I just had a request from a friend to see a portrait I did of him way back in 1994, so here it is. Torquil, a talented Newfoundland writer, actor and all-round sweet guy posed for me the night before he was going to meet his father for the first time. It has been hanging in the LSPU Hall ever since, or at least I think so. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to drop by and say hello. I miss all those friendly faces….
I had visions of Hieronymus Bosch when I read the phrase for this week’s Illustration Friday, but as I’m preparing to have my second baby in approximately 34 days I’m afraid I don’t have time or energy for anything quite that ambitious this weekend. My next thought was of my toddler pretending to make snow angels on the carpet, waving his arms and legs happily saying “snow, snow”, but instead I thought I’d share the story of two paintings.
Very often painting has been a way for me to exorcise personal demons. It can make for good art therapy, and for either some very good or very bad work. But every now and then I have found inspiration in other sources: Way back in art school I would often make my christmas gifts to save money. One December I sat down to dash off a small study in oil based on a romantic image by nineteeth century Canadian artist Paul Peel of a young girl cooling her feet in a stream. At the last minute I added wings and made her an angel. It wasn’t bad for a shameless knock-off made with love for a family member. (I’m sorry to say I don’t have a digital scan to share the image with you). However, it was something that someone said –a passing comment after looking at it– that sparked another painting. My first thought was, “That remark deserves a painting in and of itself.” I filed inspiration away in a notebook, and several years later painted the piece below with the quote “’But,’ he said, ‘ you do know, don’t you, that all angels are men?’” running down the side of the painting.
This piece ended up on the cover of a book of poetry, and I experienced other interesting reactions. One well-meaning gallery owner sent me a pleasant letter requesting a series of angel paintings of a very specific size to fill what a friend joked were her “bad frames.” Not always being the most savy business woman, and being very busy working on another show at the time, I didn’t know what to make of the request or how to respond. You see, as a general rule, whatever I paint has to come from a sincere place. Ironically enough, now that I have started to explore egg tempera (a decade later), iconographic and religious imagery is one of my chief sources of inspiration.
I enjoy working from life, from dreams and from memory, or simply letting the paint lead me, but every now and then a camera can be a very useful tool (and especially in bad weather) to help record fleeting light and candid moments.
But the world is a changing place. Photographers are being sued for images published in magazines, perhaps because a fuzzy figure sitting on the steps in the background of the main shot got greedy. I know of one brilliant photographer who has given up taking pictures of people he doesn’t know. I understand that individuals have a right to privacy and to protect themselves from exploitation, but I have to wonder how much great art is being lost because of an increasingly sue-happy world. Since paintings are not as literal as photographs, painters may have a little more freedom, but today artists often question their first instincts in new and not always positive ways.
It’s true that there are times when being a five-foot-four and unintimidating female in a small town has undoubtedly allowed me to get away with more than my male counterparts. Indeed, I find myself approached by so many curious people while trying to concentrate at the French easel, or wandering around with a camera, that a friend joked that I should start mumbling to myself so people would think I was crazy and leave me alone.
Most people are generally flattered when I ask to record their image or paint them, but sometimes reactions are far more interesting. I remember stopping on a bike ride to watch some workmen refinishing a garage floor under the light of a single bulb. It was a painting waiting to happen, or so I thought. Before I had a chance to say anything, one of the men got up and ever-so-slowly pulled down the door so as to not scare the crazy lady with a camera.
In any case the couple I had spotted eating in Venice Pizzeria saw me and smiled. I signalled to them that I would like to take a picture, and talked to them to briefly explain what I was doing afterwards. Perhaps carrying around D*I*Y Planner photo release forms might be helpful, but I have to wonder if asking for a signature would put more people on edge these days. Two People in Venice has appeared in commercial, artist-run and public galleries, and so far this couple has been nice enough not to sue me.
