Farewell Dina Vierny
Many thanks to Bruce, Bill, and Fred, and two anonymous blog readers, for sending me the New York Times obituary of Dina Vierny, the great muse of sculptor Aristide Maillol. She passed away on January 20th at the age of 89.
Like Bruce expressed in his email to me, the relationship between Maillol and Vierny is touching on many levels. I was particularly moved by how the introduction of the then 15 year old Vierny revived the stagnating artistic career of the aging 73 year old Maillol. Never underestimate the power of inspiration, or the galvanizing effect of when the perfect muse walks into an artist’s life. It is a catalyst in the truest sense of the word.
In her adulthood, Vierny became deeply involved in the French resistance during World War II. Jewish herself, Vierny took on the dangerous work of secretly transporting fleeing refugees of Nazism into Spain. Whenever she was arrested by the French police, Maillol protected his beloved muse, and used all his connections to release her from jail and pay for her lawyer.
I recommend everyone check out the whole New York Times article. It is a wonderful read. Of course my favorite passage is this one about Vierny encouraging the elderly Maillol to tackle nude work, describes the delightful affinity they felt for each other, and explains Vierny’s eventual acceptance of modeling:
“Ms. Vierny, who was intent on studying physics and chemistry, took to the role of artist’s muse reluctantly at first, posing during school vacations and glancing sideways at her schoolbooks on a nearby stand. The generous modeling fees and Maillol’s sense of fun won her over.
For the first two years, though, she kept her clothes on, not out of modesty — she and her friends belonged to a nudist club — but because of Maillol’s timidity. She herself later proposed that he try some nude studies. “Since he never asked, I figured he would never have the courage,” she told National Public Radio last year.”
This is the voluptuous Dina in Maillol’s The River, 1943. Really intense figurative sculpture:
Dina went on to become one of the most prolific art collectors of the 20th century, approaching it with the same passion with which she did modeling, politics, and human rights. In the 1970s, as a profound tribute to her friend and mentor, she founded the Maillol Museum.
I am saddened that another great muse has left us, but what a legacy she leaves behind. Goodbye Dina . . .
Art Happenings and Link Compendium
I went a little cuckoo collecting some useful links to post for my artist readers. After pouring over the trusty Art Times publication I bookmarked several I thought would be of interest. And because I’m such a sweetheart, I’ve saved you all the trouble and linked directly to the prospectus, so you can check out the deadlines, entry fees and the like. So here I go:
Attention sculptors! The New York Academy of Art is hosting the 30th Annual Figurative Sculpture Competition. .
New York’s Hudson Valley has been an inspiring subject for art over the ages. Such a beautiful landscape for painting, especially watercolors. The Edward Hopper House Art Center is calling for entries which celebrate the Hudson region. Located in Nyack, NY, the Hopper House holds a special place in my heart, as I once hung on its walls in a nude figure exhibit 
Pastelists, I haven’t forgotten about you. Get your slides ready! The Arts Center of Old Forge is accepting submissions for its National Pastel Exhibition.
Entries of all media are welcome at Silvermine for their 60th Annual Art of the Northeast Exhibition.
My dear friend Sam Goodsell is among the judges (pastel category) for the Hudson Valley Art Association’s 2009 Exhibit in Ridgewood, New Jersey.
Photographers, I’m looking at you. Get your CD ready. SoHo Photo’s 2009 National Photography Competition is on the way.
And just a final note about an upcoming exhibit of my friend Gail Postal. A wonderful artist for whom I’ve had the pleasure of posing several times, her work will be shown at Fairleigh Dickinson University next month. She’s awesome!
Hope everyone is well, and I’ll be back very soon. Cheers!
Sweetness and Light on 39th Street
39th Street between 8th and 9th Avenues isn’t exactly one of the “must see” sections of Manhattan. In fact, I would advise tourists “must skip”, especially these days. As if 39th street isn’t ugly enough to begin with, it’s now even more unappealing with cement mixers, sidewalk detours, and a giant, terrifying construction crane that dangles over all cabs and pedestrians who dare to venture into the vicinity. Yes, some new building is being constructed, and it will be a hideous monstrosity no doubt. Until the thing is finished, the noise is an almost unbearable din.
And yet I bravely take on 39th street at least three times a week, innocently walking with morning coffee in hand, wincing from the ear-splitting jackhammers, getting sprayed in the face with some mysterious liquid, and ignoring the catcalls from construction workers. Why do I endure such indignities? Because I am posing privately for my friend Janet Cook. And Janet’s studio is on, where else, 39th Street. The building is home to many artists’ studios, and I have bumped into a few other art models in the elevator and the hallways. The spaces are great, and Janet’s room is blessed with the coveted north light so desired by artists.
So high above the ruckus of the street, Janet and I are sealed away in our own private space, impervious to the city commotion and tumult down below. With our close friendship, laughs, gossip, coffee breaks, and shared commitment to creating art, Janet and I have a wonderful time together and enjoy a little spot of heaven on New York’s chaotic West Side. And that’s tough to do!
I took some pictures of Janet’s studio I thought I’d share.
If this painting looks vaguely familiar to some of my readers it’s because you’ve seen it before, in its preparatory stages. Here it is coming to life, still in progress:
From Janet’s fabric stash, these are my current backdrops. She uses the light to reflect the colors onto my figure when posing:
I see too many artists working with oil paints without gloves. Big mistake. Janet is smart and uses them every time. That shit is toxic and carcinogenic.
The Salmagundi Art Club has an upcoming exhibit celebrating 400 Years of New York City History. This is Janet’s submission, which honors the Brooklyn Bridge. It is stunning in person:
Artists can never have too much storage space and Janet’s got plenty. And that pole dancer in the back? That’s yours truly. Also a work in progress:
Something you’d only find in Janet’s studio – a string of butterflies on a chest of drawers. I love them
And now hold onto your seats, folks. It’s time for the creme de la creme of studio snapshots. In all their riveting glory, I present to you :drumroll: my cell phone, my planner, my coffee, and a vegan cookie!! Can you feel the excitement? 
A More Perfect Union
South Carolina, 19th century:
Birmingham, Alabama, 20th Century:
Washington, DC, 21st Century:
One of my favorite gospel recordings, this is the uplifting “Mary, Don’t You Weep”, from the great Shirley Caesar and Claude Jeter. Play, tap your feet, clap your hands, get your spiritual on, and revel in the jubilation, hope, and optimism of this awesome, momentous day
Hooray for Hollywood
With Oscar season approaching I thought I’d remind everyone that art modeling once made it onto the big screen, in a big way. It may come as no surprise that my favorite scene in the 1997 blockbuster film “Titanic” was not of the sinking ship, but of Kate Winslet posing nude for Leonardo DiCaprio in a tender, playful, and very private life drawing session.
I enjoy this scene, and my seasoned and oh-so-worldly art model’s soul isn’t too jaded to appreciate it. Actually, I think it’s very well done, especially in how it conveys the motivations of Kate Winslet’s character; a teenage girl starting to connect with her womanhood, feeling attraction for a man and desiring to be close to him, yearning to be liberated, try a new experience, curious about being a subject for art, and seeking the thrill of complete and honest “exposure”. Yeah, I get it. I get all of it
The only problem with this video clip is that the editing seems to have cut out the moment when Kate first drops her gown. It’s disappointing because that is precisely the moment when a “virgin” art model discovers who she really is, when it hits her that she is standing stark naked in front of someone, unguarded and vulnerable. It’s the “showdown” moment when she either overcomes or submits to her fears, when she realizes that the experience will either make her feel powerful or powerless. The choice is simple. You either dive in or you run for the hills. It’s one or the other, you know. There’s no in between.
By the way, I have done the posing with “only a necklace” thing. It’s a nice look, except in my case the necklace has never been some rare, gigantic diamond! Rather it’s been some $5 beaded thing I bought off a sidewalk street stand in the East Village.
I doubt any male artists out there would object to Kate Winslet posing nude for their drawings. And I can’t say I’d have any objections posing nude for Leonardo DiCaprio.
Andrew Wyeth 1917 – 2009
American art has lost a giant. A painter who celebrated the rural landscapes of Maine and the Brandywine River Valley region of Pennsylvania, and whose memorable nude figurative series “Helga” stunned the art world in the 1980s, Andrew Wyeth has died at the age of 91.
You can read an excellent obituary in the Washington Post written by Bart Barnes. An excerpt from the article is particularly apropos for this blog, since Wyeth’s passing comes on the heels of a recent post I published about the abstract expressionists. My realism-loving readers will appreciate this:
“A household name in the national artistic community since the middle years of the 20th century, Mr. Wyeth rose to prominence in the same period in which the abstract expressionist painters of the New York School were establishing their mark as the mainstream artists of the era.
His work was different. The abstract expressionists did non-representational compositions, characterized by what they said was a spontaneous and self-expressive application of paint. They often worked in bright and flowing colors with flamboyant brush strokes.
Mr. Wyeth painted in pale colors, lighter shades of brown, red, yellow and black, and the shapes and objects in his pictures were concrete and easily recognizable. Houses looked like houses and people looked like people”
Wyeth resisted the fleeting trends and intense crazes of the art world. Instead, he painted the subjects which inspired him, in the style he chose, and, as a result, left us with works that are sensitive, sincere and timeless – untethered to fads, gimmicks, and the pretentious intellectualism of the elitist art community. He simply followed his pure artistic heart.
This is arguably Wyeth’s most famous, and most evocative, work. From 1948, this is Cristina’s World:
Rest in peace, Andrew.
Where’s My Backhoe?
So I get home from work tonight and see the light flashing on my answering machine. New message. It can’t be anything good or fun because it’s my home machine . . . blah. Mobile phone voicemails, now those are cool! Cool messages from cool people about cool stuff. But the home answering machine? That’s a drag waiting to happen.
Just as I suspected, the message was way creepy. It was from Washington Mutual bank, calling to inquire about a “suspicious transaction” placed on my debit Mastercard. Oh no, I thought. It must be all those kinky sex toys I bought online (JUST KIDDING!!!!!!!). Anyway, the message instructed me to call back right away because it was an “urgent” matter.
I called back and spoke to the WaMU bank representative. He asked me if I had placed an order of $4,000 to a construction equipment company in Utah. “A what?????“. Have you ever thought that something was both startling and hilarious at the same time? That was me at that moment. Unsettled that my bank card number had apparently been compromised, I was also laughing to myself that the transaction in question was for construction equipment. Read it again folks: construction equipment.
Yes, fraud has come to my doorstep. And the fraud detection system was really on the ball. It sensed right away that the spending patterns of a female artist’s model in New York City don’t generally include jackhammers, pile drivers, and backhoes. At least not four grand’s worth 
The nice bank guy on the phone said “I would cut that card up immediately Ms. Hajian”. So like an obedient girl, I took the scissors from my junk drawer and cut the bastard up. I’m a little creeped out! And to make matters worse, I now have a sudden, uncontrollable urge to drive a forklift.
Here’s a picture taken by Fred Hatt. It’s of me when I’m not sandblasting.
A Model Makes Peace With the Abstract Expressionists
In theory, a loyal, dedicated artist’s model should take exception to the Abstract Expressionists, right? It would be a justified reaction. After all, we are the subjects for figurative art, and the abstract expressionists were almost doctrinaire in their “anti-figurative” painting philosophy. You couldn’t find a group of artists who had less use for us, who declared us more irrelevant, than those guys. Is it legitimate grounds for hurt feelings? Sure, why not? It is a major dis 
The time was postwar America, and the abstract expressionist movement took the art world by storm. It was an avante-garde, largely male-driven group with a reputation as nonconformist rebels looking to shake things up in a repressive, conformist era. Based here in New York City, the abstract expressionists invited both fawning admirers and harsh detractors. And they managed to put art models on the unemployment line – temporarily at least – until we got “resurrected” in the 1960s (thank you Philip Pearlstein!).
For the record, I AM a fan of abstract expressionism. A big fan. Have been since I was a teenager. Ah, but I wasn’t an art model back then! So the question is this: has my career as an art model altered my opinion of abstract expressionism? Honestly, not much. Just a little. Because of faithful allegiance to my profession, a tiny part of my soul harbors some resentment. I”ll find myself in MoMA, for example, staring at a Franz Kline, and I start to feel slightly . . . offended. I think, “To hell with you, man! Didn’t use a life subject?? What the hell is a ‘color field’? Go screw yourself!”. Then I give it the finger, strip naked, and security comes and escorts me out of the building It sounds rather petty and juvenile, I know. But what can I say? I’m proud to be an art model, and no one likes to feel unwanted. Anyway, my bitter rant only lasts about ten seconds. Then I come to my senses and go back to just enjoying the art.
“Abstract Art” and “Abstract Expressionism” are not necessarily interchangeable terms. Most modern art IS abstract art. An artist can take a real life subject – a figure, a still life, a bird, whatever – and then abstract it (think Picasso and Matisse). The subject is always visually referenced in the work, even though it isn’t represented realistically. In some cases, if the abstraction is very heavy, the subject is barely recognizable, but still it’s there. It has to be, because the artist began with a real “thing”.
The abstract expressionists, however, went beyond that. They painted nothing that was derived from actual life. Instead, the application of the paint itself, whether through strokes, drippings, or splatterings – the very act of creation – is the focus of the work. Rather than a painting OF a subject, the painting itself IS the subject. This is not to say that abstract expressionist paintings are of “nothing”. They aren’t. The subjects may be events, emotions, actions, conflicts. The point is that they originate not from life but from the artist’s mind. It’s a key difference.
Here is a classic example of true “abstract expressionism” from its famous poster boy. By Jackson Pollock, this is Autumn Rhythm:
Some people argue that Pollock owed his entire career to the prominent art critic Clement Greenberg. A hugely influential man, Greenberg was among the critics who championed abstract expressionism and elevated the movement to great heights. Jackson Pollock was his darling, and that’s fine with me. What’s not fine with me, however, is that Greenberg ridiculed and discouraged the few abstract expressionists who occasionally chose to bring figurative elements to their work. And that’s my beef with the guy (like he’d give a shit what I think!).
Willem de Kooning was one of those abstract expressionists who sometimes created figurative works. He did a whole series in fact, entitled Woman. They are considered grotesque and misogynistic by some, powerful and provocative by others. Heck, I’m just glad he painted a woman!
This is de Kooning’s Woman III, from 1953. Certainly this image is hostile, almost violent. But I like it. I like de Kooning generally, as he is one of the most widely respected and admired of all the abstract expressionists.
Pollock and de Kooning are usually the first names that come to mind when we think of abstract expressionism. But there were many others, such as the aforementioned Franz Kline, Robert Motherwell, Barnett Newman, Clyfford Still, Mark Rothko, and even a couple of ladies, like Lee Krasner (Pollock’s wife) and, one of my favorite abstract expressionists, the wonderful Helen Frankenthaler (Motherwell’s wife).
Another highly acclaimed abstract expressionist was Hans Hofmann. This is his painting The Conjuror, from 1959:
I must include an image by my ethnic “brother”, my Armenian compatriot and genocide survivor, the great Arshile Gorky. Chronologically, he was one of the earliest abstract expressionists, and one of the absolute best.
This is Gorky’s Agony, 1947:
So in the spirit of goodwill, this proud, hardworking art model would like to break bread and offer a retroactive “pardon” to the abstract expressionists and, yes, even to that assclown Clement Greenberg. Fellas, here it is: regarding your disdain for human life subjects, your refusal to pay an art model for her valuable time, your attempts to deny our artistic purpose, and your utter disregard for faces and flesh, I pronounce you officially exonerated for your “crimes”. The truth is, I like your paintings, so I guess all is forgiven Peace, boys.
Conflict Resolution, Sabine Style
Question for the Museworthy women: Your husband and your father are about to go to war with each other. Whose side do you take? Swords are drawn and blood is about to be shed. It’s go time. Where do you stand? One man is your parent, your loving protector, the other is your provider and the father of your children. Your loyalties are torn. You could pick a side, or you could remain neutral, or you could make a case for peace, and do everything in your power to broker a truce between the warring sides. According to Roman legend, that’s exactly what the Sabine Women managed to achieve. Someone get those ladies over to the Gaza border ASAP.
As the story goes, brothers Romulus and Remus together founded a great city. But in a case of violent sibling rivalry, Romulus slew his brother and, of course, anointed himself king of the new city which he named “Rome” after himself. Populated exclusively by his male followers and soldiers, Romulus realized that Rome had no women! It was a giant stag party. No wives, no mothers. Without women to procreate, the city and it’s citizens would go extinct within a generation. So a plot was hatched to “take” women from neighboring areas, such as the Sabine region.
Romulus used a festival invitation as a ruse for the mass kidnapping. Unaware of the king’s scheme, members of the Sabine tribe attended the festival and enjoyed what seemed to be genuine hospitality. When their attention was diverted by the spectacular entertainment, the Roman army swooped in and snatched the women. The Sabine men tried to fight them off but were no match for the Romans. This event is known in art and literature as “The Rape of the Sabine Women”, the word “rape” in this case meaning “abduction”, not sexual violation.
Italian sculptor Giambologna portrays the Rape in this famous 1582 work, carved from marble:
French painter Nicholas Poussin created his version of the abductions. This is a detail of his 1635 painting which hangs in the Metropolitan Museum. You can see the terrified faces of the Sabine women as they are carried off in the strong, muscular arms of those . . . strapping . . . manly . . . oh my . . . ahem . . . very “take charge” Roman soldiers . . . oooh . . . :gets flustered: . . . mmm, baby . . . Okay, okay! Fine! Yes, I confess! I’m a little turned on!! Everyone has fantasies, right? You people caught me, are you happy? Jeesh!
:emerges from cold shower. Resumes blogging:
So where was I? Oh yeah. With a bunch of frightened women on his hands, Romulus had to make a hard sell. And it worked. He assured the Sabine women that they would have good lives in Rome, with freedoms, civil rights, and prosperity, and that Roman men would make fine husbands. With no other recourse, the women relented and settled into life as Roman subjects and dutiful Roman wives. That’s the first part of the story.
The second part is the good part. Tormented and still aggrieved over the theft of their women, the Sabine men plotted to get their women back. That plot meant only one thing: war. So the fathers of the Sabine women and their Roman husbands prepped for battle.
But this was all too much for the Sabine women to take. As if getting kidnapped and pressured into forced marriages wasn’t bad enough, now they’d have to witness either the murders of their own fathers or the fathers of their children. So what did they do? They stuck their necks out, literally. They bravely threw themselves and their children into the middle of the fray, begging, pleading, imploring the men to cease the violence, and pronounced themselves as the cause of the conflict, essentially daring the men to kill them rather than each other. Romulus’ own wife was among the protesters. The Roman poet Livy narrates the tale:
They went boldly into the midst of the flying missiles with dishevelled hair and rent garments. Running across the space between the two armies they tried to stop any further fighting and calm the excited passions by appealing to their fathers in the one army and their husbands in the other not to bring upon themselves a curse by staining their hands with the blood of a father-in-law or a son-in-law, nor upon their posterity the taint of parricide. “If,” they cried, “you are weary of these ties of kindred, these marriage-bonds, then turn your anger upon us; it is we who are the cause of the war, it is we who have wounded and slain our husbands and fathers. Better for us to perish rather than live without one or the other of you, as widows or as orphans.”
In this painting from 1799, Jacques-Louis David depicts the courageous, self-sacrificing actions of the Sabine Women with powerful imagery and stunning detail fraught with emotions. Look at the dramatic gesture of the woman’s outstretched arms, a valiant plea for peace and an end to the hostilities. And look at the other woman on the ground desperately grabbing the man’s leg. And another woman has placed her children at the soldiers’ feet. I recommend enlarging this image to fully appreciate it.
David’s The Intervention of the Sabine Women:
The bold, drastic measures of the Sabine women worked. By forcing the warring men to confront the consequences of their actions, by appealing to their emotions and getting “in their faces”, the aggressions ceased. Fences were mended and tensions were pacified. I know this is just a blog post, but I really feel sad at the conclusion of this entry – sad that we have to turn to a centuries-old mythological story to see reconciliation. Sad that the lives of women and children don’t warrant efforts toward peace in the real world today.
The Energy of Stillness
As much as I missed art modeling these past couple of weeks, this particular holiday break apparently did me worlds of good. Although I put no conscious effort into it, I somehow managed to become rejuvenated, refreshed, and extremely well-rested. A real “shot in the arm”, as they say. Getting lots of sleep will do that!
The debilitating physical effects of art modeling are cumulative in nature. They keep building up after prolonged periods of work. You get more and more fatigued and more “broken down” with each job. But it’s certainly possible to bounce back when given a substantial period of rest. I don’t mean one or two days off. That doesn’t cut it.
The real proof of my re-energized state became clear to me, and everyone else, at Spring Studio on Saturday night. It was my first job back after the holidays, and it was the notoriously tough, grueling 4 1/2 hour long pose drawing session. Under normal circumstances, say after a full week of steady work, that Saturday night Spring Studio slot is a punishing, back-breaking monster in an art model’s calendar. But last Saturday, I glided through it with ease. I held so still, comfortably and consistently, from 6:00 to 10:30, I even amazed myself! Not a single shift, twitch, fidget, hair brushback, ankle or wrist circle. Nothing. I was a human statue. Control and poise are crucial for an art model, but friends, I took it to a whole new level!
So this superhuman feat was possible not because I’m the art model extraordinaire or because I have rare capabilities. It was simply because I was rested and recharged from the holiday break. For those of you who think “What’s so hard about sitting still? It’s easy!”, think again. That’s wrong on so many levels. It requires a great deal of energy to sit immobile for hours, make no mistake about it. And a long pose is a true test of an art model’s stamina. That my body wasn’t stiff and riddled with aches and pains by the end of the night was proof positive that sleeping nine hours a day for ten consecutive days has its advantages!
Luckily, my friend Jean Marcellino was at Spring on Saturday and recorded my awe-inspiring performance And she kindly sent me an image of her wonderful drawing. Clearly, she served me as well as I served her. Thanks Jean!
Monty and the Punk
My first post of 2009 and it’s not even about art or art modeling. Instead, it’s another cat update about Kate, Monty, and the feral crew of 32nd Road in Queens. For those of you following this saga, the elusive Kate is now returning to my property on a sporadic basis. Yes, the gorgeous little diva has deigned to cross over to the south side of the street. Slumming, I guess She spends a little quality time with Monty, so I assume they’ve reconciled their relationship.
Monty, however, has a new little friend who I have named “the Punk”. The Punk is young, frisky, and rambunctious, a wild, undisciplined, immature adolescent. Monty loves him, but like all adults with youngsters, he’s not always in the mood for the Punk’s high energy antics, mischief, and insatiable need for attention.
I caught the two cuties having a moment the other day. A very cold day. And I’ve provided captions which communicate Monty’s thoughts. He is the striped boy on the right.
“Hi Punk. Please find a way to amuse yourself because I’m not in the mood.”
“Did you hear me, you silly child? I need my space. You look like a crazed maniac. Go stalk birds or something”
“Please, just let me sleep!”
“Oh no, what’s he doing?”
“Just a few quiet moments to myself. Is that too much to ask?”
“He’s behind me isn’t he? Oh joy. I’m gonna get pounced any second. I’m feral, I’m cold, the lady who feeds me is sticking a camera in my face, and I now I have this little Punk on my ass.”
