Rosie, Roller Girl

Rosie, Roller Girl

This is a new 24M Photoshop painting.  The inspiration came from an "orphan" vintage photo.  Called orphan, because the provenance has been lost.  The original photo amazes me.  It is a black and white recording of a euphoric girl. What is her story?  Where is she now? A bit of intense past tense has been preserved. The back ground looks like a bombed out city, with piles of masonry rubble.  

I imagined a story for her.  I think that the picture was taken in a European city just after WWII. Rosie was born in a bomb shelter. She came into a world where the air reeked with  fear and death.  The bombs fell everyday until almost everything was destroyed. Fire and grief rained from the sky.  Anyone could die at any minute.  For Rosie's first few years, she lived in hell.

Just when it seemed that the world would and should end, when every soul was bruised or broken, when  depression and dread were a daily diet,  then, D-Day dawned. The good guys won. The adults celebrated,  the horror was over. There was a rebirth of Hope. Mom found skates that fit her daughter.  The new skates were the best thing that ever happened to this precious child.  She could zoom.  So this is how pleasure feels.

 Original Photograph

In my picture of her, I put her in a rose bower, because she has been with the disaster rubble for long enough.

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I worked on this digital version over a period of a few weeks.  I would like to do an oil painting version.  It takes me varying periods of time to do a canvas painting.  I have been working on "Mary and Krishna", for six weeks, hope to finish next week. Then I will photograph the finished painting, tweak it again in photoshop, and publish it. The digital version is already in this blog.  I like the circularity of repeating favorite images in pixels and paint, paint and points of light.

  Several digital pictures are completed for every canvas painting that I have the time to do.  The digital px's serve as detailed plans for the oil paintings.  I have more images than time, they hover overhead, as numerous as copters over Louis Armstrong Airport after Katrina. It is nice to be able to choose the best image.

I have been practicing Photoshop for eleven years.  I have been painting all my life.  Photoshop is a medium that offers some versatility that does not happen with real paint. You can make new versions without destroying the old versions.  I  get excited when I print out a new pixel px. It is a better experience to see it on paper than on a monitor.  Oil on canvas is even more immediate and more intense than the prints.  

Oh, that business, my family apology, in my last blog. Not sure I want to air my dirty laundry publicly.  Can I erase it? And the apology?  The children say they do not read my blog.  Most likely they are wary of being embarrassed.  They should be concerned,  I am not finished paying them back for throwing raging baby tantrums in Walmart yet.

We had a wonderful 4th of July.  The food has been so good.  The place is looking wonderful.  The creek is cool for swimming.  

Elizabeth Taylor, Gazing

Elizabeth Taylor Gazing

 

Liz Taylor Eyes

 

I distorted her face, but I think that she is still recognizable.  I say that she is gazing, but that is too soft a word  to describe her penetrating  eyes.  She is sizing things up and holding her ground.  She says,  "Dont mess with Liz."  I think that she could vaporize you, just by turning  the electricity up one little  notch.  She was a real bitch in "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof".  I would rewatch that film tonight if I had it. 

She is a Medusa, you can almost see the snakes!

I had trouble finding my inner shark.  People were running all over me, I had to learn to stand my ground. Maybe that search is why I made this picture.

An Event at the Ice Cream  Place

Recently Dave and I were waiting for our ice cream orders. The sun was too bright for comfort, but in the shade of the restaurant porch it was lovely.  Sitting at the next picnic table from us was an adorable family.  A young Mommy and Daddy and a beautiful girl, about 10 months old.  The child was sitting between the two parents on the table, playing with car keys.   She gurgled with happy.  She put the keys in her mouth and her father took them away.  Baby went from happy to throwing a hissy in less than ten seconds.  She cried a few minutes and Daddy gave the keys back. She put the keys in her mouth, and he took them away.  There were several repetitions of: playing with keys and happy, keys in mouth, keys taken away, loud screams.  Father was embarrassed by the crying and soon let her keep the keys just to avoid a scene.

 Did she get bad germs from the keys and get sick?  Daddy was trying to protect her and teach her.  Or, maybe the germs on the keys stimulated her immune system. Children need to be exposed to some bacteria, this causes their body to create immunity that will be with them all their life. It is hard, sometimes impossible, to know what is right.

Driving back to our Dauphine Island Cabin, Dave and I talked and agreed that it was wrong to aggravate Baby with the keys. She was too young to learn to keep things out of her mouth.  Infants are hard wired to put everything in their mouth. If I remember right they are only ready to learn to keep things out of their mouth at three or four years old.

 If they had been really super doooper parents they would have brought a chew toy for her. They would have been acquainted with developmental stages.  They were loving, attentive parents, out for ice cream.
Their mistake was small, and may not have much effect on the growing human. But simple, innocent interactions like this, if repeated,  may have long lasting consequences for the child. 

This is a small incident, the parents were obviously doing the best they knew how.  Parents make mistake like this every day.  No one knows exactly the right way to raise a child.

Once, I remember thinking, perhaps when I was in my forties,  I thought, my parents made me neurotic, and I am making my children neurotic.  I mean, no one is qualified for such a serious job.

 I have many pleasurable and informing memories from my childhood.  My parents were loving and took their parenting responsibilities seriously.  They wanted me to turn out well so they raised me up according to strict Christian ethics.  Daddy had a good Air Force job.  We traveled and saw the world. We were part of the military, fighting for right.

I went to 13 schools before I graduated high school.  I never belonged,  in the north they called me a southern rebel. The war between the states was still in collective memory, that explains the rebel part.  In the south they called me a damn yankee.  Damned, because the north won the war. My accent was always wrong.  I was in fifth grade before I realized that the north won the civil war.  My father's family remembered the boys that fell in that war.  The boys were heroes.  Talking about the loosing part would have subtracted points from their hero status. Hell, they just did not want to admit that they were losers.

My mother was relatively attentive.  My father was gone away on Air Force assignments.  I was born about 1 month before the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Did I, on some level feel the screams of the victims?  Like Jung, I believe that we are all connected.

My mother and father were loving and relatively attentive.  They were sure that they knew the right way to raise a child.  The Bible told them what to do, people are born into sin and it must be whipped out. They were not confused, they had certainty.  They had hard and fast rules.

I was a relative attentive parent.  I made many mistakes that my children must try to sort out.   I really wanted to be a good Mom, but there was a lot of static. I was not sure what to do. I was confused. I just wanted to break all those damn righteous rules that I was raised with.

I made many stupid mistakes.  I am sorry.  This is my public apology to my children. I am sorry.

 I am still trying to get things right.

But back to the family on the porch.  They were loving and attentive, just uninformed.  If it is this easy to make a parental mistake, no wonder that we are all screwed up.

Excuse me!  You are not screwed up?  You are insulted that I would include you in with the confused masses of the world.  Your parents did everything right, or  you have overcome their stupidities?  Well, good for you dahlin' I hope that hasnt made you judgmental and superior. Arnt you the epitome of perfection.

We must examine and accept our own faults so that we can understand the faults of others.  Compassion for ourself and others is the basis of learning real love.

It is so disappointing to realize our human  condition of not knowing. We want to know,  "Where did we come from? Where are we going? Why are we here?".  This is a quote from Gauguin.  We ask questions and want them answered.  We NEED to know. This is the attraction of religion.  The preacher tells you exactly what is right.   Uncertainty is just feeling ignorant. But there are no concrete answers.  We are left with just the consolation of appreciating Mystery. 

Enough blathering.  I will sign off now.  I hope that you have a stellar day.

The Contemporary Arts Center, NOLA Now, Part II The Human Figure exhibit, curated by Don Marshal,  last night was fun, inspirational and nostalgic.  Inspirational, because I always want to see what other artist are doing.  Fun, for the people watching.  Nostalgic, because it reminded me of my wonderful bad old days,  the 80's.

Art openings are see and be seen social events.  Steppin' out,  stylin',  making a fashion statement.  The fashion choices making a life style statement. Dave and I saw flocks of punks, bevies of sleek lesbians, pods of posturing artists, video camera faced recorders,  aging flower children,  fashionistas, and that slinky black clad group slouching toward alienation.

I saw only a few people that I knew, in contrast to my bad years when I ran with a pack of socially inappropriate high jinxers. When everyone worth knowing knew everyone worth knowing.

Hot children in the wild New Orleans night, exploring the Bacchanalian side of life.

I ran into old eighties friend Kenny Harrison,  the wonderfully adept Times Picayune artist.  He was clad in a good ole southern seer sucker suit as was George Schmidt.  Kenny introduced us to the artist Jim Dine, his name was familiar to me, but I had to Google him to see how famous he is.   

I spend most of my time like a hermit in the woods.  In my old age I seek peace and quiet, the better to contemplate messages from my muse.  The better to commune with mother nature, which is necessary for my sanity. Going to New Orleans, to an old stomping grounds place, is a big stimulating contrast. 

Oh, oh, oh, back in the bad old eighties, we had some legendary escapades.  I Belonged, belonged to a tribe.  The Contemporary Arts Center was one of our play houses.  A dusty warehouse, it was unkempt and unpolished. I sometimes did studio work there.  Messed around with Sandra Blair (Kween of Krewe of Klones) and created happenings.

 The core of my tribe were The Hemorrhoids, you heard me right, The Hemorrhoid Marching Club.   Our uniform consisted of long john underwear dyed purple,  a hemorrhoid donut pillow as a hat, and an enema bag filled with cocktails hung around the neck. Purple ostrich feathers and purple satin and sequin capes were optional.

Once, at the CAC, The Hemorrhoids danced on stage with Professor Longhair percussing the piano.  We were having so much fun, acting like fools, that they had to run us off the stage for the next act. 

Someone once asked me,  "Why were you called hemorrhoids?"  I said, "Because it is disgusting",  wasnt that obvious, self evident? 

When you slaughter that part of your social mask that maintains "good taste" a bigger world opens up. Boundaries are broken, it makes you more free. You have many more choices.   You can suck cocktails out of the business end of an enema bag.  I guess most of you may, understandably, reasonably, not get it.  I was raised to be a Southern Lady, I needed to bust that constrictive mold.

I am currently reconsidering "good taste" and allowing it back into my mode of operation.  Now I do it by conscious choice,  previously it was a conditioned habit.   Also, I am a grandmother, so I suppose (I am not sure) that I should set a good example, what ever that is. 

Of course my picture,  "Portrait of Charles Neville", is the best in the Human Figure show.  There is a lot of inspirational art work to see.  Two stand out amid all the static.  Under the heading, "I wish that I had thought of that first", is Jane Talton-Ayrod's "Odalisque Plastique".  A satirical redo of a classic odalisque, showing a Barbie doll lying voluptuously on a divan. Behind her, an Aunt Jemima doll (no un P.C. intended) displays a bouquet of flowers from an admirer.

Under the heading,  "I wish that I could paint that well" is Michael Deas oil, "The Frayed Dress".  Michael Deas also sent me to Google for research.  A New Orleans royalty of art, his work is amazing. He has created many impressive portraits for the USA postal system stamps.  Seeing his website, his picture of a woman holding a torch for Columbia Pictures, reminded me again of the bad old eighties.  Through purple clouds of smoke and time, I remember being at Molly's Irish Pub, with my tribe, about 1am, one steamy night.  A man brought in this beautifully rendered painting of the familiar Columbia Pictures logo updated. He had just finished it and wanted to show it off.  Now,  I know that man was Michael Deas. He wasnt quite on my radar before, how could I have missed him?  There are so many creatives in New Orleans.

Time brings interesting changes.  I, previously a tacky trollop galloping with a disruptive bunch of hooligans, now, a sometimes tasteful, usually well behaved grandmother traveling quietly with my third, and best husband, sweet Dave. The Contemporary Arts Center, previously a disheveled playhouse for unruly artists, now, an orderly, structured, architecturally interesting place of recent political upheavals, that is strangely familiar/unfamiliar. 

Peace, Love and Art,  Janet

Charles Neville Communications

I am so delighted that Charles Neville answered my open letter.  Charles is the much loved Grammy award winning  saxophone musician. In a city bountiful with musicians, he is New Orleans musical Royalty. His album "Diversity" is phenomenal.  The best way to hear him and the bro's is when the Neville Brothers close the annual New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival. 

This is what Charles wrote:

Dear Janet,
Your painting is wonderful, full of wonder and quite beautiful.  You really captured something of the Spirit of the "Mystic" Charles Neville. I would love to have a copy, if that's possible.  I'll be in N.O. for one day in late June.  I'll get to the C.A.C. then.
Thanks,
Charles

I wrote back:

Dear Charles,
Yesterday I mailed out four prints for you.  The prints are made with archival paper and ink.  ....
Thank you very much for your kind e-mail regarding the portrait.  I hope that you do not mind if I quote you in my blog and on other internet entries.

Art is communication between individuals.  As humans we speak, we gesture, we touch, but we never really know what is in the mind of others.  My art documents the introspections of my cognitive processes as I muddle about, trying to understand what it means to be a human on Earth.  Our communications demonstrates this process.

ART IS THE SHORTEST DISTANCE BETWEEN TWO MINDS

Your art, music inspired me and about a million other people.  I responded with a portrait, which speaks to you.  We craft verbal communications, and share them with others.  We are trying to close the gap between human minds. 

Have a blessed day,
Janet

See my web site and blog which illustrate my quest.

Charles wrote back:

Thanks Janet,
I looked at your website and liked everything I saw.  The crying baby was my favorite.  Thanks for thinking of me as being a subject.
Charles

Charles Neville, Open Letter

Charles Neville Portrait

36"x48" oil on canvas

An Urban Shaman

Open Letter to Charles Neville

Dear Charles,

I hope that you like your portrait.  I took liberties while painting it,  hope you don't mind.  In order to paint you,  I wanted to know about you.  I reviewed times past when our paths crossed. We met only once, that was in the early 90's at a spiritual retreat.  And, back in my bad old days, the 80's, in New Orleans I saw you and the bro's many times. At the best damn bad place on the planet, Tipitina's, with the sweat dripping off the walls. To research for the px, I surfed the web to gather some info and images of you. I found a snippet of information and some low rez publicity px's.

So, really I did not have a lot info to go on.  Not to worry, under informed?, not a problem.  I just used my hyperactive imagination.  

 

The cool hat and tie dye t-shirt, came from publicity stills attire.  Of course, there had to be your magic wand, sexy sax, close to your heart.  The mustache, which reminds me of a Chinese monk, is exaggerated,  because it looks so effin awesome.  High cheek bones reveal your Native American genes.

 I studied the low rez images of you harvested from the web, and converted the blurry face to paint on canvas.  Time consuming, fun and satisfying work.  While painting, stories floated on the screen of  my mind.  I saw you as mythic man,  a heroic urban shaman. A powerful explorer of life on Earth  An adventurer on the highway of consciousness.

There had to be a gator in the px.  He is your totem, a spiritual animal power partner. Gristly Gator, the mighty, mighty Honey Island swamp beast,  the cohort of Loup Garou,  is your unseen supporter. Do you sense him?

I had painted St. Louis Cathedral previously, so, it went in the picture as the spirit of New Orleans.  Radiance from the crosses borrows technique from Van Gogh.  The crosses are a salute to the many righteous people who gather solace and joy from churches.

After painting for a while, I looked at the px and saw that the Cathedral looked Gothic.  Kinda spooky.  I was mystified by what I had painted. The dark blue arches looked like ghosts.  They reminded me of Edvard Munch's "The Scream" painting.

Just as an aside, I have frequent arguments with my muse, my artistic inspiration.  My intention is to paint pictures filled with light and love (and a bit of humor).  However,  dark images sometimes creep into the paintings.  I blame this on my muse, she takes over my brush.

The Cathedral,  supposedly a beam of hope, looked like a set from a cheap horror movie.  Then I saw the justice in this. The horror stemmed from millennia of  abuses perpetrated by organized religion.  So, I was OK with St. Lou as painted.  The good side represented by the radiant crosses, the bad side showing up in the creepy ghosts.   

St. Louis Cathedral is reflected in your glasses.  The glory and horror is in your eyes.  This is the experience of your soul.  

There is a water fountain in front of St. Lou.  Maybe, this signifies the baptism of the spirit.  Or maybe, I am reading too much into it.  Maybe, it is just a beautiful picture.

This portrait will be exhibited at the New Orleans Contemporary Arts Center, for seven weeks.  Opening reception Saturday, June 23.  Closing reception, White Linen Night, Sat August 5.

Thanks, Charles, for this picture.  It was a joy to paint.

Sincerely,

Janet

MARY, MOTHER OF GOD

I am confused, is that a problem?

This ancient picture was recently discovered in catacombs beneath the Galilee Chapel of Tears. It is painted on tanned goat hide and painted with  pigment of  huckleberries. Professor Doctor Fulloshoot placed the time of its creation in the early thirteenth century.  He states that the realism of Baby God is unusual and amazing for that time period.  

Mary looks like she is resigned to caring for this cranky Baby God.  She is looking patiently out of the picture, saying,  "Can you believe this little tyke can make so much noise?"

 Poor little Baby God, crying at the top of his lungs.  I wonder why?  Is he pissed because, now he has to spend some time on the planet that he created.  Or maybe he is angry because he is in a human body?  He made the Earth, way back in the day.  You have to give him credit for making a wonderful globe.  He thought up some fantabulous critters,  like tigers and rolly polys.   He created awesome things like mountains, swamps, and beaches.   

He also created humans.  They say that God does not make mistakes,  but that is just  spin, a claim instigated by his publicist.  

Humans did not turn out so well.  They are almost totally irrational and self serving.  Their emotions run amok and cause them to act stupid. They are always trying to improve social organization but the race just continues to create chaotic communities.  In their petty, but deadly, never ending wars they destroy nature. They refuse to learn the ways of peace.   Rampant greed impedes learning cooperation.  You know, they just stomp on each other every day.  They kill each other like flies. The only thing that they do better than killing is reproducing, infecting the earth like fleas on a mangy dog.   

God realized that humans were deeply flawed.  His spinmeister released a statement blaming the hominid disaster on the female human. Her name was Eve, she was blamed for the whole fan hitting disaster.  The devil made her do it.  The mother of the human race fed Adam a bad meal, and women have been blamed for every hiccup since that time. Adam and Eve ate from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, and that is how they got so screwed up.  However,  I want to know, what was that tree doing there, in the first place?  The Garden of Eden, it was suppose to be a perfect garden, but it grew a tricky Cassandra tree. Isnt God the original source of human curiosity?  Didnt he know he made critters that want to taste everything?  It was blamed on the serpent.  So,  who is this serpent devil?  Why did he fall into evil?  I mean, if God is so almighty almighty why cant he keep these things under control

Spinmeister concocted a scheme to redeem the stupid race.  God should go to earth in a human body and make a grand gesture of sacrifice, to show them the right way.

God impregnated the pure Virgin Mary, then he was born to her.  So he was his own dad.  To avoid confusion his human incarnation is usually called Jesus. 

Baby God is crying because he realizes what a mess he has gotten himself into.  He is a human, for Gods sake!  Buffeted by hurricanes of emotions and desires.  He makes plans that go awry.  He doesnt even know where he came from, where he is going, and what he is suppose to do while he is here.   God's spinmeisters, AKA prophets, lay down a lot of rules but people are not very good at following rules.  Maybe they dont really believe in the rules,  maybe they suspect that the power freak humans, (Kings, politicians and Popes) are continuously concocting ways of controlling communities. 

So, Jesus was birthed and he grew up. Then he bummed around the Holy Land, talking to everyone that he could get to listen.  He was kind of like Socrates who also tried to teach people and was rewarded with a drink of poison.  Yea, the people killed Jesus.  They dont even know a good thing when they see it.

So, just in case you were wondering, that is why Baby God is screaming his head off.

WASABI

WASABI WITH POSIES

WASABI WISTFUL

WASABI

This Geisha like creature looks elegant and sweet, but her name tells you that she is also spicy.  Her dragon companion, declares,  "Dont mess with Wasabi."  A Photoshop painting which I may use as a draft or sketch for a painting on canvas.