Lego Vader
6" x 6"
Oil on Gessobord
As of the timing of this post, it's for sale on Daily Paintworks and on Etsy. Likewise, you could get a print through Fine Art America.
Friday, June 30, 2017
Throat Hug
My son posed his Lego Darth Vader into the "killing pose." Of course, that it's Lego makes it look amusing, adorable even. I thought it'd be fun to capture it as a little painting. I wanted to paint it fast, trying to keep it fresh and loose, as it were. With the few hours I put into it, perhaps I succeeded...
As of the timing of this post, it's for sale on Daily Paintworks and on Etsy. Likewise, you could get a print through Fine Art America.
As of the timing of this post, it's for sale on Daily Paintworks and on Etsy. Likewise, you could get a print through Fine Art America.
Thursday, May 18, 2017
Fast First Flower
So there I was, struck by a wonderful painting--"My Favorite Bouquet"--by Francine Dufour-Jones. I stumbled on the painting, posted via Daily Paintworks, when I was scrolling through Facebook. Unlike most art that pops up, I found myself returning to it to look at over and over again. I decided to buy it.
I marveled at how she depicted a vase of flowers. So loose, so colorful! Arresting even. I was so taken with this "discovery," I wanted to see if I could emulate what I'd found. Using artificial flowers (purchased years ago to use as references for trappings for some carousel horse paintings) as my model, I "splashed" paint on my panel for about an hour and came up with this:
"Some Roses"
6" x 6"
Oil on Gesso Board
Not bad, if I do say so myself. It was fun to paint and made me think that flowers will be a promising subject for further depiction.
Friday, December 25, 2015
Harem or Death
On a nature show I watched about hippopotamuses, a young bull hippo approached an older bull hippo to challenge him for rights to his hippo harem. As they squared off, the viewer was informed that bull hippos are very aggressive and that a fight like this could easily be deadly. In other words, they won't simply be ramming some body part against each until somebody runs off--like, for instance, a bighorn sheep head-butt bout. Instead, these hippos opened their mouths wide and, with their long teeth oriented toward their adversary, jabbed their tusks at each other. Of course, eventually, blood was drawn. And then drawn some more. And some more. The younger bull was prevailing. He was stabbing the older guy relentlessly. But the senior bull couldn't bring himself to leave his harem. He couldn't ever get a good enough strike in to attain some upper hand-type footing. And he couldn't win.
That this is the "natural order of things" notwithstanding, it was heart-wrenching to watch. The old guy kept taking the stabs. And taking them. And taking them. Weakened, he eventually he couldn't run away even if he tried. The younger bull would simply not let up. The old guy finally just lied down in resignation. Alas, in hippodom, you don't allow even a scintilla of hope in your opponent that he may ever stage a comeback. You proceed inexorably, unremittingly, inevitably, and you extract the ultimate price.
The young one killed him.
It got me to thinking: What's the takeaway here? Well what if we try this on for size: If you want something, you not only don't give up, you also don't let up. Sure, perhaps this is only a thought experiment, but that doesn't preclude its possible validity. So just imagine: How would our pursuits, our endeavors, our purported goals, fare if we held to the same principle? Relentless effort to an end. It's an eye-opening attitude--even if I can't knowingly say it's the correct one for us in all our endeavors...but what if it was? I couldn't not marvel at the young bull's fervent determination. He never let up; he never took a break.
Wait what? Take a break? Yeah, what about taking a break? Sorry, not an option. What if you can't take a break and, AND, AND here's the kicker: This approach is the only way that allows you to get what you want. Remember: Rest is nice, but enthusiasm feels even better than rest. And feeling good is what it's all about. How do you like that? The young bull got all the girls. ALL of them.
He emerged victorious from an unwavering, unrelenting, unyielding, (probably) unapologetic, death match.
What can you get if you proceed relentlessly? What spoils "of war" await you?
That this is the "natural order of things" notwithstanding, it was heart-wrenching to watch. The old guy kept taking the stabs. And taking them. And taking them. Weakened, he eventually he couldn't run away even if he tried. The younger bull would simply not let up. The old guy finally just lied down in resignation. Alas, in hippodom, you don't allow even a scintilla of hope in your opponent that he may ever stage a comeback. You proceed inexorably, unremittingly, inevitably, and you extract the ultimate price.
The young one killed him.
It got me to thinking: What's the takeaway here? Well what if we try this on for size: If you want something, you not only don't give up, you also don't let up. Sure, perhaps this is only a thought experiment, but that doesn't preclude its possible validity. So just imagine: How would our pursuits, our endeavors, our purported goals, fare if we held to the same principle? Relentless effort to an end. It's an eye-opening attitude--even if I can't knowingly say it's the correct one for us in all our endeavors...but what if it was? I couldn't not marvel at the young bull's fervent determination. He never let up; he never took a break.
Wait what? Take a break? Yeah, what about taking a break? Sorry, not an option. What if you can't take a break and, AND, AND here's the kicker: This approach is the only way that allows you to get what you want. Remember: Rest is nice, but enthusiasm feels even better than rest. And feeling good is what it's all about. How do you like that? The young bull got all the girls. ALL of them.
He emerged victorious from an unwavering, unrelenting, unyielding, (probably) unapologetic, death match.
What can you get if you proceed relentlessly? What spoils "of war" await you?
Thursday, November 20, 2014
The Coolest Thing I Ever Saw
Spoiler Alert: It's real live lava. (I thought I should give a spoiler alert so as to not psych you up in such a way that some of you think, "...all this hype...for that?!")
We had been walking for over half an hour across jagged undulating ground--to a place the (Kilauea National Park) ranger said that civilians are not supposed to go...after which he proceeded to explain where to go. We were within 100 yards of the ocean. It's mostly cloudy. At the horizon, to the right, is a band of yellow orange where the sun is going down, sandwiched between a purplish cloudy sky and a blue gray ocean. Up the slope to the left, the hillside is largely veiled in clouds, although strips of the light of lava poke through in a couple of places, probably a half a mile away. It is starting to rain, but only lightly. We're in the tropics, so the air is sort of warm. It's December, so the rain is sort of cool. Finally we see a gathering of people directly in front of us, on a large sort of balcony at the cliff's edge. We get there and look at the crashing surf. (Most of the action is off to the right.) The rock formations--which are actually gigantic masses of cooled lava--make a raggedly cliff line against the ocean. At various points, say, a hundred to three hundred yards away, lava is pouring out of holes in the cliff sides into the ocean. There are perhaps a half a dozen flows going to the sea. The lava is a yellowish light, getting seemingly brighter as we head into twilight. It flows at the speed of slow syrup. The ocean waves that crash onto the flows are vaporized immediately, sending up huge columns of steam. The sound of the surf just barely drawns out the sound of the perpetual *hiss* of water against molten rock.
A few people are leaving this makeshift lookout to walk over a littly farther along the "path." Curous, I follow. Another hundred feet awayis a lava flow--the size of a small brook, if you will--that you can walk right up to. And there I stood, mesmerized for what seemed like a a really long time. I couldn't get closer than about eight feet without it feeling too uncomfortably hot. I did however find a stick about four feet long that I used to poke the lava just so I could say I did. It was like standing close to a really really hot fire. My whole body was pulled back because the heat was so intense. I quickly stabbed the tip of the stick into the lava, saw it burn, and then I couldn't stand the heat anymore. I stepped back and just continued to stare.
The experience was very interesting as so many senses were in play. The dirty yellow orange light of the lava was the most profound. And as night fell, the light of the lava, both here at my feet and everywhere in the distance, grew increasingly brighter. Feeling the heat radiating off the lava was particularly interesting because, at the same time, I'm feeling the cold of the raindrops. There's a bit of the tropic humidity combined with the wave-against-lava steam, while wafting on the air is a not-so-pleasant sulfuric smell from the lava, which, in turn, is interspersed much less intensely with the more familiar salty scent of the sea. Compounding the myriad sensations is an intermittent light breeze.
Deciding to write about this experience has me analyzing why I remember it so fondly and, more specifically, why I think it's the cooles thing I've ever seen. I think that it wasn't just what I saw. It was what I experienced with all my senses, simultaneously wrapped up in a memory that, at first glance, was seemingly only visual. The combined sensations totally heightened the experience. I'll even concede that it's entirely possibly that, insofar as we were advised not to go so close to lava, the element of danger may well have played into the stimulation.
So, back to the point...the connection to art? Hmm...Maybe some questions ought to be posed: What can be put in your creations that optimize the sensory experience? Is it more detail? Is it doing something more to bring out the main subject? Is it to be sure the scene captures the mood so well, by, say, effective composition and attention to detail, that emotions are meaningfully stirred? Sure my own art is two dimensional, so sensory possibilities can't stack up so well as seeing the aoutflow of an active volcano. But can having thoughts, such as these, arouse one's passions to be a catalyst for a more sensory-charged creation?
We had been walking for over half an hour across jagged undulating ground--to a place the (Kilauea National Park) ranger said that civilians are not supposed to go...after which he proceeded to explain where to go. We were within 100 yards of the ocean. It's mostly cloudy. At the horizon, to the right, is a band of yellow orange where the sun is going down, sandwiched between a purplish cloudy sky and a blue gray ocean. Up the slope to the left, the hillside is largely veiled in clouds, although strips of the light of lava poke through in a couple of places, probably a half a mile away. It is starting to rain, but only lightly. We're in the tropics, so the air is sort of warm. It's December, so the rain is sort of cool. Finally we see a gathering of people directly in front of us, on a large sort of balcony at the cliff's edge. We get there and look at the crashing surf. (Most of the action is off to the right.) The rock formations--which are actually gigantic masses of cooled lava--make a raggedly cliff line against the ocean. At various points, say, a hundred to three hundred yards away, lava is pouring out of holes in the cliff sides into the ocean. There are perhaps a half a dozen flows going to the sea. The lava is a yellowish light, getting seemingly brighter as we head into twilight. It flows at the speed of slow syrup. The ocean waves that crash onto the flows are vaporized immediately, sending up huge columns of steam. The sound of the surf just barely drawns out the sound of the perpetual *hiss* of water against molten rock.
A few people are leaving this makeshift lookout to walk over a littly farther along the "path." Curous, I follow. Another hundred feet awayis a lava flow--the size of a small brook, if you will--that you can walk right up to. And there I stood, mesmerized for what seemed like a a really long time. I couldn't get closer than about eight feet without it feeling too uncomfortably hot. I did however find a stick about four feet long that I used to poke the lava just so I could say I did. It was like standing close to a really really hot fire. My whole body was pulled back because the heat was so intense. I quickly stabbed the tip of the stick into the lava, saw it burn, and then I couldn't stand the heat anymore. I stepped back and just continued to stare.
The experience was very interesting as so many senses were in play. The dirty yellow orange light of the lava was the most profound. And as night fell, the light of the lava, both here at my feet and everywhere in the distance, grew increasingly brighter. Feeling the heat radiating off the lava was particularly interesting because, at the same time, I'm feeling the cold of the raindrops. There's a bit of the tropic humidity combined with the wave-against-lava steam, while wafting on the air is a not-so-pleasant sulfuric smell from the lava, which, in turn, is interspersed much less intensely with the more familiar salty scent of the sea. Compounding the myriad sensations is an intermittent light breeze.
Deciding to write about this experience has me analyzing why I remember it so fondly and, more specifically, why I think it's the cooles thing I've ever seen. I think that it wasn't just what I saw. It was what I experienced with all my senses, simultaneously wrapped up in a memory that, at first glance, was seemingly only visual. The combined sensations totally heightened the experience. I'll even concede that it's entirely possibly that, insofar as we were advised not to go so close to lava, the element of danger may well have played into the stimulation.
So, back to the point...the connection to art? Hmm...Maybe some questions ought to be posed: What can be put in your creations that optimize the sensory experience? Is it more detail? Is it doing something more to bring out the main subject? Is it to be sure the scene captures the mood so well, by, say, effective composition and attention to detail, that emotions are meaningfully stirred? Sure my own art is two dimensional, so sensory possibilities can't stack up so well as seeing the aoutflow of an active volcano. But can having thoughts, such as these, arouse one's passions to be a catalyst for a more sensory-charged creation?
Monday, October 27, 2014
Why You Will Fail to Do Something Great
I saw a YouTube video, "Why You Will Fail to Have a Great Career," and the gist of the message has tremendous carryover value. First I want to give credit where credit is due: This was a TEDx talk, given by Larry Smith, an economics professor. I recommend you watch it before proceeding with reading my stuff here. Let him build up to the finale that spurred this writing.
Have you watched it yet? Okay then.
Now just substitute whatever accomplishment/item/task/you-get-the-idea for "career" in the talk's title. And then wrap your mind around the meaning--for you--of the magic word "unless." Savor the implications. Let it compel you, impel you to act differently, better. As this is ostensibly an art blog, imagine: Why you will fail to make a great painting...unless....
I find that electrifying. To preface your prospective actions with some version of "Why I will fail at _____ unless" is eye-opening. I'm not going to articulate an answer to the "unless" here. I like to think that that is answerable in its own respective way for everybody--not entirely unlike Curly's "One Thing" in the movie "City Slickers".
Have you watched it yet? Okay then.
Now just substitute whatever accomplishment/item/task/you-get-the-idea for "career" in the talk's title. And then wrap your mind around the meaning--for you--of the magic word "unless." Savor the implications. Let it compel you, impel you to act differently, better. As this is ostensibly an art blog, imagine: Why you will fail to make a great painting...unless....
I find that electrifying. To preface your prospective actions with some version of "Why I will fail at _____ unless" is eye-opening. I'm not going to articulate an answer to the "unless" here. I like to think that that is answerable in its own respective way for everybody--not entirely unlike Curly's "One Thing" in the movie "City Slickers".
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
If You KNOW the Grass Is Greener, Don't Pick This Side
Some years ago my brother learned that I was taking art classes at a community center, saw some of my work, and commissioned me to do a colored pencil drawing. It was to be a "group, action" basketball scene/portrait, as it were. It would show his then-favorite player on a fast break. He also asked to have certain specific supporting players in the scene. He wanted this 'n that in the crowd. Oh, and he wanted the star to have a certain expression on his face. I was only too happy to agree. I'd just gotten back into doing art, and I feld validated to be hired to make a piece of art.
The problem, I soon realized, was that I didn't want to draw group portraits. I didn't want to be a hired gun. I had ideas rolling around my head, and I began taking art classes to develop some chops so that I might more convincingly get my images rendered. By saying "yes" to commissions I was saying "no" to the art I was intending to create. And, no, it's not like commission work would have been what put food on the table anyway.
Be that as it may, I started slogging my way through sketching some semblance of a composition that would fulfill my bother's wants. What he wanted was a basketball scene that threw in everything but the kitchen sink. I figured I'd gather references of what he various players looked like in the nearest sports magazine du jour. Oh, but it's not that easy. Those magazines had the gall not to have the actual reference pictures for which I was looking. All right: I'll trot on down to the library and find the right sports book. Wait a sec: Did you know the poses my brother wanted weren't readily available already wrapped up in a bow for me? Well (so to speak) I didn't. Fine. Now was time to use my "Photoshop" skills--minus actual Photoshop. Let's see...I put this head on this body. I move and tweak the perspective on the basketball court. Oh and also, do you realize the gargantuan task of creating a large, looks-like-it's-for-the-NBA audience? At the correct angle? With matching lighting vis a vis the focal point? The ovals I resigned myself to throwing in for heads/faces looked a lot more like a bunch of Easter eggs.
I trudged along. Insofar as I'm not a sports person, it was interesting learning about different players and simply the sport itself. I actually did start to get a smidgeon of inspiration from reading about the stars. On a lark, I even bought some "cheap seat" tickets to a real NBA game just to get the experience. I admit I liked that bit of research.
As for the drawing... Well, I'd quickly lose interest shortly after I'd begin working on it. It wasn't coming together in a way that at least mildly mimicked my brother's vision. Sitting on a (to me) gold mine of inspiring picture ideas of my own--that I'm not working on, made this an increasingly frustrating experience. I kept feeling like the grass was greener on the other side. I wanted to throw in the towel, but I'd made a promise.
While there was not a designated "due date," more and more time went by, making my brother wonder what this was taking so long.. So much so, that, well yeah, my brother contacted me and bailed me out: "Send what you have actually finished. I'll send you a few bucks for your trouble."
So here's the thing: If you KNOW the grass is greener on the other side, don't CHOOSE this side. Do the art that you're here to do. That's it. That might mean forgoing artwork for which you might've been remunerated. That's okay. You'll be happier, get more done, and the audience at large will benefit more assuredly from your passion.
The problem, I soon realized, was that I didn't want to draw group portraits. I didn't want to be a hired gun. I had ideas rolling around my head, and I began taking art classes to develop some chops so that I might more convincingly get my images rendered. By saying "yes" to commissions I was saying "no" to the art I was intending to create. And, no, it's not like commission work would have been what put food on the table anyway.
Be that as it may, I started slogging my way through sketching some semblance of a composition that would fulfill my bother's wants. What he wanted was a basketball scene that threw in everything but the kitchen sink. I figured I'd gather references of what he various players looked like in the nearest sports magazine du jour. Oh, but it's not that easy. Those magazines had the gall not to have the actual reference pictures for which I was looking. All right: I'll trot on down to the library and find the right sports book. Wait a sec: Did you know the poses my brother wanted weren't readily available already wrapped up in a bow for me? Well (so to speak) I didn't. Fine. Now was time to use my "Photoshop" skills--minus actual Photoshop. Let's see...I put this head on this body. I move and tweak the perspective on the basketball court. Oh and also, do you realize the gargantuan task of creating a large, looks-like-it's-for-the-NBA audience? At the correct angle? With matching lighting vis a vis the focal point? The ovals I resigned myself to throwing in for heads/faces looked a lot more like a bunch of Easter eggs.
I trudged along. Insofar as I'm not a sports person, it was interesting learning about different players and simply the sport itself. I actually did start to get a smidgeon of inspiration from reading about the stars. On a lark, I even bought some "cheap seat" tickets to a real NBA game just to get the experience. I admit I liked that bit of research.
As for the drawing... Well, I'd quickly lose interest shortly after I'd begin working on it. It wasn't coming together in a way that at least mildly mimicked my brother's vision. Sitting on a (to me) gold mine of inspiring picture ideas of my own--that I'm not working on, made this an increasingly frustrating experience. I kept feeling like the grass was greener on the other side. I wanted to throw in the towel, but I'd made a promise.
While there was not a designated "due date," more and more time went by, making my brother wonder what this was taking so long.. So much so, that, well yeah, my brother contacted me and bailed me out: "Send what you have actually finished. I'll send you a few bucks for your trouble."
So here's the thing: If you KNOW the grass is greener on the other side, don't CHOOSE this side. Do the art that you're here to do. That's it. That might mean forgoing artwork for which you might've been remunerated. That's okay. You'll be happier, get more done, and the audience at large will benefit more assuredly from your passion.
Saturday, October 11, 2014
Jacuzzi Music
It was a big deal when it was announced that, on February 26th, 1987, the first four Beatles albums were coming out on CD. I was working at a record store at the time, and it was decided that we would promote this release like crazy. My recollection of the promotion, though, consisted of playing nothing but Beatles albums in the store. All. Day. Long.
I really don't dislike the Beatles, but I sure did get tired of them that day. You listen to song after song after song, and many of those songs even are repeated several times through the day. (I considered listing a few songs here to underscore the point, but I'm confident something would be left out.) Anyway, expecting to have to endure this onslaught for my entire shift, the following curious turn of events proved to be (sort of) life-changing. It was around 11:30 pm. Yet another Beatles' album had finished--and they really were vinyl albums we were playing, and I was considering what other Beatles record I should (force myself to) put on. As we were going to close within half an hour, I asked that evening's supervisor if I could play something else. She said, "Yeah...as long as it's not rock." No problem. I sifted through the box of records we had behind the cash register, and stumbled upon a Tchaikovsky record I'd not heard before. It was his Serenade for Strings. (Yeah, I gave a link for if you're not familiar with the serenade--which I supposed was reasonably possible. I decided you didn't need a link for the Beatles however: If you're not familiar with them by now, well, welcome to our planet.)
When I heard this new piece of music...Oh my! It was as musical to the ears--after having been subjected to 7 1/2 hours of Beatles--as slipping into a nice hot jacuzzi is to the body--after a hard day at work. (And yes, I too see the play on words I so easily could have put). The Serenade for Strings instantly became my favorite piece of music, and it held that distinction for years.
Where am I going with all this? Mostly I was recalling this experience and kicking around the idea of "What would a prospective viewer of a work of art have to be subjected to to be able to engage more acutely than ever in the creation?...to make the work more appealing than previously thought possible?" The thing is, you can see how the contrast primed my aesthetic sensibilities to really soak up the Tchaikovsky, to really revel in it and enjoy it. Could an experience of that sort be orchestrated more regularly?
A similar experience occurred for me one Saturday about eight years ago. I'd rented four movies I thought I'd like to watch--in one day. Three of them were relatively serious/dramatic movies, and one was a comedy. I don't remember intentionally arranging to see the comedy last, but that's what happened. And it's hard not to think that I thought it was the funniest thing I'd ever seen precisely because of the contrast I'd unwittingly orchestrated leading up to it.
So here again, I'm thinking: What can one do to arrange for the maximum appeal for a work of art? Sure, this question essentially is a thought experiment. But maybe the query will catalyze some new thinking and some insights into how one exposes, and gets exposed to, art.
I really don't dislike the Beatles, but I sure did get tired of them that day. You listen to song after song after song, and many of those songs even are repeated several times through the day. (I considered listing a few songs here to underscore the point, but I'm confident something would be left out.) Anyway, expecting to have to endure this onslaught for my entire shift, the following curious turn of events proved to be (sort of) life-changing. It was around 11:30 pm. Yet another Beatles' album had finished--and they really were vinyl albums we were playing, and I was considering what other Beatles record I should (force myself to) put on. As we were going to close within half an hour, I asked that evening's supervisor if I could play something else. She said, "Yeah...as long as it's not rock." No problem. I sifted through the box of records we had behind the cash register, and stumbled upon a Tchaikovsky record I'd not heard before. It was his Serenade for Strings. (Yeah, I gave a link for if you're not familiar with the serenade--which I supposed was reasonably possible. I decided you didn't need a link for the Beatles however: If you're not familiar with them by now, well, welcome to our planet.)
When I heard this new piece of music...Oh my! It was as musical to the ears--after having been subjected to 7 1/2 hours of Beatles--as slipping into a nice hot jacuzzi is to the body--after a hard day at work. (And yes, I too see the play on words I so easily could have put). The Serenade for Strings instantly became my favorite piece of music, and it held that distinction for years.
Where am I going with all this? Mostly I was recalling this experience and kicking around the idea of "What would a prospective viewer of a work of art have to be subjected to to be able to engage more acutely than ever in the creation?...to make the work more appealing than previously thought possible?" The thing is, you can see how the contrast primed my aesthetic sensibilities to really soak up the Tchaikovsky, to really revel in it and enjoy it. Could an experience of that sort be orchestrated more regularly?
A similar experience occurred for me one Saturday about eight years ago. I'd rented four movies I thought I'd like to watch--in one day. Three of them were relatively serious/dramatic movies, and one was a comedy. I don't remember intentionally arranging to see the comedy last, but that's what happened. And it's hard not to think that I thought it was the funniest thing I'd ever seen precisely because of the contrast I'd unwittingly orchestrated leading up to it.
So here again, I'm thinking: What can one do to arrange for the maximum appeal for a work of art? Sure, this question essentially is a thought experiment. But maybe the query will catalyze some new thinking and some insights into how one exposes, and gets exposed to, art.
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