Painting for art's sake or to pay bills ...

Close up section of 'Lee's Desk'  in acrylics on wood panel. 

When does the art leak out of the work and it becomes just work?  For example:  I was commissioned to do a painting of some books, a pair of reading glasses and a tea cup, a simple still-life done in photo-realism style.  Since I was (happily) trusted to design the work, I could choose books with ornate binding but wait, that changes things, financially speaking.  Let me explain, it will take another two sessions to get the gold to shimmer and the numerous inlayed lines to be painted neatly.  Spine lettering is a consideration too.  Choose the book with the difficult logo or the block letters?  Decide Richard, it all makes a big difference. 

The teacup, it could be one of the floral patterned cups I have from my mom’s old set – I love those - but it will take hours to do that pattern – especially since the design has to take the form of a compound curved surface on that cup.  Add another two sessions if I want the flowers.   If I choose a smooth white china cup – my work is cut in half.   Flowers? Yes?  No?  Decide Richard, money is waiting.

Eye glasses in the case?  One session.  No case and we get to see those beautiful glints off the lenses?  Three sessions.  Ka-ching. 

Lighting, another issue – stark key light coming in from one angle allows for nearly half the work to fall into black paint.  Want to add fill-light for subtlety in the shadows?  Tack on another three sessions.   

How about a doily?  Lace? Are you kidding?  Add a week! 

What has any of this to do with storytelling?  What do these decisions have to do with emotion?  Artistry? 

Nothing. 

They have to do with economics and what I described has nothing to do with the process I go through when deciding what to paint, unfortunately.  If I did consider these things, I would have faster turn-arounds on my work and I’d have enough money to pay my DWP bill.   

Everything I paint every time I paint it ends up being an enormous project.  For example: I can’t not see what’s reflected in that cup.  It’s there right in front of my eyes!  The table and the glasses are bouncing up on to the underside of the cup.  I have to paint it.  Why?  I don’t know why.  There’s reflected light inside the shadow of the fold in the cloth.  A highlight inside a shadow!  How can that even be?  But it’s there – right in front of my eyes.  I can ignore it but then I can’t sleep.  The lettering on the spine I just painted could be more even.  Who cares?  I can barely detect the flaw.  I paint it completely out and do it over.  Why?

The shadows should be cooler blue – the highlights more ochre, not sunny enough.  I’m too bright over-all – I need to knock down the whole painting by two values.  What was I even thinking?  I’m nowhere near what it really looks like, feels like.  I’m a sham.  I’m living logic in half-light.  I can’t even find the proper ellipse for the saucer.  The math is wrong – the chroma is too much.  I do this until I stop hating it.  Little by little I stop hating the painting until I like it.  If I don’t, I end up with those seascapes at the waiting room at Kaiser.

I can’t hand over a painting I don’t like.  I tried it once in my life.  One time I was lucky enough to get a commission to paint the poster art for a French film.  The releasing company wanted something blowsy and washy – a watercolor look from 1960’s ad-art perhaps.  

Oh My Lord was I the wrong man for this job. (‘you’ve come to a goat’s house for wool’ as they say in Alabama)  But I so wanted to paint movie posters.  My work in a poster case!  I can point it out to people as I just so happen to walk them past it.  

The company’s art department showed me numerous references – all of them terrific, loose and free renderings from other movie key-art.  My God they were free paintings.  No math – no layers, no under-painting – no underpants.  Native art.  

I was to paint a portrait of the young lead actress along with a gauzy, impressionistic image of Paris behind her. 

I gave them nothing like that at all.

I should have been using a two inch sable brush, soft – willowy strokes – all of it done in one happy and free sitting.  I used a micro-lettering brush – the kind used for painting text the size of the Bible’s.  It took me two months.   Their art director was this very hip and sweet woman named Chop or something like that and she just stood in front of my final painting and wondered silently why she could make out every gap in every tooth – every crease on the woman’s face – every strand and every split-end of every hair on her head and why could you do a geological survey of Paris - if one were so inclined -in my rendering of the city? 

Of course they never used the artwork.

I was crushed that I could not keep from over-doing it.  Why?  I wish I knew why.  I hate that I don’t know why.  I just do.  I just do.  

I finish the painting of the books and the glasses and the teacup inside of my deadline and I'm even paid pretty well for it.  Thankfully, I opted to not paint that lace doily.