Thursday, November 28, 2019

George Zaremba's Vietnam War Memorial









The Chicago Sun-Times has run this story about a mural 
that George Zaremba painted on a side 
of the old E Z Polish Factory 
at North Sacramento Boulevard and West Carroll Avenue.


It's  only about a mile west of the growing West Town Gallery district,
so I'll be checking it out soon.






Substitute Modeling on November 26




Cathy Buck, portrait of Tim Leeming




Mary Qian, portrait of Tim Leeming




As occasionally happens -- last Tuesday's model for the painting workshop was a no-show - so one of the artists, Tim Leeming, climbed up on the platform  to take her place.

I've done that a few times myself over the past thirty years.  One time, my physique so surprised one of the artists who arrived late that she shouted out "Eeeek -- Chris is naked!".  Another time, after delivering what I thought were challenging and dramatic poses, one of the artists complained that I didn't hold still.  Needless to say -- my enthusiasm for volunteering has cooled off.

But Tim remains a more noble and generous soul -- so he soldiered on to pose for an entire five-and-a-half hour session.

While doing so,  a poem celebrating the occasion began to gather in his mind.

It also celebrates the upcoming holiday  - suggesting, perhaps, that Tim was beginning to feel a bit peckish - as well as identifying with the poor turkey.



(if you also did a portrait of Tim at this workshop, please send an image that I can add to this post)


*****************





AS FROM PREY
AT THE ART CLUB



The scheduled model for the day
Failed to report in the garret 
Of the last remaining three-story
Walk-up Grey-stone
Which served as 
At the Art Club


15 eager members
Assembled over midweek morning coffee
And to await  inspiration from the muse
Which also may
Or may not appear


With no professional model
From among the fellowship
A reluctant recruit is chosen


And the exterior form
Of this person
Is raised above their peers
Positioned on the dais
Instructed to remain seated and still 
conspicuous and absent 
throughout the morning

This 'sitter'
Supported by cushions
With masking tape markers
For memory
Will comply with the rigors of the vigil
And sit motionless
As the North-light arches 
To the left

Until the precious light drains
Under clouds 
Bringing drizzle and drops
And the hum of steady rain  
Later in  the afternoon

At the request of the sitter
The radio is tuned to classical station
WFMT
At above medium volume

Everyone there takes a few full breaths
As the conductor raises his arms
And gets busy
As the baton drops 
And bobs up and down
Back and forth
In regular swipes
To encourage the musicians
And the artists


who respond with attention
and happy labor
 throughout the day

Grim faced
Determined 
Not turning away from the struggle
Running again up the familiar hill

Straining to see
Stretching bounds of perception
As if from the top of main-mast
Searching the horizon for sight of land



Taking up tools
The instruments of their craft
On paper
On canvas
On wooden palette
On glass
In pursuit of truth
To understand
To document
To honor



As the fencer wields his sword
And the orchestra strains 
Each artist will scrape, slash, dab for next five hours
With a brush
Or pencil
Or a worn nub of chalk



The background music is a century old
Rows and rows 
Of precision instruments
Reeds
Brass
Cork
The sensuous bloated wooden form
 of the double bass

Together 
to  loyally present again
A Strauss waltz
Chopin
Tchaikovsky 

The orchestra throbs
dances
 swirls and whirls
In crescendo
Punctuated by boom 
Of tympanic kettle drums


The sitter listens
As never before
To the layers of sound
Expressionless
Eyes staring straight ahead
As all blurs into periphery

There tradition has been replayed
And repeated by kindred souls
For hundreds of years
Across continents

In France
Germany
Spain

For such purpose
Apples were arranged by Cezanne
The  grim 'Thinker '  leaned on his chin  for Rodin
Work-shoes
And prostitutes sufficed for VIncent


Around the sitter
There is movement
Tapping
Murmurs and hushed self rebuke
As each of those assembled
Around the sitter
Aspire to conceal
Or by chance
Reach beyond their self acknowledged limitations

The sitter sees all
And nothing
The room reduced to a periphery of fog
Sensing only the cloud of predatory activity
A fist is raised fists
A right angle is consulted
 brushes are loaded
to make their point
Revealing the intent of the hand
A confident flourish
"Aha! I know this!"
a questioning  slow dab
"Does this work"

And the surrender of a double dab
"whatever"

The sitter sits
Listening to the music
And the grumbling crowd below
Transcending the hub-hub
FInding peace and focus
Above and beyond

Within the sitter
There is a solitary Struggle 
To deny the inner voice
The disembodied Monkey-brain
The disheveled small creature
Who continues the madness
Below the surface
Swinging from side to side in the cage
From hairy arms
Chattering nonsense
Baring teeth

The sitter has found his spot on the wall
On which to focus
The dormant light fixture
On the other side of the room
Appears to be a blurry
Triangle of the dangerous creature

A lion perhaps
Or a baboon 
Who holds an index finger to his lips
In warning
Do not move

The sitter understands what is demanded
And locks alert eyes
And concentration
On the lions face
20 yards distant
facing him from low in the grass
Almond eyes
Raised snout
moist nostrils

The predator must be kept at bay
To  look away 
Would invite a charge
And certain death


When concentration slips
The sitter almost laughs 
At his ridiculous predicament
Not really a dignified
Graven image of a man
But a dunce on a chair
Serving a sentence of a  self imposed
Day-long  'time-out'


The sitter perceives the working artists
As an aquatic cloud of  sea grass

A hungry aquatic swarm 
Of skin feeding fish
Nibbling 
As on the bunions and unwanted callous material 
on the underside of  feet
of  indulgent women 
Soaking their toes 
In the salinated basin
At the spa

Movement all around
Waving in and out
Bobbing up and down
Peering at him 
with urgent squinting cat-faces
Greedy
Coveteous
Looking for answers
For Line
Shadow
Edge
Form
Features
Proportion




Two days before Thanksgiving
The turkey too
Will sit trussed
And tied
Having been chosen
Positioned
basted every 20 minutes
(The same interval of breaks  for the artists)
And presented
The center of a ring of side dishes

Without which
There is no joy 
In the Potatoes
Cranberries
Yams
or Gravy


It is necessary for the artwork to be properly done 
brought to completion

"A triumph my dear"

And the meal on Thanksgiving 
Steaming
Golden brown
A salty, savory consumed  achievement
Temporary by design
As fleeting as the fading light
Or the extended chords at the completion of the symphony




It is over

The day was long

We know that our time is short

What was done
Is done

The artwork survives

The journey was the feast






TIm Leeming
Palette and Chisel Academy of Chicago
Happy Thanksgiving 2019





















Wednesday, November 20, 2019

Mary Qian's portrait of Chief Justice Anne Burke











Here's Mary Qian with  Anne Burke.

The dour expression on the artist's face is much more serious
 than that of the smiling Illinois Chief Justice
who stands beside her.

But then Mary really does take her painting quite seriously












Here's Anne with her husband, alderman Ed Burke.


One might wonder why  the highest judge in Illinois
 is married to a Chicago alderman
 now under indictment for 14  counts of racketeering.

Couldn't she have rolled over one night
and whispered in his ear:

"Honey, you really don't need
to shake down local businessmen any more,
 all our kids have graduated college"

But hey ... that's Chicago.

By the way, the Burke's are serious art collectors.