With Geminis, there’s always more than one

   

Hey, we're still in Gemini's section of the zodiacal calendar, so why have just one Gemini-themed painting when we can have two?  (Or as the irreverent have been known to say about Geminis, "Double Trouble")

I happened to meet a Gemini twin, or at least a somewhat kindred spirit with the same birthday, in my high school biology class.  That was the year I won an honourable mention at the school's Science Fair (who, me???!) for...heh, heh...craftily fitting my outdoor and art inclinations into the entry requirements with a show-and-tell of my own drawings and nifty little clay sculptures illustrating mushroom structures and varieties.

It was inevitable that my background research touched on the illustrious Swedish botanist Carl Linnaeus, the creator of our enduring system of plant classification, an eccentric character (aren't they the best?) about whom the Swedish author August Strindberg wrote: "Linnaeus was in reality a poet who happened to become a naturalist."

Imagine my delight on an early BC hike when we spotted an expanse of the tiny flower that Linnaeus had declared as his favourite and which eventually received his name: Linnaea borealis, commonly "Twinflower."

Imagine, too, a more recent delight when I found the corner of VanDusen Garden that features statues of great botanists, of course including Linnaeus.

 -- complete with the Twinflower reference!

Well, there and then, I hatched my plan to hook up these botanists with my roaming art students who love to check out statues in our local parks.  You might remember last year's starting point, "Dr. Menzies Holds the Pose."

Intrigued by the garden setting of Linnaeus' statue, I quickly came up with a title, "The Twins Put Linnaeus in Perspective".  As the dark closed in last November, I spent a good bit of time letting the twins do some acrobatic stunts in the foreground.

I finally admitted that the landscaping and topiary that had enticed me resulted in a maze from which there was no exit.  The only thing to do was to send  the whole works to The Place of Abandonment until it was time for Renewed Effort 2020.

This time, I decided to be explicit about the lines of linear perspective.   Working through a half dozen small studies, I again made some false starts such as these:

I began to wonder if I'd wandered into another maze that tempts me -- having a better IDEA than an IMAGE to express it.  That sober self-talk helped me hone in on a simpler depiction of the elements of linear perspective.  I also decided to suggest aerial or atmospheric perspective, in which things in the distance become lighter, bluer, and less distinct .  Here's the launching pad:--

...and we have lift-off, with the first under-layer in the colour complements of my intended colour scheme:

Hmmm.  How do I carry on with this analogy? -- by going into orbit?  In any case, here's the final outcome, "The Twins Put Linnaeus in Perspective" (copyright 2020)

  

Call it "Botanical Surrealism" or "Botanical Enthusiasm," there's just a chance that Linnaeus might have approved since it's said that, like many an ardent naturalist, he played hookey himself to take long rambles in the fields.  Or maybe he's become too set in stone.

When you hit 75, do you have to grow up?

A full frontal selfie wouldn't work with a mask -- and besides, I wanted to show my birthday gear.  Some I've been buying for myself  with a view to putting best foot forward in 2020.  Some came in the mail (with back-orders still to come) and several literally arrived on my doorstep bringing a huge "Surprise!" factor, along with delectable treats, favourite coffee, flowers, wine...........UmmmmMMMMmmmm.

One of my friends has said, "You don't do clothes shopping like I do."  Well -- we just don't shop at the same places.  My waterproof Goretex shoes are from Mountain Equipment Co-op, the indestructible brimmed hat from a renowned P.E.I. garden supply shop, the lined flannel shirt from Mark's (formerly "Workwear World," if that gives you a hint) and the tan corduroy trousers from L.L. Bean.  (Groan...every year it gets harder to adopt that cross-legged pose attempted here).   

A personality feature sometimes assigned to Geminis is that they love to play...and never quite grow up.  I'll own to that although I'm not keen on another Gemini trait:  Being scatterbrained.  Maybe that's why I like to work in series, and my timing was perfect with Gemini hitting The Zodiac Cafe just as its sign rolls through the heavens.  (May 20-June 20). 

If you missed my plan for this portrait series, check here, and you'll see that along the way, I'm revisiting my astrological plant series of a decade ago.   A common shrub of the coastal valleys is Twinberry -- my inevitable choice back then for a plant to accord with Gemini, the Twins.

And now, let's focus!  It's not just all play.  The purpose of the Zodiac Cafe series is to hone my ability to distinguish physical traits and the factors that express them in a painting.  What do you do to make "deep-set eyes," for example?  How is a "broad forehead" different from any old forehead?

This is what I had to work with in Manly P. Hall's synopsis of the physical characteristics aligned with Gemini:-- 

"Head and neck long; forehead broad; chin pointed; eyes expressive; hair light; lips thin; mouth small; nose aquiline; body slender, fingers long."

Flipping through my papers and sketchbooks, I found a starting point in one of the best faces I've done at the life drawing studio.  This also suited my plan to alternate male and female faces in this series:--

A fact about this accomplished and athletic model is that she has a pronounced overbite.  It's barely evident in my drawing but, oddly enough, it showed up rather spontaneously in the quick painted study I made as a warm-up.

The overbite wasn't a feature I intended to  keep.  With Hall's description, I had my hands -- and her head -- full with the aquiline nose, small mouth and lips, and pointed chin.  Here's the final version of "Zodiac Cafe - Gemini" (copyright 2020): 

  

And if anyone was concerned that this artist Gemini might have felt isolated and alone on her birthday, don't give it a thought.  The Cardboard Club & Friends showed up in force (another dozen or so are waiting in the wings of this photo) -- and since we share the same bubble, the celebration had no limitations.

Springtime surprises

We're midway through the astrological sign of Taurus (April 21-May21), and I'm moving right along with a series called "The Zodiac Cafe."  As I described last time, the idea came to me when I remembered my long-ago botanical series, "Astrological Plants of the Squamish Valley" -- an example above, the  Taurus plant from those many-travelled roadsides.

My planned portraits are based on the physical characteristics of each sign as described in a small book, "Astrological Keywords," by Manly P. Hall.  Here's how he describes the Taurus native:

"Head and neck short; face broad and somewhat flat; chin strong; eyes large and dark; hair usually dark, sometimes blond; lips full; body short, sturdy and plump."

No ready examples came to mind as I considered possible models, but I woke up one morning with Julius Caesar on my mind.  Quick!  To Google-Search-Images.  Take a look yourself and have fun playing this game:

1)  How many of the Caesars resemble Andrew Cuomo?

2)  How many of the statues look like they're holding cell phones?

3)  How many of the Caesar statues look like Andrew Cuomo holding a cell phone?

As for "face broad and somewhat flat" and "body short, sturdy and plump," these images had little to offer.  But I held the vision of those haircuts as I tried a few sketches.

Hmm.  Not so sure about that -- or about any of the others.

What the heck.  I decided to plunge right in and see if, in that magical way, the painting would take on a life of its own.

And thanks to Caesar's hairstyle, it did!  Here's the final version of "Zodiac Cafe - Taurus" (copyright 2020).

Isn't he an amiable young bull?  Maybe of the Ferdinand variety?  (No ring in his nose, but I couldn't resist the earring)

 Could he be the great-great-great grandson that Raphael Soyer never had? 

Probably not, but it's nice to see them isolating together here at home.  And what will happen when Taurus ventures into the Zodiac Cafe?

  

Will the Aries female eat him alive or will he just sweetly and stolidly hold his ground?  Hard to predict how things will play out when the coffee shops can reopen.

The auspices look favourable, though, for the Zodiac Cafe.  It's strange but true that yesterday, just as I was finishing this post, I looked out the window into my back garden.  There in the corner is the descendent of the very plant from which I made my long-ago sketches -- Rosa nutkana, our beautiful wild rose of the Pacific Northwest -- blooming for the first time this year on May 14, 2020.

It's going to be all right!

My daily walks start with a decision to head north, south, east  or west.  Recently, my homeward route took me by the best rainbow I've come across -- the second I'd seen with this message that signalled more francophones in the neighbourhood than I'd been aware of.  (Click here to learn how Quebec's "ça va bien aller" rainbows derived from Italy's "andrà tutto bene"originals.)

The rainbows abound, and all of them are cheering -- but this one had a special meaning for me, linking my walks and my French studies and my art, all of which need some  "going to be all right" encouragement.   Not that I'm just sitting around in my studio, eating chocolate and savouring the links between French and art.

In fact, I've been mulling over a lot of things lately -- for one, how much I enjoy having a series of paintings under way.  A friend's reference to a BC wildflower -- the opulent and unfortunately named "Skunk Cabbage"  -- reminded me of how much fun I'd had in 2010 (ten years ago!!) with my series, "Astrological Plants of the Squamish Valley."  The first to kick off the zodiacal year was the hops plant, prickly and stickly enough to symbolize Aries.

Ta tum! - the lightbulb went on as I walked one of my walks.  I've been so involved with features and faces lately, why not do a series on astrological physical types?  And in reminiscence of the coffee meet-ups I'm missing with friends, I'd call it, "The Zodiac Cafe."

I couldn't wait to again delve  into the book that guided my botanical series -- the best seventy-five cents I ever spent at a 2^nd-hand bookstore!

This little compendium distills an encyclopedia's worth of the traditional correlations of almost anything to zodiacal signs and planets, and I knew I  would find what I needed in the section "Physical Characteristics of the Twelve Signs."   It only made sense, again, to begin my series with Aries, especially since we were in the midst of its cycle:-- March 20 to April 20^th.

And oh, the signs were right!  Another bulb flashed when I reviewed Aries' physical characteristics: 

"Head and neck long; face angular; cheekbones high; temples broad; chin narrow; eyes grey or brown; hair red, sandy or dark; mouth thin; body slender."

Here was my chance to try once more to reclaim a fascinating face I'd seen last fall -- a young teenager among a crowd on the sidewalk waiting for a Vancouver Symphony Orchestra performance.  I've never seen such deeply set eyes, such high strong cheekbones, such a commanding visor-like forehead -- and by the way, such bushy red hair.  Definitely my Aries girl!!

Aries' key colour is red, of course.  And as I planned my colour scheme, I went back to a simple silhouette I'd done on cardboard for my 2018 on-line "Faces" class:

My final painting, titled "The Zodiac Cafe - Aries" (copyright 2020), is the closest I've come to capturing a real likeness -- believe it or not.   And the question to ask of this young woman is not, "Would she make a good coffee-buddy?" but "Can she command?"

  

As I came into the home stretch, I kept thinking that "Aries" reminded me of a face done by Picasso.  As the paint dried, I flipped through my art books without success.  Except -- just maybe -- there's a hint of one of my favourites among his paintings, "Woman with Crow."

Hey!  I'll take all the camaraderie I can get -- with confidence that It's Going To Be All Right.

Not your Grandma Moses’ palette

-- neither her palette nor her palate, either.  (This delectable dish is from a little-known New York City eatery -- fine dining with all the comforts of home).

This "Pallet" is a nearby coffee shop, which I regularly pass on my way to the library or grocery store.  In ordinary times, its window bench is fully occupied with customers variously engrossed in laptops, cells, books, newspapers, or just their own dreamy ruminations. 

Every time I've walked by, I've mentally collected a couple of figures for follow-up memory drawing.  The  people at the window bench seem most often to be on their own -- but elbow to elbow, they often make accidental twosomes that I've thought of as "Improbable Pairs," a title I might someday use for a series of  related paintings.

With the coffee shop closed and no new subjects, I went back to my sketchbook for some earlier models.

They were there on different days.  He was rough-and-tumble; she was a dreamy Alice in Wonderland.  An improbable pair, to be sure -- but she's thinking things over and, as I've called it, "Considering the Possibilities."

There's ample elbow room for improvement, but I'm calling this "DONE." .  The guy's face was even more unusual than in my small memory sketch -- he had quite a flat broad forehead and widely spaced eyes, which I kept fiddling with.  One day, when I was still working on it, my daily walk took me by a front-yard statue of St. Francis.  OMG -- the Pallet guy *did* look a bit like him!

  

And St. Francis reminded me of a few characters in an article I came across, "Most Bizarre and Completely Outlandish Art Fails of All Time."  It's hilarious, if not here and there a bit tragic --with  almost unbelievable examples of art restorations that have totally screwed up the original work.  Pallet Guy and St.  Francis remind me a bit of #5 and #6 in the line-up.

Meanwhile, here in The Yellow House, time for a fresh start -- it's always a work-in-progress.

  

In transit: The journey is the destination

 

You'll know by now that people-watching, for me, is a prime spur to painting.  I try not to stare, but I'm constantly observing facial features and I'm fascinated by 21^st century clothing and haircuts.  Until the imposition of Home Alone restrictions, my trips by transit were rich hunting ground for interesting subjects.

Riding the Canada Line in February, my eye locked on an elfin-featured young woman:-- sleek eccentric hair (red!), loose jacket and scarf flowing to mid-thigh of  tights, fashionable Blundstone boots.  But more than these!  She was reading a book.  And not just any book -- Tolstoy's "War and Peace."

In the throng, we got off at the same stop, exiting the car elbow-to-elbow.  I couldn't stop myself from saying, "You are reading the greatest novel ever written."  Her eyes lit up, "Yes, yes!  And it's hard -- but I'm almost finished."  "I saw that -- I'm so happy you're reading it."  "It's wonderful!" she said -- and we went our separate ways, smiling from the brief exchange.

At home, I made a quick note in my sketchbook and started to mull over how to turn it into a painting:  "The Girl Who Reads Tolstoy"

The very next week, riding the line in a different direction, I was astonished to see a different young woman ...not reading a book, but standing in a helpful pose that I surreptitiously caught on my cell camera.  Hey -- it was in the cause of great art, right?

After some thumbnail sketches of possible compositions, I decided to play like the big kids and do some formal studies.  My first focussed on the redhead's face and book, which I began like this:

Then I pulled some 8x10" pieces from my abundant cardboard stash and tried some possible compositions for the scene.   If you mentally sketch in the full figures of the seated passengers in this one, you'll see they'd have to be sitting cross-legged on the floor!

 And this scene, while less crowded than a typical run to the airport, had too much happening of too little consequence:

Simpler is better, I decided, as I pulled out a small canvas and set to work on The Real Thing:

Or so I thought.  I don't know whether I'm on a downward trend or have become more exacting (or both), but after a lot of  poking and prodding, I reached this stage and called it quits:

 So I'm left with the first study in its completed state:--

 ...along with a few deficient mini-studies, a blue-painted canvas (obliterating the scene that didn't work), my trusty sketchbook full of ideas, and a very nice memory of a vivid young woman discovering Tolstoy.

No transit trips for a while, as we all sit tight, but I'm sticking to my resolution to take a daily walk.  There are fewer people en route, sometimes with heads down, sometimes wearing masks, but it's a fruitful time and space for mulling things over and planning next steps.