Altered Lines

The last few days have been filled with rains and wind, slowly washing the snows and ice away. This is the first time I've seen green grass since the end of 2010. In a few weeks the gardens will demand my time and attention, so am trying to get in as much painting and sketching as possible.

Last weekend I worked on two paintings for the gallery: an oil of a sunlit harbor filled with sailboats but in a very non-representational manner, working only with slabs of cold wax and a palette knife. It's a large one -- 22" x 28" -- and was begun last summer, then placed against the wall in frustration. But when I pulled it out last week, the colors sprang to life and gave me a thrill. See what a few months' worth of snow can do?

Below is another ink sketch of my daughter, using walnut ink and a double-pointed knitting needle (ha!). I found the knitting needle a bit more blunt and that it didn't gouge the paper.

Then, on a particularly rainy night, I took the scanned image and played with it.  I applied several layers of texture by Jerry Jones at Shadowhouse Creations, then used the difference and exclusion blends. Suddenly I could see constellations appearing, the sketch lines now altered to look like celestial navigation lines of some old map. A few custom brushes and added text and a totally different image!

Change of Pace

Recently I took a break from painting, seeking out another path to follow for awhile. Suddenly I had felt the need to "cleanse the palette," to return to the basics of paper and ink.  I've written before about nudes and my love of the human form; however, I've only taken one life drawing class, which was cut short by snow storms last year.  I continue to dabble, sketching people at the beach, sitting in cafes, waiting in airports, etc.  There is something about the body in moments of quietude, when the person is totally unaware of being observed -- staring off into space over a mug of coffee, laying on a beach soaking in the rays or trundling along the sidewalk walking a dog -- those are the moments one hopes to capture.

The Pin by K. E. Marszycki
11"x14";  ink on paper

It's more difficult during a posed life drawing, as the model is aware and often posed in a stilted manner. Time is pressing, you can hear other members of the class grumbling, whispering, the model twitches, the instructor rambles on and on giving well-meaning advice . . . then "bing!" the timer goes off and you're just getting warmed up.

Seated Nude by K. E. Marszycki

14" x 17"; gouache on paper

The fun thing about these sketches is that they were done from my head -- sorry, Madam, but I'm removing your bathing suit but just this once, I assure you -- from people I recall or, as in the case of the sketch below, taken from a beautiful sculpture by Rodin of his lover, Camille Claudel.

Rendering of Rodin's Savage Sweetness by K.E. Marszycki

17" x 14"; ink on paper

I hope to continue this series of ink sketches as I believe they are loose and spontaneous with little time to fret over whether the scale or dimensions are correct, that there are no facial features thus giving them perhaps a more universal feel.  I liked the feel of the ink on paper and, whenever I found myself tensing up, I turned the bamboo stick sideways and rolled it, thus breaking up the line, letting my clumsiness convey an added edginess.

Maybe a bit later in the spring I will have some of these sketches framed and bring to the Gallery . . . we'll see.  Sometimes it's difficult to let one's work go when it has given you such pleasure, such freedom, has taught you well . . .

Sketches & Lines

Another winter storm has just about halted daily life, at least for a few hours. Yesterday was cleaning; today seems to be a split existence: outside shoveling, clearing paths, thawing out cars; then inside to warm up, drink hot coffee and sift through old sketch pads that have been stacked up for months, years.  I was surprised at some things I uncovered, so I thought I would share some of these sketches. Below is a drawing of Egon Schiele's Moa, done in 1911. As I had worked on this sketch, I had jotted notes to myself:

Sketching Schiele's Standing Nude (the dancer Moa), intrigued by the "feel" of the line -- judging its weight, its thickness or thinness, the need for broad strokes or delicacy, thinking what will capture the feel of this person . . . With Moa I feel a sense of fragility, not like his other nudes that are edgy and raw. Moa is different. Schiele's line is lightness itself, a hint of eyeglasses, the thin arms hug her upper torso as if sheltering herself -- the hips push forward accentuating the thin frame, yet there is a healthy tuft of pubic hair, unlike Schiele's other nudes. As my hand moves around the paper, my sense is that he felt a sense of protectiveness, of respect, love for the little dancer . . . ?

Here is a sketch I did about a year ago based on a nude in pen/ink I purchased 20 years ago in an antique shop. I fell in love with it the moment I spied her sitting in the shadows of the shop. I cannot read the signature; my guess is that it was a work by an art student somewhere in the area (there are 7 colleges and universities within a 10-mile radius). She has been hanging by the side of the fireplace keeping me company for a long time.

But how different from Schiele's work!  Moa needs this woman as a friend and protector because this woman is bold, confident, perhaps a bit brazen? She is a force to be reckoned with -- and the lines show it. The artist's strokes are thick, full of energy, with only the suggestion of a turban to add a touch of the feminine. The curves and angles thrust and parry the open space of the paper. Vastly different from Schiele's Moa, and I found I had to work harder, applying pressure and literally tackling the space of the paper.

So, I tried to emulate those same differences in these two drawings, one using a heavy, thick stroke, mostly in shadow with a pale patch of light on the breast and stomach. Very private, secluded, a closed feeling with only half the body visible.

Half Torso (charcoal on paper; K.E. Marszycki)

This drawing I tried something different, using ink and a long, thin bamboo stick. I wanted to convey a sense of lightness, of openness. Again, a private moment. She may be sitting after a bath or maybe sunbathing on a beach. The stick was used not only as a pen device, but also rolled to break up the lines and keep a kind of kinetic energy going. Don't know if it worked but I think so (this is a section of the entire drawing; I could not fit the entire work on the scanner).

Seated Nude (india ink on paper; K.E. Marszycki)

And finally, here are a few oddities that I discovered. These sketches have been in the book for probably two years. One is of Felix Nadar's photograph of Sarah Bernhardt. What attracted me to this image were the voluptuous folds of her gown, not quite off the shoulder, and her thick mass of hair. Nadar took this photograph of her when she was just beginning her stage career and I love it.

Below is the "oddity" -- the charcoal left a ghost imprint on the opposite page, which I like better than the original sketch!

The same happened with my copy sketch of El Greco's nude -- original sketch

and on the opposite page, a ghost imprint. Not quite recognizable but suggesting a muscular torso, very Michelangelo? Like that better, too!

So, as the afternoon light fades and another winter's day is ready to close, I pile up my sketch pads in the bookcase and light some logs for the long night ahead. I hope you enjoyed the journey. I also found this quote that I wrote in one of the pads:

"Every single piece I make brings me varying degrees of disappointment, devastation and pain. Ironically, these are the very reasons that allow me to confront new work. Even though I know I will fail -- because I cannot bring to a new work the exact vision, emotion or imagination that is in my mind -- I will try to make it as close as possible.

The question is how to make it happen, what direction to go, what boundary to push . . . to what degree to be free or to limit myself."

Soonran Youn,
Surface Design Journal, 2003

Art Explorations: Rodin and Schiele

Truth and Beauty: Variations on a Theme

In this interim period between now and the year's end, I hope to spend some time with varying aspects of art, such as drawing on paper with a pencil or a piece of charcoal, to explore the human body and faces and hands -- those very basic elements of humanity. In preparing for this period of exploration, I spent some time at my favorite art store buying papers, graphite pencils and a few books. These were not expensive art books; rather those little Dover editions that we see scattered around libraries and bookshops from time to time, most costing under $10. However, they do capture some wonderful works in a simple format, many of which are reprinted editions that have fallen by the wayside.


Auguste Rodin:

One book I bought was on Auguste Rodin and is a reprint of an extended interview he gave back around 1911. The discussions between the two men are enlightening on how Rodin's mind worked, how he physically worked, such as in the following description, which I am loosely paraphrasing:

. . . throughout his studio nudes walk, stroll, recline, chat, moving around the room in a natural manner, bending to pick up a book, to eat an apple or some grapes. All the time Rodin watches, reaching for a piece of clay and quickly beginning to shape a small figurine. These are his studies for larger works. There is constant movement of the human body here, no posing on pedestals, no artificial posturing -- just movement . . .

Rodin's intense belief in respecting the natural movement of the human body -- how it bends, sways, tilts, stretches, aches -- enabled him to render powerful depictions through his hands and fingers, through his arms and shoulders that leaned into the creating process, pushing and shoving pieces of earth and stone. To throw oneself into the creative process so wholly, to "see" and to honor so thoroughly was and is an amazing feat!

* * *

Egon Schiele:

Written in 1819, Ode on a Grecian Urn contains probably the two most discussed lines in all of John Keats's poetry -

Beauty is truth, truth beauty,
that is all Ye know on earth,
and all ye need to know.

Very comforting. And yet what is Beauty? Who defines it? Does it change from culture to culture, from epoch to epoch? Yes, there is no denying that it does and, left to the marketing forces of today, the concept is exchangeable with each new fashion season -- easy come, easy go.

The second book I purchased was Egon Schiele: 44 Drawings. I have seen Schiele's paintings throughout the years, but these black & white drawings are stark in their depictions of women and men in early 1900s Vienna. They are disturbing in their grim, realistic portrayal of human bodies on the brink of starvation, deprivation, often degradation.


How different from a Rubens nude, where the plump bodies nearly fall off the page in their sumptuousness, where muscular torsos command the space they inhabit! Here we see pain, anger, hunger, despair -- and yet -- a strange kind of beauty in Schiele's dark sinuous lines of ink and charcoal. These bodies appear to be fighting the contained space they are in, trapped and contorted as in life.

You cannot take your eyes away from the drawings. They haunt you. There is nothing between you and these figures, nothing to shield you from the reality, the truth of what one is seeing. In this moment of truth we discover, or uncover, a strange beauty because of Schiele's vision of truth.

So, is Truth beautiful? Is Beauty truthful? Both artists created varying manifestations of Beauty and Truth. Who is to say which is the better, the more truthful.

Artistic expression is not only in the eye of the beholder, but also in the eye of the artist.

Food for thought . . .