11-6-11 Three quarter view self portrait

Posted by on November 7th, 2011  •  0 Comments

11-6-11 Three quarter view self portrait

Put the color on my drawing today. I had some moments of magic, but most of the time I was frustrated by my inability to paint accurately. I see too much green in the

self portrait, unfinished 11-2011

skin. And shadows are a mystery. And something is wrong with the lips…but they say that is the definition of a portrait: a drawing with bad lips.

Changed the oil in the truck today at 155,000 miles. Sue and I walked and pedaled the hills of Old Town Tacoma today for exercise. Then I bought the Kindle 3 at Best Buy. The Kindle works surprisingly well. It reads books using the new E-ink technology, and downloads them over 3G at lighting speeds. I loaded 10 books from the library for free to my laptop, and transferred to the Kindle via USB cable. I was able to surf the net, and check www.weather.com…all for free. The Kindle comes with a browser and free 3G using the ATT network. It’s black and white, but who cares?

I should have gone climbing with Phil. He is back at Vantage, probably climbed Sinsemilla today. But I needed to spend some time with family, do some things around here, and paint. Painting is very important. In the long run it is much more important than climbing. By continuing my education, even when my paintings go badly, I am learning the craft…or should I call it art? In my hands, it feels more like a craft.

I read somewhere that art in any form, be it painting, writing, dance or music, requires not just talent, but work. You have to WORK at it. Or, in the words of Jack London: you can’t wait for inspiration to strike, you have to go after it with a club.


self portrait 11-2011 unfinished

I’ve been working on another self portrait in my studio. I have a mirror by the easel and I’ve been painting the man reflected there. He is a strange looking old fellow. In my heart I’m still a young man, full of wonder at this great mystery they call life. But the man in the mirror is middle aged, old even. And yet I see something of myself in his wizened stare. He has a slight grin, and a twinkle in his eye.

I should be painting someone young and beautiful…but here we are, together again…I guess we find each other convenient. Strangely though, each hour I spend on the painting, I feel more of myself in the image, as if I’m transferring energy from the living man to the painting.

I’m transitioning from a finished black and white drawing to a color painting tonight, and the excitement is growing,. The pastels feel almost electric under my fingers as I stroke them ever so carefully across the sandy surface of the Rives BFK.

I feel very fortunate to have this rare gift for painting. Granted I’m not very good, but the pleasure it brings me is something money can’t buy. Here it is in black and white.

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