Carnaval No. 2

 

Carnaval No. 2, 8x8 inches, acrylic on canvas  

No. 2 of Carnaval series of portraits of people viewing the 2018 Carnaval parade in Chapala.  Painting faces is endlessly fascinating; you start seeing the beauty in everyone.  

Carnaval No. 1

 

Carnaval No. 1, 8x8 inches, acrylic on canvas

First  of a series of portraits of spectators at the Carnaval parade in Chapala, 2018.  

Self Portrait in Egyptian Cat Gear

Self Portrait in Egyptian Cat Gear, 12 x 12 inches, acrylic on canvas

We interrupt our ongoing creature feature for a creature of a different kind.  

I woke up one morning a while back with the bright idea that I should do a self portrait to replace the one I've used for years on my art websites.  Like many of my brainwaves, it turned out to be rather unruly. 

My history of self-portraiture is neither extensive nor distinguished.  I've attempted few and kept only one.  Getting a likeness with my limited drawing skills seemed an insurmountable hurdle for many years, and I always thought it was a fluke that I got one to actually look like me.

But my drawing has improved, so I decided to have another try, and proceeded to beat my brains out for a couple of weeks producing one hideous image after the other.   

I really do draw better now than I did 20 years ago, so I don't think that was the problem; I've produced enough likenesses of other people.  I think the problem was in seeing myself.  

Twenty years ago, by definition I looked better than I do now, by the standards of our youth-obsessed culture which I am as brainwashed by as the next person.  I'm horrified at times by an inadvertent glimpse of myself in a shop window or mirror in harsh light, or from an unfortunate angle, or in almost any photo -- who is that old hag, anyway? 

Some women look great at any age.  Alas, I am not one of them.  Women who age well tend to be tall and really skinny, with fabulous bone structure and generous mouths, which I do not have.  Think of Jane Birkin, Joan Baez, Joni Mitchell, Lauren Hutton, and numerous models from the 60's who are currently enjoying a resurgence of popularity in the fashion press.  

My inability to produce a creditable self-portrait now, I think, is because when I look at myself in my (ill-lit) bedroom mirror, I see the same face I've seen since I was a teenager.  I see my face every day, and changes happen imperceptibly over time.  

It's a trick, one of the few kind ones Nature plays on old folks.  After all, you feel just the same as you ever did on the inside (I'm not talking about aches and pains, but of personality, character), so it seems completely natural that the same person should continue looking back at you over the years.  

Who knows, maybe among all those attempts I made, I actually did get a likeness or two, and found them too unacceptable to reconcile with my own image.  

Thus, my solution to this dilemma:  Voila, boys and girls, my new self portrait!  Regard it and weep.  

What can I say? It feels as much "the real me" as anything else these days.   

Feline - Creature Feature

Feline, 8 x 8 inches, acrylic on canvas

Another creature, this one an indeterminate feline.  Somebody tactlessly inquired if it was a cat or a dog, and it's a cat.  I painted it so I get to say.  Drawn from memory/imagination.  It could be a wild cat, a house cat, or a dream kitty.  

It's got the primitive look I aspire to these days, and I like the colors.  

Sometimes I feel limited painting such small pieces, but given the expense of sending things from here, it's really my only option at the moment.  

Oddly, this image on the screen looks to me like it would be of a much larger picture.  Maybe it's something about the scale of figure to ground?  Or maybe it's the stocky, muscular look of the cat.  A mystery.  

Pink Coyote - Creature Feature

Pink Coyote, 8x8 inches, acrylic on paper

Speaking of coyotes, here's a pink one.  Despite using a reference photo to draw this, it still came out with that primitive look I'm so enamored of these days.  I must have been in a really devil-may-care mood, to paint it on watercolor paper.  I also omitted to leave a border around it, which is going to make for display problems. 

I like his hungry, slinky look, at once furtive and defiant.  I regularly used to meet coyotes when walking or pedaling along the Santa Cruz River when I lived in Tucson, and always took it as a lucky omen.  Lucky for me, not for them, the poor creatures are losing habitat by the minute to the uncontrolled development ravaging that beautiful, fragile Sonoran desert region.  

Tyger, Tyger - Creature Feature

Tyger, Tyger, 8x8 inches, acrylic on canvas

Another critter.  I really like this guy, he has a spontaneous, primitive quality that I'm always trying for when I paint, but which all too often proves elusive.  Maybe the fact that I painted him in December, whilst half-freezing to death in my drafty workspace, precluded any temptation to overwork the piece.  

It probably also helped that I drew it without use of any reference, except for a quick check on the internet on the shape of the ears:  I thought they were roundish, but could I be sure?  No.  Like many essentially untrained artists, my visual memory sucks.  Maybe that's the secret, to draw from memory/imagination, but I wonder if it would work out so well with animals less familiar than cats; I've lived with cats for many years and sketch them endlessly.   I have no such intimacy with coyotes, say, however much I admire them.  

Whatever the difficulties, I do think working this way is one of the more promising lines of inquiry I've happened on in a long time.  It feels exciting, and that's one feeling I'm always ready to go chasing after.  

Creature Feature - Blue Bear

Blue Bear, 8x8 inches, Acrylic on Canvas

This bear turned out to be a harbinger of more critters to come.  I liked it right away, not least because it's one of those rare pictures that happened quickly and without thinking.  Thinking usually screws things up, I start second-guessing myself and end up overworking the thing.  

I identify with bears:  I hibernate in winter too.  My earliest imaginary friend in childhood was a bear called Rupert.  I've kept a small hoard of bear icons through countless moves in an otherwise tchotchke-free house.  Maybe my subconscious was trying out some sympathetic magic with this picture, hoping that like Mr. Bear, I'd emerge from my cave again in a not-too-distant spring.