I am making them for my children. Six of them. All of them different.

One thing about a self portrait, I’ve discovered, is that no two are, nor can be, the same. Some are ugly (and I can be ugly). Some are proletarian, some are unfinished, some are over-worked. And I’ve come to the conclusion that after the ball is over and the children are dividing up my stuff amongst themselves, some may find that one is more “them” than another. They will each find themselves in their dear old dad. I’m not making any one portrait with one inheritor in mind.

I’m don’t know who will take the ugly portrait. In fact I submitted them all to a juried show and what I would consider the ugliest one was chosen as the best. Somebody thought, I suppose, that it had “character”. And I can see that perhaps one of the children will appreciate it for that. I think actually that my technique improved over the time between the first one and the last one.

A self portrait is like a signature, perhaps. No two signatures are the same. I remember a Perry Mason TV show where a forger was convicted because he made every signature exactly the same. And while in many many ways children carry forward physical and emotional characteristics of their parents, no child is the exactly same as his parent(s). So I suppose each will identify with one or more of the portraits, some in one way, some in another.

I’ve heard it said that a family can survive anything…except an inheritance. I suppose it’s possible that some of the children will want none of them, and that’s their prerogative. At least that way there will be no ill will.

That would be nice.

It’s entirely possible that some will say they don’t want any one of them so as to not engender strife. That would be nice too. They’ll take what’s left over. And I’m sure that God will guide each one to his “own”. Then the summation of my life, the struggle to hear God’s Voice, will be passed on. That’s the only characteristic I really care about.

That’s what it’s all about. All all all about.

Douglas L. Fros sayst: After receiving an honorary degree from MICA in 2001, Marcella Louis Brenner, {90+ year old widow of abstract expressionist Morris Louis ; she understood what the life of an artist was like) spoke to a hall full of students and faculty. Her remarks ended with the following salute:

“I honor you, your determination, your nerve, your courage, your willingness to take risks, your ability to be alone with your struggle…I thank you for trying to make real for us what is real for you. And I thank you for your willingness to endure loneliness and anxiety in order to give yourself away.”

About as good a definition / description of what it is to be an artist as any I’ve ever come across.

People make it important because something powerful happens with Art. It turns out that Art makes people important and important people use Art to magnify their importance.

By David

One good example is Napoleon. The Arc de Triomphe and numerous major paintings (see sidebar illustration) by major artists of the time such as David and Ingres as well as many lesser works were made essentially as myth-making public relations exercises. And they worked!

It was Napoleon who gave the famous quote, “A picture is worth a thousand words”. And he used this to great effect. He had portraits commissioned that contributed significantly to his mythos, and they still convey a sense of power and leadership that may or may not have been truly representative of the man.

Another example of political use of Art is Roman sculpture and wall paintings.It wasn’t love of culture and beauty only that birthed Roman Art. Monuments to Roman generals and Caesars were more than personal ego; those monuments and displays of ornate and ostentatious wealth were to impress policy makers and even to intimidate decision makers so that when say a vote came up in the Senate, the odds were that the views of the most impressive politician would be given weight.

But what about art of non-famous artists?

I am a non-famous artist. I have a confession actually. I went to Art School (Kansas City Art Institute, 1972) to evade the draft. I wanted to be a doctor and not an artist. I was excellent in Biology. However I was poor in Chemistry. A doctor needs to be good in both subjects. And I had friends who were in the art classes. So gradually I moved from interest in the sciences to interest in the arts. Or more accurately, interest in the art students. I went to art school because art was the onliest avenue open to me.

And I think that most people who make art do so because it’s what they can do and what they like to do. Not because like law or medicine one can make a lot of money. We do art for us, not for the marketplace. I’m talking about the vast majority of artists. We wash dishes, we drive taxis, we work in rest-homes, we teach. In short we do anything to make a living, but at the end of the day we like to do art. Sometimes we starve so that we are not encumbered by other distractions. We mooch, we don’t pay our bills, we squander the inheritance, we get money any way we can in order to support our habit. Because for the most part art doesn’t pay. We pay for the opportunity to make art. Van Gogh complained bitterly that street sweepers would work all day at a dirty job for a pittance, but demand (and get) a lot more money to model for an artist. And paints and supplies are indeed expensive. It’s expensive to make art. On the other hand, unless you are in a select class of artists who make their living from art, prices are low.

I have a friend who is a full-time practicing professional artist. Until a few years ago he made his living as something of an interior decorator. But he stopped painting murals in private homes to paint full-time. And it’s been a rough go. But he has an unmatched personal fulfillment. He’s an amazing painter and he should have recognition. Nevertheless, for inexplicable reasons he doesn’t have the recognition that he should have.

That’s the reason artists make art. And the reasons patrons buy art (this is the premise of this treatise) is to prove or project a sense of power.

Maybe artists should seek out politicians as a niche market. There are many painters who make a nice living by painting portraits of captains of industry and their families. But that’s not for everybody.

Meanwhile I am making art for my children and grandchildren. In 100 years they will have something that old granddad has made and be happy.

That’s enough for me.

+++

Below is an excerpt from an interesting read that I found. It may be of interest or not. Optional reading only.

From the website http://www.oneonta.edu/faculty/farberas/arth/arth200/politics/roman_imp_sculpt.html

Roman power was constructed and made manifest in its marble monuments. Emperors from the pagan Roman empire of Augustus to the Christian empire of Constantine and Theodosius were aware of the important role architectural and sculptural monuments played in establishing their power.

and

Power is very rarely limited to the pure exercise of brute force….Power is …a far more complex and mysterious quality than any apparently simple manifestation of it would appear. It is as much a matter of impression, of theatre, of persuading those over whom authority is wielded to collude in their subjugation. Insofar as power is a matter of presentation, its cultural currency in antiquity (and still today) was the creation, manipulation, and display of images. In the propagation of the imperial office, at any rate, art was power (Jas Elsner, Imperial Rome and Christian Triumph, Oxford, 1998, p. 53).

I read in the International Herald Tribune (I can’t remember the reference) an article about how oil rich Gulf States are buying Art. The comment was something like, “Where there is money there is Art” or “Art follows Money”. I know that in Japan’s bubble years enormous numbers of Martin Guitars and Van Goghs were snapped up by wealthy Japanese corporations and individuals for super astronomical sums. Pre-war Martin guitars are impossible to find these days. Perhaps now that Japan is in trouble, the Sheikhs will be taking them off Japanese hands.

But shouldn’t Vincent have had some of the money?

Take care yall.

See you soon.

J.

Me and Bertha the Bass

I’m a painter / printmaker. And I’m a musician (Upright Bass and Guitar). There are similarities between the two disciplines. (stop me if you’ve heard this)

I’m self-taught as a musician. I’ve had a few lessons and valuable they were too. But I don’t read music; when I want to learn a new song, I listen. I listen and I can usually hear what is happening in the music. And then I play what I hear as best I can.

In painting it’s very similar. I’ve been trained to see and to paint what I see as best I can.

In both it’s a question of perception. I don’t try to “express myself”; I try to play / paint what I hear / see as best I can. I think all my heroes have done that. Rembrandt to Picasso. And possibly even Robert Motherwell. They all connected with something outside themselves. In music it’s the same. Bob Dylan, the Beatles and countless old Blues men. They’ve all listened and played what they heard as best they could.

The operative phrase is, “as best they could”. I think that personal style amounts to nothing more than personal limitations. When Monet and Gauguin (I think it was these two, and if not then it was another two) went painting together and came up with two different representations of the same landscape, it was nothing more than their own personal limitations that made the two paintings different. They were both painting the same scene. They both had the same perception, but just as handwriting is individual, so is painting. And so is music. It’s always going to be differenter than another.

And that’s the reason why “trying to develop one’s own style” is ludicrous. I am convinced that we can’t make things happen, but we can allow things to happen.

Only forgers make it “just like the real thing”.

And of course it got my juices going for making a painting. Coincidentally when I got home I found in a neighbor’s trash a new 50 x 85cm (approximately) untouched prepared linen canvas. The perfect size for a self-portrait. So, off we go.

In Amsterdam, predictably I suppose, we saw such sites as the Van Gogh Museum and the Rijksmuseum. And of course each museum had marvelous self-portraits by their respective masters. There’s nothing like seeing the good old good ones up so close.

We saw Rembrandt’s studio at Rembrandhuis (that’s Dutch for Rembrandt House) and his studio including the way he set up subjects with that always wonderful North Light. So, in some ways I can identify with — feel like — Rembrandt painting his wonderful self-portraits and other wonderful, even iconic, paintings. Seeing some of those great self portraits got me to thinking. The good thing about a self-portrait is that you don’t have to wait nor pay for a model. So, I’ve set up in my etching studio which is a little crowded, but the north light is o so nice.

Now, I know I’m no Rembrandt, but that doesn’t stop me having perhaps similar feelings, making perhaps similar judgments and decisions about how much yellow to put in this or white to put in that.

That’s the best thing about going to see the actual works that make Western Civilization what it is. These are the defining works that are shown in Art History classes (e.g. Jansen) or in other biographical books. In a book, or on a slide, it is almost impossible to see the paint and to determine exactly how a certain skin tone or eye highlight was mixed and painted. When you can get up close and personal with a painting (or an etching) you can see the stroke and very often get a very good idea of how to mix and apply the color the way the master did. Very instructive.

Except sometimes with Rembrandt there is a problem. I know that when looking at human skin, the color is dynamic. It’s alive and therefore constantly changing right before my very eyes. I have to put down the color repeatedly because the more I look, the more it changes. Looking say at a Titian  I can examine the canvas and get a pretty good idea of how the colors were mixed, but with Rembrandt it’s different. Rembrandt’s skin tones go through the same changes as natural living skin! The more I look, the more it changes. It’s really amazing. It’s like looking at flesh that is still living. It’s like he was creating human skin on the canvas!

I don’t put in enough time to ever paint like the Old Masters, and certainly not like Rembrandt. But I like the feeling of identification. I like feeling like Rembrandt. I don’t think he would mind.

Now back to painting.

Be well.

J.

On another note, here is a great blog post that you might find of interest:

http://peopletriggers.wordpress.com/2011/04/19/how-pressure-and-stress-affect-our-performance/

The first one on Tuesday was by a painter who was giving a sort of master class at the Jerusalem Studio School (Israel Hershberg’s school of drawing and painting). Among the many interesting things that he said was a quote from Degas. To paraphrase, “without a bit of mystery, fantasy, imagination you will be boring.”

This surprised me because I was taught (and I believe that this is what they teach at the JSS) that all the color harmonies of nature are perfect, so to paint what you see requires a certain slavish faithfulness and responsibility. Nevertheless, I have (independently) come to the conclusion that it’s simply not enough fun to play it too literal. And not faithful to nature as well. And this is kind of the point of the lecture.

By coincidence the following evening we were invited to a showing and a lecture at the American Cultural Center. A writer,  Joan Leegant, (she teaches at Harvard, so she should know what she’s doing) spoke on the failure of facts. It’s not enough to just tell the facts. In non-fiction as well as fiction. It is possible, she says, to tell the facts faithfully and to miss the point. Conversely, a more powerful, even faithful, presentation of the facts can be made by emphasizing or otherwise distorting certain facts.

So I take this as a message from Heaven. I was told on two different occasions by two different leaders in their two different art worlds that just the five senses are not enough to tell the whole story. I don’t intend to lie, but I do intend to reach for a set of facts that are beyond literal, even beyond the sensory.

People who play electric bass, however, can play many more NPS. The electric bass almost demands more notes than the acoustic bass. The music comes out different. The same musician playing the same tune will play different music on the two very different instruments.

All this is to say, “Technology defines Art”. I personally like the slower, country-like feel (both musically and the tactile feel) of the physically harder to play acoustic bass.

I also like the way paint feels as opposed to a photograph. A painting of a subject and a photograph of the same subject make two different pieces of Art. Using the computer also influences the discussion. I’m not opposed to any technique for Art, but I like it when it’s harder to do; when the process demands more from the artist.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I love photography. I have gone through periods when Photography has replaced painting as my visual weapon of choice. But I recognize (and appreciate) the difference between the old hard way and the new slick way. I wouldn’t choose the old way for washing laundry, traveling to the next town or doing dishes. But for Art I kind of like the slower, contemplative and considered techniques.

Be well.

J.

Matisse was the son of a textile manufacturer. He grew up with those wonderful repetitive patterns that you find in textiles. Now, when I look at a Matisse, I see how he loved those textilic patterns.

And you know, love is contagious.

Be well.

J.

Of course I didn’t want to start an argument. Not there anyway. If I did, I would have said something like, “You IDIOT! What’s inside of us is J-U-N-K-! All the color harmonies of nature are perfect. Any sunrise or sunset will prove the point! Nature looks so, so, um, natural! What we paint looks garish, gaudy, amateurish, clumsy by comparison.”

As a student I realized that if I wanted a perfect painting, I would have to paint what I saw in nature. (My teacher, Wilbur Niewald — worth a good Google — was very good at teaching this kind of thing.) Nevertheless, I find that while I am a confirmed Perceptualist, I cheat. I believe that I am being faithful to what I see out there (absolute honesty is absolutely essential), but I find that more and more I am averaging the colors. I can’t paint every little dot to be a tree or bush or whatever, so I take a kind of a general audit of color/value for increasingly large areas of landscape. So it is that my painting is beginning to look a bit more abstract. Hopefully more essential. Certainly more simple.

For the time being I think that is ok. At least it is not painting what is inside me (ick!).

Be well.

J.