Category: Art

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Not the Same, But Still Welcome in this House

I drove back down to Tucson yesterday (a horrific ordeal in and of itself which I'll spare you; suffice to say I should've stayed home). I bought two "new" Miles Thompson gargoyles from the seemingly one venue in town still selling them. I'd bought the originals in the late 90s/early 2000s at Antigone Books on 4th Avenue, but when I called yesterday to see if they were selling his work the girl who answered said she'd never heard of him. So hrmph…

I was assured by the store owner where I bought these new masks that Miles is still very much alive and well (albeit 75 years of age now), and is still producing work. I mentioned to her that Miles seems to have no online presence beyond this shop's website, and she said she's been wanting to get him to set up online and his response has always been "I don't want to become my work."

As an on-and-off again artist, I can relate. When I paint, I do it for me, not to make money. If it was my sole source of income I'm sure I'd come to hate it in short order, something I have a very hard time imparting on my friends who tell me I should be painting more. It's not like you can just summon the Muses, after all.

I am reasonably certain I rescued all three of the original masks from the house, before the restoration companies came in so they have to be somewhere, but I'll be damned if I know where. (I did easily find one of them.) Perhaps now that I spent way too much on replacing them (Miles' prices have gone up in the last fifteen years, go figger), they'll finally reveal themselves.

I suppose I could always cuss out the Prop Master for not having those particular props ready for these scenes in my life. Maybe that will cause them to magically appear?

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Girls in the Windows

"In 1960, while a construction crew dismantled a row of brownstones right across from my own brownstone studio on East 58th Street, I was inspired to, somehow immortalize those buildings. I had the vision of 43 women in formal dress adorning the windows of the skeletal facade.

We had to work quickly to secure City permissions, arrange for models which included celebrities, the demolition supervisior's wife (third floor, third from left), my own wife (second floor, far right), and also secure the Rolls Royce to be parked on the sidewalk. Careful planning was a necessity as the photography had to be accomplished during the workers' lunch time!

The day before the buildings were razed, the 43 women appeared in their finest attire, went into the buildings, climbed the old stairs, and took their places in the windows. I was set up on my fire escape across the streeet, directing the scene, with bullhorn in hand. Of course I was concerned for the Models' safety, as some were daring enough to pose out on the crumbling sills.

The photography came off as planned. What had seemed to some as too dangerous or difficult to accomplish, became my fantasy fulfilled, and my most memorable self – assigned photograph. It has been an international award winner ever since.

Most professional photographers dream of having one signature picture they are known for. Girls in The Windows is mine."

Girls in The Windows. Ormond Gigli, 1960.

This really spoke to me.

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Just Because

This image has always appealed to me. Unfortunately I can't find a high-resolution copy worth printing and framing.

Many years ago I had a past life regression.  The vision that came to me was stepping off an egg-shaped shuttlecraft into a deserted field of waist-high grass. In the distance there was a single tree, and beyond that, rolling, forested hills. I was part of a galactic survey team and we'd just touched down on a previously unmapped planet. It was my first surface recon mission and what struck me was how green everything was—because apparently wherever I'd called home the vegetation wasn't green. I was dressed in some sort of white leather-like suit with a simple breathing apparatus attached to my face. As far as I could tell, I was human (or at least very human-like). I didn't actually see my face at any point, but I had two arms, two legs, and five fingers on each hand. I got nothing more from the regression than that, but it kind of shook me nonetheless.

I interpret this picture as the crew of just such a mission aboard their main starship.

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Inside a Globular Cluster

Since I was a nerdy 12-year old just venturing into amateur astronomy (and having just read Isaac Asimov's Nightfall—great short story, horrible movie) I've wondered what the night sky of a planet inside a globular cluster would look like. Glad to have found this picture, as it seems I wasn't the only one who'd been wondering.

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Music of My Muses

Since we're on the subject of Philip Glass…

Many years ago I put this CD on one afternoon and as this particular track from the disc was reaching its crescendo, I was moved to begin a painting. I was lucky in that I had a blank canvas available and almost before I knew what was happening I was on my feet and sketching. After a years-long absence, the Muses had returned—in force—and they weren't taking no for a response.

This is the result:

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Body of Work

I used to paint. A lot.

My earliest recollection of putting a brush to canvas was in high school, although it wasn't until years later that I began to do it with any sort of seriousness. Like with so many other things in my life, the arrival of Star Wars is what lit the flame. A lot of my sci-fi work also served as illustration/inspiration for that never-completed always-in-progress novel I started in my 20s.

After my move to San Francisco in the mid 80s, I was surrounded by all sorts of new…ahem… "inspiration" that prompted not only new subject matter but a completely new style altogether.

My last work was the portrait of Ben from ten years ago.

For some reason the Muses have sequestered themselves out of sight after that was completed, but as I've written before I'm not too worried about their absence as I've had long dry spells before, only to have them broken with a tsunami of new work. Maybe this coming year will bring that tsunami, because I'm tired of friends saying, "You're so good! Why aren't you painting?" and I have to explain that it's not just a matter of sitting down and having inspiration magically appear.

So here, with apologies for the low quality of some of the photos (and to be honest, some of the actual paintings themselves) for the first time ever, my (nearly entire) body of work. You'll notice some common themes repeating…

Once Upon a Time (1977)
Not Even Death Shall Part Us (1978)
The Hitchhiker (1978)
City By The Sea (1979)
Flashback (1979) – This was done as a gift for a friend who loved "Not Even Death Shall Part Us"
On The Beach (1979)
Cast Out (1980)
Olyxas Rising (1981).
Kiss (1980)
(The Pilitian Requested) A Room With A View (1981)
Zarok (Returning Home) (1981)
Olyxas Rising II (1984)
Chariots of the Gods (1986) – This came to me in a meditation one afternoon
Self Portrait (1986) – My first venture into the new style. I had a long way to go.
Patrick (1986)
Is It Love? (1987)
Leatherman (1987) – This was the first painting I sold.
Untitled (1988)
Dreams (1987)
Attitude (1987)
Michael (1988) – There's a long story behind this one.
Trevor (1988)
Kenny (1989)
Dennis (1989)
Parade (1991)
Tom (1992)
Giovanni (2000)
Chris (2001)
Dan Futterman (2001)
Knows His Place (2001)
Coley and Bastian (2003)
Miss KC Dare (2003)
Yuri (2003)
Steve (2004)
Joe (2004)
Bruno (2006)
Ben (2008)

There are maybe a half dozen others done over the years that I never got photographs of because they were early works and given away.

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I Used to Sketch

While searching for the photo of my painting Not Even Death Shall Part Us for the previous post, I ran across a bunch of other stuff.

Okay, I know they're not fine art, but at the time (I was 20 or so) I was very happy with how they turned out; now doubly-so because I know I didn't lay anything out first. I just grabbed a pen and started drawing.

Artistic ability may indeed be a gift, but I know this much: if you don't use it, it deteriorates over time. Take this from a guy who really hasn't produced any art in over ten years and is now almost terrified at the thought of drawing anything.

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Blast From The Past

Summer 1977: "Star Wars" summer. Seemed like everyone and their brother was attempting to cash in on the phenomenon that was Star Wars, including Burger King.

I bought this set of four posters as they came available at the fast food chain, hoping to one day get them framed. I'd completely forgotten about them until I ran across these images online. As it turns out, forty years later they're still not framed, languishing in a cardboard shipping tube in the bedroom closet—along with probably a dozen other posters I'd hoped to get framed "someday."

Considering it costs upward of a hundred dollars to get a simple black frame and mount for art of this size (with a 40% discount coupon!) at Michaels these days, it's still not going to happen any time soon.

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Indeed

"Every so often, an astronomical artist gets lucky." ~Don Dixon

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Such a Buzzkill

I hate to burst your bubble, but while this is very pretty, in real life it wouldn't look anything like this.

First off, assuming this is supposed to be the Pleiades (based on the shape of the "beam ship"), you can't get close enough to the cluster for it to fill the sky to the degree shown in the artwork above and retain the same configuration it does when viewed from earth. In order for it to retain the same shape as seen from Earth, you'd have to be no closer than approximately 40 light years out from the nearest star in the cluster and at that distance it would appear only about half the size shown here. Any closer, and the relative positions of the stars start to shift so dramatically that the cluster quickly loses it's "tiny dipper" shape altogether.

Secondly, even with the stars of the Pleiades being extremely bright blue-white giants hundreds of time more luminous than our sun, at 40 light years out they still wouldn't cast shadows; they'd only be as bright as the brightest stars in Earth's night sky.  Hell…even if you're standing on a hypothetical planet orbiting one of the stars in the cluster, the brightest stars of the rest of the cluster would still be outshone by Venus in Earth's sky (currently seen in the west after sundown—go outside and take a look!) by an order of magnitude. Yeah, pretty, but they wouldn't cast shadows.

So science kills fantasy again. Almost as disappointing as when I learned that even if you're close to stellar nebulae you still wouldn't see the colors captured in those amazing shots from Hubble. (Another discussion for another time.)

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Artists Strike Back

Thankfully Herr Trump will not get anywhere near the White House, so his proposal for an unbuildable wall (of any color) will never come to fruition.

Via Dezeen:

Trump's Mexican Border Wall Envisioned As Barragán-Inspired Pink Barrier

Mexican firm Estudio 3.14 has visualised the "gorgeous perversity" of US presidential candidate Donald Trump's plan to build a wall along the countries' border.

In response to the controversial proposal, a group of interns at the Guadalajara-based studio came up with a conceptual design that would celebrate Mexico's architectural heritage.

The giant solid barrier would run 1,954 miles (3,145 kilometres) uninterrupted from the Pacific coast to the Gulf of Mexico, and be painted bright pink in the spirit of the 20th-century buildings by Pritzker Prize-winning Mexican architect Luis Barragán.

"Because the wall has to be beautiful, it has been inspired in by Luis Barragán's pink walls that are emblematic of Mexico," said the studio. "It also takes advantage of the tradition in architecture of megalomaniac wall building."

Republican candidate Trump announced his idea to build a wall along the US-Mexico border early in his campaign, as his solution to keeping illegal Mexican immigrants out of America.

The team suggests that the wall could employ up to six million personnel. It could also incorporate shopping centre straddling its width, and a viewpoint from which US citizens could climb up and look down onto the other side.