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insite : : kevan nitzberg

an autobiographical look at reflective spaces

While the writings that I have contributed to date to this column have taken a number of different directions that have piqued my interest and I felt were worthy of closer investigation, they have all been at least one step removed from my own definition of the creative process. The focus of this article deals with the need to truly look at how I internalize that energy on a personal level. Recently I had the opportunity to look back at a body of my own work and try and find some sense of commonality of purpose behind my paintings.

I have come to realize that where I have lived has always had an enormous impact on me, effecting both my physical and emotional interaction with the environment. Many of the works have dealt with my underlying reactions to the space itself. The last two decades have provided me with a variety of experiences living in a diverse number of settings which have in turn been reflected in a number of images. Those reactions have been translated in terms of the handling of the paint and the spatial arrangement of the composition.

The works themselves fall into several fairly obvious overarching categories. Two works specifically depict city living, a topic I was very familiar with having moved from New York City (where I grew up) to a rural setting in Minnesota in the mid '70s. The first was painted with a view of the Dain Tower in Minneapolis after the demolition of the original Northwest Building due to fire. The configuration of debris in front of the Tower almost seemed to mimic both the Tower and the Foshay Building seen off to the left, an art deco structure that years ago had been the single tallest edifice in Minneapolis' skyline. The abundance of rubble from the demolition that fills the canvas, and the total absence of any sign of life in that confusion of concrete, wood and iron rods, further underscores the concretized expanse that for me helps to define 'city'.

The other 'city' theme that I explored in this group of work involves the crowded commuter image, that is so saturated with people and evidence of their daily trek to and from work, that one almost gets claustrophobic just experiencing the composition. Here also is that depersonalized sense that the space of city has always held for me. I like to think the insular shell that city dwellers acquire when living in overcrowded conditions, is accentuated by the one figure staring out of the bus window in sudden awareness of what is transpiring around him.

Another theme that seems to come out of thework, is one that deals with an otherworldly sense conveyed by images that are surreal in aspect. My first experience of living in a rural setting after coming from an urban environment, was living on a farm west of the Twin Cities. My wife, who is from Minnesota, works with horses and at the time, was involved in showing them. This often necessitated rising early in order to ready the horses.

One early morning during the summer we found ourselves driving to the barn to do just that. It was still dark out and a storm was lighting up the sky to the west and south of us. As if out of nowhere, a massive deer jumped over the three rail fence we were driving beside. The leap appeared to be practically effortless, as if done in slow motion. I stopped our car as it crossed in front of the headlights and we sat and stared at him while he stared with what seemed to be equal surprise back at us. A few minutes later he bounded off into the woods and soon disappeared from sight.

That incredible moment was forever etched in my memory, and resulted in a painting that took on a dream like quality as I tried to portray this amazing animal's character both as it appeared racing before the storm and again as it had stood immobile staring back at us. Having had little experience with living in the country among wildlife, I didn't realize that the almost cognizant look that appeared on the deer's face was probably as much to do with his being caught frozen in my headlights as anything else. However, that awareness of what was probably transpiring at that moment in no way diminished the amazing meeting and the combination of both the physical with the ethereal nature of the moment.

I had a similar reaction one afternoon watching horses galloping across an open field. The sheer power of those animals filled the space. The air reverberated with the sound of their hooves striking the ground in a mounting roar as they sped ever closer. The colors that I used in portraying them were about that almost elemental force that they seemed to represent. Here too was real space mixed in with something that was a bit too undefined to be simply represented as horses running across a field.

The third image in this series that appears to fit into this same genre involves a series of oversized crows and ravens filling a space and dwarfing all of the other visual components. The 'woods' in which the scene appears to take place was simply a suburban lot that the house we lived in was on. We had moved in from the country at this point as our kids were at the stage when they needed a greater community of friends to play with, which country life could not supply. What made the lot distinctive was that the original owner of the home had also been a botanist and had subsequently planted every type of evergreen tree anyone could think of. Living there one almost had a feeling of being in a primeval north woods setting, far from any signs of human civilization.

Apparently the birds thought so too as we had quite a group of them roosting in the trees. Every morning we awoke to their loud 'cawings' proclaiming the advent of a new day. It seemed more like they were the owners of our corner lot and we were merely interlopers, good for an occasional dropped piece of bread or other free morsel of food. That inverted role of owner and tolerated guest soon became another subject for a painting. Stripped out of the composition was the surrounding neighborhood with its street facing garages and the sounds of children playing in their yards. Remaining in their stead was this (again) surreal visage of oversized birds roosting and peering through diminutive branches and trunks of trees suggestive of a time when the animals held a more dominant role in the scheme of things.

The inclusion of the state flower (the lady slipper), as part of the lower left hand corner of the composition was an additional reference to the wildlife that is such a marvelous part of Minnesota's natural beauty. That suburban blend of nature and residence took on a more realistic tone after we moved into another neighborhood as our kids continued to grow up. A series of homes encircled a communal pond that, if you were careful to skew your view, could also be mistaken for a wildlife refuge of sorts. Here were a greater variety of birds and animals than at our previous residence. The greatest number of those birds were geese which, like the crows and ravens in the previous location, tended to dominate the territory. Out of respect for their right to remain a free as possible from human interference (as well as keeping them safe from our dogs), I had erected a split rail fence that I covered with chicken wire to keep the geese out of the yard and the dogs confined. This arrangement appeared to work quite well and we were treated to quite a show on a daily basis as the geese came skidding into the water, creating an impressive wake as they arrived.

This space too, however, gave way to a need for greater room and subsequently when our daughter was ready to go off to college and our son was preparing to enter high school, we took off again, this time back to the country and the horses temporarily put aside to raise our family. It took many years to find a location that would meet the needs important to us. When we finally discovered the hobby farm that we now live on, it was a source of both immense relief and tremendous excitement. Slowly over the years that we have been here, we have begun to transform the space to fit our chosen lifestyle, setting down roots that had never been possible before.

Pastures were redefined by new fencing, the barn was transformed to better accommodate our population of horses, and more chicken wire was attached to additional fencing to continue to keep some boundaries that would allow for both coexistence of our dogs (now numbering 3), and the animals that naturally inhabit the land. The geese have been replaced by a noisy group of pheasant which share their space with a family of fox, an occasional coyote, owls, deer and assorted other creatures. The crows and ravens had a markedly smaller presence here as the evergreens I have planted have not quite gotten tall enough to actually roost in.

Perhaps for the first time in my life, and certainly as far back as I can remember, I feel really at home. The incredible variety of scenery and images unencumbered by crowded streets and sidewalks that I grew up with, as well as the unfulfilled promise of suburban living that only hinted at wide open spaces, has become a reality. I can look out across the backyard and down the slope of the hill that falls away from the house and see the horses grazing out behind the barn, the farmers working their fields during various times of the year, and even the occasional stray cow that has managed to get loose from the dairy farm down the road. That tranquility is both figuratively and literally illustrated by the hammock that is strung during the summer and is suspended across the expanse between two large maples out the back of the house.

I never seem to spend quite enough time laying in the hammock, but when I do the breeze blowing underneath the thick mat of leaves hanging just out of reach, gives me an incredible feeling. I almost float on the air currents that come up from the southwest. The sound of the leaves moving in the wind are almost reminiscent of waves that are gently lapping on some faraway shore. Meanwhile, the horses seem to have their own reflective moments as they stand basking contentedly in the sun, even on cold winter days, consumed in their own musings. Of course, I could again be easily superimposing my own perspective on what they are actually involved in doing, but who's to say?

In examining the whole concept of the importance of space that has been presented here, it seems to me that the definition of who I am and what I am comfortable being, is very much wrapped up in the physical environment that I inhabit. Even though my work often removes me from this setting that offers such a sense of well-being, just the knowledge that this is something I always have to come back to, makes all of the stress and complexity of day to day living palatable.

No matter how far afield I might go investigating one avenue or another, there is a tangible 'groundedness' that living and working on our hobby farm affords. The space provides and demands an interaction with it that is quite compelling. While maintaining the various components that define the functional aspects of the farm is a very time consuming part of this type of lifestyle, the co-dependence that is created between farm and owner, land and caretaker is also very satisfying. And then there are those moments of wonder, simply taken for granted and overlooked in a faster paced, urban living frame of reference, that catch the corner of your eye and even occasionally find their way onto a canvas. This, of course, yet another aspect of the interaction with the physical space. A case in point is the house on the other side of the road that normally is hidden in the foliage most of the year that is quietly revealed in the middle of an alizarin crimson winter.

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