Taking the Scenic Road

Do you ever feel that force majeure is getting in the way of settling on a planned route?

You go on the freeway with a destination in mind, and suddenly you see an exit that calls for you, and you take it, surrendering to your gut feeling?

I have quite a few paintings in my queue. I'm still working on the untitled acrylics guy; I have another version of my grandfather in mind; I really need to start that commission; I already did the drawing for a new painting that's been marinating in my head for a while; I . . .

. . . and out of the blue, my sister has emailed me this incredible photo of our father (who died just over a decade ago). It's a photo I've been dying to have, a very unique capture of him a couple of years before he died.

OK, you know what's that means - I tossed everything aside, cleared a little space on my overloaded desk in my insanely messy studio, grabbed some watercolor paper, dipped my brush in some paint and just followed my overflowing heart. Two hours later, I was done, and exhausted.

And to think painting my grandfather seemed like an emotional journey... well, Einstein's theory of relativity was proven, yet again.

The painting got quite a few constructive comments at our critique group, which I agree with in the sense of design and composition. However, I realized it may have been a mistake to bring this kind of painting for critique. To me, it was all about the courage it took me to paint him, the feeling I had when I was caressing his face with my brush, and my success in capturing exactly what I was going for. The elements of design were not at the top of my priority list with this one.

So, that was quite a detour from the "appropriate" way to paint. And it made me realize that taking the scenic road from time to time - even if it doesn't lead to a preplanned and well defined destination - is OK. It's more than OK.

We'll be taking a lot of scenic roads in the coming couple of weeks. The JohnnyB is in dire need of a vacation, and due to the restricted time-window dictated by his work, we found ourselves on a spontaneity spree in a very fast-forward mode of pondering-considering-discussing-deciding-arguing-deciding-doubting-deciding-stressing-deciding-booking-planning a 2-week timeout.

To contrast the hectic pace of the Bay Area, we chose one of the more laid-back countries in Europe, that seems to be beautiful and charming and welcoming and different, with a language neither of us speaks.

Portugal, here we come!!

Of Values and Emotional Value

I know I've made this statement about quite a few paintings, and then got distracted by another image that excited me. But here I go again: this may be the beginning of a new series.

My sister has been going though our parents apartment, and sent me batches of scanned family photos that awash me with waves of nostalgia. One photo in particular had a special compelling effect on me. A photo of my grandfather. It was taken by my father about 50 years ago, which means no Photoshop or any form of cropping was applied. Still, it has a close-to-perfect composition, brilliant division of space, interesting big shapes - and beyond that, it captures a quiet moment of self-indulgent. I fell in love with this photo, and it haunted me for weeks. Being a photo of my grandfather whom I've never met (he passed away before I was born) taken by my father who's also gone, doubles its emotional value, converting trying to turn it into a painting into a daunting task.

And yet, I just had to...

Needless to say, it's caused me to put aside other images I was working on, but - I've decided to stop fighting it. I guess I'm not falling into the disciplined artists category. I'm rather an urge-driven impulsive painter. I paint what excites me, what pushes me to take the brush out and dip it in purple paint (gotta be purple to begin with).

I started with a very quick capturing I did a couple of months ago, responding to the composition of the photo that's impressed me so. I simply went for a wet-into-wet wash of the continuous dark shape, adding some trapped shapes to hint the features. Took me 10 minutes or less and still, I managed to screw up the wash as it dried up on me. Ah well, working on low-grade paper cannot lead to great results. One day I may actually abide by this rule.

Christmas came and went, a visit to the cold north interfered with my painting inertia, but a month ago I sat myself in my studio and went for it again.

Since I haven't really painting for such a long time, I went for the most forgiving surface: Yupo.

In the first version, everything but the face was a disaster: the cup was way too big, the hand holding it seemed awfully tiny and deformed, the coat turned to be a big lumpy blue shape, and the walking cane became so dominant it looked as if it's trying to take a sip from the HUGE cup of tea.

Apparently, during these many months of not painting, I forgot the first rule of "step away from the painting and evaluate it from far away".

And so it happened that the first time I did that step-away-from-the-painting was when I showed it to a group of fellow artists... Ahhh, the shame!

In such cases, it's very tempting to give up and toss the brush aside. That's the easy way. And since I never go for easy, I decided I can - and have to - do better than that.

Back to the drawing table, I said a short blessing on the kindness of Yupo that enables you to erase undesired areas with a damp paper towel. Following that step, I put a few more hours into it, fixing proportions, improving the drawing, adding color, variety, unity, balance, rhythm - hmm... actually thinking. Oh, and I have learned so much about hands from this painting!

It's finally at a postable stage; still needs some tweaking (I know, I know, the hands...), but I am starting to be quite pleased with it. Only now I think it's too much on the realistic side. Typical for the first of a series, which is usually a representational rendering of the reference - be it a photo or a live model. Now that I got that out of my system I want to move on and take it beyond, towards abstraction.

That is, unless another image comes along and captures my heart.

Attitude Named Wenda

There are days when you have zero motivation to go to class. The weather's gray, you are late and in a rush, morning started bad, as you went to your critique group meeting after weeks of missing it, but since you've arrived last, by the time it was your turn it was also time for the parking police to come after the money of those who did arrive in time, plus you have to rush to class. So you don't get to show your art. Which sucks, as you know it was one of those days when you'd have gotten good inputs.

Yet you make yourself go. Because it's the last session with a model. Because the model might be the legendary Crow and you don't wanna miss on him. Because you finally got a decent armband for listening your iPod while drawing. Because you know that when you really resent going, it can turn out to be a great class.

So I dragged myself into the car, loaded it with the drawing supplies (that were left at home, needless to say), and whined my way there.

But all my bitching came to a halt when I set eyes on the model.

She was all attitude, in the best way. That is, attitude and long fiery red curls.

And her name was Wenda.

And she brought accessories and different hats.

And she went for poses just long enough to capture her without overworking.

And she didn't just sit there. Oh no, she was posing with all her might, pouring her personality into it.

She was the clothed model from the dreams, and you could tell she was having fun.

So was I.

That new iPod armband?

Haven't even taken it out of my purse. Now, that's what I call inspiration.

Nationally Exposed

The Palette Magazine is my favorite art magazine. Written by two wonderful artists, Skip Lawrence and Christopher Schink, it is aimed at helping fellow artists push the envelope . As opposed to many art magazines out there, reading it does not entail getting attacked by countless renewal leaflets, and it has zero ads. (Yup. Zero).

Each issue is dedicated to a different subject, written in a fun cynical humor of the two authors, focusing on design, color, expressiveness and everything good about art.

So, the previous issue called for artists to send their self portraits. Several of us submitted our self portraits, and awaited the verdict with bated breath. The other submitters I know got an acceptance reply very fast, while I became an obsessive compulsive clicker of the "Send/Receive" button, checking my email every day, every hour. . .

. . . after two weeks, I've had it. with trembling fingers, I typed a polite question to one of the editors, asking him whatever happened to the four images I've submitted. He replied promptly, saying he is so glad I wrote, as somehow the portraits I submitted got misdirected. He then added "I've found your 4 images and captions—exactly what I need. Good paintings. At least one of them will be in Issue #28, due out around the end of December or the first of January.".

Good news, right?

And yet - due to my natural skepticism on such matters, I thought to myself "Ah, he must be saying that to all the girls", and kept my expectations on a cautious level. You live, you get rejected, you learn.

The busy holidays season came and went. A new year has cometh, and no magazine.

Last week, WackieM told me with excitement that her well-known painting has made the cover of the magazine (I am highly amused that she is still surprised by its success; what part of 'this is a very unique painting' is not clear?). I kept waiting. And waiting. And watching in disbelief as the postman was passing our house without approaching.

And suddenly, on Monday night, I see a message from a friend on my Facebook page, telling me how excited she was to see my painting in that magazine.

The next day, LimaB emailed me happily, informing me that mine indeed made it. A similar email followed from MembieK.

Cool, so I'm in.

But which of my four images made it? I called her for a thorough investigation, and was ecstatic to hear that it's my collage, which is one of my favorite pieces and definitely my favorite self-portrait.

Needless to say, the magazine hasn't arrived yet to our humble premises, so it was still all a hearsay - until MembieK brought the magazine to class today (thank you Thank You THANK YOU!) and I finally got to see it with my own eyes - and document it with LumiB's lens. This is the time to mention that MembieK also has a wonderfully expressive self-portrait in this issue.

Still no sign of the magazine. I am starting to suspect that the postman is boycotting our house (no mail whatsoever for 2 days now!). So I am still waiting. Who knows, one of these days the magazine may actually appear on our doorstep (or, more likely, in the mailbox). Hope springs eternal.

Oh, for the record: the quote underneath my self-portrait (the one at the top-left), stating "I loathe my face" is not mine. It's by Francis Bacon. I happen to live with my face quite peacefully, thankyouverymuch. Don't know why they decided to juxtapose it the way they did. Better check what quote they posted under MembieK's face...

Jet Blue Art

So, after the initial delay of our flight, came Tuesday night, and we are on a plane to the East Coast.
A red eye flight.

The plane is overheated. Way overheated. Like, way Way WAAAAAAAAY overheated.

And because we were transferred from a flight that got cancelled 2 days before, I find myself stuck in the middle of the 3-seat row, between two strangers. (The JohnnyB is stuck in the row in front of me, between two other strangers, only his strangers are nicer).

The guy on my left is eating a sandwich with his mouth full open, chewing for the whole world to share his pleasure, and then - just when I am certain my nerves are strung to the maximum with his gastronomical concert of wet masticating, he decides to treat everyone to a grand finale with a bag of potato chips. Yes, they are very crunchy. No, he is not closing his mouth while munching on them. Why should he? The other passengers may miss his joy.

To add to the joy, the stranger in the isle seat (to my right) is sleeping. Which is fine. Only she keeps yawning. Loudly. And, judging by the delightful scent, she hasn't brushed her teeth since she her first tooth has budded.

OK then, I put my sleeve up to my nose. The window seat dude is done with his chips and is now deep asleep; by some unfathomed miracle, he is not snoring. I try to sleep, as I am very tired. It's been a long day and it is, after all, a red-eye flight.

But - lo and behold - two rows behind, on the right, someone keeps sniffing.

And sniffing.

And sniffing.

And sniffing.

He's got a cold.

The concept of tissues has obviosuly escaped him. So, he sniffs.

I desperately try to sleep, despite the noises.

Aha - now the flight attendant is rustling with the bags of chips. Apparently, 1am is the perfect time to rearrange them.

My back is painfully stiff, as the Jet Blue seats, while allowing a lot of leg-room, only recline about 20 degrees or so. I dunno why.

There's a personal tiny TV screen in front of me, with an impressive selection of shows to watch. But apparently I am expected to bring my own head phones. They do not give nor sell them on the plane.

I can't sleep, I can't watch TV - by now I am too agitated to read, so I sketch the boring image that's frozen on my screen. Twice. Different styles. I've got time. Plenty of time.

The 4.5 hours of the flight finally come to an end, and my neighbors look very refreshed (with the exception of the mouth of the isle-seat gal).

The wait at the JFK airport is not as bad - Jet Blue has a new cool and hip section there, with colorful sofas (all full of passengers in various poses of being fast asleep) and fun food court and a jazz band(!) playing Christmas songs. And they are pretty good too.

The next flight boards pretty much on time, and The JohnnyB and I are - yet again - separately stuck between two strangers. And again, The JohnnyB's share of neighbors is far better than mine. Because, guess what: the guy sitting on my left is now sniffing. For the whole duration of the flight (he has loads of napkins that come with his drinks, but - needless to say - he is not using them to blow his damn nose once and for all).

And this flight has an additional twist to it: one row behind, on the left, a gal is chatting up a guy with one of those high-pitch voices. She asks him everything one needs to know, from which school he went to, to what his parents do. The guy is obviously charmed, as he answers all her questions obediently. And, to each answer she responds with a braying laughter. One of those phony yet very vocal laughs. Everything he says gets a laughter. EVERYTHING! I sneak a peek, and realize that the poor woman sitting to the left of the girl is close to tears, with head phones and a miserable face on. I send her a sympathetic look. I mean, I am sitting 2 rows ahead and am struggling with a passionate desire to get up and choke that brayer - what must she feel like?.

Again, I accept the no-chance-of-sleep-here-either verdict, and start to sketch the frozen image on the screen in front of me. Luckily, it's a different image, and is one of my favorite actors, Javier Bardem, who - despite his violent roles in movies (have you seen "No Land for Old Men"!?), has a very cute smile on his face.


So I sketch him, too.

Luckily, this flight only lasts less than an hour.

We get off the plane, many passengers are shooting murderous looks at the blond (yup, she is blond) bimbo (yup, she is) who garnished every minute of the flight with her nerve-wracking laugher.

The JohnnyB's mother and sister welcome us near the baggage claim carousel, commenting that I look very tired and somewhat stressed. and with very bloodshot eyes.

On the way out, The JohnnyB's mom has a golden opportunity to smash into the bimbo's car. Alas, she doesn't.

I don't think I'll fly red-eye in the near future, but - going for a cocktail of silver lining and half-full glass: a yield of 3 sketches is not so bad for my state of mind.

'Tis the Season #3

The East Coast is snowed in.

Luckily, Jet Blue is not letting its passengers go through the packing frenzy and drive to the airport just to discover that fact. They sent this email 7.5 hours before the flight, which gave plenty of time to rebook.

And so, no snow for us yet - we're still here, waiting for the snow to ease up a bit. Sitting in the rain. In the cold. Uphill. Both ways.


In the meantime, this is a painting I did at warmer times. A small study of a scene that's captured me.

I like this quirky color scheme that lends itself to a very different mood.

What's the story behind this one?

Well - that's for you to create your own.

Right now, it looks like this guy is wondering about the weather with a grain of concern.

There's a Fine Line between Critique and Criticism...

...and today it was crossed.

Today was the last session of our figure class.

No models, no drawing, no mess - it was critique time!

Now, I've been through a lot of critique sessions since I dipped my little cotton socks (yeah, that's for you, Val!) in the deep water of art. Most classes and workshops involve critique, and I am very used to having my work reviewed by a critique group for the past 3 years (wow, has it really been 3 years already???).

And, I can take critique. I do not belong to those who seek the "WOW that is so amazing" response on each and every thing I do, as I don't believe in this kind of reaction. It's false, it's phony, and when you've done something that actually deserves it, how can you tell the difference?

But today - whew!

The teacher overdid himself. He made sure to give positive critique on at least one piece that everyone put on the wall, but then he went on a bloody merciless quest, aimed at helping us move forward, as he saw it.

Oh, so it's examples you want?

OK, here's one: "The eyes in this face look like he is blind. Or like someone poked it."

Or, "The drawing is very good, but the color... you know, it reminds me of the time we were kids and we were painting by numbers."

Or, "Looking at these two drawings, you can really see the contrast - because this one is so good... and the other one, well (chuckle), the good one just makes me not want to go back to the other one".

Or, "You overstated the creases in the dress. It's enough if you say something one time, you don't need to say it over and over again three hundred times".

Or, "This is supposed to be a self-portrait... well, I didn't know your mother, but I bet you she looked like that".

Or, "OK, you've shown us what you can do. Now - move on! show us what you cannot do."

And on.

- - - And on.

And, mind you, I didn't even get the harshest critique! My share was the highly ecouraging comment about saying something 300 times... and it was said about the little sketch of the crossed legs I did here , which I happen to like quite a bit. Some of the students looked at me with anticipation, but I remained calm. Well, except my eyes that were shooting arrows.

At some point, at he was roasting Al's work, he said "Mind you, everyone has an opinion, so even if I say something about a certain drawing, it doesn't necessarily mean that I am the gospel".

"No, you are not", said a little voice.

And soon enough, I ouched with pain as MembieM kicked my leg and frantically shushed me. "Oh, did I actually say that out loud?" I asked her, and her uncontrolled laughter proved to me that indeed, that little voice was mine.

But then, oh sweet revenge... MembieM wanted to share an incredible monoprint she did at a new exciting class she is taking. A wonderful portrait, truly impressive, absolutely expressive. She showed it to the appreciative class, and the teacher said "Oh, a monoprint. Let me tell you about monoprint... it's this process in which you smear ink on glass - "

"Actually, it's Plexiglas", said MembieM.

"OK, whatever - Plexiglas, and then you take some of the ink off, and transfer it to paper using a brayer - - "

"Um, we use a press", corrected MembieM.

"A what!?", grunted the teacher (he does not like to be interrupted nor contradicted - yeah, he's a man!).

"A press", replied MembieM with her sweetest smile.

"Yeah... anyhow", he proceeded to educate us, "then you make the print. Technically, it's not really a print, as you can only get one print out of it, so - - - "

"As a matter of fact, you can get two!", cheered MembieM and - like a magician pulling a bunny out of the hat - presented us with a second print of that very same image, or what's called 'the ghost'.

At that point, the teacher seemed quite miffed, and I was thoroughly enjoying myself. Sure, it may be small and petty, but looking around, I wasn't the only one giggling.

"Oh well, I guess so...", he surrendered. But, having to have the last word, he added "...and as you can all see, the ghost print is better!".

"Hmm... I disagree. The original print is MUCH better! it's got more mood!!!" - that was Val, who's just had enough.

"No, it's scary", snickered the teacher.

"Yeah, well, I did say mood", insisted Val.

While all that was going on, I kept myself from bursting out by delving into sketching. I captured Al and CrystieG as they were watching in disbelief the teacher slaughtering yet another painting.

So, that was a good exercise in ego-survival, and more than that: it showed me that I've become pretty immune to criticizing. Judging art is so subjective, different people will always have different opinions about different paintings, and nobody is the gospel when it comes to art. Some people can give their opinion in a nice way, and some, well... I won't share The JohnnyB's definition, as this blog is rated PG (at least it was, the last time I checked).

I just can't help pondering: what's the reason for this tendency of the teacher to put everything and everyone down, and antagonize the class? Is that what he considers to be tough love?

And you know what's the funniest thing? I'm gonna take this class again next semester.

I can see your jaw dropping with sheer astonishment: why in the world would I wanna do that!?

It's a combination of wanting to paint from life, liking the atmosphere in class and the fact that there are no Prima Donnas in it (which is very refreshing). Plus, there's also that simple primeval instinct to survive, as LimaB is taking it next semester, and I promised her that I would too...

Sentence of the Year

The JohnnyB and I were having one of those conversations this evening, and it became quite profound and deep, dare I say on the verge of philosophical.

Bear in mind that when you have a true Minnesotan for a spouse, this kind of dialogue happens once in a blue moon. (And not just any blue, mind you; Manganese Blue!).

And due to that rarity, I was trying to get the most out of it.

At some point, I asked with sheer frustration, "So, I want to understand: why do you always have to be so damn logical???".

The JohnnyB replied, "because I don't like to lose control of my - - - "

" - - - emotions?", I interrupted (hey - I'm an Israeli. When we pledge allegiance, we make a solemn commitment to never ever let anyone finish a sentence!)

"No", he continued patiently, "I don't like to lose control of my state of mind", and - hesitating - he pondered, "Um... is that the same as emotions?"

And so, to y'all who wonder why so many of my paintings have women with this look in their eyes - I hereby rest my case.

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Woman?

These days, my sister is going through our parents apartment in Jerusalem. (No, not New Jerusalem, OH... the original Jerusalem. Like, the real one).

A long process of sorting through everything, keeping what needs to be cherished and saying goodbye to the rest.

It's highly emotional, and a big part of letting go.

Being here, I only participate over the phone and emails.

She tells me of things she found, making my memory work overtime trying to remember what they are and what they look like; the smell inside that gorgeous commode(*) where all the snow-white linen sheets were stored; that huge purple crystal bowl that was used only once. The dancing doll (whom I used to call Wilhelmina, for some peculiar reason) with the key in her back; that black and orange dress of my mom; the square bottle of ma'zahr (essence of orange blossom) that my father used when he made his incredible desserts . . . oh yes, nostalgia rules.

From time to time, my sister scans something she found and surprises me with it: old photos that suddenly bring everyone back, alive and well; a letter from my high school informing my parents that I have miserably failed the Chemistry test (that one gave her so much joy I was concerned for her health!).

And today, this awaited in my Inbox: a drawing by moi, from 37 years ago.

I was in third grade, and apparently very proud of this work, as I clearly state the date (Gregorian and Hebrew, and in mom's handwriting, the Roman way of writing it), the grade I was in and the fact that it was done at the lighting of the eighth candle of Hanukkah, at our neighbors place.

Oh yeah, and I have signed it.

Not sure whether it's a self-portrait, and who I am in this masterpiece: the beheaded curly one at the bottom-left? the one with the cute dimples at the top right? or perhaps the cheery hobbit next to my signature?? whatever the answer may be, it's quite apparent that I was into figurative art even as a budding artist. Mostly faces. With a big emphasis on eyelashes.

A note to (my 8.5-year-old) self: good combination of text and images, decent balance achieved by filling up the space. Nice edge variety, and intriguing cropping of the poor torso-less figure up above. Also, interesting overlap of the dimpled diva whose legs become the features of the face underneath. Need to pay more attention to design (I'm guessing it's grid composition here?), try some lost edges here and there, and consider a wider spectrum of expressions.

Bids, anyone?


(*) The JohnnyB insists that 'commode' in American English means toilet(!???). Well, here it's meant as a chest of drawers. I go with the British on this one!

More Gazing

This is becoming frightfully repetitive, those models who pierce the classroom space with their bored eyes.

I am not complaining. Not really. Not sure what I'd do if I had to sit in the same pose for 3 hours, but for us class takers it kills inspiration, again and again.

Or does it?

Last week, at figure class, it was portrait time again. This time we had Paul, a guy with quite an ordinary face and a beret-like hat. Nothing exciting.

And yes, he just sat there. Gazing, as you'd expect.

We had 3 hours, and I was bored out of my mind to begin with, so I started off with just rendering his features, slouching in my chair and waiting for the time to pass. I just did them nonchalantly, holding my eyes wide open with my fingers in a desperate attempt to not fall asleep. What I felt towards this model was also reflected in the colors I chose. Did I mention sheer lack of excitement?

Another look at the clock - but I could swear someone has used Superglue on its hands. Time froze, the earth thawed, glaciers melted, penguins gently simmered in the hot-tub-like water - and Paul sat there, gazing.

To add to it all, he looked so much like someone I really, Really, REALLY loathe. I mentioned it to MembieM and CrystieG and they nodded in pity.

After I'd done 4 portraits of this guy, and as always happens when you paint the same subject several times and get to a point when you just wonder why - - - madness took place. I got angry. I got tired of this fancy faced model who sat there basking in the light of the lamp, looking so, so... beige.

My patience came to an end. I pulled out a set of vibrant watercolor brush pens that are probably non-archival and unprofessional - but I couldn't care less at that stage.

I lost all control, and started to have fun for the first time in that session.

Those who sat next to me got all excited at the fun colors (yeah, by now you may have guessed that everyone was reaching for the browns, not just me).

The teacher was doing his walks amongst us, complimenting everybody and raving about their work in extreme superlatives. When he saw mine - he came to a screeching halt, and then proceeded to the others. He was horrified, to say the least, which amused me a lot.

And then, after that got out of my system, I could move on to a more peaceful piece. After all, it wasn't the model's fault that he resembles someone I dislike, right?

This last one was sheer joy. Using one of those fun multicolored pencils, I let it do its own thing, used line to define shapes and kept restating rather than fixing or erasing, which added a sense of energy. The teacher? Ah, he was almost in tears... finally I came up with something that he absolutely loved. He couldn't take his eyes (and hands) off the drawing, and declared "This is your best drawing in this class".

I am not sure I agree with him, but I do like it.

Beyond Sad Women

MembieK recently mentioned to me, yet again, how she and I seem to be specializing in painting sad women. Somehow, somewhy, we do that. When you step into an exhibit that has our work, it's very easy to find our paintings in it. Just look for paintings of gloomy eyed females and - bingo! You can't go wrong.

So, I have decided to go beyond that. No more sad women. Many people don't like to look at them, and we do, after all, paint for the people, no? (hell no, but that's for another post).

Time to go for greener and much happier pastures, time to go beyond.

I went for a reference photo I took of Crow, an incredible model we had in the figure class 3 (or 4?) weeks ago.

When he stepped in, I couldn't believe my eyes!

He was the model every figurative painter who's after character dreams of: tall, dark and handsome, with dreadlocks and tons of personality.

He wore an outfit of Uncle Sam, with a stars'n'stripes suit and a very tall Uncle-Samish hat. He took wonderful poses, one with a guitar, one with a bongo drum; he told bar jokes and played the instruments while modeling in order to not get bored, and from time to time he pointed at someone and said "I want YOU" (did I mention Uncle Sam?) and was ecstatically happy with himself. Some people absolutely resented the fact that he moved a bit (right, Val?... :-) but I was beaming with joy!

And... and... ah, tears of gratitude flood my eyes... he announced "If any of you wanna take photos, fell free". Yup, at that moment I pretty much stopped painting and went into a frantic paparazzi mode. It's not every day that you get such an opportunity to take photos of someone who doesn't mind and doesn't try to over-pose, and looks sooooooooooooooooooooooo cool!

I haven't posted the 3 images I did of him in class (yet!), but last night, as the clock hit midnight and Suburbia was turning into a pumpkin, I decided that I just have to give it a try at home, working from one of the reference photos I took.

Now, in the photo, he was kinda falling asleep, looking apathetic, indifferent at best.

When I was done painting him, I realized that I have indeed went beyond painting sad women.

I have moved on to disappointed men!

Another Gaze

Figure class again.

One endless pose, yet again, like last week.

This time, the teacher wanted us to go for the portrait rather than the whole figure. Yes, I know what y'all are thinking. Indeed, I've been doing mostly portraits the whole time, but that was just me and a couple of others in class. Needless to say, because he told us to do a portrait, MembieM (who always, ALWAYS does stunning portraits) cheerfully went for a full-figure. I filed a complaint to her that being the rebel has always been my job, but she just laughed joyously and proceeded to capture the whole model - 'coz MembieM is a free spirit. Ain't nobody tellin' her what to paint.

Now, as much as I wanted to do the figure (and thus keep my rebellious reputation), I simply couldn't. The model (whose name, so I was told, was Paula) was wearing a beige sweatshirt and jeans, which is as boring as it gets. To add to it, she sat a chair and acted like... like... her portrait is being drawn or somethin'.

You know those formal portraits you see in galleries, of uberly blank-gazing people? Yup - that was the expression.

But - it is, after all, class. And we came there to render, so renderin' I went.

I sat next to MembieM and gave it a try. I did one on smooth Bristol surface, and then another one on watercolor paper. The second one actually turned out quite nice (but that's shall be shown in the sequel of this post, sometime next week).

Towards the the end, I couldn't take it anymore. I had to loosen up and get some fresh air into my soul, so I went for some (very) quick sketches of the artists around me. I managed to capture Val and Al at work. Now, THAT was fun! The model looked at me kinda nasty, but hey - she's had 2.5 hours of my undivided attention. That's more than enough, I'd say.

I no longer have these two sketches in my possession, as I gave them to their unsuspecting subjects(*). It was the fair thing to do. Glad I took photos, though.

(*) I'm guessing it would have looked much more professional to write "these two sketches are no longer in my possession, as they are collected". Ah well. Next time.

You Can Leave Your Hat On

Last week's figure class was with the dreaded 3-hour pose.

Why dreaded? because - as opposed to short poses - a long pose pretty much guarantees that the model will go for the most comfortable position s/he can assume.

That ultimately means no creative poses, no spontaneity, no fun gestures. They just gloomily gaze into space, looking stiff, frozen-faced and formal, thus not very inspiring.

And so, the model (named Ogden) sat in a chair.

For three hours; that translates into many 20 minutes sessions with 5-minute breaks in between. Yup, same damn pose!

But - he had a hat on. And he had nice lighting on his face, so I went for a portrait.

I have to say, the more portraits I do, the more I realize that I am getting worse in the non-portrait parts, as in backgrounds and anything that is not a face.

Hmm... something to work on.

OK, My Turn Now...

Myrna and David have become famous overnight, having one of their incredible pieces in a museum. Always learning from the best, I decided to follow that path of fame.

Looking good, I dare say. I only wish people would stop taking photos of artwork in museums. It's truly and absolutely annoying, especially when one of them is facing the wrong way...

Wanna get your painting in a museum too? It's as easy as can be! Just go to this fun site, and you're in. No nasty jurors, no competition - you get the limelight all to yourself and bask in the glow. Nothing cures a wounded ego like self delusion.

Why wounded?

Oh, this painting of mine is hanging in our Annual Show (which is an incredible show this year!). It's one in a series, and some of you may recall its older brother, "Dust to Dust". But, this one is titled ""Lost Edges". Also, this one did not get an award.

What I did get is many, many encouraging comments from visitors to the show, fellow artists and - ah, tears are choking my throat - The JohnnyB voted for it as his favorite piece in the show! By now you know very well that The JohnnyB is never ever lying about this kind of stuff. In fact, he is the first to tell me when he does not appreciate an artwork of mine, no matter how proud I am of it.

Oh, and . . . one person, apparently, liked it so much that she kept going to the show to look at it.

She went and looked.

- - - And went and looked.

- - - - - - And went and looked.

- - - - - - - - - And went and looked.

And at the reception (held on Sunday), she bought it. She is a fellow artist, CookieA, a fun person, a wonderful artist (and - needless to say - has an exquisite taste in art ;-) and it is a huge compliment to know that my painting has touched her enough to want to have it in her house.

I am still thrilled.

I have entered this painting (together with two others) to the 2008 Statewide Watercolor Competition and Exhibition at the Triton Museum of Art. And, based on the good karma this visualization thingy seems to have brought Myrna, I decided to give it a try.

You never know...

Short Poses

When a model keeps the same pose for an hour or more, it gives enough time to fully capture the pose, fully render it, fully work on it and overwork it and get back into it and mess up the freshness and spontaneity.

Whereas short poses - ahhhh, I love them so! you look, you put on paper what it really is about the pose that makes you wanna capture it, and then the model changes to the next one.

Until a year ago or so, I used to regularly take a truly great class, in which we had models pose for periods of 30 seconds to 2 minutes. All you could really capture was the gesture; no time for eye lashes, hardly any time for the arms and legs. At the end of class, we were all dead tired, each of us with over 40 sketches, most of them quite crappy, but the point was that we learned to look, to see. And we learned that 2 minutes are a very long time. And the teacher was actually teaching, a different body part each session, tips about drawing of clothes and how to deal with the clothed figure - one of the best classes, which really changed the way I draw. Writing this, I realize how much I miss that class; maybe it's time to take it again.

Anyway, Thursday was the figure drawing class, and we had a wonderful full-figured young woman, incredibly graceful, with a flowing dress and a nice little hat. Highly professional, she delighted us with a great repertoire of inspiring short poses (10 minutes each), and the time flew by. Alas, she is the very first model in this class who said she prefers to not have her photo taken. Ah well, yet again I need to face the fact that I can't have the photos of everyone I want to paint.

I like quite a few of the quick sketches I made in class. So did the teacher, who kept chanting "less is more" and other favorite clichés.

Next class, he promised, it will be one single pose for the whole 3 hours!!!

I am so very tempted to play hookey...

All That Jazz

We had our second clothed figure drawing class session yesterday.

Being a class with a model, it's a hit or miss, at least for me. I personally find it tricky to draw or paint a model who doesn't make me respond with a desire to render them.

Last week we had a young pretty model (not a good start) who was wearing a black dress (not very inspiring) with long slits along the legs (OK, maybe there's hope) with some scarlet fabric showing through (getting better!) and a straw hat (Yay!!).

However - despite the wonderful possibilities her outfit had to offer, the teacher asked her to just sit in a chair. One single boring pose for the whole time. He also made her take off the hat, as it covers her face. The black dress made her look like a pile of dark, and the sitting pose was so uninspiring that it started a domino effect of people sneaking out. I managed to paint a bit with watercolors, but after two additional attempts I left. There was still more than an hour till the end of class.

I know, I know, some will say an artist has to adjust to whatever the circumstances are and make the most out of the model and the painting time. Well, not this artist. If no inspiration nor fun are involved, then what's the point except for getting frustrated?

But yesterday, ahhhh, yesterday we had Chuck. A male model whom - over the 6 years I've been doing art here - I came to know quite well. I did so many drawings of him in portrait class and life drawing class and quick sketching class.

He's a real pro, and - especially in the sketching classes - always brings something special. He once came with roller blades and delighted us with various skating poses, almost splitting his head open. Another time he was a cowboy, with a gun and all (NRA and Palin would've had tears of joy and pride). But, I've never actually painted him.


Yesterday, he came carrying musical instruments (as, among his other occupations, this guy is playing jazz).

He started with a standing pose, holding a flugelhorn, looking very convincing like someone who's just taking a short break from playin'.

I didn't feel like messing with charcoal that day, and so I went for watercolors - to the dismay of the teacher. He always preaches me to paint differently than I the way do, which sometimes annoys the hell out of me as I don't believe in following someone else's style of painting. I wanna paint like me, OK?

We only had three session of 15 minutes each for this pose, and when I was done, VallieM and MembieM looked at the painting and claimed they love the expression.

Me? I kinda liked what I ended up with, but to me, he seems to whine (quite justifiably) "what have I ever done to you that you gave me such tiny hands? Why oh why???". in my defense, let me say that almost everyone who tried to commemorate his hands came up with tiny squirrel-like hands like the ones I did. So there!.

The other was a sitting pose. "Oh, just sit in that chair" said the teacher.

I was just about to sigh and pack my stuff, expecting last week to déjà vu all over again, but wait - Chuck - being the professional model that he is - pulled it off beautifully, and went for a pose of someone in deep thought, holding his shiny blue saxophone in his lap (I haven't seen one before either. A blue saxophone, that is. Not a lap!), and looking very weary.

It was just the kind of scene I'd photograph if I saw it in a jazz club, so I cheerfully went for it. This time, I decided to actually draw him first, before going for the paintbrush. The teacher was overjoyed, almost in tears, when he saw me actually using a Pitt pen to render the figure with a quick line, claiming he appreciates what I am doing.

What can I say - it worked. No more deformed hand, no huge head on a tiny body, no reprimanding look from the painted model. And, since I was on a frenzy of listening to the teacher, I stopped in time before ruining the freshness of the quick brush strokes. (OK, I only ruined them a bit).

I came home very proud and showed my masterpieces to The JohnnyB.

"What do you think?" , I beamed with pride.

Being his usual honest self, he said: "I think you like these paintings much more than I do".

OK. At least when he says something good, I know he really means it.

But hey, the good news is that Chuck agreed to have his picture taken, so I went paparazzi on him. Now that I have reference photos and the on-location sketch, the sky is the limit. No?

Show's Over

Had the big show last weekend.

Amazing, how much work is put into a show that is on display for less than two days!

You go through the process of selecting the artwork to submit, a process garnished with extreme self-criticism over the quality and its chances to make it in. (being a juried show).

You send in the photos, pay the entry fee and then spend days sweating blood and biting your fingernails over whether it will be accepted or not.

Then you get the answers, and you mat and frame your art. (not an easy task sans fingernails).

Theeeeeen you deliver it for the receiving process.

Theeeeeeeeeeeeeen you hang the show ('cause you forget what a tough job it was last year, 'cause LimaB is in charge of the hanging and you want to help her, and 'cause you secretly admit to yourself that there's an immense satisfaction in that labor once it's all done). It takes 6 hours, you go home all scratched from metal frames and un-taped wire ends, swearing you'll never ever do it again.

Four hours later, you put on something presentable and try your best to look refreshed for the reception - scratches and all.

The day after, you get up early to do gallery sitting ('cause you volunteered....). Your romantic vision of spending the time chattign to art appreciators turns into a nightmarish policing due to little kids who insist on plucking seashells off a certain artwork and playing catch amongst the panels. Their parents, needless to say, don't bother to keep an eye on their unleashed offsrpings, as they are too busy themselves caressing other textural pieces or sneaking forbidden photos. You transform into a reprimanding monster, repeating the mantra "Please DO NOT touch the art". Soon enough, the word "Please" is omitted from your vocabulary. After an eternity (OK - four hours) of that kind of fun, you go home, swearing you'll never ever...

The day after, you go to pick up your artwork. Of course nothing sold - why would it? and you have a nice chocolaty handprint on your painting. you go home, swearing you'll never...

The day after, you go to drop your winning painting at the community center, where it will be on display for the next 2 months along with the other winners.

Oh yeah... I got an Honorable Mention on my "Dust to Dust" piece.


You think "hmm... maybe, after all, I will do it again next time".

Another Day

Opening the door, he stands in the main room, holding the keys.

He is wearing his Tuesday tie, the one that matches his vest so well, and yet nobody has ever noticed it nor stopped to compliment him on his choice.

The only times they talk to him is when they cannot find something. Even then, they don't see him. Not really. He is merely an answering apparatus. They have no idea he won first place in that competition. They don't know he carries the certificate in his breast pocket, in case someone, some day, asks him.

27 years in the same place; day in, day out, 6 days a week. How many mornings is that?

He looks around him at the painfully familiar surroundings, and goes to unlock the cash register.

Perhaps today will be different.

Upcoming Show - Addendum

Some of you asked if I would post what I wrote about my pieces in the "Earth Expressions" show.

As I stated, we were asked to write a short statement that relates the artwork to the theme of the show. Many of the artists chose to skip it, which I can relate to, as I personally don't like to explain my art. I'd rather let my art speak for itself. One reason is that my art doesn't have the accent that I do when I speak English. But moreover, I think that giving a very explicit title to your work or saying too much about it, prevents the viewers from interpreting it in their own ways, which are always fascinating to follow.

Imagine 'The Mona Lisa' was titled 'The Mona Lisa smiles because she has such bad teeth'. Now, wouldn't that take away all the mystery and reduce it to be yet-another-portrait?

Still, being the highly obedient me (for the readers who know me - please do not choke on that last statement...), I decided to give it a go, and found it to be a fun experience: putting in words what I've put with my brush (or printer) on the paper.

As I said, The JohnnyB was a tremendous help (both finding tittles and what to write) - he even expanded his services to gallantly come to the rescue of a lovely maiden who was also fighting with this kind of writing. Hmm... dare I think he was also enjoying it?

Thing is, once I got into it, I became unstoppable, so the 2-sentence-only limitaton was actually an even better exercise at being succinct. Kinda like writing a haiku.

And so, there we go.

Uhm... ah... (just clearing my throat here)

(To Bill of On Painting blog, the title for this one is 100% courtesy of The JohnnyB, and I do thoroughly apologize if the following shatters your bloody vision of me killing my models...).

Title: "Dust to Dust"

"This portrait was painted with walnut ink (a natural product) on Tyvek (a manmade product that lasts forever). The more the painting materialized, it became about the fleetingness of life versus the permanency of some of our creations."

Title: "Open Spaces Blues"

"I took this photo while hiking in an overcrowded park. With all the effort put into preserving open spaces, so that everyone enjoys the same little spot, are we really protecting nature?"

The next one was tricky, as I did not want to reveal WHAT is in the photo. I have quite a few photographs where I wanted the viewer to concentrate on the shapes and textures and bits of color, plus it is so much fun to see people trying to guess what it is. So, I had to keep it very vague. Did I mention I don't like to give away too much? This, by the way, is perhpas my current favorite photo. Perhaps because I just cannot paint non-objective paintings (I always have to toss a figure in...), so taking abstract photos answers that need of mine.

Title: "Found Textures #4"

"So many times I stop in my tracks when I see yet another proof that Mother Nature is the best artist of us all. This is one in a series of photographs on textures found in nature."

That's it. Now I get my act together, frame the painting (the photos are already framed, phew!), update my Bio, go help hang the show (if my Plantar Fasciitis ridden foot allows me - yeah, it still hurts but getting better, thank you for asking!), and attend the reception next Friday.

Now, what does one wear to an "Earth Expressions" themed reception?

Upcoming Show

Still not really painting, but I hope for a change soon.

One of the big shows of the year is coming up. This year it's going to be a bit different, as - in addition to the usual show and reception, we'll be having an auction, with the sales profits going to the Shelter Box Project.

And, with the judge and auctioneer being Stefan Baumann from The Grand View TV show. Should be a very interesting reception.

Anyway - as I said in the previous post, we could each submit up to 3 artworks for this show for them to be juried.

Last week we got the verdict of who got in, with how many pieces.

All my 3 pieces made it, plus this one, a photograph that I am donating for the auction:


Since the passing year was a very non-painting one for me, I entered one painting (the serious dude shown at the top of this post - sorry, there was simply no way to photograph this painting in a way that will do him justice!), with the others being photographs.

Hey - photography is art, too!


The theme of the show is Earth Expressions, and we were asked to write something that connects the piece to the theme. With a great help for The JohnnyB, some cool titles and blurbs were created.

Hanging and reception is next Friday, as well as the awards announcements.

In my pre-Plantar Fasciitis days, I have volunteered to help hang the show. Need to see if my foot will back me up on that task.

Stay tuned.