Artist’s Corner: Kevin Baldwin

From Issue 91 — Of The Earth

Recollection, Study No. 8

A Musical score requires immense focus and understanding. Practicing and bringing the notational language to life changes daily as you uncover new ways of weaving together lines, gestures, and structures. In the Recollection series, I interpret the black acrylic notation using charcoal, metal powders, and acrylic. Each day new possibilities arise, and the charcoal and powders remain malleable; the medium allows alterations in gesture and layers, or even be removed. This process highlights the beauty inside this raw and imperfect process.

After the work is completed, the work will always be in a constant state of performance. The metal powders placed into the work will oxidize over the years. The work, how it existed yesterday, is not the exact work you see today. Rust, patina, and tarnish highlight the passing of time as the painting never stops performing, leaving on a recollection of what the work was.

Check This Out

Serious Play: The Art of Dismemberment

I’ve never really seen myself as an artist. I feel more like an image-engineer or a haphazard philosopher. I work on a conceptual basis in an ever-expanding range of media—from oil paint to stained glass and performance art. Recently I made a stuffed animal of a giant earthworm and meditated in the middle of Times Square for 24 hours. My portfolio makes no sense. I grew up between San Francisco and Florence, Italy. My background is in digital design, but my heart has always been with analog media. I moved to New York last year for my MFA in figurative painting at New York Academy of Art. We paint nude models from life every day and memorize all the bones and muscles in the body. It’s awesome. I’m learning the “rules” so I can break them better.

Artist’s Corner: Kevin Baldwin

On Notation, Negative 1 The score of a musical work is fascinating. As a composer, I spend hundreds of hours alone with a score to...

A Portfolio House Folds in Silence.

It's loud, or rather, it was always loud. It was a haven for those in the world of print, a rite of passage. It was the House of Portfolios NYC, Inc. I was too late. My timing has never been great. It has always seemed to allude me. In music school, of which I spent 8 years studying and then some, taught me that keeping time in a measured manner was paramount. For me, the sound of silence excited or held anticipation for the next passage. Solos that floated through my clarinets seemed to bend time over accompanying piano, or orchestra, but playing together as a body at times felt constricting.

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