A PAINTER'S PROGRESS

I say yes, enter. It's important for an emerging painter to begin to enter competitions when he or she reaches a certain level of competency. Participating in this process is an important component in a painter's ability to establish a healthy sense of self as an artist. Having a painting accepted into a prestigious exhibition or selected for inclusion in a book does wonders for the emerging painter's career trajectory.

The painting life is often a solitary one. Without frequent exposure to what's out there, not solely to assess the competition, but also to attain a certain depth of field gained by observation, comparison and appreciation, our perspective begins to narrow. It is only natural; the law of entropy. We are a gregarious species, and even the most reticent among us needs a certain amount of jostling among others in order to be pushed and pulled to our own highest potential. It's kind of like cross pollination. Just as the flower begins to wither and die off in time without the infusion of pollen, so we too, without the enriched experience of new and different energy, begin to grow inward. Even the most creative among us will begin to repeat ourselves without some outside exposure.

One way to get this stimulation is to show up to the competitions. Put your stuff on the line, to either be accepted or rejected. As creative folk, we need to learn to withstand criticism as well as to accept praise with grace and equanimity. The important thing is to keep showing up, work in hand. One way to do this is by entering a juried exhibition appropriate for your level and type of work. It will be a thrill the first time one your paintings is accepted. It will not feel too good if you receive a rejection, but that rejection will propel you to grow deeper and stronger as an artist. Either way, the bar will be raised. You will take your rightful place among your fellows, you will stand up and be counted!

The Mind, Body, Spirit Workshop, April 23rd and 24th was a wonderful success. Two students came from Oregon, one from Florida and several from various parts of California including Tuolumne. The workshop was based in part on the book: The Tao of Watercolor by Jeanne Carbonetti, a longtime favorite of mind. At left you can see several students at work...I mean at play! We focused on allowing the fluid medium of watercolor what it does best: flow.

 

Many students tell me they want to get "loose", to move away from tight detailed work. A common misconception is that painting loose means painting fast, or that it requires a certain deft flip of the wrist, that once learned, will result in loose painterly work. I tell them painting loose is not a technique, it's a state of mind. In the workshop we focused on using both the right and left brain to synthesize play and work, and to reach for a place that encompasses both and transcends both: the single purpose to know oneself in the present moment. That is our spirit. 

 

When our focus is to know ourselves, then our intention is to become better painters, not to make great or saleable paintings. Getting in touch with our true spirit allows us to paint with a deliberateness. We wait for the inner voice to guide us to the next stroke; we do not mindlessly paw the paper in an attempt to fix or perfect. This is especially important when working with the medium of watercolor. It is helpful, before beginning to paint, to get oneself into the space of the painter's world, a symbolic space, and move away from the real space of practical existence. It is a singular endeavor, a process that allows you to work (and play) from the heart. 

 

 

We had a great group for the March 25, 26 & 27th 3-day non-objective Abstract Workshop. This was not a workshop where we threw in everything but the kitchen sink and called it an "abstract". We did not throw buckets of paint onto a large canvas and have the audacity to call it a work of art! On the contrary, we studied before we painted. We analyzed what makes a good shape: longer than it is tall or taller than it is wide; diagonal thrust; interlocking; incidents at its edges. 

 

We explored the 8 principles of design: Alternation, Balance, Contrast/Conflict, Dominance, Gradation, Harmony, Repetition/Variation, and Unity. We then applied these principles to the 7 artistic elements—an artist's raw tools:  Line, Direction, Color, Shape, Size, Texture and Value. In a non-objective abstraction, an artist has only these principles and elements to use to create a piece. These are the fundamentals. 

 

I believe that knowledge of the fundamentals is essential to successful artistic self-expression. As Edgar Whitney said, "You can ignore these 13 principles and elements, but they will not ignore you". To try to "sing one's song" without a solid foundation in the basics, is a recipe for weak meandering paintings that will not hold together as strong works of art. A thorough knowledge the fundamentals allows for effortless expression in any art form. 

 

I studied jazz piano for quite a few years. My goal was to be able to express myself through improvisation. I would not have been able to do that without first studying music theory and learning chord progressions, voicings, upper structures, scales and all the rest. Until these fundamentals became second nature, I could not express myself in a way that truly captured what I wanted to say in a free and confident way. It's the same with painting. It is true that one has to know the rules before one can break them.

 

There was a lot to think about while creating the paintings, but the workshop was not all hard work. After applying the fundamentals to design our paintings, we used bits of collage and crayon to enhance the work and add detail. We were more than painters; we became designers, shape makers and symbol collectors! The students loved the workshop. Below are a few of the students' finished pieces:

 

 

               

 

 

           

 

 

                                                

 

 

 

 

 

Last Friday a friend and I went to the Legion of Honor Museum in San Francisco to see this amazing and completely original body of work from Belgian artist Isabelle de Borchgrave. She creates exquisite life-size costumes entirely from paper! There are more than 60 of these trompe l'oeil masterpieces drawn from examples in costume history. What amazed me was that she uses only two kinds of paper: a type of butcher paper for the sturdier parts of the costumes, and lens cleaning paper for the filmy diaphanous parts. She skillfully works the paper to achieve the effect of textiles by crumpling, pleating, braiding, feathering and painting the surface. Using European paintings and iconic costumes, she draws on multiple historical periods, including Renaissance clothing of the Medici family, gowns worn by Elizabeth I and Marie-Antoinette and designs of the grand couturiers including Christian Dior, Coco Chanel and Mariano Fortuny. 

 

For the San Francisco presentation, she created five original works based on four European paintings from the collection at the Legion of Honor: Massimo Stanzione's Woman in Neapolitan Costume, Anthony van Dyck's Marie Claire de Croy, Duchess d'Havre and Child, and Konstantin Makovsky's The Russian Bride's Attire.

 

This exhibit is so completely unique. Standing in front of these costumes, it is hard to believe they are made of paper, including the jewelry and all accessories. It is definitely a treat to witness the work of this singular artist. The exhibit runs through June 5, 2011. 

 

Bouquets to Art

After our visit to the de Borchgrave, we stopped by the de Young to see the annual Bouquets to Art floral exhibition. This 5-day exhibit is a much anticipated event. Prominent Bay Area designers and garden clubs design floral arrangements to interpret and complement the museum's permanent collection. There were 150 arrangements—flowers everywhere in every gallery: upstairs, downstairs and in the hallways. The museum never smelled better!

 

    

 

 

 

The creative process was alive and well here at Bodega Barn last weekend during my Gouache and Watercolor Workshop. The process I was teaching, a unique way of using watercolor, matte medium and gouache, was born of panic last year when a painting I was working on began to head south...fast. I've written about this in an earlier blog, but will recap it here. The painting was due to be delivered to the gallery in a day and a half. There was no time to begin another, besides, it was an odd size for which I had the perfect frame. Watercolor is not a forgiving medium. As I began to scrub out my mistakes and try to bring the piece back to life, it only got worse. Since necessity is the mother of invention, I decided to turn to invention to save it, resulting in a unique look and a new process that I could then teach to my students.

 

During the process I was terrified it would not work, that I would be humiliated beyond belief at not being able to deliver. Plagued by self-doubt, self-pity and a nagging voice telling me I'd never be able to pull it off, I lumbered on. At first my brush strokes were all wrong. I tried something else. It was a little better, but not great. I tried yet another idea. Little by little, the way one crosses a rushing creek one rock at a time, I began to see progress. The painting began telling me what it needed next. Slowly at first, like an engine gathering speed, I fell in with the rhythm of the piece. One stroke, then another. What emerged on the paper was light years from my initial vision. I began to feel that little glimmer in my belly—it might work after all! Gone was the terror, the doubt, the voices. It was a painting, a good painting!

 

Creating a painting, like writing or composing music, is an evolutionary  process that often—almost always—runs the full gamut of stages and emotions. The beginning stage is exciting, filled with hope and a new vision. The middle portion is often where doubt and discouragement begin to set in. I observe this time and again, not only with my students, but also with myself as well. It's as if a painting goes through the same growing process as we humans do:  delightful babyhood, difficult adolescence, and finally rebirth and self-actualization. During the workshop I observed the students themselves and their paintings travel through a number of incarnations. They kept at it, mostly because of a desire to make their paintings work, and partly because they were in a workshop, and there was no choice! That's one of the benefits of the workshop environment. One is encouraged to keep at it, to pull it off, instead of giving up and going off to do the laundry. Below are some photos from the workshop. One participant is missing from the photo:

 

                     

Today is my last day in Paris. How grateful I am to have had this experience! I'll be back, so no regrets for not having seen everything! I saw what I set out to see, did what I set out to do, and saved this last day to gather my thoughts and my things, and prepare for home.

 

I stopped by a little gallery near my apartment to say goodbye to the delightful owner, Nicole, who has owned the gallery for 45 years. She and I spent almost 2 hours together several days ago, when I bought a few pieces from her. A word of advice: if you make a purchase, especially in a private little gallery, be prepared for a visit, not the quick transaction we Americans are used to. Take a seat and expect to spend time talking about art, artists, and the vicissitudes of life—especially if you can manage a little French—while your purchases are carefully, lovingly, slowly wrapped.  

 

                                 

 

Nearby the gallery I passed by the famous Ecole des Beaux-Arts. A group of art students were mingling outside. Farther up the street I was surprised to see a plaque above a doorway, marking the former residence of the novelist George Sand. I thought about the Unicorns again, because she was also enchanted by them and helped bring them to public attention.

 

I had one more day left on my museum pass, so I walked back over to the Louvre for a few hours. I wanted to see the 18th and 19th century French paintings. It was raining and the pigeons were swimming in the courtyard.

Below are some of the pieces that attracted me today. I saw some lovely pieces by Ingres, the neo-classical French painter, known for his very smooth, almost non-existent brush strokes, as you can see in The Valpinçon Bather, painted in the very early (1802), 19th century. Ingres was a student of Jacques-Louis David who painted this interesting Portrait de Madame Marie-Louise Trudaine in the late 18th century. This piece has more of a modern look to it than some of his other works.

                          

 

Below is a particularly luminous portrait by 18th century painter Baron François Gerard. As we move toward the turn of the century, I notice hints of light and color here and there, changes beginning to emerge from the tonality typical of this era. It's exciting to witness the evolution of painting. It's important for any artist, writer or musician to know and become familiar with what has gone before.

 

This unusual piece is by an artist I had never heard of: Anne Vallayer-Coster. Panaches de mer, lithophytes et coquilles, 1769. It stopped me in my tracks, because it is so unusual to see this kind of still life from an 18th century painter. And a woman, no less, in this very much a man's world! 

 

 

One 18th century painter that I especially admire is Jean-Honoré Fragonard. I enjoy his loose vigorous brush strokes; they are a forecast of the Impressionists to come. Here are a few pieces I enjoyed today. [There is also a Fragonard in the National Gallery in Washington D.C. that I love: A Young Girl Reading. She is wearing the brightest most luminous yellow dress.] Notice the vitality of the brush strokes in these portraits below, very exciting for a late 18th century painting. Unfortunately, most of Fragonard's private patrons were either guillotined or exiled during the Revolution, and this magnificent painter died virtually unknown. For half a century or more he was completely ignored, but subsequent reevaluation has confirmed his position among the all-time masters of French painting. The influence of Fragonard's handling of local color and expressive, confident brushstrokes was not lost on the Impressionists, particularly his grand niece, Berthe Morisot (my very favorite) and Renoir.

                            

 

I was surprised to see a small room with some late 19th century Impressionists: Sisley, Pisarro, Renoir among others. Usually the extent of the Louvre's exhibits ends around 1848. The d'Orsay takes it from there. There were even a few pieces by Pierre Bonnard, part of the Nabis, an early 20th century movement. Below is one of many pieces for which he used his wife Marthe as a model. 

 

Well, as you can imagine, I had to tear myself away. As I was leaving I came upon some school children listening to an art lesson. It was a gift to be in the presence of the handing down—and the wide eyes looking up—of the magnificent history of art.

 

 

Au revoir for now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I began the day by walking over to the Sainte-Chapelle cathedral, across the bridge to the Ile de la Cité, the little tugboat-shaped island in the middle of the Seine. The Sainte-Chapelle is not far from the Notre Dame, but this Gothic style church, built between 1242 and 1248 for King Louis IX, is quite different. It's much smaller, and only took 6 years to build. (It was built to house the supposed Crown of Thorns which is now kept at the Norte Dame and shown only on Good Friday!). The outside is functional, but the inside is glorious! Because buttresses hold up the roof, the walls function is to display the stained glass. The ceiling is painted with fleurs-de-lis, and the walls—the walls are made of stained glass! It is impossible with my iPhone to capture even a small hint of the dazzle these fifteen separate panels of stained glass create. Two-thirds of it is 13th century original. It covers Christian history from Genesis to the coming of Christ to—yes—the end of the world!         

       

 

The Sainte Chapelle sits within in a huge complex of buildings that has housed local government since ancient times. The Palais de Justice, built in 1776 is where the French Supreme Court meets. The only medieval structures that remain are the Sainte Chapelle and the Conciergerie, the former prison that once incarcerated 2,780 souls who were beheaded during France's Reign of Terror after the revolution, September 5, 1793, to July 27, 1794. Marie Antoinette was one of these prisoners, and a reconstruction of her cell is on view. There is a tiny chapel built on the very spot where her cell was located. There is a medieval Hall of Men-At-Arms, built in 1302, where the guards dined and a number of interesting exhibits of original clothing, armor and reconstructions of prison cells.

                           

How far could you walk in these shoes?

                

Marie Antoinette's reconstructed prison cell.

 

Back across the bridge, up St. Michel Blvd to the Cluny Museum, also known as the National Museum of the Middle Ages. During the Middle Ages, which is the time between ancient Rome and the Renaissance, Paris emerged onto the world stage. This museum houses old Roman baths, close-up looks at stained glass, Notre-Dame carvings, gold fabrications and jewelry, rooms of tapestries, and the exquisite Lady and the Unicorn series of six tapestries that absolutely thrilled me! I am in love with the Lady and the Unicorn! There are also medieval altarpieces, weaponry, 8th century Visigothic crowns and more. Below are some stone heads (1220-1230) of biblical kings of Judah that once decorated the Notre-Dame, and stained glass depicting the violence of medieval religious superstition.

         

 

Below are the remains of Roman baths, constructed in A.D. 200, with a 40-foot high ceiling was the largest Roman vault in France. The column fragment is one of four remaining fragments that are the oldest man-made objects in Paris. The fragments once supported a 20-foot altar to the king of the gods in the temple of Jupiter, A.D. 14-37.

                 

 

The Lady of the Unicorns! These are breathtaking! You enter an oval room displaying six fascinating tapestries, designed by an unknown artist sometime before 1500. They were woven in Belgium of wool and silk. These are some of the most lyrical and mysterious pieces I have ever seen. I am enchanted! The low light level in the room and my iPhone camera doesn't show their vibrant color and beauty. Take my word for it, these are stunning. I bought a book about these pieces with quotes from Rainer Maria Rilke from his "The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge" describing each tapestry. Can't wait to read it. The themes for five of the tapestries are the senses: Taste, Hearing, Sight, Smell and Touch. The sixth and largest is titled: A Mon Seul Dérsir (To My Sole Desire). Might it refer to the "sixth" sense of intuition? 

         

 

 

It rained today. I took the Metro to the Arc de Triomphe and spent the day walking all the way down the Champs-Elysées to the Louvre and home, taking a detour to visit the Musée Jacquemart-André.

 

The Arc de Triomphe was commissioned by Napoleon to commemorate his victory, against overwhelming odds, at the battle of Austerlitz. It is designed like the arches of ancient Rome, only twice as large. It took about 30 years to complete, and unfortunately Napoleon died before it was finished. His funeral procession passed through it, however, as did Hitler and the Nazis. In fact, a swastika flew from here from 1940 - 1944. In August 1944, Charles de Gaulle led the Allied troops under the arch to celebrate the liberation. The tomb of the unknown soldier from World War I lies under these arches. Every morning fresh flowers are laid there and a flame is lighted.

There are 284 steps inside to the top, where there is a small exhibition area with rotating exhibits about the arch and Napoleon. Yes, I climbed them all, and was rewarded with a glorious view of all of Paris! You can see all 12 boulevards that radiate out from the arch. Did you know that Paris has the densest population of any city in Europe? Eleven million people packed into the size of an average US city—20 times denser than New York City. On a clear day you can see all the way down the Champs-Elysées to the Notre Dame cathedral.

                                   

Back on land, I began my walk down the Champs-Elysées. This is one of the world's grandest streets boasting nightclubs, high fashion shopping, famous cafés, and fancy car dealerships. Louis XIV opened the first section in 1667 as an extension of the Tuileries Gardens. From 1920 to 1960 this was an elegant boulevard of mostly residences, posh hotels and cafés. People dressed in their finest to stroll the boulevard. Then came big business and commuter trains. It is still the main artery of Paris for shopping and watching people. And it leads right down to the Tuileries and the Louvre.

  

                                 

 

I took a detour up Franklin D. Roosevelt Blvd, to 158 Housmann to visit the delightful Jacquemart-André Museum, once the fabulous home of a wealthy 19th century Parisian couple who spent their lives decorating it. The story goes that Edouard André, a wealthy bachelor, built and lived in this mansion. He commissioned a well known portrait painter, Nélie Jaquemart, to paint his portrait. Nine years later they were married, and spent the rest of their lives collecting art, furniture, sculpture, fireplaces and ceilings! Paintings by Rembrandt, Carpaccio, Rubens, Van Dyck, Botticelli, Bellini, Fragonard and many more hang all over the place! Not to mention Houdon busts, Gobelin tapestries, antiques, gilded and marble everything! In addition to the extensive permanent collection comprised of 17th century Dutch and Flemish paintings, Italian Renaissance works and 18th century French paintings, there was a special exhibit of Rubens and Poussin, and others, focusing on the two art movements that flourished in the 17th century: Flemish baroque painting which gave way to the classical French school. This remarkable collection of 63 paintings was gathered from private collections and prestigious European museums. There was also a tour of the couple's private quarters. Unfortunately, no photographs allowed, but I did take a few. 

           

         

 

It was getting dark when I left the museum. I could have taken the Metro from any of a number of stops along the way, and by this time my legs were tired enough for a sit down, but this was one of my last nights here, and I wanted to experience being in this special place, walking where so many other souls have walked in centuries past, as dusk fell to evening.

                    

         

 

 

 

 

 

The Rodin Museum is housed in a former mansion. Rodin was the modern Michelangelo, creating sculptures on an epic scale. Born the same year as Monet, 1841, his early work comformed to the belle époque style of the time. His breakthrough piece was The Man with the Broken Nose. The Kiss, shown here, was the first piece the public loved. Rodin came to dislike it, thinking it too sentimental. I was disappointed that the garden, with many of his large works, was closed. I didn't even get a glimpse. Much of his work remains unfinished, looking as if it is emerging from the stone, order forming from chaos. Most interesting was a description of Rodin's casting process.

              

 

The highlight of the museum for me was the room with Camille Claudel's work.  The 44-year-old Rodin took the 18-year-old Camille Claudel as a student, a muse and eventually a lover. At first her work looked much like Rodin's, but later it took on a lovely lyrical quality. Rodin eventually left her to remain with his wife. Camille suffered from jealousy and grief and spent the last few years of her life in an institution. Below is Claudel's The Wave, carved in green onyx.

 

I walked down the street to the Army Museum and Napoleon's Tomb, located in the complex of Les Invalides, a former veterans' hospital built by Louis XIV. Napoleon's tomb rests under the gold dome of Les Invalides church.

                  

 

There are extensive military museums, Napoleon's horse stuffed and mounted (I missed this, thankfully), Louis XIV era uniforms and weapons and a lot more. Here is one of Napoleon's saddles.

 

There are rooms and rooms devoted to World War I and II. I paid most attention to the World War II because my father was a B-17 pilot and all of my uncles fought in WWII as well. They all survived, for which I am grateful. I am against war. But let's move on.

The highlight of this museum, for me, was hidden on the 4th floor of the Hotel des Invalides. Up there was a relief map museum! I would not have gone up to this attic, except for the suggestion of a friend who'd been here last year. She wanted to make sure I went up to see these. They are scale models of fortified sites, made from 1668 onwards until 1870, initiated by Louis XIV's Minister of War. They presented an accurate representation of towns and countrysides within artillery range, making it possible to plan sieges. The collection comprises 100 relief maps on a 1/600 scale. They were once kept at the Tuileries, then the Louvre, now here on the 4th floor.

             

 

From here I strolled down to the Rue Cler for lunch. This is a street normally filled with merchants, markets, wine, cheese, chocolates, etc. Today it was sparse. Maybe because it was sooooo cold! Clear plastic sheets were drawn in front of the cafés and the heaters turned on.

 

I ate lunch and quickly left in search of the Eiffel Tower. I'm not that interested in this kind of tourist attraction, but when in Paris you've got to see the Eiffel Tower at least once, right? So this was the day. It's HUGE and stands right in the middle of city life. You can see it from far away, and as you walk towards it you think it'll be right around the corner, but it's not. It's a weird structure with no purpose, really. The very top was closed but I was able to get to the next highest level. As I said, it was VERY cold and windy. 

               

              

Back to my warm apartment!

 

 

 

I slept in late this morning, so decided to stay close to home and explore the neighborhood around me on the Left Bank. It didn't take long to find Edouard Manet's birthplace, just around the corner at 5 rue Bonaparte. Up the street a block or two and left into the narrow rue Visconti, I found Frederic Bazille's studio. Bazille was from a wealthy family, and opened his studio to his Impressionist rebel friends to paint, share ideas, offer encouragement and receive financial support. Bazille is not as well known as some of the others, only because he was killed at an early age in the Franco-Prussion war. He was a wonderful painter. He volunteered for this war, when several of his compatriots fled to England. Tragically he was killed on the battlefield at age 28.     

Small shops line these streets including a frame shop and an art store. I bought a small 6 X 6" sketch book and a few pastels.

                 

 

I decided to walk down the Quai along the Seine to the bridge leading over to the Notre Dame Cathedral. It is a short 10 minute walk from my apartment. The cathedral took almost 200 years to build, from 1163 - 1351. Inside there are countless stunning stained glass windows, including three rose windows. The highlight for me was the girls' choir rehearsal that was taking place, complete with organ accompaniment. Imagine the acoustics inside this structure! I was enthralled! I recorded some of it and I might be able to download it to my web site later.

                 

        

 

Back across the bridge, it was starting to get dark. Commuters were spilling out of the underground Metro (where I've spent a lot of time), and into the evening street.