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Portraits of the Artist

I’m working on a commission, presently. A long-time friend who appreciates my work recently commissioned me to do a self-portrait. An interesting commission, and I undertook it enthusiastically, without giving the matter any hesitation at all – now I’m mired in it. lol Self-reflection is deep on a thing like this, but it’s not as if it is the first time I’ve done a self-portrait. They’ve changed over the years.

“Rage” acrylic on paper, 1985, my first self-portrait, at age 22. 12″ x 16″

In the 80’s and early 90’s, when I was still “finding my artistic voice” (still a work in progress, as it turns out), and painting in both watercolor and acrylic, I found emotional safety in abstraction for self-portraiture.

“Portrait of the Artist’s Tears”, 1987, acrylic on paper, 5″ x 7″

I didn’t “stay in that place” indefinitely, things sometimes felt better, sometimes they felt worse. It was a complicated journey, artistically, and I often found that painting was a way of saying what I did not have words for at that time in my life.

“The Night Before Christmas”, 1990, acrylic on paper 8″ x 10″

Some of it I still lack words for, and I’m happy to be in a very different place in life now. My feelings about these works, and the experiences they represent, remain very complicated.

“Marriage” 1991, watercolor on paper, 8″ x 10″

When my first marriage ended, in 1995, I fought hard and went through much to keep a small painting that remains one of my very fondest pieces, and it hangs in my home even now. I’ve never managed to take a decent photograph of it, and I guess I’m okay with that.

“Joy” 1994, watercolor on paper 4″ x 6″

By 2000 I was painting exclusively in acrylic, and doing a lot of 3D mixed-media work, abstractions and pieces that used a lot of glow, glitter, ceramic adornments, and often working quite large. There were certainly pieces I could call self-portraits in the years between 1995 and 2014, when this next piece was painted, but they weren’t necessarily intended that way. (I think art as a form of self-expression of necessity says something about the artist, one way or another.)

“The Price We Pay” 2014, acrylic on canvas with glow, glass, and ceramic details, 11″ x 14″ (the inclusion of the artist’s reflection intentional)

The last self-portrait I started on is still “work in progress”, and I don’t know that I’ll ever finish it. I’ve moved on from that moment. I don’t feel the way I did then, and I’m not sure I can finish it in an honest way because I have changed.

“Chained” acrylic on canvas with glow, ceramic, and chain, 18″ x 24″

So, here I am, now. This person, this woman, this artist, reflecting on self, and preparing to do one sort of self-portrait I’ve never done before; a work on commission for someone else. It’s an interesting project, and it is prompting me to reflect on details of the answer to a question in life that is simultaneously quite deep, and also quite mundane. Possibly one of the least useful questions one can ask oneself; because we already know the answer, however reluctantly we choose to acknowledge it. Self-reflection has value – but does it have hue? I chuckle to myself as I consider how best to portray the woman I see in the mirror every day.

Urban Warfare

“Urban Warfare (world on fire)” pastel on pastelmat, 2024, 7″ x 9.5″

This piece is inspired by recent world events, global warfare, and the unsettling sensation that the world is on fire, which has begun to seep into my dreams. It’s not a coincidence that it is similar to “The Nightmare City”; it is a place I see often in my dreams. In my PTSD-fueled nightmares, I find myself on this street, looking up the road toward…what, exactly? The distance? What is beyond, I never quite find out, however long I walk – or run. Sometimes it helps to paint these images, sometimes it doesn’t.

Hard Times Make Great Art

Some folks – maybe a lot of people – are hurting right now. Feeling angry. Feeling devalued. Feeling that their voice doesn’t matter. Feeling powerless. Hard times are… hard. Hard times make great art. Always have.

…The world feels like it’s on fire, and there is war and destruction everywhere…

When I came home from Desert Storm, my painting style had changed (rather a lot), and the things on my mind began to percolate up through my art. I painted the war. I painted the chaos. I painted the things I didn’t have words for. I’ve used art to give voice to the things I don’t have words for “all along” – at least for the whole time I’ve been an artist.

“Kuwaiti Oil Fires” 20″ x 48″ oil on stretched silk, 1991

Shortly after I returned from the war, I gave up oil painting entirely, in favor of acrylic and pursued an abiding fascination with abstraction, and the use of nontraditional pigments and mixed-media elements in my work.

… And events just kept delivering hard times and trauma to reflect in art…

“9-11″ 18″ x 24” acrylic on canvas, 2001

Hard times come and go. Trauma is inflicted and endured, and trauma heals. The art remains.

I guess I’m just saying inspiration comes in many forms. Sometimes a beautiful sunrise on a favorite trailhead is enough. Sometimes events and circumstances provide inspiration of a different sort. I don’t know what to expect of my work from here, I only know I’ll keep feeling – and painting.

“Drone Strikes” 5″ x 7″ pastel on pastelbord, 2024

Kuwaiti Oil Fires

“Kuwaiti Oil Fires” 48″ x 20″ oil on stretched silk, 1991 was one of the last paintings I ever painted in oil. Soon after, I gave up oil painting in favor of acrylic.

I served on active duty in the United States Army. I deployed for Desert Shield. I participated in the ground war during Desert Storm. I will never forget the sight of the fires on the horizon, during the night, as we convoyed through a minefield during the start of the ground war, at the end of February, 1991. The terrible destruction, the ferocity of it, even at a distance – there’s no forgetting it. This painting hangs in my home, a part of my permanent collection, a reminder of what human beings make themselves capable of, and at what terrible cost it comes.

If we measure the worth of art by the weight of it’s meaning to the artist who creates it, this is one of my most precious works. It is certainly one that is heavy with the weight of its meaning to me, personally. I stretched the canvas for it myself, with the help of my partner-at-the-time. I used silk, in order to stretch it very tight, and for the exceedingly fine grain of the fabric. I prepared the canvas myself. I made use of unusual pigments, caput mortuum, asphaltic emulsion, and others now lost not only from the sales catalog, but also from my recollection. I painted it hoping, somehow, to communicate a moment, and an experience, to share the unshareable. It is a favorite piece with visitors to my home, and it struck me strangely, this morning, that I hadn’t written about it.

It’s very different than more recent work. It remains quite dear to me, and a painful reminder that there are no “do-overs” for some of the choices we make.

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