"JJ on the sofa"

Oil on museum quality, archival ampersand gessobord™ panel - 6” x 8”

With Cats, some say, one rule is true:
 Don't speak till you are spoken to.
 Myself, I do not hold with that -
 I say, you should ad-dress a Cat.
 But always keep in mind that he
 Resents familiarity.
 I bow, and taking off my hat,
 Ad-dress him in this form: O CAT!
 But if he is the Cat next door,
 Whom I have often met before
 (He comes to see me in my flat)
 I greet him with an OOPSA CAT!
 I've heard them call him James Buz-James -
 But we've not got so far as names.
 Before a Cat will condescend
 To treat you as a trusted friend,
 Some little token of esteem
 Is needed, like a dish of cream;
 And you might now and then supply
 Some caviare, or Strassburg Pie,
 Some potted grouse, or salmon paste -
 He's sure to have his personal taste.
 (I know a Cat, who makes a habit
 Of eating nothing else but rabbit,
 And when he's finished, licks his paws
 So's not to waste the onion sauce.)
 A Cat's entitled to expect
 These evidences of respect.
 And so in time you reach your aim,
 And finally call him by his NAME. 

                                                       T.S.Eliot 

That name would be JJ.

"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?

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!

"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.