The view from here -- New Year's Eve 2018

December 31, 2018, about noon today.  Now it's 8:30 p.m. and I'm counting down.   Inevitably, a time for introspection and retrospection.

This time last year, I was eagerly awaiting the first week of a weekly on-line art class that would focus on the portrait.  By February, my enthusiasm was fading but I resolved to press on.  I'd decided to do my own thing with whatever Artist-of-the-Week was scheduled, and I had moved into passive LURK mode on the class's Facebook page.  I could not stand the superficiality of Like-Like-Like critiques and what, despite different instructors and media, seemed a repetitive roll-out of long-haired young female models. 

But some good things came of the experience -- and here's a quick recap via some of my output.  First, I became more committed to delving into art history through renewed acquaintance with artists such as Piero della Francesca:

and Giovanni Bellini:

Second, even though I'm immersed in painting, I remembered how much I love drawings when I chose to work with pencil in the weeks featuring Caravaggio and Anna Dorothea Therbusch.

 

Therbusch and several artists made for a third benefit of the course.  They were people I'd never heard of, or was only vaguely aware of, and in some cases they were *great* discoveries.  There was Henry Ossawa Tanner:--

Ferdinand Hodler:--

 Maurice Denis:--

 A fourth benefit of the course was spending more concentrated time with some familiars -- Gustav Klimt, for one:--

 And of course, Van Gogh:--

As I look through the almost fifty portraits I've accumulated in this way, I note that three are particularly striking to me.  Further acquaintance with the artists they represent is likely, in one way or other, to have an impact on my development.  They are Gwen John:--

 Alice Neel:--

 ...and, most significantly, Irma Stern -- who was formerly unknown to me.  These little punk kids, as I call them, are the genies of my studio now.  I'll feel very good if  I again do something that pleases me as much as they do:--

So....that was then.  This is now.  What's next?  Welllllll.....this is as good a time as any to announce that:  I've signed up for another on-line course!!   Do I hear a collective groan?  Do you think my brain has turned to mush from some of the last quarter's artists who were collectively kind of strange, like Afarin Sajedi?

Time will tell.  But the very structure of the course addresses the shortfalls of the just-ended On-Line 2018.

• It was developed by a professional artist who aims to present the content of  a year of art school, with a focus on painting.
• It operates within a highly sophisticated website with a wealth of teaching material -- reading, videos, and examples.  A brief weekly newsletter is an added friendly touch.
• There are no hard and fast requirements for participation, but if/when you choose to participate, there are very definite guidelines about what you're expected to achieve and where and how you are expected to post your completed assignments.

In contrast to the Facebook stuff that I couldn't stand, the communications among students takes place within a secure "on-line classroom".  There are firm do's and don'ts about critiqueing others' work:

• It's an expectation.  Before you post your own assignment, you're expected to comment on at least one other student's post.
• It is explicitly stated that it's unacceptable to say, "I really like this, Fred."  Instead -- and there are numerous examples as guidelines -- you're expected to hone in on something specific and to recommend a remedy.

I've been enrolled for two weeks now, and I'm really impressed with the curriculum and with the calibre of the "on-line community" -- serious people (many retirees like me) who know that they have a lot to learn and are eager to work seriously to get where they want to go.

For now, I'll hopefully sign off with a favourite quote from the poet Rilke: 

"Come let us welcome the new year,

full of things that never have been."

YES - Done, finished, fini, fertig, terminado!

This figure is a quick study I made a few years back from a dance poster -- and I bring it out from time to time when I need a forceful reminder to "GET IT DONE!!!"  Well, I did it.  I finished the year-long on-line art course about which I've had such mixed feelings.  More about that next time, but for now....let's do a wrap with the final Artists-of-the-Week.

First, as the rain pours down here in Vancouver, I'll do a quick check out the window for bowler-hatted gentlemen holding umbrellas, drifting down from the sky.  No sign of 'em.  But you've guessed I'm summoning the spirit of Magritte.  For my lesson, I preferred his blue skies, usually with puffy clouds and occasionally with a prominent eyeball.  I put them all together for a weird riff called "Head in Hands" --

Everyone knows Dali, right?  Sagging watches.  Weird artifacts strewn about desert landscapes.  Butterflies doubling as sails on a 7-masted schooner.  Yes, that Dali.  But he also did some rather lovely women's faces, as in his mysterious "Adolescence".  The painting itself was once the subject of an art heist from a Dutch museum -- finally recovered after seven years' absence.  Here's my take on this, my favourite among all the Dalis I've seen:

After these surrealistic offerings, the course moved next into the era of so-called Contemporary Realism.  I wasn't keen on Roberta Coni whose females often wrap their heads in turbans -- and despite the protective covering, find themselves smeared with paint from the artist's hand.  My rendition:

Then we hit familiar territory again with Chuck Close, who I've known for decades for his wonderful pencil and charcoal portraits -- often reaching awesome proportions, say 15 x 20 FEET.  Lately, his giant works in colour have combined Klimt-type shapes with mosaic-type layouts.  Check this link and wait for about the fourth head to appear and you'll see what I mean.

With a self-serving strategy, I opted for small rather than large -- about 4" x 6", done in coloured pencil.  Copying an earlier class exercise, I did a close-up of Van Gogh's eye in one of his self-portraits.   Here's my version called, "Chuck and Vincent See Eye-to-Eye."

Up next were two contemporary artists I'd never heard of but whose work I found interesting.  Michael Carson often places his figures and portraits on a plain flat background, sometimes using a particular rich rusty red colour.  I used these two aspects for a painted version of an unrelated photograph I happened across on-line.  Using my favoured el-cheapo support, I painted on a piece of cardboard to produce "Corrugated Carson."

 Casey Baugh does gorgeous charcoal portraits -- sometimes smeared or speckled, sometimes on the large size -- maybe 5' across.  My spin-off from another on-line vintage photo was not very satisfactory but...hey, I was wanting this course to end!!

 -- and it did for me, finally, with artist Tony Scherman -- another whose style involves blurring and smearing.  I hadn't much interest in emulating this so opted for a simple pastel-like treatment.

 And now:  A new year is waiting in the wings, and what that will mean for my art goals will become clear before very long. 

Right now, things aren't quite "terminado" with my household and studio reorganization , but I'm getting it done!

"Riddle me no riddles"

Early last year and early in my enchantment with Pontormo, I had a rather obscure book from the library -- enticing because it also referred to his pupil Giotto, who was said to be beloved by Matisse.

It turned out to have a great deal of general information about the making and preserving of Italian frescoes.  And in that context, I came across this intriguing image of young girls' faces:

From the accompanying text, I learned that these were evident "St. Ivo's Schoolgirls" (as I came to call it). 

St. Ivo?  Hmmm....I thought.  He must be one of those little known local saints that show up all over Europe.  And then suddenly popped into my head:  St. Ives!  Remember the childhood rhyming riddle?

As I was going to St. Ives,

I met a man with seven wives,

Each wife had seven sacks,

Each sack had seven cats,

Each cat had seven kits:

Kits, cats, sacks, and wives,

How many were there going to St. Ives?

I was just beginning the on-line course that focussed on the portrait, and these schoolgirls with their quirky faces enchanted me.  And now:  Cats!!!  It was irresistible.  Forget the sacks.  Forget the head count.  I decided I'd do a spin-off, packing as many kits or cats into their schoolgirl arms as I could.

Very briefly I thought ....maybe I should replace the schoolgirls with all the women I know who have beloved cats and put their own cats in their arms.  Luckily, sanity prevailed, and I stuck with Plan A.  Over the months, I would use up extra paint from my studio sessions and work on "St. Ivo's Schoolgirls". 

I put the final outcome on the sidelines and forgot about it until I began a major studio reorganization a couple weeks ago.  Here it is:

I know there's good cause to conclude from this blog that I've never really grown up.  But the St. Ives riddle is serious business.   The Wikipedia synopsis lists several historic versions of the riddle -- even a mathematical problem in an ancient Egyptian papyrus (c. 1650 BC) that has to do with numbers of houses, cats, mice, and bags of grain.

This link for serious math folks examines the possibilities that arise from the riddle's ambiguous wording -- yielding answers to "how many?" ranging from zero to 2801.

And finally, maybe you can help me with what I'd really like to know:  What is the origin of the expression, "Riddle me no riddles"?

The Real Thing

Over a year ago, a generous artist-teacher agreed to come to The Yellow House and review my paintings.  At that time, I'd completed my 10-part "Flash Mob Series" -- variations on the theme of jumbled bodies in motion like this first one, "Lean In." (copyright 2016)

He was a teacher who resonated with me, and I would later take a couple of one-day Figure Drawing workshops from him.  In one of these, he happened to say at a coffee break, "Well, check out Pontormo.  He's someone I really like."  That was recommendation enough for me, and I quickly snagged the library's one book on Pontormo.

I fell in love with two things about this artist:-- His swirling interlocking figures (Flash Mob, anyone?) and his sensitive faces, even -- or especially -- among secondary figures in his crowds.

Sometimes I wrap up my studio session by using any leftover paint to do a quick sketch -- just postcard size.  It was only natural that this thrifty practice led to a few "Pontormo Postcards" modelled on those haunting faces.

By then, I'd used up all my library renewals and decided, when I returned the book, to report a tear on one of the pages (I didn't do it!! It was there before!!)   Off it went to the Library Elves' Repair Workshop, and I've never seen it again.  When my birthday rolled around, I checked out Amazon.com and found a real steal:

Okay, so I don't speak Italian but even I could figure out that this is "The Complete Works of Pontormo" -- and it's the pictures I crave, anyway.  I was taken with a lovely face-in-the-crowd in the lower right of one of his frescoes:

This summer, I turned it into a quick study on a piece of cardboard:

And then things started to get really interesting.   Making a list of "must-sees" for my anticipated trip to New York, I was gleaning through museum collections -- and found to my astonishment and delight that The Morgan Library & Museum was hosting a special Pontormo exhibit (still showing!).

What an exciting walking-on-air day when I approached the exhibit room!

And there, waaaay beyond the glory of any reproductions I'd seen was the real thing  -- "The Visitation," one of Pontormo's most glorious works.  The colours truly can't be reproduced, and the fabric swirls seemed almost alive.

The small exhibit featured just one more from among his most famous paintings, "Portrait of a Young Man in a Red Cap" along with half a dozen drawings that could not be photographed.

Back home in the studio, I picked up my Pontormo enthusiasm and decided to use the fresco face for a second painting of "Children's Entertainer."

The first version  was done in midsummer as an assignment in my on-line course.   Despite this second try, it's still easy to ask (and answer), "What's wrong with this picture?"  -- but it was fun and instructive to give it a try.

During my personal year of Pontormo, I came across someone else who was inspired by "The Visitation" -- the video artist Bill Viola.  His brief video "The Greeting" is both odd and fun.

One of the oddities of this piece is that it omits the fourth Pontormo figure -- the one I find particularly astonishing.  Watch this spot.  You'll be seeing more of her.

People pay good money for stuff like this

You're in New York City.  You're walking the High Line.  And you've just come to a neighbourhood of galleries, with the glass front of the sleekest one almost  a full storey high.  In its window -- almost filling the full window front, maybe 30 x 50 feet -- is a dramatic painting, a splash of black on white.  People pay good money for stuff like this.

-- except:  I must have dozed off, dreaming of  my recent trip.  In fact, the dramatic splash measures only about 8x12", and it was produced here in The Yellow House with one of my favourite splashy techniques:-- painting onto plastic wrap and then pressing the still-wet wrap onto paper.

Don't be disappointed.  People pay good money for stuff like this.

There are gazillions of sites on the internet now, supported by advertising dollars and/or subscriptions from interested readers, where you can watch artists at work.  Let's call this one, "Splashdown", and follow it through a typical episode.

Let's see.  After the plastic wrap, the artist scrawled with black crayon.

Oh, did I mention the downside of advertising sponsors?  The sponsored website is bound to be cluttered up with teasers like:  "Ten Historical Photos You'll Never Believe" or "What Famous Politicians Wore on Their Prom Night" or "The Natural Anti-Aging Cream You'll Find Under Your Car's Hood."

Don't let those ads interrupt the flow!  Watch the artist apply random ink marks with an old-fashioned nib drawing pen and a *very* old-fashioned ink.

"Bistre" is more than old-fashioned -- it's one of the classic inks of the Renaissance, and even before.  This small jar is the last of a vintage that was made especially for me from soot gathered from a coastal cabin's woodburning stove in about 1990.  The process, roughly the same as what's described here, is messy -- you definitely want someone else to do the dirty work.   But the outcome is pretty exciting.  (Hey!  I can draw like Leonardo!)

You'd need a lot more soot, though, to cover that window along the High Line.

Okay.  Our studio hour is coming to a close.  You can click "SKIP AD" and observe the addition of charcoal and water-soluble blue crayon.

 Is something coming into view here, or are we just having fun splashing water on that blue crayon?

 Answer:  Just having fun splashing -- and there's likely to be more fun in the future.

It's part of my post-trip commitment to make a splash every weekend.   And my guarantee:--  If you dip in here to check up on me, you won't have to fend off advertisements or hit "LIKE."  And if you're reading this now, I already know you're my friend so you don't have to ask.