Atelier Icksnay

Wednesday Completed on Monday

2011-10-24T07:28:00.000-07:00

Finally, I have completed a new painting. Called Wednesday, I finished it on Monday of the Columbus Day weekend but have been on the go ever since and have not had a chance to post it. This is 19" H X 30" W in egg tempera. I think I'll be working on a few smaller pieces after this so that I can try a few techniques I learned (or had reinforced) at Koo Schadler's workshop in August. If you aren't familiar with her work, check it out at www.kooschadler.com.

Every Day is Wednesday

2011-03-25T09:44:00.000-07:00

Before my last piece (Nautilus) was even completed, I was already working on a new piece that took a really long time to gel. Is it old age that images no longer just pop into my head? Or just proof of the fallicy of multitasking?

In any event,Wednesday was initially a real struggle--countless thumbnails in my sketchbook, on the proverbial napkin in restaurants, and even in meeting notes at the office. I had a vague concept in my head--which is not the best way to create art. I also had segments of images. I needed a human subject but didn't want to resort to another self-portrait. I wanted a new challenge but was concered about the fact that, while improving, I still don't really have completed control of the egg tempera medium down yet. That could also be a good thing.

Then, in a blinding flash it dawned on me--why not ask my neice to pose. We had a great time doing a photo shoot. In a happy accident, her new kitten, Lucy, wandered onto our set and added another dimension. Here you can see a prelimary study and the final drawing in a near completed state.

Wedesday is about sequence, seriality, and the passage of time--as well as notions of obscuring and revealing images needed to advance the narrative as well as to explore more fully the process of working in egg tempera. In this medium you build a painting from many veils of color and paint--sometimes obscuring and sometimes revealing. This work is both a metaphor and a demonstration of that process. Time will tell how successful that will be. I was brought back to the need to work in a "multiple" format while executing my piece, A Meditation on the Stations of the Cross, completed in 2008. Then I saw the Chuck Close printmaking retrospective in DC last summer and this need was cemented in my brain.

This is the largest piece I have attempted in this medium and to keep from going insane will be incorporating techniques learned from Koo Schadler (check out her site at www.kooschadler.com) as well as suggestions gleaned from Robert Vickrey's book, New Techniques in Egg Tempera. Stay tuned.

Nautilus

2011-02-23T20:30:00.000-08:00

Finally, another painting finished--Nautilus, portrait of my son Thomas and an homage to George Tooker--after his self portrait done as a young man. This painting was a struggle. About 4 months in I felt I had lost control of the flesh tones in the shadow side of the face and sanded off several layers of paint. The paint did not come off smoothly and took a long time to fill back in. In the end I am pleased. It is better than the last painting, although scale still presents problems. I found working at this scale--about 3/4 life size--difficult. This is mostly due to vision problems. At this scale, I spend much of my painting time wearing a magnifying headpiece reminiscent of the father in Honey I Shrunk the Kids searching for the miniaturized children lost in the lawn. I'm already on to the next piece. Will have a drawing to show shortly. Ta.

Watercolor Wednesdays

2010-09-28T20:14:00.000-07:00

A few months ago I felt the need for a change of pace in my Wednesday night drawing sessions so I shifted from creating large, detailed pencil or charcoal drawings to small watercolors. It engages different skills and brain functions--and delivers some very different results. I was in a rut and now I'm not. In the studio, we have the benefit of a large mirror behind the model stand and, if the curtains are opened, we can create compositions of some depth--including all of the artists working on the other side of the room. The image of "Debbie" at the top of the page was particularly juicy--the lavendar chair was a wonderful foil for the black and white stripes of her garments accented with red lipstick and watch.

"Susan" was painted in Joyce U's garden before we all sat down to the sumptuous annual "linguini supper."

All of these works are painted in a small (6X10") watercolor pad with my miniature Windsor & Newtown travel set. The paintbox measures only 3 X 4 inches. I spent about 1-1/2 hours on each, accounting for breaks. The works were small enough to scan -- you can see the fairly rough tooth of the paper.

Finally, here are two images of "Bernadine" painted about 1 month apart. One relied more heavily on the pencil drawing than the other. I have found it so freeing to work in an unfamiliar medium in which I have no particular skill or experience. The immediacy provides a welcome relief from the rigor of the egg tempera works that occupy the rest of my time.

Homage to Tooker

2010-09-19T14:01:00.000-07:00

September already and still I haven't covered all I saw and felt in my little jaunt to DC--the most important part. But now the tale would be stale so I'm on to the next thing--a new painting. Another portrait of my son Tom that is also a salute to a major influence on the last 25 yeaars of my work--and to my decision to delve into a completely new medium these past few years. Here is a link to an on-line image of George Tooker's self portrait in egg tempera. It was painted very early in his career when he was probably about the same age as Tom is now - 23. In my piece, I have incorporated the young man and the nautilus shell (although a different species)but stopped short of the tondo format.

I took a series of photos of Tom in variations of the desired pose and combined the best elements. As usual, my skill as a photographer doesn't give me the level of detail I really require so I resort to memory and surreptitiously staring at him. Tom's rather severe expression is his valiant attempts not to laugh. I'm working to soften that in the painting.

Still wedded to the terra cotta Prismacolor pencils for the detail and warmth that suits my human subjects, this drawing is 14" wide by 18" high--the same as the painting.

Working at this reduced scale remains a struggle for me--both the need to spend so much time on so small a piece (even though I know art is not like real estate) and my increasing problems with eyesight. Spending long days in front of a computer and then painting for 2 - 3 hours at night is taking its toll.

As you can see from the ghostly image in this early state of the painting, the forms develop very slowly. I am using a lighter touch in this painting--as I have done with each successive piece. Each one gets closer to the result I'm seeking--but not quite. I don't really keep track but I would say I have put in about 30 hours on the painting at this stage.

I'm painting the flesh tones with a verdaccio underpainting using terra verte and ivory black. The background already has 3 successive layers of ultramarine blue and burnt sienna with a little yellow ochre. Alternating layers of complementary colors will utlimately give me a gray that resonates.

How ironic that this is exactly how I created some very luminous grays back in the 70s and 80s when I was creating large 3-dimensional wall pieces of balsa wood, handmade Japanese woodcut paper, and water color--layer upon layer upon layer of pale washes of pure color--dried with the hair dryer in between. I find this concrete evidence that no knowledge or experience is wasted comforting.

Pathways to Hidden Treasures (and One Not Taken)

2010-08-21T07:08:00.000-07:00

So many weeks have flown by and I still haven't gotten the DC trip out of my system—or onto this blog. I spent day two of my trip at the National Portrait Gallery. On the advice of the docent at the front desk, I headed first to the well-thought out Lunder Conservation Center. Here, the labs for restoring antique picture frames, works on paper, paintings, and sculptures have glass walls so the public can watch conservators at work. As this was a weekend, I had to be satisfied to peer into the empty workshops and learn from the interactive video kiosks and displays. By the time I finished my self-directed tour, I was devastated to realize that I would have made an excellent conservator. Another path not taken.

This center was adjacent to the Luce Center—another revelation. Here the Smithsonian houses art currently not on view in the museum’s galleries. Instead of locking it in basement storage with no public access, these works are available to scholars and curious visitors in what they term "open storage" -- rows and rows of narrow "cubbies" with paintings, sculptures, and craft works crammed onto their walls. The works are all behind glass cases in dim light--so you can see them but you can't seen them. You are also very close to each piece. It was like ferreting through granny's attic and finding treasure after treasure.

I was aghast to round a corner and come face to face with George Tooker's 1959 The Waiting Room. Why was this work not on display when there are so few available to the public? Because it was not a portrait? (Note: The images are on the Smithsonian’s web site—click on them to learn more.)

There was Helen Lundeberg's Portrait of the Artist in Time that once graced the cover of a book that I lent to someone and, like most lent books, never seen again. Then I was in Paul Cadmus territory--his earlier, looser (but equally scathing) series in oil Aspects of Suburban Life including Polo and Public Dock. It wasn't long, though, before I was peering through the glass at Bar Italia an early work in egg tempera.

I passed Harvery Dinnerstein's Brownstone and found myself in a half-empty bay that contained a bold, hard-edge abstraction by Gene Davis. There was also a placard bearing the question, “What is the Art Student's League?” If you read my earlier posting about this trip, you will know that I lacked the cell phone needed to dial the number for the official answer. Fortunately for me, I had first-hand experience of the League.

On to a little bitty Ad Reinhardt juxtaposed with a small, but luscious William Baziotes whose title was too long to capture. Later I encountered its larger, younger sibling in the main galleries downstairs. At this point we began to move forward in time at a much faster pace—Jane Quick-to-See Smith’s State Names. I immediately recognized Robert Vickrey’s nuns despite the poor lighting and the painting’s uncharacteristic backdrop of grass and earth in Fear.

There was an Edward Hopper I had never seen before (in book or on wall)--People in the Sun depicting people in deck chairs drenched in sunlight. This stroll through these cubbies of stored works was en experience like none I had ever had before—like sharing a secret to which no one else was privy. I wish I lived closer.

Then, I returned to the hustle and bustle of the main galleries of the museum. These were even more boisterous by the presence of Boy Scouts in every nook and cranny—pinewood derby tracks set up in the marble halls, exhibitions and projects set up in the courtyard, and troops being led through the various exhibitions—in some cases, I’m sure, only to get their charges out of the heat of the 105-degree day and into air-conditioned halls.

As I meandered, it struck me how unusual it was to be in an art museum whose entire collection arranged by the subjects of the paintings rather than the creators. In some cases, there was an intersection of the two like the Philadelphia Peales, with their exceptionally rosy cheeks.

In my wanderings I encountered 3 works by artists I have actually met—A portrait by Jack Beal who taught at Pratt when I was there; a 1954 portrait of a financier named Walter Lippman by Stanley Meltzhoff, who was a trustee of the American Littoral Society where I work (and whose amazing fish paintings hang in our library), and Phil Schirmer’s The Secret Gardner, a finalist in the Outwin Boochever national portrait competition, the original impetus for visiting the National Portrait Gallery. I had the good fortune to receive my very first instruction in egg tempera at one of Phil’s workshops in Maine in the fall of 2008. You can see his work at www.philschirmer.com. He’s an amazing painter with an incomparable ability to capture the spare, intensity of coastal Maine.

I ended my day in the “folk art” wing where I stumbled upon one of the most incredible things I’ve ever seen. The installation by James Hampton is calledThe Throne of the Third Heaven of the Nations’ Millenium General Assembly. I had never heard of him before. He was an untrained artist who spent 14 years creating this embodiment of his religious faith in his garage, which I’m sure it would have filled. It is made from scraps of metal foil, cans, bottles and plastics that he gleaned while working as a janitor and looks like the sort of treasure of which archeologists only dream (think Indiana Jones).

This was enough for me. My senses and brain were saturated. I stopped at the book shop to pick up a copy of the portrait competition exhibition catalog and made my way back through the steamy streets to my hotel.

An Unexpected Family Reunion

2010-08-01T18:36:00.000-07:00

As I stood on the platform at Red Bank station at 6:40 AM, I was beginning to think this DC adventure was not such a great idea after all. To start out, I had just realized that my cell phone was still in the charger on the hall table at home. Not the end of the world but it would be more difficult to get information around town and to keep in touch with folks back home--like letting them know I got there in one piece. Was also having second thoughts about spending the money--the consumer unconfidence wrought by the recession.

Later, the walk from Union Station to the hotel over on 14th street turned out to be a lot longer than anticipate--not a biggie on a normal day but it was at least 95 and humid. By the time I got to the hotel, my face was fire red and the perspiration was running in rivulets down my face. The check-in attendant gave me a free bottle of ice water--probably afraid I would die on my way up to the room.

When I got to my icy cold room on the 7th floor, I doused my head with cold water and changed into fresh clothes. It was already 3 PM--should I just chill for the rest of the day? Or check out the National Museum of Women in the Arts which was literally just around the corner? Since the museum was founded nearly 20 years ago, it had been on my list of places to visit. I am even listed in their archive of American Women Artists--not sure how that happened but I am there--under my married name.

I decided to go. Two and a half hours later, I had been through all of the permanent collection and the special exhibits. I found a bench in a private corner (not very crowded on a Friday afternoon in July) and had a little cry for here, all under one roof, was all of the by women I had "discovered" bit by bit during my formative years as an artist in a world dominated by men. These were not discovered by Google or even by Alte Vista--the internet was still a secret information highway then. I (and other women) tracked these artists down like detectives--a little review in a magazine, writing to get on the gallery's mailing list to hear about the next show--waiting for the next show--going to the library to find out about other women making art about things that were important to me and other women I knew--no matter what medium, genre, or style. Cutting images out of art magazines or paying for copies (or sneaking them in the office where I happened to be "temping" that week)and pasting them in notebooks.

Now here they were all in one beautiful space. It was like attending a family reunion after decades of being separated--with the added bonus of meeting some new relatives previously unknown to me.

Even if represented by only a single small work--they were there. My heart beat faster when I turned a corner and came face-to-face with the little Eva Hesse study for a sulpture. I nodded in recognition when confronted by a small "flower" painting by Judy Chicago. It was hard to believe that when I was 23, I was in an exhibition at the Brooklyn Museum next to the very first installation of The Dinner Party. Years later, I was introduced to her at a book signing and exhibition at a Chelsea Gallery. I was newly divorced and trying to find a way to keep making art--she wrote a personal encouragement in my book. There were works by Frida Kahlo, Remedios Varo (how frustrated was I when I learned that the musuem had mounted a restrospective of her work that was closed before I learned of it) and women of centuries past--Vigee le Brun, Mary Cassatt.

I was struck dumb by the amazing collaborative installations by Ju Yeon Kim called "The In-Between". I'm sorry, words can't do this piece justice and the museum site has no photos that can even approximate the experience so here is the link. Try to see it. http://www.nmwa.org/exhibition/detail.asp?exhibitid=208

If you are under the age of 50 or so, you may not understand what I mean. When I went to art school (73 - 77) things were different. In the fine art department at Pratt, even though more than half of the class were women, there were no women instructors--with a few notable exceptions like the gifted printmaker and teacher Clare Romano. It was still considered a compliment to be told you paint "like a man". Who was there who thought like us or had the same experiences? The women's movement was happening all around us--but it hadn't hit the art schools yet. The most telling thing is, that I never realized the disparity myself until after I had graduated and came upon Linda Nochlin's telling and provacative essay, "Why Have There Been No Great Female Artists?"

Needless to say, I was glad I braved the heat again and left the hotel that afternoon. I joined the museum on the spot. I was exhausted. When I got back to the hotel, I rifled through all of my things to find something to write down these impressions--nothing. I used those little hotel pads and pens. The next morning I stopped at a CVS and bought a little spiral bound notebook to capture my impressions of the rest of the trip. I needed this trip. I didn't miss my cell phone. And the room service was great. Kudos to the Hilton Garden Inn.

Mrs. Deeds Goes to Washington

2010-07-27T20:13:00.000-07:00

I have just returned from a 4-day art jaunt to our nation's capitol. I took the train from Red Bank to NYC then to DC. Trains have always said "journey" more to me than planes or cars--not sure why, they just do.

While I was there, the region experienced some of the hottest weather on record. It was like being inside a giant crape myrtle terrarium populated by me and 20,000 Boy Scouts. Yes, you heard correctly--this weekend scouts from across the US converged in DC to celebrate 100 years of scouting. It was the biggest boy scout jamboree you ever could see complete with pine box derby in the marbled halls of the National Portrait Gallery and a major parade down Constitution Avenue on Sunday afternoon complete with floats, marching bands, and other costumed groups that made the weekend even more surreal than it otherwise would have been.

This was a cathartic trip in many ways and, even though there was no formal "learning" component, I learned much--or recalled things I learned once a long time ago.

I hardly thought about my job at all--except when I passed the National Aquarium, saw Copley's Watson and the Shark at the Corcoran and, on the very last afteroon, passed the offices of the EPA. Oh, and there was a series of really interesting prints in the National Museum of Women in the Arts by an artist called Andrea Zittel called Sprawl--based on site plans for surburban subdivisions. I'm sure our conservation people will find them interesting (and frightening).

I did not bring a camera (purposefully). Neither did I bring a cellphone (not on purpose). I prefer to spend my time really looking at the art than taking photos of it. So any photos that I display, I will have culled from the www after the fact.

If I had a laptop, I would have blogged these notes in the hotel in the evenings. Instead I spent the evenings reading and jotted these musings on the fly into a little notebook purchased at a local CVS. I will post these notes over several days. More to come.

My Truncated Dream

2010-06-22T19:10:00.000-07:00

Last week I took some installation shots at the Art Aliance Gallery in Red Bank to support a grant I was writing. The early evening sun did not cooperate with my efforts to shoot the work in the window. I finally succeeded in getting at least one usable image. I couldn't use the one shown here because I caught my own reflection quite clearly superimposed over the rough-hewn wooden sculpture by Eric Von Arx called Truncated Dream. How apropos.

Composition in Primary Colors

2010-06-14T19:15:00.000-07:00

It's been a while. I had to make a choice -- painting or blogging about not painting. Here is the fruit of my labor since February. It still needs tweaking but needed to have a little vacation from it to get some perspective.

Time Travel

2010-03-14T12:21:00.000-07:00

Who says we can't go back in time? Artists do it all the time--we take inspiration from the work of those who have gone before us. We become retro artists. Some go back a decade while others go back centuries. Why do we look back? Because there's something missing in our own time? Because we missed something about what they did back then? Or because we miss what they did back then. There must be something to it--why else would any painter work in egg tempera? Why would photographer keep on working in film or, for that matter, use a pin-hole camera?

Sometimes, artists revisit their own work. I'm going back in time - again. My current portrait is based on a self-portrait in oil at about age 30. Why do that? For one thing, I looked a lot better then. The image was compelling--it features a really neat hat I bought in Florence--a straw boater with fruit. I've only ever worn it in paintings. This is turning out to be a composition in the primary colors--red, yellow, and blue.

The original painting depicted me sitting on our balcony in Cliffside Park, NJ. You can just make out in the background the New York City skyline--complete with Twin Towers. It was a great view. We had a clear view from the George Washington Bridge to the Verazano Bridge. Sorry for the somewhat blurry image of the early piece--its the best I can do now.

I didn't intend to revisit this painting but I had just completed Progress-Thomas and was mulling over what to do and one of the original source photos for the oil painting literally fell into my lap as I was sorting out some old files. Voila--I worked up a new head study, added in the hand and the rose by cutting and pasting images in charcoal on newsprint paper until I got the composition I wanted. After seaching through pages and pages of lace curtains in on-line catalogs, I found a challenging lace pattern for the top border and off I went. It took a few weeks to complete a finished drawing in colored pencil. While working on that, I ordered my gesso panel.

At this stage, I've put in about 45 hours in on the painting. The background is starting to fill in. I decided to lower the curtain so it slightly overlaps the hat. The head is still mostly in verdaccio--a grey-green underpainting that, when transparent layers of pinks, ochres and white are added, will approximate flesh tones. It worked in the original oil painting. It remains to be seen if I can accomplish this in egg tempera. Stay tuned.

In Between

2010-02-17T18:36:00.000-08:00

What do painters do when they're not painting? Live. On Friday I took a day off from work and spent the day at the Morgan Library. The draw was an exhibition of an incredible illuminated manuscript--15th century Dutch--The Hours of Catherine of Cleves. More than 100 individual leaves from the unbound manuscript were on display in glass cases and in frames on the wall. The wall-mounted narrative that accompanied the miniatures and illuminations told the story of incredible contrasts--Catherine of Cleves was not a nice lady--yet she appears to have spent a lot of time praying--plus spent a lot of money on one of the most beautiful prayer aides I have ever seen.

Given my current role in the American Littoral Society, I was delighted to see the border on the suffrage to St. Ambrose illustrated with wonderfully lifelike images of mussels and crabs--a demonstration of the power of St. Ambrose's preaching to create harmony even between the worst of enemies--including the crab and the mussel upon which it preys. You can see the entire exhibit and commentary on line at the Morgan website.

An unexpected bonus was an exhibition of Renaissance drawings by Raphael, Michelangelo, and their contemporaries. How wonderful to spend time in such wonderful surroundings with no crowds. I ended the day on the 2nd floor in an exhbition about Jane Austen--her letters, handwritten manuscripts and even a brief film about her life.

The Morgan is a great place to spend a day--walking distance from Penn Station at Madison and 36th--unique and insightful changing exhibitions from its vast collections of books and drawings from all periods plus those on permanent display.

And the day was not over yet. A quick subway ride downtown and I was in MaGuire's Pub on Cliff Street. Great fish and chips, shepherds pie, and other hearty meals. Two of my sisters and my son Tom met to celebrate Tom's 23rd birthday--belatedly. Part of his present was something else I spent time working on when not painting--Back to the Future cookies--yes cookies in the shape of the famous Delorean Time Machine. I just can't seem to stop painting.

Afterward, we all took the ferry home to Atlantic Highlands and then back to Red Bank by car.

Until next time.

Going Public

2010-01-13T20:57:00.000-08:00

You can see Progress Thomas live at the Monmouth Museum beginning Saturday, January 16. This painting has been juried into the Museum's 31st Annual Exhibition, co-sponsored by the Monmouth County Arts Council. The show runs from Jan. 16 - February 21. The opening reception is Saturday, Jan. 16 from 4 - 6 PM. All other times, there is a $7 admission fee. Check out the museum web site for times - www.monmouthmuseum.org. There are about 70 artists in the show. It was juried by Maura Lynch, Curatorial Assistant at MOMA's Department of Drawing. Hope to see you there.

Completion

2010-01-03T11:41:00.000-08:00

So, I added the last stroke of paint to Progress Thomas just in time for the new year. The last stroke was the 9 in 09 on my signature. I haven't signed a work in a long time--just wasn't done in the 70s when I was educated.

This piece has been a struggle and a significant learning experience--not only about how to manage the egg tempera medium but about patience and faith in my ability to hang in until the end and other character building experiences. Of course, I'm totally dissatisfied with this piece. The flesh tones really annoy me and I couldn't quite get the hair to gel; however, it's time to move on.

Moving on--when to do it--has always been a big issue for me in painting. When drawing (as in a life drawing session), it's a lot easier to just get another piece of paper and start over. Any reluctance to let go of a drawing was finally cured by Mr. Graham Nickson when I attended the famed Drawing Marathon at the New York Studio School. Just erase it. Cut it up and glue another piece of paper onto it. Turn it over and start again. No problem.

A painting like this takes a bigger toll of blood, sweat, and even tears. Like the pundits have told us about health care, waiting for perfect will ensure no progress (or words to that effect). I realized that I just had to get over it and move on. I am.

You veiwers (all 2 of you) may not notice much of a difference between this final state and the last photos posted nearly a month ago. Since then I've probably put in another 60 hours--what else are weekends and vacations for? That is partly the result of the inherently slow nature of egg tempera. The other issue is that the photos aren't picking up the level of detail because I've never really mastered the digital camera. And since I chose to frame this piece with architectural elements, parallax issues still plague me. Will continue to work on that. Suggestions would be welcome.

One major change is the addition of the blind pull on the left side of the panel, something I've toyed with since very early on in the process. I even cut out a paper silhouette to see how it would look. It needed some complexity to balance the vegetation on the right side of the panel. It works.

I need to deliver this painting to an exhibition on Thursday--surprised that I made it past the juror, who was from MOMA, although she is from the drawing area so perhaps she has an affinity for this technique.

On to the next project. Happy 2010 to one and all.

Takeaways from the Met

2009-12-15T20:28:00.000-08:00

There are only three things demanded of a painter: to see things, to feel them and to dope them out for the public. George Bellows, July 1917

These words were my major takeaway from a day spent at the Metropolitan Museum last Friday. They were posted in large type on the wall of one of the galleries housing the amazing exhibition, American Stories: Paintings of Everyday Life 1765-1915. I made a point of remembering Bellows' words because I knew a colleague of mine would have really appreciated them. I could hardly wait to find a way to share them with him--he's been in ill and not recieving visitors. That is not to be though--D. W. Bennett passed away this evening. That has left a hole in my and a lot of other people's souls. Dery was at once larger than life but humble and retiring. I think of him as the father of the environmental movement in New Jersey (and beyond). He was the heart and soul of the American Littoral Society for nearly 50 years. My feet will be leaden as I climb the stairs to the office tomorrow.

That was not the only takeaway that day. My son Tom joined me and we wandered around the galleries, checked out the baroque Christmas tree in the Medieval sculpture hall (where I usually go to draw because when the tree isn't there, neither are the crowds), and had lunch in the cafeteria. We rounded out our time together with a visit to the Vermeers and some painters of the Hudson River School in the Lehman wing.

After Tom left (he lives all the way east on 82nd Street), I spent an hour with amazing paintings of Luo Ping, an eccentric Chinese painter from the 18th century. I was delighted by his work, particularly by the album called Insects, Birds, and Beasts. These simple but elegant depictions of nature's creatures are paired with poetry written by a contemporary of Luo Ping who happened to be a well-known playwright. According to the instructive narrative provided, Luo Ping painted the images first, leaving large amounts of space for his friend to add his poems, which used nature's images to point out human foibles. Despite the space left by his artist friend, "Jiang Shiquan squeezes the inscriptions into tight blocks or improbable corners, or dangles characters like a string, or marches them at an angle like ants. The unusual placement of his inscriptions greatly enhances the album's visual appeal." (Eccentric Visions: The Worlds of Luo Ping (1733–1799)

Then it was back out into the cold--the coldest day so far this season--and back to Red Bank via two subways and the North Jersey Coast Line from Penn Station.

A Red Dot Day

2009-12-10T21:49:00.000-08:00

On Sunday, I attended the opening of Greetings from Asbury Park in (where else?)Asbury Park at The Paint Place owned and operated by Jackie Chesley, mosaic artist extraordinaire. As one of ten artists in this small works show, I was lucky enough to meet some new artists and reconnect with some I've known for a long time. Also saw some family that I haven't seen in a while and was really touched that they made the trip on a Sunday afternoon to see the show.

The day also brought what has become a relatively rare occurrence in this most recent phase of my life--I sold a painting! At the end of the show, which is at the end of the year (and at the end of the decade) my small egg tempera still life, Bread Alone, will be going to a really good home. Lou and Steve are kindred art spirits. Best of all, future visitation will be possible.

I ended the day in the very best way--with a nice leisurely dinner with my childhood friend, Janet. So, when the gallery put a red dot on the wall beside my painting, I put a red dot on the day.

Greetings from Asbury Park

2009-12-01T15:12:00.000-08:00

I'm included in an exhibition of small works at The Paint Place on Cookman Avenue in Asbury Park. The show is up now but the opening reception is Sunday afternoon from 3 to 6 PM. Stop by. I have 3 small egg tempera on panel pieces in the show.

I'm Back

2009-11-30T19:14:00.000-08:00

The past two months have gone by in a flash. One of those months -- from mid-September to mid-October -- didn't include painting. How frustrating. Too many nights working on the job--too many other intrusions and a good sized dose of loss of nerve. What am I thinking starting over in a new medium? My flesh tones look like raw meat--or very bad makeup. Then things seemed to smooth out. Don't think about how long it's taking to produce an 18" X 24" painting. Don't think about the fact that there was a time when I could produce a 48" X 72" piece in the same amount of time. Of course I was painting 3 full days per week. Now I can only work at night and on the weekends. Sometimes I have to do other things--like get a haircut or clean my house.

Progress Thomas is nearly done. In fact, it's complete enough to photograph and risk entering into a juried show at the Monmouth Museum. Still having troubles with parallax--still not used to the digital camera.

Social Work Works Really Works

2009-09-13T19:51:00.001-07:00

Today was the opening of Social Work Works: Paintings by Lou Storey at Trinity Cathedral in Trenton. This is another in the ongoing series of ECVA (Episcopal Church & Visual Arts). Let's just say that I help curate these shows and keep the focus of this post on these exuberant works by Lou, an artist and friend I've known since we both transferred into Pratt Institute in 1974.

As an artist, Lou has always been totally inner driven. To me, his work always seemed to remain unscathed by outside pressures exerted by the professors, the art magazines, or the art market. He just kept on producing a steady stream of ebullient works that could be whimsical or satirical or both and, no matter what, always filled with an incredible energy. Whether oil paintings of familiar objects from the studio or completely fantastic scenes from inside his head or total absractions--his work is always immediate and alive.

A few years ago, Lou discontinued his business as an award winning exhibition designer to go back to school to get his MSW so he could enter the "helping profession." When I first heard of this plan, I assumed it would curtail his art production--going back to school at our age would be pretty time consuming. But not too time consuming to stop the flow Lou's creativity. These 24 incredible pieces in paint and bas relief created by shapes he hand cast in the studio and affixed to the surface of his canvas are proof enough.

These paintings chronicle his journey into the realm of social work--through school, through his clinical internships, and through his first two positions in the field. They incorporate layers and layers of intricate patterns, symbols, shapes, and textures--both two- and three-dimensional. Applied with almost frenetic energy, the marks cover every available space on the canvas and march beyond the picture plane over the frames and around the sides.

At the opening, Lou's works were equally intriguing to the social workers who attended as to the lay people ingnorant of the concepts these works explored. And for the uninitiated who want to learn more about the words used in the works, the artist provided a number of statments about the concepts he was grappling with in his parallel journey as he created these works.

The show is at Trinity Cathedral, 801 West State Street, Trenton, NJ. It's best to call for hours because the space gets a lot of official use - 609-392-3805.

Kudos to you, Lou.

Family Resemblances

2009-09-08T19:57:00.000-07:00

I continue to struggle with Progress Thomas. Contemporary Thomas is filling in nicely. The facial structure and values are becoming solid. The flesh is taking on that egg tempera "glow" that I envy so much.

I fear, however, that young Thomas is taking on the look of a munchkin. The look of childhood that I achieved in the original drawing is slipping away from me. Just one line too many or a shadow ever so slightly too dark or a transition too harsh and the 7-year-old face is transformed into the countenance of a middle-aged manager.

Part of the problem is Thomas' stark resemblance to his father--the shape of his face, eyes, nose, mouth, and even brows are his. How to prevent myself from rendering that other face that I know instead of the one before me?

Over the years I've used many family members as models and have been able to truly grasp the family resemblances. This summer I painted a portrait of my father who had passed only a few weeks before. As I worked, the face of my youngest sister danced before me. In my source photo of my father as a young sailor, the weight of the years were removed, revealing a bone structure nearly identical to my sister's. It was a cathartic exercise.

Many years ago, when working on a posthumous portrait of my grandparents, I just couldn't get the likeness of my grandmother from the rather small snapshot that was my only reference. When it dawned on me that Nana May was Daddy with long hair, my problem was solved.

Or, as in the case of my present work, the resemblance can become a barrier. Thomas' father's image continues to intrude. My mantra must be: paint what you see, not what you know.

My works take months to complete. I draw my subject. Then I draw them again. Then I paint them. It is no wonder that their images are indelibly stamped on my brain. I know them in a new way. I can't seem to express it in words. How fortunate that I don't have to.

Drawing Dancers

2009-09-06T10:10:00.000-07:00

Last Wednesday night, a young ballerina in the making graced our model stand. When I arrived just before the appointed 7:30 start time, a number of artists were already set up and ready to go but no model had made the scene yet. This always creates a buzz. Where is the model? Is there one? Did anyone call Joyce? Should one of the artists pose? A phone call to Joyce revealed that there was a miscommunication of our starting time and that tonight a young dancer would be posing for us--in ballet regalia. Into my mind popped visions of Degas' pastels.

When she arrived, accompanied by her mother, we were eager to get to work. Barely 13, this child was all angular limbs with a torso so slim that it could have been a limb, too. I'm sure that when she assumed her role as dancer, the angularity would be transformed into pure grace.

She leaned forward to don her toe shoes and, as she criss-crossed the wide, pink satin ribbons around her ankles, my mind traveled back in time to my anatomy professor at Pratt. In addition to being the liaison between Pratt and Columbia Medical School, where we went to draw from cadavers, this professor had also developed and taught a special course in anatomy for dancers at the Julliard school to educate professional dancers about exactly what they were doing to their bodies, especially their feet and knees. The idea was that this awareness could enable them to take some pre-emptive measures.

By the time those dancers reached that stage of development--put in enough hours and endured discomfort and even pain since a very young age--most of the damage was probably done. And what of the countless others who didn't make it to this point? I'm sure the parents of these budding dancers had not recieved such informative education about the impact of dancing on their developing frames?

How many parents have heard and/or heeded recent warnings of the impact of excessive training and competition on young gymnasts, soccer players, and skaters on their children--most of whom, like the aspiring dancers, are not sufficiently gifted to go on to sustainable careers in their passion?

Parents of we visual artists are, for the most part, exempt from the need to decide if their 5-year-old budding artist is gifted enough to warrant risking normal physical development and future health for the sake of art. Painting and drawing ability appears to bloom later than athletic or dancing ability. The damage that we painters inflict on our bodies comes through exposure to toxic substances--solvents for oil paint, chemicals in the printmaking shop or (until the 21st century) in the darkroom, or heavy metals in paints. By the time we are sophisticated enough to access these or even to decide to use them, we are in late adolesence or young adulthood. And we have plenty of warnings on labels and in books about the practice of art. We do it to ourselves. I know plenty of artists who by middle age have developed severe allergies to paint thinners and solvents and even to paints.

How did I get here? I'm blathering. Back to our young ballerina. The rather harsh lighting in the studio soon dispelled notions of approximating Degas' smoky atmosphere; however, once we talked this young lady--an experienced dancer but novice model--into a pose, we were treated to an exceptional exercise in fluid line. And yes, her neck was really that long.

Homecoming

2009-08-29T09:32:00.001-07:00

On this warm and rainy Saturday morning, I took down an exhibition of my large work, A Meditation on the Stations of the Cross. Somehow, there is something just as satisfying about bringing work home as there is about putting a show up. I find it more peaceful. After 30 years of installing and uninstalling shows, I have a routine for wrapping and unwrapping, taping, and packing into my car.

Installation is always cluttered with anxiety and other feelings about how the work will be received, will there be any last-minute disasters, and will the work actually fit in the car. Will the hosting organization welcome my input about how the work should be hung--or not? Will the press actually cover the show?

Taking a show down is like bringing your children home from college. You know they'll be going off again eventually but it's nice to have them back in the house even for a little while. My son, Tom, just moved all of his boxes out of the front hall into his apartment in New York City where he'll start graduate school in a few weeks. My art,swathed in bubble wrap and plastic, has taken their place.

Now it's time to separate an egg and get painting.

The Linguini Supper

2009-08-28T18:23:00.000-07:00

Last summer, when Joyce first asked me if I would like to come to the annual linguini supper for the members of the Wednesday night drawing group, I accepted. Another artist in the group explained that it would be a thoroughly enjoyable occasion--we'd start out at 3 PM drawing or painting from the model who (weather permitting) would pose in Joyce's garden for a few hours. Then Joyce would serve the linguini supper al fresco. It sounded like a great idea--anything involving drawing and pasta had to be a good time.

I took the afternoon off from work and made my way to Joyce's farm. I decided to work on a smaller scale and brought my traveling watercolor set. The garden was a lovely spot and the model was excellent. Soon, I was lost in the concentration needed to work in an unfamliar medium. By the time the model was ready to quit, I had finished a nice little watercolor.

I wasn't really prepared for what awaited us at the foot of the hill by the house--you can see from the photo that Joyce set an elegant table. By the time we had sipped away a glass of wine or two, consumed a variety of cheeses and homemade capponata and rounds of crusty Italian bread, the sun had gone down, the candles were lit and the scene became pure magic. More artists arrived who hadn't been able to make the drawing session--I knew most of them or knew of them. Many I hadn't seen in many years. We all had one thing in common--at one time or another we had been part of the Wednesday night group.

Soon, Joyce and other artists who had helped her in the kitchen brought out large, steaming bowls of linguini and incredible seafood including shrimp, lobster, littlenecks and other fruits of the sea. Calling this the linguini supper was an understatement. Topped off with salad and cooked greens fresh from the garden and a generous helping of conversation about art--theory, criticism, news and plain old gossip--I thought I'd died and went to heaven.

That was last year. It was a magical night. This year's supper was two nights ago and was equally enjoyable. I saw some old friends and made some new ones. And I had some better water color brushes on hand now that I'm working in egg tempera.

The linguini supper comes very close to the visions that I had before I went to art school of what life as an artist would be like. Visions straight out of Hollywood laced with the angst of Anthony Quinn or Kirk Douglas--visions of a lifestyle that was never realized because they weren't based on reality.

If I can have one or two nights like the linguini supper in a year, I can sustain the solitary hours in the studio needed to produce meaningful work. I raise my glass and my brush to Joyce--an artist in all she does--for providing this night.

Coming into Focus

2009-08-22T15:02:00.000-07:00

Since my last post I've put in about 20 more hours on Progress Thomas. To be perfectly honest, until today I wasn't really sure that I'd be able to pull this off--neither head seemed to be taking shape. This is my first attempt at an egg tempera portrait on human scale and it felt like the layers and layers of paint weren't going anywhere. Today, I saw the first glimmer of what Ihope this might become and breathed a sigh of relief. There's still along way to go but now I actually believe I might actually end up somewhere at the end. If you click on the closeup above, you can see the linear painting technique.

Wednesday Night Drawing

2009-08-19T20:01:00.000-07:00

I first moved into the circle of the Wednesday Night Drawing Group in 1978 about one year after I graduated from Pratt. The group had already been meeting on Wednesday nights to share a model and camaraderie for a number of years at that point. It's still going. Some people have retired from the group while others have passed on. I have moved in and out of its sphere depending on available time and geography. This time I've been back for nearly 2 years.

A binding happens when people make art together over a long period of time. Many in the group are long-time friends outside of the group. I am not one of them. But even if we don't know a lot about a member in that personal way, you can tell a lot about someone by the work they do. I call it the Wednesday Night Drawing Group but the Wednesday Night Group is a more accurate description because at least half of the people paint. As members of the Monmouth County Art Alliance, we are permitted to rent the large studio behind our storefront gallery for the same 2 hours each week for six-month blocks. We hire a model who takes a pose for the entire 2 hours--with appropriate breaks of course.

My first encounter with this group was as a model. At the time I was not a figurative artist--I was creating large, 3 dimensional wall pieces of balsa wood, handmade Japanese paper and water color--very delicate and very large. I was, however, fascinated by this group that drew from a single pose for the entire session. The longest pose any model had struck at Pratt was 20 minutes.

A few years later, when my foray into abstraction was extinguished by my insatiable need to convey narrative through drawing, I sought out this group and found the ability to bring a drawing to resolution a welcome exercise.

Even though I have never developed paintings from any of the drawings created in the Wednesday night group, the work of drawing--of sharpening my hand-eye coordination, of handling various materials and developing a fineness of my favorite element--line--informed all of the other work I did.

Despite all my years of experience, I am amazed that I still have difficulty with proportions -- I can render a beautiful mixture of line and tone that is either delicate or strong, depending on my mood that at first glance has the look of an "old master" work in red conte. It's the second look that makes it clear that the head is totally too big for the body--or the hands are far too small. I won't notice this, of course, until I'm done. It is humbling. I learn.

Making Progress on Progress Thomas

2009-08-18T16:03:00.000-07:00

Things are moving along. I've completed some modeling of the larger portrait and the garments on both figures. As I've worked on this painting, I've realized that I was too cavalier with the early layers of sponged on paint--I'm having to do extra work to mask the rough edges and textures between the colors. I'm hoping it won't matter once I've applied enough layers cross hatching. Time will tell. The first image is of the entire piece. The lower left image is a detail of the right figure. The small image on the lower right shows the tracing I keep handy to reestablish the drawing when it gets lost in the layers of paint. I'm getting an early start tonight--should be working by 7:30 PM.

A Solitary Pursuit

2009-08-16T19:56:00.000-07:00

Painting is a solitary pursuit. We can talk about art together, draw together, and even do some painting together but, when it comes right down to it, most art gets made in the solitude of the studio. If, like me, you're an artist who also works another job to earn a living, that doesn't leave a lot of time for friends, family, or even the humdrum of daily life.

The only time our work brings us together with others is when we have an exhibition--and that is usually only at the opening reception.

In some ways the internet has changed this dynamic in that it has become easier to share images of works in progress or recently finished works with other artists and friends. I remember back in the 80s and 90s sharing snapshots of new works with distant friends in the mail--yes actual photographs sent in envelopes with stamps. We also had very big phone bills--the only way to keep in touch with artists in distant cities. Color photocopies from slides were also a big thing.

For years I listened to talk radio (NPR) while I worked--something about keeping the left side of my brain occupied, leaving the right side free to do its own thing on the canvas. Lately I'm finding the talk somewhat distracting -- perhaps because the news is just too depressing. Music has become a more constant companion.

Working in egg tempera is such a zen experience--just keep painting and the painting keeps on becoming. The progress of individual paintings is still uncharted territory for me. Unlike oil painting, I have no idea how long a painting will take. Each new work is s first--a first small still life, a first small portrait and now a first double portrait with nearly life-size heads. It's both exciting and stressful. I will press on.

A Perfect Day

2009-08-14T15:52:00.000-07:00

Today was a perfect day--brought my car into the shop in town early and then walked back home over the two bridges to get my exercise in before the heat of the day. I saw a great blue heron and an egret. When I got home, I got down to painting. Set up my new palette made of a sheet of clear glass which I spray-painted white on one side and then taped it to a thick piece of foam core--much easier to make pigment pastes and then temper the paints. Also easier to keep them from drying out.

The faces in Progress Thomas are beginning to take shape. I managed to start modeling some of the garments, too. How much easier it is to work when you have the right setup--and how much less paint is wasted.

Finished up at 5 PM with another walk into town to pick up my car.

Painter's Cramp

2009-08-11T21:56:00.000-07:00

Tonight I was able to put in 3 hours of work on my double portrait, Progress Thomas, despite the brutal heat. After making thousands of hatch marks in a muted violet gray mixed from ultramarine blue, burnt sienna, and titanium white, I have the painter's equivalent of writer's cramp--but the background is already beginning to have that quietly energized egg tempera aura. I'll need to remember to stop occasionally to give my hand and eyes a break--but when you're in the zone, its so easy to overdo.

I'm still thinking about the Graham Nickson show I saw at the Monmouth Museum (on the campus of Brookdale Community College in Lincroft, NJ) a few weeks ago. Jewel-like water colors of "the edge of the day" in vibrant colors painted in a manly way. Brilliant colors laid down with the authority of the oil painter he is--a show worth seeing. I encountered Mr. Nickson nearly ten years ago when I attended the Drawing Marathon at the New York Studio School. He is the dean of the school and the originator of the Drawing Marathon--an amazing artistic experience. Every artist should do it at least once in his or her life.

Time to turn in.

Painting in My Head

2009-08-10T19:18:00.000-07:00

Today was spent in my other life--at the work I do to earn my living. I used to have a more flexible schedule as a consultant. My life situation changed quite dramatically 5 years ago. Now I'm free to paint only on weekends and holidays. I usually spend my vacation time painting, too. On days like today, when I don't get home until late and my eyes are too far gone to start working on a drawing or painting, I paint in my head. Whatever piece I'm working on, I visualize mixing the colors, laying in layers of paint. Like on a graphics program, when you paint in your head, there is a very effective "undo" button. Maybe that's why when I actually get down to work, I rarely hesitate over what to do.

That was the biggest challenge in making such a drastic medium change as I am making from oil to egg tempera. After working in oil for so many years, I had an order of tasks that I always followed. I always had a plan of attack--which part of the painting to work on first, how to blend the colors, when to start glazing--when to stop. When I made the change to a totally new medium, I found I no longer had that sense of authority that enabled me to move forward from the initial drawings all the way through to the last color glaze.

I came away from Koo Schadler's workshop with a roadmap. I knew what to do first and which bits of knowledge and experience were portable from oil painting to egg tempera (and which were not). Now I can paint in my head again because I can imagine what needs to be done.

That is not to say that there won't be surprises--that still happened in oil paint even after more than 30 years. If there were no surprises at all, what would have been the point in continuing?

The First Time

2009-08-09T17:45:00.000-07:00

Putting these first words in a brand new blog is like putting the first marks on a brand new canvas—except here I have no preparatory studies to guide my progress. Today I worked for 8 hours on a new egg tempera painting—the second start for this one. The first painting was done prior to attending a workshop with egg tempera artist, Koo Schadler. It was done on a panel from RealGesso, which was not coated on the back and had already started to warp. After the workshop, I learned that TrueGesso, makers of panels on untempered hardboard and gessoed on both sides to prevent warping, was back in business. This also gave me an opportunity to correct some issues with the drawing from which I was working.

I never expected to be working so freely in a medium so known for its linear qualities. I never worked so freely in oil. In fact, I had gotten into a rut and didn’t know how to get out. Here, I used sponging techniques learned in the workshop to speed up the process of laying in the first layers of paint—egg tempera is executed by applying many layers of paint—sometimes hundreds of layers depending on the artist’s sensibility. This building up of thin layers of opaque and transparent colors is the secret to the luminous quality for which this medium is prized. At this stage, my painting looks semi abstract. In the next session, which will probably be next weekend, I’ll begin rendering the form in the traditional “hatch” marks. Can’t wait—I’m obsessed with cross hatching!

How crazy that I waited more than 20 years to give this medium a try. Will I ever go back to oil painting? I don’t know.

This layering technique is strongly linked to work I did as a young artist back in the late 70s and early 80s—watercolor on handmade wood cut paper stretched over 3 dimensional grids made of balsawood. I built up color by laying in transparent water color with large hake brushes, alternating complements to form subtle grays that resonated on the paper. I find myself using those same color combinations now and achieving the same glow.

I seem to have overcome the fear of having nothing to say in my blog.