Fighting City Hall

Longtime Museworthy readers have seen me write often, and with great affection, about Spring Studio, Minerva Durham’s 7 day-a-week life drawing studio located in Manhattan’s SoHo neighborhood. Much of the artwork posted on this blog over the years was created at Spring Studio, by artists like Fred Hatt, Daniel Maidman, Bob Palevitz, Jean Marcellino, and Jordan Mejias, to name a few. The singular, unique qualities of Spring Studio – from its founder Minerva, to its artists, models, atmosphere, social events, and corner location at Spring and Lafayette Streets – cannot be overstated. In other words, there is no other place for life drawing in New York City like Spring Studio. It is truly one-of-a-kind. This is fact, not opinion.

Over this coming weekend – Memorial Day weekend – the  city of New York in partnership with Citibank, is set to launch its aggressively-hyped Bike Share Program. This project has been the subject of much contention and debate, mainly due to the installation of intrusive bike kiosks, or “docking stations”, throughout the city. Keep in mind, this is not about folks who own a bike and want to ride around the city. This is about bike rentals, at various locations throughout the city. Because apparently our city’s vast and efficient transit system isn’t good enough all of a sudden.

Before I continue with what this has to do with Spring Studio, I’d like to digress for a moment about the state of leadership in this city – my hometown, the big mess of a metropolis in which I was born and raised. I have always believed that politicians are bad, and that politicians with obsessions are a thousand times worse. Our Mayor, Mike Bloomberg, is an obsession-riddled little creature who has demonstrated throughout his tenure that he is driven solely by those personal obsessions rather than by the principles of good governance and civic responsibility. From smoking bans and trans-fats and congestion pricing, to salt content and sugary drinks, to forcing an exception for himself regarding term limits, Mayor Bloomberg is a pampered billionaire who arrogantly believes that he is in the business of issuing king-like edicts, that he and he alone knows what is best for eight million New Yorkers when it comes to lifestyle choices. He is notorious for disregarding the sentiments of ordinary working people. He sees the city as his own personal pet project, a place that he can remake to fit his own preferences, enforced with little consideration of dissenting viewpoints and by way of fiat.

Some of the New York media has reported opposition to the Citi Bike stations as nothing more than “NIMBY” complaints of rich people who don’t want the unsightly obstructions in front of their fancy co-ops. While this may be true in some instances, it in no way tells the whole story. People’s livelihoods, community loyalty, small businesses, safety and cultural concerns all come in to play with regard to this program. Jacques Capsouto of Capsouto Freres restaurant in Tribeca, sat down on the curb to protest a bike share installation in front of his restaurant on Washington Street. And Minerva Durham, director of the beloved Spring Studio, has been protesting daily against the the proposed bike docking station in Petrosino Square on Lafayette Street. She recently sent out a mass email which details her plight and her plans for the studio. As a gesture of support, I asked Minerva for permission to share her email here on Museworthy. She said yes. I’d like to add that I have been one of Minerva’s regular models for seven years and I stand by her in this battle. She is my dear friend and employer. And I know her to be a person of passion and principle, who stands fiercely by her convictions and will go to the mat for her models, her neighbors, her fellow small business owners, her friends, and, perhaps above all, for ART. It saddens me to see her experiencing so much despair. So here is Minerva’s email, reprinted in full and with her permission. In her own voice, she describes her position like only she can:

Since Saturday, April 28, I have been protesting the theft of the art installation space in Petrosino Square by the New York City Department of Transportation and Citibank . The City administrators and the corporate bank have placed bike-share docking stations on top of the officially designated space for Public Art.  Georgette Fleischer and I had stopped the bike-rack installation on Thursday night, April  27th, but DOT secretly placed the racks during the middle of Friday night.

If bikes are operating from the stations on Memorial Day weekend , Saturday, May 25, I will lock Spring Studio for one week or until the bikes are removed, whichever comes sooner. In good weather I will have classes outside with a nearly nude or nude model, depending upon the model’s fearlessness. I will leave messages on the phone, 212-226-7240 about the times for the sessions in the park. I will have all of the morning classes in the park if it is not raining. They will be free to anyone who wishes to draw. I will also bring free materials for passersby. The studio will be open for Karen Capelluto’s show during the gallery hours, 5:00 to 6:00 pm, M-F. If the bikes remain I will reopen downstairs on Saturday, June 1, raise the prices, and cancel all plans to stay in New York City beyond the two-and-a-half years left on my lease here at 64 Spring Street.

The historic reasons for an art installation space here in this Park are overwhelming. The fact that the Park was derelict in appearance  but inviting to avant-garde and experimental artists since 1985 makes it a sacred place for everyone who is aware that their artistic output was influenced by the Fluxus movement. Just about everyone who makes art today, as well as most performing artists, express Fluxus ideas.. Think of Lady Gaga and her elaborate settings. Even the newspaper reports of my protest are couched in Fluxus concepts and language: “Elizabeth Hellman’s ballet-inspired protest…” and “In typical SoHo artist style, a woman is staging a protest near the bike rack, standing in a statuesque pose every day…” I love these descriptions that assign empowerment to the performer herself, to the genuine and truthful intention of an artist who moves and communicates. That vision of the artist comes right out of SoHo.

The idealistic thrust of the artists’ settlement in the loft buildings in the cast-iron district was central to the economics and politics of Virginia Admiral, the woman who organized 226 Lafayette in the early 1970′s. It is thanks to her, my friend who died in 2001, that I have my business in the basement here. Before she died, she said,”Keep Minerva in the basement,” a statement that could be viewed with sisterly cynicism or with a sense of humor that knows the value of real estate. The corner of Spring at Lafayette is to me the most valuable real estate in the world. But it will lose all of its value and charm if it becomes a bicycle depot. How did I get to be so lucky to have spent 21 years working on this corner? Now that the city has changed so much, is it time for me to go away and die in an obscure corner?

Virginia wanted the Park to be green. She meant plantings. It took years for the Park to be rebuilt into the inviting space that it is now. The decision was made to put art works out in the “PLAZA”  area, and to leave the fenced-in green area quiet, free of even artistic speech.  Outside, in the north triangle, people gathered around the first work installed and took pictures in a touristy way without annoying the locals who live and work here and who sit in the enclosed green space. Actually, I think that most of the locals were proud that tourists were enjoying the art. There are many Parks Department papers proving that the north triangle of Petrosino is designated for temporary art exhibitions.

Besides the historic, philosophic, and esthetic arguments for the removal of the bike stations and for the insistence on the continued presence of Art in Pertosino Square, there is a more profound and potentially more volatile reason to keep bike shares out of the park. For me it is the ultimate right-of-way turf war. I have been walking along the side of the park for over thirty years. For twenty of those years I have walked to my business at 64 Spring Street. I have rarely encountered mounted bicyclists on the pavers. If the bikes are being parked and taken out, my pleasant walk to work will become a hazardous journey. Already, the presence of the bike racks has opened up the possibility to many riders that they may ride on the sidewalk which is Park land and not a bike path. As I do my protest daily, I call out to mounted riders to “please walk your bike.” One man stayed on the sidewalk, still mounted, then circled back in the street and called out to me, “I know you. I used to live where you live at 86 Kenmare, and you are easily the most annoying person in world.”   Half an hour later I saw him riding in the street in the bike lane and we both smiled and waved at each other. Another said that I need to get laid. (Everyone needs to get laid.)

My problem is with Mayor Bloomberg, the DOT and Citibank. While many people are working on this, I feel that I have my own little war with them. It is either them or me. And, hey, he spends his weekends in Bermuda, while I am here all week long, and the weekends too. I was willing to go to jail to stop the pushcart from operating in the park, but I will die for this outrageous violation of the law and of the will of the local residents, both renters and owners of property, and shopkeepers who share with me the traditional cultural values of New York City.

I am asking you, all the people I know and love, all of those who love the studio, to support the accomplishments of the art movement that occurred in SoHo at the end of the last century and to insist to Mayor Bloomberg, the DOT and Citibank that Petrosino Square be protected from commercial activity and from moving  vehicular traffic (bikes), and that its front triangle  be supported as the Parks Department has designated it to be, as a space devoted to art installations.  I am asking those of you who have power and connections to do what you can. If you can’t help me in this, I will have done everything in my power, and I will be living with a deep sense of disappointment and disillusion.

Thank you,

Minerva

Some links:

My blog post about Spring Studio from October 2012 “Silence Under Spring Street”

From the NY Times “The Bikes and the Fury”

From ARTINFO.com the Petrosino Square anti-bike rack protest with photo of Minerva, sitting in the chair.

From CBS Local “Installation of Bike Share Docking Stations Testing New Yorkers’ Patience”

From Fox Small Business Center “One Size May Not Fit All on U.S. Bike Shares”

I will conclude this post with some of my mother’s figure drawings created at the Saturday morning session at Spring Studio, which she attends regularly. Charcoal sketches by Elaine Hajian

Free As a Bird

I crack the windows in my house and the furnace fires up. I tighten my scarf because I feel a chill on my neck. Back in February those know-it-all groundhogs predicted an early spring this year and yet it’s April and we got nothin’! This unseasonably cool weather is delaying the coming of spring and I don’t like it at all. The nip in the air just won’t go away, and it’s inhibiting my mood and activities. I think this officially qualifies as an abnormal seasonal funk

If it weren’t for the birds perched in the trees, singing their mating calls, starting to build nests, and noshing at my backyard birdfeeder, we’d have virtually no signs of spring here in the NYC area. This is why birds are awesome. They don’t give a damn. They go about their business in spite of rain, wind,  cold, providing visual and audible signs of energetic life even when the ground remains hard and dry and tree branches are still without leaf buds. Regular Museworthy readers may have noticed that birds pop up often on this blog in one form or another. Artistically and spiritually, I find them agents of cheer, beauty, and optimism. Right now as I write this post, I can see birds jauntily flitting through the trees outside my window and two plump robins digging for worms on my neighbor’s front lawn. Rock on my little feathered friends

So to honor of the only creatures willing to carry on with springtime ebullience, here are a few birds of art created by some great masters.

Two Studies of a Bird of Paradise, by Rembrandt. Beautiful in pen and ink:

The Kingfisher by Vincent van Gogh:

Bird Returning to it’s Nest by Georges Braque:

The cutest owl drawing I’ve ever seen, this is Albrecht Durer’s The Little Owl:

The Promise, by one of my favorite surrealists Rene Magritte:

And last but certainly not least, a bird by Picasso, work “Untitled”:

Navel-gazing

For the past couple of days I’ve resisted writing a blog post about the latest stunt at the Museum of Modern Art. The “performance piece” can be summed up thusly; Tilda Swinton sleeping in a box. You all know the actress Tilda Swinton? Well it’s her. Clothed. Sleeping in a box. At this point I should mention that the admission fee for MoMA is $25. The title of this piece is “The Maybe”, as in “maybe I can find something better to do with my time and money”.

If you’re curious to see images of Tilda sleeping in the box please click on the above link, or check out the ample coverage of this “event” in a Google News search, because I really don’t want to post them here on sweet old Museworthy. After all, this is an ART blog. <— burn!

So without embarking on a rant-like objection to this kind of gimmickry into which the contemporary art scene has sunk, or going into a lengthy jeremiad about the cynicism and soullessness that has crept into the art world in general, I’ll just say that Tilda’s shtick bothers people if only because it embodies the worst kind of navel-gazing. Since it’s Tilda’s piece, she could have hired a model or any other interesting individual to take a nap in a box. But she decided to do it herself, which makes it very difficult to dispute the sheer self-regard that seems to lie at the root of this piece. And extreme self-regard, to me, is just an inherently boring and off-putting quality. That’s all I’m saying. Tilda can certainly do whatever she wants, and no one is being forced to attend her “performance”.

I may be a professional artist’s model but it’s doubtful anyone would pay to see me sleep in a box, although they have seen me sleep on the modeling platform at Spring Studio. Just a couple of times And I too engage in a lot of navel-gazing in my work, but in the literal sense. So allow me to share the art model’s version of navel-gazing, brought to us by two of my favorite artists who also happen to be very dear friends.

My torso by Daniel Maidman:

Me reclining, by Fred Hatt:

A Little Chagall

Helloooo friends! Hope you all had a great weekend. Mine was lovely. I posed for my last booking with Peter Cox, a modeling job I enjoyed immensely, and attended the Fountain Art Fair where I hung out with my pal Daniel Maidman. Throw in springlike warmer temperatures and now longer days, life is fine and fabulous

I’m flying out the door soon to pose for Mario D’Urso”s sculpture class but would like to post a quick Music Monday before I go. My oldest and dearest friend is a huge fan of Marc Chagall. Sadly, she and I are estranged and have not spoken in over two years. She used to read this blog regularly but I don’t know if she still does. In any case, I’d like to post this charming, colorful lithograph by Chagall titled The Accordionist, in the chance she might see it. I want her to know that I think of her often and hope she is as happy as I am these days. Miss you S. With love, sincerely, Claudia. xo

Becoming Found

Greetings friends. I hope this blog post finds you well, at peace, and still joyful from the holiday season. Monday night, I attended Christmas Eve services at St. Bartholomew’s Episcopal Church on Manhattan’s east side. Ten years ago my presence at that church, or any church, would have been highly improbable. On several occasions on this blog and in my other writings, I have alluded to, even discussed a bit, the “dark” stage of my life; my struggles with depression and anxiety, my exasperating inability to find peace and personal fulfillment, and my difficulty coping with losses and emotional pain.

As I walked toward St. Bart’s on that chilly, rainy night, my mind, my soul – my entire being – became swelled with thoughts; thoughts of how my life’s journey has unfolded over my 44 years, where I’ve been, where I am now, and where I might be going. I thought also of the grave plight of my fellow Christians in the Middle East and how the Western world is willfully turning a blind eye to their persecution. I thought of people everywhere; the ambitious, the destitute, the brave, and the misguided.  My heart began to ache, and part of me wanted to fall to my knees and kiss the pavement of Park Avenue.

Inside St. Bart’s, a magnificent structure of Byzantine architecture, the pews were filled to capacity with New Yorkers who came to worship. Our voices and the voices of choir members rang out like heavenly bells as we sang “O Come All Ye Faithful”, and the Rev. Buddy Stallings delivered a poignant sermon about hope and eternal light, about being lost and becoming found, and how even though we don’t always seek God, he always seeks us.

I never paid much mind to the notion of being “found” after having been lost, certainly not in the religious Christian sense. But it came to me, gradually, over the past several years. In fact, it snuck up on me and wove its way into my life in the most quiet, discreet way imaginable until I finally became aware of its presence and decided to pay attention. Consider it the slowest, steadiest blindside to ever take place.

Gouache sketch of me by Jonathan, created at Spring Studio:

For those who care to listen for a brief eleven minutes, here is Rev. Buddy Stallings’ Christmas Eve sermon, aptly titled “Forever Light”. And I invite all of you to share in the comments any creation – book excerpt, sermon, poem, article, work of art, piece of music – that holds for you the answers to your spiritual questions, gives you hope, or best reveals your understanding of life’s purpose. I’d be honored to read your contributions.

Abundant blessings to each and every one of you. Let’s meet here one more time before 2012 comes to an end. See you Monday, friends!

1:00 AM Post

Helloooo Museworthy. May I post for no other reason than to say hello to my darling readers? Of course I may, it’s my blog! In the early days of Museworthy I used to do that a lot. I’d log on right before bed, ramble some meaningless nonsense for a few sentences, and maybe post an image if I had one to share. But that was before I was the seasoned, proficient blogger I am now Just kidding of course. I was, and still am, your humble muse.

Here’s a sweet little pencil drawing of me by Susie, created last Monday night at the National Art League, local life drawing in Queens just a three minute drive from my house. During this 20 minute pose, my mind was consumed with rapturous thoughts of a special someone:

I’m a very happy girl these days. Looking forward to the holidays with warmth in my heart and joy in my spirit. I am blessed both personally and professionally, and if I could pass on my precious contentment to all of you I would. Maybe I already do a little bit, here on our little corner of the big wide web.

Hope everyone is well. See you again very soon friends

Thankfulness, Every Day

Apart from the historical implications, Thanksgiving, and its attendant spirit, has always been a warmly welcomed holiday in my heart. Why? Because gratitude comes easily to me. It’s one of my better qualities Certainly we should all be grateful every day of the year and count our blessings consistently, whether they be blessings of selflessness or self-worth, needs fulfilled in ourselves or needs we fulfill in others, opportunities to give, to provide, to inspire, to heal, or simply experience joy and discovery. And oftentimes even the smallest kind gestures can prompt a surge of gratitude that will change your outlook and reset your priorities, if they need resetting.

I am especially thankful this Thanksgiving and can sum it all up in one word: love. Love of my family, friends, and my rekindled old flame. Love of my modeling profession and my good fortune to actually make a living at it. The day before Thanksgiving I posed for the afternoon session at Spring Studio. Afterwards, a nice young man named Andy approached me and offered to give me the small portrait drawing he did of me on the final pose. How nice! I was thankful, but he too was thankful that I accepted. It pleased him so much to give me the drawing. Gratitude is everywhere.

Andy’s pen drawing of me, for Thanksgiving. Looks like a profile on a Roman coin. Love it.

Hope you all had a marvelous Thanksgiving, my friends. See you soon!

“If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough.”

– Meister Eckhart

Klee’s Ghost

So remember a few days ago when I was gearing up for a jam-packed modeling schedule? Well that has since been altered a bit, courtesy of hurricane Sandy. And by “a bit” I mean all my classes this week have been cancelled thus far. If FIT cancels tomorrow, which seems likely, then the whole week is a bust. Funny how things work out. But there’s nothing funny at all about the catastrophic damage inflicted by the storm, particularly in the New York and New Jersey area. I’m sure most of you have seen pictures of the devastation. People have died, homes have been destroyed, and our vast, complex transit system has been brought to its knees.

I was incredibly lucky in that my little section of Queens did not lose power. It’s a miracle really. As long as I’ve lived here, we have been susceptible to power outages during severe weather. It’s almost guaranteed, that’s why it’s amazing that we made it through this particular storm. My mother, however, was not so lucky. Her Queens neighborhood is without electricity, heat, and internet.

Today is also Halloween, but a somewhat compromised one. Kids in ravaged areas can’t go trick or treating I was going to post some spooky art images in honor of this “lost” Halloween, but my friend Fred Hatt already published a superb post that I couldn’t possibly compete with. I highly recommend clicking the link and visiting Fred’s rich, inspired collection of death and horror imagery. A marvelous assortment of works.

I will present just one offering of spectral theme. An atypical, unconventional one from a modern artist I’m quite fond of, the Swiss-born expressionist and surrealist Paul Klee. From 1931, this is Departure of the Ghost, in watercolor, gouache, pen and ink. It’s a strange, minimalist apparition. I can’t explain why I like it. I just do.

I hope all my readers who were in the path of Sandy are safe and well. Happy Halloween everyone! I’ll see you all real soon

Life is Beautiful

Every day . . . something to feel, something to experience, something to trouble or uplift, to sadden or gladden, to depress or inspire. I hope you’ve all been as fully, deeply engaged with life and all its fluctuating, erratic effects as I have been these last several days. In the middle of highs and lows one can find the counterbalances. For modeling, I exhaust my body to the point of physical pain, but my hard work is  acknowledged, appreciated, and begets the creation of art. I find, to my great horror, Prince the cat dead in the street after having been hit by a car. But I found him. Me. His adoptive mother. I removed him from the street and gave him an intimate, spiritual burial in my garden – the same garden in which he was born as a wild feral 3 1/2 years ago, under the hydrangea bushes. Prince is back home. My grief is swirled up with a sense of consolation that, purely by chance, I happened to be driving on that very street and was able to retrieve him before he got smashed by more cars. Or maybe it wasn’t “chance” at all. Family strife gets hot, then calms, then gets hot again. But we always manage to work it out. And an old flame who is back in my life, has shown me the joys of re-connecting. With wondrous delights, laughter, and thoughtful beautiful sharings, he and I are healing past pain and remembering the things that bonded us the first time around, and forging new bonds as well

It frustrates, it thrills, it worries, soothes, inflicts grief, elation, fear, and happiness, but through it all, perhaps in spite of it all, life is beautiful . . .

For my Momma’s birthday today, her favorite, Edgar Degas. At the Cafe des Ambassadeurs, pastel, 1885:

Silence Under Spring Street

It has long been my favorite place to model. Unique, authentic, true to the spirit of life drawing, Spring Studio is a little hidden gem in a blustering giant of a city. I use the word “hidden” not to suggest that it’s unknown. It’s very well-known in the New York art community. It is hidden in that it resides underground, literally in a basement space. Just feet from the Spring Street stop on the Lexington line subway, artists and models descend a staircase to enter the studio. Except in the very cold weather, the street door is always left open to allow air circulation. It also, for better or worse, allows for the myriad sounds of the city to travel down into our special space. For an operation that demands absolute quiet when model sessions are in progress – cell phones must be turned off, iPod volumes kept low, no talking, no disruptions – this is a very funny paradox.

I can’t emphasize enough how close the studio is to the street, its existence in a basement notwithstanding. The streets of SoHo are small, too small really to handle the traffic and activity. The area is crammed, almost claustrophobic at times. During the day, at our busy corner of Spring and Lafayette, the open street door means blaring taxi horns, chattering shoppers, revving motorcyclists, delivery trucks unloading, banging, clanging, and deafening jackhammers from the endless – and I do mean endless – construction taking place throughout the city. And then there’s the subway itself, which rumbles basically right alongside us. The model on the platform can feel the vibrations mid-pose. And at night, especially on Thursdays through Saturdays, the open door sends down the voices of revelers, tourists, and loitering smokers, often after enjoying a libation or two at the many so-called “hotspots” of the trendy nabe. Sometimes it’s laughter, sometimes it’s snippets of a conversation, sometimes it’s even a lovers’ quarrel.

Remember folks, this is New York City. This town bellows out more noises – some recognizable, some not – than you can imagine. Yet still, amid all the urban cacophony, life drawing persists in Spring Studio, the artists’ eyes and hands remain focused, blissfully impervious. They are undisturbed, unruffled. Noise? What noise? There is “silence” under Spring Street

Created at Spring Studio on Thursday morning, these are my quick poses, my movements and gestures captured in pastel and conte by the delicate, effortless hand of Bob Palevitz:

The Animated Life

animation |ˌanəˈmā sh ən|
noun
1 the state of being full of life or vigor; liveliness : they started talking with animation.
• chiefly archaic the state of being alive.
2 the technique of filming successive drawings or positions of puppets or models to create an illusion of movement when the movie is shown as a sequence : [as adj. ] animation techniques | animations as backdrops for live action.
• (also computer animation) the manipulation of electronic images by means of a computer in order to create moving images.

Several years ago, in the earlier days of my full time modeling career, I was approached by a very nice young guy named Tom, a student in Dan Gheno’s painting class at the National Academy. We had a conversation in which Tom asked me if I’d be interested in modeling for life drawing sessions at his workplace. Eager for all and any kind of work in those days I blurted out, before he even finished his sentence, “Yeah! Sure!”. I knew nothing about the gig, mind you. When Tom told me that I’d be modeling at Blue Sky animation studios in White Plains, NY, I was momentarily perplexed. Intrigued, but perplexed. Life drawing? For animators? They do that? Tom explained that it was a weekly event for him and his coworkers – every Wednesday night at 6:00. Sounded good to me. I gave Tom my contact info and soon I was booked for modeling at Blue Sky Studios.

I vividly recall my first impressions. A great big facility with a palpable creative energy in the air. Computers everywhere. Darkly-lit screening rooms behind every door. Loungy. Informal. Clean and modern. Lots of cushioned chairs. The drawing session was well-attended, with animation artists gradually filling the room, sketch pads and pencil sets in hand. I couldn’t help but notice that the atmosphere was male-dominated. I say that not to provoke some sexism argument. Just making an observation, one with which I have no problem by the way. Another noteworthy observation about the group? Young. Or let’s say “youngish”. I’m not certain, but I don’t think anyone was over 35, which meant that the model was probably the oldest person in the room! Dammit But I did my thing in front of the fellas – my audience of polite, respectful, casually-dressed laid-back guys. Glasses, jeans, sneakers, backpacks strewn across the floor. Smiles. No easels, no tables. Drawing on their laps.

But the most significant observation I took away from my first time modeling at Blue Sky was this: those guys can draw the figure. Oh man, can they draw the figure. That this was even a revelation to me makes me feel like kind of a jerk. When I strolled around the room on a break, sneaking a peek at the sketchpad pages, I was blown away. Gorgeous lines, beautiful proportions, stylish, fresh. So artistic. So full of movement and life and spontaneity, and a kind of effortlessness you don’t always see in traditional fine arts classes. They had requested for the session mostly short poses – one minutes, twos, fives – and after looking at their drawings I understood why. To those guys, gesture poses aren’t just “warm-ups”. Gestures ARE drawings.

Among the many things I have learned in my art modeling career is that life drawing is, and has been, a respected practice for people who work in the animation field. I owe this discovery to Blue Sky. I recently came across an excellent article about acclaimed Disney animator and director Art Babbitt, and the life drawing sessions he organized at his home during the 1930s. Babbitt, who won 80 awards for his work, was the animator of the Wicked Queen in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Gepetto in Pinocchio, and the character Goofy, just to name a few.

Life drawing class for Disney Studios animators, taken from the above linked article:

The article is a terrific read. Babbitt, who served as monitor for the life drawing sessions, hired models from the Chouinard Art Institute in Los Angeles, paid them 60 cents an hour, and made sure that the animators -again, all men – didn’t misbehave or act inappropriately.

The Blue Sky Studios job is not a frequent modeling gig, but an enjoyable, quality one. They have since moved to a facility in Greenwich, Connecticut, have many projects in the works, and of course, continue to hold life drawing sessions. They pay the models extremely well, cover our Metro-North train travel expenses, and treat us with great respect. As for sweet Tom, the guy who referred me to the job in the first place? He has since moved to California to work at Pixar. We haven’t kept in touch, but I hope he’s having a marvelous time out there

Days in the Atelier

Greetings on a Sunday evening! I hope this blog post finds you well. My most substantial art modeling job of the summer has come to an end – five weeks posing for Robert Armetta’s figure drawing atelier at the Long Island Academy of Fine Art. It was a top-notch experience. These intensive classical drawing sessions never cease to amaze me. As the model who sees and hears all, I can’t help but be impressed by the focus and dedication that goes into that kind of painstaking practice. Gosh those people work hard. Almost as hard as the model

The primary goal is to train the artist’s eye. Shapes and proportions provide the visual keys to representing the form, and the light reveals those forms. The human body is all forms, after all. Forms of muscle mass and underlying bone, creating relationships and contours, some of which are obvious, others more subtle. Artists in the classical tradition believe that drawing is the crucial foundation of painting, for it is through drawing that one’s ability to perceive forms – and mold those forms – is developed.

Robert and I set up a pose that would offer the class enough variations in forms without being too complicated. Then, with some perfectly angled lighting, we had a figure study that pleased the class very much. I found the pose fairly easy to hold. Maintaining my posture was the challenge, and I felt only minor lower back discomfort toward the end of each four hour session. Believe me, I’ve done much worse! Most of the class worked in charcoal, but some used graphite.

Three of the atelier students agreed, enthusiastically, to let me post their works here on Museworthy and I am happy to do so. The problem with drawings such as these is that the delicate qualities and detailed workmanship are less discernible on computer images than they are in real life. I’m sure you artists out there know how difficult pencil drawings are to photograph. They are best appreciated when viewed in person. But it worked out nicely that I have three images of the pose from three different perspectives.

This is Gerry’s drawing. She was working the closest to me, just a few feet away behind me and to the right. Very beautiful:

Smadar had a front view that presented a lot of foreshortening. She certainly handled it well. I love the light on the shoulder and collarbone:

And here is my friend Daniel’s piece. I really love the way he did the shadow shape on the stomach and front of the torso:

It was gratifying to pose for this atelier class and I hope I have the honor of doing it again. This week another group of artists awaits me – a figure painting workshop at the New York Academy of Art, taught by Maggie Rose. It will be my first time working with Maggie so I’m looking forward to that. Just one more week of art modeling duties and then . . .  can I say it? . . .

v a c a t i o n

String Theory

Hello darlings! It’s almost 2:00 in the morning and I’m still wide awake and on the computer even though I have work in a few hours. Yeah, I probably should sleep a bit between now and then, ya think? The problem is that I’m all backed up – with emails, writing projects, yapping on the phone, mixed in with trying to watch the Olympics, exercising, still haven’t done any shopping for Martha’s Vineyard vacation in August, doing laundry, wasting time on Twitter, and anything else you can name. I can’t time budget, AT ALL. I suck.

I have a 12 hour modeling day scheduled on Monday. I’ve gotta hustle from Glen Cove, Long Island to SoHo in Manhattan. It’s all good. I can handle it – with some SLEEP of course. But before I hit the hay I’d like to present a quick Music Monday. I came across this terrific Degas drawing while perusing around on Tumblr, which is a great place for browsing and discovery by the way. This is Study of a Violinist:

To accompany this image, I present some extraordinary music from an extraordinary composer. Regular Museworthy readers are well aware of my reverence and admiration for this man. It’s Beethoven and his remarkable Late String Quartet compositions, Performed by the Emerson String Quartet, this is No. 14 in C Sharp Minor, Op. 131, allegro molto vivace. Genius, passion, complexity, Beethoven’s Late String Quartets are truly singular works, astonishing in their intricacy, potency, and emotional depth.

Catch you all soon!

Linocuts by Lill

This week’s Music Monday is a special treat for me, although I’m sure many of you artists, creatives, and Museworthy darlings will appreciate it too. As you may know, my recent experiences in printmaking class have introduced me to the joys of making linocuts and woodcuts – relief printing techniques. As much as I enjoyed learning intaglio, relief really won me over. Imagine my delight – excitement actually – when I stumbled upon an image for Music Monday that is the work of a tremendous printmaker I never knew of until now. She is Swiss-born Lill Tschudi, and if she were still alive I’d write her a fawning fan letter. Tschudi worked primarily in lino, short for linoleum, which is a material commonly used for floor covering, made of linseed oil and cork. In printmaking it is carved into fairly easily with cutting tools. For color prints Lill Tschudi used multiple blocks, inking each one with a different color and printing on top of each other to achieve the desired effect. Very labor-intensive process.

Here are two music themed linocuts by Lill Tschudi:

The Cornelia Siegel FIne Art Gallery is the exclusive representative for Lill Tschudi’s prints. Visit their site for more images by this gifted linocutter. And check out this beauty from the Met Museum collection. As for me, I’m on my own now since class has ended and I’m without the guidance and instruction of my wonderful teacher Lisa Mackie. But it’s all good. I’ll buy a set of carving tools and some lino blocks from the art supply store and just let it rip and see what happens! My composition skills could use some help. But if I can create one decent, artistic print within a year I’ll be happy

Horsing Around

“A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!”

- Richard III, Act 5, Scene 4

Richard is in dire circumstances when he speaks those words. Knocked off his horse during the Battle of Bosworth Field, his fate is soon sealed. A cry of desperation, Richard is suddenly vulnerable and at the mercy of his enemies, all because he is without his horse.

Before I continue I should share the reason for this horse-inspired post. Tonight my Mom’s Mother’s Day gift will finally take place. I’m taking her to see the Tony Award winning play “War Horse” at Lincoln Center’s Vivian Beaumont Theater. She’s excited, I’m excited, excitement all over the place

Man and horse have an intimate relationship that dates back for many millennia. In battle, in work, in history and literature, horses have provided faithful companionship and been there for us through thick and thin. Don Quixote’s fictional horse was the skinny, emaciated Rocinante, whose fidelity and temperament made up for his lack of beauty and athleticism. In real history, Alexander the Great had an extremely close bond with his horse Bucephalus, a true “war horse” of ancient times. Alexander fell into a profound state of grief over the horse’s passing and even named a city in his honor, Bucephala. The mad Emperor Caligula treated his white stallion Incitatus as if he were a human of equal legal and social stature. Caligula had the horse attended by a team of 18 personal servants, threw birthday parties for him, and allegedly planned to make him a member of the Roman senate. But of course Caligula, notoriously, was not of sound mind. And that’s putting it mildly.

Beautiful, strong, elegant animals, horses are loved by almost everyone, and Edgar Degas was no exception. It’s even more perfect that my Mom is crazy about horses AND Degas. So this post is pretty awesome for her.

In this lovely horse study we can see that Degas is working it out, trying to get the anatomy, forms, and appearance of the horse just right. Horses have a very distinct bearing and artists should focus on capturing the horse’s posture and comportment if they want to depict the animal well:

Horse and Rider:

Degas was not a horseman himself. So why would he be so attracted to the subject artistically? The answer is clear when we consider Degas’ consistent pattern in his subject choices. Think about it. He liked movement. Ballet dancers, stage performers, nudes in active situations like taking baths, combing hair, toweling off, etc. With a few exceptions, like portraits, the vast majority of Degas’ work is focused on the gestural. It was his wheelhouse, so to speak. So the horse, with its majestic gait, agility, and strong movements, was a natural fit for Degas’ repertoire.

I love this one from the Thaw Collection at The Morgan Library. Racehorse, charcoal on brown paper, 1878:

This painting, Horses in a Meadow from 1871, looks less like a “typical” Degas. Still a beautiful scene though:

The horse is also in the news a lot lately. The racehorse “I’ll Have Another” has already won the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness, which means he has a shot at the Triple Crown on June 9th at Belmont.

Degas’ pencil sketch Jockeys:

I found this excellent article Degas at the Races for anyone who is interested. A very informative, interesting read about Degas’ experiences and evolution in painting and drawing horses.

Have a great weekend everyone! See you soon.