Marvin Franklin – An Elegy
A good artist captures his subjects. A great artist empathizes with them. He paints not just with his eye and his hand, but with his heart, his character, his whole life experience. He reaches out and embraces those he sees before him, and paints them not merely as an observer, but as a comrade, an ally, a fellow pilgrim on this crowded, chaotic earth. A great artist reassures his subjects, consoles them, and reminds them that they have dignity and purpose, that they are not invisible. The late Marvin Franklin was such an artist.
For those of us who knew him personally, it’s still painful to think that two years have passed since Marvin Franklin was tragically killed in the line of duty. A 22-year veteran of the MTA, Marvin was fatally struck on the tracks by an oncoming G Train in Brooklyn, New York, on April 29th, 2007.
I will never forget when I heard the shocking news. It was late in the evening. I was home relaxing, reading the paper, with WNYC radio on softly in the background. When the local news came on at the top of the hour, they reported that a transit worker had been killed on the job. Then announcer said the name, “Marvin Franklin”. What??? I gasped, jumped out of my chair, turned the volume up on the radio dial, and crouched down in front of it. Did I hear correctly? Did they really say “Marvin Franklin”? Could I be mistaken? Oh how I hoped I was mistaken. I grabbed the phone and immediately called Sam Goodsell, a close friend of Marvin and classmate at the Art Student’s League. In a shaky, hysterical voice, I told Sam what I had heard on the radio. But we needed confirmation. Sam said he was going to call over to Marvin’s house and then call me back. We hung up, and I waited . . . and waited . . . and waited. Ten minutes later the phone rang. I answered it, and it was Sam. “Yeah,” he said. “It is Marvin”. Then I cried into the phone. “Sam, no!!!” Sam was speechless. It was just the beginning of the shock and grief which would reverberate throughout the Art Student’s League and beyond, and rattle the hearts of the countless people who knew and loved Marvin – as a sweet friend, a devoted family man, and a gifted artist.
He drew his inspiration from the gritty streets of his native New York; the sidewalks, the parks, and, most significantly, the subways in which he toiled nightly. His subjects were everyday people, many of whom were the downtrodden, the impoverished, the homeless. As a former homeless person himself, Marvin Franklin related to their struggles and their isolation. He never judged, pitied, or exploited them. Instead, he immortalized them, and imbued their images with his own sensitivity, compassion, and engagement.
Marvin worked in different media, but his watercolors make particular impact on those who view them. This is one of Marvin’s finest pieces. He inserted Sam Goodsell in this composition as the man on the left:
Another noteworthy watercolor:
Highly proficient, Marvin mastered the difficult art of etching. He created many etchings based on the drawings and sketches of his notebooks:
Marvin studied under Irwin Greenberg, Dan Gheno, and Harvey Dinnerstein. I was privileged to pose for Marvin in Dan’s class at the Art Student League. Every morning I could always count on a big, yummy hug from Marvin and a bright smile. He was an absolute angel of a man. Down-to-earth, intelligent, warm, great fun to be around, and never even a trace of arrogance or attitude. Marvin knew better. His scars and life lessons taught him never to take things for granted. He said famously, and humbly, “Art saved my life”.
Here’s Marvin at the reception for the City Workers Show at the Salmagundi Art Club, where he earned first prize for one of his watercolors. A more deserving accolade I’ve never known:
Marvin’s funeral was a powerful experience. As I looked around at the immense crowd that converged in Queens that day, I couldn’t help but notice the incredible diversity of the attendees; transit workers, artists and artsy types, childhood friends, family, and Marvin’s fellow homeless advocates and community leaders. Such a striking cross-section of people spoke volumes about the man himself; a man with a heart so deep and a spirit so generous, he was capable of forming bonds with the most seemingly divergent groups of people. Few of us can claim to have such a vast reach.
We can take comfort in knowing that Marvin Franklin’s friends in the art community will see to it that his body of work is never, ever forgotten. His posthumous recognition will come. Rest in peace, Marvin . . .
Village Voice article on Marvin Franklin
A must-see video on “The Art of Marvin Franklin”, with commentary by Harvey Dinnerstein and Sam Goodsell.
Me and My Shadow
I promised my readers that I would post an image of artwork from the New York Academy as soon as I could get one. Well, I am a woman of her word. After just a few weeks of posing down there, I already have a great drawing to share with all of you. And the timing couldn’t be better, as this really helps to prod me out of my giddy blogging funk.
This pencil drawing was created in Chris Pugliese’s Friday atelier class by Barbara Fail. Barbara is a gifted artist of many talents. She draws, she paints, she sculpts, and I hope I have the opportunity to pose for her again. This one was a doozy! Yes my right arm is leaning into the wall, yes my right foot is raised, and yes the pose was tough as hell. But well worth it I’d say. Only once during the seven six-hour sessions did I have to step out of the pose completely, just to drop that arm for a few seconds and shake out my wrist. Otherwise I hung in there pretty well.
The lighting was set up beautifully by Chris, with the figure half lit and half in shadow. It was a challenge for the artists to capture the “emergent” quality of the model, materializing through subtle values of lights and darks. The standing pose being “active” adds even more interest and movement. A touch different from the garden-variety contrapposto.
So this is me in my first ever modeling assignment at the New York Academy of Art, through the eyes and hand of Barbara Fail. Many thanks to her for letting me take a picture to share on Museworthy:
Reveries and Ruminations
What has happened to Claudia the blogger?? She’s struggling mightily with her tried and true posting style, format, and verbal expression. This blog is generally pretty well thought out and maintained. One of the reasons you all visit so regularly, right? I take that responsibility seriously. But the reason I’m a little off my game is not cause for worry I assure you. It’s just that these past few days I’m so . . . preoccupied. I’m happy, so no need for concern. I’m fine, I’m fine. I’m more than fine 
I’m consumed with intensely warm and tender feelings, for the people in my life, my career as an art model, my dear friends and loving family. I feel like someone’s lit a flame under me, and my insides are stirring, swirling, fluttering. I feel awakened. How a person like me – who is hardly apathetic, indifferent or unfeeling to begin with – could possibly feel even more responsive and sensitive is incredible in itself. But it’s happened. That’s all I can say. The only thing that disappoints me is that my blissful trance is affecting my blogging. Sorry everyone. I’m in daydreamland.
I like this feeling. It’s intoxicating. No I’m not on drugs. I’m just very alive, cheerful, emotional, and kind of exhilarated. And if I analyze it to death or agonize over how long it will last, I’ll ruin it. So I’m just going to sit back and enjoy, and chalk it up as a reward for beating the beast once again. Props to me . . . and even bigger props to the people in my life who have lifted me up with their kindness, attentiveness, and support. They know who they are
William Bouguereau’s Evening Mood:
Earth Day
Time budgeting is definitely not my strong suit. There are people much busier than I am, with greater responsibilities and more hectic schedules, who do a far better job organizing their time. Sure, my days can get hectic and often involve a lot of running around, but I have no valid excuse for falling behind on errands, chores, emails, and blogging. That last one really hurts 
What’s all this about? Well, tomorrow is Earth Day, and I was hoping to compose a magnificent, impassioned blog post in honor of the event. I’m trying to participate in Bloggers Unite and bring more topical and pressing issues to Museworthy. You know, things more important than, say, my muscle pulls, my cats, and my romantic longings. Not the most riveting stuff.
So where is this poetic and elegant tribute to Mother Earth? I haven’t written it! Since freaking Saturday, I haven’t found the time. Can you believe it? I suck. And I can’t throw it together right now because I’m on my blog in a rushed fashion, wedged between just getting home from work and a pile of laundry a mile high, plus mail that has yet to be opened, calls that have to be returned, recycling that has to be sorted, yadda, yadda. I’m drowning! Help! And what about Earth Day?????
I’ve been such a scatterbrain lately. Can’t seem to get anything done. Even now, I’m typing this so fast while my eyes are darting back and forth between my laptop screen and some suspicious-looking pile of papers on my kitchen table. They appear vaguely important and they’re making me nervous. What the fuck are those?? 
Overwhelmed as I am with mundane things, I haven’t lost my ability to upload an image. In honor of Earth Day, this is Fairies of the Meadow by Swedish painter Nils Blommer, 1850:
Happy Earth Day everyone! Go green!
Concupiscence
I need Rodin tonight. The sensual, sexual, erotic Rodin we all know and love. He will do my blogging for me this one time. As open and expressive as I tend to be, I am neither careless nor impudent. Out of respect for the privacy of another, I’m going to let the image and the music communicate on my behalf. The sculpture is Rodin’s Eternal Idol. The mp3 is a track from Zeppelin II.
Peace and love everyone . . . 
My New Home in Tribeca
The “new home” part of this post title is not be taken literally, folks. Anyone who does needs their head examined. An apartment in Tribeca goes for about $1.6 million, and I subsist on art model’s pay. Need I elaborate?
I’m referring, of course, to my new professional home, the New York Academy of Art, which is located in one of New York City’s most unique and appealing neighborhoods – Tribeca. Ok, so I can’t afford a 1500 square foot loft on Hudson Street. I can still pose nude down there, can’t I? Yes, I can! And I’m happy to report that so far it’s been an absolute pleasure.
My hiring at the New York Academy couldn’t have come at a more opportune time, when my places of employment were starting to dwindle due to mixed circumstances. First, I voluntarily left the New York Studio School. My decision. Then I involuntarily left the School of Visual Arts. Not my decision. Suddenly, things got a little worrisome. One of the busiest art models in the city found herself – and her appointment planner – a bit lacking. What the hell was going on? A professional rough patch. Ack! But not to worry. Enter the New York Academy of Art, rushing in like a knight in shining armor, to whisk me away, transport me downtown, console me and reassure me, and plop my nude self onto a modeling platform. In other words, “I’m back, baby!!”.
I’ve already talked about the Academy here on the blog, but I haven’t formally introduced it to my readers. Even though the weather was drab and gloomy, I took some pictures today on my lunch break that I thought you might enjoy.
Isn’t the New York Academy so special? It gets it’s own sign down in the subway on the number 1 train! Who do they think they are, Columbia? This is the Franklin Street station:
And there’s the name again! Emblazoned on the side of the building, looming tall and proud and conspicuous, asserting its presence to passersby:
Across the street from the school, a typical Tribeca block:
For those who aren’t familiar, Tribeca – more properly “TriBeCa” – is short for “triangle below Canal Street”. Outside of the city it’s probably most known for its annual film festival. Founded in 2002 by actor and Tribeca resident Robert DeNiro, the Tribeca Film Festival was conceived to revitalize the neighborhood after the September 11 attacks, an event which hit the downtown area particularly hard, and caused significant loss to businesses and residents. But Tribeca’s recovery has been nothing short of remarkable. It is now the trendiest and most sought-after neighborhood in New York City, and boasts many famous faces among its inhabitants.
I’ve always liked the architecture of Tribeca. Most of the buildings were originally industrial facilities or warehouses which have, over time, been converted into residential spaces and high-ceilinged lofts. The New York Academy building itself was once a textile mill. Tribeca is one of the few places where you can still see classic old fire escapes on the front exteriors. I like the way they look.
Duane Park, looking lovely in the spring:
Bread anyone? We’re on West Broadway and, lo and behold, it’s the world famous Bouley Bakery! Or Bouley Market, or Bouley something or other. Who cares, just grab a baguette and have a blast:
Even though Tribeca is a great area for wining, dining, and nightlife, I am holding a personal grudge, one that will forever associate Tribeca with heartache My all time favorite New York music venue, The Knitting Factory, left Tribeca for . . . Williamsburg, Brooklyn! Why? Because Brooklyn hipsters will not be satisfied until they ursurp and claim for themselves, ALL of New York’s beloved institutions. Damn those skakeboarding, L train riding punks!! But in my heart, The Knitting Factory will always be at 74 Leonard Street in Tribeca, along with all my cherished memories: hoards of sweaty, unshowered music fans, standing for hours because of no chairs, inattentive bartenders, and temporary deafness the morning after. Ah, the glory days.
At least Tribeca still has charming places for food and drink:
Inside our magnificent school, the New York Academy of Art. Second floor studio where I’m posing for Christopher Pugliese’s class. As the new model there, you can see I have some stiff competition 
Man, that was corny.
Fifth floor:
Fellow Academy art models, on break of course. Models love their breaks. Like, more than the average person, trust me Coffee, talking, texting, resting weary muscles. From left to right, this is Susie, Christophe, and Kimberly:
The school gallery on the first floor. I love the columns:
That’s about it for now, friends. Hope you enjoyed this little tour through downtown Manhattan and it’s terrific gem of an art school, one that I am truly privileged to be working in. So far, me and and the New York Academy of Art really like each other, and I hope the love affair continues for a long time. I’m still working at my other places too, proudly and happily I might add: The National Academy School of Fine Art, FIT, Spring Studio, etc. They’ve always been there for me, and I them. But the New York Academy is ushering in a new era in my art modeling career and I’m up to the challenge. I approach it with humility and dedication, and take nothing for granted.
I’ll see you all soon! And you’ll see me in Tribeca
Strange and Spooky Spring
Happy Easter wishes to all my readers who celebrate. To those who don’t, happy spring wishes! Here in the Northeast we’re blessed with a beautiful Easter Sunday of clear blue skies and a gentle breeze. Could be a little warmer for my taste, but I’ll take it.
I adore springtime. I start thinking about it longingly as early as January. What’s not to love about spring? We are seduced by the mild temperatures, the “buzz” in the air, the irresistible invitation to go outside at every opportunity for walking and bicycling, and the lively activity of birds and animals stimulated in pursuit of “sexy times”
For weeks I’ve been planning to write a “Spring is here!” post for Museworthy, and already started selecting very pretty – although predictable- art images for the occasion; Pre-Raphaelite, John William Waterhouse kind of stuff, with lovely barefoot lasses picking flowers in meadows and mountain valleys, gathering bundles of daffodils and dandelions, etc. But once I caught a glimpse of work by Russian Symbolist painter Mikhail Vrubel, I thought, “Hmm . . . wild!” Let’s shake things up, and take a different route, and break away from the traditional “spring is so pretty and happy and lighthearted” perception. It is all those things, it’s true, but it also has a dark, mercurial, tense undercurrent. Transformative stages always do. And a bizarre, unorthodox take on a conventional theme makes for a refreshing change.
Spring is particularly thrilling for those of us who love to garden. By March, we find ourselves chomping at the bit at the opportunity to start turning the soil and get our seeds into the ground. I especially love watching already-planted perennials come “back to life”. In my garden, those stars of spring rebirth are my beloved lilac bushes. I have two beauties going on seven years now, and they are my pride and joy. Check out Vrubel’s version of a lush, overflowing lilac garden. From 1900 this is, simply, Lilacs. Ok, maybe this is silly, but doesn’t that girl look a little like me?
Vrubel received criticism for this piece, Demon Seated in a Garden, from 1890. He was accused of “wild ugliness”, but I find it quite beautiful. Odd, weird, very unusual, maybe a touch creepy. It doesn’t repel or disturb me at all. I, like many people, often see beauty in strangeness.
Let’s finish our commemoration of springtime with a compatriot of Vrubel, fellow Russian and brilliant musical visionary, Igor Stravinsky. I owe my love and appreciation of Stravinsky’s masterpiece “The Rite of Spring” to my brother Chris, who is a tremendous admirer of Stravinsky. In fact, don’t ever criticize Stravinsky in Chris’ presence, he might just beat the shit out of you! The 1913 Paris premiere of “The Rite of Spring” is famous for the rioting and scandal that ensued, it was that groundbreaking, and unlike anything anyone had heard up until then.
It is an expressive, enigmatic, innovative work of musical composition. I was even listening to it on my iPod the other day during my long break at the New York Academy of Art. Like Vrubel’s paintings, the mood and events of the spring season are imbued with darkness, turbulence, intense power, and the “violence” that inevitably comes with change. What Stravinsky does here is pure genius. Inspired by pagan fertility rites, he communicates the rousing, the awakening, the perpetual and insistent flux of life on earth. You can almost see and feel plants aggressively pushing up out of thawing earth, flocks of migrating birds swooshing through the air, wind blowing through still-bare tree branches, and the stirring feeling that distinguishes spring from all other seasons. If you have 16 minutes to spare, listen to this track, part 1 of “The Rite of Spring, titled “Adoration of the Earth”. Pierre Boulez conducting the Cleveland Orchestra.
Got Your Back
I try to be a conscientious blogger. As much as I blog for my own enjoyment and fulfillment, I try to consider the varying tastes of my readers, and oblige them with due diligence. Some prefer art modeling stories and experiences, while others come for the little art history discussions. Still others favor my New York City and nature/animal snapshots, while others have become engrossed in my intimate personal disclosures. So I mix it up the best I can, so no one goes too long without getting a fix of their chosen material. It’s all good. While Museworthy can’t possibly be all things to all people, it can – and does – aim to please. Much like it’s author’s nature and personality. I am nothing if not attentive to my readers’ needs
Just within the broad category of art, there are more subcategories, and I think I’ve picked up on the specific tastes of many readers. There’s the Picasso/Matisse/20th century gang, the academic figurative Art Renewal Center gang, the portrait gang, the “famous muse” followers, and those who simply enjoy drawings, regardless of era or genre.
One of my oldest and most loyal readers once expressed to me that he is particularly fond of backs. (Female backs, I presume). The back is a tragically underappreciated body part. Perhaps it has been neglected because when it comes to a female figure, people generally want to see, you know, “full frontal nudity”. The goods. Always the crowd-pleaser. But many, like my dear reader friend , would argue that the back is far and away the most sensual and sexy part of a woman’s body.
Much to my delight, the title of this post serves two appropriate meanings – it introduces the following image for my friend, and also expresses my humble duty to all my readers. My pledge that I am, and always will be, aware and mindful of what’s happening here. From Jean-Auguste Dominique Ingres, this is Half-figure of a Bather, from 1807:
Art Model Funnies, Part 5
We are way, waaaay overdue for another installment of Museworthy cartoons. I’ve missed them, haven’t you? Lucky for us, I found some very cute and clever ones. And I’ve uploaded really big-ass files this time, for easier viewing and because of the captions.
From Tony Zuvela, this is a “nude” snail posing for fellow snails in art class:
A great one from Naf:
As funny as this next one is, by Jason Love, the scenario could very well take place FOR REAL among the demanding, competitive, private school-obsessed parents of New York City. No joke!
I love, love, LOVE this last one! My favorite From Khan Ham:
Playing Footsie
I woke up this morning with a footache. Is that a word? There’s headache and toothache and backache. I now officially coin the term “footache”. :adds “lexicographer” to resume: The all day, six-hour standing pose I did Friday at the New York Academy of Art is responsible for my footache. Yes, such pain and strain can last for 48 hours easily. A good reflexology treatment would be perfect right now. Reflexology is awesome! Foot massage heaven
People assume that art models always have sore feet, but actually we don’t – UNLESS we do six hour standing poses, of course. But under normal circumstances, models divide their time among shorter standing poses, sitting, and reclining. Hence the pain is dispersed throughout the entire body. Much better! :saracastic:
The feet are the ignored, forgotten workers during quick standing poses, and artists are too busy capturing the body’s gesture that they pay little attention to them, sketching them in only as vague, generic, boot-like shapes that require just a couple of pencil strokes. No detail, no character. How sad! Come on, guys, let’s give props to the feet – down below, overlooked, inconspicuous, too pedestrian to pay any mind (get it? Too “pedestrian”? Haha).
Think about how critical the feet really are in creating the overall look of a standing pose. Just lifting a heel changes the entire appearance of the leg. Placing full pressure down on a heel solidifies the body’s weight in that leg. Positioning a foot rotated outward, dancer-style, turns the leg beautifully to enhance inner and outer thigh muscles. And balance? I don’t even know where to start with balance. Yes, much of it comes from the core muscles, but the feet must also cooperate. It’s essential. With me, for example, my core is pretty strong but my ankles are small and rather weak. I’ve often felt stable in my abs but still lost my balance due to my wimpy feet.
To honor the art model’s unsung working feet, here are some pictures of me doing standing poses, taken by Fred in his studio. Just the FEET of standing poses. The old reliables. No hips, no torsos, no arms, no faces. Can you determine what’s happening above, out of sight? Hmm . . . mysterious. Consider the shadows, the weight shifts, etc. Our fun little Museworthy game
Lydia Delectorskaya – Matisse’s Last Muse
A nude woman, one who stirs creative inspiration, locked in a studio with a male artist, growing closer and more intimate each day, is a recipe for a sexual affair. It’s happened countless times. So it’s logical to assume that a model-dependent artist like Henri Matisse spent equal time seducing his models as he did painting them. Seems to come with the territory. But unlike many of his peers (namely the predatory Picasso), Matisse abstained from sexual affairs and kept his relationships with his models largely platonic. This is not to say that Matisse was an angel or devoid of a sex drive. He just wasn’t particularly lascivious and exercised comparatively more self-control than you-know-who
This was not, however, any comfort to Madame Matisse, who was still threatened by her husband’s close relationship with Lydia Delectorskaya. A golden-haired beauty from Siberia, Lydia was orphaned at a young age, and managed on her own wits and mettle to flee Russia in its tumultuous post-Revolution years. Somehow she ended up in Nice, France, broke, with no job or connections. As luck would have it, Lydia found employment in the Matisse household as both a studio assistant and domestic.
Matisse’s gentle and civilized manner was a welcome tonic to Lydia’s rootless and itinerant early life. She had met many unkind and untrustworthy people along her journey and endured some hard times, but in the company of Matisse, she found solace and a beneficial, positive influence. Hilary Spurling’s acclaimed and exhaustively researched biography on Matisse, contains great insights into the relationship between Lydia and Matisse. Here’s an excerpt:
It was not for another three years that the painter asked her to sit for him. Lydia was 25, Matisse was 65. She thought of him as a kindly and polite old gentleman because (unlike previous artists, who had taught her to detest modeling) he never pawed at her or tried to take off her clothes. “Gradually I began to adapt and feel less ‘shackled,’ ” she wrote, “ . . . in the end, I even began to take an interest in his work.” . . . Matisse said he came eventually to know her face and body by heart, like the alphabet. The collaboration they established together gave Lydia a new sense of power and purpose.
Matisse’s famous 1947 portrait of Lydia:
Although Lydia insisted that the relationship was strictly platonic, Matisse’s wife was jealous nevertheless. A spouse’s intimate bond with another, even if purely professional or emotional, is often greater cause of jealousy than sex. And the already rocky marriage of Matisse and Amelie was put to the test. Given an ultimatum, “It’s me or her”, Matisse chose his wife over Lydia. The issue was settled, right? Wrong. Madame Matisse still could not get over her feelings of betrayal, and in 1939 she left her husband after 40 years of marriage.
Lydia in the studio:
Lydia returned to her role as Matisse’s studio assistant, and the two friends together braved the turmoil of World War II, and the German invasion of France. They were the closest companions for the rest of Matisse’s life, with Lydia acting as both caretaker and assistant, doting on Henri, seeing to his comfort, keeping him vital, and supporting his later artwork, notably his historic paper cutouts.
Toward the end, the faithful Lydia tends to the frail, aging Matisse:
The bond between Lydia and Matisse proved to be unbreakable. Steadfast, she stayed by his side until his last breath. Again from Spurling’s excellent book, this quote describes their last tender moment, the artist’s final sketch of his trusted and devoted muse:
Matisse died on November 3, 1954. He was 84. The day before, Lydia had come to his bedside with her newly washed hair wound in a towel turban, accentuating the classical severity and purity of the profile Matisse had so often drawn and painted. He sketched her with a ballpoint pen, holding the last drawing he ever made out at arm’s length to assess its quality before pronouncing gravely, “It will do.”
