Saturday, November 30, 2024

The familiar cycle


 


Despite rain and hint of snow and dark of late afternoons, I've managed to put almost all my spring-flowering bulbs in the ground.  I have more than ever this year, many saved from previous years with another dozen or so new acquisitions, for reliability.  In the coming year, I might forego the new purchases and be more selective about the oldies that I save.  Applied to daily life, this is exactly what six of my friends are doing – critically weeding through decades of stuff, moving things along, and getting down to what they really, really want on hand.

 

I started this, too, over a year ago, but I've bogged down in a good 45 years of sketchbooks – and of course, I'm not going to triage my art books.  Instead, I'm deliberately reviewing them one by one.  And so, I came across one of my early loves, one of my first painting books, "The Artist's Eye" by Harriet Shorr, a 20th century American painter of extraordinary still lifes.

 

 

On first sight, I loved her vibrant colours, her eye for pattern, and often her wit – as in "The Carp Sings the Blues" – which, by the way, measures almost 5 feet x 7 feet.

 


About this same time, a painting by Watteau showed up in an art newsletter, and I mentally wandered off again into Commedia dell'Arte territory.  Here is Watteau's famous "Pierrot", related to the Commedia's Pulcinella.

 


The ribbons on this clown's shoes were a great enticement to me when I made one of my first paintings in the early 1980s.  ("The White Clown," c. 1982) 

 


 Maybe this was the reason I'd saved some ample ribbons over the years, just waiting for – the right shoe?  And maybe a selection I'd noted from Harriet Shorr's book would guide a new experiment.

 

"For many painters, drawing is the first step in painting; the structure…is worked out first in a drawing and the color is applied within the boundaries of that drawing.  I found…(this)..did not help me organize a painting.  It has been my observation that beginning with a contour results in a smaller form than beginning with a color and working out to the edge where that color meets another." (-Harriet Shorr)

 

I'm still not sure what this means in practice – I would love to have seen her at work.  But I decided to give it a try, setting up shoes and ribbons and playing with the arrangement.

 


Eventually, I dispensed with the red ribbon and repositioned the lighter shoe.  Then I plunged in, starting with only the faintest lines to guide their placement on the canvas, and starting with only one colour and "working out to the edge where that color meets another."

 


This was a very different way of working and required intense concentration – especially with the different tones and highlights within a shape.

 


Here's the final version of "Out of Step" (c. 2025).  It's an odd outcome, and you'll be glad to know it is not 5 ft x 7 ft, but only 12 x 16 inches.  I'm not sure what I learned from this that might be of lasting value. I'll have to see, as times goes on.

 


Meanwhile, some of you have inquired about the Darth Vader persona that saw me through the recent atmospheric river.  I'll take this opportunity to report that Darth has gone upscale (if Levi's brand can be considered upscale).

 



 

Friday, November 15, 2024

Murky waters, lost pathways

 

 


What a topsy-turvy week it's been – in a topsy-turvy world.  As a small example, assume the "creature" pictured above is facing left.  A fish, yes?  Now assume it's racing to the right—looks like a turtle. 

 

Are we coming or going?  The usual pathways are so obscured.

 


I remember a passage from Dante that was quoted in a long-ago self-development book:

 

"In the middle of the journey of our life I came to myself within a dark wood where the straight way was lost. Ah, how hard a thing it is to tell what a wild, and rough, and stubborn wood this was…"  (- from The Divine Comedy

Underfoot, there are features half strange and half familiar:  (Red lava? – who knew??)

 


And then come unexpected objects in our path, tempest-tossed:

 

 

 

I've felt unsettled for most of this year, and it's scarcely a time now to figure out where I am and what I'm doing in my art.  A big project I've tried to focus on has been slow in materializing – and so much, everywhere, is unsettled, difficult to understand. 

 

 

What can we do but take a brief break (or a nap!) – and go forward?  ("Where Are We?" – copyright 2024).  No, I hadn't intended the deer-in-headlights sitter to be a self-portrait.