day four
Here's the progress, day four of this still life. And though I know it's redundant, I just love painting the glow of light flowing over the rich varnish of the violin.
with her
When Margaret and I were dating, she asked me one day "What do you want to do with your life?" I told her I wanted to be an artist, but it was unrealistic, as there was no way to do that and raise a family. She paused and said "You can be an artist and raise a family."
Eleven years later, my little wife lay on our bed, exhausted, her very body a cradle for the life within her. A baby in her womb, she lay on the bed, limp with fatigue. Always giving, always loving, always giving. Herself not for herself, her life birthing life. I sketched silently, solemnly, in awe of selflessness, of love.
"With her"
This time is difficult. Wait for me.
We will live it out vividly.
Give me your small hand:
we will rise and suffer,
we will feel, we will rejoice.
------
We are once more the pair
who lived in bristling places,
in harsh nests in the rock.
This time is difficult. Wait for me
with a basket, with a shovel,
with your shoes and your clothes.
------
Now we need each other,
not only for the carnations' sake,
not only to look for honey-
we need our hands
to wash with, to make fire.
So let our difficult time
stand up to infinity
with four hands and four eyes.
-Pablo Neruda, "With her"
"Con ella"
Como es duro este tiempo, esperame:
vamos a vivirlo con ganas.
Dame tu pequenita mano:
vamos a subir y sufrir,
vamos a sentir y saltar.
-----
Somos de nuevo la pareja
que vivio en lugares hirsutos,
en nidos asperos de roca.
Como es largo este tiempo, esperame
con una cesta, con tu pala,
con tus zapatos y tu ropa.
-----
Ahora nos necesitamos
non solo para los claveles,
no solo para buscar miel:
necesitamos nuestras manos
para lavar y hacer el fuego,
y que se atrreva el tiempo duro
a desafiar el infinito
de cuatro manos y cuatro ojos.
-Pablo Neruda, "Con Ella"
chess match
So, I wrangled my father in law and his brother into playing a game of chess, in my studio. I'm satisfied with the first day's work, after about two hours. The fifteen by twelve foot skylight produces such beautiful, overhead, diffused light. When I adjust the louvers correctly, it produces such a pleasant light on light effect, a low contrast which is such a pleasure to paint.
boots and brothers
My one brother lives in Memphis. My other brother lives in Colorado Springs. We used to all work in my dad's spackling company together. I hated spackling, but now that this season of my life is over, I look back on it longingly. I'm not sure, but I think I paint boots when I miss my brothers.
This is the part of the blog where an acoustic guitar starts strumming, James Taylor softly hums, and you get all teary eyed. Then, if you stare at my painting hard and long enough, you may just hear the voice of that narrator from the Wonder Years.
sharon
Here's a two day sketch of a woman I recently met. I began this painting during my last portrait class, and then worked a second day on it, today. It's a simple painting. Perhaps that's why I like it- I could just enjoy color, and light, in the quietest of paintings.
a day with liam
"Happiness makes up for in height what it lacks in length." -Robert Frost
And happiness is having my son Liam spend the morning in the studio with me, drawing as I paint. Sometimes I am in a moment, and it is as if I can hear my future self, straining to return to present self, to simply relive this moment again. Here's a look at some of our works, underway.
Today was the third day of working on this painting. It's a really fun painting to work on. Sometimes I just feel like delighting in the swirling vortex of reflections, it is surely the Escher side of my brain. But as well, this painting has an intentional, metaphorical side to it. It's actually a whimsical poem, of sorts. But the content is not for me to force, as there's nothing worse than a preachy painting- except of course a Rothko. But if I've done my job as the painter, the reader will discover it.
And I confess, Liam is much cooler than me. A Hess truck with a fighter jet on the back. And the second drawing is narrated as follows. "Da da, the guy on the left is me, a boy catching leaves, which are falling from the tree in winter. And that's you and ma ma, and you're happy." My son is obviously well trained in classical anatomy and ecorchet- just look at Margaret's pregnant belly.
what i love
Ok, I know we've all seen this before. But I just really love painting boots. If Chardin could paint onions and dead rabbits a million times over, then I claim the Chardin clause. Some days, I simply paint what I love, no questions asked. During the still life class which I teach, I thoroughly enjoyed working on this tiny, six by ten inch painting, as my students worked away on their own paintings.
baby's coming
If a purpose of this blog is to tell the story of a young artist with a family, then perhaps my bloglessness best illustrates my current state of affairs. I've been running about between studio, working with inmates at the jail, finishing portrait commissions, wrapping up classes at my little school. And now, my family settles into the quiet rhythm of domesticity, awaiting the arrival of our next baby. Margaret is due August first, and life is good. Please pardon the bloglessness, my every spare minute has been devoted to preparing bassinets, fixing rooms, hanging baby mobiles, etc.
There is an arch in my backyard, covered with English Ivy. For a few years now, I've had the hope of placing beneath that arch a bronze sculpture of my wife, holding one of our little children. And then, a short while ago, I was approached by one of my collectors, requesting me to do a bronze sculpture of a woman. They said they were interested in collaborating on the costs of bronze casting.
Though it's a practice of mine to not speak of something until it is a reality, I mention the possibility of this bronze for a simple reason. There is a scene on Lawrence of Arabia, in which a bleak, empty desert horizon slowly produces a hazy mirage. As the minutes go by, the mirage gains form, and gradually turns into a man on a camel, and finally materializes into Lawrence. Dreams are like that. Thank you, reader, for joining me as some hopes naturally fade away, and other dreams slowly materialize into reality.
the space in between
A fellow artist and I went out painting in Montauk. He is a fantastic painter, and is in a prominent gallery. The gallery owner has stipulated that he churn out innumerable sea scenes. Nothing wrong with a seascape, I really enjoy painting them, and thoroughly enjoy looking at them. As we set our easels up, he wryly said "Two parts blue, one part green." Inwardly, we both moaned- the classic two thirds sky, one third land.
Sure, in life we have to do what we have to do. But sometimes, we also have to not do what we have to do. I looked out on the Montauk commercial docks, and saw the hulking fishing boats, snoring and wheezing. I saw the ropes, bleached raw by the sun, covered with green algae down by the water. I saw the pilings. I saw the space in between the boats. I saw the space in between... I saw the biggest sign of protest that I could possibly paint, thrust in the face of those who would tell me what was beautiful, or paintable. Oh yeah, oh yeah- two parts blue, one part green? Here's the supporting background character being the protagonist, with the beginning at the end, and the piano melody being carried by the left hand, and the climax being placed at the bottom, anapest enjambing trochaic, dangling participles at will, the water and my mind intermingle, chronological order succumbing, no time narrative, no meter music, outside of space and time, both now and forever more. Amen.
You know, artists have temper tantrums too.
And the painting sold.
