Art class memories

The earliest art class I can remember was at ten, in Lahore, Pakistan. The class was held under a line of tall trees along a dusty road. Willow trees or cypress (?) swayed overhead. It's vague and improbable. Why along side a road? The only clear thing about it is a painting I made, a multicolored sunset over twisting black rocks. I painted it for my mother who I hadn't seen in just over a year while I lived with my grandparents. I remember it clearly because I saw it a month ago; it hangs in the stairway down to her basement in Mattituck.
My next memory was two years later, in the Brenner School in Kfar Saba, Israel. Matatiahu, my art instructor also taught Wood-shop class. I was an enthusiastic but inept carpenter; I could never measure things attentively and my joints were always out of whack, my projects a mess of protruding nail heads and smeared glue. I was better at Art (or so I thought) — I had always liked to draw and paint — but Matatiahu didn't like me. Maybe it's because I was a foreigner, only recently fluent in Hebrew. Or maybe I'd established an unshakeable reputation with Matatiahu at the workbench. Or maybe I was just an obnoxious twerp.
One day, Matatiahu assigned us a project to do at home: a painting of birds. Determined to

redeem myself in his eyes, I worked long into the night. I collected reference pictures of dozens of species of birds and arranged them in a sprawling painting of an oasis at sunset. Flamingoes and storks posed along the water's edge, sparrows and owls were arranged on tree branches, and hawks soared through the pink and purple clouds overhead. I felt like a young Audubon when I handed it in and, the following week, when Matatiahu handed back our work, I eagerly flipped it over to see his comments. In blue ballpoint, he had written, “F. The assignment was 'birds' not 'landscape'.

My mother and my stepfather, proud '60's anti-authoritarians, were majorly pissed. ”Who grades a child's art work, for Chrissakes?“ my mother fumed. She stormed down to the school, lodged a protest, and my grade was changed. The following week, Matatiahu told us about a nationwide student competition for traffic safety posters. I painted a grisly scene of a corpse sprawled across the bloody hood of a smashed car. No doubt gritting his teeth through his congratulatory smile, Matatiahu picked my work to represent the school. I didn't win the competition but fortunately my parents didn' t fight this latest injustice.

As a teenager in Brooklyn, I attended a very progressive school. My art teacher, Paul, was an ardent Marxist and always encouraged us to be loose and experimental, not to worry about figurative bullshit — concept was king. I loved him but he taught me much more about class oppression, tofu, and joint rolling than how to draw.

On Sundays, I studied drawing at the Brooklyn Museum. The second week of the term, a large and loud girl took a liking to me and began to rip pages out of her sketchbook and pass lewd notes to me. I was a very skittish and self conscious kid and filled with horror when she made other students pass these notes to me. I took to sitting at the back near the door and escaped down into the Eastern Parkway subway station the minute the class broke. Occasionally, she caught me on the platform, complaining that she had to buy a special notebook for notes to me as she had emptied her large sketchbook. The fact that I never responded with anything but grimaces and shrugs didn't seem to dissuade her ardor. Midterm, I dropped out and far too embarrassed to tell my parents what was going on, I spent my Sunday afternoons at the library instead.

The summer after junior year, I followed the example of my idol, Eric Drooker, who the year before had gone to the RISD summer program. It was fantastic; we lived in campus dorms like grownups, studied painting and drawing and printmaking, but more importantly stayed up late, drank loads of beer, and made out with girls.

This was the mid 1970s and I was an overly intellectual, arrogant, and insecure teenager. Most of the art I made was highly conceptual. If I could figure out a way to outthink the teacher, all the better. When our design teacher asked us to use up a whole pencil in a single drawing, I had a brainstorm. I ground up a pencil and its eraser into a fine dust in a sharpener. Then I painted a nude woman in rubber cement, and used an atomizer to blow the shavings all over the painting. When the teacher saw my soft, gradated image hanging among the grimy black works of my classmates, he chastised me for not doing the assignment. But when I explained my 'ingenious' technique, he apologized publicly and my triumph was complete. Summer school proved to be another opportunity to refine my mastery of the fine art of pissing off authority.

It was also the end of my art education. Being surrounded by the most talented kids in schools across the country at RISD has lowered me a notch or two. I think I gave up on art at that point and frankly no one else seemed that concerned.

At Princeton, I took some art history classes but loudly resented having to memorize what other people said said about famous art. I don't remember being asked for my opinion of the masters and instead resisted the ideas of the art establishment that had, in my mind, calcified the history of art into just another academic discipline to keep professors tenured. Mine wasn't a very coherent critique but I loved clinging to my opinion, which seemed to be the underlying point of much of my education.

It took me another twenty years to accept my ignorance, in fact, to embrace it. These days, I am hungry to learn about art and to saturate myself in as many different ways as I can find to explore it. I wonder what my life would be like if I had been able to find teachers who could have kept me enthusiastic and open-minded, for all these years.

October 20, 2005

Sketchcrawl Postponed

The weather looks bleak for this weekend, so we are going to postpone the New York Sketchcrawl, alas. Hopefully, Ma Nature will cooperate next weekend and we can 'crawl on the 29th or 30th. Dang.

Turning over a New Leaf

One of my favorite artists (who just happens to be my mum) has just brought out two new calendars for 2006. They are both full of 12 months of leafages � her unique medium of pressed leaves, calligraphy and poetry � one celebrating aspects of spirit, the other about grapes and wine (she lives in the wine region of Long Island where the vineyards have been devastated by the last two weeks of constant rain, right in the middle of harvest time.)
If you'd like to learn more about her art and order her calendars as lovely Xmas and New Year's gifts, hop over to leafages.com

October 17, 2005

SketchCrawl USA

Seems folks are going to be SketchCrawling all over the country. So far we have plans for get EDM togethers in NYC, Frisco, Chicago and Tucson. If you're involved in any of these or others, do fill me in. And remember, there's no need to feel left out �why not do a one-person Crawl wherever you live? SKetchCrawl Dallas, SketchCrawl Springfield, SketchCrawl Prague, Islamabad, or Jersey City....

October 15, 2005

Motion Paintings

I was turned on to the work of the Barnstormers, David Ellis' Brooklyn art collaborative that makes beautiful moving drawings in chalk and sand and paint and who knows what, giant living drawings that have to be seen to be understood. Fortunately you can watch the antic We love Music and Scrounge.

October 14, 2005

SketchCrawl Update

A lot of people seem excited about joining together to draw the City but the weather continues to be soggy; so, for comfort's sake, we're going to postpone the SketchCrawl until the weekend after this, Sunday, the 23rd of October. Anyone interested in joining us, meet at 9 a.m. under Washington Square Arch at the lower end of Fifth Avenue.
We'll make our way through the West Village and up through the Meat Packing District and over to the Hudson. We'll keep each drawing stop to twenty minutes or so, and wrap things up by noon. It's not an ultra hard core trek but we should manage to get off a half dozen or more solid drawings.
I'm sure it'll be loads of fun and would love to plan another one next month.
For those who like gear, I'd recommend a pen, some paper, and, if you're soft bottomed like me, something to sit on. I see that EMS on Broadway is selling nice, inexpensive folding stools, the packseat and the BYER OF MAINE TriLite Folding Stool for just $20. You can get them online or in the SoHo store. Or sit on the floor or a stoop or someone else's shoulders. My pal Roz, who's quite short, always stands when she draws. I plan to stay in my sedan chair.
For those aging and absent-minded like me, I shall re-post this announcement late next week.
See you there!

October 13, 2005

Rough Patch

I believe that the sight is a more important thing than the drawing; and I would rather teach drawing that my pupils may learn to love nature, than teach the looking at nature that they might learn to draw."
John Ruskin, The Elements of Drawing, 1857

"Compared to the macho 'Saturday Night Fever' of the frogs, the newts' approach to mating is more like dancing a tango."

Last year, I had a lovely time visiting my friend Richard Bell and his wife Barbara in Yorkshire, England. We spent a lot of time in their little garden and I learned an important lesson about drawing and life � you don't need to look beyond your own backyard to find enough enough subject matter to keep occupied full time as an artist.
Now Richard has come out with what I think is his finest book yet. Rough Patch is a study of the wildlife, the flora, the seasons, and the passage of time in the 500 or so square feet of his garden.
RIchard has been drawing and journaling since he was a boy and he has developed enormous sensitivity and clarity as a result. Richard simply sees more than the average person. He can penetrate the thickets of what seemed an undifferentiated clump of weeds behind his house and pull out stories of adventure, practical advice, recipes, poetry, wisdom, comedy, and life and death struggles to rival Jerry Bruckheimer, And of course loads of inspiring, moving art.
Rough Patch contains drawings worthy of Da Vinci or Durer, studies of clouds, hogweed, knapweed, and rotting rhubarb leaves, of foxgloves, earwigs, onions and bluebell seed pods. He paints field mice and voles like Beatrix Potter, and his flowers kick 'Country Diary of Edwardian Lady' squarely in the bustle.
Richard's writing is funnier and more gripping than ever before.
He describes epic battles of nature between spiders and ladybugs, lettuces and slugs. I was moved by the plight of robins trying to raise their fledglings in a teapot, by border disputes between blackbirds and the marital squabbles of fantails. Richard records minute observations of fly mating in an essay called 'Duckweed Disco'. In 'Brick Pile: the movie', he uncovers celebrity lookalikes among the slugs, newts and spiders.
There's another lesson in this book for all aspiring artists and authors. Richard not only wrote, illustrated and designed "Rough Patch' but after decades of being annoyed by traditional publishers (despite his bestselling epic sketchcrawl, Britain), he has now started his own publishing house, Willow Island. He has had great success with his 'Sushi' series of book, freshly packaged minibooks of his sketchcrawls through England, and Rough Patch is the biggest and boldest venture yet.
I urge all lovers of drawing and contemplation to order a copy of this book through the Willow Island site � you can use Paypal and postage is free if you order 3 or more copies. I've placed a big order so I am set for Christmas.

October 12, 2005

Vote for Trevor!

Our terrifically talented pal Trevor Romain's work has been nominated for a �Kids First� best of the year video award and we have a chance to help him to the podium. His competition has gathered everyone they know to vote for them. Let's do the same.
Here are the steps for voting at Kids First!
1. www.kidsfirstmedia.com
2. Vote twice for �Laugh and Learn with Trevor Romain� (one for Best Independent, Ages 5-8 and one for best overall).
3. Then click on �submit�.
4. Then smile.
Thanks so much for your help.

Moleskine exhbit

Check out the different way people journal at this Tokyo exhibit.

October 11, 2005

Sketchcrawl New York

Would you be interested in joining me on a half day sketchcrawl in Manhattan some time over the next couple of weekends? Let me know if and when. Either comment below or email me.
Your pal,
Danny

October 10, 2005

Painting in need of a pedicure

In a tribute to Bob Ross and William Alexander, I shot and narrated a little time-lapsed film of me drawing the view from my balcony. The ultimate drawing isn't very good � I found it quite hard to get in the zone with the camera clicking over my shoulder � but it was a fun experiment. I then scored with a lovely piece of music performed by Paul Viapiano (he recently sent me his latest CD in exchange for a copy of EDM). I have posted it here. Caution: give it a minute to load and excuse my bare feet.
PS This is weird. Just as I was about to post this, I got an email from Duane Keiser about his little movies documenting his own paintings. Check em out, here, here, and here.

October 04, 2005

Perfect storm

So far this millennium has been a strained and sweaty passage. As the moorings are loosened, it seems that any and everything could unravel. A terrorist attack a half a mile and four years away, still feels like it could metastasize and engulf my life. A hurricane a thousand miles away prompts my mother to buy new insurance while I seek reassurance that my home sits a hundred feet above the ground, ground made of rooted bedrock.
Our government is hopeless and corrupt rather than governing: our religions are a source of division and destruction rather than comfort and moral guidance. It�s tough to express opinions in this climate, tough to make plans, tough to depend on the wisdom of one�s years. And yet, I'm optimistic.
Our times are about keeping it real and perhaps, as our illusions shatter, we�ll be left with a more reasonable set of expectations. Maybe we�ll stop hoping to be lottery millionaires or movie stars or CEOs. Maybe we�ll stop idolizing fabricated celebrity and vicious gossip and impossible perfection. Maybe we�ll realize that true love doesn�t depend on fake breasts.
Nature is brutal and beautiful. One moment the seas are placid, the next they inundate the condos on the shore. We act surprised, oblivious to the millions of years of hurricanes that have shaped our coasts into random, twisted lines. We fantasize that there is a divine plan, an intelligent design behind this terrible judgment. Instead, we must come to see the beauty and the brutality as unpredictable and inevitable. We must relearn our place on the planet and in the universe. It�s time to get a little humble.
Think about Katrina and New Orleans next time you draw. Release the 20th century need to do it right, to make it perfect, to lay down lines just as you�d planned. Instead, take a moment to acknowledge your own imperfections and contemplate how your personal deviations are helping our species to survive. There is no room for perfectly met expectations on this wobbling globe.
The river is ever flowing, breeching its banks, leeching into its bed, never stopping to pose. Everything you draw is mutating as you draw it. Every nanosecond, your pen, your fingers, your sketchbook are all in a flux of atomic migration. We are not grindingly consistent computers, you and I, and we don�t live in Sim City. A twisted, crooked line is the only true line.
Study the gnarled tree, the rotting apple, the ill-kempt hairdo, the defecating dog. Capture the spirit of this imperfection, this constant change, and allow yourself to breathe as you draw. In and out, up and down, tendons bowing, bones creaking, brain cells dying, ink evaporating, paper curling. Ride the act out, and don�t dare think of posterity. If you draw just so you can hang your work on the wall for eternity, your picture frames will exploded in the hot glow of the ever threatening blast. Draw only for exhibition and your gallery will be washed away in the gathering deluge.
Imperfection, misjudgment, failure, these are what you have and don�t dare flee them. Embrace them, cherish them. For chaos is the true way of the world, of your soul, of your destiny of Art with a twisted capital A.
Study your world and draw it. Draw crooked, draw with a stick, draw in the dark, but draw. Draw for now, for today, for this moment. It�s all we have. And, believe me, it�s more than enough.

October 03, 2005

Wisdom and strife 'nut

The new installment of my ongoing pre-parental saga, Peanut, contains much good advice from my mother and grandfather as well as a description of the first time I betrayed my loyal and swollen spouse.

October 02, 2005

Mon nouveau livre

Last Thanksgiving, Patti and I took a lovely trip to Paris and I made about sixty illustrations for Eric Maisel's book, A Writers Paris: A Guided Journey For The Creative Soul . The book is on store shelves now and a quite handsome thing it is too.
I'll be honest, the first galleys were a little bit of a suprise � my drawings seemed small and were sharing space with a melange of collages by Claudine Hellmuth. When I saw the final book, however, I was a more encouraged; it was printed in a nice duo-tone on good stock and you get a pretty good sense of the ink wash I was using. The book has a nice mood and the collages aren't distracting and Eric's essays are very a inspiring guide to my second favorite town.
Aaaanyway, if you're contemplating a trip or just love Paris, check it out.

October 01, 2005

Blanking

I totally forgot to mention that there was a new installment of Peanut last week. Or was it the week before. I'm losing it. Anyway, check it out. Maybe let me know if I'm wasting my time with the whole thing.
P.S. I hate Gary Benchley. And Paul Ford, while I'm at it.