Thy eternal summer shall not fade

The permanence of bronze bestows on the model everlasting life. Annabelle’s great, great grandchildren will see her as she is today. Shakespeare’s 18^th Sonnet could appropriately bear testimony to this.

But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st; 
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

And if these diary pages remain somewhere in cyberspace hundreds of years hence, they will also see the transitions from the initial clay to the final bronze cast. Today’s pictures show the master plaster cast emerging from the waste mold.

Model and Muse

At a talk I gave some years ago I was asked, at what point the model becomes the muse. For me, the two are inseparable and this makes it difficult to find the two in one. In my search for new models I am heartened by those who doubt that they’ll be suitable, for often it is the unlikely applicant that has that ability to inspire.

Last week I did a trial session with a new model. For both artist and model it takes courage to make that first step. The brief session went well and resulted in the painting shown below.

At today’s full session we both tried too hard to achieve the rare rapport that enables the muse to take flight. But in retrospect we almost succeeded, as can be seen in this 15 minute sketch of the standing figure.

Pearl (middle name) is a medical student from Nigeria. She has an attractive first name that my dyslexia will never enable me to pronounce: Ekponmwen. Thank you Pearl.

Life, Death and Resurrection

Clay is the life, plaster the death and bronze the resurrection. This saying has been handed down by sculptors for generations and refers to the principal stages involved in making a sculpture.

As a reminder, the first picture shows the completed clay sketch of Annabelle’s life-size figure.

The second picture, taken this morning, shows the waste mold being chipped away from the plaster cast. You can now better understand how the initial pink coat of plaster acts as a warning device. The circled area reveals the plaster cast within.

As the resurrection may be years away, here in bronze are two my figures for the City of Leeds. 

Casting complete

After two days of mixing, pouring, brushing and troweling plaster, the casting is complete. The technicalities of casting a reclining figure, as against a standing figure, have given me many sleepless nights. The next step is to break away the surrounding waste mold and that will involve many more days of hard work. 

The picture shows the cast reclining on my work bench while I go to recline exhausted in bed.

At Ease

I cannot trace the source of the image that illustrates today’s post, but given the context in which it appears I feel certain that the model will not mind me using it to endorse her message. Whereas the beauty of the torso, unadorned with appendages, is considered the norm in sculpture, this brave model offers the same acceptance in life.

An essential attribute of my models is that they feel comfortable in their skin. For some it comes natural, whereas for others, being at ease takes time. Without exception, those that stay the course find the experience liberating and uplifting. Freedom from inhibition works both ways: if my model feels comfortable, I feel comfortable, and vice versa.

The life-classes that I occasionally teach from my studio are different to the structured life-class taught in art schools.  My students are more likely to find the model bathing in the river than posing on the modelling stand. Thus, the nude figure becomes the comfortable norm rather than the discomfiting exception.

A hundred years ago the American artist Robert Henri wrote:

There is nothing in the world more beautiful than the nude human body.  It is not only among artists but among all people that a greater appreciation and respect for the human body should develop.   When we respect the nude, we will no longer have any shame about it.

Inside out

For followers interested in the practical side of sculpture, today’s pictures show the completed waste mold. The detail is of the ear, inside out.

The mold is heavy and it takes two to lift it. It needs handling with care because its strength is compromised due to the open back. Think of an egg shell: amazing strong when whole but very weak when deprived of continuity in the round.

The next step is to finish cleaning the inner surface in readiness for the casting the figure in plaster.  

Will it pay?

The theme of today’s post was prompted, first by an article bemoaning that painters of the nude have difficulty selling their work and second, by an announcement today that the government of Dominica will be offering low interest loans to musicians.

The very last thing an artist or artiste needs is the burden of a bank loan, no matter how low the rate of interest or how long the grace period.

Capital in the arts relates to talent and innovation. Curiously, these two attributes tend to come to fruition when spurred by challenges rather than when couched in ease. If I were to draw a graph of my brief periods of financial ease against my poverty motivated creative accomplishments, the two would be at odds.

I first declared myself as an artist on the pavements of France with work sold directly from the pages of my sketch book. I earned enough to feed my wife and young daughter and at the end of the year my paintings were on show at one of the leading galleries. The next spring we sailed our canal barge back to England and survived by selling pictorial map prints door to door. A couple of years later we spent a summer pushing a pram loaded with our camping gear through the byways of Southern Ireland and sold paintings along the way.

In a similar vein, one of the most memorable musical recitals that I have heard in my 75 years was played on a penny whistle by a struggling student on the pavements of London.

The spur of impending poverty motivates my creative muse to this day and it is now helped by time’s winged chariot hurrying near. I’m not bemoaning the current scarcity of buyers for my paintings and sculptures. I’ll get by without a bank loan and I want no provision for old age. When my work is finished, I will be finished.

Here is the pictorial map print of which we sold a print run of 1,000 door to door.

Can I cry now?

If in my earlier posts I have given the impression that taking molds from a life-size figure is all plain sailing, let me tell you that it’s not. Things can go wrong and invariably do.

Many years ago, when I was taking the mold from my award winning lock-keeper, one of the caps fell apart in my hands. My brother, who had just cheerily stopped by to see how things were going, will remember his none too cheery reception.

More recently Jessica, who was the model and assistant for my bathing figure, found herself buried beneath the figure's extended arms and calabash shell as they suddenly detached themselves from the waste mold. After we had frantically worked to salvage the broken pieces Jessica slumped in a corner and timidly asked: “Can I cry now”?

This brings me to the struggles that I am having with my reclining figure. On separating two of the caps (extended left leg and thighs) the pink flick coat detached from its plaster backing. This has never happened to me before and I’m lost has to the reason why it has happened this time around. Normally the problem is the other way around in that the flick coat and backing plaster adhere together with a strength that makes them difficult to separate when chipping the mold.  

Fortunately the clay was not damaged and I have now re-cast the caps in smaller sections (three for the leg and one for each thigh). As my father was fond of saying, “These things are sent to try us”. 

The picture shows the mold in the process of being separated.

By way of a change

An actress was once asked, which do you prefer: working in film or on stage. Her answer: whichever I’m not appearing in at the time.

I feel the same about working as a painter and sculptor. When I’m painting, I long to be modelling clay; when I’m modelling clay, I long to be painting.

Weeks have passed since I last captured my model by means of a suggestive watercolour wash thrown down in seconds on a 16" x 20" sheet of paper. Today’s painting of Annabelle recalls one of those longed for moments from a couple of months ago.

In the pink

If Michelangelo’s or Rodin’s highly skilled teams of mouleurs had returned from their heavenly abode and visited my studio today they could have given me a break and carried on with the waste mold for my reclining figure. At the same time they might have suggested that I hang around so as to learn a few things.

Rodin’s mouleurs had devised new methods of making plaster casts. They were able to cast enormous sculptures that were amazingly light and strong. For example, one man alone could lift a life-size cast of Rodin’s Thinker. Alas, those remarkable artisans took their skills and secrets to the grave and I find myself continually having to learn afresh and re-invent the wheel.

One thing that has never changed in five-hundred years is the method of applying the first thin layer of plaster over the clay form. The plaster has to find its way into every crevice but at the same time any contact by hand would mark the surface of the clay. The only way is to dip ones fingers into a bowl of plaster the consistency of thin cream and flick it on to the sculpture. My inventive engineering background has sought alternative methods but this is the only one that works. It’s a messy job with plaster flying in all directions.

This first layer of plaster is coloured so as to serve as a warning when chipping the waste mold  from the plaster cast within. Without the pink tint, there would be no way of differentiating the white plaster of the mold from the white plaster of the cast.

Technicalities

The materials and techniques associated with making a waste mold have not changed to any extent since the time of Michelangelo. Whereas I divide the mold with brass shims, in earlier times sculptors used clay walls – some still do.

The mold for a portrait bust can be made with just one division between front and back. However, the mold for the full figure is more complicated. If possible, one half of the mold runs the full length of the figure and is called the mother mold. The other half comprises of a number of caps. By releasing the caps one by one the mold can be more easily separated.

The picture below shows all the shims in place. The entire back of the figure, as it rests against the base board, forms the mother mold. Four caps then make up the front of the figure. Cap number two extends across the both thighs.

A well-deserved halo

Today I made a start on dividing the clay in readiness for taking the plaster “waste mold”. The halo that circles Annabelle’s head is the brass shim that I use for separating one section of the mold from the next. The halo is a well-deserved for Annabelle has faithfully given body and soul to the work in progress. If the painter Degas or the sculpture Rodin were alive today they would surely steal her from me! As with Enzo Plazzotta’s Jamaican Girl, she leaves Grecian Goddesses in the shade.

On the technical side, deciding how to position divisions has given me sleepless nights. A mistake means that the mold cannot be separated. Every division has to be carefully considered, both in terms of the line it follows and the angle required for release. Then, section after section of shim has to be cut and carefully inserted into the clay with the precision of a brain surgeon.

The term “waste mold” is apt, for in releasing the mold the clay is spoiled. If the mold is flawed, months of labour are lost: a daunting prospect!

Times have changed

A few days ago my brother posted a photograph of one of my previous studios on his classic blog: http://newsfromnowhere1948.blogspot.com/ . The photograph dates from the early 1970’s when my studio was located in Southern Ireland. In a responding comment I promised his follows more pictures and memories of the same.

To begin, one of the paintings that is just discernable in the picture had far reaching consequences. It is a sketch I made of Enzo Plazzotta’s sculpture The Jamaican Girl. The sculpture had been exhibited the previous year at the Kings Lynn Arts Festival. It was at the same festival that I held my first one man show, Lynn and Locality.

I was so seduced by Enzo Plazzotta’s sculpture that I followed my temptress to the land of her birth.  Thus the Caribbean became my adopted home and the beauty of the Afro-Caribbean female nude the principal theme of my work. Little does my seducer realise that she has given birth to the hundreds and paintings and scores of sculptures in my series Daughters of the Caribbean Sun.

By delving deep into an old portfolio and I found the very sketch I made of Enzo Plazzotta’s The Jamaican Girl. Here it is, followed by a photograph of the sculpture.

 I have also found this photograph of my studio; a converted village school, at Inistioge, Co. Kilkenny, Ireland.

 My brother’s blog attracts scores of comments, whereas for my diary pages they are few and far between. I therefore welcome this opportunity to assure Mike Brunbaker and Little Nell that everything around me has to be tidy in order to allow my creative muse run amok. And to temper the wishes of Alex Daw by paraphrasing the words of George Orwell: painting is the worst punishment that I can possibly devise for myself.

From all angles

A painting is judged from one vantage point, whereas sculpture is judged from all angles. A feature that appears correct from one perspective may appear flawed from another. Moreover, the eye is not static. It continually roams over the form and in doing so ignores minor irregularities. And the eye of the artist, critical as it may be, nevertheless dwells on the best vantage points.

Photographs of the work in progress are a valuable aid in highlighting errors. The click of the camera arrests the wondering eye and dispassionately focuses on that angle alone. In the early days of photography, the sculptor Rodin marked on prints of his work weaknesses that needed correction.

Today’s pictures shows the figure in its entirety.

Leave well alone

Leave well alone! This is what I’ve been telling myself over the last few days.

At this stage, any adjustments or refinements that I make to the figure will only serve to diminish rather than enhance. What I’m after are suggestions rather than specifics; the sensuous rather than the sexual. I’m not in the business of defining hair follicles. I’ve gone as far as I wish to go and it is now up to you, the viewer, to interpret the rest.

There will be no before and after shots as promised in my last entry: what you now see is what you’ll get. 

Subtle adjustments

Over the coming days I will be critically assessing my sculpture from all angles. I will share with you any adjustments, subtle as they may be, by way of before and after pictures.

Today’s pictures show how the modelling of the right hand has been modified to give it more life. The fingers have been raised and re-aligned so as to better follow the curve of the body and the little finger is allowed greater freedom.

Before

After

At a single stroke

My dairy page dated 8^th July 2016 titled: Working at the Speed of Light refers to the Sunday Times art critic, Waldemar Januszczak’s astonishment at Michelangelo’s handiwork on the Sistine ceiling. As he aptly observed, “Adam’s famous penis was traced with a single cocky outline”.

My task is to now complete my sculpture of Annabelle’s reclining figure with the same assured flair. I have to resist refining and instead suggest, at a single cocky stroke, continuity from the pale saffron soles of her feet to the last wayward strand of her hair. Detailed definition must not distract the eye from the rhythm of the whole. 

State of the Art

Once in a while, by way of the World Wide Web, I search out the competition: contemporary painters and sculptors of the nude. For the most part the abstract, the conceptual, the cartoon and photo-realism are the dreary order of the day.

Will there ever be another Egon Schiele or Auguste Rodin? One died young and the other lived into old age but either way, few have followed in their footsteps with the same originality, daring and aplomb. Here is a reminder of their work.

Both artists were in my mind today. First Rodin, as I worked on Annabelle’s reclining figure and then Egon Schiele, in the five minutes of sweet relief at the end of the session that resulted in this painting.  

Dedication

As a figurative painter and sculpture I can, at a pinch, work without paints, brushes, paper or clay. What I cannot work without is a live and inspirational model.

For two weeks Annabelle, the model for my current work in progress, has been laid low with flue and the life-size sculpture of her reclining figure has had to be placed on hold. This is not as easy as it sounds. First, spontaneity is lost; and second, it is difficult to keep the clay under wraps without deterioration. Each day the clay has to be lightly sprayed down to prevent it drying out, but too much moister and contact with polythene covering sheets takes the edge of the modelling already achieved.

Regardless of working seventeen hour double shifts at a call center (to fund her studies at medical school) and a body wracked with flue, Annabelle nevertheless sent me a message at 2.45am today to say that she’s determined to get in three modelling sessions in next week to make up for lost time. Now that’s dedication!

In the meantime, here is another picture of work in progress.

If only the virtual was reality

In a recent post I lamented on the increase of virtual visitors to my studio, as against a decrease in actual visitors. But now that my diary pages have been added to the world’s top 50 sculpture blogs, I suppose I shouldn’t complain.

To get a taste the other 49 top sculpture blogs go to: 
http://blog.feedspot.com/sculpture_blogs/

I am sure that by now there must be virtual models. But regardless, I’ll stick to the real living and breathing thing, notwithstanding that this week I’ve been without model due to my ever-faithful Annabelle being down with the flue.

Thirty years ago two of my models, Pearl and Pearline, were identical twins. This might appear to be a handy solution to bouts of flue, etc. However, to the critical eye of the painter and sculptor, identical twins are not as identical as they appear at first glance.

Here is Pearline in pastel and Peal in red Conte Crayon.

Similarities

There are similarities between my way of painting and my way of sculpting.

With watercolour, speed is of the essence and it is the same when modelling with clay. Both give of their best when given freedom and then left alone. Overworking only screws things up.

True enough, the time frames are different. A watercolour can be thrown down in a matter of minutes, whereas sculpting a life-size figure in clay can take weeks. With both I work from the live model. This is easy enough when a painting can be done in one sitting, but more difficult when the modelling goes on from one week to the next. 

To get around this I draw on a lifetime’s experience, rather than a reliance on photographs, and do what I can between modelling sessions. The ear and hair shown below are a case in point.

This detail of the model’s right breast shows how suggestion can be achieved by putting down and then leaving well alone.

From the past to the present

After the brief sojourn to the canals of Ireland in my last entry, I now return to the present to bring you up to date with work in progress on my life-size sculpture of Annabelle’s reclining figure.

My double dilemma has been resolved: the finish will be by suggestive hints and the torso will be extended to the full figure, with the right foot tucked under the left leg. This involves some re-working from the waist down because the re-positioning of the legs gives the hips a subtle twist for the better.

As you can see in today’s pictures, the hands have begun to take shape. But I dare not go further until I have my model before me. 

Long ago and far away

In 1970 I made a four month voyage through the inland waterways of Ireland aboard a twenty-one foot sloop called Jessica. My wife Norma and our three year daughter Diana were respectively, first mate and crew. The book that I wrote about our travels was shelved and all but forgotten about when we set sail for the Caribbean.

The manuscript, along with hundreds of photographs, have spent the intervening years sealed in one of those old fashioned square biscuit tins.  As such they have twice crossed the Atlantic and weathered their fair share of hurricanes. Amazingly, they have survived intact and the contents are now a veritable historical document.

Recently I began revising the manuscript and converting the photographs to digital images. 

As a foretaste, here is a picture of me with a paint box that is still in daily use. But alas, almost fifty years on, my head of hair has somewhat diminished.

Here is my first mate Norma, affectionately known as Nobs, studying “where next” on the map.

And finally, our daughter Diana, now a Chartered Accountant and grandmother!

A double dilemma

Continuing from my last post: my quandary is now not so much how to finish but where to finish!

My original intention was to carry the torso down to the top of the thighs. This the usual practice, at least with a standing torso. But with a reclining torso, terminating at the thighs gives the impression of a rather messy amputation. I now begin to ask myself: as we already have head and arms why not make it a full length figure?

While I mull over that one, today’s pictures show work in progress on the head. I first roughly modelled Annabelle's facial features and the outline of her scull vertically, as shown in the first picture. I then then positioned the head against the torso. The arm that rests between the breasts remains to be finished.