Confidence

If I, for my part, have some confidence in my own work, it is also because it costs me too much effort for me to believe that nothing will be gained by it or that it is done in vain.

You must by no means suppose that I have great illusions about the appreciation of my work; I think one must be satisfied if one succeeds in convincing a few people of the seriousness of one's intentions, and is understood by them without flattery. For the rest, if there is anything more than that, so much the better, but one must think about it as little as possible. But one need not mind what people in general say and do.

Vincent in a letter to Theo, April 1884.

Parsonage With Flowering Trees, sketch enclosed in the above letter, Nuenen, 1884

From One Artist to Another

I was recently in a consignment shop looking for funky vintage clothing when I happened upon a small pile of decrepit-looking, dusty old feathered birds peeping out of a half-open drawer. Not willing to let them spend an eternity there unwanted and ignored, and in addition to the fact that they're birds (which I adore), I scooped them up, save for one really ratty one with a missing eye. A few minutes later I felt guilty for having abandoned that one and so gathered up the sad little eyeless one as well.

When I finally finished my clothing spree and made my way to the register, the lady who owns the shop told me she had another bird she hadn't priced yet and threw it in for free (along with the one-eyed fellow who also was free of charge). And then in a pile of things she was still checking in, a rather large deer made of real fur caught my eye. David and Griffin were utterly repulsed by it so I passed on it, but there was a tiny fawn that I simply had to have. A few weeks later when I returned to the shop, a twin to the first fawn had been added to the shelf of creepy animals, so he too was scooped up and brought home.

The story behind all these little creatures (and many more still in that vintage shop) is that they belonged to an elderly collage artist who had recently passed away and his son, not at all interested in the oddball objects his dad had laying about his studio, instead chose to consign them rather than keep them. I not only like the little things for their oddness, but I'm rather enamored of the idea that one artist would give a home to the unwanted objects of another artist. I'm not entirely sure what to do with them yet, but when it's meant to happen, something will come to me loud and clear. And in the meantime, the birds have all been safely tucked away where my cat won't be attracted to the feathers from which they're made, and the two furry little fawns have a place of honor on my dresser where they never cease to mildly creep out David every time he walks by them.

Sargent

A portrait is a painting with something wrong with the mouth.

-John Singer Sargent

Portrait of Carolus Duran, 1879

Ivy

Ivy is a very delicate little long coat chihuahua who lives in England. This little piece was a challenge not only because she's a mostly white dog, but also in that I wanted very much to translate her daintiness and wispiness into her portrait. I felt that in order for this to be a truly successful piece, it had to be tangibly gentle. I really enjoyed working on this drawing, much more so than my usual dog portraits. I'm not sure why, or what was so different about this particular one, but it was and I did.

Portrait of Ivy, graphite on blush colored paper, 2010

Doris

Doris in Profile, graphite on paper, 2010

Self Portrait

Self Portrait With Messy Hair, graphite on paper, 2010

Tilt-Shift Vincent

I was recently turned on to a fairly simple photographic technique that yields some pretty quirky results and the link I was sent used Vincent's works to illustrate it. Called tilt-shift photography, it requires the use of a special camera lens that gives a real world scene (or in this case, oil paintings) the look of a miniature model. While some have complained that this technique has given Vincent's paintings the amateurish look of a children's diorama, I personally find it wonderful. Seeing his work in this new way, looking vaguely reminiscent of photographs of a tiny model train world, is just thrilling and in this way his paintings have taken on a new dimension and vibrancy. And as generally unhappy and restless as Vincent was, I think seeing his work, however briefly, as funky and fun would be something that Vincent himself might have enjoyed.

The Harvest, 1888

http://www.artcyclopedia.com/hot/tilt-shift-van-gogh.htm