"Red and Yellow Peppers"

Oil on museum quality 1/8th"ampersand Gessobord panel - 6" x 6"

What can I say about the pepper? Beautiful, flavorful, essential ingredient in the cuisine of so many countries. I don’t think a day goes by without them passing my lips in one form or another. Of course, in my case it would be the smaller, hotter cousins - the Jalapeño and the habanero. As my friends will attest; "Scoville" is my middle name. It was good fun painting this piece. The reds reflecting off the yellow and vise versa kept me engaged and enthraled. For such a small painting it packs a lot of punch, even from across the studio. I’ve been digging the red paint lately. I wonder if that is meaningful?

"Pacific Cod" deja vu

Oil on archival, museum quality, 1/8” Ampersand Gessobord™ panel – 6” x 6”

I know what my regular blog readers are thinking; WTF, I’ve seen this painting before. Well yes, you have, but I did this painting before hooking up with http://www.dailypainters.com/ and this is the only way I can get it into my gallery and still have people comment on it without having them search for it. OK, I didn’t get into the studio today, but then you knew that. C'est la vie.

"Victorian Nautilus Shell"

Oil on archival, museum quality, 1/8” Ampersand Gessobord™ panel – 5" x 7"

Ah, the Nautilus! I’ve been told that I have the body of a God. Sadly the God they had in mind was Buddha. In a fit of madness, I bought a home Nautilus machine to try to change that perception. Anyone who knows me well knows I wouldn’t run out of a burning house, much less jog, so this purchase was ill-fated from the start. As you can guess, it did yeoman’s duty as a clothes hanger before I finally found it a good home with a health conscience friend. Suffice it to say, I am content to look like Balzac for the time being. My other anomaly is that although I loathe boats, I have a fascination for submarines. When I was a lad in grade school, I had a Nautilus lunch box. The Nautilus was our first nuclear attack sub, launched in 1954. It was also Captain Nemo’s ship in Jules Verne’s tale 20,000 Leagues under the Sea. I have never been on a sub under sea although I have been on the USS Torsk which arrived in Baltimore to serve as a museum and memorial in 1972. So there it is...more insight into this artist.

"Sleeping Nude"

Oil on archival, museum quality, 1/8” Ampersand Gessobord™ panel – 8" x 8"

It’s been a while since I played with a little nude. {;-)> I miss my old palette knife more than ever. Painting flesh requires lots of color mixing. If anyone out there has an old Japanese Loew-Cornell 41F palette knife they’d be willing to part with, let me know.

Painting the figure on such a small scale is challenging to say the least. I tried not to get fussy with this piece; oops, too late. I have more respect than I already had for Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema, Vermeer and Jean Leon Gerome this morning. Miniature painters are a mad bunch.

"Oyster, Shell and Lemon"

Oil on archival, museum quality, 1/8” Ampersand Gessobord™ panel – 6” x 6”

These beauties were shucked at the Acme Oyster House in New Orleans. The lovely marble bar works well with the alabaster shell and soft flesh of the oyster. I took a few liberties refecting the hints of blue in the bar.

Back in February, twenty-six–year-old violin virtuoso David Garrett fell down a flight of stairs and landed on his violin case, which held a priceless Stradivarius. The violinist wasn’t badly hurt, but his instrument was not so lucky; upon opening the case, he found the violin in pieces. I had a similar experience recently. Well, perhaps not quite as devastating as crushing a priceless Stradivarius but just as debilitating to this artist; my palette knife finally gave up the ghost and broke from metal fatigue after 40 years of faithful service. Much has changed since I bought that first knife. As my painting brethren can tell you, mixing paint is crucial to a successful work of art. The feel and spring of a good palette knife becomes second nature. My dear old knife was Japanese. Its fine blade had the perfect shape, thinness and spring for the job. Although I did manage to find a close approximation of the shape, the new blade is Italian and is thicker than its predecessor. The spring is all wrong. I may have to try and find an old one on eBay.

In the words of Joni Mitchell -

“Don’t it always seem to go

That you don’t know what you’ve got

Till it's gone”

"Leo"

Oil on oil primed linen panel - 6"x 8"

I am back from Birmingham for a while. Being away from the easel for a week is scary. I have always suffered from cold starts; that feeling that you have somehow forgotten how to paint. My friend Stephanie has a beautiful Maine Coon named Leo. He was the perfect subject to get me back in the saddle.

Brief hiatus

Sadly, I must take a break from painting and posting. I am headed to Birmingham to help with my dear Uncle Bob's convalescence. Back in a week (maybe) I'll leave you with this painting I did of him back in 76; the finished portrait of the English Horn Player.

Oil on canvas - 1976 - 30" x 40"

"Mardi Gras Masks"

I painted this a while ago as a birthday gift for a friend. Many of you know that New Orleans is my adopted second home and a place I visit with some frequency. We are headed down there next month, Whoo, hoo! Anyway, this painting was given away wet and very few people saw it, so here it is. "Laissez les bons temps rouler!"

"Handcuffs and Chaps"

Oil on archival, museum quality, ampersand 1/8” gessobord™ panel - 8" x 8"

I was challenged recently to create something more dark and intriguing than my normal still life subjects of oysters and alcohol. I thought these iconic bracelets might fit the bill. This fashion jewelry may soon the new bling of New York Governors and Cy Young award winning Major league pitchers. At over $1000 an hour, it is possible that Mr. Spitzer has had some experience with these already, if you catch my drift, nudge, nudge, wink, wink. Since I ride a Harley, black leather is my everyday wear, so I am very familiar with that texture, and handcuffs are chrome, so they were no real stretch either. The cuffs are resting on my riding chaps. I like the reflected blues and the slightly chipped chrome of the cuffs hints at the warm metal underneath. I wasn’t sure about the marriage of brass buckle and chrome cuffs, but the interplay of warm and cold seems to work.I don’t know why but my mind wandered back to Burl Ives singing “Silver and Gold” from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. He seemed to be telling me it was OK to put them together. My brain is like my basement – full of boxes of weird lost stuff. It is fun to occasionally open a box and be sent back in time. My wife doesn’t buy this "time travel" theory and threatens a to get a Roll-off dumpster whenever I leave on a bike trip. I always look for the tracks on the lawn when I return home.

"Loaves and Fishes - part 2"

Oil on archival, museum quality, ampersand 1/8” gessobord™ panel – 6’ x 6”

I loved these baguettes piled up like cord wood at the farmers market in Paris. The smell of fresh baked bread was intoxicating. It must be the coming of spring and Easter that made me think of pairing these paintings. I’m certain Saint Mark didn’t have this in mind as an illustration for his story of Jesus feeding thousands of his followers on the shore of the Sea of Galilee. Did they have baguettes back then? If you wish to refresh your memory on the story; today’s lesson begins in Mark 6:30-44. (Isn't the internet a wonderful thing?)

This is how I envisioned them hanging together:

But I am selling them separately, for secular reasons.
(I could use the dough...I need a few fins...bread is always good)

Thus ends the lesson for today.

"Loaves and fishes - part 1"

Oil on archival, museum quality, ampersand 1/8” gessobord™ panel – 6’ x 6”

Don’t look too closely at this painting as it isn’t quite finished. I didn’t want another day to go by without posting something new. This piece is part of a diptych called “Loaves and fishes”. Could it be that my religious upbringing is coming to the fore? Perhaps, I was an acolyte for four years, in my youth. Look for the second part tomorrow.

Sails, sales, soldes

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Oil on museum quality, archival 1/8" ampersand gessobord panel - 6" x 6"

I set sail on this daily painting odyssey almost 4 months ago and though life sometimes intruded into this adventure, a lot of creativity happened along the way, both process and product. As I trimmed my canvas and picked up speed, I started gathering faithful devotees to the site who anxiously awaited my latest work of art. What a wonderful thing to have art groupies. The downside of this is that I hate to disappoint them on days when it doesn’t flow from the hand or I am working on larger projects. Months before I was accepted into the daily painters, I painted some fun things, many of which have left the building. Those that remained had no more audience than my friends and the occasional visitor to the studio. On the days that I am working on a commission, a larger piece for a show, or just plain don’t get one done; I am going to repost these orphans for my daily painter patrons to more easily view. I promise not to abuse this. There are only a handful of these lonely panels left in the studio. Shamed to be left behind, the last picked for the volley ball team in gym class, they long to find a wall to call their own and to hang with their own kind. I am going to put these waifs on eBay to try and find them a loving home.

I can’t believe I used a sailing metaphor to begin this entrée, everyone knows I loath sailing. Perhaps it was having a “sale” of my remaining panels that put it in my head. My wife and I found ourselves in Paris a few years ago in January. Why would anyone go to Paris in January when April and May are available? We were there celebrating my friends 50th birthday. Unbeknownst to us, Janvier is the month when the stores all have their winter sales. As we strolled through the Odeon, window shopping, we thought it odd that shops would put merchandise in the windows that was already sold. We eventually figured out that “solde” is French for “sale” and not some cruel, perverse joke played on the consumer as a reminder to shop early.

It’s “neat” that I didn’t use puns like; my hopes were dashed “on the rocks” or that I was “smokin’” – I thought about it.

By way of a long voyage, with the wind at my back, I give you once again – “Boston Legal” (November 2007 blog entry)

"Drink Naked"

Oil on archival, museum quality 1/8" ampersand gessobord panel - 6" x 6"

I seem to be bouncing back and forth between reflective chrome and fuzzy puppies. What can I say? I love painting diverse textures and want to keep it fresh. Next up – cold and slimy; by that I mean fish or oysters.

We went to visit the Naked Mountain Vineyards and Winery in Markham, Virginia last year. They make extremely good wine and we bought a case of their excellent Chardonnay. I might have gotten a case even if the wine was just so-so because of the corks. When you open the wine, the cork reads “Drink Naked”. That appeals to my decadent sensibilities. Indeed, I picked up a tee shirt at the winery with that slogan on it. I get a lot of smiles from people when I am wearing this shirt. Once, Forgetting I had it on, I went to take some mail to a friend in rehab. I got some real dirty looks from the counselors…oops, my bad?

These tools of the trade were fun to paint.

"Study for the English Horn Player - 1975"

Oil on panel - 1975 - 9" x 12"

I did this study of Uncle Bob when I was 23 years old. Back in my early days of portraiture I used a grisaille under-painting and glazed the color overtop via Maroger’s medium. Thus I could concentrate on each element of the design; form and color separately. The result of this was that your eye penetrated through the transparent glazes at different rates of speed and created a three dimensional effect. I used this technique all through the 70’s

"Walter, the Drunken Dachshund"

Oil on archival, museum quality 1/8" Ampersand Gessobord panel - 5"x 7"

Last week I painted a Great Dane named Mr. Big. This is his adopted brother Walter. As with most Dachshunds I’ve met, Walter is a most inquisitive hound. Sweet, good natured, curious to a fault and always hungry, he tends to get into trouble. A case in point: I was invited to a dinner party to celebrate my birthday by Mr. Big and Walter’s owners. My friend is a first rate photographer and we ventured upstairs to view his latest work. We men took our beers with us and the girls left behind two half full chocolate martinis on the table. We were gone perhaps 20 minutes and returned to find a very drunk dachshund. He had managed to climb up onto the table and had drunk every last drop of both martinis. Though there was not enough chocolate in the drinks to worry about, he had consumed enough alcohol to be staggering around. We called the 24-hour clinic and were told he’d just have to sleep it off, as the alcohol was already absorbed. We, too, had absorbed a lot of alcohol so it seemed only fitting to dress him up for St. Patrick’s Day. I guess you had to be there. You will be happy to know that other than a bad hangover the next day, he is fine. Do I think he learned his lesson about not getting into things? Not a chance.

la nudité femelle avec la cigarette, le chapeau de fourrure et le léopard pèle des chaussures

Oil on panel - 8" x 14"

How's that for a title? I did this piece a while ago as a study for a larger painting in a series of long postponed fetish works. I may be revisiting the concept. I'm off to Alabama (no banjo on my knee) in the morning to see my dear Uncle Bob in hospital. New work on Monday... Promise.

"Shell shocked"

Oil on museum quality archival 1/8" ampersand gessobord panel - 6" x 6"

I hesitated to post this painting tonight because I wasn't happy with it. I was pressed for time and I thought “Hey, I’ll just knock out a simple shell.” Boy. was I wrong. I have new respect for my fellow painters who do this well. I’m shocked, shocked to find out just how difficult the convincing depiction of a shell really is. The reflections are soft and must be handled very gently and the rainbow of iridescent color changes are mind boggling. To quote Scarlett O’Hara; "I can't think about that right now. If I do, I'll go crazy. I'll think about that tomorrow."

Scene 2 - A studio in Reisterstown; 7:00am

"Look, what envious streaks do lace the severed clouds in yonder east. Nights candles are burnt out, and yocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops." It is tomorrow and the soft light of dawn is flowing into the studio and playing off the prism of color on the shell...and to think, I almost lost this to the rag. A lesson from Treebeard: Don't be hasty!

"Mr Big"

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Oil on archival, museum quality 1/8" ampersand gessobord panel - 6" x 6"

Painting a brindle Great Dane was a new experience for me. The brindle coat presented quite a challenge. There are very dark hairs and very light hairs playing off each other. If you lay down the blacks and then feather in the pale Naples yellow, they want to blend together. It takes a soft touch to get the effect. Mr. Big is one gorgeous Dane. His coat is almost tiger striped with rich umbers and deep blacks shot with pale yellow highlights and they don’t come any sweeter. He shares his digs in Baltimore with Walter the wonder wiener. They make quite a pair. I've always had a soft spot in my heart for Danes. One of my very first commissions was a painting of a harlequin Great Dane, way back in the early seventies. My cats were not happy with his modeling sessions at the studio. That early commission was almost life size. Is it me, or is it perverse to paint a Great Dane on a 6 inch square panel?

"Uncle Bob with beret"

I have spoken of my dear Uncle Bob in previous blog entries. Mentor, friend, patron, it was he who long ago bestowed upon me my first beret. I have worn one since I was 16. Coming to grips with looking like a cliché in my teens was tough, but my friends soon got used to it. When Bob comes to Baltimore for a visit, he, too, is wont to wear one, which makes for some sniggering and tittering among the people. For my 50th birthday, my wife bought a gross of black berets and gave them out to my friends. Seeing 80 plus people dressed in black turtle necks and berets was something else. It looked like a giant poetry slam from the 50’s or a Maynard G. Krebs convention. Very cool, daddy-o.

Uncle Bob is fighting the big C, and I am having a hard time concentrating on painting. I thought I would post a little panel I did of him back in ’93. It captures the essence of the man. You have to picture in your mind the 16-ounce Bud in his hand.

"Chicken Marsala and chocolate cheesecake"

Chicken Marsala, pasta, bread crust and mushrooms on 11” Royal Albert Old Country Roses plate

I couldn’t get into the studio today but I was able to channel some creative efforts at a long postponed birthday dinner in my honor. Thanks D & F (and M). It was a truly memorable evening! I hope Walter has slept it off.

Chocolate cheesecake crumbs on 7" Royal Albert Old Country Roses plate

"Apricot turnovers"

Oil on panel - 6" x 6"

The Baltimore Ravens aren’t the only ones guilty of turnovers. As many of my fellow painters have noted – everyday brings a new painting experience, some good, some not so good. Taking these pastries out of context and setting them on a neutral space, without a point of reference was not a good idea. I thought the glistening jelly and powdered sugar would carry the painting, but it was not so. I had the rag in my hand ready to wipe it down when my wife talked me down from the ledge and convinced me to post it anyway to show both sides of the creative process. Even a French title won’t help this one.

Bombay Sapphire martinis

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Oil on archival, museum quality 1/8" gessobord panel - 5" x 7"

I don’t know whether I am feeling particularly patriotic today or if I am caught up in the red state / blue state political rivalries that are dividing our country, but the red, white and blue palette of this piece can’t be denied. Since I am an independent, moderate, it is a good thing that purple is my favorite color. Certainly 2008 is going to be an interesting year that may require more than one of these martinis before it’s over. I am a scotch man myself although I wouldn’t turn down a good dry martini. "Here's looking at you, kid."

I was hesitant to try this composition on a bright red tablecloth as I thought that the subtleties of the pale aqua tones of the gin would be lost. To my surprise, the bottle took on a deep cobalt/ultramarine hue. Painting the Harley last week only whetted my appetite for more chrome, so the cocktail shaker was a good fit. My biker brothers say “chrome won’t get you home” but I am a sucker for the stuff. Now where did I put my shades?

"Tartelette de fraise avec des pistaches"

oil on archival, museum quality 1/8" ampersand gessobord panel - 5" x 7"

What can I say about strawberries? When I was a boy, my dad took me sailing every Sunday, whether I wanted to go or not (I didn’t). He longed for me to share his passion for being “in the wind;" I never did, although being “in the wind" on a motorcycle has been my passion for 40 years. When I was old enough to drink, preferably beer, sailing became way more tolerable. Dad kept a bottle of Chivas Regal on the boat which, I later found out, contained Four Roses that he had decanted into the empty Chivas bottle after he had finished it. That was my Dad. On the high seas, you drink what’s available...any port (or scotch) in the storm. For years I thought Chivas was swill until he sheepishly confessed. Dad, an old navy man, was ahead of his time. Long before the gas wars of the 70’s, when the price of gas on the dock skyrocketed, propelling all those Chris-craft owners to take up the sheets, Dad had his little wooden Spanish sailboat; the Señorita, moored at Stacy’s Salvage Yard. It was the only sailboat in the place. Later Stacy’s would grow to become the Trade Winds Marina, a huge sailboat facility, but back then it was little more than a marine junkyard. The bright spot of going sailing on Sundays was the prospect of getting a 25 cent hamburger at Gino’s or, in season, going to the farm near the boatyard and picking strawberries. There was a “pick your own” field on the road near the docks and this was my introduction to real fresh produce. The prospect of fresh strawberries and corn on the cob in late summer made those Sunday sails bearable. I grew up, as did most of us in the 50’s, with canned vegetables. I didn’t see fresh spinach, peas, asparagus or mushrooms (which I never saw, period) until I left home. I can tell you canned asparagus is nasty and don’t get me started on succotash. Who came up with that one? Why ruin perfectly good corn, even canned corn, by adding lima beans…yuck! Those ripe fresh berries made for some tasty strawberry shortcake!

The tale of the ancient Oyster

Oyster with lemon - 1976 - 5" x 7" - oil on canvas

I owe my artistic voyage to my mother’s side of the family. My mother, a tall, slender, attractive woman was, in her youth, a runway model and actress. Of her two brothers one was a fashion and costume designer who later went on to become one of the most celebrated operatic directors of our time. The other earned a PhD in German literature, was an orchestral conductor, Gilbert and Sullivan scholar, gourmet cook and was also well versed in the visual arts. With all this creative influence, is it any wonder that my father, an electrician, feared for my future? Did I mention that one of my uncles was gay? OMG! Some of his fears were assuaged when I got married and fathered a child at the tender age of twenty one, but that’s another story. Suffice it to say that my mother's side of the family won out as far as my becoming an artist and not an electrician. In truth, now that I am a home owner, I wish that I had paid more attention to Dad growing up. I could have learned much on those days that I accompanied him on electrical jobs. He knew that I would never starve (or still be living at home at 30) with such a skill.

We lost Mom in 1985 and I always think of the “Blondie” song – “Die young, stay pretty.” Uncle John recently succumbed to cancer and he, too, is gone. I went to visit my Uncle Bob in Birmingham, Alabama this past weekend. No small amount of my early creative efforts resides there with him. I was struck with just how many “daily paintings” I had done in my youth. There were peppers and onions and crawfish and crabs and loaves of bread and oysters. Yes, even in my early twenties the lowly bi-valve held an irresistible fascination. I can thank Dad for introducing me to them many years ago by taking me to bull and oyster roasts at the American Legion. This painting is one I did back in 1976 at the age of 23. Look for new work tomorrow.

"Camembert"

oil on archival, museum quality 1/8" gessobord panel - 5" x 7"

I had a difficult time going back into the studio yesterday. Perhaps it was the complexity of the painting that I had done the day before and the fear that henceforth, I had to stay at that level of intricacy. For whatever reason, I had to force myself to stand before the easel. It was pushing midnight when I put on the last stroke. I sometimes feel like Cinderella, knowing that the Daily Paintings are gleaned and put on the site as the bell tolls twelve. Do glass slippers come in size 13D? Required reading for all artists should be Robert Henri’s book - The Art Spirit. Among his random bits of artistic philosophy, he reminds us that we will have bad days:

"All things change according to the state we are in. Nothing is fixed. I lived once in the top of a house, in a little room, in Paris. I was a student. My place was a romance. It was a mansard room and it had a small square window that looked out over housetops, pink chimney pots. I could see l’Institut, the Pantheon and the Tour Saint James. The tiles on the floor were red and some of them were broken and out of place. There was a little stove, a wash basin, a pitcher, piles of my studies. Some hung on the wall, others accumulated dust on their backs. My bed was a cot. It was a wonderful place. I cooked two meals and ate dinner outside. I used to keep the camembert out of the window on the mansard roof between meals, and I made fine coffee, and made eggs and macaroni. I studied and thought, made compositions, wrote letters home full of hope of some day being an artist.
It was wonderful. But days came when hopes looked black and my art student’s paradise was turned into a dirty little room with broken tile, ashes fell from the stove, it was all hopelessly poor, I was tired of camembert and eggs and macaroni, and there wasn’t a shade of significance in those delicate little chimney pots, or the Pantheon, the Institute, or even the Tour Saint James."

This I read, lo these many years ago, when I was starting out on my own artistic journey. I was given a copy of The Art Spirit by Dr. F. Robert Lehmeyer, my Uncle and mentor and I, in turn, bestowed a copy on many a young aspiring artist. I can’t look at a wedge of camembert without thinking of this story and my early days as an artist. Blessed are the cheese makers.

"Mark Spitz corkscrew"

Oil on archival museum quality 1/8" gessobord panel - 5" x 5"

This is the companion piece to the painting (Haut Medoc-1997) that I did in December. The ubiquitous Mark Spitz corkscrew has been around for quite a while. We all have one tucked away in a draw somewhere. Though not my favorite device for the extraction of a cork from a lovely bottle of Bordeaux, it is always there as a reliable backup when the Cépage Laguiole corkscrew goes missing, as it is wont to do, buried under the myriad of saved corks in the drawer where it resides. Why Mark Spitz you ask? Those of us old enough to remember Mark Spitz capturing a record seven gold medals at the 1972 Olympics also remember just before we opened that bottle of Mateus Rosé or Lancers, we would hold the chrome corkscrew horizontally, pull in and out on the screw end, the levers swimming wildly through the air and ask with a giddy laugh “Hey guys, who’s this?" ...I guess you had to be there.

"Harley Davidson Softail"

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Oil on achieval, museum quality 1/8" panel - 6" x 6"

In the words of Monty Python: “And now for something completely different!”- I give you the "Harley-Davidson Softail." What many of you may not know is that I am an avid motorcyclist. I started out on a Yamaha RD80 when I was 14, hill climbing in the field behind my house, then on the street with an RD250, Honda CB360 and Suzuki GS850. A vintage Vespa was my sole form of transportation during my "starving artist" period, and the fascination with scooters has lasted up to the present. I recently got rid of my totally restored 1966 SS180 and am trying to make room in the garage for a pair of GTS 250s. I got bitten by the Harley-Davidson bug back in 95 and my poor wife has been a Harley widow ever since. There are few things more beautiful than the classic lines of a Harley. If I could keep my bike inside my studio, I would. My computer name has been Hogadams for years.
I went to the Mid-Atlantic Motorcycle Show this past weekend and the place was teeming with a dazzling array of chrome and steel. From old classic scoots to high dollar customs there was much to see and photograph. Painting the reflections through the red windshield of this Softail was fun, as was the sparkling highlights of a thousand lights bouncing off the highly polished chrome and deep black cherry paint.

As I type this it is 21° outside. Even riding a dresser with electric handgrips and an electric vest, I am afraid Betty (my Ultra) will have to be content with my visits to the garage to stare at her beauty and polish her chrome. I hate Februarys...sigh.

"Plateau de fruits de mer"

Oli on panel 5" x 7"

Do you honestly think that I could go to Paris and not avail myself of the local seafood? Many of the brasseries had fantastic displays of freshly shucked oysters; clams known as amandes; raw mussels; baby shrimp in their shells; cadmium red prawns; whole cooked crab; chewy sea snails known as bulots and tiny blue-black winckles. We succumbed to their sirens song and soon found ourselves starring at a beautiful Plateau de fruits de mer; a gorgeous, glistening assortment of shellfish, or fruits of the sea perched high on the table on an ice-filled round metal platter. Accompanied with slices of rye bread, lovely French salted butter, quarters of fresh lemon, mayonnaise and mignonette, my companions could only drool and eat bread, as I spent 10 minutes capturing it from every angle with my camera. My wife is used to me discreetly photographing food at restaurants. We can’t eat steamed crabs (a Baltimore specialty) without me whipping out my faithful little canon elph. “Can I eat now?” is her common mantra. It has gotten worse since the daily painting started as everything is possible creative fodder.
Trying to keep it fresh (no pun intended), I may leave Paris tomorrow and try something a little different. Stay tuned.

“What a difference a [frame] makes…”

Since I didn’t finish yesterday's painting for various reasons and excuses (and I know all of them), I thought I would show you how to elevate these little panels to small wonders. My last day job was back in 1974. I worked at the venerable Purnell Art Company as a framing craftsman and restorer. I have a lot of respect for the art of framing and it is an art. The reason we frame 2-dimensional works of art is because without containing the image, the lines and colors would visually drift off into space. Perhaps lattice strips would suffice, but a well made frame that complements the work adds to the charm and grace of the artwork. A case it point: The Baltimore Museum of Art is home to the Cone Collection, works by Picasso, Braque and that early 20th century gang of modern masters. The paintings were framed in the big Victorian frames popular in the day. When a new director of the BMA came onboard, she thought it would be a good idea to take off the grand Victorian frames put on by Gertrude Stein and the Cone sisters and put them into something that she thought would have pleased the modern artist’s sensibilities – little gold stripping. It was awful!! The hue and cry that followed the unveiling of the collection can still be heard. Thankfully, cooler heads prevailed. The old frames, mercifully, carefully retained, were restored and the director has moved on to ruin things elsewhere. I myself am a proclaimed frame fetishist and tend to over frame the work I live with. It is not uncommon for me to spend many times the value of the art on a great frame. Here in Baltimore we have the Fleckenstein Gallery. Terry really knows her stuff and offers some drop-dead gorgeous molding. Today’s painting which I posted in December demonstrates just how much a frame works to enhance a painting. The frame you see has a depth of an inch and a half with beautiful mahogany sides. Go ahead; spend the money on a good frame. You will thank me.

"Gâteau au fromage avec le fruit glacé"

Oil on panel 6" x 6"
When I choose to paint this piece, I thought it would be a walk in the park. Little did I realize that the myriad of hues in all that fruit would translate to way more time than I would have imagined analyzing and mixing colors? I wanted it to be free and glistening and that it is. The cheesecake is held in place with a clear collar which reflected nicely the gold fluted plate. When I am finished with this Paris series, you will be well on your way to learning the French language. Pay attention – there will be a quiz. Répetez après moi - fermez la fenêtre.

"Poulets au marché de fermiers"

Oli on panel - 5" x 7
Although I fancy myself both a gourmet and gourmand, I have my head in the sand when it comes to the realities of food and death. Here in the states, our meat is cut into nice little pieces and hermetically sealed in cling wrap. At the farmers market in Paris, here were the chickens – head, feet and all. I don’t know why, but I kept thinking about Chicken Little when I came upon these little guys and felt sad for them. If I had to kill my own food, I probably would be a vegetarian. All that said, the almost abstract quality of the varying colors of the flesh made for an interesting painting exercise and I sort of like the pathos. I came home with a nasty, imported French cold and could use some chicken soup right now…sorry guys.

"Carrousel de Montmartre"

Oil on panel - 5" x 7"

If the French are so mean and unfriendly, why is it that they have so many carousels all over the place? The landscape is littered with them. That seems to be somewhat of an incongruity. Perhaps they are really a fun loving people after all. Well and why not? After all, it was the French that invented the carousel in the 17th century to celebrate the equestrian festival of Louis XIV. I was fascinated with the artistry of the carvings and their bold colors. This one was in Montmartre.

"Playing with your food"

The general consensus in our country is that the French don’t smile. The truth is that the French just need a reason to smile. I am here to tell you that I brought out a smile wherever I ate. Perhaps it was visiting the Picasso museum that inspired me to create these impromptu portraits, or perhaps it was not being near my studio for a week. If ever you visit France, first read Polly Platt’s book, “French or Foe.” It explains in clear terms the differences in our cultures and how to get along. I found the people extremely warm and friendly. One example: as we stood on the platform trying to figure out which train we needed to take to Versailles, a Frenchman nearby came over to help us even though his train had just pulled in and he had to run to just catch it before it left. On another occasion we visited a farmers market and went into sensory overload at the sights and smells of stall after stall of lovely meats, fresh flowers, and beautiful produce. I guess the locals take the food home to eat later, but we couldn’t stop ourselves from buying grilled sausages, crusty cheese bread and warm boiled potatoes and eating them on the spot. One woman was plainly amused at this and with a big smile said “Bon appetit!” as she passed by. Even though I had a few disappointments such as the Dutch and late 19th century French wings of the Louvre being closed and Courbet’s paintings being elsewhere as the Musée d'Orsay redid their room, I had a really great time and the next few weeks will be filled with images that inspired me.

O.K, maybe I can't go anywhere without playing with my food...

"Three on the half shell"

Oil on panel - 6"x 6"Here it is kids - the last painting until I return from Paris early next month. Rest assured that I will return fully charged to get back to the easel. What better place to become inspired than the City of Lights? À bientôt.

"Cocktails"

Oli on panel = 5' x 7"
We celebrated my friend's birthday this past weekend at an elegant restaurant in Baltimore. The collection of preprandial apéritifs made an interesting composition. I particularly like the traffic light created by the Cosmopolitan, white wine and appletini. Please don’t brand me a Philistine for drinking my Laphroaig "on the rocks", ice is fun to paint. Hey, how did that water glass get in there?

"Champagne corks with medallions"

Oil on panel - 5" x 7"

For the last 3 months I have embarked on an artistic journey of daily painting which has opened my eyes to a world which I thought was lost to me. Is there anything sadder than an artist who has lost his spark, his inspiration, that thing that drove him to create? After 40 years, I despaired that my muse was gone for good. I read all the self-help books on regaining your creative vision, studied the “Artist’s Way”, did my morning pages, etc., but nothing ignited the flame. I knew I could still paint and buoyed myself up by painting portraits, not that there is anything wrong with that, per se. But portraits are meant to please the sitter and the artist together. I wanted to paint for me and have others excited by my vision. Portraits, even good portraits are done one at a time. They move through the studio one or two at a time. Years have gone by since my last one man show. Friends stop asking what I was working on. Then one day while I was researching a painting on the internet, I stumbled upon “dailypainters.com.” I was transfixed by the variety of artists doing on a daily basis, what seemed impossible; to take mundane, everyday objects and compose them into little jewels. Art didn’t have to have an earth shaking message. It needn’t be this deep thing. It was enough to be well composed and executed. I loved that the hand of the artist, those mad brush strokes that no computer software program could create, were there for all to see. The clouds parted and I too, started seeing in paint again. The paintings in my last exhibition were all 40” x 60” and here I was doing these little tiny works and becoming more excited about them by the day. Friends dropped by the studio and were excited again. I started posting them on a blog and people would be upset if a day went by without a new piece. I hadn’t even figured out the ebay thing and yet most have been bought in what could be described as a feeding frenzy…”What do you mean the fish are gone?” Today I got word that I had been juried into that group of artists that had reignited my passion for this crazy artist’s life – http://www.dailypainters.com/. Of course, as fate would have it, I leave for Paris this weekend and will be disappointing those who like my stuff. Rest assured, it is only for a week and I hope to gather a lot of fresh ideas while there.
I have this thing for corks, as many of you know. These champagne corks reminded me of a pile of mushrooms. I thought it would be fun to inject a bit of color and shine with the medallions. Enjoy.

The dilemma of the artist’s wife

My wife is often placed in the precarious position of being my second set of eyes. Having spent hours working on a piece, one tends to lose objectivity and the dreaded “Well, what do you think?” is tentatively posed. As she stands there with furrowed brow, I can see she is weighing her options. There is something in the painting that bothers her. Should she say something and risk bruising the delicate artistic ego or say nothing and keep the peace? I usually can tell when there’s something bothering her. “What?” I ask. “You’re not going to leave it like that?” she says, pointing to that one stroke that invariably is my favorite little flourish. It’s a no win situation for her.
Yesterday was a case in point: “Well?” I asked. “Gee, I don’t know about that copper bar. I’m not getting the feeling of copper; it looks like a seascape to me.” Uh oh! She just placed a squirrel in my painting. Wait, what?
During the early days of the cubist movement, Picasso and Braque were great friends and would often critique each other’s work. I imagine their conversation went something like this: “Puits?” “Il est grand excepté l'écureuil.” “Écureuil, quel écureuil?” “Là à côté de la guitare.” “Merde!” (Picasso: “Well?” Braque: “It’s great except for the squirrel.” Picasso: “Squirrel, what squirrel?” Braque: “There, next to the guitar.” Picasso: "Shit!”) Not unlike a Rorschach inkblot, once an idea like that is planted in your head, nothing can get it out. The notion of the seascape was so strong I had to go back in and pick at it until it was gone. Happy accidents happen all the time in this journey we take as artists and this morning I had one of them. Determined to get rid of the squirrel (waves crashing on a not so copper shore) I wiped out the offending blobs of white which I had laid on with a small palette knife the day before. The crimson and cerulean hues had set overnight and had stained the panel. The effect was exactly what I (and Susan) was looking for. Had I rubbed it down last evening it would not have worked, but as it turned out, we had dinner plans that took me away from the studio. Oh, another lesson: Never, ever “pick” after you have been drinking. We’ve all been there: You’ve been out with friends, shared a few laughs, had a few pints, and later you walk into your studio to look at the day’s work. “Hmmm, that one stroke looks odd.” (My words, not hers.) I’ll just fix that. Oops! No problem, I’ll just fix that. Oops! and so on. …Don’t do it!!

"A mug of beer at Mike Anderson's"

When you get in an artistic funk, sometimes you just have to go with what inspires you the most. I’ve been saving this image for just such an occasion. The reflections of neon off this wonderful copper-topped bar at the now dark Mike Anderson’s was crazy good fun to paint. The mug of beer is a carnival of color. It's been said "a painting is never finished – only stopped"…I’ve stopped here. Knowing when to stop separates the good artist from the great. The lesson for the day - don’t pick. (I know tomorrow I’m going to pick at this painting anyway. I always do.)

"Acme Oyster House"

Oil on archival, museum quality, 1/8” Ampersand Gessobord™ panel - 5" x 7"

How’s this for an excuse for not painting this week – I lost my glasses. Last week was particularly warm and I took the opportunity to get in the wind on my Harley. I changed into my sunglasses and stuck my prescription glasses in my leather jacket. Sometime during the ride they fell out and got run over. I found them two days later crushed by the side of the road. I have a spare pair but they are not good for painting. Yesterday I went to the ophthalmologist to get a new prescription and he put drops in my eyes – Whoa…cool colors, but not great for painting. Oh, I was in Florida from Thursday until Sunday so no work on those days (although I did glean some reference material during the trip.) Today’s painting was done wearing my old, old spare pair.
These oysters were shucked especially for me to paint by “Stormin” Norman at the Acme Oyster House in New Orleans. They look good against the white marble oyster bar.

"Bloody Mary"

Oil on archival, museum quality, 1/8” Ampersand Gessobord™ panel - 5" x 5"

Some say the Sazerac, a drink made with rye whiskey and Peychaud’s bitters is the quintessential New Orleans cocktail but for me it is the Bloody Mary. Every restaurant tries to give it their own twist (no pun intended), but one element that is constant and unique to the Big Easy is the inclusion of spiced beans. I always have a jar on hand and wouldn’t think of jamming a big old hunk of celery into one of my morning cocktails. This particular Bloody Mary was had this past December at Herbsaint. I tried to have some fun with the color and paint. Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans? I sure do!

"Sauternes et carte postale française"

I like the innocence of this old french postcard. Painting it reminded me of the fashion paintings, albeit on a much smaller scale. À votre santé!