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.

Bolder

After my run in with "the probable mobster" I felt bolder today. I printed a batch of new cards and even determined to make an attempt on my morning commute. Folks don't like to be bothered on their way to work though, and the general pre-office grimace graced the face of many a fellow straphanger.

Looking for potential portraitees, I saw a dark woman with bright, piercing eyes, a chiseled nose and full lips strap-hanging just out of reach. (And once you find your spot - comfy or not - on an AM train, you stick with it, so I didn't make any moves.) I thought maybe I could edge nearer to her when we left the train, but she moved toward another door and I didn't see her again.

So on tonight's commute back home (8pm? Maybe the night crowd's a bit easier than 8am?) I thought now's my chance. I've got a pocketfull of cards and people to hand them to! I scanned the car, seeing if someone would catch my eye. I found more than a few, so I thought what if I just asked the whole car? I walked to the middle of the car, stood there, looked around and practiced these words in my head:

Hi folks, sorry to interrupt you and I know you don't want to be bothered (Errgh, everybody says that...) But I'm an artist and I'm working on a project to paint portraits on metrocards of people I meet on the subway. I'm just beginning, and this is my first time, ever, making a subway announcement. (A slight pause here?) I have cards in my hand with my website listed on them, and if you are interested in being a part of this project and having your portrait painted on a metrocard, I would be happy to give you one.

I stayed there, in the middle, hanging on to the pole, watching the clock... 8:08, 8:08! Thinking, This is good. Just practice this so that when you actually do say it, you can do so with confidence. Mind you, I have no problem with public speaking, well, except in subway cars.

When the train cruised through the station right before my stop, I began to quietly mouth my speech to check the timing. But when the doors opened and it was time for me to get out, I still had the cards in my hand. Maybe I'll be bolder, tomorrow.

Hearts and Transformers

A couple days ago, I was riding/sketching home when a dad and his two children popped into the train. He asked the younger, dark-haired woman sitting next to me for confirmation if the F train was indeed stopping at 63/Lex (it wasn't - they were working on the escalators). Boisterous and boundary-less, the two kids plopped into the space between us and started chatting with my seat-neighbor. The F train's route still in question, I perused through my apps to pull out a subway map. Little fingers, despite gentle admonitions from his father, began to spread and swipe the map like a pro. (Apparently he knew exactly where to go.) The route no longer in question, his focus returned to his Transformer toy as I pocketed my phone again.

The father continued conversing casually with the young woman and I resumed my sketching. But the little girl's attention was focused on me, now. And since her brother had already mapped out his territory, she wanted to explore, too. She sweetly asked if she could draw something on my sketch and I gave her my pen. She drew a couple hearts and then her little brother drew a Transformer. The older lady across from us (seen in the sketch) watched with a chuckle.

As the train pulled into their stop (and since this kind of heartwarming, transformative conversation rarely - if ever - happens on the subway), I told the dad about my project. "Actually, I'm working on a project to paint portraits of people I meet on the subway; I don't have a card on me - otherwise I'd give you one and would love for you to be a part of it" and he noted to himself, "Before I Transfer dot Blogspot dot Com." (Note to self: reprint new cards.) I mentioned that in a couple of days, he may see a post on my blog of his children's artwork and I hoped that he would check out my project. 

NoThankYou

Just got off the subway after trying to hand out to invitations to paint portraits. I usually spend the trip in the tunnels imagining scenarios where I hand out the cards and every possible outcome - except for "no."

One older woman had long brown hair parted in the middle, black liner on her eyelids, soft features and a brown scarf around her neck. When I handed her the card she didn't even look at it before she shook-her-head-no-thank-you and looked away.
Another woman with oval glasses, chocolate-colored puffy jacket with red trim, layered hair, chiseled nose and Mediterranean complexion was near me. I gently tapped her on the shoulder and she did the same thing - didn't even look - so I appealed, "But wait, I'm an artist and I'd like to paint your portrait." With out pausing, she inaudibly asserted, no thank you.

It's not like I've never been rejected before, I have. And I know that my world isn't going to crumble if someone says no, because they will. But what really struck me isn't that I seemed like one of the millions of folks trying to hand you something in the subway, but that they didn't even want the card to cross hands. They'll never see this post, they'll never read this blog, and they'll never be a part of this project.

Maybe because I thought that love would be "in the air" this Valentine's Day, maybe because I choose the folks I want to paint, and maybe I thought that I'd be handing them a gift...maybe that's why I took it so hard. Tears started to well up as I got off the train and walked home.

Starting Blocks

I handed out my first "Can I paint your portrait" card yesterday on the L train.

She was a young mother (another rider had given up the seat for her) who was toting her child in a BabyBjorn on her front. She had chestnut-colored hair and strikingly delicate features which contrasted with the round-cheeked, round-eyed, button-nosed baby in her lap. I wanted to capture that contrast - and look for the similarities - between the two.

I pulled out my bundle of cards, but I felt I wasn't ready to go for it yet. I was thinking: I don't have enough examples of people's portraits on my blog yet - I need more!, I need to get other drawings done, This project's not really that interesting, I need to be a better painter, What if they turn me down, How do I approach a person without being weird... excuse, procrastinate, whine, etc. But knowing that I might never see this person again overrode my nagging doubts and right before I had to get off the train, I gently touched her hand and gave her the card. She looked at me, looked at it - read it and then a bright smile leapt onto her face and she said, "awesome."

As I was climbing the stairs with the Billburg-bound crowd, I smiled too.

MMMeMetrocard

"7-day and 30-day Unlimited Ride Metrocards can now be reloaded."

You know what that means, right?

Dear Fellow Traveler,

I've printed these small cards and will start handing them out on my next subway ride. 

Why wait?

On the way home from a meeting in the City,

the metrocard machine asked me this question: 

Indeed. So I didn't. 

I made a sketch of the man sitting across from me.

He was looking at his smartphone,
I was looking at my "magazine,"
behind which was hidden my small sketchpaper.
I think he knew I was drawing him because he kept looking up
(I kept looking away, pretending I was reading).

On my mark, getting set...

It's the night before my first portrait session with my visionary friend. I'm not really nervous, but I know that I need to be "on" my marks tomorrow and make the most of the opportunity my sitter is graciously giving me. It's a big deal - being in that same space, watching someone watch you, look at you, study you. There's no place to hide (okay, so there might be a bathroom break).

When I was sitting for Clarity for her Breast Portrait Project, I wasn't nervous because I had already modeled back in Mankato State University's life drawing class for an amazing woman named Rea Mingeva who taught me about measurement and proportion and passion and respect while I was on the model stand watching the other students draw. But with Clarity I was sitting for just one person, not a whole class. It's quieter, more intimate - it was just the two of us in her studio. With great big multi-paned windows that let in the most pure white Northern light. She made me a coffee and turned on the space heater and I took my shirt off. And it was O.K. It was beautiful. We had such a nice conversation while she drew my body and I watched her draw me.

It was all right.

So as well as I know my first subject, he's a friend of mine, I think he's not entirely comfortable being "looked at." He's not a model, but he's sitting for me. (And folks, this project is all PG so just sit tight. There will be shirts.) It is a great gift, that he said yes, that he's letting me paint him. So I want to do it well - as I am painting the shapes of his face, I want my brushstrokes to describe the shape of his heart. 

Just sketched my first real MODEL..**annnd** my first REAL model on the train!Follow @artCjCB

More details - and the sketches - coming up tomorrow. (It's almost 4am and I'm still excited about it, I can't sleep.)

Stopped, before I start?

Some thoughts about this project, and other folks who have used Metrocards as a medium.

• Artist Draws MTA's Ire With MetroCard Art
• MTA Sends Cease-and-Desist to Artist Who Paints MetroCards
• MTA Goes After East Village Artist for Painting on Used Metrocards [Updated]
• MTA Tracks Down MetroCard Painter for Trademark Infringement
• MTA Not A Fan Of MetroCard Artists

Sketch-A-Snooz

Most of my commutes on the subway last about 40+ minutes, so I have plenty of time to sit (when I'm lucky) and study. Like many of my fellow commuters sometimes I get a little bit of shut-eye, too. 

As I'm watching people, I try to gauge who will be getting off at what stop, who will be moving around, changing position, chatting, who will be leaving... so when I draw, I tend to default to the folks who are settled and stationary. Okay, okay, so it's easier to sketch someone snoozing. 

Waiting on the Platform

Wait for it, wait for it... NOW!

As I've been heading down some new tracks this semester teaching Art History at a liberal arts college, I anticipated that it would be a great time to start this project with real people and real paintings. But I haven't posted much in the last couple of months. I feel like I'm still "waiting on the platform." (Typical NYC service, you wait and wait - and the F train comes but that's not the train you need to be on, and then you see the lights coming down the tunnel, oh wait, it's another F'in' train...) 

Part of what's holding me back from jumping into this "Before I Transfer" project is not having a dedicated studio outside my home, a neutral location where people can sit for their portrait. But what I really don't want to admit to myself is knowing that the core of my hesitation is wrapped up in the idea of leaving. That as soon as I begin this project, I fear I will begin to box up my life in this city, in this place, with all the people with whom I've been connected. 

Of course, actually doing this project - painting their portraits on transit tickets - offers such a rich experience that the sooner I begin, the longer I may enjoy it and share it with everyone along the journey.  

I'm not on the subway as often lately, but here are a couple snippets from my sketchbook from rides past.

If someone asked you on the subway to paint your portrait, how might you react?

When I posted my question on facebook, my facebook friends responded. Here are their thoughts:

• 
  
• • Sarah I'd smile, of course!
    

    Friday at 10:26am 
  • Doris Id want to see a sketch first
    

    Friday at 10:49am
  • Clair How would you ask?
    

    Friday at 10:56am
  • Peter That depends on: 80%-what the person looks like. 20% -how they ask the question.
    

    Friday at 11:29am
  • Jane I'd start taking my clothes off.
    

    Friday at 11:37am
  • Charis J. Carmichael Braun Oh, Jane.
    

    Friday at 11:41am 
  • Peter For instance, Charis, even if I didn't know you, I think I'd let you draw me on the subway. However, if you said (with a low breath-y monotone) "I really need to paint you," I'd jump off the train while it was still moving.
    

    Friday at 11:41am 
  • Charis J. Carmichael Braun Yowza. Well, Peter - I kindof did that once, (see my first post for this project = http://beforeitransfer.blogspot.com/2011/04/almostbut-not-quite.html) and that's why I'm trying to work up the courage to try again.
    Friday at 11:44am
  • Peter Sorry, I didn't mean to break your confidence. I guess to put what I'm saying into different words... from your blog, it seems like your desire to draw her hands was primarily an emotional thing - and that's a wonderful thing and probably something that makes you a better artist. However, personally speaking, I would be more responsive to a logical argument, like "Hi, I hope you don't mind, but I'm an artist and for some reason, I find your hands very interesting. I was wondering if you would mind if I sketched them." N.B.-I have never been to NY so I probably couldn't find the "pulse" of NY'ers with a stethescope.
    

    Friday at 3:21pm
  • Peter Oh yeah, and chasing me up the stairs on the way out of the subway would probably scare me a bit too, but again, I'm not exactly native.
    

    Friday at 3:21pm 
  • Charis J. Carmichael Braun I chased... reservedly. You're right - the reaction to her hands was emotional. And you're also right, I think I'd prefer the logical straightforward approach. In any case, I just don't want to come off as ... creepy. (:-/
    

    Friday at 3:25pm 

Draws Well that Pens Well

Tonight, my thespian friend Emily Clare Zempel treated me and my husband to a performance of All's Well that Ends Well from Shakespeare in the Park. The Public Theater has a policy of no cell phones and no photography, so as my daily schedule centers around communication and images (social media and technology), I furtively dug in my bag for my smallest point-and-shoot, watching the ushers for them to stop watching.  (But yes, that's what they do.) As I was digging, I pulled out my sketchbook and was reminded of another friend's recent note about sermon sketches: "As an artist, a sketch can encapsulate an event in a way that is much more powerful than a photo." Confirmed, I pulled out my pen and dared the attendants to skife my sketchbook. With the first faint lines set on my page and spoken on stage, it was now going to be a glorious evening with the sun's rays gently replaced by spotlights, and the apricot curtain of rose-tinted clouds drawing around the theater.

But the curtain of clouds drew darker until a sheet of rain pelted down onto the audience. In the middle of Act I, the King - still in character - called for a servant to bring him an umbrella as the audience fled the precipitation. We huddled together, making light of it all, hoping for an intermission in the weather to finish the evening's play. But the rain finally tapered off and a fully-soaking house settled in to enjoy the rest of the performance.

Dodging raindrops, I finished a glorious sketch of the scenery, and can recall the detail with clarity.

On the way home, along with the post-performance throng, my husband and I waited for a late-night train. As we sat, a person approached us and asked to look at our subway map. She was cheerful and engaged us in a conversation about the play. As it turns out, she was newly relocated from Switzerland and had worked at the local newspaper in the town, the Thurgauer Zeitung in Frauenfeld, where I had spent a year as an exchange student. We exchanged contact information and enjoyed chatting a while.

Transferring to another train, I brought out my notebook again and filled in some of the details I remembered from the play. As I finished up, there was still more time on the subway before our stop and I decided to test my memory - to see if I could draw her to actually look like her. A pretty decent likeness, but yes, considerably less detail. Nevertheless, we had traded emails and hopefully I'll see her again (to fill in the details)!

May I paint your portrait?

A little Luther portrait (copy of Cranach)
as part of the SFLC Fellowship Mosaic. 

This project builds on concepts of transportation, relocation, and the people we encounter along our own personal journeys. As I've been traveling along the subway for 5 years now, and seeing so very many interesting people along the way, I have yet to ask anyone if I could paint their portrait. With my studio in my house, I've always been just a little bit more than hesitant, but now that I've received approval from my church to let me use a room in the facility as a studio, this neutral location will serve as a safe place to meet with people. Now I just need to work up the courage to ask.

I'll be using metrocards as my surface. What better way to underscore the running metaphor? And since I've really enjoyed my previous work on these small, "transcendental" surfaces for a big, community-based mosaic  (see Luther there) and for the Single Fare exhibitions, I'm excited to use them again for this project. (I have over 200 metrocards saved up and ready to go...)

So I'll practice asking the question here: Um, uh... May I paint your portrait?