The Andy Warhol Museum in Pittsburgh PA
Tuesday, The Warhol Museum. What a treasure, and really inspiring! I spent nearly four hours there; so much to see! And a wealth of inspiration. Yes, it was dreary outside, and somewhere during the day I took some pictures, but this was definitely the highlight.
Rear view of apartment buildings in Pittsburgh
Monday was a bust in terms of photography, but it mattered not as I got to spend much of the day with a friend I had not seen in decades and her wife. It was a socially distant lunch date on her porch on a cold rainy day, but who cares? I have spent very little time with friends over the past several months, even the past many years. I was overdue. And getting to catch up with a friend is priceless, especially these days.
So no photographic inspiration, but friendship inspiration, which is much better for the soul.
Big box houses stepping down the side of a hill beneath slate grey skies.
I took this shot from the top of a wall I shouldn’t have climbed because, as you might guess, a fall ensued. But I got the shot, and I saved the camera, so yay me. My shoulder is bruised, and my glasses have taken on an undesirable shape, but I am OK. At about the same time, a friend of mine, also out taking pictures, fell and broke her foot. She asked if I thought we were too old to be doing this. Indeed not! We should go forth boldly!
Corn field in Ohio on a beautiful clear day.
When you finally get the heck out of town, you want to think everything will go right. It usually does. But not this time.
Thank goodness I have a newer model car that tells me when a tire is going down, which allowed me to get off the highway before it went entirely flat. That’s the good news. The bad news was that it was a Saturday in Zanesville, Ohio. Apparently, no one in Zanesville can fix a tire on a Saturday.
I got off the highway and stopped at a gas station. They had no air. No worries, there is a tire store across the street. I head over there, but it was closed.
So I Googled tire places, and thankfully, there was a National Tire and Battery just a few miles away. They took my car in immediately. Yes, the front passenger tire was low, they gave it some air. I asked if I could get it patched. Oh no. we don’t have time to do that. Really? They suggested I go down the street to the Toyota dealership. So I drove over there. They were so nice, but no, no one could patch a tire on a Saturday. I should try WalMart down the street.
So I headed down to the WalMart. They were very nice. They might be able to patch it in, maybe, three hours. Maybe. I was not really interested in waiting for a maybe. So I Googled again, and found a company that did road service. So I called them. They could come out. Yay! But then I find out that they only do big rigs, not passenger cars.
Finally, in desperation, I called AAA. Yes they could send someone out to patch the tire. So after a very lengthy time on the phone with them and a 45 minute wait, a service truck finally showed up. No, they couldn’t patch a tire either. So I had them put the donut on the car and I hit the road and left Zanesville in the dust.
Really, I couldn’t take much more of home sweet home. While I enjoy solitude and being in my studio, eventually I have to leave the bubble for the sake of my sanity, not to mention the sake of my creativity.
I have been to the grocery store. I have been to the post office. One day I went out to get a large eyed blunt point needle. All fully masked. And that’s about it since mid March. I desperately need to do something different. So I planned a trip.
Here I am in Cincinnati. Urban landscapes. Wonderful architecture. Spending the night at an AirBnB before proceeding to Pittsburgh for a week of photography and a couple of socially distant meetings with old friends. I have dozens of masks, jars of vitamins, and bottles of hand sanitizer. I can do this.
I’ve gone to look for America. And inspiration.
I’m sure I’m not the only person that feels like they are on a road to nowhere. Especially now, because you know, Covid and all. I suppose this piece is more about the “and all” part of my life. Nevertheless, I am pressing forward each day.
Road to Nowhere
I am working like a fiend, which passes the time, and I am on a sabbatical from the news because I’ve had too many 3 AM panic attacks. I never in a million years thought my country would become the corrupt nightmare that it is today. It’s simply horrifying. Another road to nowhere.
I am also applying to several residencies, thinking that going somewhere, anywhere, could only help. There are some really wonderful options out there, but it would seem like getting one is a little remote. However, I don’t suppose someone is going to knock on my door with a bunch of balloons and offer me a residency without my actually applying, so I’m applying to the best ones I can find.
So, Road to Nowhere. A lot of linocuts, including the relief printed background / border, which is printed on old map pages from a vintage atlas I picked up at Goodwill.
Learn more about this piece at its gallery page
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Wood fired kiln with brick filling a vent hole, soot marks
Like most artists, I have to really diversify my work sometimes just to get by. A global pandemic isn’t helping, either. One of the ways I make a little extra money is by selling stock photography and illustrations.
When it comes to stock photography, I am Master of the Mundane, because, well, a lot of stock photography is not about that perfect sunset. It’s about drainage pipes and road construction and medical stuff and food. So, if you need that perfect picture of an amputee for your ambulance chasing / accidental death and dismemberment website, I’ve got you covered.
A lot of companies buy stock photography and illustration plans for their business websites, brochures, and blogs. A plan gives you a certain number of downloads per month, and it’s likely you won’t use all your downloads.
Now, for photographers and illustrators, they get paid by the download, which is an embarrassingly small amount I would add. At the end of the month, any money you paid for your stock plan that was not taken up by the licenses you purchase, the company keeps. Is any of that revenue shared with their photographers and illustrators? Be serious; of course not.
Since you’ve already paid for those pictures, why not get some extra pictures and fill out your monthly stock plan, even if you know you’ll never use them? That insures a little more income for a starving photographer or illustrator, and you get the satisfaction of knowing you helped support an artist in need.
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I remember the early days of Top Chef, when everyone was wondering how exciting it would be - or not - to watch a bunch of people on TV describing how things tasted, and why one dish was superior to another. Let’s face it, a well worded description can only go so far. It’s kind of the same thing when we try to describe colors. Take for example Van Dyke Brown.
Anthony Van Dyck was a Flemish Baroque painter who lived from 1599 to 1641. He showed great promise as a painter early in life, probably because he never had to spend time studying Algebra, which had not yet been invented. Like most other painters of this period, his subjects were poorly lit, and figures or scenes simply drifted into a murky brown darkness. What’s not to love about that? Fully clothed in low light is my best look.
PORTRAIT OF SIR KENELM DIGBY WITH A SUNFLOWER BY ANTHONY VAN DYCK
So how did he get pegged with this signature brown? After all, there are a lot of variations to brown. Let’s go right to the source.
Here is a portrait of Sir Kenelm Digby with a sunflower by Anthony Van Dyck. It’s literally packed with browns. Warm browns, cool browns, browns with a yellow base, and browns tending more greenish. Brown must have been on sale at Hobby Lobby that week.
How do we decide, then, among all these many browns, which one is the Van Dyke brown. Turns out, there are as many opinions on that as there are browns in this painting. So I decided to go on a hunt for the definitive Van Dyke brown.
I ordered some watercolors and gouaches to see what the manufacturers think is Van Dyke brown. Every one of them claims to have that color. But kind of like the Top Chef judges, everybody has an opinion as well. Here is what I found.
CHART OF VAN DYKE BROWN WATERCOLORS FROM 10 DIFFERENT MANUFACTURERS
I bought ten different brands of Van Dyke brown watercolors: Grumbacher Academy, Windsor and Newton Cotman, Daler-Rowney Artists, Daler-Rowney Aquafine, Dr. P. H. Martins, Windsor and Newton Artists, Maimeri Blu, Daniel Smith, Sennelier, and Van Gogh. Then I made this little chart.
Really, you could make a case for pretty much any of these browns as being the Van Dyke brown, as you could identify almost all of them in the painting of poor Sir Kenelm Digby there, posing with a sunflower the size of his head.
And how much fun is it to have a color named after you, only to find out it is brown instead of some snazzy green or sizzling orange? Van Dyck the fashionista was not to be deterred by this small detail, as he also had a collar and a beard named after him, so take that Sherwin Williams.
The name Van Dyke brown is actually derived from a photographic printing process developed in the late 1800s, long after Van Dyck’s death and the invention of Algebra. The process produces prints in a shade of brown similar to the brown Van Dyck used in his paintings. Don’t ask me which one.
Prints in dark blue and rust red of linocut collage elements
I really wanted some new collage elements, so I did this rather elaborate plate with lots of different elements to add to my growing collection of linocut body parts and backgrounds. There are hands, mouths, flowers, dots, beaks, oversized eyebrows, an ear and a leaf. I’m pleased because I can print up a bunch of things at once, although it takes a larger sheet of paper and it’s a nightmare to cut out.
Song to the Sanguine Moon
While I am very early in the process of developing a library of interchangeable parts, each new piece gets some old and some new elements
I used several elements from this plate in this piece, Song to the Sanguine Moon. I added background elements from other linocut plates, along with colored pencils and markers.
The Sanguine Moon is a full moon in October. Sanguine, in its literal translation, means blood red, and there are many wonderful drawings by old masters in sanguine chalk, which is actually more of a terracotta shade than blood red.
I really like all the names of the full moons. There are scads of them, bringing up all kinds of possibilities. I’m not sure which one will be next.
I was always fascinated by the idea of “Days of the Week Panties.” I don’t remember for sure, but I’m pretty confident that I never had a set. Nowadays, it would be more likely to be “days of the week masks,” which is kind of what’s going on here. Who are we on Monday, and are we different on Friday? I suspect we are.
I’ve been playing with these all week, printing parts and drawing parts. Working out my penitent Sunday and my Wednesday “hump day,” and the subtleties that make up the days in between. I’m not entirely sure about the linear layout or how it will all finish out, so stay tuned.
We all like to think we are more unique than we actually are.
Learn more about this piece on its gallery page.
