area of scholarly contemplation, commentary and teaching in many forms of yoga.
For example, according to Swami Shantananda (a teacher of Siddha Yoga and author of a remarkable book of commentaries entitled The Splendor of Recognition), the word vimarsana means "the practice of acute attentiveness in which one lifts the veil of separation, glimpsing Consciousness [divine presence, divine Light, shakti] at the moment of perception." He says Vimarsana is a "brief experience of union." Of course the word yoga in English translation means "union," which is the recognition of the Truth that we are united, One with the supreme or universal Self.
Darsana is another term, closely related to vimarsana, which Swami Shantananda writes about in his book. Darsana means "divine vision" or "vision of the divine." Swamiji defines it further as "an inner vision of the One beneath outer appearances . . . the [One] Consciousness that pervades everything and everywhere in the universe, and which lives in the human heart."
These teachings point toward the foundational practice of Siddha Yoga, which is: "See God in everything, including your own self." Thus the experience of darsana is an experience of one's own divine Self as manifested in the form of the apparent outer world:
Yogic teachings like this have become the foundation of my Creative Process. Indeed, yoga and photography have merged into one spiritual practice for me. To see photographically is to see inwardly outward things; to see photographically is to unveil the Light of the Self that dwells within all created things and within my own self. A photograph that functions for me as a Symbol is the visual embodiment of the experience of darsana and vimarsana.
Enlightenment and the Symbolic Photograph
Curator Robert Storr, during an interview with Robert Ryman, asked what his painting was about. Ryman said that "he painted for 'the experience of'--and there was a pause--'enlightenment. An experience of delight, and well being, and rightness. [He continued:] It's like listening to music . . . and coming out of it feeling somehow fulfilled--that what you experienced was extraordinary. It sustained you for a while. You can't explain it to someone who did not experience it.'" (From Storr's essay in Robert Ryman, Dia Art Foundation, 2017).
I have had extraordinary experiences of the "One" beneath the surfaces of appearances, both in Siddha Yoga Meditation, and in my photographic practice--experiences that cannot be spoken of in words, for the language we speak is based in duality and the experiences are based in Unitary Reality. Symbolic photographs "speak" the visual language of Unitary Reality.
Photographs that function as symbols unite the mirroring polarities of the dual world: physis and psyche, spiritual and sensual. Every thing in the outer world is but one part of a pair of opposites; each object has its inner psychic or archetypal image counterpart. Symbolic Photographs hold these corresponding mirroring parts (inner image and outer images) together in an articulate visual form, an image alive and radiant with the sacred Light of Consciousness.
In the silent dialogue that occurs between myself as contemplator, and a symbolic image, I absorb the sacred energy of the image at the same time that I allow its grace to absorb me. In this silent, interior dialogue, in this state of inner perceptual union with the symbol, I experience vimarsana or darshana as brief, conscious glimpse into the yogic realm of divine knowledge known as enlightenment, union with the Light of the Self, God, the Absolute.
The yogic sages say that all perceptions vibrate with the light of shakti, the Light of divine Consciousness, the Light of the Self. I sense this sacred presence, this interior "light" in many of Robert Ryman's paintings. They hold in subtile equilibrium, in visual union, the white paint, the light falling upon the painting's surface, and the interior light of the painting. They all merge into One thing. It is an experience of "Light upon Light." It is this luminous nature of his painting that attracts me most, that inspires me most, that compels me to make photographs.
The Delight of the (White) Paintings
Ryman is sometimes referred to as the "white paint" artist, but in fact it was not until 2004 that he decided to finally challenge himself by intentionally making a series of "white" paintings. See the image below.
Part 2 : Surface Veils, Light, Delight, Enlightenment
Click on this and all images to enlarge for optimum viewing
Homage to Robert Ryman ~ Part One: Introduction and Commentary
Homage to Robert Ryman ~ Part Two: Surface Veils, Light, Delight & Enlightenment
Homage to Robert Ryman ~ Part Three: Epilogue
Introduction
Robert Ryman avoided making "pictures," "images." He made paintings, aesthetically rich objects imbued with the intention of "seeing" what can be done with paint and the materials of painting, the affect of light upon his paintings and their surfaces, and the interaction of the paintings with the gallery wall and the exhibition space as a whole. Ryman experimented--improvised--in untold numbers of ways with paint applications and alternative ways of presenting his paintings. His work is at once earnest, self-aware, and yet intuitive, spontaneous. Despite the fact that I am a photographer who works in images, I like to think that he and I are kindred in spirit (our work certainly shares a love for light). He is part of who I am, who I'm becoming . . . and this project is helping me discover and learn more about that part of myself.
It should be obvious from the work I am presenting in these first two parts of the project--photographs made under the influence of his art and his words--that I have not (consciously) tried to make images "in the manner of" Robert Ryman's paintings. What is more interesting to me is the way my seeing photographically has been affected by his painterly "vision," his intuitive-improvisational approach to painting, his constant experimenting and searching for something "enlightening."
Inner necessity propelled me into photography when I was nearly ten years old. An epiphany--an act of grace, in 1955--directed me toward my life's work in photography. From the very beginning, grace has been at the center of my creative process, and it was grace that returned me to the painting of Robert Ryman for continued and deeper contemplation.
I was taken by surprise when my Creative Process essentially "insisted" that I recognize, acknowledge and pay Homage to Ryman and his art. I have since then reacquainted myself with his work and looked at what I as a photographer have in common with this extraordinary abstract painter. I will outline some of the things I have discovered below.
The following quote by Ryman could have been written by a photographer, even myself: The way I work, the painting is either finished or it's destroyed. It's a one-time thing. It has to be very direct; it has to be immediate, to the point.
The quote reminds me of the Chinese and Japanese zen brush-and-ink paintings that I love, which are spontaneous bursts of creative energy following periods of deep contemplation and meditation which have prepared the artist for the direct painting act.
As a student of Siddha Yoga Meditation, I meditate daily; I photograph sometimes once a week or less, usually in brief spurts of inspiration. So, in a way, meditation prepares me for my acts of photographing in those brief encounters with inspiration. I am quite aware that when I photograph it is an intuitive act in response to the grace, the inner necessity of my Creative Process, and I do the best I can to stay out of Its way. Meditation helps me stay open to the creative flow of grace
Light and White Space
I like very much the conscious use of white space in zen painting; and of course Ryman's work is almost completely devoted to white: white paint, white space, and the affects of light upon his paintings. Ryman once said "White makes things visible." He said the same thing about light. His works are in a constant dialogue with the changes of light that occur within an exhibition space.
Ryman's paintings often seem to me to be self-luminous. That is to say, they appear to be radiant with their own Imaginal (internal) light.
Thinking
Ryman's plainspoken self-effacing words sometimes remind me of the way zen buddhist monks speak, in subtle metaphoric ways that suggest layers of unstated meaning and enlightened insight. He once said of his painting: "you can think all you want before painting, and you can think all you want after the painting is finished, but the worst thing you can do is think while you are painting."
I am in complete sympathy with Ryman's highly intuitive approach to painting. His words about thinking reminded me of a zen story I liked very much as told by D. T. Suzuki in one of his many zen books, about a student who was studying zen and the art of sword fighting. During a sword fight, the student was doing quite well, so he started thinking about possible ways he could finish off his opponent. In that very instant the opponent cut off the student's head.
*
I have been very attracted to the use of white space in my photography. I first became aware of this, as a student in the mid 1960's, in the street photographs of Lee Friedlander. I have also been inspired by the use of white (and light) in the photographs of Ray Metzker and the Italian photographer Mario Giacomelli.
I made a series of Negative Print photographs that are dominated by white space. And I have in the past several years produced many projects which include photographs of snow. (See my project: Snow : Photographs from the Silver World.) I like the apparent simplicity of works dominated by white space; and in that regard I appreciate the directness and understated apparent simplicity of Ryman's paintings.
I could say that my photography is about seeing and picture-making, and Ryman's painting is about "seeing" as well . . . though of course in a very different way.
Vittorio Colaizzi's introductory essay for his book Robert Ryman (published in 2017 by Phaidon) is entitled "The Seeing of Painting." He wrote: "Ryman has always risked invisibility." He says Ryman's abstract paintings, often appearing at first to be nothing but white space, presents a challenge to every viewer, but especially one who expects to see a picture, or an image when facing the painting.
Indeed the uninitiated viewer could stand in front of a Ryman painting and see nothing but white space, though it may have layers upon layers of surfaces that veil the often difficult-to-see essential qualities of the work.
It is impossible to actually see a Ryman painting in a photograph or a book of reproductions, and yet I have enjoyed seeing how the better publications devoted to Ryman's work try to present his work on the printed page. I can feel an interior presence of light in his work even in reproductions, though it takes concentrated engagement and a willingness to imagine as well as look closely. Colaizzi writes: "the onus of perception" falls on the viewer as much as upon Ryman. Of course that's true of any really good, if challenging, work of art.
We often come to painting with expectations, just as we come to photography with expectations, and these expectations tend to veil or separate us from what is possible to be seen and experienced in the works of art (or life in general for that matter). The great modern day yogic saint and founder of the Siddha Yoga Path, Swami Mukatnanda, spoke about the veil like this:
When algae spread over the surface of water, they cover the water
so that you cannot see it. When clouds form in the sky, they
cover the sky so that you cannot see it. When cataracts
cover the pupils of the eyes, they block your
vision. In the same way, the ego acts
as a screen, as a veil, which hides
the divinity of your own Self.
from Resonate with Stillness
Daily Contemplations
*
A Collection of Paintings by
A Collection of Paintings by
Robert Ryman
(Click on the images to enlarge)
The collection of Ryman paintings I am presenting below represent the more intimate aspects of his work. They are for me personal, beautiful works, even if they are hard to classify according to various categories established by art critics and historians. The use of white paint is familiar to most of his painting, though only the very last example of his work in this collection qualifies literally as a (White) painting. There are so many others I could have included, but this selection will have to suffice.
Many New York painters have expressed their respect and appreciation for Ryman and his art, especially for the way it has enlightened--or educated them--about painting, painting materials and inventive methods of presentation, in ways no other contemporary artist has.
Fig. 6 Ryman 1961 Paint on Heavy Tan Paper
Fig. 7 Ryman 1962-4 Crazy Painting
Fig. 8 Ryman 1962 Paint on raw canvas
Fig. 9 Ryman 1989 Context
Fig. 10 Ryman 1972 Root
Fig. 11 Ryman Best or Worse, 1996-97
Fig. 12 Ryman 2008 Large-small, thick-thin, Light reflecting, Light absorbing
Fig. 13 Ryman 1970-71 Untitled (Surface Veil)
Fig. 14 Ryman Series 23 (White) 2004
Realism and Abstraction
In Part One of this project I attempted to write about the abstract nature of my photography in relation to Ryman's painting. A challenging complication arises, however, when one is forced to contend with Ryman's claim that his paining constitutes a kind of Realism. Indeed, photography has been often been viewed in very limited ways, particularly in regards to the idea of the medium's mechanical-chemical-digital capacity to "realistically render the world." Ryman says the paintings he makes are "real" objects made with real paint, real support materials; and the light playing on the surfaces of his paintings is real . . . thus his work is a form of Realism. (In other words, he makes real objects, not pictures, not images.)
I am comfortable saying, in regards to abstraction and realism: Ryman's painting exists between abstraction and realism, and my photography exists between abstraction and representation. This "space between" is the Imaginal world, a world that transcends the pairs of opposites of the dual world. The space between is the transcendent space from which emerges what I call Symbols.
Reflections on Light
Ryman is very concerned about the way differing light conditions makes visible subtle tones in the colors of the paint he applies to his varying surfaces. And because his intuitive application of the paint (facture) is equally important to him, it is the light falling on the surfaces of his painting that reveals these subtleties of brush work. For one of his exhibitions in a New York gallery, he used only the natural light coming into the exhibition space from windows and skylights to illuminate his works. As the light changed throughout the day in direction, intensity, and quality, the viewers witnessed how the light changed the way they could see his paintings.
I enjoy watching how a photograph changes in appearance (and meaning) as the light varies from time to time in a given viewing situation. Indeed, it is the play of light upon the things of the world, and the transforming power of light that has initiated and articulated nearly every photograph I have ever made. That of course is evident in the photographs which appear in the Homage to Ryman project. (See Fig. 3 below)
Ryman has painted on many different surfaces--some highly reflective--such as aluminum and plastic. The series title of one of his exhibition, Large-small, thick-thin, light reflecting, light absorbing literally describes how certain pairs of opposites were incorporated into his paintings being displayed in the gallery. I have presented two of the paintings from that series below, plus an installation photo (from a different exhibition) of Ryman's early painting of 1963, on aluminum, entitled Points. In these works you can see how light, reflecting off the shinny surfaces of the paintings, becomes an integral part of the painting itself which also consists of light-absorbing white paint.
Fig. 1 Ryman 1963 Installation view of "Points" Paint on Aluminum
Fig. 2 2008 Large-small, thick-thin, Light reflecting, Light absorbing
Fig. 3 Ryman Homage : Reflection on picture window
(Click on the image for optimum viewing)
The absorption of light, and the reflection of light on surfaces is a contributing factor in the photographs I make. In the Fig. 3 photograph above, the golden light from an illuminated lamp pervades the entirety of the picture's space; it's golden light is particularly noticeable as it is being reflected off of a metal frame which was being reflected in our picture window. And inside the reflection of the frame we see the reflected image of the illuminating lamp. This image is about "light upon light" and "reflections within reflections."
The yogic scriptures speak of the formless light, the Light of Consciousness that is projected out into the world and becomes manifested as the infinite number of created forms constituting our visible (apparent) universe. This Light is not in itself visible; rather, the yogic sages tell us, the Light of Consciousness is the divine creative power by which the eye sees. (See Swami Shantananda's book The Splendor of Recognition)
There is a video that Robert Storr wrote about in his essay published by the Dea Foundation in its 2017 monograph Robert Ryman. The video, made by Ryman's son, shows his father painting in a very concentrated state of mind while listening to a jazz recording of John Coltrane. Ryman's intuitive, spontaneous and yet deliberate, structured use of paint and other materials is unquestionably informed by his love, experience and appreciation of jazz. Indeed, Ryman studied jazz saxophone for two years, shortly after he arrived in New York City in 1952, with Lennie Tristano.
I have made several projects in response to various kinds of music, performers and composers, including Steve Lacy, Thelonious Monk, Morton Feldman and Charles Ives. (Click here to see my collection of music inspired photography projects.)
I once had an incredibly vivid dream in which I was performing with Steve Lacy and four or five other jazz musicians. I experienced in the dream what it is like for a group of musicians to enter into a sustained period of musical dialogue, playing and interacting together united within the creative flow of improvisational music making. It was an extraordinary, mysterious, beautiful experience. The dream was not so much about what I was doing, but rather what was happening to me. I was being carried along on the flow of a very powerful stream of creative energy that quite literally was the music itself, the creative unfolding of musical experience, musical performance, the sounds, spaces, structures, rhythms, colors, etc. of music.
The intuitive-spontaneous act of improvisation is an important aspect of my creative process in photographic picture-making. I often enter into a flow of energy that takes me where It wants to go. In a way, I become the "instrument" of my Creative Process, Its energy, Its grace. The photographs that emerge are not only the creation of that grace, they are the containers of that grace, images radiant with the creative power of the universe. This divine creative energy is referred to in the yoga that I practice as Shakti.
I appreciate what Ryman was experiencing as he was painting and listening to the music of John Coltrane; I often listen to music when I am working on my digital photographs at the computer. I listen to the music that seems most right, most in alignment with the Imaginal character of what I am working on at the time. Music helps to stop my mind. A still mind allows the shakti to do what It needs to do.
Seeing beyond surfaces: Darsana
Lifting the veil : Vimarsana
Robert Ryman has insisted that his paintings are not self-referential; rather, they are (he says) about painting, paint, light, etc. When he was asked where his acute attention to light in his painting came from, Ryman responded: "from looking, seeing things, looking at everything--but painting, particularly. And of course painting is a visual experience, so it only happens when we see light. (LAUGHS)"
Ryman created a series of paintings in 1970-71 entitled Surface Veil. The title is evocative in its poetic-metaphysical implications, and yet in his typical pragmatic plainspoken way, Ryman explained that the title was merely a reference to the material he painted upon: "Surface Veil" was the name of a diffusely woven fiberglass screen-like material designed by a manufacturer to soften the incoming sun through skylights.
Even in reproductions (see below) his Surface Veil paintings appear (imaginatively to me) to be atmospherically illuminated images in which variously colored, textured and reflective surface materials (white paint, woven fiberglass, wax paper, masking tape) are reflecting and absorbing light and subtle colors in differing layered ways.
Fig. 4 Ryman 1970-71 Untitled (Surface Veil)
fiberglass panel, wax paper, masking tape
For example, according to Swami Shantananda (a teacher of Siddha Yoga and author of a remarkable book of commentaries entitled The Splendor of Recognition), the word vimarsana means "the practice of acute attentiveness in which one lifts the veil of separation, glimpsing Consciousness [divine presence, divine Light, shakti] at the moment of perception." He says Vimarsana is a "brief experience of union." Of course the word yoga in English translation means "union," which is the recognition of the Truth that we are united, One with the supreme or universal Self.
Darsana is another term, closely related to vimarsana, which Swami Shantananda writes about in his book. Darsana means "divine vision" or "vision of the divine." Swamiji defines it further as "an inner vision of the One beneath outer appearances . . . the [One] Consciousness that pervades everything and everywhere in the universe, and which lives in the human heart."
These teachings point toward the foundational practice of Siddha Yoga, which is: "See God in everything, including your own self." Thus the experience of darsana is an experience of one's own divine Self as manifested in the form of the apparent outer world:
"All this is a creation of Consciousness.
All this is the vibration of my own Self."
Yogic teachings like this have become the foundation of my Creative Process. Indeed, yoga and photography have merged into one spiritual practice for me. To see photographically is to see inwardly outward things; to see photographically is to unveil the Light of the Self that dwells within all created things and within my own self. A photograph that functions for me as a Symbol is the visual embodiment of the experience of darsana and vimarsana.
Enlightenment and the Symbolic Photograph
Curator Robert Storr, during an interview with Robert Ryman, asked what his painting was about. Ryman said that "he painted for 'the experience of'--and there was a pause--'enlightenment. An experience of delight, and well being, and rightness. [He continued:] It's like listening to music . . . and coming out of it feeling somehow fulfilled--that what you experienced was extraordinary. It sustained you for a while. You can't explain it to someone who did not experience it.'" (From Storr's essay in Robert Ryman, Dia Art Foundation, 2017).
I have had extraordinary experiences of the "One" beneath the surfaces of appearances, both in Siddha Yoga Meditation, and in my photographic practice--experiences that cannot be spoken of in words, for the language we speak is based in duality and the experiences are based in Unitary Reality. Symbolic photographs "speak" the visual language of Unitary Reality.
Photographs that function as symbols unite the mirroring polarities of the dual world: physis and psyche, spiritual and sensual. Every thing in the outer world is but one part of a pair of opposites; each object has its inner psychic or archetypal image counterpart. Symbolic Photographs hold these corresponding mirroring parts (inner image and outer images) together in an articulate visual form, an image alive and radiant with the sacred Light of Consciousness.
In the silent dialogue that occurs between myself as contemplator, and a symbolic image, I absorb the sacred energy of the image at the same time that I allow its grace to absorb me. In this silent, interior dialogue, in this state of inner perceptual union with the symbol, I experience vimarsana or darshana as brief, conscious glimpse into the yogic realm of divine knowledge known as enlightenment, union with the Light of the Self, God, the Absolute.
The yogic sages say that all perceptions vibrate with the light of shakti, the Light of divine Consciousness, the Light of the Self. I sense this sacred presence, this interior "light" in many of Robert Ryman's paintings. They hold in subtile equilibrium, in visual union, the white paint, the light falling upon the painting's surface, and the interior light of the painting. They all merge into One thing. It is an experience of "Light upon Light." It is this luminous nature of his painting that attracts me most, that inspires me most, that compels me to make photographs.
The Delight of the (White) Paintings
Ryman is sometimes referred to as the "white paint" artist, but in fact it was not until 2004 that he decided to finally challenge himself by intentionally making a series of "white" paintings. See the image below.
Fig. 5 Ryman Series 23 (White) 2004
In some of the (White) paintings Ryman actually used four different white paints. Their differences, so slight that they could only become discernible under special lighting conditions, gives the painting's surface an extraordinary richness of tone and spatial complexity. For many of the paintings, he pre-covered the canvas with a dark gray ground over which he applied the white paint (as in the image above).
I like Ryman's (White) paintings very much. They give me (in his own words) pleasure, delight, enlightenment. Not all of Ryman's paintings work for me in this intimate, personal (nearly pictorial) way, but then Ryman is a painter who cannot be categorized.
Ryman and the Pictorial, the Transcendent, the Absolute
Despite Ryman's insistence that he does not paint "pictures" or "images" Vittorio Colaizzi concludes his first essay (for the Phadion publication) with references to "transcendence" and "the absolute." Of course Colaizzi is not the first to make such claims; other critics and writers have challenged Ryman's rather dry, pragmatic explanations of his art. But of course (dare I say it?) we should never become dependent upon what an artist says about their own work. What's most essential is for each of us as viewers to get in touch with our own inner experience of what we're seeing.
Colaizzi writes in the conclusion of his introductory essay: I hope to illuminate aspects of Ryman's paining that are heretofore underemphasized, namely . . . the lingering pictorial qualities that he retains in order to transcend.
After a series of deeply considered searching essays, Colaizzi concludes the last of his essays with a remarkable statement that affirms my personal experience of Ryman's work and at the same time encourages me to continue on the paths upon which I have been traveling, both as an artist and as a student of yoga. Colaizzi writes:
For all the differences between Ryman, Rothko, Mondrian, and [Barnett] Newman, the content they may share is the poignancy of the desire for an absolute. Ryman's distinction from these other modernists, however, is that he takes the absolute as his subject matter, circling around it and knowingly exploiting its elusiveness. (Vittorio Colaizzi, from Robert Ryman, Phaidon Press, 2017)
I like Ryman's (White) paintings very much. They give me (in his own words) pleasure, delight, enlightenment. Not all of Ryman's paintings work for me in this intimate, personal (nearly pictorial) way, but then Ryman is a painter who cannot be categorized.
Ryman and the Pictorial, the Transcendent, the Absolute
Despite Ryman's insistence that he does not paint "pictures" or "images" Vittorio Colaizzi concludes his first essay (for the Phadion publication) with references to "transcendence" and "the absolute." Of course Colaizzi is not the first to make such claims; other critics and writers have challenged Ryman's rather dry, pragmatic explanations of his art. But of course (dare I say it?) we should never become dependent upon what an artist says about their own work. What's most essential is for each of us as viewers to get in touch with our own inner experience of what we're seeing.
Colaizzi writes in the conclusion of his introductory essay: I hope to illuminate aspects of Ryman's paining that are heretofore underemphasized, namely . . . the lingering pictorial qualities that he retains in order to transcend.
After a series of deeply considered searching essays, Colaizzi concludes the last of his essays with a remarkable statement that affirms my personal experience of Ryman's work and at the same time encourages me to continue on the paths upon which I have been traveling, both as an artist and as a student of yoga. Colaizzi writes:
For all the differences between Ryman, Rothko, Mondrian, and [Barnett] Newman, the content they may share is the poignancy of the desire for an absolute. Ryman's distinction from these other modernists, however, is that he takes the absolute as his subject matter, circling around it and knowingly exploiting its elusiveness. (Vittorio Colaizzi, from Robert Ryman, Phaidon Press, 2017)
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Part II
Photographs
In Homage to Robert Ryman
(Click on the images for optimum viewing quality)
Photographs
In Homage to Robert Ryman
(Click on the images for optimum viewing quality)
Image #1 Part Two Homage to Robert Ryman
Image #2 Part Two Homage to Robert Ryman
Image #3 Part Two Homage to Robert Ryman
Image #4 Part Two Homage to Robert Ryman
Image #5 Part Two Homage to Robert Ryman
Image #11 Part Two Homage to Robert Ryman
Image #12 Part Two Homage to Robert Ryman "Alicia's Poem"
Image #13 Part Two Homage to Robert Ryman
Image #14 Part Two Homage to Robert Ryman
Image #15 Part Two Homage to Robert Ryman
Image #16 Part Two Homage to Robert Ryman
Image #17 Part Two Homage to Robert Ryman
Image #18 Part Two Homage to Robert Ryman
Image #19 Part Two Homage to Robert Ryman
Image #20 Part Two Homage to Robert Ryman
Image #21 Part Two Homage to Robert Ryman
Image #22 Part Two Homage to Robert Ryman
This project was announced on my blog's
Welcome Page January 16, 2018.
Click Here to go directly to
Part Three, the Epilogue
Related Project links
Homage to Robert Ryman ~ Part One: Introduction and Commentary
Homage to Robert Ryman ~ Part Two: Surface Veils, Light, Delight & Enlightenment
Homage to Robert Ryman ~ Part Three: Epilogue
Broad Brook Photographs, October 14, 2017
Homage to Giacometti
Symbolic photograph
The Complete Collection of Homage Projects
Please visit my Welcome Page which contains a complete listing of my online photography projects, my resume, contact information, gallery affiliation, and much more.
