Video Interview at Rabelais for Portland Food Heads

Erik Neilson has a Q&A video series called "Vidappetit," which he posts to his Portland Food Heads blog.

Check out the interview - HERE

How do people keep up with this stuff?

(please check out the Eli Phant and Rabelais sites - both places are very much worth a visit)

I don't know about you, but as you can see from the above invitations, I've been busy. Busy enough not to be able to post any of this stuff to the blog. I suppose this is very bad of me and not at all business savvy, but, man, there just wasn't any TIME. I had a hard enough go of it just finding time to add this stuff to the robsullivanart.com website, which, to me is a little more important, as it showcases my work, and not my written diatribes.

So, yeah, I was right out straight with these shows. I am happy to say that they were both successful in terms of my expectations. A lot of good people got a lot of good artwork for not a lot of money, and that's totally cool. Plus the food, the drink, and the excellent conversations with new people was worth doing this alone.

Just prior to the Rabelais opening, I was really spreading it thin. My post as adjunct faculty at Maine College of Art was solidified, and a syllabus had to be written, plus my MFA application had to be made, and, of course, the paintings had to be done for the show a week before, since a family vacation was planned for that last week in August. Somehow, I managed to do all those things. I will be the first to admit that I have poor skills when it comes to this level of multitasking, but when the pressure is on, it gets done somehow.

So, right after a wonderfully relaxing vacation, totally unplugged from the world out on an island in the middle of Casco Bay, it was suddenly not summer anymore. The kids went back to school and I went back into the front of the classroom at MECA. I am teaching the juniors (and a few seniors) in the illustration department, and the course is all about the narrative in illustration. Lots of stories, lots of preliminary work, lots of good stuff is already happening. But, man, was THAT sudden!

And tomorrow, I start my Continuing Ed @ MECA class of outdoor painting - which we will take indoors in a few weeks, taking a study from the outdoor session and making it into a "studio work." I've taught the same class at Sanctuary a few years ago, and got good results.

Maybe I will blog this stuff, maybe I won't have enough energy. I don't know right now. I'll give it a shot. But I think the world would rather see some new paintings from me than read stuff. Nevertheless, Studio Berehaven has served me well this spring and summer- it was more like a second home to me, I was there so often - and any new and excellent stuff that comes out of there will make it onto this blog at some point in time.

PS - Both these shows are still up if you want to see them in person! But, the Eli Phant show may come down soon, and work was taken that was sold. Nevertheless, the store is worth a visit, like I said. And there are PRINTS there! Yes! Also, the work at Rabelais is going fast! Two works were sold to a buyer from San Jose, sight unseen!

Well where have YOU been?!?!

Look, just chill out and have a pint ("Pint of Stout" oil on linen panel, 6" square). Let me fill you in, okay?

First of all, if you hadn't deduced it from between the lines here, my corporate day job was stifling my creativity BIG TIME. Frankly, the whole thing was getting me really, really down to the point where I had kind of gone into a shell art-wise and personality-wise, and it was becoming more than a bit noticeable around house and home. I stopped blogging because I had nothing to add, Berehaven-wise. It hurt to even be reminded of that, frankly.

So I stopped pre-holiday 2008/09, I see. Yeah, Christmas was fine: there was money for presents and New York City extravagances and the like. And I was so unhappy. But, I ain't no quitter, so despite my lack of desire for basically anything at this point, I stayed on at the office. Steady paycheck & insurance - this is our lot in life, right? The cliches are right: money is no substitute for happiness. Or staying true to oneself, for that matter.

Some bright moments during this time: My 15 year wedding anniversary, for one. Me & D. celebrated sans kids, and we enjoyed it immensely. Despite everything else, we're doing okay There's a lot more ahead of us, and plenty of love to keep it going. The other thing was a 25 year reunion with my elementary school buddies. You read that right. We were all pretty close growing up; it was a Catholic school that went from K to 8, and most of us were neighbors or pals of some sort. It was an absolute blast, and I love every one of those people.

Then, as February of '09 drew down to a close, and as the economy bottomed out so hard you could hear it like a thunderclap in a snowstorm, my company had a round of layoffs. I knew it in my bones that I was done. Sure, part of me felt afraid - afraid of what to do next, afraid of the end of our savings, health care, etc. But then there was that part of me that was like William Wallace getting his guts pulled out at the end of Braveheart: "FREEEEDOOOOOMMMMM!!" I even preemptively packed my things and wiped my hard drive clean. When I got the last bit down off my wall, the CD came in, looked around, and said, "Well I guess you know why I'm here." Yup.

The severance was okay, not great, but whatever - it was my first brush with the corporate life and perhaps my last, unless the REALLY right job comes along. At the moment, as we all know, that obviously is not happening. We're surviving, but happier - and let me tell you why...

I'm painting again. A LOT. For about 40 days (7 weeks, with weekends off), I 9 to 5-ed it at the studio and produced 28 new paintings. I was hoping for 30, but I didn't factor in some of the prep time, so there you go. I decided to go full on, alla prima, and plop a new still life every day on the stand. It was GREAT. What a catharsis of energy release! I created a theme, too, using my practical illustrator's sensibilities (heh). I decided to create a series for everyone. That sounds grandiose, but it's really the opposite. I chose items for the home, or from the home, that were interesting enough to keep me interested, and fun enough for others to find some connection. And since they are all the same size - small, at 6" x 6" - yet painted with true affection and attention to the singular object, I titled the series "minumentals" (lowercase intended).

Rather than describe it to you, you can see them at my website... www.robsullivanart.com. WHAT? A website? Well, I've been talking about it for friggin' months, already - isn't it about time? Damn right, it is.

Also, this idea was also designed with a show in mind. And guess what?! Yes! - the work is now up at Art House gallery in Portland, and will be there until June 27th. The opening went very well, and 10 pieces have sold (see my site for current availability) thus far. There is another mini-reception on First Friday, June 5th. I'd love to see you there!

And what else? Well, you know how much I loved teaching. Okay, if you don't remember - I loved teaching! It was just difficult, because NHIA was so far away. Well, problem solved. I am now faculty in the Illustration Department at the Maine College of Art. There is, of course, a story behind it, but the most important thing right now is that I'm teaching again, period. The chair and my co-faculty are just wonderful. I am looking forward to September with huge anticipation.

All right, that's a lot to digest, and now that no one is reading this blog anymore due to my neglect, it may have been superfluous. Whatever - I don't care, because I have made up for the time lost with painting! Yes!

Me, after the last of the minumentals went off to the gallery:

Lots of Bluster

Painting during a Nor'easter at Cape Neddick Point.

With the title of this post, you may think I'm referring to the current season of hurricanes, or perhaps even the political campaigns with which we are also being assaulted. But, no - no cleverness today. Turns out there are more readers of this blog than I realized (according to view counts), and because this is a public venue, I went through all my windy posts to make sure there was nothing too incriminating - about me or anyone else.

In all my long-windedness, I found nothing, save one niggling issue. Again and again, my candor about my art education always finds its way back to those who participated in it. As elliptical as I could be about things - such as names, for instance - my commentary still seems irksome to some, as if my intent is to offend and denigrate. Were that the case, I would try and do that to its fullest, Peter Schjeldahl-style.

But in all seriousness, for all the world to read, let me be clear on this: I absolutely value and appreciate all my teachers did for me. I would probably not have a career in art were it not for them. If you read the 3rd and 4th paragraphs of this post, I think it is understood that any shortcomings or stumbling blocks that I'd had after graduating were of my own making, due to my youthful naïveté. I readily admit to needing direction at that time, and I didn't seek it out as earnestly as I sought painting instruction. It was too much to hope, too expectant, to have someone come to my rescue. It would have been nice, but I have found through the years, that that kind of fortune rarely falls in my direction. And anyway, the ease of "nice" quite often does not yield anything of constructive value. It was D.I.Y. for me from then 'til now, and I believe that was the best way to form my artistic persona.

One corollary to all this: I taught at the BFA level, too, and I understand that as much as you can give to a student, it will never be all they need. It's impossible to provide that. However, it is one's duty to relay that very reality to the student because, at that point in their young lives, what you have projected upon them is all they know. The intangibles that the mentor carries are totally outside the realm of experience - as well as the understanding - of the novitiate. Just an insight into the fact that these intangibles exist and are essential for growth is enough direction for the otherwise hapless neophyte.

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.

Fight for Revival

"The practitioners within the gated community of contemporary art - that is, the artists and the critics who qualify their art - are, for all intents and purposes, a cult group. That cult has long since become the new Salon where the canons of accepted taste are enforced with a rigidity that would have made Bouguereau jealous. The only difference is that instead of a pedantic mastery of drawing, painting, perspective and rendering, we instead have a pedantic mastery of all the accepted attitudes about race, class, sex, and politics. Since skill is no longer necessary to practice art successfully, the only things left are: 1) appropriate subject matter (paradoxically, the more inappropriate the better); and 2) the right politics."

- Roger Kimball, "Why the Art World is a Disaster", New Criterion, 2007

"It doesn't matter what it is, you have to have something to fight. Doesn't have to be a mountain, but it has to be something. And it isn't important whether you win or lose - only that you keep fighting."

- Willi Unsoeld, mountaineering legend

Class-ified

Two more 20 minute poses of Kelly and Caribeth, respectively.

drawing room returns this Thursday, after a week off, and I am acting monitor. I do not mind this at all, as it is vaguely reminiscent of my teaching days. And yes, I still miss those days very much. I was offered an opportunity to teach a Spring/Summer session at Sanctuary Arts, where I had taught before. Christopher, the director, told me that people were still asking abut me, even though it's been almost 2 years since I'd stopped because of my new job. I am so flattered by this - and a little sad, too, as I had to decline. Frankly, it's just too much driving. I would have had to go straight there (25 miles south) from my current job, probably have to skip dinner, and drive 50 miles home at 9:30 PM. The reason I know this wouldn't work is because I've done it before without a full time job, and it was rough. If Sanctuary was in Portland, I would surely have done it. Heck, I'd still be teaching there, period.

I also miss teaching in BFA, as well. I just loved my students. So much energy (well, some of them), and eagerness to make art the lifeblood of their existence! - it was encouraging for me, absolutely. Teaching was perhaps the only job where I really felt 100% comfortable, because I knew how to do it, somehow. I never trained as a teacher, I just tell people what I know, and if they don't get it that way, I show them. It's pretty simple, yet there were a great number of students who would come to me from other classes - students whom I did not know - and ask for my help, because they'd heard or seen the results from my students. This was kind of baffling, and I couldn't understand why or how their teachers led them astray - or, more often than not - let them do "whatever" and figure it out on their own. How could they not see that the students needed them so much? I would never, ever refuse a student help, no matter what. I may have been a little goofy with my impersonations and silly humor, but in the end, everyone knew I was serious about painting and drawing, and that I was always looking for results. The students knew this was a fair practice, because they saw that I demanded no less from my own work.

The problem with teaching was (and still is) money. I could never make enough doing it full time to support my family, and I had to take a corporate gig. Had I gone for my MFA, I would be the Chair of Illustration at NHIA in Manchester, no question. That may have been okay financially, but in hindsight, perhaps it was best I moved on when I did. And frankly, the only place where I would even consider getting an MFA is the NY Academy of Figurative Art in Manhattan. Again, with a family of 5, how could this be done? And anyway, degrees mean very little when it comes to art, with the exception of educational job positions, apparently. No one asked to see my BFA for my current job, and I work in a full-on corporate structure! All they really cared about was the work. A piece of paper for which you paid 50k (or whatever) does not a portfolio make.

I have a lot to give, and I'd love to give it. I just want there to be some livable wage involved. It seems it's too much to ask for in the medieval hierarchy of education.

This Seat's Been Taken

All 20 minute poses from Kelly. We drew her last night, too, and she is consistently excellent.

I was a tad late last night (5 minutes), and all the easels were taken. Alex set me up on a chair configured like a drawing horse, which was wonderful of her, but I truly prefer to stand. I can't get far enough away from the drawing while sitting down. I need to sight-size as a whole in order to lay in the initial structure. It is far easier to adjust one's drawing in the early stages.

This is why I used to make all my students stand when working from life. Some of them complained quite a bit, but when I did a demonstration, they observed my pacing back and forth from the easel, observing far more than mark-making in the initial lay-in of forms. Noting the successful results of a 5 minute drawing, with all the proper marks in place, I informed them that I would not have been able to execute as quickly if I couldn't see all the forms at once. I could not play one against the other in the context of the whole. This refers not just to the model, and not just to the drawing, but to both at once. This kind of objective seeing is the foundation of sight-size.