An article by John Hunisak
Arts Magazine
Agressive illusionism is the most immediately apparent characteristic of Mark Rendleman's rock paintings. To experience these works is, quite simply, to enter his realm of perception and to be overwhelmed. But the vehicle of this illusionism is a complex painterly procedure only somewhat less assertive than the resulting images. Any resistance to either image or painted surface seems doomed to failure. Rendleman's world is so engagingly physical that, in this respect, it recalls baroque painting. At the same time, his concern for revealing the process of his creation imbues these works with an unmistakable contemporaneity.
For six years now, rocks have served as the primary motif for this painter from California who recently moved to Vermont, where he teaches at Middlebury College. The intrinsic neutrality of rocks makes them ideal for his purposes. Familiar enough in nature, rocks as protagonists are relative strangers to the world of painting. Thus the viewer of each Rendleman painting discovers an aspect of seemingly mundane reality in a new context. All normal characteristics of rocks -- their physicality and hardness, their unending variety of forms and surfaces -- are incorporated into his paintings. In this transformed world, rocks become ideal gatherers of light and sensation. Some retain their intrinsic physical characteristics; others lose them. The most geologically convincing specimen may find itself in immediate proximity with a rock which seems disturbingly animate, even anthropomorphic in character. As Rendleman observes, rocks are "infinitely variable."
One's first impression of these paintings is to wonder if they are gigantically enlarged photographs, or photo-realist transcriptions of real rock formations. Cursory investigation reveals not only the falseness of such an impression, but also the complexity of Rendleman's realism. Although he often uses photographs as visual aids, each composition is an invention. Indeed, many of his paintings are imaginative creations, completely independent of any connection with specific reality.
Rendleman believes that the possibilities of illusionist painting are far from exhausted, and his own work serves as testament to that belief. In each painting, he compounds formal and perceptual possibilities, maximizing complexities for himself and for the viewer. Although his light always seems natural, even specific in character, Rendleman paints under conditions of controlled, artificial lighting. Multiple light sources and contradictory shadow systems undermine the apparent reality of illumination.
A favored structural device is symmetry, sometimes utilized within the composition, sometimes dominating an entire image. These symmetrical rock formations create a highly structured fantasy world, far removed from any chance discovery in nature; to encounter such an organization with real rocks would imply prior sculptural or architectural activity. But within any symmetrical context, Rendleman creates slight alterations in form, texture, color or illumination so that any rock discovers a close sibling and never a twin as its mirror image. How understandable, then, that a number of his paintings deal with the refractive and reflective properties of water, visual phenomena which, since the time of Impressionism, have provided painters with raw material for comparable abstract constructs based upon a thing and its transformed self.
Multiple perspectives further complicate each composition, complementing Rendleman's near symmetries and varied light sources. There are instances in which a rock formation appears as an illusion behind the framing edge of the canvas, seen both from above and straight-on, in the manner of Impressionist "down-and-through" perspective. Some of these rock colonies climb the picture space, clinging to or threatening to fall from the surface, comparable to the behavior of forms which inhabit Mannerist or Cubist compositions. Furthermore, there are frequent shifts in focus and scale, even between forms within close proximity. Rendleman's own description of his work as "maximalist painting" is as succinct and accurate a means of characterization as any that could be devised.
These complex works are the end product of a long process which combines elaborate advance planning with spontaneous, intuitive paint application, and often concludes with meticulous finishing. When the work is to be based upon a symmetrical or repetitive format, or when one rock formation is to be seen from more than one point of view or at different levels of magnification, then much of the composition is drawn on the canvas prior to any paint application.
Rendleman begins actual execution of his oils with elaborate underpainting, which is at first very loose, even bravura in character. At this stage of procedure, colors are vibrant, even Fauve-like in their intensity and combinations. At first, the artist allows his intuition the greatest amount of expansiveness, increasing the number of possibilities, and pursuing unforeseen challenges which manifest themselves in the process. Then, there follows a period of consolidation. At this time, the vivid colors and brushwork of the underpainting give way to a greater sense of fusion and finish. Colors are broken down into smaller units until the prevailing tonality, especially from a distance, seems to become gray. But this is a grayness about to burst with coloristic energy because of its components, originally found in the underpainting.
Although the degree of finish is sometimes all-over as in old master painting, Rendleman often chooses to conclude his work at an earlier stage. If all challenges have been resolved prior to such all-over finish, he sees no need to go on. Thus, a number of his works indicate various stages from the brilliant color and free handling of the underpainting to meticulous brushwork and coloristic fusion. This willingness to share his working process, even a desire to reveal it to the beholder, is underscored by a movie which Rendleman has just made. In it, one can witness the complete evolution of one painting from raw canvas to finished work, all in the course of a few minutes.
Rocks are indeed neutral and "infinitely variable." But in Mark Rendleman's hands, rocks become the recognizable emblems of a forceful individual who has created an unmistakable personal style with them. These rock paintings are endlessly intriguing, even disturbing. They are also dazzling examples of a realist painter's art.
By: JAN JENNINGS
Art Critic, The San Diego Tribune
January 14, 1977
Stated simply, Rendleman works with
rock canvases: three dimensional depictions of varying shapes and
sizes of rocks on the two-dimensional surface. These rocks come to
life, so realistically created. Technically and imaginatively they
can only be described in superlatives. For viewers unfamiliar with
Rendleman's work, conjuring up compositions of rocks and pebbles on
the canvas may not immediately intrigue, but to Rendleman, his works
are more than just depictions of simple rocks. They are experiments
in color, perception, realism, depth, texture and dimension. They
are the intermingling of light and dark values to create shadows and
suggest solidity as well as encompassed space and an open space which
appears to reach off the canvas. Rendleman plays with his own levels
of perception, as well as with those of the viewers. For himself he
poses the challenge of manipulating colors to become recognizable
compositions of rocks which move the eye all over the canvas with
ever increasing points of interest. It does not really matter that
rocks are the end result, but that the artist is in command of his
palette and a two dimensional surface into three dimensions.
Rocks were selected because of the artist's frequent contact with
them in the outdoors and the design, texture and variety they offer
in composition. Perhaps the most powerful painting in contrast of
light and dark, of foreground and background and in dominant to minuscule
shapes is "Cleavage," an immediate eye-catcher in the exhibit.
It appears so real, rather romantically so, as if it could be near
a waterfall.
A departure from the overall rock theme
on the canvas is Rendleman's "By No Bino," in which he has
what appears to be two small rock compositions within the large canvas.
"In this one I was trying for a certain movement on the canvas,
but didn't feel I was making it," said Rendleman. "So I
experimented with the two smaller insets."
A recent experiment which does not please
the artist, but is in the exhibit to demonstrate the color and perceptual
study involved in each work, is "Rock Scale." It is the
only canvas with bright colors on the vertical edges defying perception
of dimension, and as the artist said, it comes off as quite "comical."
"This concept I am going to rework on a different size of canvas,"
said Rendleman. "I like the ideas behind it, but it does not
work on this size of canvas. (A vertical)"
Rendleman's favorite work, though appearing less dramatic than a number
of other paintings in the exhibit, is "Notonot Trip Tick,"
a strong horizontal which presents varying visual effects as one moves
in the plane in front of it.
By: JIM KAISER
Arts Editor, The Vanguard Press
Middlebury's Art Department welcomes
a new professor this year. Mark Rendleman teaches Painting and Basic
Design and is also a practising artist. He comes to the college from
the University of California campuses at San Diego and Santa Barbara
after three years teaching. Rendleman has had several one-man shows
throughout the United States, and his paintings are now on exhibit
in the A.C.A.Gallery, New York City.
For a man of only 26, his achievements
and experience are exceptional.
Last week I talked with Mark Rendleman about his art, after seeing
his two fascinating paintings in the Johnson Building. (The works
will be on view through September).
Mark Rendleman paints rocks. He works
with simple, rounded stones, filling his large canvases by magnifying
and focusing the stones as if under a lens, as in BY-N0-BINO, 1976,
or by packing them one on top of another in rhythmic formations ,
as in NOTONOT-TRIPTICK, 1976.
Why does he paint rocks? Because, as
Mark says, "Rocks are not rocks. They are whatever I make them."
Rendleman's paintings are entirely imaginary compositions. He creates
mindscapes (or stonescapes) which are more than just copies of nature.
The paintings are based in Rendleman's own experiences; as he says,
"they are very self-conscious ."
The subjective nature of Rendleman's
rock paintings may not be readily apparent. His personal expression
is in contrast with the work's highly precise, photorealistic impression.
Unlike photorealists though, Rendleman does not transcribe directly
from the photograph. He chooses to study the stones separately before
actually composing his paintings. Rendleman's stones are so clearly
defined and three dimensional that they seem almost sculptural.
Rendleman sees stones as excellent
motifs for his mindscapes because their forms are so anonymous. Everyone
knows what stones should look like, but no one knows what they really
do look like. His rock paintings play expectation off against perception.
"In contradiction is foundfascination," says he.
Much of the excitement I found in these
paintings was from discovering that what I saw did not match with
what I expected to see. The longer I looked at the paintings, the
less I saw of rocks and the more I saw of Rendleman. It came as a
surprise to me that the stones actually were painted in a rich overlay
of rainbow colors. Their soft, atmospheric colors were very unrock-like.
Broader color areas seemed impressionistic rather than realistic.
The systematic arrangement of
the stones also derives more from inventiveness than from nature.
Rendleman has carefully placed his stones
in balanced compositions. The precarious and curiously symmetrical
piling of stones in NOTONOT - TRIPTICK become a total composition
which is both rhythmic and symbolic. The composition of BY-NO-BINO
appears less directly symbolic. Here the stones do not pile up to
form repeated shapes, but retain a closer similarity to random grouping.
Rendleman expresses his personal experience
in this work through inventive composition. By placing two small inlays
into the overall work, he creates a tension which goes beyond the
mere representation of rocks. The inlays have a different scale from
the overall piece. Thev seem to magnify the rocks like a lens, and.
looking at them (through them?) one gets the feelling of stepping
back a bit. They are like cool, removed observers next to the inscrutable
curiosity of the overall picture. Rendleman says that perhaps 90%,
of what his paintings mean to him cannot be seen by the viewer. This
does not make his art any less vital. It certainly doesn't bother
Mark Rendleman. As he says, "If I worked for others I would paint
flowers".
By: ELLA JOHNSON
The Addison Independent
Tell a child in the second grade that
the poster he made couldn't possibly be his work, that an adult must
have helped him, but then don't be surprised if the rebuffed child
later makes his life that of an artist. This is what happened to Mark
Rendleman, of Cornwall, today a professor of art at Middlebury College
and a painter of national reputation, who is having a-one-man show
at the Johnson Gallery until April 26.
Mark grew up in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
"I could always draw," he said. As a second grader his design
drawn in school won a rodeo poster contest. The principal of the school
just couldn't believe, such a young child could do such work on his
own, and when the boy was called down to his office, "I was reprimanded
for having someone else's help," the artist recalled. Mark thinks
this adversity may have sparked his perversity, for at the end of
the eighth grade, after having been encouraged "to see, to look
at things" by an understanding teacher, his art work gained public
attention. At a school art show at the Peter Hurd Museum, "My
work was sold out at $10 and $15 apiece," he noted.
One of the five undergraduate majors
in college that the painter tried was psychology. Accompanying it
was his interest in art. At that time he wrote a paper on illusions.
"It dealt with the perceptual, how we see, which includes our
past experiences. It includes more than what the eye sees, "
the artist explained.
The paintings he is doing today are a continuation of this curiosity
about how we see. In fact, the artist claims the paintings at the
gallery are best called studies in illusion. What you and I see may
be far different, from what the artist concentrates on, however. What
we see are studies of rocks, some of crushing, threatening dimension,
some strangely animated, others stonily muted. All depict rocks in
a singular manner that is exciting.
"The rocks are forms in space
collecting light," says Mark. How he arranges the forms, and
how he manipulates the light on them causes the visual pleasure for
the viewer. A painting takes as long as a year of preparation. During
those months as many as five paintings are worked on. The painter
returns to work on each canvas repeatedly. A study may develop rapidly
and appear 90 percent finished to the artist. "I react to the
remaining 10 percent over a long period of time," he says. "I
start with free association, like the kid lying on the ground who
lets his imagination go," says Mark about how he begins a study.
In one instance, "The Trout Symphony" playing in the background
suggested an arithmetical arrangement of forms to him. In another
the letters of the alphabet bearing common diagonal strokes influenced
his direction. "The abstract is playful," he added.
"The brain is given many choices, but I rely on the eye. I let
it make the decisions," he continued, as he described the way
an illusion is developed, brushing and glazing in forms over an underpainted
canvas.
His paintings may range up to five
or eight feet long. They are in a sympathetic environment on the college
gallery walls. One gallery that accepted one of monumental size couldn't
find a wall large enough. They solved the problem by suspending the
work from the ceiling. Mark said about one curious viewer, "He
wanted to know if the painting had been deliberately painted to be
viewed while lying in bed."
The ideal day for this young man is
to spend 18 hours in his studio. Life is busy for the instructor,
and he looks forward eagerly to the hours when he can immerse himself
totally in his world of illusions. "The level of questions I
have is always of my ability," he says.
The questions in Mark's mind will insure
future works for gallery shows in New York's Fishback, Genesis and
ACA, where he now exhibits, and that questioning mind is responsible
for the fine show now at the college gallery. When you visit there,
be sure to read the notice on the wall at the entrance of the gallery.
View the paintings on the second floor balcony, and participate in
the questionnaire on the hostess' table.
By: STEVE KOWIT
Art Critic, The San Diego Reader
January 1976
One of the few representational landscapes
on display is "Water Bed", an oil on linen by San Diego
artist Mark Rendleman, a portrait of stone and pebbles powerfully
composed and seductively painted with the gorgeous, incandescent hues
of nature. The composition forces the viewer into the presence of
each stone; there is an almost tactile sense of their mass and individuality.
And after the rich feast of urban imagery, his painting is a relief
to the eye in the way that biting into an apple might be a relief
to the palate after eating one of those excellent frozen desserts
concocted entirely of additives, chemical dyes, and artificial flavoring.
By RICHARD REILLY
Art Critic, The San Diego Union
January 30th, 1977
You needn't bring along your pick and
shovel when viewing Mark Rendleman's pictures of stones and rocks
currently being shown at the Seder/Creigh Gallery. However, Rendleman's
pictures are so naturalistic you may wish you had brought along a
geologist friend.
Exhibited are 23 pictures, the majority
of them oils, with a scattering of working studies in charcoal and
pencil. The artist's pictures, of an intellectual order, are of rocks
and boulders, either detached or in masses, in river beds or in dry
gullies. Rocks and boulders are Rendleman's exclusive subjects; there
is no attention paid to surrounding terrain..
Rendleman's pictures are richly textured,
portraying one segment of the poetry of nature, and the artist has
captured his rock and river environment with trenchant understanding.
Rendleman has a painterly sensitivity, is meticulous and aims at clarity
and simplicity. His subjects are vivid in the magnification of their
essential details, but rocks and boulders will, I think, have a limited
audience. What should attract the public is Rendleman's wet, at times
almost sensuous color areas, his involvement with textures and the
subtle textural play of his compositions.
By HENRY SELDIS
Art Critic, The Los Angeles Times
May 9th, 1975
Rocks and pebbles are the apparent subject
matter of young Mark Rendleman's paintings. And there seems to be
a connection with photo-realism here. But this precocious young Santa
Barbaran is actually painting about painting rather than rocks and
his very painterliness (to resurrect a needlessly discarded word)
stands in opposition to the mechanical aspects of photography. What
this abundantly talented young man has not figured out is whether
his painting should stress poetry or analysis. There is little doubt
in my mind that he will get to a point of solving this current dilemma
while continuing to deal with an illusionism firmly grounded on abstract
considerations. "Process in Translation," "Rock Projection,"
"Stress Point" and "Cross-Sectional Assumption"
are just some of the paintings that Mark Rendleman presents as an
independent of promising spirit whose initial solo.exhibitibn here
is a notable event.
Dear Henry Seldis:
(Response to criticsm by MER)
May 13, 1975
Thank you for viewing
my exhibition at Comsky. I am honored to have been reviewed by you.
I especially appreciate your recognizing that my paint1ngs are about
painting. However, my own critical tendencies compel me to react,
if for no other purpose than to stimulate another viewing with a few
more questions at hand.
First, I must admit that I do not receive
the LA Times, and therefore do not know how the review of my show
compares with others. Good or bad, I am only concerned with degrees
of understanding. What is important? When I review a show (for myself,
of course) I begin with as many basic questions as possible ( Why
that medium? Why that size, shape, color? What thoughts? From what
reference? etc.) to establish the language of that particular artist
that I may apply to deeper communication. The importance being that
all art represents the process of selection, decision, and response
within a particular individual context of time and space. Each mark
a painter makes involves a selection on some level, ranging from conscious
logic to the conditioned intuition. Those selections define both the
intentions and the unique elements with which we may further understand
the total communication. (You've heard it all before?) However, it
seems one of the greatest follies of most critics to externalize the
understanding by demanding or imposing definitions of the critics
own experiencial intentions, when he himself has only a moment to
consider what another has spent years to develop and understand in
a language that by necessity can never be completely deciphered by
anyone else. Now, in the case of a minimal artist, this defense becomes
absurd; you get it or you don't, or it's up to you. But, in steps
Mr. Maximal, intrigued with complexity itself, testing and accumulating
the extremes of available information, trying to surprise himself
with new tests unknown, attempting, at his best, to align everything
he can know about a particular problem into a consistent whole, and
ultimately hoping to preserve all that accumulated experience and
knowledge in a 'readable" product, the success of which can only
be deciphered by establishing the elements of the language he uses.
I am sure Mr. Maximal would be painterly, because the appearance of
the paint's functions and qualities are most powerfully evaluated
as an accumulation of the thought-time- response. I think painterliness
at its weakest strives for poetry, and at its best is necessarily
informative to extend the process of inquiry that will lead to a greater
understanding. If someone is in love with paint, he will risk being
poetic, but this is only an assertion of involvement and not necessarily
the intention or concern. Mr. Maximal's real passion is for knowledge
itself. Can he tell us what he has learned? Can we learn anything
for our own purposes? Is it really worth knowing? The critics duty
is to be a reader. Does he tell us anything worth knowing? Can we
take it beyond what we could have known? (What this young man has
not figured out is how to present a total picture with words. There
is little doubt he will solve this current dilemma by shutting up
and getting back to his own medium.)
I will never solve the dilemma (for myself) whether painting should
stress poetry or analysis, because there is no dilemma (for me). Perhaps
appearances say one painting goes here, the other in the opposite
direction. (Let us see poetry and analysis, or passion and inquiry,
or precisely; passionate inquiry.) He'll never make it; he deals with
too many things; he is inconsistent. Ah! But he is so young. Just
wait. He will find a question, and will devote his life to seeing
how many ways he can ask it.
How disappointed they will be.
(I paint to understand, not to be understood.)
Since my show was a selection from a
much larger series, I do not expect the evolution to be apparent,
but all my painting is just an evolution of knowledge gained from
a persistent curiosity about the way we see (from the sensory stimuli
to the interpretive cognition). The subject matter and illusionism
or reality are merely means for examining various questions. (The
illusion being the test of the answer on a peripheral level.) I think
the reason(s) why rocks and water are selected as the most ideal subject
matter (as opposed to apples, bottles, and car bumpers) should be
apparent, except what is most important - that is, that they are mutable
to the conditions considered, being defined primarily by my understanding
of the elements of perception rather than a predetermined idea of
what something should look like. (continued - LOST)