Champagne corks and work in progress

The champagne corks are reminders of celebrations that marked the sale of the 1,500 copy of my book Virgin Island Sketches along with sales of my paintings.  That was twenty-five years ago aboard my gaff cutter Born Free anchored off Petit St. Vincent in the Grenadines. Today the corks are being used to temporary help pin together segments of my life-size paper torso.

The opening picture shows the torso still attached to the clay figure. In order to separate one from the other we go back to the age old techniques of plaster casting where the cast is divided and built up again in pieces. Hence the terms, "waste" and  "piece mold".  

I had hopes of keeping to just two pieces: front and back. But I hadn't bargained for the strong suction that the layers of paper create. To avoid distortion I finished up with ten pieces and a three dimensional jigsaw puzzle.

It is in assembling these pieces that my champagne corks came in useful. They help to hold the seams in place while I glue them together with strips of - you guessed - handmade paper.  

Corona Confinement

Due to being well passed the sell by date of seventy, the Corona Virus has me confined to my studio and workshops. But what better place for solitary confinement. I can work without the distraction of twice weekly shopping trips and engineering emergencies. My daily bathe and retreat to the river continues uninterrupted. 

Today's picture shows the third layer of handmade banana paper being applied to my life-size torso in the round. The forth and final layer will give an incredibly strong shell thickness of 1/16".

A different kettle of fish

For the last twenty years I've been saying that if sculptors of the past, from Michelangelo to Rodin, visited my studio they would recognized every process, from clay, to plaster, to wax to bronze: in 500 years nothing has changed. 

But what I am working on now is a different kettle of fish. My experiments of taking an impressing from the initial clay sketch in handmade paper have now progressed from high-relief to a torso in the round. The first photograph shows the life-size torso in clay and the second the thin film of polythene to which the paper will be applied. The tie from the sash clamp is to prevent the torso from leaning to far. The body weight in clay is far more than the body weight in life and the metal supporting armature has its work cut out to prevent it from toppling over. 

I have based this experimental torso on the full figure of Geneen that you can see in the background but simplified to prevent deep undercuts. 

Incidentally, this isn't the first time that my life-size clay figures, regardless of supporting metal armatures, have taken on more than the intended lean. Perhaps Rodin's controversial leaning figure of Balzac initially came about by accident rather than intent.

Rodin's monument to Balzac (1893) 

Social Distancing in the Arts

For those of us that toil upon the forge of art, physical social distancing has always been part and parcel of our work. It has been so for centuries before the corona virus and it will remain so for centuries after. We work in isolation. 

It is an aspect of the visual arts that art colleges overlook; the master/apprentice relationship came closer to the mark. While some artists yearn for an environment of like minds, art communes do not breed artists. Creative minds are not alike. The same applies to poets and writers.

Working as a painter and sculptor on a small island in the Caribbean adds to the isolation. With the exception of working from the model, I go days without seeing a soul. Even the occasional one and a half hour modelling session hardly qualifies as social intercourse. For the most part we work in silence and at a distance of eight feet between the model's turntable and the work in progress. 

So while the rest of the world struggles to adapt to social distancing, for me it is what I have always known. I am told that even as a child I always wanted the beach to myself. This is not to say that I don't welcome visitors. I do with open arms. But all the better if they've arranged their visit beforehand so that I can put time aside for them. 

The photographs were taken from my studio this morning: one looking towards the solitary Caribbean Sea and the other looking down to the river and my solitary bathing pool. 

A ray of hope

James Abbott McNeill Whistler

Over the years I have become wary of art societies and associations, and especially group visits from such. Generally I have found that members are content in doing what they do and the last thing they want is a wake up call from outside their ranks. 

This "mutual admiration society" approach is all the more prevalent within the thousands of on-line groups. The feed back is usually couched in terms of:  Very Nice...Amazing...So Beautiful...How Lovely...Wonderful...So Sweet. My posts dated September 17th and 21st 2019 delve deeper into this "say something nice" approach.

https://sculpturestudiodominica.blogspot.com/2019/09/state-of-art.html
https://sculpturestudiodominica.blogspot.com/2019/09/state-of-art-part-two-photocopies.html

From the above you can understand that I was dubious about accepting a request for a studio visit from a local group of artists, even though I know some of their members as good friends. But I am so glad that I invited them along yesterday afternoon, for within their membership lies a ray of hope. They were ready to accept a "different way of seeing" and willing to break out of the painterly comfort zone. 

You can find out more about them at: Waitukubuli Artist Association

I have illustrated this post with the work of James Abbott McNeill Whistler (1834-1903). Like many artists before and after, he had a different and controversial way of seeing. The opening pastel and the closing watercolour painting were made after the famous court trial - a case that he fought in defense of his work - had left him bankrupt. They illustrate to perfection how a little can say a lot: detail is superfluous.

James Abbott McNeill Whistler

Working with one arm tied behind my back

Working without a model is like trying to work with one arm tied behind my back. The French sculptor Auguste Rodin is quoted as saying: I can only work from a model. The sight of the human form feeds and comforts me. I agree!

Forty years ago in the Caribbean, I could find potential models at every turn. But fast food, together with no longer having to carry bunches of bananas down steep hillsides, has turned my slender Daughters of the Caribbean Sun into figures of obesity. These days, I search in vain.

I am now ready to attempt creating a sculpture in the round from my handmade papers and paper pulp. The opening sketch, put down in charcoal a matter of seconds on a 5 cent sheet of newsprint, gives you an idea of what I an after: arms, legs, hair thrown in all directions and the figure twisted from hips to shoulders through forty-five degrees.


The live model is needed not for defining the frozen moment but for instilling life. The latest installment of my book Notes on the Nude continues this theme:

When I painted landscapes I waxed lyrical about the view, now that I work with the figure I wax lyrical about the model. Just as I allow my watercolour washes the freedom to do what comes naturally, the model must throw off all restraints.  The formal pose offers nothing to get excited about. Gay abandonment is more inspiring than decorum.  


I have prepared clay for the initial sketch and a new batch of banana pulp. All I need now is the model. 

Freedom from restraint

For twenty years I have been trying to give my sculptures the freedom of my watercolours but with limited success. My endeavors to retain the freedom of the initial clay sketch become restrained through the complicated and lengthy transitions of casting in bronze: from clay, to plaster, to wax, to bronze. The textures and patiners of bronze are limited, along with the constraints of the final form. Furthermore, the final cast has to be made thousands of miles away and beyond my direct control. Time and cost are also major limiting factors.

My watercolours do not end in a hard line but drift into nothingness and the colours do the same, as with the opening painting of Verlena. 

By way of my experiments with hand made paper, I have finally found freedom from restraint. The natural colours of my papers reflect the subtle skin tones of my models, the textures are dramatic and the outline of the cast is not hard and fast. The details below are from sculptures shown in recent posts.

The challenge now is to develop my technique from high relief to sculptures in the round. It is a challenge that has given me many sleepless nights. But I'm working on it and I think I'm getting there!

The subtlety of colour

The indistinct outline 

Resisting temptation

Continuing from yesterday's post, I have resisted the temptation of adding more to my reclined torso. It is a lesson that I learnt long ago as a watercolourist: the last brush stroke is best left on the bush. To add more would diminish rather than improve. What you see is what you get.

I captured the same stretched torso in the first painting I ever made of my model Pearl.

In a darker tone

This reclining life-size torso was made from the same strain of banana plant as shown in my previous post. But this time processed differently to give a darker tone. It is still a work in progress and I may decide to vary the surface by subtly adding tints from different papers.

The reclining torso, with arms stretched above the head, is a subject that I've used on many occasions. Below is one version, cast in plaster from a clay original.