If you look up the definition of fandango, you will find it is incredibly many different things and has many definitions, but, most often, is considered as a romantic form of dance, derived from flamenco traditions, going back, perhaps, to Roman times.

  For me, it is the courtship dance that occurs between an artist and his work.  It is the development, over time, of the relationship between method and creation and a digital fandango is the dance between technology and creativity.  Like all things artistic, it is about the evolution of ideas, technology, emotions, experimentation, exploration and those quaint little moments of insight that trigger the whole process.

  Since nothing ever happens in a vacuum (or on a linear timeline), let me see if I can weave all the pieces together and make sense of how I got to this point in time and why I work the way I do.

By way of a short history lesson:

  I came to Texas to teach at Lamar University in 1978.  At that time, computers and, more importantly computers being used to create art was pretty much non-existent.  Like most artists of that time, I was steeped in the traditional two and three dimensional methods for making art.  I was quite content to continue on my merry way doing just that, but, between 1978 and the late 1980's the world of computer technology took a quantum leap and so did I.

  IBM created the first 'Personal Computer', hence the term PC joined our common language.  The Apple Macintosh with its simple but astounding graphical interface, appeared on Graphic Designer's desks and the era of desktop publishing had arrived.  In the midst of this, in 1985, something truly magical happened.  A computer call 'Amiga' appeared on the scene.  Although it was doomed to fade into obscurity and disappear, it was a computer far ahead of its time that featured color graphics, animation and video. It was the signal of things to come.

  By that time, I had become extremely aware that the emerging technology was going to be very much a part of the lives of my students, if not my own, and that, if Lamar's Art Department was not teaching those students to use that new creative technology, those same students would no longer be competitive in the real world.  So, with my hot little keyboard and mouse in hand, I started to develop a computer graphics curriculum for the department.

  The more I worked with computers to teach ways of making art, the more possibilities became apparent and the more it drew me in.  Eventually, the hardware and software became so sophisticated that I pretty much gave up any other tools and concentrated on teaching the uses of computers for image making.

  As it turned out, for nearly 20 years, I spent the majority of my time learning, using and teaching the new technologies available for image making, but, although my work experimented with what was new and unique during that time, I was still trying to impose, on my own work, the traditionally accepted academic thought about 'what Art should be' and 'what it should do'.

So what happened next?

  After a trip to Rome when I retired, I found myself at that pivotal moment in time and in that traditional dilemma of tourists universally.  I had used up an incredible amount of film; paid the drug store's rent for a month getting it processed; looked at and reminisced fondly over the pictures; placed them back in their packages and prepared to stick the whole lot into a drawer never to be seen or heard from again.  Enter one of those quaint little moments of insight:  Wait!  What's wrong with this picture?  I am supposed to be an artist.  I am supposed to be creative and there's a wealth of material here!

  So, I started looking at the photos again and this time my thoughts drifted toward the more romantic notions and academic styles of earlier times.  With great sweeping skies and rich colors and, coincidentally, similar themes to those in my photos. What I slowly came to realize, should have been obvious from the start -- the truly important thing was not the clarity, reality, detail or documentation of the photographs.  It was the imprinted memory and the 'remembered sense or impression' of the places I had been.  It was all those things that the Impressionists tried to tell us over 100 years ago, but the question was: how was I going to make it work with 21st Century technology?

  One of the first things that needed to happen was to begin removing the documentary photographic quality from the pictures and from my way of thinking.  My primary intention was to reverse the effects of the very technology I was using; to return the image to something more nearly akin to a work by hand; to create a more personal interpretation of that time and place in the image.  In short, to 'paint' the image as a painting or watercolor not merely reproduce a documented moment in time.  The photographs became my drawings / underpaintings and the camera became my sketch book. The end had become the beginning.

So... how do you do it?

  The very nature of the processes I go through makes it very difficult for me to describe my way of working or the "hybrid" technology that has developed as my experiments have progressed.  Since much of it has become such a part of me, I am often at a loss to explain it.  As my methods became more ingrained, what I discovered was that each image was becoming more intuitive and that I had subconscious goals.  Each image was developing its own visual personality.  In fact, when recently asked to explain how a work was created, I could only answer that: "I would tell you if I could, but my approach is so much like what I used traditionally and so subconsciously intuitive that I can't explain what I've done."  I know it sounds like an excuse to avoid the issue, but it is true. Each image is completely unique in its creation, but similarities among works in a series are, of course, going to appear and the entire collection of work has an overall consistency of appearance.

  Many times, combinations of software, some of which allow me to create my own "brushes" or tools, are necessary for me to be able to produce a finished work.  The approach I have taken is much like that of a traditional portrait painter.  I take a basic "drawing" and then apply layers of tinting, coloring, texturing, etc. until the final result is reached.  By applying complex mixes of layers of color, texture and line, frequently in illogical ways, the very things I would have done, with traditional tools, are bringing out the memories, imaginings and impressions in ways that, for me anyway, are translating mathematics, science and engineering into something purely aesthetic.

Why computers? Why bother?

  So why go to all that trouble, you ask?  Why not just do a painting or watercolor?  The answer: time, forgiveness and decision making. Using the computer as the tool of choice,  I can make decisions immediately without fear of ruining the entire work. Because I work in layers, I can keep those layers separate (unlike traditional painting) and that means that I'm not spending a lot of time chewing on the end of a brush trying to make a decision.  Because of the way I am able to work, the computer is very 'forgiving' and the chances of failure are significantly reduced.  This doesn't mean that things don't get screwed up, but starting over is much less painful than would otherwise be the case.

  The prints in this collection reflect my exploration of myself and the way that I work.  I examined the way that my hands move and the motions I make when I draw or paint and literally created sets of 'brushes' that were used to make these images.  The 'brushes' were applied emulating the natural motions that I customarily would make.

What about style?

  I am a great believer in diversity; like to be the occasional art heretic; and, occasionally, enjoy having a little fun at the expense of the 'establishment of art', but art is very much about solving problems and each series of works that I have created, over the years, has been about solving visual problems.  As a byproduct of this search for solutions, I have never been able to find a common solution that would allow for a "style" to develop in my work, even though there are similarities of technique.

What should the viewer get out of all this?

  The question of what the viewer should come away with is a tough one, but I think that foremost I would hope that the viewer would take the work seriously and go away with a sense that this work is art not some clever computer "tour de force".  The computer is, for me, the essential tool for creating my images just as the brush, pencil, paint, hammer, chisel, foundry, throwing wheel and kiln have been the traditional tools for making art.  The images that the viewers see are the representation of 40+ years of education, experience, skill and the use and knowledge of ALL of the traditional tools as well as my ultimate selection of the tool that best suits me.

Final thoughts:

  What continues to prod my interest in technology?   I would have to say that, for me, the seductive nature of the virtual world (that we can only see through the window of the computer monitor) is an incredible fascination.  We have created a mimicry of ourselves that we always have to view from afar, but from which we can extract fantastically complicated answers to our questions.  I cannot imagine not wanting to experience the learning and the search for new answers.

  Thanks for taking the time to look at my work.  As I said in the beginning, this is my "Digital Fandango" and I just keep on dancing.