The Bones of Mad Cows and Contemplations of Human Greed

Posted on June 1, 2010 by billbar1

Greed fosters bad things, whether it be oil spills or mad cow disease. Bill Barrell contemplates greed and how it brings odd shapes and forms to his paintings…..

Untitled

- This painting stems from a period I went through while trying to understand certain aspects of human greed and the Mad Cow Disease. That disease came about from pure greed. Why was it allowed to happen?

Like the current oil catastrophe in the Gulf of Mexico, regulations were ignored in order to save money.

It was a known fact in the 1950s that if cows were fed meat or meat by-products, they would go mad. There is meat and then there are by-products of meat and it was the by-products that caused the problem. The people who used the brains and spinal cords of slaughtered animals knew full well they should be discarded as this is where the disease resided. But they ignored that fact and thought of the investors and the bottom line. Those by-products also ended up being used in such meats as baloney and hot dogs. I often look at hot dogs and think what a scam. Who knows what goes into them?

Well, none of this is news now. But I was able to vent my spleen by doing a series of mad cow paintings.

This particular painting incorporates me as I felt as angry as the cows.

Is that cow parts I see being fed into my brain via my ear? Am I changing into a hot dog? Is this me turning into a spongiform? Am I coming down with the dreaded Mad Cow Disease? I feel as one of them.

I hope that things have changed for the better and that the practice of feeding animal waste to grass and grain eating animals is in the history books. But greed, as we now see with the oil companies being a prime example, will often overcome virtue. -

In One Ear and Out the Other

Posted on May 21, 2010 by billbar1

Bill Barrell says his last year in school was spent gazing out of the school room window…..

….. “ The teacher would get my attention by aiming a piece of chalk at my head, often with great accuracy, and bring me back from my adventure among the clouds and sky. I was fourteen. Even though I would then sit and pay attention, so much seemed to go in one ear and out the other.

In One Ear and Out the Other (Head with Green Nose), 36 in x 32 in, 1998

The British school system was set up as to provide a work force with a bunch of muscle, lacking brains. How to add and subtract pound shillings and pence was drummed into us so that we could go out into the world and spend our wages on beer and baccy after toiling in the mines, factories or fields.

I did have the one teacher who I could understand what he was talking about. The art teacher. He would walk around in his tweed jacket with leather elbows while sucking on a pipe and umming and arring over our work. He was big into abstract art of which I knew nothing. He mentioned Miro, I remember. He would encourage us to just make shapes and forms and curvy lines. He liked my work so much that he pinned one up and discussed it. Little I knew this would become my calling ten years later. His was the only class I didn’t daydream in. I still remember it all very clearly, whereas history, science and math is all a blurr.

My first year as a wage earner was spent in the west end of London as a theatre ticket and messenger boy. I had previously found a job in a stained glass workshop at apprentice’s wages. That didn’t sit well with my father as he felt I had to contribute to my upkeep. He found me my West end job saying it would broaden my mind (and give him more to spend down the White Lion). Perhaps it was just as well. Who knows. I probably would be dead from lead poisoning if I had stayed at the glass shop. Maybe my father with his selfish desires saved me from a grizzly end.

Also, being a messenger boy perhaps fitted in with my later calling. Paintings are like messages. They reveal things in us we would never have known otherwise. We can view things in a different light and peer into the dark recesses of our minds. Art keeps pressing forward, never stagnant always fresh and questioning. For instance, who would have thought a hundred years ago that Damien Hurst’s sliced up cow in formaldehyde would be a priceless museum piece.

So, in one ear and out the other makes me aware of where I came from and perhaps, some things we hear do not need to be retained.”

The Not So Still Life

Posted on May 2, 2010 by billbar1

Bill Barrell loves to paint but tea also plays a big role in his day to day life….

Telephone Ring, 50 in x 66 in, 1998

…. I am usually the first one up in my house which means that I make the tea. Marilyn, my muse, will not stir until tea has flowed through her lips. Once in a while, she will call out “Good Cuppa”. This means all of the elements have been in the correct position for the perfect Cuppa.

One can never rely on it being a good cup of tea no matter how much attention one pays to the making of it. I have read much on tea and have a Chinese friend who scolds me for adding milk. I have enjoyed many a cup of oolong or lapsangshoshon, but nothing surpasses a cup of regular Brook Bond Red Rose tea with milk – no sugar.

This painting, “Telephone Ring”, was leading me on just such a merry chase and was giving me a hard time. Deep in thought and wrestling with what to put where or what color would bring it to life, the phone rang and I answered it. I was still talking on the phone when I glanced at the work and through the distraction I saw what I needed! I thanked my caller profusely, hung up and dove right back into the painting, wrestling it to the ground.

So, what I have in this painting is a captured moment. The phone rings and things have come to life. A painting can look so easy and sometimes it does come easy. Many times it’s a struggle, creating doubts and fears that one has lost ones mojo. Often, these works turn out to be the most forceful and interesting because digging deep into the psychic mind, we find the ability to solve what seems like an unsolveable problem.

When looking at paintings, it is a good thing to look at the reworking in areas. This can give you an idea of the struggle. For example, you can often see in Picasso’s work that one line or block of color will change the whole area therefore shifting the perspective, feeling or energy field, the latter being such a vital part of the work.

What is so great about art is that once the energy has been attained it is an energy force that does not diminish.

It is almost as good as a good cuppa……

Farewell Gabriel

Posted on April 20, 2010 by billbar1

Bill Barrell usually paints the objects and people in his life. Here he expresses how this painting “Farewell Gabriel” means more than that.

Farewell Gabriel, 66 in x 70 in, 1987, oil on canvas painting

…. I had a friend who lived in the West Village in New York City. He was married with a son and had a circle of friends that included everyone from plumbers to philosophers – gay and straight, young and old, male and female. It was a diverse circle of friends. One day he told me of a friend by the name of Gabriel.

Gabriel was from France. He had told my friend how repressed he had felt in France and that he had recently come to the U.S. and emerged from the closet as a gay man. He was determined to enjoy the freedom that gays were having in Greenwich Village. My friend encouraged him to enjoy himself. I met Gabriel a couple of times. He was young, energetic and full of vim and vigor.

Unfortunately, it was the beginning of the AIDS epidemic. It could not have been a worse time. The disease was relatively new and little understood. Gabriel had come out of the closet and stepped into the fire. It struck him within months. There were no medications then and he had little hope of survival. Within six months of meeting my friend, Gabriel was gone. It was tragic that he was gone after such a short and hopefully enjoyable time.

I don’t often do paintings of events, but this event struck me as so tragic that I felt I should record it. I like to think that it memoralizes not only Gabriel, but the people who have passed away from AIDS and those that cope with it now.

My Paint Table

Posted on April 11, 2010 by billbar1

Bill Barrell’s studio is always full of pleasant surprises……

Paint Table, oil on canvas, 32 x 26, 2009

… My paint table is always a mess – but only to other people. I can turn to my table and find exactly what I need. Once in awhile, I straighten it out but it doesn’t stay straightened out for long. It is usually jumbled up within days.

When my daughter Liza was young, I had to run her to school and pick her up in the afternoon. I would be working away and deeply involved in a painting when I would look up at the clock and realize that I had to dash into town and pick her up. This meant leaving everything in one wet pile. Oh, I’d think, that’s ok. I will clean it up when I get home. But instead, I would cook dinner or go to an opening and then the next day I would realize that I had a doctor appointment in New York and that would eat up most of the day. Before I knew it those pots and brushes had stood unattended for three days! Stiff brushes GRRRRR!!!!

It happened so often that I started buying cheap Chinese bristle brushes just so I could chuck them if they got stiff.

Well…. now I have to post this blog and prepare dinner. Right after I take care of seeing a potential new tenant, attend a garden cookout and go for a bus ride that I promised to take with my granddaughter. I guess I will pop down to the studio and clean those brushes. Tomorrow.

Descent From the Cross

Posted on April 3, 2010 by billbar1

Bill Barrell contemplates religion and the influence it has on life – and his paintings.

Descent from the Cross, oil on canvas, 70" x 46", 1975

- My mother and father came from different religions.

Mother belonged to Church of England, Father was a Catholic. His was a very strict catholic upbringing. He was an altar boy, went to daily masses and attended a private catholic school. I believe the catholic religion did irreparable damage to him because he went through life feeling guilty, especially when he later deserted the church. My mother attended her church once in a while on Sundays, but was not an avid follower. When they married they agreed that the boys would be Catholic and the girls Church of England. They ended up with three boys and two girls, none of whom ever became overly religious.

I recall going to Sunday school when I was six years old. I remember some of the parables such as, “The Good Samaritan” and things like “Do unto others as you would have them done unto you”. These few things stuck, but it is all I remember. I am a non-believer today but I do believe in being good to my fellow human. I have known people to invoke god such as, it’s in god’s hands, or it is god’s will, or in god we trust which I find aggravating that the problem is pushed onto some entity that does not exist instead of dealing with the problem themselves.

At the same time, I believe strongly that people have the right to believe in whatever or whoever they wish.

From time to time while painting, I have taken themes from religous situations such as I have from other subjects like war and inhumane behavior (which I don’t believe in either). The crucifixion of Christ set the stage for a division of believers and hence some bad feelings that we still feel the effects of to this day. I feel that religions are responsible for most of the turmoil on this planet and that we would be better off without any of them. I know this is wishful thinking because people will always create something to hang on to.

There was a lot of pain for many people when he was taken down from the cross. People wept. But as in the French Revolution, there were far too many that enjoyed crucifixions no matter who they were crucifying. In this painting, I wanted to show the anguish and sorrow of those who loved him and the peace on his face that seems to have gone from great suffering to oblivion, to be no more.

The Warning

Posted on March 26, 2010 by billbar1

Older people always think they know better and so often they do. Many times they don’t.

Let Me Tell You, oil on canvas, 48" x 60", 1980

I recall a time many years ago when I had a gallery in Provincetown and was presenting a beautiful show of monotypes by Tony Vevers. Each monotype depicted the three graces, each celebrating in some way. It was a grand opening on a warm summer evening and everything went well – until the next evening.

Some time before 9 pm, the chief of the Provincetown police and his partner swaggered into the gallery eating double headed ice cream cones, chocolate and raspberry flavors. Fully armed with night sticks, guns, badges, handcuffs and the ubiquitous yellow line running down their pants. They walked around the gallery looking at the monotypes while slurping their dual flavored ice cream cones – and snickering. The chief came over to me and asked what I called this work. I told him that it was a form of printing known as monoprint, which means each was one of a kind. He said no, what I mean is, What is it? I told him it is art. He responded, well, I’ll tell you what I think it is. I think it’s pornographic.

I was a little taken aback and asked what is pornographic about them? Any of the work that shows pubic hair, he answered. Well, there were none that were void of pubic hair. He demanded that I close the show at once. I told him that we were to close at ten. Now, he said, and left.

It was just around 9 pm at this time. I was perplexed and thought maybe they were having me on, though it seemed they were serious enough. I took a chance and did not start closing until five to ten. The police returned at ten as I was shutting down the lights. They walked right in and said, I told you to close. I am closing, I answered. Well, if this exhibition opens tomorrow, both you AND Tony Vevers will be arrested. On that, they left.

I thought the best thing to do was to find Tony, he was older than me, to find out what we should do.

Now, Tony was at a party at Fritz Bultman’s, a second generation and second rate abstract painter who was second rate in my estimation and I was not fond of his superior attitude towards younger painters. I picked up my wife Irene and proceeded to Bultman’s house, high on a hill with many, many steps up to it. Finally, I found Tony and told him of our plight with the police. This caused big excitement all around and every one had an idea. Fritz said not worry, he would call Anthony Taver, a selectman at the time. I told Fritz I did not feel that was the right thing to do and that it was a bit underhanded. Fritz flew into a rage. With one hand pointed to the sea, he told me to get off his property. Off Irene and I went down the long stairs. I realized how Adam and Eve must have felt being ejected.

Hudson Walker heard about our plight and offered his assistance by providing a lawyer. We met with the lawyer the very next morning, which happened to be a Sunday. Walker suggested we close because it was Sunday and Massachusetts had blue laws. No. I thought that would be capitulating to the police. Finally, with a compromise we would open but with a sheet halfway up the window. I have to say I wasn’t fond of this idea but I gave in to the older and supposedly wiser. After all, Norman Mailer had just had a run in with the police and won his case against them.

That night, we opened. The art community had heard of it and turned out in support. No one came in, everyone sat across the street waiting for the police to show. It was eerie. I felt like a goldfish.

Then, with a great rush of air, in walked Hans Hoffman, the renowned painter who seldom came to town. He walked around and looked at the work. Then he slowly turned to me and asked for paper and pencil. With a great flourish, he wrote a declaration of innocence stating that the nude could be found all through Europe – in the Vatican, the Louvre and in all major museums. He signed it and left. The crowd poured in and signed Hoffman’s manifesto. Some of those signers were Milton Avery, Myron Stout, Walter P Chrysler, Karl Kanaths, Claes Oldenburg, Chaim Gross, Edith Ziegler. And me.

The show went on.

The Sap Is Rising

Posted on March 18, 2010 by billbar1

This winter has been a tough one here in Pennsylvania. I believe there were even a few records shattered. It seemed endless. Now it’s almost spring.

: Spring,

As expressed in this painting, the plants and living creatures have all come back to life and the birds are all a twitter. It is really a grand time of year.

An old English song celebrates this time of year. It lets you know that spring has arrived and it goes like this.

Between the acorn and the elm with a hey

and a ho and hay nonny no,

true lovers love the spring.

In the springtime, the one and only spring time

when birds do a sing

hey ring a ding a ding

true lovers love the spring.

Yes, we have come out from under the covers as the daffodils and crocuses have come out from under last year’s dead leaves.

There is a force that is hard to miss in spring. The fall kind of peters out slowly in all of its blazing glory, but the spring lets you know it has arrived with a bang. It reaches skyward, bursting into color. Insects are suddenly buzzing around. Birds have come back and are busy mating. People have shed their layers of armor against winter’s harsh, dark and cold days. Women are competing with the flowers in their light dresses.

Painting can capture and hold these precious moments. In the dead of winter I can look at Vincent van Gogh’s painting of Irises and feel the sap rising. I don’t have van Gogh’s Irises, but I do have my own interpretation of spring that I can gaze upon in the dead of winter and think of the sap rising.

Painting the Bond Between Mother and Child

Posted on March 11, 2010 by billbar1

Painting and family – the keys to life? Bill Barrell thinks so.

Mother and Child, 36" x 26", 1980

- … I have two beautiful grandchildren, Ruby and Oliver.

One day soon after Ruby had been born, my daughter Liza brought her by the studio for a visit. They were both exhausted and soon nodded off together. It was as if they were still attached while in their peaceful slumber. Forever tied together, neither letting the other one out of sight or touch even in their sleep. It was a very serene and touching moment that poured itself out later with great ease onto the canvas.

“Mother and Child” has always been a favorite subject for so many artists. Mary and Jesus were favorites of the Rensaissance artists, but I am sure there are depictions of mother and child long before that. It is a very touching moment in time to see the mother become ready to defend her newborn to the death and the father who now has to provide for the pair of them. It is a tremendous bonding time and the first step of building a family, a unit that comes together to be one of the many units of which the world is comprised.

I have always enjoyed family life. I do not hesitate to take a page out of Picasso and Braque’s book to express my telling about the people and things around me. Much of my work has been about my family and everyday objects surrounding us and I will continue to record their journey through life by painting my family. -

The Wine Cellar of the Mind

Posted on March 5, 2010 by billbar1

– Upon entering my studio one night, I sat for a while in the dark. There was no ambient light, I could see very little of anything.

Flat Studio, oil on canvas, 64" x 70", 1988

While I sat there in the dark, I had the feeling that there was a presence. It was as if I was being watched, as if I were in a jungle and there was a hidden presence observing me – waiting for me to move. Finally, I switched on the lights and the place sprung to life. Paintings finished and half finished, the paint table in a disorderly mess, my chairs scattered where I had last used them. It all recorded in my mind like a flash photo.

Images seen are often salted away for years. it is like laying away a fine wine in the cellars of the mind to be opened at the right time. I believe my wine cellar of the mind is full of observations that are aging and waiting for the right moment to be dusted off and opened.

This painting, “Flat Studio”, was hauled up from my mind cellar and recaptures one of those moments very clearly. There is a feeling that I could reach into the painting and turn it off. The light has caught all the shapes in the studio by surprise. They are halted in space with a feeling that the moment you switch off the light, like naughty children at bedtime, they will spring into action. The boxes, pots and brushes jump from the table into the light. Two dark shapes are parted as if to allow more light into the stage set. Easels, ladders, table legs and corners of paintings appearing from behind one another flatten out and try to ward off any attempt of perspective.

It was a fine moment that I caught that night and it was stored away in my mind cellar for ten years or so before I painted “Flat Studio”.