I Love It When They Cry

Do you ever watch Devon Rodriguez, the trending Tiktoker who draws people on the NYC subway? My favorite part of his videos is when he hands the drawing to the person. Often they cry. Why is that?

I have a few theories…

Surprise. I think we go through our days expecting little in the way of attention and affirmation. To see yourself created in a piece of art is ninja level validation, and it triggers the tear ducts.

Depth is another theory. Words only express so much. At some point we have to sing, or jump, or write poetry, or cry. When something hits us in those tender places in our hearts, tears appear.

And lastly, beauty. Beauty gets us every time. It’s visceral, emotional, overwhelming.

That’s why I love a teary response when I hand over a commissioned piece of art. It tells me that my small efforts of capturing on the canvas the worth of a person has possibly paid off. My prayer is that beauty and affirmation will always be part of the portrait painting process.

So Many Supplies

Have you ever gone on a vacation where you bring your own food, but when you arrive you’ve forgotten some of the basics, like oil and ketchup? The reason we forget them, is that they’re just always there. Kitchens always have oil, ketchup, a salt shaker, etc.

Art supplies are the same. Sure, from time to time we need to buy canvases and some new brushes. But the majority of the supplies we use we take for granted. Our easel, drawers full of paints, 200 old brushes, mediums, paper towels, even our apron and stool. Most of us don’t go out and buy all of those things at once, they are slowly accumulated and become part of the background of our space and work.

Which is why I hate figuring out how to price my work. Most pricing advice is something like, ‘Factor in your hours, the cost of your supplies, the size of the painting, and current rates from other artists.’ The truth is, I don’t know what percentage of my painting apron gets factored in to my prices. Do I factor in the cost of my wheely stool? Painter’s tape? The nails I rest my canvases on? What about the new light bulbs in my studio, or my favorite 5 year old palette knife? Do I factor all those things into the price?

From a math perspective, adding up the cost of the supplies, makes my head spin.

But from a personal perspective, I really love that my life, work, and studio are combinations of new and old. Used, worn, and also fresh and shiny. I love a new paintbrush, but I also love my old mini-blinds adjusting rod that I use as a mahl.

I like that I’m settled in. I have a space. And in that space, I can create beauty and send it off into the world!

Isn't It Just Copying?

Artists are often sensitive, emotional, and able to see things from a different perspective. We can also be a moody bunch prone to soaring snobbery and sinking self-loathing. These two ditches are often best displayed through our disdain for other mediums and genres of art.

As a portrait painter, I most often hear the criticism: “Aren’t you just copying?”

The short answer? ‘Yes.’

I always have.

I copied my parents when I learned to form words. I copied my teachers when I learned reading and writing. I copied my siblings when I learned to tattle. Copying is how I’ve always learned and created.

But, to make the criticism sting less, I would like to suggest that many art forms are ‘elevated copying’. Yes, I’m copying values, forms, and color. But I’m also seeing.

I spend hours looking at my subjects as I paint them. I see. I notice. I’m intrigued. I put that all on canvas. And it does something to the subject, the viewer and me, the painter.

The subject feels seen. Known. Beheld.

The viewer feels empathy. Themselves reflected in the expression and humanity of the subject.

And I, the painter, feel like a mirror. Taking the image of someone and reflecting it back to them with worth, value and dignity.

Yeah, I copy. But my prayer is that I become an artist who copy the steps of the Creator Who sees, shapes, forms, and heaps dignity on all.

Coming to Life

I always start with black and white.

In the classical painting world, a black and white underpainting is called a ‘grisaille’. I don’t know why, but I do like using fancy words.

Once the grisaille is finished, I then cover the whole thing with a transparent layer of red. This is the first of many, many thin color layers. It’s also the most exciting layer.

Adding the red layer is like watching an old black and white film become colorized. It’s like watching a drawing become animation. It’s like watching something come to life!

There are so many parallels between art and life. There are times when life feels black and white, and then something happens that makes everything red and vibrant. For me, that’s art. Art makes me come to life.

It Was a Great Day

Covid-19 reared it’s ugly head in March, just ahead of the 70th birthday party we had planned for my Dad. So, we waited. Until August. We thought, at the time, that we had ‘flattened the curve’ and all was well. In reality, we just had a small window of time to enjoy a belated birthday picnic in the backyard before the next wave hit. I’m so thankful we did.

It was a great day. Dad is worth celebrating and 70 is a big deal. We ate and laughed and reminisced and took pictures.

This painting is based off of one of those pictures. It brings me joy. He brings me joy. Backyard picnics with people I love bring me joy. And painting portraits brings me joy.

What's Wrong With This Picture?

Can anyone tell me what’s wrong with this picture?

The painting is of Gomer, one of my favorite historical figures. I love how this painting turned out and the way the colors jump on the canvas in the sunlight. But, I am breaking an important rule.

‘Don’t place your oil painting in direct sunlight!’

An original piece of art is an investment. It’s personal, deeply meaningful, and costs a dollar or two more than Hobby Lobby art. Therefore, it’s important that we care for our art properly so that we can enjoy it for many years to come and even pass it on to the next generation.

One of the most important ‘Art Care Rules’ is to never hang a piece in direct sunlight. As beautiful as it looks, all shimmery in the glow, it will ruin the painting. The piece of art that once penetrated our heart and soul with it’s color, glow, intensity, and beauty will end up a faded, dull remnant of what it used to be.

So, don’t follow my example in the photo above! Instead, hang your painting in a well-lit room away from direct sunlight. And all will be well.