People I Know

After 33 years working at the National Academy in charge of building maintenance and janitorial staff, he has undoubtedly earned his retirement. We all bid a fond farewell to William the other night with a lovely reception in the school gallery where hugs, kisses, and well-wishes overflowed. Back in 2005, when I showed up for my very first modeling job at the Academy, it was William who directed me to the basement-banished Studio 5. “First day?” he asked. “Yes!!” I answered with the gung-ho enthusiasm of a  new, wet behind the ears artist’s model. “Good luck darlin’!”, William said. And I smiled. Over the next eight years William often witnessed me dashing through the hallways for quick bathroom breaks between poses, spilling coffee, asking for Band-Aids, looking for lost jewelry, and noisily pushing heavy armchairs around to set up long sitting poses. Always on hand to meet the requests of instructors, teachers, and models, William was our trusted friend. I wish him all the very best in his post-Academy life. A blown kiss for Willie to augment the kiss I already gave him on the cheek.

Still reeling from the harrowing loss of his son Ronan just one month before his third birthday, Rick Louis came here to New York City, his hometown, to visit family and friends. Rick and my brother Chris have been friends since childhood, and Rick has of course known me, Chris’s little sister, for just about the entirety of my life. All of us, along with our friend Greg, gathered for a reunion on the upper West Side where we enjoyed good food and great conversation. We were the Queens kids together again, reminiscing and sharing our favorite stories. While Rick is experiencing the unimaginable grief of a parent losing a child, he is seeking, and hopefully finding, solace in the bonds of those who love him and stand by him through his trials. Like me, Rick is a yoga enthusiast. For dear Rick, a spontaneous burst of upward-facing-dog on my kitchen floor. Namaste, friend.

Out of the blue, an email arrived with a subject memo that read “Blast From the Past”. Usually those words introduce something either very welcome or very unwelcome. In this instance it was, happily, very welcome. Again, an old friend, this time from high school. He searched for me on the Internet, which brought him where else but right here to Museworthy! Jimmy wrote the nicest note and thoughtfully attached some great old pictures of our gang. The faces of Stephanie, Heather, Leonard, Faby, and Jimmy are only partially obscured by my gigantic 80s hair! But gosh, we look so young. Ear-to-ear smiles. Exuberant. Energetic. The faces of carefree teenagers who have their whole lives ahead of them. Well, we’re all in our mid-forties now, but to assure Jimmy that we’re not old people just yet, a little fun in my living room chair showing that I can still kick up my heels like  the troublemaking high school junior I once was

All of the photos in this post were taken by the most important of the “people I know”, my boyfriend Craig. Thanks for the pics baby

Bones, Flesh, and Harmony

Those who participate in typical life drawing classes do not generally obsess about things like the latissimus dorsi (back muscle) or the anterior superior spine (bone in the pelvis). Artistic anatomy classes, which are required in most graduate art programs, involve intensive, meticulous study of the musculature and skeletal structure of the human body. The MFA students at the New York Academy of Art are fortunate to have a superb instructor like Robert Armetta, with whom I’ve had the pleasure of working with for some time now.

Posing for anatomy is a different experience for the model as well. While students make good use of classroom skeletons and écorché casts for bone and muscle observation, the model is there to exhibit, and sometimes actively demonstrate, those same bones, muscles, and connectors as they appear in a living, breathing life subject. We’re often asked by instructors to flex, twist, rotate, or create resistance so as to emphasize a particular muscle or bony landmark. For the long pose, students will draw on their paper the model as skeleton alongside the full figure. Teachers and students alike benefit greatly when their anatomy model is a seasoned professional, one who is comfortable being pointed at at close range, and who doesn’t cringe when the term “fatty tissue” is uttered during a demo. Fatty tissue???? NOOOOOO!!!!! Just kidding

Here I am in Robert’s class posing alongside my anatomy buddies - écorché cast on the far left for muscles, skeleton (who lost his head!) in the middle for bones, and the sum total of it all, yours truly, with bones, muscles, skin, a messy hair bun, the whole shebang:

It was a marvelous experience posing for this class of first year students at the Academy. The focus and dedication they displayed was impressive, and I was honored to be their model over the past several weeks. They’re well on their way. Keep up the good work guys!

Lovely drawing from the class by Chusit Wijarnjoragij:

Busty Lady

First they took measurements of my head with a sculptor’s caliper. Then they slapped slabs of water-based clay on their armatures. Then they began the process of creating portrait sculptures of yours truly. When Mario D’Urso asked me to pose for his private sculpture class in his Queens studio I jumped at the chance. I haven’t modeled for sculpture in quite a while, and Mario is a delightful, wonderful guy, so it was a no-brainer. Here’s Mario showing Lara some modeling techniques:

My booking with Mario’s group is open-ended. We’ve agreed to continue with the portrait sculptures until they are finished, with no fixed timetable. So as far as planning sessions is concerned we’re winging it from week to week, scheduling the nights according to my modeling calendar, which is very considerate of them.

Still a work-in-progress, this piece is coming along nicely. And I’m really enjoying watching the class work as I sit for them. They mold, carve, add clay, take clay away, and try to achieve a likeness in terms of features, proportions, and character.

A sculpture “bust”, by the way, usually refers to a sculpture of the subject’s head, shoulders, and upper torso. What we’re doing in Mario’s class is more accurately a “portrait sculpture” of just the head. But I couldn’t resist using “busty lady” for the post title. I thought it was funny. Or wishful thinking. Or maybe it was just a cheap ploy to get more search engine traffic

Halcyon

The noise, the noise. Must block out the noise. The voices. The incoherent words and tortured logic. Dipshit talking heads on television, opportunistic politicians, and an assortment of shrieking jackasses. Oh, you have all the answers? Forgive me, I must have forgotten that I’m supposed to capitulate to your unfailing wisdom. Because I love being lectured. LOVE IT!!!

As the human race continues its descent into soullessness and depravity, earth’s last uncorrupted souls remain in god’s other creatures – the animals. For a bit of sweet serenity during a tragic, painful time, this is Jessie and Calvin having a cat nap in my garden.

I’ll be back very soon, friends.

A Vintage Music Mag

God help the poor soul who ever accompanies me to an antiques store, vintage shop, or collectibles joint. He or she can expect to wait a long time. I’m incapable of walking past those places without going through the door, and once inside I will browse. And browse and browse and browse. If I had more space in my house, and more money, I would buy up every old piece of memorabilia and collectible thingie from a bygone era that I could find and hoard that stuff like there’s no tomorrow. A commemorative ashtray from the 1901 World’s Fair? Hell yeah. A French perfume bottle from the 1890s? Absolutely. A tortoiseshell ladies hair comb from 1915? Bring it. A Honus Wagner baseball card? No brainer.

A few weeks ago I was in New Hope, Pennsylvania to view the “Naked in New Hope” art show. Afterwards my Mom and I strolled the town and enjoyed its many charming shops. In one of the antiques stores a table of vintage magazines commanded my attention, in particular an old music periodical from 1920 encased in a plastic sleeve. It was called “The Etude”, and at the price of a mere twelve bucks I knew I had to bring it home. It also occurred to me that it might make a nice subject for a Museworthy Music Monday. See how I’m always thinking about my readers? Faithful blogger at your service

Articles on composers, lessons in music theory, practice songs and exercises, contests, ads for conservatories, private instruction, and those cool old things called phonographs, “The Etude” is a lovely little mag. Aside from the yellowed paper and some minor tears in the pages, it’s in pretty good condition.

Seasonal Shift

Hello? Anybody? Yoo hoo! Who runs this blog? Is there a blogger in the house?!

Howdy gang. I’m back! Martha’s Vineyard was wonderful as I knew it would be. In fact, I probably should have stayed up there since I came home to a pipe flooding basement situation in my house. What a lovely welcome home. But it’s being taken care of as my life transitions from a week of beaches, jeeps, reading, and shell collecting to home repairs, dentist appointments and, of course, art modeling.

So the September groove begins. Whether or not I’m ready for it, it’s here. And my modeling calendar is written up with FIT, Spring Studio, the New York Academy of Art, private sessions, and many other bookings. Yes, it’s here. Later this month we will also see the commemoration of Museworthy’s fifth year. Last year’s fourth was a special one. My god, how the time flies!

I’ve uploaded my Martha’s Vineyard photos on Flickr. Here is one of those photos, a picture of the clay cliffs at Gay Head, located at the westernmost end of the island. They are a sight to behold.

Happy Labor Day everyone! I really missed you guys, and this blog, while I was away. I hope you all stick around for fresh new blogging, new art, thoughts, and ideas here on Museworthy. Oh, and nudity. Don’t forget the nudity

Homer and the Pigeons

Hellooooo everyone!!! I’m sorry I haven’t blogged all week. Just been immersed in the painting workshop at the New York Academy of Art and trying to gear up for my escape to Martha’s Vineyard. Right now I have about ten minutes to post something for you all and then head off to our last day of the workshop, which has gone wonderfully by the way.

I saw this Winslow Homer painting in the American Wing galleries at the Met. I’m a Homer fan anyway, but this particular painting moved me very much after I read its background and description on the wall text. Given the strained mood of our country right now it seems especially poignant and apropos. From the Met’s curators:

The Veteran in a New Field, 1865

Painted soon after Robert E. Lee’s surrender on April 9th, 1865, and President Lincoln’s assassination five days later, Homer’s canvas depicts an emblematic farmer, revealed to be a Union veteran as well by his discarded jacket and canteen at the lower right. His old-fashioned scythe evokes the Grim Reaper, recalling the war’s harvest of death and expressing grief at Lincoln’s murder. A redemptive feature is the bountiful wheat – a northern crop – which could connote the Union’s victory. Referring to death and life, Homer’s iconic composition offers a powerful meditation on America’s sacrifices and its potential for recovery

Not quite as profound, here is a picture I took of some pigeons hanging out on the ledge on the Fifth Avenue facade of the Met. Oddly, they had no opinion of the Homer or of art in general

Photos at 44

So it seems that I started a minor shitstorm with my last post. Oops. Well, whatever. I’m not going to think about it today. It’s my birthday. And what a gorgeous day it is! I plan not to breathe any indoor air until the sun goes down. I modeled yesterday, then afterwards my family took me out to dinner to my favorite vegan restaurant because they’re awesome like that.

When I came home from our lovely evening I found myself in a strange mood. Maybe it was the wine Anyway, people often tell me that I don’t post enough pictures of myself on this blog. So last night, in a somewhat bored, tired, and tipsy state, I took a few in front of my laptop. I’m so lazy I made no effort whatsoever to create a real photograph of artistic value, or even ensure that I was fully in frame! All I did was lay down and click the button. Then I messed around with the pictures in iPhoto to give them an abstract look – and by “abstract” I mean gauzy, blurry, and distorted enough to camouflage my disheveled, bedraggled self. All kidding aside, these pictures are a fairly accurate self-portrait, believe it or not, in terms of my current state of mind and self-perception. Take from that what you will.

A rosy/orange tint to conclude my birthday series.

I know there are many comments on the Disclosure post, and I will respond to every one of them I promise. A discussion has developed and, as the blogger, I must participate. Also, thanks to everyone who sent me an email. I will reply to those as well. But I’ll do it tonight, hopefully, if that’s alright with everyone. Right now I’m just going to enjoy the day. Hope you enjoy your Sunday too! Catch you all later.

Love, Claudia

Odyssey

My birthday is just nine days away. As I approach – officially – my mid-40s, I can’t help but contemplate how I got here. By “here” I mean a full time artist’s model who works steadily, has been the subject of countless drawings and paintings, is contacted for jobs by prestigious schools and accomplished artists and, of equal value to me, regular folk who manage to make art a part of their lives and desire to work from a model. When I take into consideration the collective blessings of both serendipity and my own life choices, I am humbled beyond words. I am amazed, baffled even, at where my complicated personal journey has brought me.

A couple of weeks ago I was having a conversation in my house with my friend Greg, an artist, sculptor, illustrator, and carpenter. He asked me how I came to be an artist’s model. After a somewhat verbose reply, I told him matter-0f-factly, “Art modeling saved my life”. I gasped internally when I uttered those words. Greg wouldn’t have noticed it. But I have rarely verbalized to another person the redemptive effect art modeling has had on my life.

It has occurred to me that after four years of blogging, I haven’t fully shared with my readers a detailed autobiographical account, replete with all the slings and arrows, fears and gambles, depression, leaps of faith, and perpetual seeking that has brought me to this place in life – the place where a divorced, 40 something New York City girl with a Master’s degree in U.S. History is posing in her nude self for artists throughout the tri-state area. Perhaps I need not tell the entire story. Does it really matter in the whole scheme of things? It would be – or could be – tedious. I guess my approaching birthday has caused me to reflect and ruminate, and has reinforced the profound gratitude I feel toward this life and its people – for  letting me in, allowing me to fuck up and reclaim myself, and reminding me that joys exist every day, all around us, in myriad forms. For me, this blog is one of them

The New York Academy of Art, Friday July 13th, 2:38 PM:

Pipe Dreams

Hi hi hi hi hi hi hi  . . . . I’m here friends! Once again I let the blog lag for days. Sorrrry!! Since I’m here now I must ask you all to please refrain from sending me hostile emails and death threats, ok? <—just kidding Anyway, allow me to redeem myself with a little Music Monday. Let’s do it.

So I stopped by the Met Museum on Saturday after modeling at the National Academy. The main purpose of my visit was to see the Rembrandt self-portrait that was temporarily on view at the Met while the Kenwood House, the portrait’s regular home, undergoes renovations. Afterwards, I wandered into the Musical Instrument galleries and, as usual, I was the only person in there besides the lone museum guard who seemed bored out of his mind. I’ve been going to the Met all my life, and I’ve noticed that people neglect this section of the museum. What a shame. Given that it’s adjacent to and overlooks the very popular American Wing, means there’s even less excuse to snub this fun treasure trove.

I was struck by this fantastic looking Great Highland Bagpipe from Glasgow. Constructed of ebony, ivory, silver, leather, cane, and MacGregor tartan cloth, it seemed to command attention so I took a picture. The bagpipe is in a glass case so there are some reflections in the photo:

Another bagpipe, this one from the Brittany region of France, mid-19th century. It’s played with a double reed and commonly used in Breton folk dancing:

Since it was Rembrandt, the king of all Dutch artists, who brought me to the Met on Saturday, I thought I’d post a bagpipe painting by another Dutch artist, Hendrick ter Brugghen. From 1624, this is Bagpipe Player. I love that it’s done in a profile view. Very effective:

Bagpipes today are commonly associated with parade marches, military ceremonies, police funerals, and the like. But the instrument – or some variation of a pipe attached to a bag – has existed for centuries on many continents. The sound of bagpipes is not loved by everyone, as it tends to be harsh, high-pitched, and reedy. And it is extremely loud. In fact, bagpipes have been the subject of much ridicule over the years. Famous figures from Alfred Hitchcock to Shakespeare have all taken jabs at the bagpipes. I believe it was either Oliver Herford or William Butler Yeats who made the crack that the Irish invented the bagpipes as a joke and gave them to the Scottish, who still haven’t figured out the joke. Aww, poor bagpipes!  I think it’s only fair to acknowledge that the bagpipe sound is also melodic and distinct. In a proper setting and in the hands of a skilled musician, the bagpipes are quite capable of transfixing the listener .

Let’s conclude this post with a bagpipe track. This is “Strathspey and Reel: John Roy Stewart/Thompson’s Dirk”, performed by pipe major Jim Drury and julia McGurk, from the album Highland Bagpipes.

Jessie and the Moon

Ehhh . . . grrr . . . moods. Perturbation. Agitation. Disquietude. Anxiety. Unease. Confusion. Bewilderment. Angst. Yes, it’s been a bothersome 36 hours. Mind cluttered, thoughts preoccupied, a little tense, a little sad, worries that are both real and (possibly) imagined. In other words, I don’t know what the fuck is going on. That pretty much sums it up in a nutshell.

But we pass through these things. Always. It’s important to know that. And the passing process can be facilitated by some strategically made choices. In my case, those choices usually involve receding in some way. I am a Cancer, which means we are crabs who will retreat into our shells if circumstances require it. We hide, and we like it dammit!

So on Tuesday I had only a morning job at FIT and promptly left Manhattan right afterwards. No shopping, no lunch, no walking around, no museum visits. I just hightailed it back to Queens, fleeing the noise, the chaos, the throngs of people, and the infernal police/fire sirens of midtown. Sure I still moped when I got home but at least I was moping in peace, and in private.

In the early evening I stepped outside to get some air, looked up and noticed the moon – a white half pearl nestled in the blue sky, underlined with a wisp of clouds. Pretty! So I went back inside, got my camera and took a picture with my Canon Powershot:

A short while later I checked on the moon again as the night started to fall. This time I had my good camera. The serious camera. My big Nikon. As I stood on the steps outside my kitchen door and prepped my settings for the picture, I suddenly felt warm, affectionate rubbing on my legs. It was my girl, the goddess, Jessie the cat, trying to divert my attention. And it worked. I knelt down and snapped her picture:

Yes, I’m wearing grey sweatpants, the official uniform of a depressed, leave-me-alone mood. Not very attractive or stylish. But at least we have beautiful Jessie. Here she’s thinking, “Can we go inside? I’m hungry. Open the door.”:

So because I have a Dr. Dolittle complex I spoke to Jessie and told her, “Just a minute, baby. Let me photograph the moon then we’ll give you food.” The clouds had long drifted away, the blue had gotten deeper, the moon was a lonely dot:

Jessie wouldn’t leave me alone for a minute. She kept purring and pacing, slinking, and rubbing all over me. This picture, well, just had to be posted

“Come on, man, I’m hungry! Where’s the food?”.

I’m sure many of you know what it’s like to deal with a hungry cat. They are tenacious. But I just needed one last shot of the moon. Why? I mentioned earlier about my zodiac sign of Cancer and how we are prone to moodiness. Well, most astrological signs have a planet as a ruling force. Cancers don’t. We are ruled by the moon. The moody moon. We are moonchildren. No wonder I was so drawn to it at that moment.

No Ordinary Day

Is there such a thing as an “ordinary day”? People use that expression all the time, myself included. But as I grow fonder and fonder of the life I’ve made for myself, of the city that’s been my home for all my 43 years, and of the friends, colleagues, and acquaintances I’ve made along the way, I realize that “ordinary” is a term rarely applicable. Rather, it minimizes and cheapens, and deprives the much-maligned “daily life” of its subtle, unique soul.

Tuesday morning I modeled for a small life drawing class at the New York Film Academy. Never thought my art modeling career would bring me there but, alas, it did. And it was fun. Nothing ordinary about doing nude poses in the “Billy Wilder” room, which, by the way, is next door to the “Jonathan Demme” room. Sure, I did come within an inch of getting accidentally clocked in the head with a tripod on a mad dash for the ladies’ room. But hey, it’s always something, right? An easel in art school, a tripod in film school. In any case, concussion averted.

When that job ended at 12:00, I walked out of the film academy building, crossed the street, inhaled a deep breath of fresh air, and enjoyed a leisurely stroll through Union Square Park. It was a bright, sunny, buzzing New York afternoon. At the northwest corner of the park, I noticed the sitting area resplendent with bright green garden chairs and blue umbrellas. I found the crisp, clean colors and their chromatic effect quite pleasing. So I took a few pictures. This one is not an ordinary scene if you consider the colors, the perspective, the curving flowerbed border edging in the bottom right and the tilted birdhouse in the tree in the upper left:

So I made my way to my 2:00 job, but stopped first for a quick lunch at Loving Hut on Seventh Avenue. There, I had the best veggie burger ever, anywhere, in the annals of veggie burgerdom! It was perfect and delicious. So NOT ordinary. Yum

Less than hour later, I was posing for the students in Vincent Arcilesi‘s class on the 6th floor at FIT. During the fast pose warm ups, Vincent sat down to sketch the model along with the rest of the class, which he often does. I took an active standing pose and Vincent did what all good artists should do in that instance – captured the gesture. I was standing still of course, but the forward stepping movement and arm/leg extension is strong in Vincent’s quick sketch. Loose, spontaneous, a one-of-a-kind Arcilesi. Not ordinary at all.

Things are only ordinary if we, through own our jaded disinterest, choose to dismiss them as such. But for some of us, a life as a professional artist’s model, working in a big, lively city, where shapes, colors, sounds, encounters and experiences can be found literally everywhere around us, nothing should be regarded as “ordinary”. Every day is unique. Every day is a blessing to be valued and appreciated. Thank you for allowing me to share my “extraordinary” day with you

Fleur de Lis

Hello friends! Happy Sunday! And what a beautiful Sunday it is here in NYC. I hope this blog post finds you all well.

A few days ago I found a little time in my busy schedule to stop in to the Metropolitan Museum for a quick visit. It was a Saturday, which at the Met means crowds. Major crowds. But no amount of crowds could stop me from seeing and enjoying the newly renovated American Wing Galleries, something I’ve been looking forward to for months. A more extensive blog post will probably be forthcoming. Until then I thought I’d share this one lovely work that is on display in the collection. The artist is Robert Reid, an American Impressionist painter who was born in Stockbridge, Massachusetts and studied in Boston and then New York. As with most American artists of the 20th century, Reid’s bio invariably mentions places where I have also worked as an art model. He studied at the Art Students League and later became a member of the National Academy of Design. By the early part of the century, Reid was focused on mural projects which might explain my attraction to his style. I adore mural painting and large panel works. On my trip to Boston last December, I was in heaven while viewing Sargent’s murals at the Boston Public Library. What I should have done was also visit Reid’s Paul Revere mural at the State House. I think another trip to Boston is in order!

This enchanting painting by Reid is called Fleur de Lis, ca. 1885 – 1900. I think one of the reasons it struck me was the exquisite color (I love purple) and depiction of irises, and the realization that those flowers will soon be blooming with the coming of spring! Can’t wait! I took this photo and decided not to crop out the frame, but it enlarges beautifully with a couple of clicks:

I also recorded the wall text for this piece that might be of interest. From the Met curators, this painting “suggests an analogy between his female figure and the fragile irises that surround her . . . His combining of a high-keyed palette and expressive brushwork with allegorical references reflects American artists’ concurrent interest, during the 1890s, in Impressionism and the universal imagery associated with the mural movement.”

A nice collection of Reid’s work can be found at Wikimedia Commons.

“For Olivia, Love Auntie Claudie”

Remember when you were nine years old and your cool, awesome Aunt gave you a harmonica for Christmas? Well, my niece does. It happened yesterday at Grandma’s house:

She’s a Hajian through and through. Brava!

Watercolor in the Works

It’s just a late November tree on a street corner in Queens, NY, a few blocks from my house. Though it will be completely leafless imminently, it was still hanging on to its remaining leaves as of two days ago. I was on my way to work but had to stop and take of picture of it. My plan is to do a watercolor

I think what inspires me here is that even though the leaves are sparse, they are still gorgeous and vibrantly colored. That’s one of the many intriguing occurrences of autumn – trees entering a stage of winter slumber, but going out with dazzling brilliance right up until the very last minute, until the final leaf has fallen to the ground. Autumn is sometimes misconstrued as a time of shriveling and withering, but it’s not. The transition from autumn to winter is vigorous, active, and dynamic. Nothing moribund about it at all.

So here’s the deal; I have Alizarin Crimson, Permanent Rose, Cadmium Yellow, Sap Green, Yellow Ochre, Burnt Sienna, and a few others. What I’m not sure about is how to approach this. Should I sketch it first then do colored details, block it in, diagram it, or just wing it from the get-go and let loose and see what happens? I welcome all suggestions!