converge!
Those of you who know my wife, personally, are well aware of the grace and serenity of her carriage. She speaks softly, her mellifluous voice borne upon the winds of this world in airy dalliance, her strain a constant diapason of glee. And so it was with this winsome elegance that she entered my studio today, whilst I painted merrily, and she wistfully parted her ruby lips and spoke "What the heck, I read your blog today, and it's been terrible. I mean, wow, when was the last time that you had a decent entry. You gotta write some more, come on- jeez."
Sheesh, I'm sorry.
Truth be told, I'm painting more than I can ever remember. I've had several commissions going at once, I've painted a great deal with models, I've set up easels on boats at six in the morning on the South Bay. But, my hour of blogging has been redesignated, or rather, repurposed- instead of sitting down at ten in the evening with my laptop and a cup of decaf coffee, I strap on something called "Baby Bjorn." It is a front ended baby carrier which is delightfully similar to the gun holster of an undercover cop- every time I snap the baby carrier on, a saxophone lets out a long, smooth Chicago jazz note, a nearby streetlight slinks into my dark office through the crooked venetian blinds, and I become police detective McEvoy, ready for a night of cigarettes, hard liquor, and fearless crime fighting. But then, I realize that Quinn is screaming crying, and I grab some baby wipes and my sweet little three month infant, and I snap him in. We head out the front door. Quinn and I take long walks together every night, sometimes an hour and a half long. In the cool night air, we amble along wooden docks, we saunter along quiet main streets, we cheerfully watch the neighbor's homes flicker with the warm, romantic light of flat screen televisions. And by the end of the walk, thank goodness, Quinn is asleep.
And the past few weeks, I have been immersed in the upcoming show in New York City, "Converge." I am thrilled to say that I will be featuring my huge painting, "Inmates", at gallery 25CPW, located at sixty second street and Central Park West. I am so excited, as I will be showing with some of my favorite artists, both from home and abroad. I would be very pleased to have all of you come out to the reception, this Thursday, November 15th, from 6 til 9 p.m. The show runs until the 27th of November. Visit the website of the exhibition for more details, www.convergeartnyc.com. This is my biggest exhibition venue, yet, and so I am going to make a special offer- buy one painting for the price of two, and get the second one for free! Hope to see you there.
i'm well
Well, the big bad wolf (named Sandy) huffed and puffed, but my house is made of stucco and plaster. So, it didn't fall. No water damage, no trees down, and our power is on. Margaret and I are just so grateful, to have things running along- it would be pretty difficult otherwise, with two boys and an infant! And just as wonderful is the fact that my studio, with enormous 12 x 15 skylight, is watertight- no damage at all.
I've actually been able to get a load of work done. Portrait commissions have kept me busy, lately. And otherwise, a funky still life has emerged from my hands. This painting is about forty five minutes in. I think it's funny. No, I think it's hysterical. Reminiscent of my ol' vice painting, in my opinion. I would talk about the painting at length, but then, I don't want to bastardize the poor thing. I will say that I will be framing this with rusted steel, just like my other inmate painting. Excited to put another ten days or so of work into this painting.
You know, somebody at an exhibition asked me once, "When you paint, do you think of where the painting is going to hang. I mean, what kind of weirdo would put that up in their house?" The answer is, the statistic function on my blog informs me that regularly there are about seventy of you, checking in on me every day or so. It's comforting to know that I am not alone- many thanks to all of you weirdos for your kindred company.
Education, 18" x 24", oil on linen
velazquez, goya, sorolla, and me
Today, I took a bunch of my painting students to the museum of the Hispanic Society in Harlem, New York City. They have this baroque statue, right in the front as you walk in. I can't tell you how many people, in fact complete strangers, have told me that this statue looks like me. Next time I take my class in to see the paintings of Velazquez, Goya, and Sorolla, I will grow my hair longer, and have a faint goatee. Then, I will place my hand on the statue, and a golden beam of light will descend on my shoulders, and I will be able to paint like the Spanish Masters.
Perhaps I watched a wee bit too much MacGyver, when I was younger.
something i know very well
"There are always new emotions when I go back to something that I know very well. I suppose this is very odd, because most people need fresh things to paint. I'm actually bored by fresh things to paint." -Andrew Wyeth
the ark
His calloused hands dropped the hammer to the ground. His arm was weary from swinging, his knees stiff from kneeling. He looked up. Wiping the sweat away from his forehead, he shook the sawdust out of his hair. What on earth am I doing, he wondered. What on earth am I doing. I've chopped and quarter-sawed an entire forest, dragged the timbers up the side of this mountain. I've routed and planed and chipped and tarred and bored holes. I've lifted and dragged and hoisted. What on earth am I doing- I'm building a big boat. On the side of a mountain. On the side of a big, dry mountain, I'm building an ark, miles away from any water. And, I'm bringing my family, my sons, along for the ride.
Noah paused. He shook a bead of sweat off the tip of his nose. Where would the water come from?
He picked up his hammer, a nail, and with one heavy blow drove it deep into the wood, the smell of cedar released by the blow.
Where would the water come from? Would the water come from the sky? There's no such thing as water from the sky. Our water comes like dew, covers the earth every morning. Water never falls from the sky, we have no word for such a thing.
Jehovah Jireh... I'm building your boat, you will provide the water.
Another nail.
Another.
Here is my five foot by eight foot canvas, which I assembled today. I've dreamed of doing this painting for eight years. It will be the largest canvas I've ever worked on. I will not be sharing the future aspects of the painting- the subject I am planning, where it will eventually be exhibited. I have to allow the narrative of this painting to unfold gradually, step by step, blow by blow, nail by nail, over the course of the upcoming year. I'm pleased to have you join me.
carly
This is day three of a painting I've been working on. I am thrilled with the progress. The model has striking features, and the light in the studio is just amazing.
sean
Sean, oil on linen, 18" x 24"
About four years ago, I was over my best friend Dave's home. His son Sean was sitting at the kitchen table, eating Milano cookies, drinking milk, and reading Calvin and Hobbes. He was laughing out loud, reading each page with pleasure. Sean was the picture of contentment. To look at him was to participate in his joy, in that wonderful season of life, just before that growth spurt of early adolescence.
I turned to Dave and said "I gotta paint Sean. In just a few months, he's going to lose the boy. He's going to have a growth spurt, and then, it's all over- he'll be jumping out his window at night, wrecking your car, and setting the town on fire. It's all over. Quick, while he's still human." Dave understood fully well, and agreed that it was necessary to paint him soon.
Sean came to my studio, quiet and awkward. He sat down with his Calvin and Hobbes book, and he began to giggle. Giggles turned to laughter turned to guffaw. The only problem I had, in painting this piece, was that the model wouldn't stop laughing. I spent about three hours on the first day. The next day he came to my studio, I spent another three hours or so. I had another few sessions to go, in order to finish his hands, polish his facial features.
Then, as is often the case on the south shore of Long Island, Sean was raptured off to Fire Island, all before I had a chance to finish his painting. His family has a home in Fair Harbor, and the summer swallowed Sean into the sand dunes and salt spray of the Atlantic and Great South Bay. He came back to the mainland of Long Island three months later, about three to four inches taller. His face was longer, his voice was cracking, he was less inclined to the unrestrained laughter of childhood. I wanted to tell him that pirate ships and planks were incomparably more enjoyable than New York State Tax Form IT-201, that the Lost Boys were much better company than church deacon boards, that Captain Hook was a much better nemesis than the political party he may grow to disagree with, that... although Wendy might be hot, he couldn't go back to Neverland, should he continue along this spurious path.
Sean wouldn't listen. He is now six feet tall, handsome, built, with a deep voice. Fortunately, he has retained all of the kindness and warmth of his youth. But though he is now a man, here is my painting from four years ago. The soft, half smile of a boy, the joy of youth, stilled forever, a moment frozen in time for his father to hold on to, forever.
This following is a beautiful tune, called "Mama," and is composed by Edgar Meyer, and performed by Yo- Yo ma. In this tune, the bass is the voice of the boy, speaking to his mother.
Click here
figure drawing class
A quick study, done this evening. The evenings are getting dark sooner, and so it's done under electric light. I haven't had a chance to do such sketching, since the Cecil studio, in Florence.
