I've been saving this one -- it's my favorite of the paintings I made with a potato
Though it has a black hole at its center, and it seems to be a flurry of bones either coming apart or converging, I remember it being warm and friendly in person.
It was 36 by 36 inches.
I was in between painting techniques, searching for something new.
So I started painting with a potato. I thought it would be a good thing to put in between my clumsy hand and the canvas, distancing but natural, with a built-in pattern -- the unique lumps of each potato -- to lend a subtle consistency.
I would impale the potato on a brush handle, cover it with a thick coat of paint, and start painting. I had to replace the potato within a day or so, because it would get soft and start fermenting, giving off a vinegary odor.
Applying the paint was tricky: because the potato had some weight, it would push paint into ridges at the edges of contact, leaving the squirmy ribbons in the photo.
Great art is never easy, and neither is this mildly entertaining potato art.
Anyway, the actual painting had a quilt-like warmth to it, the suggestion of vines or veins (or genetic ribbons) starting to form a structure at the center, and some mild frenzy. It measured 48 by 48 inches.
I never could approach painting head on, and had to find unusual techniques to get the job done. In the early '90s, I made three paintings with the technique used here -- using a potato instead of a brush -- before I gave up.
I've always liked the photo below -- the way the bars float above the surface as they fade off to the right. It was shot from the side to bounce away the flash that the old Polaroid camera I used needed to see anything.
