Project with Brett Weir

Exhibition
Participating Artist
Brett Weir
Duration
October 27 - October 27 2017
Opening
October 27 2017

Ausstellungsprojekt mit BRETT WEIR

Wir haben die einzigartige Gelegenheit die eindrucksvollen Arbeiten des Künstlers in einem intimen Rahmen, einem Kunstevent in einer privaten Wohnung zu besichtigen.

BRETT WEIR
CURRENT WORKS

Vernissage
Freitag, 27. Oktober 2017
18.00 – 21.00 Uhr

Familie Brunner
Zollikerstrasse 126
8008 Zürich

um Anmeldung wird gebeten
brett.weir@icloud.com

Wir freuen uns auf dieses aussergewöhnliche Ausstellungsformat und die Zusammenarbeit mit Familie Brunner und Brett Weir. Die Arbeiten des Künstlers können auf Absprache bis zum 1. Juni 2018 besichtigt werden.

 

 

ARTISTS STATEMENT

When I was a kid at art school, then as now I had a lot of ideas. One of the most persistent of those ideas – that never eventuated- was to break into an old abandoned picture theatre in a nearby town, and lock myself in with a recording of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata (a visually powerful and suggestive piece of music), a huge canvas and all the paint I might need to improvise a response to the looping track until I either collapsed or felt the work was whichever came first. In retrospect the idea seems quite- a Clockwork Orange merging of both the characters Alex and his torturer. Of course the outcome with Alex was that after his ‘therapy’, Beethoven through association became unbearable for him. I don’t want to end up feeling this way about either painting or Beethoven and am glad that I never embarked on the project.

But at the same time, my approach to painting since then carries an element of this fanaticism; my close friend and fellow artist, Will Mackinnon, while sharing his studio with me in the Melbourne summer of 2015 said ‘God, the intensity is scary to be around’.

With these paintings I worked over months every day, day in day out from early until late, neglecting all other aspects of my life. I worked on them outside- under the sun, in the rain and the wind. Then at night I would carry them up from my painting spot in the garden to view them, making decisions and notes about the direction I wanted to take the following day. During these months I barely slept. When I closed my eyes at night, I saw them – both what I had been working on and what was yet to come; I dreamt these works and ate with them at the breakfast table. It was a daily battle for my hands and material stocks to keep up with my ideas.

So it is hard to write about them, because life and art in this sense are fused, symbiotic. And life is not an easy thing to summarise in a few words. As Basquiat said, “I don’t know how to describe my work. It’s like asking Miles, ‘How does your horn sound?’ “

As with much of Miles’ great improvisation, working to a specific agenda would only have served to limit the possibilities, and so I consciously approached every day with an openness to the ricochets that arise from highly experimental processes. As always, I listened to music, letting it wash over me and exert it’s influence. I watched the lake with the sky in it as it changed daily and seasonally. I let the elements take me with them, working in shorts in summer, in a rain jacket and boots in autumn. Several of the early pieces were made in heavy rain, breaking up the surface, masking layers and revealing others, which in turn became a tool of my process- something that I could later simulate to suit my needs.

The act of painting in this very immersive manner is for me a kind of meditation; I watch the cinema of my mind as these images present themselves – almost autonomously it seems at times, as though they have a will of their own. But the level to which my subconscious has fed these visions and influenced their outcomes is worth mentioning. I thought for example a lot about friends and the passing of time. Friends- those people that are so close that they can quickly wound or caress, who mark your time in this strange life, who drift in and out of contact, who remind you of your flaws or make you feel like perhaps there is hope in the world. And it might seem strange or unbelievable, but sometimes the forms of these people appeared in the very paintings that I was working on while thinking about them, without attempting anything figurative.

In conclusion, these works could perhaps best be described as abstract representations of my mind, witness to the changing seasons, the mercurial zeitgeist that menaces us in the big bad world in 2017, and an ongoing celebration of what a miracle and privilege it is to be able to experience it.

Zurich, October 22