Art of the Americas Wing

Last month I finally managed to get to the new Art of the Americas Wing at the MFA and it's taken me the few weeks since to form a conclusion about it all. I know that seems rather ridiculous, but it's more complicated than simply liking it or not liking it.

At first, I didn't like it at all and I wasn't sure if this was based solely on the fact that I don't do change well. Hell, I've had literally decades to adjust to the slow and steady changes the MFA has been undergoing- the better part of my life thus far- and I'm still not ready for them. So I thought my dislike of the new galleries and the layout of the exhibits within them was simply due to my inability to adjust to anything new. I did like the gallery that is a perfect recreation of a 19th century European salon, a wonderful experience and so different from what the contemporary gallery or museum visitor sees. And while it's no longer nearly as extensive as the original galleries full of period rooms and furniture, the fact that the MFA has reinstalled several of them (and in much more accurate detail than those previous) is a joy. But the rest? Sigh. The mixing and matching of various items created within a time period or genre, all displayed together within a gallery, didn't always thrill me. In some of the galleries it just seemed to be too much. I was even less than happy with the Sargent Gallery, which really surprised me. I mean, who would have ever thought I wouldn't be ecstatic to have an entire gallery devoted to Sargent? Trust me, no one was more shocked than I at this revelation.

However, given a little time to ruminate on it, I'm finding myself less and less appalled by it all. Do I wish I could go back to the MFA of my childhood? The MFA I knew every stairwell and corner of with my eyes closed? Of course, because that's just my nature. But I also know that everything must change, including my most beloved (and familiar) institutions. And I know that eventually I'll most likely grow fond of this new version of the MFA, but it's going to take time. Possibly even decades. Just be gentle with me and let me ease my way into this new and unfamiliar world of art.

Self Portrait

A larger than life self-portrait I've been working on. I'm not very happy with it, but alas, it's just a sketchbook work so what I think matters not. It's the process here more than anything else. If I don't keel over in the next few hours, there'll be more portraits in my future for me to fuss over, judge and over which I can be ridiculously self-critical.

Self Portrait, graphite on paper, 2011

Happy Birthday, Winthrop

Today would have been my dad's 102nd birthday. Hey, don't scoff too much at this as my grandmother lived to be 102 and almost made it to her 103rd birthday. At any rate, happy birthday, dad. I miss you today as much as I ever have. I've lit a candle for you tonight. See you in heaven one day.

Page from my Childhood Art Journal, 2008-2009

Portrait of a Cat

A portrait of Maia Louise, a cat who has way too many fussy little stripes for my liking. Still, she came out quite good, if I may say so. This drawing is almost twice life-sized and the real Maia is a fairly good-sized cat, so this is a substantial little work.

Portrait of Maia Louise, graphite on paper, 2011 (detail)

Expressionism

During some recent research on expressionism I came across some more obscure works and artists that I, at any rate, had never heard of. The Finnish artist Alvar Cawen (1886-1935) has utterly enchanted me. Lately I've been focusing on portraiture more than in the past and Cawen's "blind" portraits amaze me. The blind adult subjects, sitting with sighted children, evoke quite a range of emotions depending on who on the canvas you are looking at. These works are incredibly moving, intense pieces. How did I not know who this artist was before now? So much time wasted, so much more to learn about him. These, and his other works, are simply fabulous.

Pime (Blind), 1926

Sokea Soittoniekka (Blind Musician), 1922

Journal Collage

I've been keeping a journal in a teeny tiny pink moleskin book. Some pages contain writing over hastily-done watercolor paintings detailing whatever it was I did that day, and some have quickly executed little collages. If it takes me more than 10 minutes, it doesn't go in. I thought this might be a neat little experiment that falls somewhere between a proper diary style journal and a full-fledged art journal whose pages can take hours or even days to complete.

This little collage was done on a day when I was especially dizzy from a lingering vertigo-type virus I've been suffering from. It wasn't at all difficult to get a slightly blurry photo of myself as I couldn't have stopped gently swaying before the camera if I tried.

The Dizziest Winter on Record, mixed media collage (acrylic paint, crayon, magazine clippings, photograph, pitt pen, printed tape),

5 3/8 x 3 3/8, 2011

Warm and Fuzzy

You know you're a real nerdy artist-type when just looking at photos of someone else's used tubes of paint makes you feel all warm and happy inside. Getting a sweet rush of excitement without even being in a studio (anyone's studio), smelling the tools of the trade (any tools: paints, palettes, canvas, stinky pens, you name it), or even looking at art (anyone's art) means you're too far gone for help of any kind so just accept it and enjoy the uber-joy you feel. Lose yourself in the moment.

Photos courtesy of Ken Bushe at kenbushe.co.uk.

Apricot Trees

I have just finished a group of apricot trees in bloom in a little orchard of fresh green. I've had a setback with the sunset with figures and a bridge that I spoke of to Bernard. The bad weather prevented my working on the spot, and I've completely ruined it by trying to finish it at home. However, I at once began the same subject again on another canvas, but, as the weather was quite different, in gray tones and without figures.

Vincent to Theo in a letter from Arles, March 1888

Orchard With Blossoming Apricot Trees, 1888

Great Games, Great Art

These works belong to my new favorite contemporary artist, Tim Liddy. I not only love the fact that he realistically recreates the covers of some of the best board games ever made and looking at them sends me into paroxysms of sicky sweet nostalgia bordering on an overdose, but the fact that he paints the game boxes exactly as he finds them: with the tears and bends, yellowed tape, broken flaps and endless yucky stains left behind by some careless owner or their crummy kids, or both, to me is equally fabulous.

"Circa 1965 (Life)" 2005, oil, enamel, urethane on copper

"Circa 1959 (Risk)" 2007, oil, enamel on copper

"Circa 1970 (Ouija)" 2008, enamel, oil on copper

Griffin

I thought it might be a nice throwback to the 19th c cafes of Paris, full of artists furiously drawing in their sketchbooks, to take a model with me to the local Starbucks and draw him from life while enjoying some coffee and conversation. And so we went one sunny afternoon, he with his good looks and me with an oversized sketchbook; a gift he had given me for my most recent birthday. I paid him for his sitting with vast amounts of delicious coffee and sugary treats, which was all he asked for. What I didn't take into consideration was that my model is nervously hyper without the addition of caffeine and/or sugar to his system and it took only a very short time before he could no longer focus on what he was looking at, let alone sit still for more than a nanosecond. In the end, frustrated with my jacked up, itchy model, I took some photos of him sitting there across from me and we left so he could burn off his nervous energy. The rather convoluted evolution of this portrait is: begun, from life, in a bustling coffee shop and finished, from photos, very quietly on my own time.

Portrait of Griffin Marks, graphite on paper, 2010