"Diner Goddess," oil on canvas, 68"x44" 2012 |
One of the most famous
moments in movie history comes when Bogie chucks Bergman under the chin, looks
at her lovingly and says: “Here’s lookin’ at ya, kid.” I think about that scene
every once in a while when I’m working on a painting. When the figures on the
canvas communicate with me (or each other) I know things are going right. I’m a
great believer in “eye contact” in general. That’s why I never read notes when
I lecture; I need to look my listeners in the eye to see if they understand me.
I’m intrigued with an
artist’s ability to create life out of inanimate materials; it’s almost a
God-given power, like Michelangelo’s depiction of God touching Adam’s hand on
the Sistine Chapel ceiling. You see the beginnings of this kind of contact
thousands of years ago in Prehistoric cave paintings, where the realistic
depiction of animals was meant to bring them to life for the hunt. In one of my
earliest blogs, I related the (apocryphal) story about the Renaissance
sculptor, Donatello, who was known to scream at his statues “Talk! Damn you!
Talk! It was as if he were performing an act of magic, infusing life into a
piece of stone. I often do not regard a painting finished until the moment the
figures come alive. They don’t have to talk only to me; I’m not possessive. I’m
perfectly happy if, like Bogey and Bergman, they talk to each other.
Detail from Lower East Side polyptych, oil on canvas, 2014 |
I love when I am successful
at bringing someone to life on canvas: I dance around the room; I sing and talk
to my paintings. Many years ago, I did some huge cardboard puppets drawn from
local political figures – “Gangsters” I called them. I knew my drawings were
complete when the figures spoke to me; unpleasant as they were, I had given
them life.
"Restauranteur" from "Gangster Series." acrylic on box cardboard, 6'x3' |
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