Brief Artist Statement
As a young child, I discovered faces flipping in my head. I realized that I had a vast storage area in my mind of human and animal faces. I came to refer to this area of my brain as my “mind mine.” I soon discovered I could stop on a face and transfer it to paper. The art of graphically retrieving these mind faces transforms them into MinedFaces.
Less Brief Artist Statement
For as long as I can remember I have been fascinated by the diversity of human faces. I was in the first grade in parochial school when I became aware that strange faces were flipping around inside of my head. I knew that I had seen each face somewhere before, but I did not know they were significantly different from my other memories. I first noticed them while playing a game of Hide and Seek. When I pressed my hands against my eyes while counting to one hundred, faces seemed to appear out of nowhere. Later I learned that if I looked at a wall, or other flat surface, I could view them with my eyes open. This discovery led to brighter and more convenient viewing of the images. The faces flipped quickly and randomly, rushing past me like penguins on a water slide. If a particular face looked interesting or unusual, I paused it in my brain and stared at it until it faded. I spent a lot of time looking at the faces, especially in class. The nuns were not pleased. They told my mother I was a daydreamer. She was upset with me, but I continued to look at the faces. Frequently bored in class, I thought that the flipping slide show was more interesting than most of the things the sisters talked about.
During this time of childhood discovery I became captivated by the joys of sugar, and transformed from the class daydreamer to class hyper kid. I gave the nuns a hard time and it was difficult for them to control me. I attempted to do everything very fast and I ran everywhere I could. I thought sugar was fantastic, and I craved anything sweet. When passing a sugar bowl I could not resist eating a few heaping spoonful’s. With six children in our family, my sugar habit often went unnoticed. I sometimes hid sugar cubes in my pockets, or socks, and took them to school. I once drank a full jar of molasses in one go. My legs and knees were frequently black and blue because I was always trying to jump over things that were in my way. I was talkative, prone to act up, and a busybody in class. The nuns said I was incorrigible. I was in trouble a lot and my parents were often mad at me. I did not like school at all, except for recess.
One day, I was taken from my desk and sat on a small wooden stool behind a wire umbrella stand. The stand looked much like the springs inside of a box spring mattress, except higher. The nun that was teaching our class had dragged it from our cloakroom and placed it in front of a recessed door in the back of the class. For the remainder of the school year, and half of the next, the space behind this wire barrier was to be my area of confinement during the periods when I was being especially uncontrollable. Depending upon the circumstances, I could be in there for an hour, a day, or longer. In the beginning I liked my private cage and I received a lot of attention because of it. But as the weeks turned into months, the other kids looked around less and less. The following year I repeated the first grade.
About half way through the first grade for the second time, I paused one of the flipping faces while staring at a blank piece of white paper. I had gone into my mind mine and mined my very first face. I showed it to my friends and family. I carried it around in my pocket until it wore away. One day the nun told the class I was an artist. I was proud.
I soon became fascinated with the art of mining faces. The nuns were delighted with my new talent. I guess they thought this was a better way for me to direct my excess energy. It was also a benefit to the class. Instead of continually cutting up and being a general nuisance, I became more productive and less annoying. Sometime later the umbrella stand was pushed back into the cloakroom for good. I was then allowed to sit at a real desk again. I listened to classroom discussions, completed most class assignments, and usually did my homework. As long as I looked busy, and was not disruptive, I was allowed to sit in the back of the class and draw. I much appreciated this new arrangement and I thought that the world of art was a great place to be involved in. Using a pencil at first, and later an Esterbrook fountain pen, I transformed my mind faces into Mined Faces. I sketched in small white pads that I carried around in my front pants pocket. That pocket became my first portfolio, and the classroom my first studio. For the next few years, school was much better. I was pleased with my growing collection of faces and proud of my unspoken status. Life in those days was about as good as it gets. Then, in the fifth grade, everything changed.
As was the custom at our school, the boys entering the fifth grade were separated from the girls. The boys were moved to the other half of the school to be taught by the brothers for the next four years, while the fifth grade girls remained with the sisters. Most of my classmates were excited to be taught by the brothers, but I was not. I was unhappy about the loss of my studio, I missed the girls, and the brothers were much tougher than the sisters. Also, they hit a lot harder. They would not let me sit in the back of the class or draw during class time, and I was not allowed to read whenever I felt like it.
But there were some good moments... sports, recess, lunch, and summer vacation were lots of fun. The final half hour of each Friday afternoon was my favorite class time. We were each given a clean sheet of white paper and told we could draw anything we liked. I drew many of the same things as my classmates, like army tanks, cowboys, knights, and airplanes, but no mined faces. I guess I did not want the other kids to think I was weird, or maybe I just wanted to show that I could also draw those other things. Perhaps I thought it was time to fit in like the others and not stand out. Whatever the reason, I did not mine another face for over fifty years.
A few years ago, while attending a boring function, I looked inside my mind mine. It had grown exponentially and the faces looked more diverse than ever. Thousands of faces flipped by so fast they made me dizzy. I paused one of them, borrowed a pen, and quickly copied it onto a paper napkin. I thought it looked like the face in my head. I was surprised at what I had done, and continued looking at it until the function was over. I showed it to my family and a few friends. I carried it around in my pocket until it wore away.
I have since returned to visiting my mind mine on a regular basis. My portfolios are growing once again, and I continue to mine the faces that occupy a place within my consciousness. Looking back, I consider my early days in parochial school an apprenticeship of sorts, and I am grateful that I was given the opportunity to graphically mine faces. I remain confident that my educators did what they thought was best for me and I harbor no grievances.
In 1964 my first car, a 1951 Chevrolet, was stolen from a friend's driveway. In the trunk were four large portfolios stuffed with artwork, mostly Mined Faces. The car and my portfolios were never recovered. The Mined Faces existing today have all been created since 2005.
Bernard F. O'Gara Sr. |
