new drawing process

It took me a long time to find joy with my drawing, but I think I finally found it with soft pastels.

another this is another new beginning

Each time I start a painting, I get to begin again.  Each one is like a chapter in an epic novel.  (Edit 8/15 Blah blah blah.  This making of things is a mystery.  I have no idea what I'm doing.  I just follow my intuition.  And in the painting's current state, which I'm embarassed to share, my intuition is telling me to burn it.) Sometimes they need editing.  Sometimes you want to skip over them. Sometimes they take very little time.  And that's what I thought about when I finished the first draft of the painting based on the portrait of Sherry.  I really like this silhouette and the green on black and even the texture of the paint on the black canvas.  But, that would be lazy.  I can always look back and appreciate this photograph, but I can't stop now.  Who knows what will become of her.  By the way, I'm moving on to my third religion on this one (the gospel of the media), praying to the scary wizard from the The Wizard of Oz.  Mmmm Hmm.  Because, Hunty, you know she IS the Great And Powerful Sherry.  Yes, I know, I've been watching too many RuPaul Drag Race reruns.

this is another new beginning (phase D)

I love starting a new painting.  There is only optimism and endless possibilities.  Then reality sets in and doubt returns over and over again like a bad case of bed bugs.  I finally began my painting from sculpture of the model of Cherry.  She will be the sister of Lazarus / De Kooning's Stopping By Later whatever I'm calling it these days.  I really like the idea of these religious paintings.  Although I'm not a religious manchild, there is some beauty in worship and religious stories.  But what about other religions?  Perhaps Christianity has relatives that Christians are too afraid to accept.  And if that's the case, then Cherry's alter ego might be pagan.

this is the drawing bored

I suppose my totems are guiding me toward creation, not only symbols of my current state of mind but also inspiration for the new paintings that I'll start today.  One is elated, the other introverted.  And perhaps that's the balance I'm trying to achieve in my life and work right now.

                

The left totem will--in my head but of course most paintings end up being different from the way one envisioned them in the beginning--end up being the sister painting to The Rise of Lazarus.  She will stand in for Elijah.  And ever since I stumbled upon this religious theme, peeking inside the head of The Great and Powerful Sherry, I discovered that she has entrapped the whale this time.  My favorite person is supposed to tell me the Jonah story in greater detail since I am not Christian and focused on crafts instead of paying attention to Bible studies in Sunday school.  I want The Great and Powerful Sherry to be huge, maybe two or three canvasses...not really sure yet.  The drawing bored, which is really the walls in my studio, not so boring.  But boarding can often times be tedious.

these are the many faces of sherry

About a month ago I arrived at sculpture studio to find our new model, Sherry.  I began forming my armature to her pose but during that process one of the legs fell off.  Of the armature, not Sherry.  I couldn't fix it, and since I like the idea of using the same armature in all the sculptures of my current process, I balled the metal figure up and began forming Sherry's portrait around it

Now, Sherry's story.

When I first began I thought she was angry at me for looking at her, or she didn't want me there, or hated men . . . something like that.  I became extremely self-conscious and anxious.  But when she came out of her pose, she was polite and cheerful.  A sign of a good model!  She captured a state of mind as she went into the pose, becoming a new person experiencing something profound.  Capturing this emotional side was quite intriguing.  One minute she was angry, the next sad, regretful, then consumed, resigned, peaceful.  Repeat.  This slippery slope of change found its way into the sculpture without me realizing it. You can imagine that I look forward to creating the painting from one of these images, all offering a different level of emotion really.

Thank you Sherry for an amazing energy.  My creation is for you.

this is the new painting

She just needs to be shown in better light.  Edit May 23: I've actually decided that this painting is not quite finished.  I think she needs a bit more structure to her face in relation to the bottom portion of the painting, which I find ethereal and harmonious.  Until she's finished, I will leave you with her name: Our Lady of Navigators (Pigeon).  Most people think this image is decapitated, limbless, gruesome, and while this may be true from some perspectives, I believe she's being put back together again through cleansing.  I think the title might help with this idea.  And, as a digression, I believe that these paintings are a series of self-portraits.  Perhaps the last one will be an image inspired by my own person, as opposed to my spirit, which is reflected in all the models that I sculpt and then mold into a new shape and finally formed into a new role on canvas.  I keep harping on my process because I believe it to be a good one, a brave one, a patient one.  This process to me is art itself.  The paintings are just the residue.

these are steps of my painting process (part one)

I've been using these phases as I complete these paintings.  Who knows how long I'll be working on these images, but I think it might help to explain the process and then map it out.  Maybe I'll make a collage one day.  For now I'll add the first two categories to my eventual flowchart glossary.

Phase Q: when you look at a painting in a different way, and it proceeds in a new direction.

Phase A: when you buy a new canvas.

this is Phase J

Changing two little things have made a big difference to me, and brought me to phase J.  Of course I have no true idea what these letters represent . . . solely a feeling . . . but perhaps one day I'll be able to effectively communicate them to you. 

For now I'm excited to proceed with Pigeon 2.  One of my favorite people said to me last night, "Pigeon is becoming Swan."  After my mini-makeover (had her hair did), today I'll give her facial reconstruction and work on her body.  And soon the outside world will want to peek in.  I'm so excited I could just spit.

phase H

I'm returning to a familiar figure.  Pigeon was used for my first painting and I'm using her again for a new one.  I started this painting a while back but as the one previously in Phase Q (now he's in Phase U) is almost done, I've been spending more time with her.  In the beginning copying the first one on a bigger canvas was important to me, but now I'm exploring and letting things happen more.

Phase H is when you have almost all of the elements up, but something is missing, or something is too much, or the elements need some connection, or, or, or . . . and that problem needs to be solved before moving on.  It's unsettling but exciting, like exploring a new territory.

Until the answer arrives, I'll share my beautiful predicament with you.

this is phase Q

Numbers are tedious to me right now, so I've changed up my naming system.  This is the start of the next phase of one of my new paintings...this is the biggest.  The details feel tough on this one, so I've put him on his feet.

Let's see where he leads me.

this is cherry

Meet Cherry: she's the young adult version of a living baby doll, a cross between a Cabbage Patch Kid and Daria.  She's adorable, but you know she has some dark secrets.  We have two more days together, Cherry and I, and then she'll be deconstructed into something different, a reflection of myself.  That's what goes down between the models and me.  They offer me a piece of myself that I have either forgotten about, neglected, or never fully realized.  While she's nude, I too am exposed, as I create a version of herself in front of her.  When I take the sculptures apart, and then put them back together again in my paintings, I'm exploring that minute relationship that existed over 30 days: a connection that evenutally breaks down but never completely.  Our correlation carries on in the art, which, while not permanent, does its best to capture that moment.  This is my process for now.

this is my hero

No, it's not Saddam Hussein. It's my dad.

And while my cigarette toting, beer guzzling, fishing father was my hero as a small child, it changed when the world's superficial context consumed me as a pre-teen. He was a blue collar worker, and I suppose the polo images frolicking on classmates' shirts made me wonder why my father didn't make enough to afford me that small luxury. 

My bitterness towards Dad stuck through the years, until just recently when I took up art school and understood that my talent came from him.

You see my father was a painter, but he didn't pursue it. And perhaps my bitterness was just my unconscious lashing out at my father because he didn't put a brush or pencil in my hand to encourage me to make art.

So, be kinder to your parents. Teenagers are assholes, so this isn't really meant for them. But, when you come of age, perhaps it's time to let go of those small (quite possibly bad) choices made by your parents. And own it. It's your life really. Not theirs.

I have this painting hanging in my studio to remind me of where I came from: Joseph Hubert (sounds like a great artist's name, right?). It's curious that his painting has very similar unintentional coloring to one of my collages that features a photograph of my father. It's also quite a coincidence that I'm a bull. My birthday is on Wednesday.  Thanks Dad.

this is my process

Currently working on a series of paintings.

I work with a nude model for 30 days (about six hours a week) and create a figurative clay sculpture.

Then photograph the sculpture as he or she is deconstructed.

Finally, I create a painting from one of the images. The colors and composition are reflective of my relationship with the model and the experience of sculpting.

this is full fool fuel

Ever have your tarot cards read? The Fool card is a good one. When you get it, it means a new beginning. It's like starting over again. You get a do-over. Sort of like exiting Plato's cave and being astounded at the remarkable world and its possibilities. Most people these days are concered about age and time. But perhaps neither really exist. And if that's the case, then you can really start something at any age. And if you want to do it, you better do it because if you don't you'll end up being bitter, which makes you hunched over, and frail, and weak.

Pretend that was a moderately long April-Fools-Day-themed essay that inspires you.

Below you'll find my totem for April. I think I've moved on to Phase III, whatever that is, as I float higher and become closer to my creator, or whereever my creator intended me to be. I'll turn these twisted sculpture photos into their own story . . . still working on how. For now, this is my inspiration for my new painting.

these are done now what?

I finished these two collages, and although they're good, I think they're a part of a bigger conversation. And until I know how to finish that conversation, then they'll sit in my studio and stare back at me.

this is the beginning

I couldn't sleep last night.

On Wednesday I met my painting teacher Frank O'Cain. He introduced himself by saying, "If you need my help, let me know. Otherwise, I'm going to think you know what you're doing and leave you alone."

After deliberating on what I would create, I decided to sketch my totem for March. Frank came around and said, make it bigger, fill the page. I did. Yesterday I debated on painting this sketch. I danced between the school art store and the studio. Then after finding out that our class would have a group showing at the end of the month, and that our paintings could be no larger than 24" x 36", I bought that size, the largest I could. And I began.

It's only a start, but after looking again and again at this photograph I took with my phone, my voice is emerging. This excitement is intoxicating. Who needs sleep?

this is phase two

February was about jumping in and getting my feet messy. Now I'm ready to get my clothes paint splattered and charcoal covered, and from this mess, to see what arises from within. This month is about trying to find my voice. I'm taking a figurative drawing class entitled "Catalytic Drawing: Finding Your Own Voice" and an abstract painting class taught by Frank O'Cain, who "gives his students a point of departure that enables them to push their work toward a personal, abstract expression." I have high expectations based on the titles and descriptions of these courses. This photograph from my sculpture deconstruction photo shoot will act as my totem.

this is the last spin (and the daughter of Michael Myers)

The next to last day, my teacher Barney Hodes told me that the last director of the program would have loved me like a son. She was a miser and knew nothing about sculpture so my modicum use of clay would have pleased her. He said that I need to work bigger and to pile more clay on so that I can actually sculpt instead of build from bare bones. He did say that I captured some nice angles and shapes, and overall, it was a good start, but next time he wants me to work bigger.

This next to last day left me almost in tears for some reason. I felt like every person, including the model, whose name I have learned is Pigeon, was against me . . . not from anything said, but from looks and body language. Was that a smirk? I felt defeated and wanted to cry. What a dark night to enter after class ended.

Then the next day, the last day, arrives, and I enter with an open heart and a fresh attitude and everything is brighter. Sure, the face looks like the mask of Michael Myers, but I was proud of the effort invested in the piece. Pigeon complimented it. Two of my classmates came up to me and told me that I had done a nice job. And then it was over.

I took some photographs. And then tore her down. The interesting photo shoot of the tearing down I'll save for later. Next week, new model. It's a man. And maybe I'll just focus on his butt.







this is my version of Pigeon looking crestfallen because she is not being cast (the casting room is in the background). The decontruction photoshoot is quite interesting and looking back on it, I should have cast one of those. Will post those photos soon.

this is a loner

Not him. Me. I was seeing this guy for three months. He was kind, sexy, and creative. Unfortunately, something was missing for me. Perhaps he was too young, too ingenuous, but I think it had something more to do with his role in my life.

Get out your throw up buckets: Everyone comes into your life for a reason.

(What about that asshole who cut you off, blocked a doorway, gave you gonorrhea, spit on you, etc?...he was present to build your humanity, your tolerance.)

So many times in my life, I've pushed relationships just because I thought they were what I needed, someone to complete me, someone to make me happy. Jasson came into my life when I needed that little extra push to start practicing my art. He was in school. I wanted to be in school. He was working toward "becoming" something creative. I wanted that. It was as if he was there so that I could show him what I could do. Jasson's role wasn't to be my boyfriend, but to remind me of that someone I could have become, someone full of youth and passion and courage.

We broke up today. It was difficult. He was so good to cuddle with. And we'd create things together. But it wasn't fair to him.

So I'm a loner. My brother in law called me that when I was a kid, and it's stuck with me. Ever since hearing it, I've wanted to fight against that label, and so I've forced myself to go out when I didn't want to. To be the nice guy and shake hands and smile and hold conversations that went nowhere. I'm not good around a bunch of strangers. While the solitude can become overwhelming, being the loner will help me practice my art more. And I have a lot of catching up to do.

But thank you Jasson...for getting me back on track.

this is the end of the beginning

As I approach the end of my first month of art training, I decided to ditch my collage class--only because I had a four-hour window to wait for the internet nazis to come fix our lagging service. So I worked on the dining room table. How lucky that my apartment receives a ton of light and has plenty of space.

This is what I created. The details will sort themselves out eventually. Until then, I relish in its darkness. My voice arises. Is it called voice in art? Maybe it's touch.