Sheaves of Wheat - The Harvest

 Today is July 29, the 123rd anniversary of the date of Vincent's death.

For those of you who may not know the story of the final days of Vincent's life, I cannot encourage you enough to check out Van Gogh, The Life (see reading list at right), which offers a comprehensive look at all of the theories of Vincent's "suicide," as well as a fascinating epilogue on the events that played out immediately and in the years after his passing.

The painting which you see at above (Ici Repose, Vincent) is my truly final painting for the Vincent Project project.

This is a depiction of the gravesite in Arles where Vincent and his brother Theo were laid to rest.  You can see by the dates that Theo died not long after his older brother, and, in death as in life, they remain closely connected for eternity.

I did the painting using only black, white, and grey hues; I chose these colors because, with Vincent's death, a little bit of color went out of the world forever.

I have spent the last few weeks focusing my artistic thoughts and efforts on two things:

I thought a lot about what doing the Vincent Project has meant to me, and I have started an entirely new series of completely NON derivative paintings - expressing my own ideas and thoughts in a new and (hopefully) unique way.  If you are curious about what I am doing, I am going to post those paintings in a new blog:

catherinehicksartblog.blogspot.com

In a way, this feels very much (for me) like a graduation from a school led by my kindly old professor Van Gogh.  Now that doesn't mean that I am done learning about art or Vincent or living a creative life - quite the opposite - it means that I am ready to stop learning how to be an artist and start just being one.  I am very grateful to Vincent for that.

Let me take you back a few weeks to the time when I had just finished the 52 paintings that I had required of myself for the project.   There was a mad dash to finish everything on time, and just after I had completed the last painting, my husband took me to Dallas, where he was attending a conference.

Like all weekends I have ever spent in Dallas, it was miserably hot, and the city itself felt like nothing more than a continuous and interwoven strip of overcrowded and smog filled freeway.

There were cool islands, like our hotel (the new Aloft hotel in Downtown - absolutely awesome!)  or several lovely little restaurants, and, of course, a visit to the downtown Asel art supply (which was surprisingly not as good (at least for me)) as the one in Austin.

But mainly, it was a lot of freeway driving directed by rather idiotic gps instructions from the dashboard of my car.

Then I got to go to the museums.

My first stop was the Meadows Museum, which is located on the shaded and very lovely SMU campus.  This was a sober and academic museum experience, and the collection is focused primarily on Spanish Art.  I was there specifically to see paintings by Picasso and Velazquez.  I very much liked the Velazquez, but the Picasso was (in the words of American Idol Judge Randy..) just allright for me, dawg.

But any day in a museum is always better than being on the Central Expressway, so I kept on exploring.

I wound my way through the galleries of somber courtiers and ladies buried under yards and yards of heavy silks, then climbed the staircase at the center of the building to the very top floor, where I found the special exhibition presented by the Meadows.  This exhibit was an extremely comprehensive look at the works of Martin Rico, a Spanish post impressionist en plein air painter who was living and working primarily in Italy, France and Spain during the same era (roughly) as Van Gogh.  His European landscapes (particularly those of Venice) were sublimely atmospheric and Rico was an absolute master of water.

What was truly impressive to me, however, were the hundreds of Rico's sketchbooks that the Meadows had on display.  Filled with meticulous pen and pencil drawings, these sketchbooks were a fascinating glimpse into the artist's eyes and life as he explored a very lovely period in European history.    The dozens of leather bound little sketch books showed that not only could Rico draw extremely well, he was also a champion of precise composition and nuanced detail.

But at the end of the day, I was getting a little bored.  Pretty landscape after pretty landscape.  Multiple klatches of saucy vixens laundering clothes in the river.  A whole museum full of stiff court paintings, with only just a few cubist and modern works thrown in to relieve the monotony.

The Meadows was a fine museum and a worthwhile experience, but it was more like diving into a plate of nutritious vegetables when what I wanted was a taco.

The next day, I went to the Dallas Museum of Art.  This was an impressive space filled with just the type of exhibits that you would expect, displayed in the way that you would expect them to be, in a major city museum.  Stifling a yawn, I thought to myself, "here we go again..."

That is, until I got upstairs.  I knew that there was a Van Gogh at the museum (I tried to get you a link, I can't get it to work... sorry!)  because I had looked it up on their website prior to our trip.   Vincent's painting (one of two in the Dallas museum) is his beautiful double square landscape entitled "Sheaves of Wheat" from July 1890.  This piece was one of 12 similar landscapes that Vincent completed in the the 2 months just prior to his death.   According to the museum website, the argument could be made that these dozen paintings were a series that Vincent was developing; I think that this theory serves to back up the idea that the Dutchman's death was not a suicide.

Like most of the great works hung in museums, Vincent's painting was not the first thing to see when stepping off of the elevator.  Once on the correct floor, I wound my way through a few galleries until I came upon what looked like the entrance to a nice European country house.  I stepped inside to an entryway filled with a most interesting display of decorative iron hinges, door knockers, and other objects set against a small room made up of clean whitewashed walls and inviting arched doorways.

I learned that this section of the museum had been donated by a couple (Wendy and Emory Reeves), who basically replicated their vacation home, including furnishings, knick knacks, and artwork right in the heart of the Dallas museum, so all could enjoy their lifetime of collecting and curating.  It was an extremely interesting glimpse into how fun it would be to be super rich and able to buy amazing art instead of just looking at it.  That said, this level of art really should not be in private homes or offices or (worse!) storage.  I appreciate that this couple made such a generous and interesting gift be their legacy.

Anyway, that first passage led to a light filled and welcoming reception room that was beautifully decorated with comfortable looking benches, warm rugs, and invitingly displayed art work.  I felt as if I had just stepped into the glossy pages of a high end decorating magazine.  My eyes started scanning the room, which looked and felt nothing like any museum I had ever seen before.  In addition to a tall exterior window and accompanying paintings on the two story wall opposite the entrance, there were roped off staircases flanking either side of the room.  Everywhere I looked there were pretty paintings hung over expensive but quite comfortable looking furnishings.  It looked just like the house of a very wealthy friend or relative: relaxed, informal, and luxe.

Then I turned to see the view behind me and finally, my eyes took it in.  Vincent's Sheaves of Wheat.  I knew what I was looking for before I saw it; in fact, I was hunting for it, but when I saw it - the vision of it - the contact with my eyes literally took my breath away.

Vincent had painted that beautiful image.  Vincent had stood almost in the same position that I was standing in.  Vincent had orchestrated his brushes in a symphony of light, and color, and warmth.  The wheat that Vincent painted fed me and lifted me, and suddenly, I just burst into tears.

As the salty flow dripped down my cheeks, I stood there in the museum and cried.  I thought about what a dear friend and teacher Vincent had been to me during this past year.  I thought about how hard his life was, and how much he had enriched mine.  I wept for the beauty of his brushstrokes, the fine restraint and unabashed fervor that he had balanced to perfection in the painting.

People walked by looking at me like I was crazy.  I wasn't sobbing and dripping snot like I could have been; I was just standing there in silence while my mascara puddled onto my chin.  I didn't care if people thought I was nuts.  Vincent was certifiable, but Vincent made THAT, and I was right there in front of it!  I felt like he was standing exactly beside me, thinking about something he could have added or tweaked.  I thought he was going to ask me to hand him a brush... and I thought he might even ask me my opinion!

And although it sounds a little off the deep end as I am rereading this, it really wasn't crazy at all.  I had read and learned and thought so much about Vincent during this past year, that I felt like I really knew him and understood him in that moment.  I didn't feel at all like I was alone, even though I was standing there all by myself.

And isn't that connection, that communication through his painting, that recognition by another person of what it was that he was trying to convey when he painted, what Vincent wanted most of all?

Vincent and me in Dallas.

It was, honestly, one of the most moving experiences I have ever had.  It was certainly the most moving artistic moment of my life.

After some amount of time - I have no idea how long - as I kept on staring at the painting, words started coming into my head:  Prussian Blue, Naples Yellow, Cadmium Yellow Deep.  Ultramarine Light, Thalo Green, Yellow Ochre.  Of course, the colors weren't those exactly, but I knew, in my very soul, that those were the roots of the colors he had used.  And I didn't have to look it up, or confirm anything.  I just knew.

And in that moment, that very moment - where I instinctively understood how Vincent had used the colors, I felt myself at last to be an artist.  Vincent and I had had a year long talk about art, and painting, and history, and the human condition, and finally, and confidently, I completely understood  what it was that he had been trying to tell me.

It was just like Dorothy with the glass slippers - I had always had the solution, I just had to believe it myself.

Thank you, Vincent.  Thank you.

Before starting this project, I was just another unsure and unconfident adult, longing to express herself, who ended up doing anything and everything that wasn't art.

But, like Vincent, who also tried everything he could think of before the art took over, the creativity kept on "leaking" out of me.

I would sign a card with caricatures of myself, my husband, the children and our dogs.  I would sew ridiculously over the top halloween costumes, and "help" my children a little too much with their school art assignments.  When we moved, I opened a box in my attic marked "art stuff" and was stunned at the number of drawings, sketches, pastels, paintings, weavings, an other "art" that I had thrown into the box over the years.

I never thought of myself as an artist.  I thought I was OK at drawing, but that wasn't really art.

I thought everyone (and I mean everyone) could do art at at least the level I could, and most could do it a lot better.  I thought art was just an indulgence, a hobby, busy work to pass the time.

I thought that all the needlepoint kits, and sewing projects, jewelry making, doodles, and decorating jags were just things that middle class women in America were expected to do.  I never saw these past times as truly artistic, unique, or in any way making any kind of significant contribution - to the world or anybody else.

But I was wrong.  I wasn't making a contribution to the world, I was making one to myself!  I couldn't help but making art, and making the art was what was keeping me whole.

I think that Vincent and I have that in common.

I know now that all these creative projects were expressions that needed to get out.  Making art wasn't a hobby, it was a necessity to my own self actualization as a complete human being.

PBS ran a show a few months ago on Neanderthals.  In it, they said that one of the differences between the Neanderthals and Modern Humans was the human ability to create symbols, evidenced by the cave paintings that were left behind (there is some evidence that those paintings may have in fact been Neanderthal works...).

In the program, the narrator stressed that making symbols, or art, is a fundamental human need, and all cultures around the earth engage in this activity.  Symbol making is not a hobby, or a past time or an indulgence.

Symbol making is part of the human experience.  Without our culture, without art, would we be anything more than just highly intelligent animals?  Art does not have to serve any purpose other than the expression of the artist.  Great art takes it a step further by serving as a communication between the artist and the observer.

The symbol serves as language to bind us together as a family, tribe, community, culture, the world.

Even if Vincent has been gone for 123 years, he is not gone for me at all.  He lives on for me, for you, for all the generations to come as long as his work is preserved and enjoyed.

The Vincent project changed my life.  I don't know if it made me a great painter, or artist, or person, but it fundamentally shifted the way I think about who I am and what I am here to do.

Thank you, Vincent.  Thank you.

And thank YOU for reading along and sharing this journey with me.  The blog gave me a level of accountability and commitment that kept me going, even when I seriously wanted to quit.  I literally could not have done it without all of you.

And thanks to Bryan, the Art Demi God, my patron, supporter and confidant.  I hope that you know how much your encouragement has meant to me.

Catherine Hicks
The Artist.  Really.

Please look for me on the new blog, and feel free to follow along.
catherinehicksartblog.blogspot.com

Vincent takes the week off, I carry on with a Cubist -

This week, I am SO lucky to be seeing the Picasso, Black and White exhibit with my sister, Chris, at the Museum of Fine Arts in Houston, Texas.

If you are wondering what the "painting" on your left is, read on....

Because I will be traveling, I will not be able to work on a painting, so instead  I decided to do a light, fun, dare I say throwaway blog on the greatest time waster (but perhaps not...) of my life: the online game called Draw Something.

You can see at left a screen shot of one of my drawings from the game.  Just before my trip to Houston to see the Picasso exhibit, one of my clue choices was to depict the great Spanish painter, so what else could I do but to create my own, tiny little, finger drawn, and only slightly cubist portrait of the master?

The rules of Draw Something are simple; it is basically Pictionary played over your phone or tablet.  Once you have loaded the app and set up the game, you can find a friend to play with either by typing in their DS name, finding them on Face Book, or having the DS computer elves choose a random opponent for you to play with.  You then select a clue from the choices given, and play by drawing it for your opponent on a blank screen.  The game includes some little blobs of very limited colors that you can draw with (using your finger), along with a multiple thickness line sizer and size-able eraser. Using these "tools," you try to describe, or get your opponent to guess the clue that you have chosen.  Sometimes I (and others I am playing with) have made the puzzle even more challenging by too hastily choosing which clue to draw, and then drawing a different clue that does not correspond at all to the answer that is to be guessed.  Don't let this happen to you.....

In an effort for this pastime to not eat up every moment of my entire day, I have limited my opponents to the ArtDemiGod, my sister, Chris, and my Mom.  

I usually play DS during those downtime moments of my day, like waiting at the doctor's office, when I am on the phone, or participating in the greatest (American) life consumer of all, watching TV.  Although playing Draw Something seems like a colossal time suck, I would have to say that playing the game has, in fact, improved my painting process.  At first, I drew with a thin black line and just made crude stick figures (partly because I was drawing with suddenly very fat fingers on a tiny little phone screen), but as I kept playing, I earned points which allowed me to "buy" more colors.  (I also received a tablet, thanks Steve Jobs!  Thanks, ArtDemiGod!) After I had gotten a lot more than the standard issue colors and switched to the tablet platform for production, I realized that I could use Draw Something to actually Draw Something!  At right, you can see some penguins that I drew... that drawing was a lucky accident because I initially drew their black bodies too thickly, then when I tried to erase with the eraser, I messed it up, until I realized that against the snow, with just one little thin black or yellow line here and there, I somehow got a walking, waddling, march of the penguins!  And, let me brag here - I did that one on my phone!

Not Really....

So that little exercise showed me (again!) that seeing something as a mistake was a choice - any errors in my drawing (or painting!) could either be fully erased, or perhaps incorporated into a new way of conceptualizing the work...

The game also makes you think about your composition before you draw.  The words or things that DS requires you to draw are often very silly, so the composition, and the order of the composition definitely comes into play as you consider how you want to express the idea.  You may also think about your very specific audience (if you know the person) because there may be inside jokes or memes available to exploit in the guessing process - you can take a shortcut by drawing something that only they would know.  When trying to express the word banana for Chris, I knew that she had once had a banana tree in her yard, so I started by drawing the tree (or what I thought was a banana tree... she thought it looked more like a palm).  But before I drew, I had to really think about the order of the drawing: first the background, then the tree and leaves, the "shading," bark, and veins of the leaves, then, finally the banana bunch, and the details of the individual bananas.  

Once all of that was done, I gave it a look, and concluded the bananas looked like a yellow fungus.  I decided to fix the problem by adding in a single banana.  After figuring out that the banana needed to go in the foreground, I then had to order the drawing of the banana, by drawing the fruit, then the hand, and, finally, the peel.  

I know exactly what you are thinking: It is kind of certifiably crazy to give so much thought to a stupid, mindless, and extremely ephemeral (unless you use a screen shot) game, but honestly, thinking through these little drawings made me much more aware of the domino effect that can be created in composing my own paintings.  The drawings, and the process of rendering them, help me to order my steps efficiently so there is far less backtracking.  Surprisingly, these tiny little digital paintings have made me really think about color and how to use it most effectively to set mood or express an idea.  I realized that I may be taking it all too seriously when the program started popping up (on my most beautiful "masterpieces") with a caution that I was running out of ink.  Seriously?  It's digital ink... How can you run out?

Above, you can see a little pun that I made for the ArtDemiGod.  No need to buy tickets for The Fast and the Furious 5  when you can get this kind of action on the small screen!  (I am not giving a thumbs up or down to The Fast and the Furious 5... I will be seeing 42 this weekend....)

But before the movie, allow me to prepare a little snack...

#1

#2

#3

And you can't have guacamole without -

As you can see by the drawings above, it is possible, by drawing in stacked layers, to create a little animation for the person on the receiving end of the drawing.  I wish I were computer clever enough to put the actual animation in the blog, but in the meanwhile, I hope that you will settle for the still shots (1, 2, & 3) of our Friday Fiesta!  Cheers!

Here are some other "animations" - 

Once again, same clue, different answer:

And the best one I ever did:

I have also observed that after a few drawings, you start to recognize the artist behind each image.  Chris has a main character that we call triangle man/woman/child/dog, (see right, and try to guess who/what she drew by using the letters at the bottom of the screen....).  Although she says she can't draw at all, Chris' drawings are very simple, and always incredibly expressive.  Just look at the lonesome look on triangle man's face... Notice the downward cast of his body, as if he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.  Observe the shuffling feet and the vacant, defeated expression in both his body and his face.  Chris may not draw in a detailed way, but that doesn't mean that she can't really DRAW!  I love my sister's drawings because she gets to the point in just a very few lines (much like our friend, the recently observed Pablo Picasso!)

The ArtDemiGod, who still draws on a tiny iphone screen, sends drawings that are concise, direct, and to the point.  Observe his elegant renderings at your right and below.  Often, what he lacks in visual imagery, he makes up for with words.  In our house rules, we have all agreed it is cheating to just write out the word that is the clue.  There is only one exception to this rule: you can write it out only if the clue is something nonsensical to you or your audience like, for example, Skrillex, and if the clue is worth a lot of points and/or will get you a badge; but if you just write out the word clue on something like coffee cup it is blatant cheating.  House rules require you to just draw the damn cup.  It always has to still be a puzzle.  No offense to the many fans of Skrillex; I know you are loved by Duncan.

 

My Mom's drawings are also quite spare and to the point, but as a senior citizen, I know that the challenge of drawing each day has helped her keep sharp and focused.  She gets a little irritated if I won't respond immediately to one of her drawings with a drawing of my own.

There is also some repetition in the game; eventually, you will draw a clue that you have received, or you will receive a clue that you have already drawn.  Observe below, and see if you can guess which Drawer drew what:

different answer!

Same clue.....

                           

Anyway, as this was supposed to be a super quick blog, I will now, in no particular order, take you to the rest of the drawings - these were all captured by doing screen shots prior to sending the drawings or just as I was at the moment of guessing the other person's drawings.

I have tried to pair the drawings in a humorous way, so I hope you enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thanks to everybody for reading - this blog was really fun for me to write, but now I must immediately go and respond to all of the draw somethings that are waiting for me!

Have a great weekend, leave a comment if you would like, and I will report next week on my new painting and (hopefully) a little bit about Pablo.

Catherine