DRAWING LIFE by fred hatt

2012/07/04

Different Strokes

Porcupine, 1951, woodcut by Leonard Baskin

 

The magic of drawing or printmaking is in the strokes.  By strokes I mean the particular and idiosyncratic quality of the lines or other marks the artist makes.  Some lines jab while others meander.  Some markings are cloudy while others are crisp.  The strokes convey in a tactile way the essence of how the artist comes to grips with the challenge of capturing a thing seen or actualizing an inner vision.  Making a drawing is a journey of exploration, and these markings are the spoor of the trek.  When we look at a drawing, we can feel the energy that went into it in the particular flavor of its lineaments.

In this post I present a goodly selection of mostly monochrome sketches and prints by a wide diversity of masterly mark-makers.  I’ll let the works speak for themselves and leave it to you to contemplate the contrasts among them.  I have generally chosen pieces with a direct, spontaneous quality, avoiding highly finished styles where the quality of line may be more a matter of design than of the energy of the mind and the hand.  I often tried to find unfamiliar examples of the work of well-known artists, and sometimes individual works that are not representative of the artists’ familiar styles.  I think you’ll be particularly surprised by the early De Kooning sketch!

Man Walking in a Field, 1883, conte crayon drawing by Georges Seurat

 

Portrait, title, date and medium unknown, by Paul Cadmus

 

Composition, 1916, medium unknown, by Wassily Kandinsky

 

Edward Scissorhands, 1990, pen and pencil drawing by Tim Burton

 

Autumn, 1970, engraving by Salvador Dalí

 

Self Portrait, 1946, by David Alfaro Siqueiros

 

Musician portrait, date, title, and medium unknown, by Edgar Degas

 

Drawings, 1939, title and medium unknown, by Jackson Pollock

 

Saturn, 1516, engraving(?) by Hans Baldung Grien

 

Resting Woman Wearing Tiara, 1936, pen and ink drawing by Henri Matisse

 

Sketchbook pages, date unknown, drawings by R. Crumb

 

Reproduction Drawing III (after the Leonardo cartoon), 2010, media unknown, by Jenny Saville

 

Self Portrait at the Age of Eighty-Three, 1843, ink brush drawing by Hokusai

 

Untitled, 1981, drawing by Jean-Michel Basquiat

 

Study for the Head of Leda, 1506, ink and chalk drawing by Leonardo da Vinci

 

Gregory Hines, date and medium unknown, sketch by Jules Feiffer

 

Study of the Head of Elizabeth Siddal for “Ophelia”, 1852, medium unknown, by John Everett Millais

 

Femme nue couchée, 1932, charcoal drawing by Pablo Picasso

 

Old Man on a Swing, 1826, medium unknown, by Francisco Goya

 

Untitled, 1950, ink drawing on parchment by Philip Guston

 

Europa, 1953, lithograph by Hans Erni

 

Portrait of the Artist’s Mother, 1514, by Albrecht Dürer

 

Love Forever (TAOW), 2004, marker drawing on canvas by Yayoi Kusama

 

Bird Personage, date and medium unknown, by Remedios Varo

 

Court Room Scene, date and medium unknown, by Honoré Daumier

 

Beekeepers, 1568, etching(?) by Pieter Bruegel the Elder

 

Drawings, dates, titles and media unknown, by Alberto Giacometti

 

Self Portrait, date and medium unknown, by Henry Fuseli

 

Tree with Trunk, 1998, etching by Louise Bourgeois

 

Drawing, 1944, title and medium unknown, by Pavel Tchelitchew

 

Nude Study, 1908, etching by Georges Braque

 

The Sower, 1888, pencil and pen and ink drawing by Vincent van Gogh

 

Portrait of Elaine De Kooning, 1940, pencil drawing by Willem De Kooning

 

Some Can Fly and Some Can’t, 1939, medium unknown, by Rico Lebrun

 

Le Chapeau-Main, 1947, lithograph by Hans Bellmer

 

Sketch for “Apollo Slays Python”, 1850, medium unknown, drawing by Eugène Delacroix

 

Madame Louis-Francois Godinot, 1829, medium unknown, drawing by Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres, with detail

 

Corps de Dame, 1950, medium unknown, by Jean Dubuffet

 

Cape Lion, 1650, medium unknown, drawing by Rembrandt van Rijn

 

The Man who Taught Blake Painting in his Dreams, 1820, print(?) by William Blake

 

Five Swearing, 1912, oil sketch by Ferdinand Hodler

 

Madame Sohn, 1918, charcoal sketch by Egon Schiele

 

Seated Bodhidharma, 18th century, ink brush drawing by Suio Genro

 

All the images used in this post were found on the web, and clicking on an image will take you to the page where I found it.  Any information about the artwork that is listed as “unknown” is information I was not able to find at the time of making the post.  If you can provide additional or corrected information I will incorporate it.

Readers are invited to nominate some of their favorite drawings for an eventual sequel to this post!

2012/04/22

Painters of Light

Bambi’s First Year, 2009(?), by Thomas Kinkade

Thomas Kinkade, “Painter of Light (TM)” passed away earlier this month.  His psychedelically colorful fantasy landscapes are too sugary for my taste, but he’s a fascinating cultural figure of our time.  It strikes me that his technically accomplished, rather surrealistic style would have been embraced by the contemporary art world if he had presented it as ironic rather than earnest, and if he had sold exclusively to elite collectors instead of marketing to the masses.  Can’t you just imagine the painting above in a Chelsea gallery or in the pages of Juxtapoz magazine?  But he made the statement he wanted to make, and made a ton of money doing so.

Don’t worry – I’m not going to go on about Kinkade,  nor about the ironies of the Art World.  This post is inspired by Kinkade’s trademarked epithet, “Painter of Light”.  The post is a selection of great Western paintings of the last four centuries that beautifully capture effects of light.  They’re presented here in chronological order.   Any art history fan reading this will surely think of great painters and works I’ve left out, and I invite you to share your favorites in the comments section.

The term of art for drawing or painting emphasizing contrasts of light and shadow is the beautiful Italian word “chiaroscuro“, and there is no better example of the technique than Caravaggio.  He achieved an almost photographic feeling of realism and presence using dramatic, high-contrast light.  Where most artists of his time portrayed Biblical figures as idealized types in standardized poses, Caravaggio shows them as individuals, with distinctive features, physical flaws, and very human gestures and attitudes.  The chiaroscuro technique is so vivid you feel like you could touch the people in his paintings.

The Supper at Emmaus, 1606, by Caravaggio

Around the same time, El Greco was moving away from realism, with figures distorted in ways that suggest movement or emotion.  Was El Greco consciously experimenting with modes of expression hundreds of years ahead of their time, or was he a bit crazy?  Either way, the composition below is charged with energy.  The light is not realistic as in the Caravaggio – it strikes different figures from different directions, and sometimes seems to be a glow from within.  But the sense of light is powerful here anyway, as the turbulent sky, the satiny fabrics, and the serpentine bodies and limbs of the figures all seem to crackle with the electricity of a storm about to burst.

The Vision of St. John (Opening of the Fifth Seal), 1614, by El Greco

El Greco worked in Spain but came from Crete, and may have been influenced by the highly stylized traditions of Eastern Orthodox art.  He was certainly an outlier in his era, as a main movement in the 17th century was towards more realism.  Many artists of the time specialized in illusionistic rendering of subtle light effects, as in this candlelit scene by van Honthorst.  I love the way the warm candlelight glows on the face and breast of the female figure, while the male in the foreground is just a black silhouette with a rim of light suggesting his features.

The Matchmaker, 1625, by Gerrit van Honthorst

Georges de La Tour did many paintings with very convincing candlelight or lamplight effects.  His style is serene, his compositions spare and elegant. The flame below is so beautifully rendered that it actually seems to be emitting light.

Magdalen with the Smoking Flame, 1640, by Georges de La Tour

Many of Vermeer’s paintings show interior scenes lit by daylight coming laterally through windows.  The light effects are observed with great accuracy, including subtleties like the warm-toned light reflected from the table top onto the wall beneath the window, and the way the window light reveals the texture of the wall and map behind the young woman.

Officer and Laughing Girl, 1655, by Johannes Vermeer

Goya’s paintings of terror and madness often use harsh, dramatic lighting.  This scene of abduction by flying witches looks like a night scene illuminated by a spotlight or a bolt of lightning from above.  The contrasty lighting leaves many details in darkness – the deep shadows where horrors lurk.

Flying Witches (Vuelo de Brujas), 1797, by Francisco Goya

In Blake’s depiction of necromancy, the conjured spirit of the prophet Samuel shines as a column of light in the darkness, casting his fearsome glow on the crouching figures of King Saul and the Witch of Endor.

The Witch of Endor Raising the Spirit of Samuel, 1800, by William Blake

The painting below may be a self-portrait by Marie-Denise Villers.  I’ve found very few images of other works by this painter, but this piece is a wonderful depiction of the penetrating gaze of an artist.  The window-light coming from behind the artist makes her golden ringlets and white gown glow, and the light reflects from the drawing paper to softly bathe her face from below – a very unusual choice for a portrait, but here the effect highlights both her youthful beauty and her eyes looking into your depths.  (This painting has always been one of my favorites at the Metropolitan Museum.)

Young Woman Drawing, 1801, by Marie-Denise Villers

Ingres’ painting shows a Scottish bard dreaming of the characters of Celtic myth, bathed in  a mysterious beam of light that seems to glow from inside the circle of figures.

The Dream of Ossian, 1813, by Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres

Friedrich specialized in romantic landscapes where human figures are dwarfed by mysterious environments that seem filled with spirits.  All of his paintings have wonderfully rendered effects of light and air.

Man and Woman Contemplating the Moon, c. 1830, by Caspar David Friedrich

In this masterful depiction of a glowing golden sunset, also by Friedrich, the figures are bathed in a diffuse backlight and the skylight both reflects off the surface of the water (especially in the foreground) and shines through its translucency (especially in the distance).

The Stages of Life, 1835, by Caspar David Friedrich

Turner took the study of light and its interaction with air and water, smoke and rain, in a radically abstract direction.  This swirling composition can be appreciated as pure paint and gesture like abstract expressionism, but the image of the boat, barely visible in the tempest, gives it even more depth and motion.

Snow Storm – Steam Boat off a Harbor’s Mouth Making Signals in Shallow Water, and Going by the Lead. The Author was in this Storm on the Night the Ariel Left Harwick, 1842, by J. M. W. Turner

Bierstadt’s grand landscapes often feature special lighting effects.  In this one I like the interaction of the red firelight and the greenish glow of the full moon.

Oregon Trail, 1863, by Albert Bierstadt

Monet’s entire long career is a study of natural light in all its variations.  The details don’t matter in the example below, but the differences between the shaded foreground and the sunlit background, and how the colors and tones of all these areas are fragmented in reflections on the water surface are both vivid and subtle.

La Grenouillere, 1869, by Claude Monet 

Caillebotte was also a great observer of light.  Look at how the light gives form to the foreshortened bare backs of the workers, and how the light reflects differently off the glossy and non-glossy parts of the floor.

The Floor Strippers, 1875, by Gustave Caillebotte

Degas often depicted subtle effects of lighting through variations in color rather than just variations in value.  Some of the shadows on the bather’s body have a greenish tone, while others have a reddish tinge.  Even though the detail and chiaroscuro are fairly minimal here, the body has a great feeling of three-dimensional presence.

The Tub, 1886, by Edgar Degas

Sargent’s watercolors are even looser with the detail, but wonderfully capture the qualities of light, as in this scene of a mother and baby, their faces obscured in the shade of a tent while their bodies are in sunlight.

Bedouin Mother, 1905, by John Singer Sargent

Monet’s later work uses much more vivid colors than his early work.  They blend in the eye, in a way that looks realistic from a distance.

The Grand Canal, 1908, by Claude Monet

Bonnard was always interested in color effects.  Some of his later works dispense with light-dark contrasts so much that they’re almost unreadable in black-and-white reproductions.  This one, though, still has chiaroscuro.  The figure is deeply shadowed, but she’s surrounded by light and color.

Model in Backlight, 1908, by Pierre Bonnard

Here’s another Sargent.  With minimal detail, he gives us the effects of sunlight dappled through leaves and skipping off the surface of water.

The Bathers, 1917, by John Singer Sargent

This is the only purely nonobjective piece in this post.  Paul Klee brought a deep study of color and light to his playful abstractions, which often suggest an inner glow, or the effects of light passing through translucent colored glass.

Eros, 1923, by Paul Klee

Ivan Albright used chiaroscuro not to show the form of his figures, but to show the texture.  The effect is grotesque and cruel, like a contrasty photograph that reveals every wrinkle and pore, but it also has a powerful luminous effect.

Into the World There Came a Soul Called Ida, 1930, by Ivan Albright

Hopper was famous for his studies of light and shadow, both sunlight and nighttime artificial light effects.  His treatment of light always seems to create an impression of empty space around his subjects.

Summer Evening, 1947, by Edward Hopper

Here George Tooker places some of his figures in deep shade under the Coney Island boardwalk, and other figures in full sun.  Notice the central reclining male figure in the dark foreground, with one leg in the sun.  The shadowy figures also help make the blue sky look luminous.

Coney Island, 1948, by George Tooker

In “The Waiting Room:, Tooker depicts a very different light atmosphere, the sickly fluorescent overhead glow permeating a dehumanizing institutional space.  These two pictures embody polar extremes of the modern urban experience, and the quality of the light in each piece defines its spirit.

The Waiting Room, 1957, by George Tooker

I’ll conclude with a magnificent chiaroscuro nude by Andrew Wyeth.  The light and shadow make the figure tangible.  The woman’s face turns into the darkness, which is mysterious space.  A photograph of this scene, exposed to keep detail in the sunlit areas, might look like this, with deep black shadows all around, but the human eye would naturally see detail in the darker areas.  The artist has chosen to surround his subject in pitch black, all the brighter to make the light.

Lovers, 1981, by Andrew Wyeth

All of the illustrations in this post were found on the web.  Clicking on the images will take you to the sites where I found them, and in many cases to larger versions of the pictures.

2012/03/30

Collector of Souls: Alice Neel

 

Nancy and Olivia, 1967, by Alice Neel

Alice Neel (1900-1984) is always described as an artist that was slow to find recognition.  It’s true, but I think it’s also true that her brilliance was of a kind that is only achieved through maturity and persistence.  Our culture likes to think that a genius is a genius, that they must be incandescent in their emergence.  If you pass 30 or 40 and you’re not a star, you should give up, pack it in, and do something useful for a change.  And maybe that makes sense if you think art is all about fresh concepts and the iconoclasm of a new generation defying the elders.  But what if you’re trying to do something very deep and subtle, and nearly impossible to master?

Alice Neel, 1944, photo by Sam Brody

I’m not saying Neel’s early work wasn’t strong, and I’m not saying her sex and her devotion to figuration in an era where the big money was on abstraction didn’t delay her acclaim.  Her early work shows the  influence of the Ashcan School of socially conscious realism, as well as of surrealism and psychological expressionism of the kind that Munch and Ensor developed.  Her paintings of the 1920’s and 1930’s are dark with lots of black paint, and heavy with romantic angst, symbolism, and working class politics.

Degenerate Madonna, 1930, by Alice Neel

Kenneth Fearing (poet, founder of Partisan Review), 1935, by Alice Neel

Those were the radical art fashions of the era.  Neel does them well, but you can see hints that the real essence of her talent lies in her intense focus on the individual human subject.  At the time, she was young, and dedicated to the romantic ideal of the rebellious and bohemian artist, which she lived fully, complete with abusive marriages, nervous breakdowns and suicide attempts.

Ballet Dancer, 1950, by Alice Neel

The Last Sickness (Alice's mother), 1953, by Alice Neel

She persuaded a diverse collection of people to sit for her – her neighbors, her bohemian artist and writer friends, children and old people, naked nudes and dressed-up dandies, the uptight and the laid-back, the pretentious and the naïve.  She found nothing more fascinating than to try to capture in paint something of what it was like to be with these people.  She said, “Like Chekhov, I am a collector of souls.”

Two Girls, Spanish Harlem, 1959, by Alice Neel

Robert Smithson (earthworks artist), 1962, by Alice Neel

Sherry Speeth (mathematician), 1964, by Alice Neel

Alice Neel painted directly from life, and directly on the canvas, without designs or preliminary studies.  She said, “I do not pose my sitters. I do not deliberate and then concoct… Before painting, when I talk to the person, they unconsciously assume their most characteristic pose, which in a way involves all their character and social standing – what the world has done to them and their retaliation.”  Doing a painting of someone was for her an interaction with that person.

Fuller Brush Man, 1965, by Alice Neel

Hartley (Alice's son), 1965, by Alice Neel

Charlotte Willard (art critic & author), 1967, by Alice Neel

The old saying is “Every painter paints himself”, and for most portrait painters this is a limitation.  It means they project something on the subject, some fantasy or ideal.  For Neel, it means she paints how she and her subject encounter each other, in the moment as they look at each other.  The directness of the look, and the directness of the act of painting, capture the uncanny aliveness that Neel’s pictures embody.

In the silent home movie above you can see some of how Neel starts painting, and how she develops the canvas.  Alice’s son Hartley shot this film as she was painting her daughter-in-law Ginny.  She starts out with a black line drawing in thinned paint, sure and direct.  There is no measuring, no roughing in.  It’s distorted and out of proportion, and that doesn’t matter at all.  As she continues to paint, areas of color are filled in here and there, seemingly haphazardly, but with a sense of painterly dynamics.

Andy Warhol (artist), 1970, by Alice Neel

Jackie Curtis (performer, Warhol superstar) and Ritta Redd, 1970, by Alice Neel

The Family (John Gruen, Jane Wilson and Julia), 1970, by Alice Neel. Gruen was a music, dance and art critic, Wilson a painter, and Julia is now director of the Keith Haring foundation.

The eyes are usually enlarged, making intense connection to the painter, and through her, to the viewer.  The hands are often oddly small yet expressive, with snaky fingers grasping the world, holding on tight or draping lazily.  Background elements are sometimes highly textural and at other times they are left as bare indications.  In the later work the use of unfinished areas is masterful.

Carmen and Judy, 1972, by Alice Neel

John Perreault (artist, poet & critic), 1972, by Alice Neel

The Soyer Brothers (Moses and Raphael, artists), 1973, by Alice Neel

 

Her pictures of people are distorted in proportion, but they are not distorted by idealism or sentimentality, nor by judgment or an agenda.  They are open, clear-eyed, compassionate, and realistic.  The probing engagement is the same whether the subject is a child or a power broker.  Some of her pictures could almost be caricatures, except that they are made with an openness to her subject that is foreign to caricature.

Isabel Bishop (artist), 1974, by Alice Neel

Margaret Evans Pregnant, 1978, by Alice Neel

Geoffrey Hendricks (Fluxus artist) and Brian, 1978, by Alice Neel

The riveting quality of Neel’s paintings convinces me that there is no greater subject for a painter than the individual human being, and that symbolism and theory and “statements” are nothing  but obstacles to true seeing.  Why do so few serious artists in our day attempt it?  The portrait is considered a fusty genre, suitable for sentimentalists and satirists.  It doesn’t challenge the status quo as the contemporary artist is expected to do.  It has no intellectual component.  But perhaps all that is just to rationalize avoiding a challenge that is extremely difficult to pull off, a challenge that engages not just the mind but the whole being of the artist.

Self Portrait, 1980, by Alice Neel

Alice Neel never stopped believing in herself, even as the institutional art world ignored her.  She had to wait for her moment of fame, which finally came with the rise of the feminist movement.  They came looking for the great neglected female artists, and for an approach to art that countered the macho culture of abstract expressionism and pop art.  Neel’s deeply embodied, personally engaged work, with its pregnant women and babies, its frank and unheroic male nudes, fit the bill.  She bristled a bit at being assigned the role of feminist art icon, but she reveled in her late-life fame.

Alice Neel, 1970's, photographer unknown

The illustrations here really don’t do justice to the original paintings.  They lose the subtleties of the color and the sense of scale, which in the later work tends to be half life size or bigger.  Last week I was thrilled to be able to look at some original Alice Neel oils in an exhibit at the Michael Rosenfeld Gallery on 57th Street in Manhattan.  It’s a three person show with pioneering African American artists Benny Andrews and Bob Thompson, whose work is also very much worth looking at, and it’s up for just another week, through April 7, 2012.  The asking price for all the Neels is about half a million dollars each.  I think even when she was 50 years old and living in poverty, Alice Neel knew her work was that valuable.

Check out this brief clip on Neel from ART/New York.  One of the art critics that’s interviewed is John Perreault, whose nude portrait by Neel is included in this post.

If you’re interested in learning more about Alice Neel, I recommend the excellent documentary on her made by her Grandson, Andrew Neel.

All the images here were found on the web, and clicking on the images links back to the site where I found them.

2011/07/26

Freudian Analysis

Double Portrait, 1986, by Lucian Freud

Lucian Freud, who just died on July 20, 2011, devoted his long career to painting figures and portraits from life, perfectly ignoring all the art-world trends of his era.

Bella, 1987, by Lucian Freud

Many of his images are of people and/or animals sleeping.  He always painted directly from live models, often friends or family members rather than professionals, and he worked very slowly, so the sleeping poses may be an accommodation to the models.  I am struck, though, by the sense of struggle and intensity in these works.  Freud’s paint has the writhing quality of Goya’s horrors or El Greco’s spiritual transports, but in pictures of people simply relaxing on beds and sofas.  I think the sense of agitation arises from Freud’s own restless struggle to see more deeply and to capture in paint the intensity of his own visual experience.  For Freud, every canvas was a wrestling match against a powerful foe.

Pregnant Girl, 1961, by Lucian Freud

The fleshiness of his painting can be a distraction.  I got a better understanding of  the energy of Freud’s searching eye by looking at his etchings, where the quality of movement stands out.  Most portraitists view their sitters across a distance.  Freud’s perceptual focus hikes over his subjects like a surveyor mapping a territory.  He treats the figure as a landscape, to be explored by touch and movement.

Head and Shoulders, 1982, etching by Lucian Freud

Freud loved animals, and he often shows his own dogs posing with his models.  He told William Feaver, who wrote a book about Freud’s work, “I’m really interested in people as animals.  Part of my liking to work from them naked is for that reason.  Because I can see more, and it’s also very exciting to see the forms repeating through the body and often the head as well.  I like people to look as natural and as physically at ease as animals, as Pluto my whippet.”

Sunny Morning - Eight Legs, 1997, by Lucian Freud

Lucian Freud was the grandson of Sigmund Freud, the progenitor of psychoanalysis.  Sigmund Freud spent hundreds of hours with his subjects lying on a couch, trying to penetrate the hidden recesses of the mind through dreams and free association.  Lucian Freud also spent hundreds of hours with his subjects lying on a couch, but he kept an intense focus on the surface.  I think he felt that the physical body, truly seen, could reveal hidden depths.  Surely Lucian Freud’s work reveals depths, although, as with Sigmund’s work, it could be argued that those depths belong to Freud more than they do to his subjects.

David Hockney; Lucian Freud, 2003, photo by David Dawson

Freud said, “My work is purely autobiographical… It is about myself and my surroundings. I work from people that interest me and that I care about, in rooms that I know.”  Given the necessity of spending a great deal of time with his sitters, he wouldn’t work with anyone unless he genuinely liked that person.  Still, he absolutely avoided any sentimentality or idealization.  Freud’s subjects had to accept that he would portray their every flaw, that he would reveal their mortality.

David Hockney, 2003, by Lucian Freud

While Freud, as far as I know, never worked from photographs, some of his models were photographed while posing for his paintings, which gives us an excellent way of seeing where he exaggerates and what he emphasizes.

Sue Tilley posing for Lucian Freud, 1995, photo by Bruce Bernard

Benefits Supervisor Sleeping, 1995, by Lucian Freud

The painting above is one of Freud’s best-known works, having set a record for the highest price paid for a painting by a living artist when it was sold at Christie’s in 2008 for 33.6 million dollars.  Notice how much older the model appears in the painting than in the photograph.  He seems to have made her more obese and more splotchy.

Many figurative painters do the opposite, omitting bruises and calluses and visible veins, subtly idealizing the body.  And many people are repelled by Freud’s figures, with their sexuality and mortality so blatantly on display.  Speaking for myself, this is the very aspect of Freud’s work that gives it spiritual power.  It is the essence of the human condition that we are spiritual beings manifested in animal bodies that experience fear and desire, suffering and decay.  I see this as the quality of art that Federico Garcia Lorca calls duende, the life force intensified by the closeness of death.

Naked Man with Rat, 1977, by Lucian Freud

Freud’s earlier work, such as the portrait below of Lady Caroline Blackwood, lacks the blotchy impasto of his later work, but there is already a kind of magical realism, with enlarged eyes and expressive distortions.

Girl in Bed, 1952, by Lucian Freud

Freud said, “The longer you look at an object, the more abstract it becomes, and, ironically, the more real.”  You can see this principle not only in the individual works, but across the artist’s entire oeuvre.  The later work is unquestionably more abstract, the strokes wilder and freer, but they also have a living presence that is much stronger than in the earlier work.

Four Figures, 1991, etching by Lucian Freud

 

The Painter's Mother III, 1972, painting by Lucian Freud, and The Painter's Mother, 1982, etching by Lucian Freud

The face below is surely distorted, yet you can see the intensity of the artist’s perception in every thick stroke.  There is a kind of aura, a powerful presence that cannot be achieved by working from photographs and fretting over accuracy.

Esther, 1982, by Lucian Freud

 

Lucian Freud and model, 2004, photo by David Dawson

Freud said, “Perhaps when you have the sort of temperament that is always looking for flaws and trouble it might stop you from having what you always want, which is to be as audacious as possible. One has to find the courage to keep on trying not to paint in a stale or predictable way.”

Night Portrait, 1978, by Lucian Freud

I’ll conclude this post with two of my favorite Freud nudes.  Night Portrait, above, finds beauty in a pose that seems to be both resting and running, and in the textural contrast between the body and the quilt.  Naked Man, Back View, one of Freud’s many paintings of the model Leigh Bowery, also well known as a performance artist and costume designer, suggests an interior life through the turned-away display of a mountainous back.

Naked Man, Back View, 1992, by Lucian Freud

All the images in this post were found on the web.  Clicking on the pictures links to the pages where I found them.  The Lucian Freud quotes were also found on the web.  All the quote sites seem to have a similar collection of Freud quotes, unfortunately not sourced.

2011/07/05

The Artist’s Beard

Filed under: Art History,Collections of Images — Tags: , — fred @ 00:19

Fred Hatt, b. 1958, artist and blogger, self-portrait photo 2011 by Fred Hatt

This is a first for Drawing Life – a men’s style post.  Artists, writers, and musicians create not only a body of work but also a persona.  The possibilities are broad, but the options are naturally constrained by the face and body Nature has given.  As I have found myself becoming a bearish middle-aged man, my own style has gravitated towards a classic type.  The trimmed beard I had ten years ago has expanded to what is now known on the interwebs as an “epic beard”.  It covers my double chin and also serves as a tribute to my many artistic forebears, artists whose fulfillment manifested in silverback gravitas rather than studly cutness or prettyboy romance.  So here is a fairly arbitrary selection of bearded males (and one female) of the creative bent, presented in completely random order.  What a great opportunity to put myself in the context of the greats!

Hermeto Pascoal, b. 1936, composer and musician, photographer unknown

Daniel Day-Lewis, b. 1957, actor, photo by John Spellman/Retna Ltd.

Ernest Hemingway, 1899-1961, writer, photo by Yousuf Karsh

Luciano Pavarotti, 1935-2007, singer, photographer unknown

Jim Henson, 1936-1990, puppeteer, photographer unknown

Thelonious Monk, 1917-1982, composer and musician, photographer unknown

George Carlin, 1937-2008, comedian and writer, photographer unknown

George Bernard Shaw, 1856-1950, playwright, photographer unknown

Albrecht Dürer, 1471-1528, painter and artist, self-portrait

Auguste Rodin, 1840-1917, sculptor and artist, photo by Nadar

George Clinton, b. 1941, musician and bandleader, photo by Marcy Guiragossian/Marcy G. Photography

Constantin Brancusi, 1876-1957, sculptor, photo by Edward Steichen

Toshiro Mifune, 1920-1997, actor, still from Red Beard, directed by Akira Kurosawa

Erik Satie, 1866-1925, composer and musician,photographer unknown

Charles Dickens, 1812-1870, writer, photo by Jeremiah Gurney

Allen Ginsberg, 1926-1997, poet, photographer unknown

Devendra Banhart, b. 1981, singer-songwriter, photographer unknown

Ai Weiwei, b. 1957, artist and activist, photographer unknown

Sergei Parajanov, 1924-1990, film director and artist, photographer unknown

Walt Whitman, 1819-1892, poet, photo by Matthew Brady

Isaac Hayes, 1942-2008, songwriter and musician, photographer unknown

Vincent van Gogh, 1853-1890, painter, self-portrait

Alan Moore, b. 1953, writer, photographer unknown

Hans Holbein the Younger, 1497-1543, painter, self-portrait

Oliver Sacks, b. 1933, neurologist and writer, photographer unknown

John Lennon, 1940-1980, songwriter and musician, photographer unknown

Jennifer Miller, b. 1961, performer and writer, photographer unknown

Claude Monet, 1840-1926, painter, photo by Nadar

Terry Riley, b. 1935, composer, photo by Lenny Gonzalez

Salman Rushdie, b. 1947, writer, 1992 photo by Andy Ross

Frederick Douglass, 1818-1895, writer and statesman, photographer unknown

Johannes Brahms, 1833-1897, composer, photograph by C. Brasch

Jerzy Grotowski, 1933-1999, theater director, photographer unknown

Stanley Kubrick, 1928-1999, film director, photographer unknown

Leo Tolstoy, 1828-1910, writer, photographer unknown

Gustav Klimt, 1862-1918, painter, photographer unknown

The beard is naturally an expression of masculinity and maturity.  It also seems to denote sensitivity in a man of rough or plain features.  Imagine many of the men in these photos clean shaven, and see how their power, like that of the shorn Samson, is diminished.

All photos, besides the one of me, were found on the web.  Clicking on the photo links to its source.

Of course this collection is arbitrary and incomplete.  Feel free to use comments to nominate worthy bearded artists I’ve omitted.

 

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