The Business Side of Things

On my website I claim that this blog will give viewers insight into what makes artists tick. What really makes artists tick the best is spending lots of time in the studio. I'm happy to say that I have been doing a lot for the past several months.

Now I'm making an effort to take care of some of the business side of things. Without that, the art will never actually leave the studio.

Last week I developed an ad for private art instruction in my studio to place in a local, art-focused paper. I'm hoping to have a few new students by the end of October.

Monday I refreshed some items on my Etsy Shop and will soon be adding some new small watercolors to that site.

Tuesday night I sat in on an amazing live webcast by Xanadu Gallery in Phoenix Arizona. Each year they do a mentorship with a different artist to help take their careers to the next level--new web site, bio, presentation materials, and eventually a solo show at the gallery. All of the artists who competed for the mentorship are permitted to watch the mentoring sessions live on Google Hangouts. It's a great way to learn and meet other artists.

Wednesday I set up the email sign-on form in Mail Chimp so I could add it to my web site.

Thursday I reviewed my website and the code I would need to make updates.

Today I spent a marathon session updating my website. A lot of artists pay someone to do that but fortunately for me (or unfortunately depending on how you view it), I learned some basic web development when web sites were a brand new marketing tool at one of my many day jobs. I integrated the email sign up for my newsletter and updated a lot of my images with professionally shot images (something I can't do myself).

That is not to say I haven't been painting. I still managed to get in 2 - 4 hours of painting after work at my day job.  I'm still working on my Circus Summer piece. I'm at the stage I usually reach when I'm about three quarters done where I think I've totally ruined it. I usually manage to pull through. Let's hope that's the case here.

Messy Met

Messy Outside: Last Thursday I went into the city to attend an opening at Debra Force Fine Art. As this didn't begin until 6 pm, I decided to make a day of it and spend the afternoon at the Met. It's been at least a year since I visited the Metropolitan Museum. As I approached 5th Avenue on the hike from the subway stop at 86th and Lex, I was surprised to see the mess outside--construction barriers covered with yards of colorful messages printed on cloth banners assuring passersby that the Met is still open as they overhaul the area in front of the museum. Once inside, I found it as cool and organized as always. I had no plans to see a specific show. Mainly, I was seeking guidance for a painting I'm working on that only the old masters could provide.

Green: I was especially interested in seeing how artists working in a detailed manner controlled the color green. My new piece, Circus Summer, includes a suburban lawn and shrubbery that covers at least 1/3 of the surface. Green is difficult to control and can be really icky. How green was green? How neutral could I make it and still have it read as green. How strong could I make it without overpowering the figures? First I encountered this Death of the Virgin by Vivarini--an artist and work with which I was not familiar. The green landscape in the background stayed in the background. I needed that to happen in my work.

Pink and Blue: Then I encountered a Birth of the Virgin by Fra Carnevole, which I photographed not for its use of green, but for it's combination of pink and blue. I'm going to keep this in mind as I work out the colors for the costumes of my piece, Circus Summer (more about that in future posts). The blue here is so dominating. The use of lapis lazuli was proof that no expense was spared in the execution of this work. The blue is certainly beautiful but I find it distracting. Come to think of it, the Death of the Virgin is also a study in pink and blue.

Barriers: Since my last visit, the European painting galleries had been totally refurbished--including new cord barriers around all of the walls which I found incredibly annoying. I could no longer lean in to see the detail work in the paintings without risking falling into them. They placed at exactly the right distance to prevent me from seeing clearly with or without my glasses. I will have to resort to binoculars next time.

Treasure in a Darkened Room: Of all the beautiful works I saw--old friends and new finds--I was totally blown away by a multimedia piece I literally stumbled upon. That was William Kentridge's Refusal of Time. I sat mesmerized in a darkened room for the better part of an hour and left only when they herded us out because the museum was closing. The room was large and dark. There were chairs scattered about so we could sit. There were 5 large movie screens--2 on the side walls and 1 in the front. Sometimes film images were duplicated on all or some screens. Sometimes images were projected as a continuum and progressed around the room from screen to screen. Sometimes there were complementary images on each screen. There was music and sound. All the while, a kinetic wooden sculpture moved in the center of the room moved back and forth like a beating heart or an atomic clock. There was history, time, sound, images--both representational and totally abstract, both politically charged and aesthetically driven. Anyone who has any interest in video, film, or mixed media has to see this piece. I can't describe it--I'm sure the Met can describe this new acquisition better than I. Better yet, go see it before it closes on May 11.

Spot Red
James Jebusa Shannon

Farther Downtown: By the time I left the museum, it was late afternoon. My final stop would be Debra Force Fine Art, located on 69th Street between Fifth and Madison. I took a leisurely stroll down Fifth Avenue along the edge of Central Park to see this show of portraits and other works by the little-known contemporary of Sargent and Whistler, James Jebusa Shannon. Seeing these sumptuous works in the drawing room like setting afforded by Debra Force Fine Art was a treat. I worked for Debra in the 1980s when she was corporate art director for Cigna Corp. A specialist in American art, her fine establishments focuses on American Art of the 18th, 19th, and 20th centuries. She and her staff research and mount thought provoking exhibitions of famous and lesser known artists. We can learn so much from their work.

Afterwards, I strolled down Fifth Avenue to the 53rd Street E train station, and was on a Red Bank-bound North Jersey Coast Train by 7:30.

Unexpected Outcome on a Dark and Rainy Night

Woman with Pink Headbband
8 x 5" watercolor

Sometimes you don't know what the day will bring--or the night. Today is Wednesday. Each Wednesday night from 8 to 10, I join a dozen fellow artists at the Art Alliance Gallery in Red Bank to share the space, chatter, and a model and paint or draw for 2 hours. Except on the last Wed of each month when this coop gallery is receiving art for the next month's show. Then, if I have a submission, I arrive early to fill out the paperwork to submit my piece to the jury.

Tonight I got there in plenty of time--put out my little work table and chair to secure a spot where I would get a good reflection of the model in the large studio mirror (reflections make for deeper space and much more interesting compositions). Then I submitted my piece--two small watercolors done on prior Wednesday nights.

 Lo and behold, 8 o'clock rolled around and there was no model. We milled about. Hemmed and hawed. When it was established that there was a bona fide mix up and the model was just not late, I stepped up to the plate and sat for the group. As a young woman I had worked as a professional model and so knew how to strike a good pose. I'm just not as young as I once was so holding the pose was a bit tough. It was funny to be back up on the stand hearing the conversation around me. Attendance was light as it was raining buckets and everyone seemed to find a vantage point that pleased their sense of design.

As I sat there, frozen in place, I worked out the strategy for the new egg tempera piece I'm going to start on Friday. Will I sponge on colors? Which ones? Will I make a mask? Of the figures? How will I keep the green of the large expanse of lawn from overpowering the piece? All of this ran through my head against the backdrop of brushes scratching canvases, charcoal on paper.

This was not the way I had expected the night to play out. But it was good. Everyone quit by 9:30. By that time, the juror was done selecting the work for the show. One piece got in and one didn't. So if you are around Red Bank this Saturday night, stop by the gallery from 6 to 8 PM and check out my little watercolor, Woman with Pink Headband. There'll be lots of other interesting art, people, and snacks.

I wrapped up the rejected painting in bubble wrap and plastic to protect it from the downpour and plunged out into the rain.


 www.eileen-kennedy.com

Happy New Year

Happy New Year. Here I am implementing yet another news year's resolution--don't neglect my blog. Pretty pathetic after a more than 2-year hiatus. Actually, today I start a pretty scary adventure. As of today, (with a little help from Obama-care) I am no longer officially employed full-time. In an attempt to de-stress my life and spend the 20 years I have left doing what I love, I have taken a part-time job with a local non-profit (I can walk to work!)so I can do an amazing thing--actually sell my art. Who would have thought. Of course, I've just spent my last paid vacation getting over the flu. Even so, I've managed to gather all of the elements needed to put up an Etsy shop, which will go live some time over the next 2 weeks. I've also tried to reach my other 2013 goal, which was to complete my egg tempera painting, Wetlands. It doesn't look like I'm going to make it, but I'm might close. I started this in August, after I learned to make my own gessoed panels at Koo Schadler's workshop in New Hampshire. It's getting mighty close. Wishing you a creative and surprising 2014.

Wednesday Completed on Monday

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

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

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

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

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)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.