Intimidation

Emily sat for me tonight. She'd just come back from a whirlwhind band tour through our mutual home states in the Midwest, and I was thrilled to finally share some time with her to paint her portrait. We ordered Thai for supper, she sat in my favorite little orange chair, Jonathon even came to share in the conversation, and I fussed and fretted about the lighting and had her switch positions and repainted her portrait five times and it still doesn't look like the real her. Alas!

It's not her, it's me. She's a great model: she's actually done work at the Academy and drawings of her are already published in a book, too. She is level and compassionate, a pleasure to work with, so why was I so intimidated? I'm not entirely sure yet, but I've always been a little nervous if my subject is a female. (You may be noticing that Emily is the first female portrait appearing in this project.)  I work with Emily for Spark and Echo Arts and she's one of the first people to cheer me on this "Before I Transfer" project so I was looking forward to creating a vivacious portrait of her. Instead, I wigged myself out during our session to the point that even though in my mind's eye I saw the kind face I know, it appears on my metrocard as if I sat with someone serious and impassable, trying to breathe life into a stone.

Emily isn't intimidating, she's uncomplicated, thoughtful and crisply intelligent with a bright disposition. Exuding a vibe of effervescent excellence, Emily is refreshingly quirky like a sophisticated flute of Kir Royal. Speaking of "flutes," along with the clarinet, she plays a myriad of instruments including Christopher Robin the Ukelele and Boris the Bassoon. She's a gifted thespian as one of the Bard's own having a distinct appreciation for works with rich and poetic language.

The portrait I painted amidst an enjoyable evening with my friend doesn't weave a curtain-raiser the way I wanted to present her ("But I have that within which passes show, These but the trappings and the suits of woe"). Okay, so maybe my passing portrait isn't on par with the Prince of Denmark's tragedy, but I still want a do-over to revitalize this piece.

Constant Comment

I drink tea in the morning. It's part of the ritual I create to make me feel that all is right with the world. Earl Grey is a great companion.

My friend Alan and I spent the afternoon together. He's in town, hopping from coast to coast, getting his New York fix. Alan's like a favorite teapot, right before the whistle. And like the aforementioned beverage resulting from the tea-making device, a conversation generated by Alan has always just the right amount of warmth, caffeination, and zesty wit. Just like Earl Grey.

Speaking of which - the last time I saw Alan there was none of that color in his hair, it was black as Costa Rican coffee. But Alan is timeless, not easy to pin down. We were classmates in graduate school, and he weathered this narrow island before making the jump to the West Coast half a year ago to take advantage of an opportunity using his concept drawing skills. During our afternoon together, we dissected the Gordion Knot that is our corner of the New York Art World. Or, at least we had an enjoyable time trying.

We had lunch at Bubby's. Alan made sure to order NYCentric eats (eyeing the Matzoh Ball soup and, ... Gasp! you're out of lox?!?) So, settling on a piece of shared apple pie, we poured two Sixpoints down and caught up. Then we parked on a bench where I started to paint his portrait. The wind was a little chill, the sun a bit warmer (shining right in Alan's eyes - sorry, buddy!) and we enjoyed spending the afternoon in constant conversation. Though my quick painting isn't an exact presentation of what Alan looks like - a portrait isn't all about the resemblance, it's about the like-ness. And I like Alan.

Opening Up

Dear friends, come sit with me, even for a short time, and let me paint your portrait. Before our paths diverge, let me re-collect a moment with you.

While this project is indeed a metaphor, the time draws nearer to my imminent departure from New York so I no longer want to dance around the "could be's." I want to dig into the "are's" before they become "shoudda' been's."

So friend, please let me paint your portrait, spend a little time with you... before I transfer.

Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity

I painted Jonathon Roberts today in his first painted portrait, ever.

Starting with peppermint tea and a pot pie, Jonathon sat by my front window this afternoon. With winter light and a limited palette, Jonathon's usual jollity was egged on by the peanut gallery (two cats, a husband and a flatmate) who had gathered in the room. I don't recall who said that portraits should evoke the space between the sitter's sentences - but that's where I found myself concentrating: to find the solid Jonathon between smiles and laughter.

Jonathon is a composer, musician and the director of Spark and Echo Arts. He is working together with artists, writers, musicians, actors, dancers and poets to create a new multi-media illumination of the Bible. He is also my friend and a constant support and that's why I asked him to be a part of the beginning of this project.

Back in college, I was in Dennis Marzolf's choir. A staple in our concert program, "O God Beyond All Praising" used the tune Thaxted which is found in Gustav Holst's stellar orchestral suite. One of the first friends of mine to marry in college, Raelene Miller walked down the aisle during the last verse to meet her groom (also named Jon) with the deep basso of the organ vibrating the pews and the descant soaring through the sanctuary. Theirs was one of the first weddings I photographed, blinking back the tears during their processional because the resounding joy was so intense.

But I've never married Holst's parenthetical "jollity" surrounding that solemn anthem in The Planets to any meaning. I've always subconsciously separated the two; joy/sorrow, love/sacrifice, God/man - that's why I seek in my artwork to fuse contrasts. As I reflect on Jonathon's portrait wondering now why I chose to portray him with such a stone face, I realize that Jonathon embodies the entire piece. 

Jonathon's ambition is steadfast, his enthusiasm exhilarating, his faith grounded and his hopes ascending. Like Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity, or even that great planet, his surface merriment whirls around a titanic core of solidity.

Go, a head.

When you look at a piece of artwork, you need to look at it from far away, right up close, with your eyes squinted... look at it from various places so that you can see every different level of perception of it. But when you create an artwork, it's - initially - important to maintain one point of view (unless you're a Cubist).

When I was painting my visionary friend's portrait - the very first painted portrait for my "Before I Transfer" project - we sat across a table/desk from each other in his office. While we were chatting amiably with each other, I felt as though I was able to maintain a stable point-of-view throughout the session. Sure, the portrait looks like him, but there are a few measurement quirks in the drawing.

Is that really "the way I see" him? (With his neck elongated, eyes too close together and forehead too tall? But that's a great hairdo, yeah, I'll keep that.) My memory tells me that I know what he looks like because I can see the original Elvin constructed in my head. When I measure the painting against my memory, I see the real Elvin in the remembered notes of the adjustments I need to make in the painting to re-present him accurately.

I've been struggling with writing this post because I wanted to take my friend's portrait and make the adjustments before I show it to you. But what is this project about - the paintings? The memories? The experiences embedded between the marks? And that's where I stopped struggling and began writing this post, "between the marks," as it were. So many of our memories are captured there. Between the shutter-clicks, between the lines. But what's most important to me is not whether I've made a photograph - in paint - of my friend, but that I've embedded him into my memory.