Tag: travel

Pocket Pads

I always have a pocket pad on me, more often than not it is my Midori w/ customized paper. I compulsively try different brands and set ups/ style.

I do in general prefer the refillable ones. There is something about having same pad accompany me all over the world and grow increasingly familiar in touch and sight for me.

There are some great non refillable pads out there too. Within my diverse collection of pocket pads they all fall within the 3×5 size range.

One thing I like about mixing thing up pad wise is that although they all are the same size each company’s paper has different properties. My voice remains present but each type of paper adding something of its own property’s to the mix.

It is akin to a musician using different instruments for different types of songs (think for example, Miles Davis or Jimmy Page)

Here are some quick sketches done on pocket pad of company I just discovered.

 

 

by Wayne Wolfson

Black Eye

I had the pleasure semi-recently of seeing a fantastic show in Paris of Tintoretto at the Musée du Luxembourg.

His mannerist style emphasized emotion over perfect harmonious proportions which had been the de rigueur template for (early) Renaissance painters. Some of his self portraits are among my favorite paintings. He showed himself, warts and all so to speak.

In this social media-Instagram  age, everyone goes for presenting an idealized version of themselves in self portrait. Or a faux-playful imperfection such as the pretty girl with her tongue sticking out.

My mantra has always been that truth is beauty and that truth is always in service to emotion. Emotion being  my personal raison d’etre for all my work.

When I do a self portrait, i do not look to send a message via symbols or program but stick to my raw reportage. It is me, as I am which is real, which is interesting.

 

“Black Eye” 5.5 x 8.5 Watercolor & Paper

blackeye Continue reading “Black Eye”

by Wayne Wolfson

City Street Scene

I have the pleasure of providing images for the upcoming Kris Correya movie; 4 Stories & a Funeral. The images will start and close each segment and also appear in the credits.

The movie covers the little known outside of India music scene in Mumbai which is kept alive and evolving by multi generations of passionate enthusiasts.

“City Street Scene” 9×12 colored pencil & Paper

 

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by Wayne Wolfson

Narrative Sixteen

Lucy had that way of looking both beautiful and tough that let me know that I would not be any good for her. At least not as promised by the end of countless movies.
I was looking for a hanger for my jacket as it deserved better than merely the back of a chair.
She was in the other room. I had said water would be fine but I swore that I heard the pa-pop of a cork being pulled, echoing the cadence too of a thousand French waiters hitting three fingers against puffed out cheeks and pursed lips in acknowledgment of their approval and that they will get on it right away.
Motion creates the illusion of accomplishment. Sharks are over achievers. Something caught the corner of my eye.
I had no idea where the light switch was and so decided to stand still and wait to see if it made its way into the strip of night sky that was spilling in through the ill placed window.

She came in holding two glasses. With a laugh:
“What are you doing?”
The light. A long centipede slowly crawled along the horizon line where floor meets wall.
It was all yellows and oranges with spots of molted black. There was a wet reddish piece of meat in its mouth which is managed to continue to carry.
I shuddered and rapidly slapped both my shoulders in confirmation that nothing was on me.
Lucy too was transfixed.
“I cant believe I used to smoke those things.”

W.Wolfson ’19

 

5×4 Quick sketch

 

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by Wayne Wolfson

Sky Bed

I capture what I am seeing in my work. It always gives me great pleasure, whether a series of quick sketches in my pocket pad or more fully realized works.

In Vancouver recently, I stayed way above the streets with a breath taking view of both the neon streams of the street but also to the left of me the port of Vancouver and the mountains behind it.

This is the view from my bed, a sort of urban impressionism. Colored pencils 9×12 colored paper.

 

 

skybed

by Wayne Wolfson

caro diario

Hustle & bustle of commissions plus holiday social commitments. In lieu of proper blog post here are some recent quick guerilla sketch things from my ever present pocket pad.

3×5

 

by Wayne Wolfson

The Sprawl

Please my friend, Nothing happens here ’till after10.We will meet at the Metropole and I will make you a party the proper way.

All my muscles twitched in anticipation but also preemptively in sympathy to how I would feel tomorrow.

They call it the sprawl. People seeking their fortune, power over others, their past, themselves or simply  distraction come here.

Often it doesn’t work out. Either to settle debt or naively thinking they will work way up to  better money and position people become window shadows, living come hither ads.

One grows used to seeing the writing silhouettes but always upon first entering the sprawl and encountering them one looks up, not necessarily a good idea here.

The higher up window shadows had to go further than mere writing & dancing to get attention. In compensation for attitude, entire acts could be witnessed occurring perhaps a floor or two before the rooftops.

Both my cheeks were kissed in the proper way as is only right. He clapped his hands together. Everyone nodded to themselves sensing the expansiveness of the boss’s joy to once again see me and hear me talk.

(Notes & images from the sprawl December 2018 W.Wolfson)

 

sprawl

 

by Wayne Wolfson

Boogie

Honey Child wanted me to touch her face, the lines of her body, memorization as a blind man might.

I took one of the rooms higher up as I felt it safer. The trade off was that unlike some of the better rooms, my one window did not look out into the courtyard.

At night when not actively pursuing anything, the Hyenas walked softly, their paws crunched on the sand as if it were snow.

This did not seem to bother anyone but myself. To my shame, when the  sun was at its most brilliant a pair of little boys would get the disregarded scraps of leather from the cobbler.  They would then almost completely bury them in the sand, leaving them there until the end of the day.

They would then go back and dig up their treasure. Over the course of the day the sand became hotter and hotter. Each grain burnt the leather so that it became dimpled like a more expensive version of itself.

While drinking mint tea these would then be made into wallets to sell to tourists at the medina.

I had my pen and paper to keep me company but sometimes that was not enough. I would play my records but not too much as i worried of some misfortune befalling the player for which i knew I would not be able to get parts easily.

Mostly I played James Johnson, Willie the Lion, Fatha Hines. Their looping frenzy seemed of another world to the locals.  No one ever complained as they were sure that it was part of some incantation similar to that of the men up in the mountains with their rams horn instruments.

“What do you call it?”

“Boogie.”

To them, the word had a deeper, primal,  meaning and i think it was better.

Fini

 

“Boogie” (1st painting new studio) 5×8 watercolor & paper

 

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by Wayne Wolfson

End & Start

 

Every true artist first works not at becoming famous but rather to create their own distinctive voice. This is a never ending process as even once established, there are things which add to it.

One factor, whether permanent or temporary is location. How does ambient light effect a piece? The actual walls & structure of a place, what one sees out the window and even activities engaged in when not in the studio. (For the most part not anything so literal as “I am in Paris so I am painting the Eiffel Tower”)

I do not think location should be the main factor dictating the timber of a piece. The artist’s voice is first and foremost, with location being akin to one of many spices thrown in the stew that further adds to the flavor.

After six fruitful years I am changing one of my studios. I em excited by all the new possibilities, grateful for all I got out of the old place (and hopeful that the walls can’t talk).

I am eager to get into the swing of things and it will be interesting to see what is added to my work.

(Last painting in old studio “Kristen” 7×10 watercolor & Cotton Paper)

 

 

by Wayne Wolfson

songs About Women:Song Two: To The Na

Second piece in ongoing series:

 

Song Two: To The Na:
She initially endeared herself to me when I discovered that if she or someone in her life were going on a trip (flying) she always said her goodbye as if it could be for the last time. The same mistrust of planes as I, acted upon.

She had a thing for feet which she insisted was not sexual, when I suggested it might be otherwise w/her male social media pals, she became incensed.
In short order, I was proven correct as most of us, especially on social media, are dogs.

In her anger & embarrassment, we didn’t talk for a year and a half.

Something about her eyes and the real estate around it reminds me of a Vasquez piece I once saw. Of course she is my kind of beautiful.

Halfway around the world, she popped into my head unexpectedly when late one night when Mar-Mar wanted to paint my toe nails. I said no and we all prowled the bars around Montparnasse ,eating olives and salted almonds out of tiny white dishes in between drinks, until becoming on the verge of queasy.
W.Wolfson ’18

 

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by Wayne Wolfson