Finding A Way

(from the top)
Princess of Edo - oil on board, 14" x 16" (circa 1994)
Martina & The Artist's Way - oil on board, 12" x 16". (2002)

There's 8 years between these paintings! A lot happened in that time, and a lot has happened since. On a personal level, there's too much to tell, and anyway, that's not germane to this blog. Artistically, there's a lot to tell, too - but I want to focus on the biggest changes.

After graduating from the School of Visual Arts, my intention was to hit the NYC pavement as hard as I could with my student portfolio. I acted far more confident than I truly was, but this was to my benefit when I got face time with art directors (which was always a difficult prospect to arrange). Very slowly, I built a professional portfolio, but I sort of plateaued at a level that was dissatisfying to me, both artistically and financially. Truly, I was getting bored with the painting process.

And 'process' is all it was: My mentor in the final 2 years of school was a great proponent of efficient process. And, I must say, it's a method that works incredibly well. It really informs you on a highly technical level, steeping you in the understanding of the "how" of painting. In so many art schools, this is a rare thing, so I must look back on this as an incredible benefit to my future as a competent artist. But, even though these skill-building processes were necessary and beneficial, I (nor any of my fellow students, for that matter) was not ever told that these things were not the be-all/end-all of painting. What I failed to see, being so young and impressionable, was that this method was just a template for future experimentation and growth as a painter.

What made it harder for me to see beyond process was the fact that I apprenticed with my mentor for an additional year after graduation. At the time, he never veered beyond the process, fully comfortable with executing everything with precision planning. Nothing was ever left to chance. All color values were pre-tubed. Photo reference was projected into place. The gray glass palette was gridded in order to place the predetermined color values in their proper order (1-9, lightest to darkest). There was a brush holder labeled for 4 tiers of 9 brushes, each one for one value only; you laid in paint one color at a time. He was certainly no hypocrite - he practiced exactly what he preached. Therefore, this is what I thought true painting was. He was successful, so why not imitate him as closely as possible? If only someone could have told me that this was a dead-end path. He never did - it was sort of to his benefit that I didn't know. But things like this were never discussed, anyway. But, I can't blame anyone but myself for hyping what I'd learned beyond what it really meant.

Yes, this uber-logical approach to painting began to wear on me. It was no fun. So I stopped for 6 months. I worked in various environments, from bookstores to vineyards, but I missed the creative part of me. I started up again, but this time, I kept my pre-tubed values (I still have a lot of those tubes!) in the drawer, and mixed color on the fly doing little still-life setups. I found that I knew all my values cold without the aid of grid, chart or premixed color. The thing that caused me a bit of smiling chagrin is the realization that I had always known these things ever since I'd completed my official course of study. I was just using the process as a crutch. It was a comfort zone I was too naive (and maybe afraid) to break from. With new confidence, I revamped my portfolio and got into a solid agency who repped me for the next 7 years.

Then my illustration career ended. I was disenchanted with the choices my agent was making for me. I had also just moved to Maine, and was inspired by Wyeth country and the eternally lingering aura of the Hudson River School painters who so loved Acadia and the Maine coast. This heralded my embarking on a career as a fine artist. I also had no idea what this meant or what to do. I floundered for a while. I became an elite athlete (road cycling), but not a better painter. I had no true focus.

Then a couple of things happened. I realized that I was still relying on photo reference too much, so I attended a few local life drawing sessions. It was a little sad to see how rusty I had become in this department, so I decided to re-immerse myself in the difficult task of figurative work. The models I worked with had a big impact on my work, but none greater than Martina. She was a beautiful and vital German woman with an artistic eye of her own. We became close friends, mostly because she was so sharp and saw right through my rationalizing about my lack of artistic focus, and I knew she saw it. I never had known anyone so direct, and it was refreshing. Of course, she was not American, so there you go. She was a muse for me in a difficult artistic period.

At this time, I became aware of Bo Bartlett's (see link to the right) work through Jamie Wyeth's suggestion (yes, I knew Jamie - or, at least, he would talk with me when I saw him on Main Street in Rockland: "You're that young illustrator fella," he'd say). At the time, his website held a link to Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way. Curious, I checked it out and eventually bought the book. Skeptical, I tried it, and I was hooked. The serendipity that is part of the process came into full form when Martina called me one morning and told me of a new artist's residency that had one spot left for a Maine artist. I called the director of the residency, met with her to show my work, and that was it - I was in. For 6 weeks I painted at the Robert MacNamara residency, and there I immersed myself in plein air, painting outdoors whenever possible. I had never learned how to do this, and finally I had the time to teach myself. It was a huge step for me. All the facets of painting were beginning to come together.

Of course, I am still learning. A four-year stint of teaching at the BFA level taught me that painting is an eternal process. For example, even the recent Utah trip was a huge painting lesson for me. I want more. I need more. My day job as a corporate illustrator shows me how stagnant art can be if it's just rehashing what is deemed successful (by "successful," I mean the bottom line of the spreadsheet). At the end of the day, I sometimes feel beaten down by the incessant banality. But it is within my power to get past it. I may sound arrogant when I say that I am beyond it - but if I didn't believe that, all would seem kind of hopeless.

If I have learned anything from my experiences to this point it is this: Nothing is fixed - true art is fluid. I await with great hope the next opportunity. And as I wait, I will keep painting in preparation.

Early Spring

This is Rachel, Early Spring oil on linen, 14"x17". In the detail shot you can see drawings of Rachel on the wall, and I found a scan of one of them. I think this drawing is possibly from the first session I ever had with Rachel - a drawing group at Round Top Center For the Arts in Damariscotta. She was a totally unique person in so many ways. She was rather shy and very soft-spoken, but she preferred to be without clothes, and was perfectly comfortable that way. She is an artist herself - a painter- as well as a dancer and consummate yoga practitioner. Those things combined made her one of the best figure models I've ever come across. She was also very sweet, and could be pretty silly and funny, as I found out when we got better acquainted. I should mention that she was also a gearhead, and could swap out a transmission on a Subaru faster than I could change an oil filter.
This particular painting was a kind of breakthrough for me, because it was a consummate disaster from the get-go. I had recently purchased the John Howard Sanden book on alla prima (or in his words: premier coup) painting, and I had designs to do a painting of Rachel with no study and no underpainting in one - maybe two - sessions. Like I said, it was a disaster as far as my initial idea was concerned. But I really wanted to finish this thing and make something out of it regardless. Rachel was game, so she sat for me for I don't know how many sittings. At one point I thought I was done, but coming back to the piece a few days after a session, I realized that her head was totally misaligned on the shoulders, and no amount of fancy rendering could cure it, so I sanded it out. Rachel came the next week and was totally floored that her head was gone. I repainted it, and when I was done, she told me it was the best likeness of her that she'd seen so far - and she modeled for a LOT of people. It's true, she has a unique look; what with her aquiline features and dramatically bowed lips. It was hard to capture these things without concentrated objective observation. And even though the paint surface is not what it should be, her likeness is true.
I look at this piece now, and now that I know so much more about the physical properties of oils, I can see I was very flawed in my technique here. However, it was all an important experience, and I have to thank Rachel, as she stayed with my not-quite-there-yet vision on this one. She was also a good sport in another way. Notice the leather pants hanging from the window. She showed up one day wearing these - a new purchase - and I remarked, "Look at you in your rock star pants!" She was abashed, and sought to hide her embarrassment by getting naked. That was Rachel, and that's why I had to include the pants.
For my growth as a painter, I feel that I need to re-visit this kind of painting. It's really quite difficult, and can send an artist to a new level if you can get through it. I just need the right model.

Covered in Titanium White

...At least, with all the snow we've been getting, it's a rather monochromatic palette outside. A snowblower would have been a good investment this year. Instead, I have an aching back and two broken shovels to show for winter's crystalline precipitation.

Progress on "Gnomon" is good. I knocked in the sky this Saturday, which I'm happy about, as studio time began late because I took the family to DeLorme. I'm a bit of a geek about maps, and the kids have a bit of a penchant for it, too. Plus Eartha, the 42-foot working globe is cool for just about any kid. Anyway, I need to spend more time in the studio other than Saturdays, if I'm to get anything done in a timely fashion. This Thursday may be a good time, as drawing room is booked for the next 2 Thursday nights. *edit* Okay, since I haven't actually posted this yet (it's now Friday the 15th) I can say that I did work at Berehaven this Thursday. In fact, I was there ALL DAY! It snowed yet again (apropos!). This time it was so bad during morning commuting hours, that I took the day off work. An excellent decision all around. I painted quite a bit, and ran into some pictorial problems in the water. I pushed one kind of resolution, but I'll have to go back and see if it worked. There are other solutions, so I'm not too worried.

So I was talking about life drawing before... I had intended to post something regarding drawing room specifically. It has really been a great find for me in a number of ways. The most obvious thing is the practical exercise of drawing the figure from life. It is truly the most demanding of artistic disciplines for the representational artist. To wit: if you make a mistake, even the non-artist will see it. It's not like a landscape where you can move a rock or opt to not paint a tree or some such. If you don't draw the model's nose, it will be missed. There have been not a few Thursday evenings when I've been quite mentally whipped from dealing with the artistic compromises I must make on the job. Honestly, all I want to do at those times is have a drink and watch a movie; a mental vacation, if you will. But, instead I go to life drawing and tighten my focus on my drawing: really observing and delineating shapes; moving from general to specific; and being as objective as possible. It's exhausting, but it's more like exercise in that there's a kind of creative endorphin rush, and I end up feeling 100% better about the state of things when it's over. Which is why I need it every week. I was able to sublimate this week with an impromptu visit to the studio, so I'm good for now. And tomorrow, I go back, which is excellent.

I've been quite stretched out over the past few weeks. Tennis on the weekends - especially mixed doubles - is too much. It's money and time, and not nearly enough exercise to show for it. I was actually undefeated this winter, but I can't say that it means anything to me. I obliged some friends and played on their team and I did my job. The team didn't make Districts, so I think we're done. And just when I thought things were going to free up, the Men's Leagues are starting in March. I have a certain obligation, so I guess if I get the call (and I will), I'll have to play. I don't know how to fit all this in so it doesn't create conflicts. Bleah.

Oh, I nearly forgot - I've met some great people at drawing room, especially Alex Rheault, the artist who is the lifeblood of the thing. She is awesome and full of great creative energy. I am very thankful for all her efforts. Also, I was re-acquainted with a young artist who is also a lovely singer, and sang for my good friend Phil when he was Choir/Music director at the Cathedral. She's diligently exercising her hands along with the rest of us on Thursday evenings. The models that Alex hires are very good, and there is one with whom I'd love to work in the future. She reminds me of Nelson Shanks' model, Sophia, with her very fair skin tones, full features and dark red hair. She's a painter as well, so that's a big plus. Another model was someone with whom I'd worked quite a bit at the Institute. She's very experienced, which makes it so much easier to draw, as you don't have to worry about the model's obvious lack of comfort, or the pose "sinking," and what have you. They're all very good, overall, and the variety of body types and level of quality poses is high - and again, I have Alex to thank for that!

This post meandered a bit, so I'm going to move on. I'll see if I can't post some life drawings on here. They're piling up - which isn't a bad thing.