Probable Working Sequence

Tracy's Gift

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Rywalt) — Sun, 14 Sep 2008 04:58:00 +0000

Chris Rywalt, Untitled (for the moment), 2008, oil on panel, 12x12 inches

I was away from home for a week and while I was gone Dawn told me that Tracy had sent me a package. I figured it was a painting, maybe two. Tracy had told me that she was sending me something and that, amusingly enough, she had nearly stepped on the package I'd sent her when she was carrying her package to me out the door. Surprise!

Chris Rywalt, Untitled (for the moment), 2008, oil on panel, 12x12 inches

When I got home and opened the boxes -- there were two -- I was surprised to discover, not paintings, but blank panels. She'd sent me a dozen or so Gessoboards of various sizes with a note saying she doesn't use them any more and they'd been gathering dust in her studio, so why not give them to me?

Chris Rywalt, Untitled (for the moment), 2008, oil on panel, 12x12 inches

I thought this was probably proof that the universe wanted me to take the trip I took, since I'd run completely out of panels to paint on just before I left, and even more importantly, had no money with which to buy more. Not that I really believe the universe gives a crap. But clearly Tracy does, and that's better anyhow.

Chris Rywalt, Untitled (for the moment), 2008, oil on panel, 12x12 inches

So this is what I've been doing with them for the past two days.

Chris Rywalt, Untitled (for the moment), 2008, oil on panel, 18x24 inches

Chris Rywalt, Untitled (for the moment), 2008, oil on panel, 12x12 inches

Quiet Wars

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Rywalt) — Thu, 28 Aug 2008 21:23:00 +0000

Chris Rywalt, Silent Bombs for Quiet Wars, 2008, gouache on paper, 10x14 inches

I can put this drawing up now because Tracy got in the mail today. I sent it to her along with Tracy's Purple Passion.

Drawing Stephanie

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Rywalt) — Tue, 19 Aug 2008 18:35:00 +0000

Chris Rywalt, Stephanie, 2008, gouache on paper, 12x18 inches

I went to Dorian and Liana's last Sunday only to find they were having Stephanie pose for painting all day. I was totally unprepared for this. However, I had, almost accidentally, brought along a bunch of tubes of gouache -- those tubes I'd dug out of the attic last month -- so I worked with what I had and managed this painting on black paper.

This was a little strange for me because, first, I haven't used gouache like this in over a decade. And second because I decided to pretend I was Dorian and paint the way he does, with broad slashes and little pats, instead of how I usually do, which is with a lot of strokes and wrist action. He also holds his brushes way back near the end of the handle, while I tend to hold them like pencils, up near the ferrule. Nancy, one of the other artists, calls Dorian Zorro.

So this painting is built up from areas of color through layers of finer and finer detail. I really wished I had oils for this. Gouache has this tendency, which oils don't and which I'd forgotten, which is as you're laying down a layer, the layer below lifts off and floats away. Thus the ground has a way of resurfacing as you work, which is especially annoying when your ground is, say, black as the unforgiving night of a poor artist's soul.

In any case, here it is. It came out okay, especially considering I had barely a single correct tool.

Letters from Gowanusland

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Rywalt) — Sat, 16 Aug 2008 17:02:00 +0000

My studio area. Nathan's space is off to the right, and you can just see Dan's desk on the left.

I've been waiting to get some decent photos to show off my new studio space. Here it is. It's not much, but the neighborhood is lovely. It's in Gowanus, Brooklyn, by the way, not Red Hook. I was set straight by Stephanie on this point. I argued that New York neighborhoods are notoriously fluid, but, I have to admit, not so much when the border is a canal. The canal, incidentally, is one of the most horrifically nasty bodies of water I've ever seen, and I grew up two blocks from the Kill Van Kull.

I ended up in the studio entirely by accident. Or, maybe, it was one of those things that happens when you make contacts and contacts with contacts and so forth, and eventually meet someone who can help. In this case I was at Dorian's for drawing when Reilly started talking about this studio he'd been trying to put together. Because he's young and idealistic, he signed the lease and put down the deposit and first month's rent and last month's rent and who knows what all else New York landlords are extorting these days after he'd lined up six artists willing to split the rent. Then four of them split. Anyone over thirty could've told him that would happen, but as I said, he's young. So he was looking for four more artists to fill out the space and when I asked him the price he nailed my limit exactly: $150 per month.

I'd been noodling around, sort of half-assedly hoping to stumble into a place that cheap. I figured, since I live in north Jersey, and the area is simply chockablock with abandoned and half-abandoned former industrial buildings and shopping centers, I'd find something pretty easily. But every inquiry I ever made was rebuffed -- and with rancor and vigor and several other archaic nouns denoting energetic nastiness. Just what you'd expect from Jersey, actually. Imagine The Sopranos only stupider, less entertaining, and more corrupt. I can't understand it, but apparently real estate is so in demand around here, landlords would rather leave a building empty -- for years and years -- than rent it out below market value.

Well, no one in New York wants to make a studio visit to New Jersey anyhow, because public transportation out here sucks and the traffic getting here is ridiculous. Not to mention the tolls, which are astronomical. By the time a gallerist has made it to Jersey, they need to sell out at least one entire show to pay for the trip. A studio in Brooklyn has far more cachet than one in Jersey, and a studio in Gowanus -- an unrepentantly lousy area, unlike upscale Williamsburg or DUMBO -- gives an artist more cred than a tag on the el.

So I'm moved in. The building is great because there are a number of other studios filled with working artists -- comic books guys, mostly, and graphic designers and illustrators -- which means I can wander out of my studio every so often and annoy other people. Lowe's is right down the street for all your hardware needs and the subway runs conveniently directly overhead.

Since I've moved in I've done three paintings and started three more -- and that's only physically being in the studio for two days. I don't know how I'll be able to keep up with supplies.

Chris Rywalt, Waves 1, 2008, oil on panel, 18x32 inches

Chris Rywalt, Waves 2, 2008, oil on panel, 18x32 inches

Chris Rywalt, Waves 3, 2008, oil on panel, 18x24 inches

Chris Rywalt, Waves 4 (in progress), 2008, oil on panel, 18x24 inches

Chris Rywalt, Waves 5, 2008, oil on panel, 18x24 inches

Curiously I haven't done anything figurative, though. I've been working more on those squiggles -- Joe, Stephanie's boyfriend, called them waves -- and trying different things with them. The first three here are finished; the last two are in progress. Well, maybe 5 is done. I'm not sure on that one.

Inky Fingers

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Rywalt) — Tue, 12 Aug 2008 00:07:00 +0000

Chris Rywalt, Tracy's Purple Passion, 2008, gouache on paper, 9x12 inches

Once again I fell prey to mundane influences and did one of these in purple for Tracy.

Chris Rywalt, Red Ripple, 2008, gouache on paper, 12x12 inches

The titles are getting kind of arbitrary, but what the heck. I did the red drawing, Red Ripple, with my newest most expensive brush, a #12 round 2410 from Escoda. It's not the most expensive brush ever owned by anyone, but it's expensive for me. But I wanted a good brush to try some of this kind of work in oil. I have three I tried with the incorrect brush -- a cat's tongue from Isabey, I think it is -- but I really want to try it with the right tool.

Yes, that's right, I've done some abstract oils. I'll have photos when I get my camera to the studio.

Chris Rywalt, Twelve-Tone Box, 2008, ink on paper, 12x12 inches

In the meantime, feast thine eyes upon these masterworks of sumi ink inspired by a tongue drum I saw a guy playing in the subway.

Chris Rywalt, Round Square Drum, 2008, ink on paper, 12x12 inches

More Gouache

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Rywalt) — Thu, 31 Jul 2008 23:37:00 +0000

Chris Rywalt, untitled, 2008, gouache on paper, 12x12 inches

Artists are supposed to be immune to mundane influences, I know, but I have to admit my wife requested I use pink for my next painting, so I did.

And the Gouache Comes Out

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Rywalt) — Wed, 30 Jul 2008 18:40:00 +0000

In honor of Franklin's posting some of his works in gouache -- and also because I got a new studio and I'm thinking, between rent and commuting I won't have enough money left over to keep painting on panels with oils so I'd better find a cheaper medium to work in for a while -- I decided to dig out my old tubes of gouache. I gave them up over a decade ago when I quit airbrushing, but I kept the paints in a box in my attic. Some of the tubes, after all, date back to when I was in high school -- some of them still have formaldehyde as an ingredient -- so I didn't want to throw them away. Most of them are still liquid; a few of them will need to be revived when the time comes. (I also found my old Paasche VL with spare needles and a few cups and tools. Nostalgia is a sickness.)

I started with red because that used to be my favorite. Then I pulled out green, which turned out to be kind of dumb, since red and green makes Christmas. But the green captivated me with its pure brightness, so I played with that by itself for a while.

Chris Rywalt, untitled, 2008, gouache on paper, 12x12 inches

The first two are very loosely based on sketches of Stephanie, a wonderful model and dancer we worked with at the Vallejos'. (Not Stephanie Lee Jackson, in case you were wondering.)

Chris Rywalt, untitled, 2008, gouache on paper, 12x12 inches

The last one is...it's problematic. Since I got the Kuretake brush pen I've been filling sketchbook pages with more of my squiggles. Sometimes I put space between them, sometimes not. Sometimes I just fill up a whole page with them. I just felt like filling up a large page with the squiggles in color this time. Because...I can't explain it. That's part of the problem. I can't explain these squiggles at all. I mean, I'm following a formula: Four lines, curving, not intersecting. It sounds like Sol LeWitt, right? So why four lines? Why not three or six? Why no intersections? What the hell?

I really have no idea. I don't know where the lines come from or why. I just sort of do them. And that makes me uncomfortable -- I don't understand these drawings so I can't figure out if I like them or not. I certainly like things about them: I find the curves aesthetically pleasing, I guess. I like the balance between ink and ground. And I like the way watercolor lies on paper. I like the various light and dark tones of gouache in this latest one (the Kuretake is so perfectly and consistently black I don't get that effect).

But I can't judge the drawings. My eyes just kind of slide off them. Dawn, who is my eye, who I always ask about anything I do, she says she likes the drawing and would frame it right away if we had a frame for it. But still, I'm not sure. I was working on a small one in my sketchbook, in black ink, in a restaurant, and our waitress said she thought it was very pretty, and it reminded her of plants, the way plants grow. (I left her a page with our check.)

Certainly I know what I'm doing is the antithesis of LeWitt. LeWitt's formulas allowed him to say that anyone could execute the drawing; only the idea is his. I'm saying the exact opposite with these: Anyone can follow my formula, but these lines are mine and mine alone. Only I could do them. In a way, I suppose, each drawing encodes my state of mind at the time I was working on them. Maybe an advanced enough machine could rebuild my brain by interpolating from them.

Anyway. Drawings don't have to mean anything, right? I shouldn't worry because I can't explain their existence. They just exist. Right? But I wish I could put my finger on these, I really do.

More Life Drawing

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Rywalt) — Fri, 18 Jul 2008 01:16:00 +0000

Drawing at the Vallejos' has continued. I get there as often as I can and I continue to have a great time, although there are long stretches of time where the music can get really annoying. Last year somehow it seemed most of us had the same basic taste in Music to Draw By, but Dorian's wandered off a bit into atmospheric New Agey stuff (last Saturday I found myself saying, "Would you like the purple crystals or are you looking for something a little more upscale? We have a good line in yellow healing crystals in this display here...") and another one of the artists has this thing for Gregorian chants and it wouldn't surprise me to find the quiet girl in the corner wishes we had Jay-Z on. So Dorian's been putting Pandora on, with the enteraining effect of irritating everyone in the room when the "music like this" algorithm goes haywire and thinks Public Enemy could reasonably be connected to Elvis Presley. Or Elvis Costello, for that matter.

But the music's not important. What's important are the drawings.

Chris Rywalt, Niki, ink on paper, 11x14 inches

This is Niki and her purple scarf. I actually went to the art store during this session -- I was out of paper -- and picked up a small bottle of Winsor & Newton purple ink just for her scarf, so naturally right after this pose she stopped using it. I started this one in pencil and then went over the sketch with my Kuretake brush pen, then added the colors with my now-second-most-expensive brush, my #4 Raphaël 8404.

Chris Rywalt, Niki, ink on paper, 11x14 inches

This is another of the same kind of thing, although I'm not sure I used pencil on this one. I think I jumped right in with the brush pen. I don't think it's awesome, but there are things I like about it.

Chris Rywalt, Niki, Conté on paper, 11x14 inches

Chris Rywalt, Rebecca, ink on paper, 11x14 inches

Our most recent model was Rebecca. Rebecca is a boxer -- both kick- and regular -- and muscular. The inks are sumi ink and the #4 brush, the last ink is with the brush pen. And then I'm back to my old tricks with the Conté.

Chris Rywalt, Rebecca, ink on paper, 11x14 inches

Chris Rywalt, Rebecca, Conté on paper, 11x14 inches

Christi Naked and Showing Good Taste

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Rywalt) — Tue, 15 Jul 2008 01:16:00 +0000

Every so often an art contest shows up and I find myself entering something in it. I'm not sure why I keep doing this to myself but I've been doing it since at least third grade when I won a Triple Yahtzee set (parts of which I still have somewhere) for a poster on good nutrition. Usually I'm much more disappointed -- not only don't I win, but the winners are often really bad. Very sour grapes.

I recently entered two more contests, mainly because entering them was free and, you know, why not? One of them is part of a campaign for Christiana Vodka, a libation I have not been privileged to taste. Hey, it's Norwegian, it must be good.

Chris Rywalt, When she woke up, she found I'd gone for a walk, oil on panel, 16x24 inches, 2007.

Today I was informed that my painting, When she woke up, she found I'd gone for a walk, last seen in the Blogger Show, is one of 25 finalists in the second annual Christiana Arts Foundation New Classic Nude Competition. There were 125 submissions, so 25 out of 125 isn't too bad.

I'd like to thank Marcus at Night Agency for personally inviting me to enter the contest. You'll recall that Night Agency was behind the brilliant revolution that was Assvertising, so you can imagine how honored I am.

Why I'm Glad to Be an Artist

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Rywalt) — Mon, 05 May 2008 22:14:00 +0000

There are times when I feel blessed to be an artist.

My son William and I were in Manhattan for a Yu-Gi-Oh tournament. After it was done I had something I wanted to pick up but the person from whom I was to do the up-picking wasn't going to be around for a few hours, so we had some time to wander around. William put his vote in for Central Park. After he'd climbed some rocks and scared his old man witless we ambled amiably southward with the idea of maybe dropping by Nintendo World at Rockefeller Center, and that was when I had to go to the bathroom.

As I've gotten older I've found that the Call of the Bathroom is more insistent than it used to be. Luckily I know the neighborhood around there pretty well, so I know that there's a public restroom on the second floor of the Hilton on Sixth Avenue. Up we went and William sat in the hall outside while I went in to rest. I found a likely stall and immediately committed the Cardinal Sin of the Bathroom, which is sitting down without checking to see if there's toilet paper first.

There wasn't.

I was the only one in the restroom. I waggled my fingers in the toilet paper dispenser hoping, I guess, to conjure up more than the few wisps on the bare cardboard tube. I thought for a bit, then yelled for my son. No response. I inspected the dispenser again in case a miracle was in the offing. I hollered for William once more, but then this is the kid who doesn't notice my yelling when I'm standing right next to him. Things were beginning to look bleak.

Then I noticed the sketchpad I always carry with me.

The two pages of sketch paper I tore out weren't absorbent and they sure as hell weren't going to flush properly, but they did the job well enough so I could scuttle to the next stall and finish up.

And there I found the toilet paper plentiful. And oh so very soft.

By the Power of BrushPen!

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Rywalt) — Sat, 19 Apr 2008 19:12:00 +0000

When Franklin came to visit, he showed Stephanie and me this Japanese brush pen he'd bought. He let me squiggle with it a few times and then wrote down the name on a piece of scrap paper, which Stephanie carefully ripped out of the pad. I told her she could've taken the whole page if she'd wanted.

"No, I just want this piece," she said serenely.

I didn't think much of it but Stephanie forgot the paper when she left and it sat around staring at me. The feel of the brush pen in my hand wouldn't go away, and the poetry in even those random squiggles I'd done crept up on me. I began to see why Stephanie wanted just that little piece.

I looked it up online and found that redoubtable online retailer Dick Blick sells a Kuretake brush pen. It's not very expensive but it is far away -- I hate ordering things. I'm an instant gratification kind of guy. I'm so into instant gratification that I'll spend a month trying to buy something in person rather than order it and get it in three days.

Well, unless I'm willing to go into Manhattan -- and I'm usually not -- there are really only two art stores in my vicinity. My favorite these days is Jerry's Artist Outlet in beautiful West Orange, New Jersey. Al Shefts and his wife (whose name escapes me just now -- Bonnie?) run the store like an old-fashioned New York art supply store, of which there aren't many left. They stock a bunch of odd things you won't find on the main Jerry's Artarama site.

I was there just buying pads and paper for the weekend's drawing session when Al, who's been even friendlier towards me since Dorian introduced us, asked if I needed anything. I don't usually ask for sales help because usually, if I can't find it myself, it can't be found. And also I hate bothering people. But just for the heck of it this time I asked Al if he had any brush pens.

"You mean like this one?" he asked, reaching right next to him to pull the box off the shelf.

That one turned out to be too expensive by twice my budget, but when I suggested the Kuretake, he took me right to it in the back next to the fountain pens. I would never have found it since the packaging is entirely in Japanese and gives no clue as to its contents.

The upshot of all this is that I now have my very own Kuretake Brush Pen.

Oh my Lord it is the most fantastic thing ever. Picking it up I knew how Thor must've felt the first time he hefted Mjolnir. With this brush pen I am invincible!

The great thing about it is now I can have brush and ink to go. This is really incredible, because I love drawing with a brush, but it's usually not very portable. Now it is!

I recommend one to everybody.

This isn't a Moleskine notebook, which I was very disappointed in. No, this is a Global Arts Handbook, which is just what a Moleskine should be but isn't.

I realized as I was using it that the brush pen isn't limited in length of stroke the way a dipped brush is -- you can just go on forever!

Stephanie tried mine out and declared, "Okay, this is like crack."

Portraits of my son, William, playing his PSP. Funny how he never moves unless I'm drawing him.

William got hold of my sketchpad and brush pen when I wasn't looking -- I was roped into helping the coach with my daughter's softball game. He wrote the words at the top. When I found them I added the illustration of William and his friend at the park waiting for us to be done the game.

I can even sketch my hair stylist while I'm waiting for her to finish the client before me.

Letter (Life Drawing)

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Rywalt) — Tue, 08 Apr 2008 21:29:00 +0000

Dear Franklin and Stephanie,

Thanks for coming over last week. I had a really great time talking art with the two of you. And I really appreciated what you had to say about my paintings. More importantly, I took your suggestions seriously, and to prove it, I can show my drawings from last Saturday. As I usually do I went to Dorian and Liana's for figure drawing and I tried to put some of your ideas into practice.

Our model was Simone. This is the second time I've drawn her; she's an excellent model who comes up with interesting poses. Unfortunately she comes up with poses that interest Dorian and Liana but not, so much, me. I try to think of it as a challenge. For example, Dorian absolutely loves it when Simone uses fabric in her pose. Personally I have zero interest in drapery. If I did, I could just stay home and sketch the valances.

Anyway. We started off with short poses and for once I was almost on time so I actually got to draw the two-minute gestures. Usually when I look at the model's pose, I ask myself -- not really consciously, but this is how I think of it when I think of it -- I ask myself, "What's the story of this pose?" In other words, I try to find the lines of the pose that intrigue me and zoom in on those. I can get one or two drawings done per short pose that way.

But you guys told me I should try to draw some full figures, should try and get the whole pose on the page. Most of the time when I've tried that I've failed miserably; the paper always seems too small. And that's independent of the size of my paper. My drawings always expand to be bigger than the page. But you suggested I try, so try I did. In fact I'll probably always remember, when sketching, when Franklin took a napkin and began drawing: "Spine, weight-bearing leg, non-weight-bearing leg, ribcage, and so on...." That's what I get for hanging out with a pedant.

Gestures of Simone.

You can see from these three sketches that I'm rusty. I still didn't quite get all of Simone on there, for one thing, and for another, well, I didn't capture much of anything. It was very frustrating after my usual method.

After a while of that we moved on to five-minute poses. I was able to do a bit better with those, even though Simone used her black robe to make my life difficult.

Sketch of Simone.

Then I got fed up and decided to try your suggestion, Franklin, with using two different shades of ink. I watered down some of my sumi ink in a cup and used it to sketch in Simone's figure, then outlined it in undiluted ink. For that step I broke out [drumroll please] The Most Expensive Brush I Own. Yes, a couple of weeks ago I went hogwild (or, really, weasel-wild) and bought a Raphaël Number 4 Round for US$35 (I see now I should've ordered it from Dick Blick!). I'm scared to death of ruining it, but I broke it out anyway. I still didn't have time to finish the sketches before the pose changed, but I liked the look.

Sketch of Simone.

Then I decided to chuck it and just do an ink sketch like I used to.

Sketch of Simone.

That might have been a ten-minute pose, I'm not sure. In any case, eventually we moved on to the longer poses, some of which seem to go on for days and days, as Dorian will decide he likes a pose and run it for two 20-minute periods, or maybe even three. Because he hates me. Those poses go on for so long I end up moving around to find different angles because there's simply nothing I can do that'll take me that long. Well, I won't say nothing. I can do color work, or a really detailed sketch with shading and all. But I don't always feel like it. So here are three from the first pose.

Sketch of Simone.

The first one is the best in terms of portraiture: That really is exactly what Simone looks like. But I think I shouldn't have added the white pastel highlights. Then here are five from the final pose.

Sketch of Simone.

You can see the fourth one got away from me; her right breast kind of wandered south (I don't even know how these things happen). I did another one in that same style with everything in its place and Simone liked it enough to take it.

I really liked the messiness of the gray ink (by the time I was done I had six cups with varying dilutions of ink) and the way it worked with the strong brush lines. I also really liked the spots where two shades bled into each other. Very groovy.

So there you go, Franklin and Stephanie: Now you know someone takes you seriously.

-- Chris

Now Premiering on YouTube

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Rywalt) — Wed, 20 Feb 2008 18:22:00 +0000

I've been way behind on this YouTube thing. Mostly I can't stand to watch it because the video quality is so dreadful and the naked grasping neediness of most of the people on the site is frightening and pathetic and makes me a little ill. Also, I've had DSL for years and that's way too slow for video. But now I have Verizon FiOS and a ten-year-old son, which have combined with a super-cheap camcorder I got for him to make our house a little Skywalker Ranch.

For reasons beyond my understanding -- I have no idea what goes through his huge misshapen gourd of a head -- he decided to make a video of me and my paintings, which are strewn throughout our house. Since he made it (and I spent two days wrangling it into an acceptable format for YouTube) I figure I might as well tell everyone about it. My son made my YouTube account for me, by the way, which I'm thinking puts me a few years away from adult diapers.

So here is Chris Rywalt's Home Gallery/Studio Tour with your guide, William "Specksguy300" Rywalt. (All the kids these days have names like Specksguy300 and ChuckleMcBuckle2112. I'm so old.) Beware: You'll see way more of my messy house than you ever wanted to see.

Yet More Life Drawing

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Rywalt) — Tue, 21 Aug 2007 02:39:00 +0000

Another weekend, another great session at the Vallejos'. This past Saturday the model was Kika. Kika is a very small Brazilian woman, just over five feet tall and 200 pounds lighter than I am. She is so small, in fact, she was able to lie down on a folding table for a couple of her poses.

Chris Rywalt, Kika #1, 2007, Conté on paper, 11x14 inches

Chris Rywalt, Kika #2, 2007, Conté on paper, 11x14 inches

Kika is tiny and full of ripples as her skin moves over her muscles.

Chris Rywalt, Kika #3, 2007, ink on paper, 14x17 inches

Chris Rywalt, Kika #4, 2007, pencil on paper, 11x14 inches

Chris Rywalt, Kika #5, 2007, pencil on paper, 11x14 inches

I tried to capture her in Conté, ink, and then pencil.

Chris Rywalt, Kika #6, 2007, pencil on paper, 11x14 inches

Then, feeling confident, I went ahead and tried something I don't usually do: I drew a portrait. I showed it to Liana and I said, as I usually do, "You know I'm not a portrait artist..."

"I think you have to stop saying that now," she said. Coming from her, that's pretty good, because she's an excellent portraitist.

Following the session with Kika Dorian made us dinner, which he likes to do. Then most of use returned to the studio and one of us became the model. Kristina Carroll was at the last session I attended, also, and both Liana and I were interested in her pale skin and dark braided hair. Both times I've seen her Kristina had this kind of quasi-Goth thing going -- sort of a colorful Goth, if that makes sense, what Kristina suggested might be a Fairy Goth -- with dark hair, milky skin, low-cut top, braids falling down onto her bosom, and crazy striped socks up to her knees. She has bright blue eyes to round out the image and an air of science fiction geekery -- you know, the prettiest girl at Comic-Con who isn't a paid-to-be-there booth babe.

Kristina is also an excellent artist. She's been doing watercolors that I've seen, and a few really wonderful traditional academic figure studies on buff paper. Her site has more.

Liana talked her into modeling after that session, too, but I had to go. This time I stayed. Dorian, Richard, and Liana were all going to paint; Reilly stayed even though he stuck to his pencil. Since the plan was to do one very long pose, I knew I'd get bored doing only pencil or Conté, so I borrowed some hard pastels from Dorian and jumped in.

Now, if you were to go to my online gallery and choose to view oil pastels, you'd see about 70 drawings. But you wouldn't see very much color. So this was my first real attempt as using pastels properly.

Chris Rywalt, Kristina #1, 2007, pastel on paper, 14x17 inches

I discovered a lot of things doing this. First, I had no idea I could layer pastels as much as I did. I've only used soft pastels -- like the venerable Cray-Pas stocked in every New York City public school -- and they don't layer as well, especially if you don't use, you know, pastel paper. Second, I found I could rub the pastels into the paper with my fingertips and get some very subtle blends. Both Reilly and Liana told me I shouldn't use my fingers but I'm not sure why -- Reilly said something about skin oils and Liana murmured "It's bad for you" but I don't know if she meant "pastels are poisonous" (which they probably are -- if you eat them) or "your drawing will get messed up."

And finally I learned that I've been practicing enough to be an actual portraitist. "You got it," Dorian assured me, "You caught the likeness."

Meanwhile Richard did a lovely oil sketch. Reilly drafted a really impressive pencil drawing, a perfect full-figure portrait with a ton of hatching and all the details of Kristina's clothes and jewelry (some of which was wildly ostentatious, the better to be painted). Dorian did an amazing profile which was not quite a portrait -- he does portraits all the time, after all -- and Liana did this fantastic, fantastically tiny head for the full-figure Fairy Goth Art Nouveau Mucha kind of thing she's been working on.

I ended up staying until nearly midnight working away the whole time. As I said, another great time.

The School of Visual Arts 2007 (Part 3)

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Rywalt) — Mon, 13 Aug 2007 02:12:00 +0000

When last we left our hero, he was drawing Cathleen at SVA. Let's skip around a bit and talk about some of the other people at SVA when I was there. I'm continuing in no particular order, although I guess it's sort of geographical based on where their studios were.

Next door to Cathleen and Ling was Kirsten Magnani. Kirsten is a little Italian-Scottish sprite, always chipper, energetic, and chirpy. She was never not glad to see me lumber up and always had a smile. I'll remember Kirsten for her two sets of dimples: One set high upon her cheeks and one set of dimples of Venus that were to die for. Alas, she refused to let me immortalize them in pencil or Conté.

Kirsten working on her really big drawing.

Kirsten started out fooling around with little drawings based on sea creatures. At some point she got a really huge piece of paper and painted a giant version of one of the drawings. Then she fell into pouring arcylic paint out onto wax paper, waiting for it to dry, and then peeling it off. No one, least of all Kirsten, had any idea what she was going to do with this stuff once she made a whole slew of them; in the end she ended up hanging them to make layers of curtains. The result was this sort of undersea pinkness.

Marcos' studio during the Open Studios.

Marcos Chin had the studio across from Kirsten's. Marcos is so talented and so attractive I made it my goal to get him to pose for me. I figured it'd balance out all the naked women I'm always painting. But he wouldn't pose for me -- he wouldn't even take off his shirt. I don't understand this; if I looked as good as he does, I'd walk around naked all the time.

Marcos comes from the illustration world, so he's used to other people telling him what to make. Coming in to SVA, where he had to invent things, he decided to follow someone's advice and do what interested him. So he began by drawing men and sausages. He moved on to doing these great drawings of kind of ambiguous renderings of orgy-like penetrations. I loved them; they were so sexy. These mutated into smoky swirlings which were even more ambiguous and alive but less grounded.

He also kept a couple of books of Tom of Finland's work lying around. They're enough to make any man feel inadequate, and I avoided reading these more than a little.

Jonathan and Marcos have a cold one at the Open Studios.

On the other side of Ling from Kirsten was Jonathan Friedlander, who you can see here in the photo with Marcos. I hardly ever saw Jonathan or spoke with him and so can't say much about him.

Pooneh's big tampon rug during the Open Studios.

Across from Jonathan was Pooneh Maghazehe. She spent the entire four weeks cutting tampons out of their applicators, dipping them in paint, and arranging them. I have no idea what prompted this, but the result was very beautiful, since the tampons soaked up the paint quite well. The largest thing she did was place the tampons out into an Islamic-style geometric pattern. I'm sure you could read some kind of obvious theme into this: Islam, Iran, women, tampons, and so on. But I'm not sure Pooneh meant it that way. I'm pretty sure she just had this idea and ran with it. I liked it because of its Crayola intensity.

The stupefyingly beautiful Pooneh.

Pooneh is, by the way, stupefyingly beautiful. Cathleen suggested I ask her to pose for me, but I knew if she actually did, I'd just die. She is also very sharp and very dryly humorous at times. At one point I overheard her and Joshua Harris talking at the sink. She mentioned that she liked one of his works; at the time he was making penises and vulvas out of fabric.

"So you like my penis," Josh said.

"Yes," Pooneh said, without any inflection at all. "I like your penis."

But then, I imagine Josh gets that a lot.

Let me talk about Josh for a bit. He used to be a store dresser for Abercrombie & Fitch and now he's making the switch to fine art. He attends SVA during the school year. He is arrestingly handsome. His face looks like it could have been carved by some boy-loving sculptor of ancient Greece with its full lips, small flaring nostrils, and large eyes. Broad-shouldered and tall, he's a brilliant male specimen. He wouldn't pose for me, either.

Josh's studio showing his portrait of Cameron, his girlfriend, who is just as good-looking as he is. Makes me sick, really.

Josh in his studio. Photo courtesy Greg Coates.

Josh's, um, thing.

Josh is also wildy talented, but like any good student, all he wanted to do was experiment and play. At some point he brought in this fabulous portrait, with this fantastic John Singer Sargent kind of thing happening, and I asked him why he wasn't doing that any more when so many painters would kill to be able to do that. "It's too easy," he said. So instead he spent his time hauling in weird stuff he found in the trash -- orange plastic fencing, pie tins, a hunk of 1930s door frame -- and playing with it. Here's a torso made out of plastic fencing. Here's a few penises and vulvas made out of scraps of cloth, fur, and zippers. Here's a doglike animal made out of crushed pie tins -- along with crushed pie-tin poop. All he did was make wacky stuff the whole time. Those jars you can see in both photos each have something -- mostly cute little stuffed animals -- squeezed inside and then filled with EnviroTex Lite.

Despite his apparent artistic insanity, Josh is one of the nicest people I've ever met. Just a great guy: funny, friendly, open, smart, all those wonderful things really good-looking people can be because no one's ever mean to them. Only Josh was such a good person, I couldn't even be mad at him for that.

Kathryn Nova Williams' studio during the Open Studios.

Back to going in roughly studio order. Next to Pooneh was Kathryn Nova Williams. When my wife came to visit, it was Kathryn's paintings she fell in love with immediately. They were striking and fun. Kathryn wasn't shy with color and she was looking to capture, at least partly, the sense of vibrancy and movement you get from, say, seeing a city at night, or a casino in full swing. Her paintings were masses of swirling neon and flashing lights; Kathryn told me once this was how the world looked to her just before she got migraines. I can understand that -- I don't get migraines, but there are moments I feel so overwhelmed by the vast seething whirl of the city I can't even stand it.

Kathryn also showed me the paintings she'd been working on before SVA. She showed me two incredibly subtle and detailed drapery studies -- bed with pillows in shadow -- in a flawless Old Masters style with a lot of glazing.

Kathryn Nova Williams' studio during the Open Studios.

Then, as a companion piece, she built a "chandelier" out of brightly-colored extension cords and wires. It weighed a couple of hundred pounds and when she mentioned she'd spent over four hundred dollars on cords for it (apparently the pretty-colored ones are more expensive) I was amazed. I think she took my amazement for "I can't believe you spent four hundred bucks on that piece of crap!" but it was meant more like "I can't believe you spent four hundred bucks on extension cords! I didn't think that was even possible!" Also "I can't believe you spent four hundred bucks on a single work of art, since I thought paying a hundred and thirty for a panel to paint on was insane!"

Kathryn in her studio. Actually, that's Stephanie's studio behind her. Photo courtesy Greg Coates.

Kathryn, 2007, oil on illustration board

Kathryn is a very tall, thin woman, with the perfect figure for wearing those elegant, glamorous dress styles I usually only see in the movies. I was so taken by the way she stands -- hip stuck out, back curved in the model slouch -- that after watching her smoke in front of the building during a fire alarm, I went back and painted her. (I'm not sure why I made her blonde.) I gave it to her on our last day.

Stephanie Mora in her studio. Photo courtesy Greg Coates.

Across from Kathryn was Stephanie Mora. Stephanie is from Venezuela and we had a couple of chats about the weather -- apparently it's not as hot in Venezuela as it is in New York City in the summer despite the fact that the Equator just about runs through the darn place -- but not much beyond that. She made some things with bicycle wheels and maps and shortly before the open studios she went around stenciling "DON'T LOCK YOUR BICYCLE HERE" and "NO CYCLING" on the floors and walls in Spanish.

I didn't mean to ignore her but somehow we didn't talk much. I'm sorry.

Erika Ranee in her studio. Photo courtesy Greg Coates.

Next to Stephanie was Erika Ranee, another artist who I didn't see much and barely spoke to. She pissed me off during the group critique (more on that later, maybe) by suggesting I objectify women. Actually, that wasn't all of it; it was also, not only do I objectify women, she suggested I don't even realize I'm doing it. I don't mind being called a sexist pig -- I probably am -- but I do mind being called ignorant. Anyway, that's not why we weren't friendly -- by then the residency was almost over -- but it didn't make me feel really good. For all I know she walked past my studio on the way to hers whenever she came in and thought "Sexist asshole." That's okay; I didn't think her work was so hot, either. Well, these things happen.

Christin Hutchinson in her studio. Photo courtesy Greg Coates.

Across from Erika was Christin Hutchinson. I really like Christin's work. She does these photo-like (but not photorealist) acrylic paintings where the forms are all built up through stippling. She uses stencil brushes to get her effects. Her work even inspired me to try some stippling in my work, at which I failed miserably. I have no idea how she does it. But the effect is a surface which looks like an enlarged photo: It suggests a lot of detail which swims away as soon as you try to focus on it. During her time at SVA she was working on very, very narrow panels such that you could barely tell what was in any one of them; they gave off an air of erotica, or of close-ups of body parts like eyes, but steadfastly refused to get any wider or let you see any more. They were like very narrow keyholes.

Christin Hutchinson's studio during the (second) Open Studios.

Those works were intriguing but even better was what I saw when I went back for the second Open Studios: Christin had taken her sliced photo idea another step forward and built an entire panel to look like a shredded photo. It blew me away with its combination of inspired surface -- she even curved the panels out from the wall -- and virtuoso stippling. Absolutely stunning!

Looks like I'm going to have to write a Part 4. Coming soon.

More Life Drawing

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Rywalt) — Sun, 12 Aug 2007 19:53:00 +0000

I tend to be interested in new things more than old things, so the continuation of the SVA diary will have to wait while I show off some new drawings I did yesterday at Dorian and Liana's.

Mia #8, 2007, Conté on paper, 14x17 inches

Mia #10, 2007, Conté on paper, 14x17 inches

The model for the day was Mia, and my, was she beautiful. If you've read my blog and looked at my work you know I love fat chicks but I've been learning to enjoy the looks of skinny chicks, too. With Mia it was her belly that really got me. So thin, but with subtle curves and ripples I tried to capture. Mia wasn't exactly muscular but there were hints which were wonderful but hard to get down in Conté.

Mia #2, 2007, pencil on paper, 11x14 inches

Mia #3, 2007, pencil on paper, 11x14 inches

Mia #4, 2007, ink on paper, 14x17 inches

Mia #5, 2007, ink on paper, 14x17 inches

Luckily I was prepared. I brought ink, brushes, a crow quill, and some pencils, including a brand-new woodless 9B from Cretacolor which was a joy to draw with.

Mia #7, 2007, Conté on paper, 14x17 inches

And of course it's important to move around to show that, as an artist, I'm not all about boobs. Sometimes I'm about asses, too! Joking about that with Mia and the other artists made her laugh, which was wonderful, even if Liana complained she was shaking so much she might as well draw with her left hand. But getting the model to crack up was wonderful because I could then get a sketch of her smiling, which turned out to be one of my favorite drawings from the session. So many drawings are of models looking so serious. A smile now and then is good to see.

Mia #1, 2007, Conté on paper, 11x14 inches

"It's hard to hold a smile for a model," Liana observed.

"I had a state senator sit for a portrait one time," Richard told us, "and she held a smile for six hours."

Richard seemed shocked when about half of us came out with the obvious punchline: "She's a politician!"

Mia #11, 2007, pencil on paper, 11x14 inches

Mia #11 detail

Eventually Mia put her Serious Model Face back on and I got Mia #11, which is my other favorite from the session.

Mia #6, 2007, Conté on paper, 14x17 inches

After we were all done, I made Mia the offer I usually make, which is to look through my drawings and choose a couple for herself. She seemed really surprised by this. She even said it was a first -- some artists and photographers won't even let her see what they've done, that's how possessive they are of their work. I can't even imagine it -- I consider the model a collaborator. The drawings are of her. Without her they wouldn't exist. And I would hope that some of her has rubbed off onto the drawings.

Mia #9, 2007, ink on paper, 14x17 inches

I do have to remember to bring something for the model to carry the drawings home in, though. Once again Dorian ended up constructing a portfolio out of scraps lying around his studio. And while I'm sure it was good for him to clear up even that small amount of clutter, there's no reason to make him work like that, especially since he likes to make everyone dinner, too.

I had to leave before getting my fiber fix -- Dorian likes meals with a lot of fibrous vegetables -- but there's always next time.

Drawing at the Vallejos

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Rywalt) — Sun, 29 Jul 2007 02:23:00 +0000

Let's take a quick break from my overlong SVA diary entry and talk about something else for a bit.

I hate computers. Some days they really make me angry -- angry enough for me to consider just giving them up entirely and never touching them again. Today is three or four of those days. But then I find myself thinking of the good things that happen to me only because I have a computer and I wonder how I could possibly manage without one (or two or three). For example....

On the very last day of my time at SVA, when I was contemplating the withdrawal symptoms of leaving and not having a studio and particularly of ending the life drawing sessions, I got e-mail from Dorian Vallejo asking if I'd like to join his sketch group. He got my e-mail address from the New York Figure Drawing Meetup Group, only one meeting of which I attended. Since he's in New Jersey, and he saw I'm in New Jersey, he thought I'd be interested.

Of course I was thrilled to find another drawing group to join and as soon as I could, I went to one of Dorian's Saturday sessions here in New Jersey. And I ended up having one of the best Saturdays I'd had in a really long time. Dorian and his wife Liana were absolutely fantastic and made me feel so welcome -- I don't think I've ever met anyone and immediately felt we'd known each other for years, but that's how it felt with them. Dorian invited me to dinner after the session and all the artists and the model stayed for another four or five hours -- well into the night -- talking and laughing and having a good time. It was -- and I don't say this often -- special.

It was a small crowd there that day. There was Dorian and Liana -- both of whom are accomplished portraitists and illustrators (who both attended SVA themselves in the early 1990s) -- along with Reilly Brown, a comic book penciller working for Marvel, and Richard Scarpa, another portraitist. Meeting Reilly was pretty great, since he actually does something I used to dream of doing, which is drawing comics. I've given up on the dream but now I can learn what it's really like.

Our model for the day was Hilary Robin Schmidt. She's very thin and has a cascade of naturally red hair which I would capture if I could; but it's beyond me. Liana had bought a ton of props from a local crafts store which was going out of business so Hilary posed with leaves and flowers and flowing scarves. Also, apparently Dorian and Liana had gone shopping for Hilary and bought some clothes for her to pose in as well. So this session was different from the other ones I'd been to, since there much more to work with than just the nude. Although, really, right now I prefer no props, and I skipped over them where I could.

Sketch of Hilary, 2007, pencil on paper, 11x14 inches

Hilary worked her way up to 40-minute poses, the final one of which was actually just her lying down going to sleep after her long modeling session. In the style I've been working -- the outline, sweeping Conté lines -- a 40-minute pose -- hell, a 20-minute pose -- is way too long. I rapidly run out of things to do. I mean, I've been naming my sketchbooks after the models because I can rattle off fifty drawings in one session. But how many drawings can I do of one pose? Not that many.

Sketch of Hilary, 2007, pencil on paper, 11x14 inches

Alas, I'd only brought the one stick of Conté. Luckily, Dorian's studio is well-stocked. Liana loaned me a pencil and he tossed me a kneaded eraser and I went to work on more detailed, slower drawings, with shading and everything. I was glad to see I could still draw that way if I wanted. And, more, I was glad to finally have something I could put up here to show Jeff Freedner. I really can draw!

Sketch of Hilary, 2007, Conté on paper, 11x14 inches

Of course, I have to show you some of the Conté sketches, too.

All in all, a fantastic experience. And one I wouldn't have had if not for computers -- and the Internet. (As someone once said, the power of a computer is directly proportional to the size of the network attached to the back.) That should make my Netgear router happy, since it's all that's keeping me from tossing it out the window right now.

The School of Visual Arts 2007 (Part 2)

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Rywalt) — Mon, 23 Jul 2007 20:18:00 +0000

I wrote in my previous post that I was going to list the things I liked about my time at SVA in no particular order, then I told you about Karina Contreras, then I kind of wandered into the model drawing sessions and didn't wander back out again. So now I'm going to pick up from there and continue with the people I met at SVA, again in no particular order, because the other artists really were the best thing about the program.

Right after I met Karina I met Ling Chang and Cathleen Cueto. They'd been friendly with Jim Wolanin the previous year and so recognized my name. And it took me a few hours to realize it, but I'd written about Cathleen in 2006, also. For the next month nearly every time I had a free moment I'd end up over at their studios, sitting there bullshitting -- which Ling split up into Art Chat (which was productive) and just plain Chat (which was not). In fact Ling had made a chart -- it would have made an amusing art installation in itself: "How an Artist Spends Their Time" -- marking down how much time she spent on Art, Art Chat, Chat, Eating, Reading, Checking E-Mail and whatever else. Art and Art Chat were marked in bright colors to set them off from the other activities, which were not fruitful uses of her time.

I remember Ling sighing: "There's just not enough yellow on this chart."

I fell immediately in love with Ling and Cathleen. It's something inexplicable: I was just in love with their themness, the way they were who they were.

I say this because I want you to realize, as I'm writing, that I can't possibly be remotely critical of them and their work. I want you to understand this so I can separate my usual critical writing from this account of my time at SVA. In fact I really can't be critical of anyone there -- I mean, I talked to many of the artists about their work, and I was honest and open and critical when I thought it was called for. So it's not that I just shut off and didn't form an opinion. But it's a different thing to discuss art with someone than it is to write an essay critiquing their art. The critic's relationship to an artist is almost like father to child; artist to artist, though, is more like sibling to sibling.

Why are you hiding?, 2007, oil on panel, 16x24 inches (This is a really bad photo but it's all I've got since I gave the painting to Ling.)

Ling spent most of her time dithering and complaining about how she wasn't getting anything done; then she put on a burst of energy (and at least one all-nighter) putting together a nearly-finished installation for the Open Studios. But while she was dithering she was always around for Chat or Art Chat and I enjoyed talking to her. She is extremely articulate and intelligent -- which is rare for an artist, let me tell you -- and laughed at most of my jokes (which is all I really ask for). And, like everyone in the program, physically beautiful. Even in her dark clothes behind her screen of black hair. I was so struck by her that one of the first paintings I did in my new studio was a portrait of Ling -- maybe not a true portrait, exactly (for one thing, I seemed to catch her on the one day she'd curled her hair), but what I like to think of as a spiritual portrait.

Why everyone in the program was so good-looking I can't say. I know I felt a bit trollish around them. Maybe there's some connection between talent and self-confidence and attractiveness.

Ling was also one of those rare people who was willing to pick on me when I needed it. Not that I think everyone loves me -- it's just so few people seem to talk back to me. Either they agree or they ignore me. Hardly anyone calls me on my bullshit -- they probably think it's not worth the trouble. But Ling was willing. She'd say something like, "Why do you say that?" or "What specifically makes you think that?" Which is hard to answer sometimes, especially if, like me, you have a slippery memory.

But I remember one particular time. Ling had pinned up some watercolors she was doing. To me they looked like dark blue clouds. They were just a deep blue, with scalloped edges, about the same size as the paper. Ling asked me if I thought they needed anything or if they were fine as they were.

Well, I'd just been looking at her Websites and seeing what she'd done professionally. Ling wasn't interested in her professional work while she was at SVA -- she was looking to do something different. (In fact when I told her I'd seen her sites she accused me of "snooping.") But I'd formulated this whole speech on how she should find some way to incorporate her professional interests with her desire to create art and so on and so forth and rambling on for quite a while. Her question kicked off the speech and she listened patiently.

Then one of the other artists came up and asked what we were talking about. "I asked Chris if these needed anything," she replied, "but he can't just answer the question."

Oh. Golly. I hadn't, you know, I hadn't been thinking like that.

Ling Chang's installation. This is from the right spot to see Orion.

In the end she began dotting in tiny stars and connecting them into fanciful constellations. In some cases she added pins with sparkly heads instead of painted stars. And then she hung silver scultped stars from the ceiling such that if you stood in just the right spot they formed the constellation of Orion. So in the end she had an idea where she was going and didn't need my homilies.

Ling Chang's installation. It's not finished yet. And please ignore the fan in the middle of the studio, it's not part of the show.

By contrast, Cathleen was almost always working. I often felt like I was interrupting her. Every day she was sewing something, cutting something up, painting something, or otherwise occupied. Even so, she worked without sleeping as much as Ling did to get ready for the Open Studios.

Cathleen and I had entertaining discussions -- or, I should say, Cathleen allowed me to lecture at length -- about conceptual versus more traditional art. I generally don't like conceptual art. I also don't tend to like installations. I'm reactionary that way: If you can't hang it on a wall or stand it up in a corner, it's not art (even if it needs to be a really big wall or corner). Cathleen, of course, feels differently. So I'd have to be careful as I was ranting against Conceptualism to make sure I added, "...but not your work" or "...but not you." As in, "Conceptual artists are people who want to be artists even though they can't paint. But not you!"

Hypocrisy is one of my many faults. Have I ever said it wasn't?

Cathleen started off a little distant from me. Which was okay. Not everyone has to love me. But I liked her so damned much, I really really wanted her to like me. I think she finally turned around the day I brought my son in.

William is ten and only mildly insane. I brought a laptop and some video game systems with us, figuring they'd keep him occupied for about two hours, after which I'd be running around peeling him off the walls and apologizing for his insanity to my studiomates. Much to my surprise he had a great time and wasn't crazed at all. He spent some time painting with me and then started wandering around the other studios. He ended up spending an hour or so in Cathleen's studio playing with the toys she'd brought in for her installation. (In fact she used his Lego creation in the final work.) After he got bored with that he decided to make a map of the studios, so he went from room to room introducing himself and filling in names on a piece of paper.

Cathleen was so enamored of him; I think some of that it rubbed off on me because, after William's visit, Cathleen was much nicer to me. I think she figured, if I'd somehow managed to father a decent child, I must've been less of a jerk than I seemed. I brought my daughter Corinne in another day and that probably helped cement my reputation as a Good Dad and therefore a halfway decent human. (I should note that I take absolutely no credit for how good (or bad) my kids are -- they arrived on Earth that way. I'm just here to make sure they reach adulthood.)

This is Cathleen Cueto's studio, July 2007.

You can see from the photos that Cathleen's installation involved a child's room. What's less clear from the photos is that Cathleen tried to imagine the room of a child who would grow up with apotemnophilia -- a desire for amputation. This is reflected in all the toys and things scattered around the room: The toy soldiers are all missing one leg; the toybox is filled with the limbs of stuffed animals (some my family supplied); the legs have been crossed out in the coloring books.

This is Cathleen in her studio during Open Studios. Apparently that dress is traditional -- she wore it last year, too.

I'd come by in the afternoon and find Cathleen sitting crosslegged in the middle of the rug diligently performing surgery on doll after doll. Or maybe she'd be crouched over her laptop typing away. And one time she was curled up fast asleep.

Here's Cathleen painting her installation. Note adorable splash of paint on leg.

My newly-found position in Cathleen's eyes afforded me a chance for a great thing: I asked her to pose for me and she did. I think I actually asked her before she met William but I think she wasn't enthusiastic until after. And it was excellent. The day of our second lecture (more on that later), I noticed her knees, and I did a quick sketch of them. After that I saw her knees more and knew I wanted to draw them. She kept wearing these little dresses which came down to mid-thigh and that was what I wanted to draw: Cathleen from mid-thigh down. And during the last week I got my wish. While drawing her I realized -- and I told her -- that she didn't just have great knees; she had great legs. Feet, too, although she referred to them as "gnarly."

Cathleen #1, 2007, Conté on paper, 14x17 inches

Cathleen #2, 2007, Conté on paper, 14x17 inches

Cathleen #3, 2007, Conté on paper, 14x17 inches

Cathleen #4, 2007, Conté on paper, 14x17 inches

And on that wonderful note, let me pause in my tale. I'll start part three as soon as I can.

The School of Visual Arts 2007 (Part 1)

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Rywalt) — Fri, 06 Jul 2007 03:16:00 +0000

"I hope you blog the hell out of this, for better or for worse," Stephanie told me when she sent me off to the School of Visual Arts Summer Residency program. I'm afraid I disappointed her: I couldn't really blog while the residency was going on. Partly because I was in the studio so much, and partly because, when I wasn't in the studio, if I approached the computer my wife would say, "Didn't we agree you wouldn't approach the computer while you were doing the residency?" We as in she and me agreed to no such thing, but I think she was using the royal we. The important thing was she agreed I wasn't allowed to get near the computer, and so I wasn't.

Not that it mattered. So much of my energy was spent in the studio that I could barely get back home, and I actually spent a lot of time when I was home sleeping. I didn't have much creativity left over for putting words together.

I went in to SVA not knowing what to expect; I was really floating like a leaf on the breeze. I had no prior experience with any kind of art school or studio time. I had nothing on which to base expectations. I was empty and open to whatever the experience would be. One friend, who has a lot of experience with art schools, suggested that half the students would love me; half would hate me; and the instructors wouldn't know what to do with me. That sounded about right to me since it paralleled pretty much my entire educational history.

This turned out to be just about dead wrong. I don't know if all the other artists loved me, but I never felt anything but friendliness from everyone else. Maybe I'm just oblivious, but all I got from anyone ranged from a positive, open attitude all the way through to outright enthusiastic friendship. And for my part I fell at least a little bit in love with almost all the other artists -- and I fell deeply in love with a few of them.

As for the instructors, each one was encouraging and supportive. Maybe even a little too supportive. Each one of them had worthwhile things to say and criticized me in ways I felt were constructive. Never once did I feel I was being talked down to or belittled. They each seemed sincere and interested in helping me become a better artist.

Overall it's hard for me to pin down what I liked best about my month at SVA, so I'll just ramble on about some of the things I enjoyed in no particular order.

The other artists were all absolutely fantastic people. The one thing I regret is I couldn't possibly get to know all of them as well as I wanted; I did have at least one solid conversation with each one, I think, although some of the conversations were short. There was just no way I could become close personal friends with 30 other people in one month, so I ended up wandering into one clique -- the one that accepted me best, I guess -- and spending most of my time there. I suppose it's just standard human social behavior.

The first person I met when I arrived was Keren Moscovitch, the program coordinator. I'm sure she put in a lot of work behind the scenes to make the whole residency happen and I thank her much for that. I didn't see her often, though, since her office was way over in the main SVA building near Third Avenue. (And if you think Sixth Avenue and Third Avenue can't be that far apart, you apparently haven't tried getting across town in Manhattan.)

The next person I met was Karina Contreras. It took me a little bit to remember that I'd met her before and even reviewed her work after the last Summer Residency. Back then she was just growing her hair back after shaving her head; having hair a year later made her look much more mature. I'd really liked her last year and only didn't write more about her because I found so little information about her on the Web and also because I missed seeing her at the second Open Studios. But I was very impressed by both her and her paintings and was thrilled to see she was back again. She also worked hard behind the scenes as one of Keren's assistants.

I had a great time the whole month stopping by Karina's studio to see how her paintings were going. I loved watching her work. Hell, I loved watching her -- during the final group critique (more on that later), as we were all walking around, she was wearing this backless kind of dress exposing this expanse of brown skin, and I couldn't help but ask, "How does your boyfriend ever stop touching you?"

"We're not always in the same room," Karina replied, and then asked that I go over to the other side of the group away from her.

Karina's studio showing one of her unfinished self-portraits, 2007.

Her painting is really something. I would be hypnotized watching her work. Her method is so, well, methodical: She starts by mixing up her colors and putting them into tubes. Then she begins the painting itself by carefully transferring her source -- in this case, photos -- to the canvas using the grid method. She draws in the major outlines, then covers the canvas in a single, dull color approximating Terra Verte. Then she goes in with a rag and subtractively defines all the shapes and shading in the painting. The result is something almost anyone would be willing to end with and declare finished, but Karina can't stop there. After that layer dries, she puts down a grisaille using all her neutrals from black to white. (She has a glass palette with the Munsell scale under it for value matching.) Once that layer dries, she goes back in with thin transparent color glazes.

Karina's studio showing another one of her unfinished self-portraits and the watercolor study for the first one, 2007.

It's an old reliable method -- Caravaggio painted this way -- and it suits her well. It relies on having strong drawing skills, which Karina definitely has. She's got a steady hand and a very deft touch with the brush; watching her there were times I could barely see the paint she was putting down.

In fact watching her made me jealous; she made me think I should go back to painting that way, using her as a guide for improving my method. I'd given up painting realistically, but Karina made me think I should try it again. She really made it look easy, if painstaking. (The instructors, some of whom had failed to get Karina to change her direction during the regular school year, warned me away from following her example.)

One of the other great things about Karina was that, because she liked to draw and was good at it, she was in charge of getting in a live model once a week for us to work from. These three sessions (I missed one) were the absolute highlight of my studio time and led to many of the paintings I worked on for the month I was there. The very first life drawing session, in fact, is one of the high points of my artistic life so far.

The sketch of Satu I pinned to my wall right after the session.

The very first model was Satu. Now, as artists, we're supposed to say that there's no eros involved in life drawing sessions. We're supposed to be dispassionate observers of form, contour, and shading. It doesn't matter, we say, whether it's a bowl of fruit or plaster Platonic solids or a nude person; we are artists, and we are above all that. Well, I for one have grown tired of that crap. For me, I now believe and am willing to state, eros is not only present, it is to some extent necessary so I can do my best work. I need to be turned on at least a little bit for it to be art. That's probably why I don't paint bowls of fruit or plaster Platonic solids or trees or waterfalls or horses: Because they don't turn me on. They don't even interest me.

Satu 1, 2007, oil on panel, 30x40 inches.

I am able to say this -- to admit to this -- because of Satu. Because as I turned the corner into Karina's studio I saw Satu posing nude and I immediately fell in love with her. And I turned out some really excellent drawings. I connected with her in a way I didn't connect with the model at the last drawing session I attended; I can't explain what was different this time except for the model.

Another sketch of Satu.

Because I can't look at the model as an object. I see the model as a person, a human being who is doing a difficult job; and more, doing a difficult job just to help me, the artist, and the cause of art. Because art modeling certainly doesn't pay that well. Models open up to their artists to some degree; they reveal things they wouldn't ordinarily reveal; they put themselves in the artist's hands.

Since the model is a person, and not just an object, I want to feel some kind of connection to them. I want to know their name, and what they do, and how they like doing what they're doing. I show them the drawings I've made because I figure they must be curious. I offer to give them one or two because I feel they deserve them -- they've worked hard for them.

Satu 2, 2007, oil on panel, 30x40 inches.

And Satu, well, she was staggeringly beautiful. When I got back to my studio I immediately hung up the one drawing I liked best; shortly after that, Jerry Saltz and Steve DeFrank dropped by. Jerry said I'm a visionary -- a visionary -- and Steve pretty much agreed.

I was high for two days.

Later I decided to take down whatever drawings I thought were weak and put up the new ones; I ended up taking down all of my drawings and putting up the drawings from my time with Satu. And when I started a new painting, it was from one of those drawings. For a little while, my studio was a shrine to Satu. It was fantastic.

For the next model session I would be attending, I requested a male model. Ike showed up. When Ike took off his robe, I nearly shouted "HOLY CRAP!" If that's what males look like, then I'm some third gender no one's named yet. Let me take this moment to christen it: Hork. I'm not male or female, I'm hork.

Here's one kind of focused sketch of Ike.

Again, there was eros. I'm fairly straight, but damn if there wasn't something about Ike. There was that connection. Male nudes are often described as "homoerotic" but I think that's unfair -- they're just plain erotic, no homo necessary. Any nude includes some amount of sexual energy, not because nudity is itself sexy, but because when you see people nude, you're seeing them as whole beings, including the parts they use for sex.

Ike 1, 2007, oil on panel, 30x40 inches.

Ike ended up in one painting I like very much. I'll admit that partly I like it because it shows I'm not all about women and tits and ass and pussies: Cocks are welcome too! But I also like it as a painting in its own right.

This is a drawing I did of Monica.

And here's one with her hair which I liked so much.

The final model was Monica. I didn't connect with her quite as strongly as the others but still got some good drawings out of the session; she was wonderfully brown-skinned and beautiful, with a fall of long brown hair Karina and I enjoyed sketching immensely. I ended up filling one whole pad, all fifty sheets, with drawings of her. I think she'll end up in a painting or two eventually. Curiously, Monica was the most comfortable with being nude: Neither Ike nor Satu were very talkative during their sessions but Monica happily carried on conversations while she was dressing or undressing, dressed or undressed, and didn't really seem to notice a difference from one to the other.

I'll continue with the other artists I met next time I get a chance. For now, I'm off to Florida with the family.

Installed at SVA

noreply@blogger.com (Chris Rywalt) — Sat, 02 Jun 2007 16:16:00 +0000

My studio, towards the left

My studio, towards the right

I am now installed at the School of Visual Arts Summer Residency program and have started painting. My wife is very clear on this: I will be painting. I will be in the studio. In fact she doesn't care if I don't come home for the next month.

Already I love having the space and not having to worry about what I spill on the floor. I primed a 30- by 40-inch panel and it was the easiest prep I've ever done thanks to being able to get all around the panel and slop gesso over the floor if need be. I also bought a cheap crockpot to keep the gesso warm, and that helped a lot.

But I did forget to mention a couple of paintings I did at home before I moved in to SVA.

This one got away from me. I intended it to be more of an outline painting, like the previous ones I'd done on panel, but somehow it wouldn't let me stop there, so I ended up modeling the figure some. I can't explain it -- the skin tone I put down just looked too flat.

The same thing happened with this next one, too. I started by painting an outline in Burnt Sienna and was just going to fill in flat colors and then...I don't know. Again, the skin tone I mixed looked too flat to me. Note that she's more tan than many of my figures -- I bought a tube of Gamblin Raw Sienna to pull my skin tones to a more golden color.

Another thing I did on this painting which worked very well for me was this: I coated the panel with linseed oil before I started painting. I've found traditional gesso to be far more absorbent than I'd like: I want to be able to paint flowing lines -- like I would with ink on paper -- but the gesso, as smooth as it was, wouldn't let me. It'd just suck up all the paint almost immediately and my brush would peter out. Gamblin suggests rubbing linseed oil over the panel to give the gesso something to soak up before you start painting. I never bought linseed oil, but my uncle recently gave me the remains of his oil painting kit from when he tried painting a few years back. There was an elderly bottle of linseed oil in the kit, so I was able to use it.

Coating the panel with oil made it exactly the kind of surface I wanted it to be: Smooth and easy to paint on. Hopefully my paintings won't fall right off the panel a hundred years from now.

Now onto SVA. So far I'm having a great time. Last night I met with Greg Coates, who I'd met last year when I went to the SVA open studios to see Jim Wolanin, and we had a great conversation. The other artists in the program are good people. And Thursday Jerry Saltz gave a really entertaining lecture in which he repeatedly called us "my loves, my prophets, my pilgrims."

I got moved in a little on the late side -- I didn't drive in until Thursday and damn, what a mess that was -- but once I was moved in I started immediately.

I had two panels left from the initial 12 I'd had cut for me and I jumped on one of them while putting gesso down on the big panel I'd bought. I ended up with a toned panel after I wiped off my first pass at this image. Then I put down the curves for this in Burnt Sienna, which I've been avoiding because it's so red. One of the other artists -- I haven't learned everyone's name yet -- wandered by and suggested I leave it just like this. I sat down across the way from my studio and considered.

I just couldn't leave it. I don't know why. I wanted some golden skin tone on this one. I've been seeing more and more -- maybe because more people are getting tans -- a warm yellow undertone in the skin around me, and I wanted to get near that. Gamblin's Transparent Earth Orange has a beautiful yellow undertone, so I used that and wiped the panel down afterward. Then I mixed a middletone of Transparent Earth Orange and various other transparent colors -- Gamblin Indian Yellow and Gamblin Transparent Earth Yellow, I think. A few different things. I did very little modeling, but a bit, blending with a dry brush.

Speaking of brushes, I picked up two brushes I'm totally in love with: First I found a brush called by Daler-Rowney, anyway, an egbert. It's a filbert with long hairs and it's exactly what I need for my line work. And second I bought a synthetic squirrel filbert I couldn't resist and which I can't remember the make of right now. I'm just obsessed with filberts right now.

Finally I went back over my Burnt Sienna lines with a darker color mixed from, well, a lot of what was on my palette at the time. And some Ultramarine Blue, I think. Oh, and I did the lips in a mix of Titanium White, Alizarin Crimson, and some more of whatever was on my palette.

Then I felt the need to customize my studio a bit more, so I pulled out the ole vine charcoal and scribbled on the wall. That rectangular thing hanging there is the result of Secret Project #1, and most of the people who've walked by have stopped to ask me about it. That it ended up being the navel of my charcoal drawing was entirely unintentional.

Open Studios for our session is set for Thursday, June 28, 2007. Feel free to come by. You're all invited!