I am working on an essay for my next collection which touches about the mid to late 70’s which was sort of classic age of vinyl culturally.
As I worked and had music playing I decided to do something different (for me).
This is 11×14
Sordid details following
I have always drawn, doodled and painted but just as a way to burn off excess energy. I was originally solely (in professional capacity) an author. As I mulled over a paragraph or scene I would draw or paint.
Not too many years ago I became more serious about my visual work and also started putting real work effort into it.
I feel very fortunate to now have an audience into what I am doing and who are not even necessarily aware that I write.
Part of my daily work schedule is now specifically for visual work. Aside from the allotted time and the nightly woodshedding in my Midori, I do also still draw as I mull over the words.
Occasionally I have a cross pollination, the pen will inspire the brush or vice versa.
This is 5×8 image tied in with an essay I am currently working on.
I was safely ensconced in my hotel room and ready to work. There was heavy marble topped table on wheels atop of whose curved feet I put my own while painting.
In between, i would walk up the hill for drinks and let strangers make confessions to me as i swirled the cubes in my glass counter clockwise with my left hand.
No one here would call to see when i would be out and about which then delayed the process. Instead I would see on the peripheral, people who surprisingly quickly, had learned where I liked to haunt, waiting.
My first stop would always be the record store. Everyone was always telling me that they were willing to accompany me. While it might have been nice to have company on the way, I had a process. I had learned with Tania that it was not enjoyable for anyone but myself. The record store was too hot, to my surprise after having walked back and forth between several bins, upon leaving I had spent way longer inside than I had realized.
I showed up to the cafes and bars with my brown paper wrapped purchases, ready to build an empty glass cityscape upon the tabletop with whomever had been waiting for me.
I am not anti drama, but I think organic things and beauty have more power. A pleasure for me is the ability to take some thing from my daily existence and then conjure it into my work.
It is not necessary and also has the potential to become a trap if an artist uses their personal lexicon of totems and symbols for every piece. But once in a while, the organics of it make for art which resonates emotion. Not necessarily as upfront dramatic as an artificially induced thing, it is of a more lasting impression to the viewer.
Lion Alone watercolor & paper 5.5×8.5
Disclaimer: I received no compensation/incentive for writing about this, nor was i given any type of review copies.
Up until a few years ago, I was hung up on finding “the perfect notebook (sketchpad)”. There were a few that were outright belly flops, more effort being put into articulate descriptions which initially caught my attention rather than actual construction.
Others, like my now ever present Midori Passport had a good system but do not exactly have that eventual heirloom feel to them.
I did not seek to start a collection and although I eventually ended up with several drawers of my taborets full of pads, it was not done at a maniacal pace.
Often I am on the road. Several trips I packed more equipment than I would end up using. Not a happy flyer, I like to pack as light as possible so my shoulders do not hurt, adding to already uncomfortable situation.
When one finds the most efficient or best way to do something, after the fact it seems so obvious that there is the self asked question “Why wasn’t I doing it this way from the start?”.
There is no “perfect” notebook as different situations, what is ideal or required varies. The one constant prerequisite was that it be refillable. Other than that, sometimes I need one which fits in a jacket pocket while at other times something larger or an in between size for a few day jaunt carry on bag.
I now have a preferred one for every situation. When not on the road but merely woodshedding, i mix it up, trading off which I use.
Despite now having my methodology down, I do still occasionally buy more notebooks. There is no rhyme or reason to it. A matter of if something captures my eye.
Using the last nubbin of a pencil which had been a great collaborator, I went to the store only to find they did not have any. Ordering it online, i decided to poke around for the hell of it. A less vapid version of shopping therapy.
My shelves groaned under all my books, I could not add to their number. I kept looking. I came across Le Vent notebooks by complete happanstance. They had two styles one which held 7×5 spiral bound notepad and the other a 8×5 sketchpad.
Staggered by a week or two I ended up getting them both.
Aesthetically, they are very different. The 7×5 looked like a new take on the classic portfolios that Torquato Tasso or Casanova would have kept their papers in. Modernized with two brass snaps to hold it shut in lieu of cumbersome leather straps. The leather was of surprisingly good quality. With leather goods, be it a bag, shoes or notepads there are nice things which daily life leaves its marks on, creating an “Oh No” effect upon initially being noticed. Then there are the leather good which do not mar so much as tell the story of where you have been, taking on a nice patina. These pads fall into the later category.
Unique among this type of thing, it opens and lays flat on the table which makes the act of writing for any length of time much easier. It came with two pads of thick good paper. As long as you size it correctly, any pads will work although the included brand is far from cost prohibitive.
The 8×5 sketchpad looks like a book with a snap buttoned strap to keep it shut. The leather is a different one from the other pad but of equal quality. The paper it comes with is a flat spined, sewn binding. The paper is heavy and has a vellum like smoothness to it. Again, any pad sized correctly will work.
All the times that I have purchased new notebooks, I use the paper it comes with, the main incentive being merely because it’s there. Rarely is the paper something which I would use regardless, often seeming an afterthought on the part of the company. This is paper which I would continue to use. It handles a little differently the what I usually use but I like to mix things up.
Their Site:
Here are my initial forays with my new notebook:
9×12 Graphite & Paper quick sketch
no one knew that the sky was open
purple silk languished until merely an afterthought
(Me)
This piece upon initial glance can seem an arresting or slightly off putting subject. Continued observation allows for awareness of the delicate coloration and despite subject matter, a beauty.
This dichotomy is what I was after.
The piece is part of an ongoing series “Drinking with Doctors”.
The paper is a mixed media paper 98LBs It is my second ever painting using this paper
Some of the greatest painters considered drawing not a preparatory work for painting but rather complete works unto themselves. I get as much pleasure drawing as I do putting brush to canvas and deeply share this point of view.
People talk of the “lizard” part of the brain. This might exist on deep subconscious level but i think closer to the surface of modern man is a simian. Few now are gracious in defeat or frustration of not getting what they want. I myself am constantly throwing bananas at my more primal self to keep him compliant as I make my way through society.
Urges 9×12 Graphite & Paper
Audrey wanted to do something different for her birthday which was one of those momentous numbers, more so for women than men. The thought of drunkenly lurching about town with some of her girlfriends all festooned with cheap feather boas while being too loud held not appeal for her.
She asked if I would paint her and then afterwards would be a party.
I agreed readily enough as there was something of an awkward swan or perhaps giraffe about her which I thought would make for a compelling piece.
There was no preconceived notion of how I wanted to put her, organic body language was of the most importance to me.
“How do you want me?”
I told her to just get in any position that was comfortable. While I worked fast, she still needed to be able to maintain the pose.
I began to study the way her shirt draped on her shoulders, the bunching of material at her wrists.
She settled by the window but there was too much light coming from behind her. Moving to the couch she stopped a moment inhaling then exhaling deeply as would a diver before a fall.
One of the buttons to her shirt went missing with a sound that reminded me of candy as it hit the floor. Now nude, Audrey took a Cleopatra pose on the couch.
To my surprise she was calm during the session. It was only afterwards, at the party she seemed to become a little giddy as she told people what she had done.
None of us want to talk about the weather. I understand the etiquette need for small talk. For someone who has just done something; come back from a trip, bought a house or dog, executed a painting, it is more fatiguing as the same comments and questions are presented over and over.
I did participate until I had encountered one example of everything there was to say on the matter of being an artist & the painting I had just done of Audrey.
I found a quiet corner to sit and nurse my drink. Audrey’s friends were all polite so that she could put out the good stuff and the crowd would show some restraint, allowing it to last the whole night as opposed to merely an hour as some other crowds would have done.
An old man sat across from me. He had on a short sleeve powder blue shirt in whose pocket i saw poking out an eyeglass case and the rounded end of a cigar. We gave each other the casual nod of our chins.
When I was younger and asked about my work or art in general there was an over earnest need to try to make people understand. Now I realize that , when it comes up in the casual conversation, at best it is on account of a mild curiosity. No one wants to to sit through a soliloquy on painting at some social function.
I had expended all my painterly small talk. A woman holding a martini glass at a perilous angle wandered over to our spot. She asked the old man:
“What is it that you do?”
“I…am what you call a tinkerer.”
A friend called to her from across the room and she flitted away.
“I was going to say that.”
He pulled out his cigar.
“Do you mind?”
“Not at all.”
As he lit up with three deep puffs his eyes twinkled.
“I know I am not supposed to be smoking in here but no one ever yells at an old man. An old man and midgets can get away with anything, taking the last slice of pie, over staying our welcome, anything. Because no one wants to reprimand us. One would think it would be similar for children but if a child annoys, you can let go at them and then make yourself feel better by telling yourself that it’s a teaching moment.”
The scent of his cigar was good. I thought of my grandfather’s study while imagining that Berlin now was very different.
“Audrey’s Birthday” 9×12 watercolor & mix media paper
“Sy” 9×12 graphite & paper
People have forgotten how to look at figurative art.
This largely is on account of the always present phones in our lives. Ever present and ever ready to capture whatever we deem important or interesting. The ability to now document the minutia of our lives has made it so that the “merely” representational images seem “off”, wrong or not impressive, so used to the availability of actual photos have we become.
Now, if you draw a person, it needs to be hyper real to be appreciated by the casual art peruser.
It is all right for a portrait to look like the subject but also like a painting/drawing.
We treasure the paintings of Matisse and while when he portrays a woman on a couch we know what we are seeing, no one is going to ever use it to do a technical anatomical study from. The emotion resonating from his work not technical portrayal is where the joy is to be found.
Another aspect which seems largely forgotten are the dynamics between artist & model. While most artists want to convey the likeness of their subject, ultimately it is as if the artist is describing the model using their words, words in this case being their style (technique).
A final important component in portraying a subject is that none of us look the same all the time. Mood, health, ambient surroundings all dictates changes on our faces, bodies and even body language.
I often use same people over the course of many works, each time there are little differences. This is not imperfection of technique nor chops operating only at a certain skill level.
Doing it right, a series of pieces using same subject is not dissimilar to Bird & Diz riffing off of Hot House. The basic structure remains familiar but with changes built off the initial theme, always slightly different but containing recognizable components.
Here is informal series I did. I never think of what I want to portray, I just execute what I see without agenda. After the first piece, this series showed a playfulness along with a bemused surprise at a until then, thought secret vulnerability.
Music Addict Paris ’18
Anytime one sees Paris on television or in the movies, as a character passes by a window or stops in front of one to gaze out and ponder some plot point, the Eiffel tower can be seen.
More often than not, this is not geographically accurate for where the action is taking place.
That aside, not a bad view to be sure. But I think there are more inspiring views which would have less ambient noise of tourists etc which can distract from living one’s life (working) in the city of lights.
Year after year I live in the same place, same arrondissement, in Paris. It is a working neighborhood, meaning no tourists.
However, every other door which is not a residance seems to be a bar or boulangerie.
I am ten minute walk from places to sketch like the Luxembourg gardens.
I have, after all these years become a part of my neighborhood.
When I am elsewhere in the world, I dream of being back. I have decades long relationship with my wine merchant, butcher, greengrocer and baker.
There is established level of comfortability that I know I can sit in a bar sketching on the sly and not be perceived akin to one of those people with their laptops “writing” to be found in every Starbucks stateside.
It kept raining off and on…steady rain would be all right people would click clack down the wet cobblestone streets holding a newspaper or their jacket, cape like, over their heads.
Sporadic rain, it got humid. Clothes got wet, then you find yourself cold, followed by a type of sticky as body heat working over time dries away the rain.
Stop-start of the skies festivities, people are just staying wherever they are at.
I am in one of the little intimate bars which despite my now having a studio, serves as an unofficial office.
There is a tall brown haired girl sitting alone at the bar. She wears a still wet dress whose true color is slowly being revealed as it dries.
I am at my usual table, stealing pieces of her with my pencil.
A guitarist is in the corner playing.
At first he is playing for her…his fingers conjure up abstractions which encapsulates something that could make one happy to be blue.
She is forgotten, now he plays for himself.
Her change on the counter, the cymbal fall, the end of a song.
He sees me, I nod.
I hold two fingers up to the bartender. He has never cared about busy versus dead nights so long as he sees the familiar faces of regulars over the course of the week.
We Klink our glasses.
I see him look at my sketchpad. Without hesitation I hand it to him to inspect.
He had originally wanted to be a poet using language and words as to convey the emotions which are now brought forth via his fingers. Words to make people feel.
I had wanted to, in my youth be a musician .
We had both found our way, just not in the manner originally envisioned.
Paris May ’18
Quick sketch
Paper Life Painting 