Saturday, April 25, 2015

What Have I Done? by Roberto Sanchez


Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.

William Ernest Henley (1849–1903).

The exhibit is entitled “What Have I Done” and showcases a compilation of mini portraits that in turn, serves as synergy for the centerpiece on display, a 6 x 10 foot mural entitled “In My Mind’s Eye”. The highlight of the event is a live stop action photo presentation depicting Danger bringing this Titanic creation to life on canvass.

Initial reactions for this main body of work have been quite diverse. On one end, the piece depicts what goes on in a person’s mind- mixed emotions, memories, passion, creativity and the “darker side” as it all interacts within one’s psyche. A portal is injected to illustrate the “light” at the end of the tunnel - reality. Others feel that this work is more of an awakening similar to after a person’s drunken stupor, a hangover  of sorts with vague, yet bold and somewhat convoluted memories of a previous overdone revelry. This is the “crash”, the time when a person is going straight back down to Earth.

At the show, you can provide your own take. You decide.

This collage is testament to the continued growth of Danger Sanchez as an artist. To quote Roland Orzabal and Curt Smith almost three decades past –“In my mind’s eye, one little boy, one little man. Funny how, time flies….”

Family Affair by Ren Quinio

Anti-Scrambler Scrambler by Pow Martinez

“I am not an artist, i am a sewage worker.
I paint my inner landscape.
I work with reality, but I dont like reality
I work with rules and limitations
working with time limits,
working less than 2 hours.
I dont paint everyday.”

“In telecommunications, a scrambler is a device that transposes or inverts signals or otherwise encodes a message at the transmitter to make the message unintelligible at a receiver not equipped with an appropriately set descrambling device. Scrambling is accomplished by the addition of components to the original signal or the changing of some important component of the original signal in order to make extraction of the original signal difficult.”

Artists are usually ascribed the role of being a transmitter of reality. But to purport what sort of reality this is has to be defined or determined for the works that an artist makes is themselves a reality of its own as possessed of matterness with its own logic of pictorial plasticity. Some of these gets lost in translation, not because the transmitting device or language used is faulty, but more probably on the subjective bias of each individual viewer, which is another reality altogether. German poet Heinrich BlĪ‹cher asserts that artists don’t really paint reality, not because it’s unnecessary making it redundant or that we’ve gone beyond the mimetic function of art, but rather the artist creates metaphors to perpetuate myths of the supposed qualities of form, in and of itself. Even the supposed “real” is merely reduced form, making them into non-things (as purely pictorial) to make them only conveyors of experience.

And what is to be experienced ? But the actual viewing of the art, and underneath that if it’s made apparent, the process of its making, as Pow had shown an accumulated suite of drawings done for three years, where some were studies for other paintings that had been previously exhibited, aside from the two paintings that are duplicates, or paintings in stereophonic – one in mono, the other in vivid Technicolor. Both titled Aesthetic Police, with 2 clay creatures blasting fire in a camouflage pattern field amidst a rain of regular broken white lines, it’s a play on reversals and suspension of belief, but they’re probably made so out of mirth for the absurd, the funneled dregs of so-called ‘reality’, multiplied and amplified, to drive the point, of not making a point, if there need be a policing still of what is and shouldn’t be seen or pictured. The limits and rules are largely self-regulated, yet within what the senses can fathom. Someone should tell this to real life aesthetic police Long Beach Police Department officer Asif Kahn who relegates as part of his duty rendering aesthetic judgment on pictures taken in Long Beach (as the cause of detention for photographer Sander Roscoe Wolff