|
|
| Normuns Brasliņš. All one single line Irēna Bužinska Neither the ideal, nor the positive image belongs to the discourse of contemporary art. Nevertheless, alongside the mainstream, there are trends in art that compellingly advocate classical-eternal ideals and values. | |
| All of this would seemingly have nothing to do with realistic form, borrowed from nature. However, as we know, ever since antiquity, the body of mortal man has served as an expression of divine beauty. Nowadays, strivings for ideal beauty have associations with banality, kitsch and bad taste. Moreover, artistic study of the human body can to some degree be equated with a routine, a compulsory element in the attainment of professional mastery - a daily exercise undertaken for the purposes of teaching, training or self-development. Precisely for this reason, surprising developments in this traditional sphere of art are particularly interesting. The drawings of recent years by Normunds Brasliņš, with which I have become acquainted at several exhibitions, are an example of this kind of surprising work. Drawing remains more than just a regular exercise in skill - not for nothing is this classical technique popular even among artists very far removed from traditional art forms. However, I have concentrated on the artist's drawings for another reason as well - it truly intrigues me how this fine line, existing on the plane of the paper, can create such a marked impression of volume, a characteristic that, on the one hand is obscured, and on the other hand accentuated, by the many washes of Indian ink, reminiscent of accrued traces of damage on an old sheet of paper... Normunds Brasliņš was born in Riga on 3 March 1962. He received his professional education at the Janis Rozentāls Riga Secondary School of Art (1973-1980) and the Department of Painting of the Latvian Academy of Art (1980-1986). He has obtained the degree of Master in Art (1996). Has exhibited his work since 1980. He is a member of the Artists' Union of Latvia since 1987. Since 1988, he works at the Latvian Academy of Art, currently an associate professor, one of the teaching staff of the Master Class in Figural Art. He consistently maintains the traditions of figural painting. He has taken part in many exhibitions, but has avoided holding a solo exhibition. Last year, the ALMA gallery held an exhibition "Drawings", based on a collection of work by Normunds Brasliņš. Irēna Bužinska: Are you not surprised that this portrait of you is to appear in a volume of the journal devoted to the theme of ‘realism'? There have been many different influences on our painting, but in essence Latvian art has been dominated by realistic traditions, and these remain strong in the 21st century as well. Do you see yourself as a realist, or are you simply making use of realistic form? Normunds Brasliņš: Realism encompasses a very wide spectrum of artistic activity. Its expressions are connected with the approach that the artist wishes to develop in their work. In my view, realism is more a kind of stance the artist adopts towards the subject, by means of which they create their world of imagery. I don't actually regard myself as a realist. It's only that I view the forms themselves - the body and particular details - in a realistic way. However, in terms of mood, the setting is one that I myself have created and represented. As regards the attitude, I've always been interested in line, which shows and characterises my understanding of form, as it relates to one particular individual. Depiction of the flesh, and the colour nuances of flesh in general, is a whole treasure house in itself, something to which I've devoted many years of study, examining the work of the old masters. And I'm also interested in the search for generalisations, which likewise helps artists to achieve a recognisable individual resemblance. In my development, I've traced a very wide circle. In my student years, I began with the Dutch - with Willem Claeszoon Heda - followed by the 14th-15th century Italian and Northern Renaissance masters... Immediately after my studies at the Academy, I even went as far as abstract art. And then I gradually returned to my realism, and I've never been particularly concerned with fashion trends in art. I.B.: While we're talking about the image, which might also be described as a concept that an artist creates by their work, for the majority of people the style of your work and the manner of your imagery creates associations with the 15th century Renaissance masters in particular. N.B.: Every artist sets themselves some kind of task. There are those who aim at realising their work in a rich way and perfecting form - I can see how rich their work is. Yes, I'm interested in Antonello da Messina, Paolo Uccello, Andrea Mantegna, Jacopo Pontormo, Lucas Cranach and others. I have a small self-portrait in the manner of Antonello da Messina - which I would never have painted, had I not been invited to take part in an exhibition of self-portraits! I am influenced by the compositional clarity of the Renaissance artists, and I study the approach to particular, specific formal problems in their work, which helps resolve significant questions that I encounter. The Louvre has a woman's portrait in profile by Pisanello, and here you can see in how many layers the artist has laid down the paint in order to achieve nuanced and rich chiaroscuro, until a very thick layer of light colour is built up. I've been influenced by Cranach - how he distorts the body in stylising it, how he forms the body proportions. However, he's unrepeatable. It's impossible to borrow from Botticelli: his work is too recognisable and he's a pronounced formalist. When he creates the proportions of a figure, he departs very far from the real, with marked stylisation. Botticelli is capable of placing one eye much higher than the other, and all this becomes noticeable only when you take a careful look at the originals. I like only a very few works of Ingres, since he's too sweet for me... Of the Latvian artists, I'm interested in Georgs Šenbergs, who has such an independent perception of the universe. If you don't see what he has seen, then it would be quite silly to repeat it. But all of this relates to painting, since drawing is a different matter altogether. I.B.: It's the drawings you've done during the past year that have truly surprised me. It seems that in them you've attained a high degree of boldness and freedom, as well as virtuosity, portraying the shapes of the human body by a single, endless, fine, wavy, flowing line. Your creative involvement in drawing is even more surprising because for many years you've been teaching drawing at the Latvian Academy of Art. It seems you had already spent so much teaching time involved in drawing: what new discoveries could come now? But your drawings attest to the opposite... N.B.: The large format drawings began as studies for large paintings, but then they took on a life of their own, opening up previously unutilised, new potential in drawing. I've reached the conclusion that the drawing process is much more attractive: the hand can follow the mind, and in the course of drawing, the idea can be visualised immediately. Apart from this, drawing is easier not in terms of the process, but in terms of perception, since you can penetrate deeper into a drawing, introducing more ambiguity and achieving linear, plastic, tonal and abstract elements. I use rolls of drafting paper for my drawings, a metre and a half in width. I prepare it specially, dampening it and stretching it on a stretcher like a canvas. The paper, by the way, is paper made back in the 1980s, since present-day paper falls apart as easily as toilet paper! However, I don't particularly separate materials and use them all together: Indian ink, ink washes, charcoal, pencil and chalk. If necessary, I also use very fine sandpaper. Specially prepared paper also means that I first lay down dark washes on the paper, since the line would be very stark on blank white paper. With washes, the line recedes into the depth or else advances. When the drawing is hardly noticeable, it has a more powerful effect. Then I concentrate on the detail of one particular part, which I later develop further. To ‘sit' it into the drawing as a whole, I often make use of sandpaper. Then I continue until I've achieved that nuance I'd intended. Line must be sought by means of a labour-intensive process: creation and destruction. This is repeated several times over, until it's possible to achieve that which others can obtain immediately by means of a virtuoso line. I.B.: Do you draw every day? N.B.: Yes, every day there's the drawing I teach at the Academy. I teach the students to perceive the totality of a movement and compose a figure on the page. After that, one can begin to introduce further nuances - the approach to depicting volumes. Much depends on each individual's understanding and perception of drawing. It's necessary to explain and show how to draw. Accordingly, I have to draw every day, in order to stay on form. I am a teacher in the Master Class of Figural Painting, attended by students in years four to six, including those preparing for graduation. It has turned out that the nude figure is what most interests me as an artist. I make use of a particular human body in order to become acquainted with and make further use of a group of details, the shapes of the body. But I'm creating an image of my own. In order to produce this in painting, you need about 100 different details. But when drawing, the hand picks up even the most minute thought processes, changes and movements. When you're drawing, you first see what you wish for in your mind's eye and then put it on paper. If you stop drawing for a time, then your hand will grow stiff, and a hand has several degrees of stiffness. If the hand is not trained regularly, then the line will not go where you want it. If you draw a lot, then you can draw a very long line, one that isn't hard, doesn't break and retains its flow. And that requires considerable training. In painting, it's physically impossible to follow through an idea with such precision. The advantage of drawing is that one layer does not interfere with another. When you draw over one and the same place many times, energy accrues. The traces of previous attempts create an apparent, but incompletely perceptible illusion of what has been here before. However, the basis of it all lies with the major forms and basic relationships. If there's no basis, then that would be only an empty game. And when you start a drawing, you can't foresee everything in advance. In some cases, wishing to realise a particular idea by all possible means, I've even had to add a piece to extend the format, so as to obtain the correct tension and complete the overall composition. I've even added 3 cm to a painting on a panel! I know there are formats that I don't have a feel for. I'm happiest working with elongated formats or the square. It's important to feel that a work is a success, but it's even more important to see what has not been successful in it, and why. I.B.: In listening to you, all the while I'm keeping in mind that you're talking about drawing the nude figure. Do you use models? And what about photographing models? Several years ago, Inese Baranovska, together with Frančeska Kirke and Helēna Heinrihsone, held an exhibition of photographs by artists at the Dream Factory club, which included four large nude photographs of yours, a testimony to the existence of ideals of classical beauty in the society and conditions of today... N.B.: If it were possible to draw from life, that would be best. In life, everything is clear, since you can see the forms and volume with both eyes, spatially. Photography does not provide such exhaustive information. If possible, I do, however, photograph models, and in my further drawing and painting work, I generally make use of black and white photographs. Black and white helps me to obtain a clearer idea of form and tonal relationships. In one photographic session, I generally take 200-250 shots. At that stage I can finally elicit from the model movement such as I had wished for at the outset. Even if the model does not move much, they're different at every moment. The composition and movement come about in the imagination and are put down on paper afterwards. In order to define and resolve it in detail, a sufficient amount of photographic material needs to be assembled. A few shots will not cover it all, since reality does not correspond to the imagination. Accordingly, photography, which serves only as a source of information, must be adapted to the idea... and there the process of combination begins. I.B.: What happens to these photos afterwards? N.B.: It's technical material, which I file away and use later. I study particular fragments in photographs, which can then be generalised and idealised in my work... I.B.: Now it's clear why you mentioned at the beginning that a painting comes about from a hundred details! But if a single work comes about from so many small details, do you not have the urge to alter the details, augmenting and improving them? N.B.: It's not as if there's nothing more to do on a finished painting, but I rarely engage in adding or repainting. If the work is in my studio and if there's something in it that annoys me, then it is worth doing. On the other hand, if the work has no inner significance for me, then there's no need for further work on it. I.B.: And what about the drawings? How long do you work on one drawing? N.B.: If I'm doing well, then I can create a large drawing in a few days. However, if you get bogged down with problems, then it's best to do something else in parallel, so as not to torture the drawing, since this will be apparent in the work. After a time, you see which parts of it are over-done and look too perfect: these require some erasing with sandpaper, thus beginning the process of giving the work a sense of unity, since finely-worked details do not have any significance if they lack an overall context. I.B.: However, some of your ‘special effects', as you call them, create an amazing impression! For example, I remember those colourful, openwork, refined lace stockings in your drawing ‘Madonna and Child'. It seems this detail emphasises the form even more, accenting the sense of volume. N.B.: Now I'm starting to give up details and accessories of this kind. Earlier, my works included a great many more draperies, jewellery and other elements. Effects are generally created in order to divert attention from unresolved things, and that's dangerous, since it can turn into a continual concealment of flawed parts of the work. For the old masters, the overabundance of decoration is carefully thought out and balanced. This is what I wish to accomplish in my works as well. I.B.: You mentioned the old masters. You do a lot of travelling, and I suppose there are few works by the Renaissance masters that you haven't seen in the original in one of the museums of Europe. However, on an everyday basis you're not only teaching drawing at the Academy of Art, but you're also engaged all the time in photographing the work of other artists for the purpose of reproduction, and it's hard for me to imagine who could outdo you in this regard. Does the photographing of other artists' work not interfere with your creative work? N.B.: It gives me an opportunity to see a very large number of works. In recent years I think I've already photographed several thousands of works in museums and private collections, and few people have had the opportunity to take in such an immense amount of visual information. However, this information does not act on me or influence me, since I'm looking at works of art through the lens of the camera, which is a completely different matter from regarding original works by the old masters without the aid of the camera. And, in any case, that's another story altogether. | |
| go back | |
