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James Joyce's masterpiece "Ulysses" follows main character, Leopold Bloom, as he traverses the streets of Dublin during the course of a single day. This is no ordinary day, however. In Joyce's hands, the brief sliver of experience held within two dozen hours of time becomes a vast allegorical passage containing a rich and expansive cosmology. One of the central ideas of Ulysses is that there is no such thing as "ordinary"..that life as it is lived cannot escape the epic significance that our very existence implies. The realness of this transcendent proclamation is somewhat hard to feel when one is awfully bored and has perhaps been spending several listless hours parked in front of the television, but I assure you that even in the most prosaic moments of quotidian reality, the universe might still be found. Maybe that's why such bombastic rhetoric from High Art icons such as Barnett Newman often is so hard to take in today's jaded world. Imagine getting worked up about a single line of white in a red field...it's about as exciting as dirt. I'm not about to bow prostrate in search of Onement before this windbags' pretentious field of ambition and ego...even if they are quite fetching paintings.
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So where does that leave abstract artists today ? What do their paintings mean bereft of all the hyperbolic rhetorical heat and flash? In the case of Dennis Hollingsworth, one of my favorite abstract painters in Los Angeles, the answer for me has been found in a recent work I was lucky enough to catch a glimps of hanging barely dry in his Chinatown studio. Dennis is a blogger, and so it's been interesting for me to see a more complete picture of this artist through his online journal. A weblog is afterall, a type of hypertextual network of ideas, people, places, events and images...a "cosmology". The most recent post is just one vector of a vast network that stretches into a deep field of information. So, one day..one post..has contained within it a type of deeper implied significance.
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The reason I like this piece by Dennis so much is because I can somehow see with great clarity the accumulation of the seemingly ordinary moments of life into something quite large and extra-ordinary. Dennis writes abouts his paintings in an exciting and action packed manner, often employing a type of poetic prose in which the creative act resembles a terpsichorean sport that plays out on a razors edge, chaos and disorder threatening constantly . The creator must fight his way through these trials and tribulations, somehow holding the piece together until falling exhausted at the end..the painting hopefully still holding. I enjoy and relate to this romantic notion of creativity, and in Dennis' hands it is contrasted from the more mundane aspects of life as a privileged and special act.
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It's much easier to see G-d in a painting when the artist isn't talking so loudly about it.
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