Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

14 Sep 2021 Leave a comment

Of all the philosophies and theologies I have learned, the most difficult is the idea of impermanence. Think, Buddhism and Hinduism.

Most people have heard about or witnessed the creation of Buddhist sand mandalas. On the other hand, few have witnessed the erasure that follows. The erasure is a ceremony unto itself, symbolizing the temporary place that we and all life on Earth hold.

Over the years, much to my dismay, several of my murals have been painted over. I had hoped they would remain until long after I had passed. I have learned to accept some of this impermanence, mostly because there’s usually another commission or gallery opening just around the corner. Still, I yearn for some kind of immortality through my art.

My first restaurant mural actually had a long lifespan. I had decorated all four walls of a local Italian restaurant. The less-oft’ viewed back of St. Peter’s Basilica; the crumbling Coliseum; romantic couples in gondolas with laughing children racing across the bridges overhead; horses sporting brightly colored headdresses, pulling equally bright Sicilian carts; an Italian phrase that echoed our oft recited, “Eat, Laugh, Live,” (and which I had to research with help from the local university); and even the iconic fingertips of Michelangelo’s “The Creation of Adam” over the dessert freezer (what more appropriate spot?).

For years, my family, friends and locals reveled in the authenticity of the Sicilian family’s recipes, with my artwork as a backdrop. But the neighborhood changed. Mama Lina’s closed its doors.

A couple of weeks later, perhaps with a touch of masochism, I stopped by. A half-dozen white, work trucks were parked outside and the sound of drills and hammers echoed throughout the empty space. I walked through entryway, once decorated with a vine-covered lattice arch, to see only whitewashed walls. Stark. Eerie. Depressing. Almost dreamlike, in a nightmarish sort of way.

As I stared at the blank spaces that had once danced with life, workmen came up to ask me if I was the artist.

“How did you know? 

“The way you walked straight in and stared at the wall,” one of them said. Of course. Who else would walk into someone else’s business, uninvited, and stare at all the blank walls? They were sympathetic, and even asked for my business card. But they had a job to do.

Another restaurant hired me to paint numerous Egyptian scenes on wood-stained clapboard—no easy feat. I first had to prime the area. While that was drying, I sketched scenes from various internet travel sites, merging each as it moved along the wall. The iconic Egyptian pyramids; sparkling gardens and lush, tropical flowers; women carrying basketsful of fruit atop their heads; and a twist on the traditional, tourist camel ride—the owner and his family atop the camels. Each family member posed, an exercise that added many hours to my work.

They did a good business for a while. But the location never stuck. Attempts to make it into a nightclub flopped. I heard rumors that they may close and so I made a trip over, only to find the camel scene marred. Someone had whitewashed the family’s faces. I never returned to witness the complete erasure.

Admittedly, I have destroyed some of my own artwork. My skills have improved. Some items were water damaged. And I don’t need three portfolios of college work. Still, my stomach does a little flip each time one of my works ends up in the landfill or hidden beneath four coats of Kilz.

All things have a lifespan. Cars. Buildings. Glaciers. Magazines. Medicines. And, of course, humans. I have, through necessity, adopted a more laisse faire attitude toward the sometimes-transient nature of my work.

And when I hit a real low, I pick up my brush and start again. I can always create something new.

Image by aminutefromterry

Falling in Love with the Canadian Mounties–and Their Paper

11 Dec 2019 2 Comments

by aminutefromterry in Art, Art Opinion, Nature, Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

When I was little, my dad worked in the printing and publishing business. Later, he started his own small print shop. He brought home big, boxed paper samples for me to draw on. Different sizes, weight, texture and opacity. Dad showed me the difference between cover stock and card stock, and named all the colors—much different than my Crayolas. “Canary yellow” and “Salmon” were specific in those days to paper. My father knew that the gift of paper would be far more appealing than a new Barbie.

Among those samples from Northwest Potlatch Paper Company were beautiful prints of Canadian Mounties astride their horses, often alongside muscled Native Americans astride their own steeds. Every now and then, a print would feature a Mountie playing with huskies.

To a nascent artist and animal lover, this was heaven. I sat on the living room floor and sorted through the papers over and over again, deciding which to color on first. I studied every detail of the printed images, drinking in the evocative vistas and adventures. The experience reinforced my interest in art (not to mention dogs and horses). It also puffed up my chest a bit, since we lived in Minnesota and the images were just like “home.”

Of the 16 artists hired by Northwest, the artist whose work I distinctly remember was Arnold Friberg. He was the most prolific of the artists commissioned by Northwest (Potlatch) Paper Company, so it’s no surprise that his work showed up most often in the boxes my dad brought home. Over the course of 33 years (between 1937 and 1970), he sold paintings or reproduction rights on 208 Mountie subjects to Northwest Paper. Friberg was also well known for his Western and Biblical illustrations. The latter interest led to a monumental painting and costume design project for Cecil B. DeMille’s film The Ten Commandments, which earned Friberg an Academy Award.

His style was distinctly representational and overtly masculine. Men and horses alike boasted chiseled jaws and soulful eyes. Postures were perfect. Manes and tales ripped across his oil paintings in a deft display of motion, while the implacable Mountie sat strong and tall. He was the yang to Norman Rockwell’s yin, but their styles were similar, in that their subjects were both heroic and routine. No surprise, they studied together in New York before WWII. 

Friberg’s narrative (most likely assigned by Northwest Paper management) ranged from Mountie as rugged outdoorsman (warming himself in the shadows of the night by a small, hand-made fire, snowshoes upended and wedged securely in the snow); to upholder of the law for Native Americans (victims of cattle and horse rustling); to Mountie as proselytizer (reading the Bible to a group of Native American children); to something of a cross between mom and handyman (reattaching the arm of a doll for a Native American girl). Always, binoculars and a map were at hand. Northwest Potlach Paper, with the help of Arnold Friberg, had created the quintessential manly man. And no surprise that Native Americans were expressly featured in Friberg’s paintings—a Potlatch was a Pacific Northwest Native American festival with weddings and stories, feasting, dancing and trading.

  The flesh and muscles of Friberg’s horses rippled with hues of amber, sienna and umber. The effervescent glow of Friberg’s white snow, contrasted against shadows of cobalt, ultramarine and violet, evoked intensely frigid scenes. His colors suggest the palette of forerunner Maxfield Parrish. Friberg’s palette, like his vista, was rich with depth. Of course, the Canadian Mounted Police wore bright red, which again speaks to Friberg’s palette—vivid. Contrasting. Intense.

To my immense pleasure, horses were a recurring theme in Friberg’s work. One of his most famous pieces featured a dappled, white horse exhaling through his nostrils a warm mist into the cold, night air. Beside him, George Washington kneeled in snow. “Prayer at Valley Forge” was designed for the 1976 U.S. Bicentennial.

Friberg died in 2010. But his memory and my childhood memories live on. I continue my love affair with paper and paint through my own work. And I think about Dad almost every time I run copies through my printer.

Arnold Friberg, “Mountie and Native Leader.”

Arnold Friberg, “Prayer at Mount Vernon.”

Click on the text below for more images. (Better yet, visit the Univ. of Minnesota, Duluth museum in person!) http://www.d.umn.edu/tma/collections/mountie.html

Does anyone remember these images from childhood? Were they as evocative and resonant for you as they were for me? I’d love to hear from you!

Political Palette: Presidential Portraits By Kehinde Wiley and Amy Sherald

27 Aug 2018 2 Comments

by aminutefromterry in Art, Art Opinion, Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Obama Portraits Both

Backstory

Now that the furor is over and the portraits are hung, I’ll weigh in on the “scandalous” presidential portraits at the Smithsonian’s National Gallery.

Numerous people were astonished by the images and artists chosen by former President Barack Obama and his wife, former first lady Michelle Obama. Why? Firstly, because they are contemporary art, by artists Kehinde Wiley and Amy Sherald. Neither portrait is a simple oil rendering of the face of a leader. Secondly, because they are difficult to understand. For the same reason. This is the first time any sitting president has chosen a contemporary artist over a traditional portrait artist for his portrait in the National Gallery. It is the first time any sitting president or first lady has chosen artists who interpret the subject in a wholly different way. Imagine Surrealists Marcell Duchamp or Helen Lundeberg doing Truman’s presidential portrait. Thirdly, because they are political. Aren’t all presidential portraits? Not as much as these.

Wiley’s and Sherald’s points-of-view are not so much portraiture as figurative intellectualism and archetypes. That works in museums, but not so much in presidential portraiture. It simply comes off as peculiar. (Critic Ben Davis uses words like “weird” and “fanciful” in his ArtNet review.)

Another way to Choose an Artist

Both Obamas chose black American artists. That makes sense: why not seize that opportunity? But judging from the scarcity of black artists on Google and in The Portrait Society of America, choosing a black portrait artist of renown is no easy feat. (The Smithsonian submitted a list of choices to the Obamas.) The Smithsonian has a wonderful collection of African American art created by over 200 African American artists (https://americanart.si.edu/art/highlights/african-american), but these are primarily social commentaries, not portraits. It’s a subcategory within a subcategory within a subcategory.

Did the Obamas have to choose a portrait artist? No. They stepped out of everyone’s comfort zone, deliberately. Some artists simply prefer the term, “artist.” Others incorporate their heritage, cultural identity, race and politics into their work. The latter was the Obamas’ priority.

Where do I Stand?

No surprise that as an artist trained in illustration, I am going to put the art first. And the first artists who come to mind are John Singer Sargent,Spanish Dancer study for El Jaleo

American icon Maxfield Parrish,Maxfield Parrish Daybreak

Kimmie Knox, (more on him in a minute), or

Gerald Ford’s and Ronald Reagan’s portrait artist, Everett Kinstler,

No Published Captionwho was a pulp and comic book illustrator.

Were I the president and had an opportunity to choose a black American portrait artist, I would have chosen from talented, non-controversial names. Alas, most of those artists have died.

For example, children’s book illustrator John Steptoe, with his geometric slash-patterns or more realistic renderings would have been a wonderful choice. But he died young, in 1989. Steptoe Daddy is a Monster Sometimes

steptoe_mufaros-beautiful-daughters

While Barkley Henricks was not my first choice, many works I like and have pizazz. He was a figurative realist with an existentialist flair. (I would have had to convince him to visually flatter me.)

Barkley Henricks SlickSome of his pieces were strikingly similar to Wiley’s work, including detailed backgrounds and shocking switcheroos. But he died last year.

I’m betting that Simmie Knox’s portraiture is too traditional for the Obamas. From the moment they moved into the White House, they requested contemporary and pop art on their walls. Hillary and Bill Clinton hired Knox for their White House portrait (Nelson Shanks painted the National Gallery portrait). It was a perfect way to expand the stable of American presidential portrait artists while expanding social consciousness. Both Obama and Clinton made political statements by choosing the particular artists they chose. You can “see” their politics.

Bill Clinto by Simmie Knoxhillary Clinton by Simmie Knox

I love the visible brushstrokes in Knox’s work, yet the paintings remain detailed and realistic—the perfect marriage. His portraits make statements about the subjects using color, expression, likeness and surroundings without overkill.

Simmie Knox is humble, traditional (three years in the army), and outrageously talented. “I realize there has never been an African American to paint a portrait of a president and, being the first, that’s quite an honor and quite a challenge,” he told ABC News about painting Bill Clinton’s portrait.

President Barack Obama’s Portrait

Barack Obama’s portrait (scroll up) depicts him seated on a chair against a backdrop primarily of green foliage—leaflets of fives and threes, some smooth and some ribbed, along with a minimal amount of flowers. As described in an article in Popular Science Magazine by Eleanor Cummins, the jasmine represents “Obama’s birthplace and childhood in Hawaii. The pink and gold flowers are chrysanthemums, the official flower of Chicago, where Obama became a community organizer and, ultimately, a senator of Illinois. And the purple flowers are African blue lilies, a reminder of his father, Barack Obama, Sr., a Kenyan man.”

Barack Obama’s portrait looks like him. His nose, his eyes, his lips and ears, the shape of his head. He holds a deceivingly commanding pose, seated and slightly relaxed, legs apart, with his arms crossed on top of his legs, as though he is set to give you a stern lecture. The skin tones are vibrant and blended, if a bit exaggerated (as an acrylic painter, I lean toward Disney-style tones, as well). His people look real.

Secondly, his traditional pose imposed on an imaginary background does not sacrifice the entirety of the portrait. Wiley is a passed master at blending realism with other-than settings. In fact, he got his start painting black, Harlem youth in regal postures wearing the attire of European royalty.

More about Kehinde Wiley and his Work

I love research almost as much as chocolate. So of course I researched while I was writing this article. In some ways, I wish I hadn’t. In my fairytale art world, I imagined Wiley painting every last brushstroke himself. Alas, he hires assistants in China. He also has a studio there. It’s a cost-cutting measure. (http://nymag.com/arts/art/rules/kehinde-wiley-2012-4/)

I have seen Wiley’s work close-up at the Chrysler Museum in Norfolk, Virginia. It is typically large in scale—anywhere from seven to ten feet—and the image I saw was no exception. Although I was attending a poetry reading, the words wending their way into my ears were overtaken by the imagery before my eyes—distracting, engaging, beautiful, thought-provoking.

wiley-st-andrew-fullThe piece, part of the Chrysler’s permanent collection, is, “St. Andrew,” a primarily green-and-red canvas bisected by an X that represents the cross of St. Andrews, but in the Latin position rather than that of the Roman crucifix. Ivy encircles the ends of the unbleached wood, subtly substituting for rope (rather than nails). The saint is replaced by a black, hip-hop guy wearing a do-rag under a red baseball cap. He straddles the cross in an almost dance-like pose. His gaze is off to the side, in one sense, implying fatigue, and other other hand, decidely dour.

It is a commanding, powerful image, a social statement, and worthy of a wall in a museum. One of Wiley’s most popular images is “Napoleon Leading the Army Over the Alps.” Wiley’s model’s last name, Williams, is carved along with “Hannibal,” “Bonaparte,” and “Karolus Magnus” into the stone beneath the rearing, white steed. The sitter’s name carved alongside three white, European conquerors is one of Wiley’s techniques to weave the common black man into the core of a white, male, supremacist narrative.

Wiley Napolean Leading the troops across the AlpsWilliams wears camouflage clothing, a white bandanna tied on his head, and a huge, undulating, gold satin cape. The image takes its cue from the neoclassical Jacques-Louis David masterpiece of the same name. In this case, the painting elicited little public outrage because first of all, no one really cares for Napoleon, and secondly, because unless one looks very closely, one doesn’t know to be outraged, or at least, embarrassed. Swimming around the stylized, Baroque flowers are little sperm. Wiley Napolean Sperm Wallpaper

Check out the four corners of the frame, too. Another wily way that Wiley makes a statement about white male dominance.

Wiley’s Fallout— Fame has its drawbacks

Two of Wiley’s pieces came back to haunt him. Curious people Googled his work and came up with “Judith Slaying Holofernes.” Without context, they (two pieces painted in 2012) smack of racism and terrorism. In context, they’re still unsettling. Which was Wiley’s point.

The concept is based on a story in the Biblical Book of Judith. A beautiful widow, distressed by her Jewish countrymen for not trusting God to deliver them from their foreign conquerors, gets an invading general drunk and decapitates him. She returns home with the ruler’s head, and his Assyrian following falls apart. The tale inspired dozens of European paintings depicting the horrific scene. (The 17th c. Dutch cornered the market on biblical horror.)

Wiley recast Judith as a black women and Holofernes—at least, his head—is that of a white woman.WILEY-Judith-and-Holofernes-2012_6-1-1

Wiley did a great job on the contrast between the sienna and blues (cobalt and ultramarine) in the version of Judith where his model, Treisha Lowe from Brooklyn, wears a cobalt blue gown belted with leather and gold worthy of equestrian tack. (The same belt is featured in “Mrs. Waldorf-Astoria.”) He is a master of reflected light. He wields hues like a weapon.

The other painting presents Judith as a Capulet, young, powerful and sexy in a sparkly, form-fitting yellow gown. Of the severed head, Wiley told an interviewer from New York Magazine, “She’s one of my assistants.”Wiley Judith Yellow Capulet

The public was horrified by the impression that their president wanted to destroy white America. I can see that, but, I don’t think that Barack Obama based his choice of Wiley on that image. However, I do think that he chose Wiley for his overall artistic philosophy and illustrative scope.

Critics explained that Wiley had attempted to illustrate how white culture’s appropriation of black culture might be turned against it. At the time he created the paintings, Wiley was more blunt. “It’s sort of a play on the ‘kill whitey’ thing,” he said, referring to a study by David Pizarro, a research psychologist at Cornell.

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Redoing, repainting, rethinking

26 Oct 2011 Leave a comment

by aminutefromterry in Art Tags: , , , , , ,

I knew when I painted the huge (30″ X 40″) acrylic of my daughter in a summery, sunglasses, tank top pose, getting into a car, that the proportions were wrong, but I was on deadline for a show entry. I just needed the image to be sharp, bold and attractive enough for a photo and email entry, and I could work out the kinks later.
I was overjoyed that the work was accepted.
Now, for the hard part.
I loved the mouth and the face. My favorite parts. But the head, overall, was too small. The rest of the body, such as  the arm, then the purse, as well as the car,  had been worked out proportionately, so my only choice was to paint over the face.
Sigh.
She ended up with a gaping black and red smile that looked like the Joker, aka Jack Nicholson. The perfect reflected light and shadows on her chin were painted over and enlarged. I am about a third of the way there.

Part of me is disheartened. Part of me is excited. I love to paint, and I love this painting. Trained as an illustrator, my background involves 00 (double-ot) Rapidographs, ruling pens, and T-squares. Large paintings involve a lot of large brushstrokes, then standing back several paces to obtain a true view.
It helps to loosen up with a glass of wine, too. And chocolate. No salesmen or corporate clients to worry about messy fingerprints on pristine illustration board.

So much of my life is like this now–redoing, using broader strokes, standing back to assess my progress. I can’t help but wax philosophical and consider that it is a good thing. I’ve got years of training under my belt. Teeny-tiny, detailed illustrations, drawn and re-drawn to clients’ specifications, published in the form of calendars and matchbooks. Cleaned typefonts, enlarged from aforementioned matchbooks, enlarged to 20 times their size, meticulously sculpted, then reduced and re-photographed. Pica measurements. Darkroom stats, printed too quickly, then cleaned up with White-Out on deadline.

I’ve earned this freedom, this joy.  And it shows. This painting, and others like it, have a sense of life to them that was lacking in my older, scripted work.
I hope that this sense of joy and freedom, built on accomplishment, spills over to other areas of my life–parenting, caregiving, organizing, cooking, volunteering. Whenever I feel my neck tighten up, or my temper flare, I remind myself to walk softly and carry a big paintbrush.
It feels good.