Wednesday, February 14, 2018

gigout

The organ, I think, creates the ceremony.  I feel more gothic in the pipes than in the stained glass.


 Eugene Gigout composed Grand chœur dialogué (wikipedia: 1881).  I'd never had to choose music for a wedding procession.  But it was my immediate selection to announce my bride in 2005.  


 Until this week I hadn't listened to it for several years.  Memories that my whole body knows.  This recording is not for easy listening, and it's just the sort of thing I enjoy working with.


 I pull the background into the foreground.  This spectacle, often when we travel, overwhelms us if we allow it.  And we take pictures of things we normally do not.  We see the landscape of faraway places more easily.  Understandably.  

Friday, January 26, 2018

forest

I bought a used set of flat files from an office furniture warehouse in 2004.  The horizontal drawers appear organized from the outside, strong and stacked like frank lloyd wright's roman bricks.  A label holder is centered on each drawer face, but I don't find that necessary yet.  I know that four or five drawers contain piles of watercolors from years past, some as old as the late 1990's.


The Spellerberg Project Space on Main Street has three white walls now peppered with tacked watercolors of mine that I pulled from these files.  On the backs of some of these are hand-written words in pencil: "St.Wolfgang field trip", or "painted in alcohol, Evansville, Ind."  Not much of a note taker, I value the few words I mustered then.  They guide me to that crouched painting position I held twenty years ago, cigarettes, loose change thrown at me, watercolor dried by direct sunlight.


Forest green.  It's a representation of green that is averaged from the various leaves of a deciduous forest.  It usually has more grey in it than I at first prefer.  But my eyes adjust, and then I'm calmed.  Like being absorbed into the surroundings, or seeing the cluster of chaos as something unified and singular.


I'm going to hang out at this small gallery space during the next few weekends.  Come in and say hello if you walk by.  Or yell down the street, email me, and I'll be there in two minutes flat.



Wednesday, January 3, 2018

Spellerberg

Flooded with memories.  I feel this when I visit my family in Indiana.  The shapes of houses, the height of trees, the negative windchill and its force to remain indoors.  


Saturday, January 20 here in Lockhart, Spellerberg Projects will open at the Masur Building a show of artwork and music and cocktails.  This is my own Bedford Falls hometown and I'm excited to see the people I call my friends and neighbors.  I can walk to my exhibition.


I've been preparing for new things in this 2018.  Not quite ready yet, but I am excited as I try my best to remain patient.  Not at all the way I normally do things.


Please let me know (by emailing me at info@christopherstleger.com) if you'd like to be added to my contact list.  I'd like to share what I've got cooking.


Monday, December 4, 2017

ladder building

What is an inverted watercolor?


I study the negative of my snapshot and create a watercolor based on it.  I then scan this watercolor and digitally invert the file.


 The result is printed.  The process is a head scratcher.  What I love most is its unpredictability.  One step beyond traditional watercolor on paper.  



I fulfilled the order for lofts in my children's bedrooms.  Building a ladder, a simple one from 2x4's, is deeply satisfying.  Elevating. 

Monday, November 27, 2017

two wishes ranch

The polo field at Two Wishes Ranch is, like all polo fields, large.  300 yards.  
My first impression of it as I walked over the hill was that of land art.  Stanley Kubrick perfect rectangle of green.  


I was invited by Lauren and Skylar to create watercolors for their promotional posters.  Molly Humphrey did the rest.  I enjoyed it all.


These will be for sale soon.


Friday, October 27, 2017

thoracic

My daughter is musical.  She sings and hums and adopts new words that she's only heard and never seen.  She dazzles me.


Yesterday my son said, "sometimes, when people are talking to me, I just really look at them and I can see their personality." 


 I more closely resemble my son.  I too listen more to a person's mood as their spoken words pass to either side of me.  I often catch myself mirroring another's crossed arms or hands in pockets.


The wind outside is cool.  It is time for garden work, for the transplanting that cannot be done during the other three quarters of the year.


It is also a school break.  My son is requesting I throw the baseball with him.  We stand apart and mimic each others motion.  I hold back in correcting him too often and he's shown improvements with his form.  Nature's way.


I paint them quickly.


Again.



Monday, October 2, 2017

boundaries

I remember moving around a party in a mountain cabin above Boulder, Colorado, the first of many new home-bases in my young twenties away from the midwest.  Each guest that I met seemed eager for their chance to share a core aspect of themselves that was guiding them through their unique cycle of life.  One fellow described to me his discipline of drinking several glasses of water upon waking up each morning.  By doing this, he'd ground himself in his body after an astral slumber.  At such a party I remember being careful and, in this community in particular, to not seem unspiritual.  I asked few questions and went along with the rules of others.  One such practical rule was that I fill a basin with only an inch of water.  I would use this water for cleaning the hummus off of the dishes.


Restraint.  Thrift.  Moderation too.  Cool, even critical in some circles.  In my circle too mostly.  


A champion physical trainer warned me recently against recreational sports for exercise:  The game takes over, hiding the harm to your body from over-doing it.  
But I love games, watching games, the focus or distraction of games.  There is also an experience of inviting a new member to the game.  Explaining the unique rules of how we play the game.  And making that newcomer's experience such that they want to join in more.


Watercolor is a conversation with my primal urge to lay bare.  Things take place here sort of like an arena.  Game of constant and variable.  Lay out boundaries first.