A Brush With Fall

I like Fall.

I even like raking leaves...for a day or two.

We have more Oak trees in our yard than anyone else on the planet.  And, horticulturists will tell you, they hang on to many of their leaves until after the first snow.

That means that after I've grown sick and tired of raking and moving leaves to the woods in the Fall, for about six weeks straight, I am treated to the same program the following Spring.

After the last of the winter snows melts away, my yard is once again covered with leaves that were dragged down by snowfalls over the winter months. 

I start the Spring by cleaning up the Fall, year after year.  However, I have found one good artistic use for them.

Many years ago, I came up with some painting programs for first graders.  The school my boys attended had done away with art classes and I rounded up some friends to go into the classes to teach differing art forms. 

I decided to teach watercolor painting to 7 year old school-children, with much success.

Not only did they come up with some nice paintings, I discovered a way to capture Fall leaves on paper.  Now, I can't tell you all of my secrets, but I use paint, brushes, paper, and leaves.  Sometimes, I add waxed paper or paper towels to my tool kit and even a printing roller.

Those first graders? 

They used paint and brushes, too, and then they used their hands and their sleeves, they spilled paint on their pants and socks, and managed to smear it all over their faces and it even showed up on homework they turned in a week later.

More than once, they got some great effects on their foreheads...easy to do from their perspective, hard to frame.

At least it was watercolor, so the teacher, their parents and the janitor didn't hate me forever!

As for my ongoing attempts at home, the effects differ based on time of year (leaves used after the first frost are much better), the humidity of the day, and the texture of each leaf, and my mood.  Sometimes a trip to the winery makes the watercolor flow better!  That's another story.

As with all watercolors, sometimes they work and sometimes they don't.  You can't go back and fix mistakes easily and I end up ripping up a lot of paper.

I am reminded of producing these annually.  My wife, who loves the leaf paintings, routinely collects interesting leaves and throws them at me by the score, but the other ingredient that's hard to express, to her and to others, is that I have to feel like painting.  Some years, Fall has come and gone and I haven't touched a single leaf for the purpose of capturing it before its demise.

Last year, my wife spotted a leaf that reminded her of a ghost.  "Try this one," only put a face on it. 

I stared at the leaf for weeks.  Not the same one, of course, as each few days when she discovered the wilting leave she'd bring in another.  Finally, I caved to the pressure and did the deed.

Colors weren't working for it.  Unlike a real "Fall" leaf, these "Ghost" leaves had to be dark and sinister.

Then, I felt that the eyes weren't strong....painted in after the watercolor was done, they faded into the picture.

My son, watching me with one of the set, said "Why don't you put holes in the leaves first?"  So, I did...worked much better.  The eyes "belong" to the ghost.  Wow, a family project!

So, this year, all of the trees delivered another two seasons worth of leaves.  And, my wife saw a new batch of ghosts.

Oh, and don't tell her.  When she's not home, I paint on the dining room table.  And, much like those first-graders, I tend to throw those brushes and that paint around a bit. 

Fortunately, my wife's eyesight isn't what it used to be so she rarely spots the colors of Fall on the furniture and walls.  If she does lean in to something for a closer look, "What's that spot on the wall?" I point quickly out the window and say, "Look at that leaf!  What do you think I could make that look like in a painting?"

Another close brush with Fall!

Seven Steps to Paint the Perfect Portrait

After a dozen classes regarding painting portraits, I've come to some conclusions.

If you've looked at some of my paintings from those classes, you've probably drawn some conclusions, as well.

Not to be dissuaded by any of those thoughts, know that I will not be stopped.

In fact, I am more determined than ever to conquer this topic and herein present my list of seven steps that will bring one success in the art of painting a picture so that it looks like the person whose painting you are trying to do, even if I'm tempted to poke out my eyes with my paint brush handle.

Here you see, from top to bottom, class #1, #2 and #3, as you study my guidelines.  One more class to go with this one!

1.  Determine whose picture you want to paint.  (It will help if they have just one eye,  a very small nose and can keep their mouth shut the whole time you're working on the painting so that you don't have to worry about all of those teeth!)  Being bald solves a lot of issues, too, or at least a band of cloth of some sort to wrap around their head that covers most of the hair, eyebrows, forehead and ears is a blessing!

2.  Determine just to paint their face.  The more you can stay away from clothing and arms and hands and feet, the less you have to fret about.  Also, if they can comb their hair over their ears, you won't have to spend a lot of time trying to figure out all of the ins and outs of ear canals and lobes and, heaven help us, those ornate earrings that belonged to a Victorian great-aunt or great-grandmother.

3.  Let the person who is sitting for their portrait know that they have to sit completely still for eight to ten hours.  Some studios and class settings allow for breaks for the sitter every twenty minutes or so, but I find that about the time the break is called is when I've just decided to finish a freckle or add an eyebrow.  Better they bulk up ahead of time and just sit for the whole thing.  I may take a break, but I don't want them to move from the preassigned spot...once they move, some tend to come back and face a completely different way.  Too confusing.

4.  Remember, you're not painting a face.  You're not painting a nose.  You're not painting and eye.  You're painting shapes and shadows and highlights and tone and value and color and texture, and you're capturing mood and expression and probably twisting your back and your arm and your neck into contortions that will lead to sore muscles and a headache, and an overwhelming thought that having taken a photo would have been less trouble and more satisfying!

5.  You are going to want to pose them in that antique chair, the one with all of the animal carvings and intricate shapes and designs.  Do yourself a favor...put a white sheet over the whole thing. If you have any thoughts of painting any part of it, don't.  Draping is so much more effective and you can cover that area in one or two brush strokes that way, rather than spending the remaining years of your life trying to get that darned antler armrest to look like what it should be instead of a piece of deer scat.

6.  Let the instructor, or other class member who paints better than you, take over your brush at any time they are available.  Just nod your head up and down a lot as they guide you through the finish.  If they look like they are going to stop and give you back the brush, ask questions quickly.  "What would you do with that eye?" Or, "Do you see any problem with the forehead?"  About twenty questions should do the trick.  The last question could be, "Do you know of a good place to buy a frame for this?"  They might have one in the trunk of their car!

7.  Once done, hide the painting for about seven years.  It'll give it time to dry and the sitter will appreciate the fact that, once they do see it, they look younger.


In the meantime, go back to landscapes and seascapes...you know, where trees and waves and rocks and weeds all look the same.              

Poor-trait Painting

It is said that a picture is worth a thousand words.

I add, a portrait can be worth a novel...a never ending story of, "Who is that?"  And that's me asking the question, after I pulled the painting out to look at it again after a month!

Take model #3.  That was the one that I was working on when we last talked.  I missed the third class and tried to rush a finish during the fourth class with that model, but to no good avail.

I won't show it to you here so that you still think that I can paint.

Instead here to the right is a portrait of someone you may recognize.  If this is a true representation, I guess we know why he lopped off that ear!

I am going to work on portrait #3 at home and, perhaps, someday you'll get a look at it.

I had asked a friend,  a fellow artist who attends the same class, if she could take a photo of that model and send it to me.  That way, I would have her likeness for further study.

After she had emailed me the pictures, she asked if I had any success with the painting.  I told her, "Yes.  I enlarged the photo to canvas size, cut the image out and pasted it over the painting.  It looks great!"

Really didn't do that.  I will figure it out, I promise, and will try to secure the best representation of the model.  At least I have to be happy with it.  Perhaps the model will like it, too.

Of course, there's that adage of an art instructor of mine from years ago who said, "The sitter may not like the painting when you've finished it, but put it away for twenty years and then bring it out to show it to them and they'll love it!"

I don't struggle with trying to get the image of the sitter exactly right.

I think my paintings prove that.

You needn't comment.

During that last class with model #3, instructor, "Where are you looking?"

Me, "At the model."

Instructor, "Really?"

Me, "Is there a problem?"

Instructor, "Not at all...there are a hundred problems, give me that brush!"

At the moment, I thought I was being drummed out of art class.  Stripped of my tools!

She grabbed the brush with lightening speed and stepped back, I thought to toss the brush javelin style through my canvas.  Instead, she mixed a few globs of paint together on my palette, "You need some warm, and some cool, and some hot and some cold, and some gel and then do this," as she redrew the entire face.  The whole thing changed...it looked totally different...just like the model!

Guess I need some more lessons.

You see, the center of the issue is this.  Everyone expects a portrait to be a perfect picture of the person sitting for the portrait.  Dali didn't seem to care too much about that, neither did Picasso.

Okay, others did.  But most know that portrait painting is problematic.

It's hard enough to get someone to sit long enough and still enough to get a good likeness...let alone worry about the outcome.

You're not always going to get everything right.  John Singer Sargent, who completed his share of portraits, said, "A portrait is a painting with something wrong with the mouth."

And what if you all ready have mouth issues...take our first leader, George Washington...as we all know about his teeth issues, perhaps the mouth is the only thing right!

I've seen enough portraits of people I know and can hear them complaining about all sorts of issues.  "My nose isn't that big," "My eyes aren't that close together," or "This thing makes me look old."

Sargent also said, "Every time I paint a portrait I lose a friend."

Fortunately, for me, I haven't known any of the models so far and hopefully they don't know anyone that I know so that stories won't be shared with friends about "this artist who tries to paint my picture, but makes me look like I've had really bad plastic surgery!"

Model #4, who we started last week, was pleased with my first rendition and I think I got close to his image.
 
He liked the painting.

He offered to take it off my hands.

I told him that there was more work to.  He would have taken it, as is.

This effort was only after one class and it was a value study (various shades of just one color).  

 "We have to add color this week," and I added, "I still have time to ruin it.  I paid for three more weeks of class." 

He looked surprised.  We'll see how this progresses.

Picture This!

You're in a studio, painting with a group of artists, with a model positioned on a chair in front of you.  With each stroke, as you try to capture her image, the picture looks less and less like her.

What's an artist to do?

You take a paper towel and wipe it all off and start all over again.

When I left you last, I had completed the first week of "Model #3" and had showed you the first attempt at immortalizing this young lady.

Here's that first draft, again, to the right.

This is what's called a tonal image...in other words, a drawing with some shading of the same color, in dark, medium and light values, to lay out lights and darks and start to give a semblance to the person's likeness.

Week two saw me adding color to the canvas.

Note that I did not say that I was improving the drawing.

Instructor, "Get some color on that thing so that you can deal with details next week.  Don't worry about what she looks like."

She saw my painting...I had kept working on it without a word...did I seem like I was worrying?

I do think I had a bout of color-blindness.  The background was brownish, almost dark camel.  How I managed to get green, I don't know.

Instructor, "Okay, the color's not right, but the value is and that's more important...you haven't ruined it yet."

I heard, "Yet."  Still time to insure a trip to the garbage can!

Here, to the left, color...oh, and hands...remember last time I mentioned those hands.  Hard to draw, even harder to paint.

Instructor:  "What about those hands?  Do you think the drawing is good?"

Me to instructor:  "You see those hands and you're asking me if they're drawn right.  No, they're not.  Can't you see that?"

Now, I'm worried.

The model is wearing a black top, with gold trimmings and has a large green bracelet on her left arm.  Note to self:  save some of that green paint you put in the background, in place of the brown paint, for that bracelet that you forgot to draw in or paint on!

And those eyes!  What was that movie with the beings that hunted down earthlings and burnt them up with xrays that shot out of their sockets? 

Oh, there was a week #3.

Week #3 looks like week #2, because I didn't make it to class.  There was the talk of not going as it was too hot and then we had a car that needed to get into the garage, so we were down to getting to work and back home and back to pick up the repaired vehicle with the one car left.  Didn't make it...don't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

I did leave the painting on my easel in the basement, with hopes that the little green folks who inhabit this Irish household might take up a brush and fix the thing overnight.

However, it was something else that perhaps improved it.  With the heat outside and the moisture in the basement, the painting started to turn on itself.

Here it is, on the right, in its current state.

Seems that the change to water soluble paints and cleaning tools with water has added a dimension of drying (or not drying) to my hobby.

Left unattended for two weeks, in the dark, damp basement, it turned into, "Dark, A Study."

I'm wondering if the drawing is still there.

However, before I attempt to clean it off, I am considering offering it for sale.  Could end up being one of those magical things...as it dries, the image may re-surface!  Or partially recover...Moldy Lisa?

A show of hands, please, starting the bidding at $5.00!

Eye Caramba!

Portrait #1

I know I promised a look at the final product of my first portrait painting class a while ago, but I keep having problems with my eyes!

Not my own eyes, my eyes that I paint on the pictures.

It's not easy.  Seems they have shape and volume.  I thought they were mostly saline solution!

And then I got confused when our instructor noted that we don't see the eye's orbit, but have to remember it in order to draw them correctly!

"Orbit," I blurted out, "my eyes go around in my head?"

She was quick to answer, "In your head, most likely yes!  In the heads of others, they have an orbital shape and you  have to draw and paint them with that shape and space in mind."

Art is becoming difficult.

Once I was happy to draw and paint.  Now, I have to study anatomy and phrenology just to get someones face on canvas!  The next thing you know they'll be telling me that everyone's eyes are different and that will be too many things for me to think about!

I got so engrossed in  painting eyes that I forgot to post that last painting and actually went on to do another.

Portrait #2 Value Study

Yes, the second one had different eyes.

You see, she was turned to the side, so one only has face on one side of one eye.

And, while the eyes in the first painting are mainly straight on and have face on each side of them, the woman in the second painting is looking away from me (what's that about?) and now I have to look for the side of the eye that protrudes from her face....yuck!

The last time I remember someones eye protruding from their face was when an ice fisherman on my hometown lake pulled a line out of the ice hole too fast and the hook snagged one of his orbits!


Fortunately for him, his brother was there and, within a few minutes, cut that thing out with a pair of pliers.  He was back fishing in no time.

So, all of this time has gone past and I didn't even show you the processes for "Portrait #2."

We were told that this one was going to be a study in gray.  It's called a value composition.  I had no sooner started when our instructor told me that she thought I had great value on my canvas.  "Really," I remarked!  "I've just started it, how much do you think I could get?"

She just shook her head and walked away.

I continued to paint.  The instructor returned and told me to add some color to it.  "I thought we were painting in shades of gray?"

She replied, "Your painting needs help, some color might just do it."

"A few minutes ago," I added, "you said this was a valuable painting.  Now you think it needs help?"

She walked away again.

Above, to the left, "Portrait #2, Study in Gray, with some pinks, reds, greens, yellows, and blues."

Almost done here.

Portrait #3

Portrait #3 was started last week and I did remember to snap a photo of it so you can see it as it develops.  Here it is to the right.

For this one I decided to paint more of the subject and added the upper body and hands!

Silly me, I wasn't having enough fun with eyes...I had to add hands and fingers and fingernails...just shoot me.

To spare you the vision of just how bad my first attempt of hands was, I cut the picture short...if these things don't pan out, I may be cutting this canvas down to postcard size!

Perhaps, "Chin, A Study!"

More next week, as this painting moves along!

Partial Portraits

Week three of portrait painting class.

There has been some progress.

I managed to get to class at the studio, about a 45 minute trip one way, and back home without missing a turn or getting lost...it usually takes five or six trips for me to remember how to get anywhere in a clean shot.   That's big.  Even if I don't come away with a completed painting, I can proudly show my face at home, sharing the results of my ability to find my way and back (check out my earlier posts about my GPS, Samantha, and my driving exploits).

And, to the great glee of the instructor, I showed up with everything I needed to paint.  The first week I didn't have the right medium, any paper towels or the right oils.  Week two was a bit better, I did manage to get all of the paints together.

But, week three was a total success...on the equipment side.  I brought along a new pad of palette paper (to replace my wooden palette that has wet paint on it, which always manages to get on everything in my car and everywhere on my clothes while traveling), new medium (I hear the joke, "What no large?"), and a whole roll of paper towels, to continually wipe away mistakes on the painting!  I go through a lot of paper towels.

Things were looking good, regarding preparation.  Painting was a different thing.

To continue painting the portrait on which I am working, I was advised to, "Look at it as a landscape, check the drawing by measuring everything to redraw the face, and drop lines so see where corners of the mouth fall in relation to the eyes, or where the center of the lip falls in relation to the nose, and so on"..."Take it apart," said the instructor, "Don't think of the person, think of values and lines...treat the pieces of the painting."

Fortunately, I did have an Exacto knife with me, so it was easy to take it apart.  I wasn't sure of exactly how to "take it apart," so I just cut it into four pieces.

Right away I could see the problems. Here, to the left, one can see that the eye is too big and falls to the left...it would have been a better painting had I seen that.  The eye on the right (here and there), is much better, but her chin looks like a blister and the red coloring to the right looks like an infection...didn't see that when it was a part of a larger picture.

Years ago, on Monhegan Island, as I prepared to throw a painting away, an artist stopped me and said, "Before you get rid of that, take a small mat and go around the large painting looking for a smaller one.  In every bad painting there's usually a great postcard!"  

The chin here, with the neck looks better...maybe it is okay and there's something wrong with the upper right portion...this is strange.  But, I guess it's like wearing sneakers...they don't go with everthing.

I do think the neck is coming along well...but now I see that the blotching has spread to her chest...perhaps it's a rash...sitting under hot lights for hours will do that.

The point of all of this measuring and getting values correct is for the "finish."

Getting the light lights on at the end is what "makes the painting sing." 

As she sits holding this pose, the lightest light is on her forehead, as you can see here to the right.

I put on the white highlight and didn't hear a thing.

Of course, now that this part of her head is separated from the rest, I can see that this is really a great part of the painting.

The lesson here is that, at times, we have to sacrifice for our art and learn something in the process.  Chopping up a painting may not feel good or be the best action to take.

However, now that I look at these, and working with the "postcard" theory, maybe there's a market for partial portraits...I only paint your good side or good feature!

Let me know.

The Layered Look

I did think about taking some video during the portrait painting class that I'm taking, but didn't want to intrude on the others in the class.

And, I couldn't figure out how to mix paints, hold a brush or two along with a wipe rag, be able to squeeze out more oils as needed, hold the camera and zoom in and out at appropriate times, and run back and forth to the snack table!

It's a lot of work being an artist.

I did write last week that I would post the painting as we go along, and here to the right is week two of the same model, with another layer of paint.

You don't get to see the painting stroke by stroke, but hopefully you see some progress.

I was surfing the web and came across this portrait painting video and thought you'd like to see what we artists look like in action:

While some painters have insecurities about having people watch them paint, I don't mind.  In fact, I seem to do a bit better if I think someone is watching.  Don't know if I try to do better in front of an audience, so they think that I know what I'm doing, or if it's akin to a joke I read recently.

"How many artists does it take to change a light bulb?"

"Ten.  One to change it, and nine to reassure him about how good it looks!"

It always helps when you hear positive things.  Some like to hear only good things.  I'd rather have honest critique.  I did have an art instructor in a class setting once take a painting I was working on off my easel, look at it for a moment and then drop it on the floor, paint side down.  As he walked away, he said, "Garbage.  Start again." 

I knew the painting wasn't going well, but....

I probably should have picked that oil smeared canvas off the floor and framed it with all of the dirt, hair and unidentifiable objects now embedded in the surface.  "Studio floor - a study."  I could have been rich.  A whole new genre.  Floorealism...hmmmm.

Next joke...

"How many modern artists does it take to change a light bulb?"

"Four.  One to throw bulbs against the wall, one to pile hundreds of them in a heap and spray-paint it orange, one to glue light bulbs to a cocker spaniel, and one to put a bulb in the socket and fill the room with light while all the critics and buyers are watching the fellow smashing the bulbs against the wall, the fellow with the spray-gun, and the cocker spaniel."
Back to the portrait.  I have managed to get her face positioned in the right direction, but keep struggling with that nose.

The instructor says that I'm painting my nose.  When she said that, I went right to the paper towels and started to scrub my face for errant oil paint.

"No," she said, "You don't have paint on your face.  You're not looking at her nose, so you're painting a picture of the one you see every day....yours!"

"But," I protested, "I can't see my nose."

She grabbed my brush out of my hand and plopped the end of it on my nose, giving it a dollop of paint, and said, "Now, go in the bathroom and look in the mirror and clean that off and you'll see what I mean."

What's with me and these instructors and paint everywhere but on the canvas?

So, here we are at week two.  The model continues to be outrageously patient, holding her poses so well that you could almost tell time by the shadow cast by that nose, if she were outdoors during the day and were in the middle of a garden in the sun...she is good.

I wish I could do her justice and come up with something that really looked like her.  There are about six students in the class, mostly beginners, and as the model takes breaks I can almost hear her wincing as she passes the canvases of the various students and looks at our efforts.  I hope she doesn't drink.

Everybody who paints portraits wants to capture the likeness so that the sitter is pleased, along with the artist.  And, perhaps even someone who didn't know the model would see the painting and then the model would walk in and the viewer would turn quickly and say, "That's her...it's so good."

You never know when a good representation can come in handy.  There's a story that the artist Pablo Picasso surprised a burglar at work in his new chateau.  The intruder got away, but Picasso told the police he could do a rough sketch of what he looked like.  On the basis of his drawing, the police arrested a mother superior, the minister of finance, a washing machine, and the Eiffel tower.

See!

We have two more weeks of working on this portrait, so you will be treated to at least two more rounds of "what does the model look like this week."

I did a little bit of work on it at home this week (something you shouldn't do, as you should always be looking at what you're painting) and made some improvements.

Here it is now...let me know what you think!

Face It

...it's hard to paint portraits.

Unlike trees and rocks, and lakes and streams, that appear in landscapes and can pass muster just by looking something like one of those listed, people want something more.

Seems it is expected that the picture you're painting of the subject is supposed to look just like them!

The original "snapshot" before film, portraits were the way to memorialize faces and figures.

We know what George Washington looks like because of the number of paintings of him, and they all look like the same guy.  You could probably pick him out of a crowd today, based on those visions that we've seen.

Same goes for Ben Franklin, Napoleon, and a bunch of other people.

To take the pressure off, I've decided to paint portraits of people that my friends don't know.  That way I can assure them that the likeness is dead on...sorry I can't produce the model, but trust me this is just what they look like.

I started taking a portrait class last week, at the Woodstock School of Art.  You should check out their classes, as the offer instruction in many medium:

http://woodstockschoolofart.org/

I've wanted a challenging art class and I got one.

I thought I'd share the process here with you, through the four once-a-week classes that will result in a completed portrait at the end!  Really!  The instructor promised that!

To the right, above, you'll see the work in progress.  Now, before you get all excited and start writing me about how she seems to be missing an eye and, well, it's not really a very good painting, I must point out that this is the first layer...an under-painting, if you will.

As the model posed, we had three hours to draw in the head and shoulders and start putting in values.  She was very patient and kept the same pose, with a few breaks, without fail.

I think it's a really good start.  The instructor thought just a bit different, "that's going to need some work."

While I was busy measuring the eyes, the nose, the mouth, etc., I got a bit side-tracked...as the teacher noted, "you seem to have flown into space, transposed yourself, and seen the model from over there," as she pointed to the other side of the room.

It was then that I noticed the model was actually facing the other way!  Details!!!

"I did get the hair values right," I added quickly.

Our instructor threw a glancing blow, "a little dark for a blonde, but I guess you can claim artistic license."

I worked on the canvas for another hour and made terrific gains.  Here, to the left below, you'll see the differences...right?  Big improvements?

The nose lighter, better color in the shadows, brighter whites?

You can see the vast difference after an hour...no?

Oh well, more later...another class this week and you'll see...the commissions will start pouring in.

I remember what a former art teacher said to me about portraits.  "Do your best, but don't show it to them right away.  Put it in a closet for about 10 to 20 years, then give it to them.  They'll love it."

Let me know where you're ready to pose!

Sketch a Sketch

I am in the process of re-writing my instruction  manual on sketching and am letting everyone know that I am ready for drawing classes...before you shout, "About time you took drawing lessons," this is to let you know that I will be teaching the craft.

Over the years, I've come up with a fool-proof way to teach people how to draw.  Even the most die-hard resistor, "You can't teach me to draw," came away surprised that they had a drawing in their hands that they had completed.  True story!  One student fought me tooth and nail during each class session, but once she gave into the idea of listening, it all came together.  I didn't buy it from her, but it was so good that she wanted to take it right home and put it on her
refrigerator!

Just like some other folks, I spent many childhood years wanting to draw and paint. Hours were spent on the floor of our second floor apartment studying under the watchful eye of Jon Gnagy.  Or it should be said, laying on the floor in front of the television, watching Gnagy’s art instruction shows, drawing along with him.  Here's a clip from one of his classes:

http://youtu.be/7YIRcQVkTOw 

When Jon wasn't around to provide "private" instruction, I would spend time copying all sorts of shapes, and dogs and horses, over and over out of the Gnagy drawing lesson books...I had a whole drawing set of his at one time! 
 
Following up on my desire to take art classes in high school, and perhaps from someone in person (as Gnagy was off the air by then and the books had worn out), I asked about taking art classes.  The guidance counselors directed me away from that passion, with the statement that "there isn't room in your schedule, as you need Math, English and Science courses for college.”

When I got to college, someone at the college admissions office said, "You only have Math, English and Science classes.  You need liberal arts courses!" I'm still confused.

At that time, there were two “arts” classes to pick from, "Introduction to Spanish and Spanish Culture" or "Introduction to Oil Painting."

Painting won out.  Not that I had anything against Spanish and Spanish Culture but, after studying French for seven years, I thought I had spent enough time on learning a language that no one else around me spoke.  I will wait for a moment while someone points out the merit of having thought twice about the Spanish classes!

Back at the community college, I spent several years studying with Guy Corriero, a fine oil painter and instructor, and now an AWS (American Watercolor Society) member.  A prolific artist, Corriero's works have been described as "the most colorful impressionistic watercolors anywhere."  You can see his link here on my blog page...he continues to paint many wonderful things.  I heard recently that he painted his kitchen!

Under Guy's tutelage, I learned the techniques of sketching, drawing, oil painting, watercolor painting, critique in studio, not crying when he asked you what your subject matter was, and the joys of painting plein air. 

Monhegan Island, Maine

The think about sketching is that you can do it indoors or out...Monhegan Island is a favorite art retreat for me and the groups that Guy Corriero led there over 25 years. Instruction on the island focused on seascapes, the life of a sea village and, as Guy would walk all over the island to give individual instruction to the students, learning how to let him know where you were so that he didn't run around the island all day long looking for you.

I've also painted plein air in Lyon, France, where I bought my first box of oil paints, while also studying French language, history and culture, and have painted in the Hudson Valley and upstate New York, and in Massachusetts and other areas of Maine.

I do favor the impressionistic style of painting and am fairly adept at the skills that watercolor requires. Other studies of mine included studio classes with Sylvia Springer, a fine upstate still life and portrait artist; Lee Parks, watercolorist and instructor with the Hurleyville Artist Association; James Ziegler, classically trained oil artist; several local classes in pastel, and figure drawing with School of Woodstock instructor Jon deMartin.

I've provided art instruction to individuals and groups, including art programs at Mohonk Mountain House, during “Artists Inspiration” programs, and created a very successful program for 1st graders at Kerhonkson Elementary School in the 1990's that resulted in successful watercolor training for 7-year-old students.  Along with other artists, I contributed art work of my own to the school.  The program developed with First Grade teacher Barbara Cesaratto brought varied art forms to the lives of young children, created an 'art gallery' in that school's library and a full scale outdoor display made of tiles created by the students, among other projects.  I also produced a very successful class around Native American art processes, instructing those same groups of children on how to find materials in nature to make brushes and drawing implements and painting with natural substances, such as berries and plants extracts.

Starting my career with oils, I've had many successes with the medium regarding landscapes and seascapes.  I also studied watercolor and produce an annual series of "Fall Foliage" paintings focusing on individual leaves that has proved to be very popular.

My works have hung in the Omni Building in New York City and are in many private collections across the country, and I've participated in group art shows in the Mohawk Valley and Hudson Valley, and at Mohonk Mountain House, in New Paltz.

So, here's the point.  I'm about finished with the re-write of "The Values of Sketching" and will be using it as an instructional booklet for upcoming classes, for individuals or for groups.  I am also trying to figure out how to "teach" sketching on line, via my blog...stay tuned for developments there.

In the meantime, each drawing or painting really starts with a sketch...if you have an interest, contact me and somehow we'll figure out how I can get you sketching!

A Poem for Spring!

Ode to Spring

I noticed this morning I had a spring in my step!

It must have come off of the well.

I was checking for leaks in the pipes in the ground

And I slipped on some ice and I fell.

The darn thing festered most quickly,

And the pain seemed it might be eternal.

Just when I was starting to feel real good,

I'm failing while the planet's gone vernal.

The hopes and dreams of lawns of green,

And of flowers and birds and bees,

Were clouded by the fact that I also dropped my glasses

And was crawling around on my knees.

This time of year should be filled with joy,

Seemingly sprung up by fairy dust.

Yet, I'm hobbling around on one good foot

While the other is fillin' with rust.

I was looking forward to toasting Jupiter and Venus,

All shiny and resplendent in front of us.

Instead, I'm trying to think and remember....

When was my last shot for tet-a-nus?

Well, the good news is that spring has arrived

And it's everywhere that you look for it.

Spring is in the air, in the fauna and flora,

And in the jar, once removed, where I put it.

Poet's Walk

Poet's Walk

*check out the link below

Today we decided to take a walk

Somewhere near, where we could also talk.

We got in the car and headed west.

Took my car...heated seats are the best.

Just under an hour and we were there;

Easy to find, after paying bridge fare.

Only a few cars in the parking lot.

Little company on the trails is what we got.

On the web we took time to check out the place

And wanted something easy, no hills to face.

Trails were level, 'bout two miles out and back,

But the meadows and flowers the place seemed to lack.

Of course, it is winter and most plants are dead

And the birds were smarter than us to be there, instead

They probably had flown to places that were sunnier.

The fact we expected spring scenes made it funnier.

The wind blew cold and the bridge blocked the view

And sightings of other fauna were few,

But the thing that ended up perplexing us the most

Was the lack of who we expected as hosts.

The name of the place had us thinking we'd see

A poet sitting near or under each tree.

Instead, although we looked real hard,

The place that billed them was missing their bards!

*http://scenichudson.org/parks/poetswalk

Happy New Year 2012!

I thought I should let you know that I have mixed feelings about resolutions this year.  Not that I haven't made any; I do have a short list on the fridge.

In fact, I compiled mine two days ago, well ahead of the official New Years' Eve Resolution Deadline.

You didn't know there was an official deadline?

Oh sure, you have to have them in writing before you have your first drink New Years' Eve.

If you wait any longer, there's the possibility that you will wake up New Years' Day and not recognize the handwriting, let alone understand why on earth you would write things like "wash my car every week so I get better gas mileage, beg my adult children not to move out as I would miss cooking for them, or take up smoking so I have something to list next year to give up (I'm never too out of it to discuss wine in my resolutions, unless it involves buying a winery)."

No, I made my list, but it is tainted by all of this 2012 Mayan talk.  You know, "the end."

Now, everyone I've heard from is saying, "2012 has to be better than 2011.  Given everything that happened with the weather, politics, family, economy, and more, the universe owes us a break."

Then, they write and ask me if I think that this December 21st "end of things," per the Mayans, is something to worry about.

Asking me if we should worry is akin to asking me if I put chocolate in my milk to make chocolate milk.  I worry about everything, twice over.

That's what gives me pause as I head into my resolutions, as some of them would involve activity after December 21, 2012.  I have to ask myself, do I want to put that much effort into something that's going "poof" in less than 365 days!

We all want to be better and have a better year, but just how good does one want to be if there's not going to be enough time for everyone to recognize how good you've been?

I could pay off the house or spend all of that money having fun instead.  If I'm not going to be living here after the 21st of December (and don't have to pay off the note), why bother.

A perennial resolution is to downsize, get rid of clutter, live with fewer things.  Well, if everything's going to be tossed into the universe in some sort of climatic explosion, why should I waste time lugging this stuff all over the place?

Of course, if I don't clean out that will reduce the exercise that I might get via that endeavor, so now I have to consider putting a resolution together providing me with just enough exercise to get me through the next eleven and three quarter months.

Then there's the "have more fun" resolution.  Fun gets tempered by work, family, responsibilities, and some state and federal laws.  Do I head into the New Year with my eye on a bigger, longer future, or deal with the Mayan Calamity and have more fun than I ever thought I could have?

See, this is why I'm perplexed.

As I did write my list of resolutions, I'm heading off in a direction to fulfill them all.

However, I think I will keep my eye open for a class on Mayan language and culture.

Perhaps I can get ahold of a copy of the ancient text that the Mayans put forth about the upcoming December date and figure out something before I get too engrained in being too good for my own good.

Send me your thoughts about 2012, the Mayans, and your resolutions!  We can worry together.  Happy New Year!

Back By Popular Demand: Christmas and Blogging!

Seems people are still checking out my blog, over 400 hits since my last post.  Got busy this summer, and then Fall hit, big time (as many of you know and felt), and now that the holidays are over and, well, since my wife keeps saying "you should be blogging," here we go again.

I'll start my new thrust of dedication to my blog, while I assemble new thoughts to share with you, by posting my latest holiday newsletter, our annual Cunningham Christmas Chronicle...as those of you who celebrate by decorating and gifting and sending cards, traditional efforts can be fun...really! 

Read on...

We decided to take the holiday pressure off ourselves this year and commit to doing everything at the last minute.  In fact, if there's anything we can do after Christmas, for Christmas, we are there. 

I had that plan working just fine, until Theresa's sister, Mary, called to see about coming up, with her friend Dorothy, to each get their Christmas trees.  We make an annual pilgrimage to a local purveyor of prickly poking, needle dropping flora.  They wanted to come up a week earlier than we would normally go...it did fit with our weekend schedule, but would set us up for getting something done ahead of time...we sighed and agreed.  Of course, that meant we were going to have to fill that next weekend with something non-holiday related, but were able to put that thought off to another last minute decision and believed were happily behind again!  We knew it would be a full day. 

Although Mary and Dorothy historically take about 6 minutes each to find a tree (once Mary pointed to one as we were driving in, “That one!”  We could have slugged her), I knew we could count on Theresa to soak up the rest of the day, checking out each and every tree on the 85 acre farm.  In the past, as you know, we've closed tree farms waiting for Theresa to pick out that perfect trimmer.  And I don't mean by sunset.  One year the guy actually had to ask us to leave as his wife was calling him to come home as they were leaving for Midnight Mass.  Upon arrival this year, I set off with Mary and Dorothy to help them cut down and drag back two trees, while I watched Theresa disappear into the forest on her quest for the perfect tree. 

True to history, Mary and Dorothy were espying two lovely firs within minutes of arrival and as I was looking at their possible selection with them (you know, too tall, too thin, crooked trunk, no needles, all brown needles, is that a dead bird in there?), I found Theresa standing next to me.  I told her I'd be with her in a minute to help her look (I get to spend hours answering the, “Does this tree make me look too big?” questions), as soon as the ladies told me which to cut down.  She said, “No, no need to look...this one!,” as she pointed to a tree six feet away. 

What you should be envisioning now is something akin to a biblical scene of massive white clouds in the sky parting, huge bright shafts of light screaming down towards earth and angels flying back and forth singing strains of “Hallelujah!”  And, yes, trumpets, harps, any other heavenly musical instruments you can think of...maybe even an accordion...it was that special.  Years of tree hunting with Theresa flashed before my eyes.  I was shaken (not stirred, that's another story).  “Wha?,” was about the only thing I could come up with.  We were done within twenty minutes.  Mary and Dorothy were so surprised, as they had brought books, kindles, knitting, and wine for their usual wait.  They just pointed to the closest trees to them and, as though surrendering to the moment, each said, “That one.” 

As we were dragging the trees to our cars, I could hear the farm owner in the background, talking to his staff, “Something's off...usually this time of year there's a small crowd, some poking and pulling on every tree, others just sitting around waiting for them...Christmas just doesn't feel like Christmas anymore.”  I felt bad for him, but more-so for us, as now we had nothing to do with the rest of the day.  Mary came to the rescue, “Let's go to lunch.”  “Ooo,” I cooed, “and let's find someplace that has notoriously slow service...that will be fun!'  Turns out the restaurant staff was so pleasant and so attentive that we soon found ourselves back in our cars heading home.  

Back home, as I looked at the tree standing in a pail of water on the deck, I noted I now had the afternoon free of chores.  I caved into putting the tree into the stand and putting it the living room.  Kevin helped hoist it in and it went into place on the first attempt.  I cut the binding cord and it fell out beautifully.  As the branches swayed into place, filling out the space, I turned to Theresa and said, “Great, now what am I going to do?  It doesn't need to be trimmed, moved, reset or balanced.  No ropes or weights to keep it standing.  I guess I'm forced to put the lights on it!”  I couldn't believe we were getting this far ahead.  Then, to add insult to injury, all of the light strings I had packed away last year worked...and they weren't tangled.  I was miserable with success.  But, I knew we still had to decorate the thing, so we decided to put that off for another day.  

That other day turned out to be the next day.  As I came into the house from work, there was Theresa gleefully placing ornaments on the tree.  “What are you doing?”  She apologized, but said that her doctor's appointment was canceled and she had the time.  “Had the time?  We were supposed to be filling time so that we'd be feeling the Christmas pressure!”  I was seething...we were getting ahead of schedule, yet again.  My hands were clenched with stored up energy...I rushed to the kitchen, needing to knead something.  I pulled out butter and flour and all sort of other edibles and pushed out 62 dozen cut Christmas cookies. 

As I was pulling the last batch out of the oven, Matt bounded in and said, “Need help decorating those cookies?”  Before I could sit him down and talk to him about the merits of being patient and planning, and how not rushing into situations is a good thing, he had many dozens spread on the table with icing bag in hand and within hours finished them all off, with colored frostings, sugars and sprinkles.  Our hopes were dashed for a last minute baking frenzy.  I settled into the nearest sofa, wine in hand, racking my brain for something that I could drag out to fill up the advancing gap of free time before the holidays.  “I know,” I shouted, “Christmas cards...we haven't done Christmas cards.”  Theresa twisted up her face, glancing at me, “I addressed and signed them all yesterday...sorry, but I was on call and waiting. I needed something to do.”  I looked at her, “Don't tell me you've got your Christmas shopping done!”  “Okay,” she said, “I won't tell you that.  Maybe you should have another glass of wine.”  

I was defeated.  Here we are, a week before Christmas, and ready for the holiday!  

Faced with time to go out to holiday happenings in the area, time for gatherings with family and friends, time for quiet moments and reflection on life and the holidays, a relaxed Christmas Eve and Day with plenty of time for gifts and goodies, I could only think...time for relaxation, reflection and spending time with others?  

What have these holidays come to?

Who's My Daddy?

Family get-togethers, at least in our family, are opportunities for us to talk about other family members.  Usually, it's about the ones that aren't there (that's why I try to get to as many gatherings as I can) or those who have passed on, who become the subject of conversation.

My Aunt Bea passed away peacefully, recently, at the age of 94.  During the reception that followed her burial, and I'm not talking a festive party-like gathering, but more of a "this was a long day and we're hungry" event, the topic of my father came up via my brother and another aunt who was in attendance.

In conjunction with Father's Day, and these recent conversations, I thought it appropriate to present everything I know about my biological father.  The picture here is what he looked like when he was about 18.  He left me and my brother when we were about 3 and 2, respectively, in the questionably capable hands of our mother, to move out of state.

I knew he was my father because that's what I was told and I do look a lot like him.  And, his brothers and sister seemed to think he was my father.  My mother's relatives used his name, when referring to my father, and my birth certificate lists his name as "Father." I once had someone stare at me to the point of total distraction, stating, "You must be Jack Cunningham's son, you just took me back 20 years.  I went to school with him."  Okay, didn't know the man.  Hadn't even seen a picture of him.

Until I was about 20, that's all I knew.

I can't say that I missed him, as I didn't remember him.

I thought it strange, as did many others, that my mother accompanied me to the "Father-Son" banquet for the cub scouts, but have since figured out that the "scouting" event put her in the room with a great number of men.  Now I know why were late arriving, as she needed the time to over-primp.  She was quite the attention getter there.  I don't remember if I got any scouting badges or awards, but she did score a lunch date for the next day.

Another reason I didn't have "dad envy," apart from never having or knowing a father, was that mother always had someone around to pick up that slack.

When her male cousins, brothers and brothers-in-law weren't around to do the typical male-bonding things with us, like fishing, camping and yelling at us, her dating efforts provided us with a slew of gift-toting, kid impressing types, who kept her busy as she searched out her next soul mate.  Oh, in my mother's context, soul mate equals someone to pay the bills.

You see, apart from my real uncles, there were the "other uncles."

"Uncle" Bob was a drummer in a band...that was his job.  Now, there's a profession that speaks secure relationships, as one of the reasons my mother left dear old dad was her complaint that he spent too many hours in local bars.  I don't think "Uncle" Bob was playing in the local symphonic orchestra...as the nearest one of those to us was two states away!  He lasted a few years...seems his wife, from whom he was "separated," wanted him back.  Those musicians!!!

"Uncle" Lou was a phantom.  Really!  We knew he existed as there were notes and gifts and lots of comings and goings, after our bedtime.  We were threatened with "no meals, no deserts, no movies, and no life" if we came out of our bedroom to see what this guy looked like.  I thought he must have been so physically malformed that one might turn to stone, if you looked at him.  Silly me.  He wasn't deformed...he was just mean and married.

Another "Uncle" was a shoe salesman.  Another "marrying type," he took Mom to lunch regularly, bought me a sandwich once in a while, and managed to do this around working hours, before he had to rush home to the wife he was "going to leave."

"Uncle" J had lots of little jobs.  He swooned over our mother, but wasn't in the race for long.  I was okay with his short attraction, as we got little more than a "hello" once in a while, and it was always uncomfortable when I was in school with my "uncles" children.  Turned out another one of his jobs, besides not getting around to "leaving his wife," was swooning over other ladies about town.  Mom couldn't handle competing with other girlfriends.  A committed relationship, hey that happens, but sharing a date!  No way!!!

"Uncle" L was a really nice guy.  He waited on our mother hand and foot.  He helped her out with all sorts of issues, bought her stuff, gave us stuff, and was just a nice person.  Problem?  No wife, no money.  Too easy, and not a good soul mate (see definition six paragraphs above).

I digress...since those early years I learned that our father, who art in heaven (sorry about that, too easy, Catholic upbringing, and he did die over 30 years ago), ran from our mother.  Her demands demanded that he get as far away as he could.  He remarried, had another family, and was once again a father.

He left behind a pair of cuff links. 

As Father's Day rolls around, I get asked by many about my father.  I don't have much to tell and have been busy enough in my life not to dwell on him.  I tell them what I know, thinking that they are referring to my biological paternal unit.

One thing that did stick with me, through all of the years of questions, was that I did commit to myself was that, if I ever had children, I would stay in town or in touch no matter what.

That's worked out wonderfully, as my wife and I are happily married for over 30 years and have three great children. 

But, due to the upcoming holiday and questions that keep popping up, I found myself looking up the definition of "father" in Webster's Dictionary, to help keep my thoughts straight...it states, "one who has begotten a child." 

Okay, dear old father did that.  Based on that, he gets 100%.  Hmmmm...so do I.

Then, I thought, maybe there's a different definition for "Dad", and I found this poem:

A Dad is a person
who is loving and kind,
And often he knows
what you have on your mind.

He's someone who listens,
suggests, and defends
A dad can be one
of your very best friends!

He's proud of your triumphs
but when things go wrong
A dad can be patient
and helpful and strong.

In all that you do,
a dad's love plays a part
There's always a place for him
deep in your heart.

And each year that passes
You're even more glad,
More grateful and proud
just to call him your dad!

Thank you, Dad .
for listening and caring
for giving and sharing
but, especially, for just being you!
Happy Father's Day
- Author Unknown

Mystery solved!  Who's my Daddy?  

Based on the definitions in this poem, not the begetter, and not the "uncles."  

Adjusting for gender, turns out my wife is my dad, and if you know anything of my family, stranger things have happened.

Happy Father's Day to my wife!!!