I have not seen as others saw

As a painter it is necessary for me to have a different way of seeing. My task is to see beauty where it has not been seen before. But in doing so, I make life difficult for myself and difficult for others to patronise what I create.

Artists have to create their own following and very often recognition comes long after their time on earth. In the process of seeking for the unknown I am rarely sure of the value of what I have created at the time of creation. As with public recognition, it comes in retrospect. 

Today's painting is a case in point. It was painted four years ago and at the time I doubted that I had put down on paper what I was searching for. I now realise that I had come close to my objective. It's not a painting that will attract "how sweet" comments from the Face Book Community but it might appeal to the cognoscenti in search of the endless beauty of the nude. 

I have taken the title of today's post from a poem by Edgar Allan Poe. It is a poem that I choose for the Memorial Service of Virgin Island poet Sheila Hyndman Wheatley (1958-1991). It could be equally fitting for mine.

From childhood’s hour I have not been

As others were; I have not seen

As others saw; I could not bring

My passions from a common spring.

From the same source I have not taken

My sorrow; nor could I awaken

My heart to joy at the same tone;

And all I loved, I loved alone.          

State of the Art (Part Two: Photocopies)

When photography came along in the mid-nineteenth century one would have assumed that it would have freed the artist of the need to exactly copy the subject. The camera can better define individual strands of hair and every leaf on a tree. But one hundred and fifty years on it has ironically worked the other way around. In reviewing the current state of the art I find that most aspiring artists copy from photographs down to the last hair follicle and blade of grass. Furthermore, whereas once it was the artist that worked from the live model, it is now the photographer and the artist is content to minutely copy from the photograph. How boring can life get!

Granted, working from life can be an difficult business: the wind blows, the rain falls and the model wilts. Once, when I had set up my stall for painting a market scene on the Caribbean island of Grenada, a dog came along and drank the water from my containers. At least on that occasion, my onlookers were friendly enough to replenish my supply. But the same support wasn't forthcoming when I was painting the dark satanic mills in my native industrial north of England. On that bleak winter afternoon, a group of young boys took delight in raining stones down on me. In comparison, painting from the nude figure in the warmth of a tropical afternoon sounds idyllic, and it is - until ants and mosquitoes begin eating my model.

Nevertheless, against all those set backs, the only way that I can convincingly capture life is to work from life. Although life-classes have begun to proliferate, the lessons learnt appear to go no further than the classroom door. To find out how different are the life-classes that I teach from my studio from the normal run of things, turn to page 26 in my book Notes on the Nude.

The opening and closing sketches are demonstrations that I did for my life class students. Both were made in less than a minute and the first is on a 16" x 20" sheet of newsprint. 

State of the Art (Part One)

Over the last few weeks, in an effort to understand the current state of the visual arts, I have surfed my way through countless internet sites that attract amateur and professional artists. With a few exceptions it has been a depressing business. 

The sites fall into two main categories: Face Book Groups and On-Line Art Galleries. From these can be found links to the websites of individual artists. To gauge reaction to my own work I have joined and contributed to some of the sites. I thank those sites for having me on board, albeit that my responses may be deemed critical. But bear in mind, criticism - and in particular self criticism - is an essential component in art.

The numerous Face Book groups are generally focused to those working in a specific medium (pencil, pastel, watercolour, etc.) or location. They mostly attract aspiring amateurs and the groups administrator(s) rules the roost. Portraits and landscapes are the most popular subjects. A large percentage of the work submitted is meticulously copied from photographs. The nude figure - the bedrock of art through the ages - is for the most part absent and banned from some groups. 

In essence Face Book groups serve as mutual admiration societies. Typical comments include: Very Nice...Amazing...So Beautiful...How Lovely...Wonderful...So Sweet.

Apart from being "blocked" from two sites my own work fared reasonably well in terms of feedback. Today's opening picture is one that I submitted and - a rarity for responses in these groups - I had some "constructive" criticism.

...personally, I would do two things differently, use a much smaller brush and much less water. It seems like the dampness is giving you problems...A very fine brush will give you much better control of the medium. And yes, it will require patience.

I will try to heed the above advice. Who knows, with less water, a smaller brush and patience, I may improve.

Brian Tai's painting, shown below. is at the upper end of the scale. But he also attracted a similar comment:

Nice painting, but not enough painting (I assume that to mean, smaller brush and more patience needed over detail)!

It's a good job that Face Book Groups were not around in Van Gogh's time as otherwise he might have been persuaded to use a smaller brush, less paint and more patience!

I will have more to say about the state of the art in forthcoming posts. 

Erotic implications

In the latest extract from my forthcoming book Notes on the Nude I speak of the delicate balancing act between sexual desire and erotic implications. Working from the nude figure demands passion tempered with integrity and daring tempered with restraint.

Today I came across the very first sketch that I made of my model Annabelle. It was the beginning of an inspirational working relationship that lasted six years. 

Here she is again, just before she left to attend medical school in the States. 

  

Love's labour's lost

The two paintings below are of the same model. The first was thrown down in a matter of seconds direct from the life, whereas the second was laboured over after the event. The first captures the passion of the fleeting moment; a moment that was lost in the labours of the second painting.

Given the choice, I know that most viewers would dismiss the first as being unfathomable and go for the second. But for me, the mood of the moment is captured in the gay and abandoned suggestive washes of the first rather than in the "correctness" of the second.

Too shy to ask

In my early years of painting the figure I missed the chance of many good models through being too shy to ask. I have since learnt that many of those who I would have liked to model for me would have willing done so if only I had asked! 

Now that I am into my final quarter century I take more chances for there is no time to waste. I have dedicated my book Notes on the Nude to my models. They give body and soul to my work and without their contribution to the creative process my paintings and sculptures would not exist.

Today's painting was made in the final fifteen minutes of Collean's last modelling session. As with most of my watercolours, it was painted with a Number 14 Sable Brush on a 18" x 24" sheet of paper. I feel restricted with anything less...and without a model I'm lost. 

Hurricane Dorian

If Hurricane Dorian had arrived in the Bahamas forty-three years ago it is very likely that I would not be alive today. In 1976 we spent a year sailing the Abaco Islands aboard our thirty foot ketch Sarah Hannah. During that time we spent two months anchored at Little Harbour while looking after the house and studio of the sculptor Randolph Johnson. Pride of place on my bookshelf is a signed copy of Randolph's book Artist on his Island.

Those who have lived on small boats know the pleasure of occasionally being able to spread out on shore and to catch up on washing. The painting below is of our backlog of laundry hung out to dry in Randolph's and Margot's backyard. 

For the hurricane season we anchored at Man-O-War Cay and the diary extract below dates from those days. I will always remember the Abaco Islands as the most tranquil place on earth and my heart goes out to the islanders in their present plight.