Portugal Through My Eyes: Évora #2

Y'know how I always claim that I'm gonna do a series of paintings whenever something captures me? And then I move on to the next exciting image?

Well, not this time. Apparently, this image did captivate me. Not quite sure why - maybe it's the fact I loved Évora so much, maybe these two men and their curious stroll appealed to me, or maybe the fact that my second attempt at buildings since I've started to paint turned out to be so much fun. Add to it the fact that I wasn't overly happy with the composition and format of the previous version - - - I decided to give it another try, and do it bigger.

Took out a half sheet of watercolor paper, changed the composition to be horizontal, being cautious with perspective and all that, and had tons of fun. I changed the men a bit, as they came out a bit too cartoonish in the previous version, and I wanted it to be more of a painting than a sketch. So, I gave the pot-belly guy a quick tummy tuck, changed the clothes for the sake of color consideration, and treated the building a bit differently, going for an even more weathered and peeling look.

At a certain stage, it was a nice watercolor. Fresh colors, hardly any texture, clean washes - like a watercolor should be. The JohnnyB liked it a lot, but I lost all interest in it. To me, it seemed boring; it lacked a story or emotion whatsoever. The JohnnyB said "I've seen paintings with less of a story to them in shows and museums". Well yeah, so have I. Thing is, I did not want to produce this kind of painting.

Which started an interesting discussion: who do we paint for? Are we trying to please our spouses/friends/teaches/critique groups? And if we do produce a painting that makes others happy but we are not satisfied with it, what's the point of creating? Do I want to leave it at the safe stage where it might get compliments but won't make me proud of it, or do I dare taking it a step or two forward?

Frustrated, I took out the white gesso and tried to give some character, breaking the overly-straight lines, adding texture and pretty much molesting the pureness of the colors. Ahhh - that was more like it! As LimaB put it "This is so much more alive!".

I like it much more now. Not sure if there will be a third version of this one, though, as I have other Portugal images that sit in my head and demand to be portrayed.

Plus, I cannot guarantee the man on the right will keep his pose for long... poor guy, he's been waiting waaaaay too long for his friend to move aside and have a peek at that door, I can't help feeling he's just about to explode.

"Évora Stroll #2", Watercolor on W/N CP paper, 21"x14"

Portugal Through My Eyes: Évora #1

I am notorious for my obsessive photo-taking while on vacation (and any other time), and loyal to my fame I took dozens of photos in Portugal. OK, more like a dozen hundred of them, and then some. And maybe a bit more.

Don't give me this look! All those white washed houses, the laundry, the people sitting on benches, the tiles, the mosaic on the streets, the people, ahhhh the people! I had to document it, didn't I?

The down side of such an overwhelming amount of photos is that when I approach this stash in desire to paint from them, um... what do I paint first? So, since I was grounded at home wallowing in viruses and tea cups, I strolled through the photos trying to pick one.

Or two.

. . . Or ten.

Now, when it comes to painting Portugal, you cannot avoid painting some architectural elements, which I absolutely dread, to say the least. Y'see, I do figurative work; people, figures, faces, hands - all made of glorious curves and odd shapes and lost edges and beautiful flowing rounded surfaces. Architecture has straight lines. That is, linear, and as The JohnnyB would happily attest (with a deep, deep sigh) - I am not a linear person. So how can I paint linearly?

And yet, should one just stay in one's comfort zone forever and not travel at all to other domains, as challenging as may be?

I decided to start simple. My first candidate was a photo I took in Évora, a wonderful bustling town about 2 hours east of Lisbon. This town has an impressive main square (Praça do Giraldo) with a mighty church (Igreja de Santo Antão) and a 1570 Renaissance fountain (fonte Henriquina) with eight jets that represent the eight streets leading into the square (al uphill, as our sore muscles soon found out...). Hmm, now that I am shamelessly using Wikipedia to show off with all that knowledge I did not have while in Évora, I also see that this square has witnessed thousands of Auto de fes during the period of the Inquisition; 22.000 condemnations, it seems, in about 200 years.

OK then... maybe it's a good think I did not paint this square.

But I digress (told you I'm not linear!).

So, instead of all this glory, I chose to paint a humble mundane scene that I took on one of the streets while I was walking and getting hopelessly lost (Oh but what a town to get lost in).

I started it at 5pm yesterday (very early for me, as I usually begin painting when normal people go to sleep), and was done several hours later.

Being so different than what I usually paint, I was actually having a ball, until it reached the stage when it looked terrible.

But rather than give up, I remembered that while diamonds may be a girl's best friends, a girl who's a painter can find a true kinship with (watercolor police, please turn your heads away, just this time) white gesso and the magic sponge, which I used to cover some lame areas and add some texture to the whole thing.

Y'know?

Architecture is kinda fun to do!

But before I tackle it again, I feel a deep urge to do a portrait in order to relax in my comfort zone.

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.

Need a Hand?

We had the figure drawing class today. Yes, the one with the talkative teacher, who's driving me nuts with his endless talking and taletelling, mostly since what he says doesn't always have much to do with art.

There are artists who manage to block everything out when they draw or paint. Not me, alas. I'm more the kind who needs the whole world to come to a halt in order to concentrate. And so, this drawing class used to send me home with a headache and murderous thoughts.

The JohnnyB kept telling me "why don't you take your iPod?".

Because.

I avoided this for weeks and months, but last week, after a session that was spent resisting a violent urge to go on a killing spree (and apparently I was not the only one with such aspirations...) I brought my iPod.

As did LimaB.

As did MembieK.

And for the last couple of sessions, the only injuries were the two birds I killed with one iPod: enjoying music while drawing - and blocking out the babbling and the background noise.

Works like magic.

Today we had a great model who showed up with a long dress and a big straw hat. As always, I started with the figure, but then got bored of doing the same thing. I decided to follow the teacher's recurring advice "don't show me what you know to do. Show me what you don't know!". (see - I hear the good stuff despite the earphones!).

Now, what do I not know to do?

A lot of things, But when it comes to the figure, the answer is simple: HANDS!

And our model was doing those graceful hand gestures, which intrigued me much more than the rest of her.

Yes, hands are tough, and I keep avoiding them, but if I never try, I'll go on doing the same thing over and over again and stay in my comfort zone forever.


Too easy, too comfy, and way too boring.

I gave it a go.

Yup, I have a lot more to learn and practice, but hey - it feels good to start facing your demons.

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.

If You Can't Win Them - Draw Their Limbs

Bill of the OnPainting blog has left a comment on my previous post, implying that I am yet to learn how to do some real whining.

That still hurts.

Badly.

And yet, always open to constructive criticism, I took it to my attention, and so today in class I decided to change my tactics.

Today was the last class with a model in the fall series. Our model introduced herself to us as Jan, said she was a replacement to the model we were supposed to have, and cheerfully proceeded to take over the class. I've never seen such a thing.

She then asked us what we want her to do. Before I managed to suggest that she fulfills my desire and go for short poses galore, Val jumped ahead. Now, y'all need to know something: to the untrained eye, Val seems like a very sweet polite British lady who would agree with whatever you say over a nice cuppa tea. However... once you spend more than twenty seconds with her, you realize that she is anything but. The glint in her eye gives it away, and any doubts you may have left are scattered the second you get acquainted with her ultra-sharp tongue. Show me the best sushi knife forged by skilled Japanese craftsmen - and it will turn dull in comparison. (needless to say, that's why I love her so).

Anyway - with her sweetest voice and most convincing innocent smile, Val said: "Oh, two long poses, please".

The model smiled back graciously at the nice British lady (of course, she doesn't know Val yet), and I knew the verdict has been made. with a big sigh, I informed Val that she's gonna star on my next blogpost, and braced myself towards yet another gazing session.

But wait!

That model was different. She had something about her: maybe the way she held herself, accompanied that inner self confidence and her vibrant personality that shone through; plus, she had wonderful hands.

"Y'know", I told myself "a model has other body parts other than just the head".

Walking around the room, I picked a spot that spoke to me the most, pose-wise. I relocated all my stuff there, and concentrated on her hand, which was nonchalantly resting on her knee.

Three 20-minute sessions plus a very helpful tip from the teacher yielded a hand that The JohnnyB, when seeing it, burst into a healthy laughter and delved in pointing out everything that's wrong about it. I went for the good ole' trick of handing him a brush, and he went back to reading his book.

OK, it's not perfect. And yes, perhaps years from now, when hands will become easy for me to do, I'll look at this one with a pitiful smile, but for my third attempt (or so) at hands, I like it.

After this pose, the model suggested a quick "loosening up" session, and burst into a series of ten 1-minute poses, forcing everyone in the room to get out of their comfort zone and have the ultimate artistic work-out.

Once we were all fit and adrenalized, she went back to the gazing state of being: pose number two.

Again, remembering Bill's scorching comment, I figured I'd better make the most out of it rather than whine.

The model was now seated on a chair, her legs crossed with her elbow on her thigh. With the palette and water bucket in one hand, watercolor pad balanced on my other palm and brushes between my teeth, I relocated - yet again - to the other side of the room, to a spot that offered some fun shapes and fabric folds and creases and tings.

I went for it.

(to those of you who wonder: yes, she was wearing Capri pants in the midst of November. Global warming has cometh to the Bay Area in the past week, I'm afraid).

And I think that for the very first time, I went through a figure class without doing the face!

Who would have thunk?

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?

Still Here!

...actually spending time at my studio, seriously painting, and painting seriously.

Really. I am!

The upcoming show of our watercolor organizations has sent me in there in a frenzy of organizing my work areas and clearing the enormous piles of, well, stuff, that were breaking new records of mess and were miraculously balanced on every surface possible.

So, no more of that.

My table is now adorned with the happy mess of paints and brushes and water buckets and all that healthy disorder that comes with painting.

And I have two paintings in the making - I am just trying to come to a stage that they're presentable enough to be posted.

Soon. Very soon.

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

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.

Her Hair

She sat there, alone.

A woman in her seventies. Her wonderful eyes emphasized by her penetrating, quiet beauty.

Waiting. For a friend, perhaps.

Well dressed with simple elegance, her hair perfectly done, save for some strands that took the liberty to get loose.

Natural and undyed, it had that silvery quality to it, which reminded me of my mom's hair that hairdressers refused to dye even when she asked them to. "There is no way I can make it prettier than it already is", they would always tell her. And they were right.

She sat there, austere, keeping to herself. Waiting.

I had to paint her.