Counting the days, marking the minutes

 

 

Whoo-hoo!  The celestial phenomena are coming thick and fast this year, with the Summer Solstice arriving on schedule through the Stonehenge window at 20.51 GMT, June 20^th.   That's 1:50 pm PDT here in Vancouver.

 

For those who take a summer vacation, though, the end of the school year seven days later cannot come fast enough. We're wriggling in our regimens, squirming in our seats, twiddling our thumbs, and generally feeling young and restless.

 

Every year, I like to step away from my regular studio production routine and "go on vacation."  Last year, I spent my summer daze, idly in the Adirondack Mountains of New York, gamely imagining what might have filled the carved antique frame of my mother's old mirror.

 

I'm starting to get a hint of a framework for Summer Vacation 2024, but I have a couple of weeks to go until school lets out.  Here's my plan for this interim period:--  I'm going to borrow the counsel of the mindfulness community and be aware as the small elements of the day catch my attention.  Then, for each blog edition, I'll do a relatively simple piece or two, the work of one or two studio sessions, not the full she-bang. 

 

I'll start by breathing deeply and enjoying the view out my northern kitchen window – the mountain expanse that I savour and that just might be gone this time next year when a new 12-storey building blocks my view.

 

Never mind.  Focus on the moment.  Let's start with a concert I attended a couple weeks back – the wonderful musicians of Vetta Chamber Music.  (Scroll down to "Watch and Listen On-Line" for no-charge access to the past season's performances).

 

I attend their concerts at Pyatt Hall where I'm always intrigued by the horizontal and vertical patterns of the remarkable acoustic backdrop – shown here in a promo photo:

 

I'd found my favourite aisle seat, and two more viewers entered the short row, leaving an empty seat between one of them and me.  Just as the lights were dimming, along came a flustered woman who thrust into the empty seat an opulent bouquet… obviously intended for the featured performer.  The woman on the other side was not amused by being poked with the wrappings, and I was not amused as the eucalyptus began to give me the sniffles.

 

There was not much we could do about it as Ms. Fluster had gone on her way – until she almost missed presenting her bouquet at the concert's conclusion.  Not much to do except, after the fact, to seize the moment and produce "In Your Face" – Minutiae Series, 2024.

 

 

In quite a different vein and with any number of magic moments. I took a solo walk the next week along the waterfront at Ambleside, the enticingly named area of West Vancouver where my friend L's gallery is located.  Okay, you've read it here before – it's not actually her gallery, but it might as well be, and they know it and think highly of her.  (So there, Friend L !!).   I was headed particularly for an exhibit that was about to close and the wonderful small bird sculptures that L had raved about.

 

I began near the seawall just below the West Van Memorial Library, and first I sat down to inhale the sea air in a delightful sheltered pavilion – with shadows on the overhead crossbars that mesmerized me.

 

Then, I ambled eastward in a leisurely exploration of the high tide line.

 

And finally, I lingered in L's Gallery and shared her enchantment with the flights of birds.

 

Some days later, all the little bits and pieces, the dots of dark and light, were still on my mind – the shadows on the seaside pavilion, the flotsam of the high tide line, the magic flying flock.  I decided to put them together in one panel.  I began with an atypical approach for me – a palette knife spreading streaks of acrylic medium for a textured surface.

 

With not too much studio time, I produced the final version of "Ambleside."

 

Modest as this is at 7 ½ x 17", it outperforms many pricey professional pieces I've seen in online arts coverage.  Sometimes it's size that counts.  Suppose this were 7 ½ by 17 FEET?   New York galleries, here we come!

 

Okay.  Just kidding.  Meanwhile, the countdown continues.  Just six weeks to go.  And then -- ??

Up, up and away!

 

Yes, it's happening!  -- the wrap party is on, even better and more populated than had been imagined when the original scheme collapsed.   You already know some of the Commedia's "enablers" and some, who I'd failed to mention before, have joined the crowd today.

 

True to definition, they make a motley crew.  They're an odd assortment of individuals united by their common connection to the Commedia tradition – in which "motley" garments are essential to Harlequin and his closest associates.  After rejecting  a formal dinner to honour their contributions, I chose a deliberately informal set-up for the celebration.  I like what I've seen on-line of this wonderful young artist's colours and figures and copied some of her poses.

 

Are you ready for introductions?  Pour your drink of choice -- it might be a long evening; we have a lot of ground to cover – several hundred years' worth. Moving roughly left to right in my final painting, you'll meet first Lynne Lawner.

 

She's an American photographer/scholar, still going strong at 89, and she wrote the most fabulous researched and illustrated book, Harlequin on the Moon.

 

Next up and preceding Lawner by almost a century is Joseph Spencer Kennard – author of over 25 books on Italian culture and history. 

 

A clever man, indeed, since somehow he's managed posthumously to be almost absent from the internet, except for his book sales.  Luckily, this one was available from the Vancouver Public Library:

 

In  it, he writes memorably:

 

"The Commedia dell'Arte is Art and it is Psychology.  It is a theatre of all people, of all arts, of all moments when life wings up out of drab reality.  It is a theatre of music and dance; of song, colour and light; of days on wagon stages, of festivals in streets, in courts, in great squares; on rivers; at weddings and funerals and coronations; of actors with and without mass; sometimes in extraordinary costumes.

            Many of these actors are unknown to fame; many more are immortal.   Paintings, etchings, and engravings have made their faces familiar – diverting, ludicrous, facetious; sometimes grimly, often grotesquely, the Commedia dell'Arte portrays incongruous humanity."

 

Next, a major contributor to Commedia lore – accompanied by his greatest fan.  Maurice Sand single-handedly produced dozens of engravings and paintings that form the definitive illustrations of Commedia performers and their costumes.

 

You've seen many of these before in this series – and they appear and reappear in the Commedia literature.

 

His greatest fan?  Well, of course – his mother, who adored him.  She was the famous French author George Sand, and she arrives at our celebration as a special guest of honour – at an age when Maurice was a young teenager.

 

Another strong imaginative female joins Lawner and Sand in the person of Marjorie Bowen, who you've met before.

 

Now, moving to the right side of the eventual painting, you'll meet (or meet again) some lesser-known figures – but by no means, less known in Commedia archives.  Here's Sebastien Vrancx.

 

A prolific painter and engraver of the late 1500s-early 1600s, he produced hundreds of works, not the least of them concerning Commedia figures.

 

I don't remember how I first came across him, but somehow I put myself on the mailing list of an auction house that every month or so sends me notice that one of his prints is up for sale.

 

Then – beating of drums, sounding of horns – here's my personal favourite find of this series:  Gino Severini.

 

A 20^th century Italian artist, he's responsible for "Two Pulchinelli", the painting on the cover of Lynne Lawner's book.

And then there's – well, this is embarrassing.  In late March, I was enjoying my quiet Saturday shift at VanDusen Botanical Gardens' library.  I've been spending some of each shift touring and listing its rich selection, shelf by shelf, and was interested enough to pull out a book on invasive plants of the Pacific Northwest.  Suddenly – my worlds collided as I found reference to the Puccinellia species of invasive grass!

 

Was I losing my marbles?  When I reached home and searched farther, I found what you've perhaps already realized:-- This was not Pulchinella but rather, the species name derived from the 19^th century botanist Benedetto Puccelli.  Whew!  Close call – marbles found.  Here's dignified Benedetto, who turned up at the Enablers' Celebration by some means or another.

 

Now, on quickly to some formidable early contributors to Commedia lore.  Here's Ottavio Burnacini.

 

And an example of the "grotesques" in which he specialized:

 

Then Claude Gillot.  

 

 And his "Performance by the Commedia dell'Arte".

 

 

Another early notable, Jacques Callot.

 

And his "Pulliciniello."   

 

Yes, the spelling is all over the place, but that's not my doing.   Finally (for this round, at  least) is Giambattista Tiepolo who is practically the godfather of all these white garbed figures who have shown up anywhere with their long-nosed faces.  Here's his "Pulcinelli cooking and tasting gnocchi" – for all you gnocchi lovers out there.

 

Okay, that's the gang.  Here they all are, labelled on a late stage of the painting:

 

And here's the final painting "Motley Crew" (copyright 2024).

 

Certainly, some liberties were taken.  Burnacini, who was right at home in the royal courts of Europe, has been transformed with dreadlocks.

 

And Vrancx and Puccelli are barely suppressing their mutual suspicion.

 

 

But all in all, there's a lot to celebrate – and I salute all these artists, writers, scholars who have led me to be hooked on the history and artistry that enchanted them.

 

Hold the applause -- pandemonium and disarray backstage

 

The Commedia Series started out calmly enough in the quiet of "The Fitting Room." From there I'd planned, with the sketch above, to move on to "The Green Room" – the traditional backstage waiting room from where, in orderly fashion, each of my Commedia players would take their turn. 

 

Orderly?!!  Did someone say "orderly"?  There are just too many characters in this manic gang, and things quickly went out of control.

 

What's more, each player has a marvellous tradition and history, across countries and centuries – and that led me to an active acquaintance with the historic artists and writers I've come to think of as the Commedia's "enablers."  Obviously, when my series came to an end, I'd need to host a celebratory dinner for those who made it all possible.

 

Oh, dear.  Is this my thing?  I spent too many years backstage at top-notch fundraising organizations to overlook the opportunity for "donor recognition."  But for once, the Harlequins brought me down to earth.  With a chuckle, they said, "Only if it's on our terms."

 

Okay.  Their world looks like plenty of fun, but I didn't want them taking over so I decided a less formal Wrap Party was in order.  I made a rough layout to get started.

 

The Pulcinelli rushed in enthusiastically with cries of, "We'll help!"

 

 

What could possibly go wrong?  Does this look like "helping"?  They'd already driven the great artist Tiepolo into Commedia Mania, far worse (make that far better) than mine -- so of course, disruptions in the same vein were to be expected.  How about these Japanese masks at the Sakura Cherry Blossom Festival?

 

Then my friend Y wrote of a Budapest sighting of Harlequin-garbed cyclists….which led me to check out Hungary's connection to Commedia and discover, among other things, a tradition of fine ceramics.  Here's a soberly dressed Harlequin balancing on a ball.

 

If you wonder why I was again going astray down rabbit holes, it's because things were not going well with the Wrap Party.  I knew I had to hunker down and get serious when I became totally distracted by Norman Rockwell's "Court Jester."

 

Okay.  So Court Jesters and Commedia are not quite the same thing, but they all hang out in the same entertainment district of human affairs – masks, laughs, pranks, even insights along the way.  Rockwell's Jester led me to – Danny Kaye, of all people – another rare almost forgotten funny man.  (Sidebar alert:  Here's an irresistible sample of Danny in fine form)

 

Meanwhile, back at the Wrap Party that just couldn't get underway.  Despite careful considerations, the right side of an early layer was a dead-end.

 

 

Just like the Junior High-era sign that we thought hilarious:

 

One can only press on -- so invoking an early teacher-by-book, I picked up a large brush and followed his counsel to "Never leave a mistake on the canvas."  Here's the result:  Painted over.  All gone.  Fresh surface.

 

 

In the process, I thought of my friend GM, who is fascinated by pentimento and the discoveries coming almost annually now of whole different worlds that UV light has revealed beneath painted masterpieces.

 

For now, as I pick up my brushes again, let's all just enjoy the Harlequin Tulips that have finally emerged all around town – and right in my own front garden.