by Marty Coleman | Jan 13, 2015 | 'In The Gallery', Marty Coleman |
Prologue
Beatrice was raised by a very judgmental mother who didn’t like her much.
Chapter One
Beatrice saw the mother and daughter on the street outside of gallery as she went up the steps. As she juggled her keys and coffee to unlock the door she hoped they would move along soon.
It wasn’t that cold out but it had been cold overnight and they were both barefoot. Their shoes had been stolen at the homeless shelter the night before. The mother, named Emily, was hoping the shelter would have extra shoes, but they did not. She had come downtown hoping the church caring center would have some and was waiting for it to open. She stopped in front of the gallery because there was a ledge just the right height for her daughter to sit on with her doll. Her daughter, named Cerise, had to go to the bathroom very badly. The mother was hoping she could wait until the caring center was open but it looked like she might not be able to. She finally decided she had to go into the gallery to see if they had a bathroom.
Beatrice heard the door open while she was in the back turning on the computer in the office. When she went out and saw it was the mother and daughter she rolled her eyes, sighed heavily and went up front to confront them. “Yes, may I help you?” She asked.
Emily said, “We are waiting for the church caring center to open down the street but my daughter really has to go to the bathroom. Would you mind if she used yours, please?”
Beatrice said, “Yes, she may, but make it quick.” She walked towards the back, sweeping her arm behind her indicating for them to follow. She pointed to a small door and said, “There, please be quick and clean up after.”
Cerise was quick and did clean up after. Emily thanked Beatrice and started to walk back to the front to go out. Beatrice stopped her with a hand on her shoulder and said, “Hold on a minute. I really have to say I am bothered by you allowing your daughter being barefoot in the city like that, not to mention yourself. It’s dangerous on the sidewalks with trash and glass and all sorts of things. Why are you barefoot?”
Emily explained about the shoes being stolen. Beatrice said, “But why did you allow them to be stolen? Why weren’t they on your feet? Why were you at a homeless shelter in the first place? Your child is very young, you should take better care of her.”
Emily by this time was holding Cerise close. Cerise in turn was holding her doll even closer. Emily said, “Yes, you are right. I wish I had taken better care of her. Thank you for letting us use the bathroom. We won’t bother you again.”
Beatrice said, “I hope you don’t and I hope you get your act together. It’s not good for her.”
Chapter Two
Emily and Cerise went outside and down the street to the Church Caring Center. It had opened and it turned out they did have shoes they could have, along with socks and sweaters for both of them. Cerise had been crying about the lady in the gallery. She asked her mom, “Why was that lady so mean? She really scared me. You should have told her the whole story, then maybe she wouldn’t have been so mean.”
Emily responded, “You know Cerise, sometimes it really doesn’t matter if someone knows the whole story. They need to judge and so they will judge, no matter what. You and I know the story and we both know why we were at the homeless shelter. We know what we are doing and why. That is what matters.”
Beatrice told the story of the homeless mother and daughter to five different friends over the course of the day. Four of the friends agreed that the homeless mother was bad and that the daughter should be taken from her and put in protective custody. The fifth friend, a wealthy gallery patron named Jill, told Beatrice she thought she had treated them badly. She said what they needed was kindness, not judgment.
Beatrice was rather taken aback by this and asked why she was making such a big deal about it. Jill said, “I once was homeless when I was quite young and people treated me the same way. I already knew all the negative things about myself and how I had ended up homeless, I didn’t need other people telling me the same thing. What I needed was help and understanding. Luckily for me I got that help, and ironically it was actually from a gallery dealer in Los Angeles. Without his understanding and help I never would have gotten out of the jam I was in.”
Chapter Three
A few weeks later Emily and Cerise were in the same gallery neighborhood again. This time they had shoes on. Emily had gotten a part-time job at a coffee shop about a block from the gallery. The coffee shop owner had said Cerise could stay there as long as she didn’t bother her mother too much while she was on duty. It would only be for a few more weeks then school would start again for the fall and Cerise wouldn’t have to be there during the day. Cerise sat at a little table near the window and drew in the sketchbook they had given her at the Church Caring Center a few weeks before.
Beatrice usually came to the coffee shop around 9:30 am, right before she went to open the gallery. This day she saw a little girl through the window as she approached. As she walked past she bent down, pointed at the drawing and said, “You are a very good artist. Keep at it and one day you might be famous, who knows!” Cerise looked up and recognized the woman as the mean person from a few weeks prior, but Beatrice did not recognize Cerise. But when she came to the counter she most definitely did recognize Cerise’s mother, Emily. She remembered the green eyes, the strong eyeliner and the red hair up in a bun. Emily recognized Beatrice as well. They stared at each other for a moment. Beatrice could feel her cheeks flushing with blood.
Emily asked, “Hello, what may I get for you today?”
Beatrice answered, “Um…I will have…um….I will have a large Cafe Mocha please.”
Emily said, “Will that be all?”
Beatrice answered, “Yes. Um….you were in my gallery last week, right?”
Emily responded, “Yes. My daughter used the bathroom. Thank you for allowing that.”
Beatrice said, “Um….yes. No problem. Anytime.” She felt particularly stupid after saying that.
Emily said. “Your drink will be ready over to the left. It should be just a minute.”
Beatrice moved over to the counter at the left. She picked up her drink and was on her way out when she returned to Emily. She said, “I am sorry for the attitude I had that day. It was mean and judgmental and I regret it.”
Beatrice looked up from ringing something up in the cash register. “I appreciate that. We are used to that attitude, you aren’t alone. But you are the only person who’s ever apologized to me for it. That means a lot. Thank you.”
Beatrice asked, “Where is your daughter?”
Emily pointed to the front and said, “You already talked to her, she is the little girl at the window over there.”
Beatrice Asked Emily her name and the name of her daughter. She shook Emily’s hand, said her apology again and walked over the Cerise. She kneeled down to Cerise’s level, forgetting that her skirt was short and was probably exposing too much, and said, “Cerise, my name is Beatrice. I own the gallery that you came into last week to go to the bathroom. I remember being mean to your mother and you and I should not have been like that. I wanted to come over and apologize to you. Will you forgive me?”
Cerise said, “Yes, I will. Mom says when someone treats us mean it usually means something is hurting inside them and that we should hope that hurt goes away for them instead of us feeling hurt about what they said.”
Beatrice stared at Cerise. She couldn’t talk for a moment. Finally, as tears started to gather in her eyes, said, “Yes, your mother is a very wise woman. She is right. It is much more about my hurt than anything about you. Once again, I am sorry and I hope you won’t hold it against me.”
Cerise said, “I won’t, I promise. By the way, thank you for saying you liked my drawing when you came in. That made me happy. I am not very good yet but I like drawing so I do it anyway.”
Beatrice said, “You are better than you think you are, I can tell you that much.”
Beatrice left, crying.
Chapter Four
Two days later Beatrice went back in the coffee shop and saw Cerise and Emily again. She asked Emily if it would be ok if some days Cerise spent her time at the gallery instead of the coffee shop. Emily said it was ok with her if it was ok with Cerise. Beatrice went over to Cerise and asked, “Cerise, I had an idea last night. Would you be willing to spend a bit of your time during the day at my gallery instead of here? You can still draw of course. But you can do other things there too, maybe even help me with some stuff. And we do have a cool cat that needs some company.”
Cerise looked over at her mother who nodded her ok. Cerise smiled and said, “Yes, that might be fun.”
Cerise spent an hour or so each day at the gallery for the remainder of the summer. She drew a lot, often drawing the cat sleeping in the sun. She also learned how to hammer a nail, cut a mat, wire a frame and paint pedestals. As the end of summer approached Beatrice’s assistant announced she was pregnant and going to be moving the the suburbs with her husband, who was taking a job in Greenwich.
Beatrice offered the assistant job to Emily, who accepted.
Epilogue
That was five years ago. Beatrice has since opened a second gallery uptown. Emily is in charge of the downtown gallery and is making quite a name for herself as an astute judge of talent and an excellent curator. Cerise is just entering high school and has decided to major in art when she goes to college.
Beatrice keeps in contact with her friend Jill, who is also great friends with Emily and Cerise. Beatrice has no idea what ever happened to her other four friends.
The End
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by Marty Coleman | Jan 9, 2015 | Art Smith, Museum Compositions, Photographic Sunday |
Yesterday I posted a drawing and 2 photos from my foray into the Dallas Museum of Art’s ‘Bouquet’ exhibition over the Thanksgiving weekend, 2014.
There were other temporary exhibitions as well. One was a retrospective of Modernist Jewelry created by Art Smith. I honestly was more interested in the photographs of the models wearing the jewelry, most seeming to be from the 50s and 60s. The photographers were listed as ‘Unknown Photographer’ in all the photos, though one actually did have a last name written on it. It’s a relatively rare occurrence when something on a museum wall from the last 100 years is attributed to ‘Anonymous’ . The names of models in old paintings are often lost in time, but that is usually not the case with more contemporary portrait muses. But these were photos focused on the jewelry, not the photographer or model, and at least the Jewelry designer was known, right? Still, I felt bad for the photographer and models lost in time. I did however like the word play that immediately appeared in my head; I was taking photographs of photographs taken by unknown photographers of anonymous models.
I took a few pics with my regular camera then decided to take one with my cell phone so I could post it if I later wanted to. When I did that I happened to catch a reflected light in the eye of one of the model photos. That led me on a search for more reflected lights in the eyes. I spent minutes at a time trying to get the reflection to be just right. It was a fun and exacting effort. The other people in the gallery definitely were wondering why I was holding up a little old cell phone so long in one position, that was obvious!
Here are a few of my favorites from my effort.
Museum Composition – Anonymous Eyes #1
Museum Composition – Anonymous Eyes #2
Museum Composition – Anonymous Eyes #3
Museum Composition – Anonymous Eyes #4
After I took the pics I wandered around looking at the actual jewelry in the cases and, as you can see from the photos, they were incredible.
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Here are more ‘Museum Compositions’ posts
Museum Compositions – June 2013
Museum as Muse – Dallas Museum of Art – July 2013
Bouquets in Dallas – Dallas Museum of Art – November 2014
Anonymous Eyes – Dallas Museum of Art – November 2014
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Photographs and writing by Marty Coleman © 2015
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by Marty Coleman | Jan 8, 2015 | Dallas, Museum Compositions, Photographic Sunday |
Dallas Museum of Art
Over the Thanksgiving weekend we were down in Dallas visiting our daughter, Caitlin. We went to see the Dallas Cowboys play on Thursday, had Thanksgiving dinner after that and then spent the rest of the weekend just enjoying ourselves. On Friday Linda and Caitlin went shopping and I went to one of my favorite museums, the Dallas Museum of Art. I’ve been there 3 times now I think. It’s a large museum with an extensive permanent collection in all the major areas of art. It also has rotating exhibitions, usually at least 3-4 at a time. This time the major show was ‘Bouquets’. That means it was paintings of flowers. Not my favorite genre. It could even be my least favorite genre actually.
I knew this in advance and was thinking of going to the outdoor Sculpture Museum across the street instead but for some reason I forget now, maybe it was cold or rainy, I opted to go to the Museum anyway. I had my camera with me and figured at least I would be able to work on my ongoing ‘Museum Compositions’ series. I also knew that the exhibition had at least one Matisse painting in it so it couldn’t be all bad.
One of the good things about the DMA is they allow photography (without flash) everywhere, even special exhibitions. Most museums allow photography but not in the temporary exhibitions. Some, like the Gilcrease Museum in Tulsa, don’t allow any photography at all. So, I went traipsing around the museum and took some photos.
Drawing
I also did a drawing while I was there. It wasn’t in my sketchbook but rather in a gallery in the Bouquet’ exhibition where they had an actual bouquet of flowers for people to draw. They had paper and pencils and places to sit. I had a pen with me, the type I use in my sketchbook, so I used that on one of their pieces of paper to capture the scene. There was a place to put up your art work once you were finished but I didn’t want to let go of mine. I rolled it up and brought it home thinking I might color it later on. It got hidden in a bag I brought home and I didn’t find it again until last week right before my road trip to Virginia.
One of my goals for 2015 is to follow through on more of my artwork so I figured I needed to scan the drawing and put it out there before it got forgotten.
A drawing of someone drawing flowers in an exhibition of paintings of flowers at the Dallas Museum of Art.
Photographs
I didn’t capture many shots I liked but here are two I think stood out.
Museum Composition – Bouquet #1
This is one of the favorite ‘Museum Compositions’ images I’ve taken. The pose this woman unconsciously struck as she looked at the painting was exquisite and I quickly got off 3-4 photos of her standing there. I later went up to her and asked her if she was a dancer since the pose looks so much like one a dancer would strike. She said she wasn’t and I told her she sure had the posture of one. She took it as a very nice compliment and I was happy about that.
Museum Composition – Bouquet #2
I like the color combinations in this one and I especially like the interaction between the two people.
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Here are more ‘Museum Compositions’ posts
Museum Compositions – June 2013
Museum as Muse – Dallas Museum of Art – July 2013
Bouquets in Dallas – Dallas Museum of Art – November 2014
Anonymous Eyes – Dallas Museum of Art – November 2014
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Photographs and drawings © 2017 Marty Coleman | napkindad.com
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by Marty Coleman | Jan 6, 2015 | 'In The Gallery', Marty Coleman |
Prologue
Millicent had never been the subject of a short story before. She had been mentioned in a weird poem her 10th grade boyfriend had written for her when he was high on pot, but never a short story.
Chapter One
Millicent had never been in an art gallery before. She did go into one with her father in Sausalito when she was 11 and stole a pair of earrings, but never as an adult.
Chapter Two
Millicent was hired at the last minute to sub for Berthe, who had come down with Shingles and couldn’t work. She had subbed last minute plenty of times for Sid the alcoholic, but never for Berthe.
Chapter Three
Millicent had never seen a painting of a naked person in person before. She had seen pictures years ago in some dirty magazines her brother had, but never a painting.
Chapter Four
Millicent had never worn stripes and polka dots together to work before. She had worn stripes and paisley together once to her husband’s Christmas office party where she drank too much Vodka, but never stripes and polka dots.
Chapter Five
Millicent had never taken the N Judah trolley to the end of the line before. She had taken the M Owl all the way to the end before, when she was depressed about her oldest son being caught putting on her makeup, but never the N Judah.
Chapter Six
Millicent had never had to actually interpret the word ‘breast’ in public before. She had to sign ‘butt’ plenty of times, but never the word ‘breast’.
Chapter Seven
Millicent had never eaten Sushi before but that is where the class went after the gallery. She had eaten raw chicken once and got sick, but never fish.
Chapter Eight
Millicent had never worn salmon colored eyeshadow before but got some for Christmas and decided to try it. She had worn peach colored eyeshadow before, but never salmon.
Chapter Nine
Millicent had never contemplated divorce before but she saw her husband with a big busted blonde in a Starbucks across the street from the gallery as they walked in. She had contemplated killing him before, but never divorce.
Epilogue
Millicent divorced her husband, wore salmon colored eyeshadow every day, gave her peach colored eyeshadow to her son, got a fish tank, wore stripes and polka dots together often and started painting for fun. Her best friend Geraldo even posed for her naked once.
The End
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by Marty Coleman | Dec 24, 2014 | Santa Claus |
Merry |ˈmerē|
adjective ( merrier , merriest )
cheerful and lively : the narrow streets were dense with merry throngs of students | a merry grin.
• (of an occasion or season) characterized by festivity and rejoicing : he wished me a merry Christmas.
• [ predic. ] Brit., informal slightly and good-humoredly drunk : after the third bottle of beer he began to feel quite merry.
PHRASES
go on one’s merry way informal carry on with a course of action regardless of the consequences.
make merry enjoy oneself with others, esp. by dancing and drinking.
the more the merrier the more people or things there are, the better or more enjoyable a situation will be.
DERIVATIVES
merriness noun
ORIGIN Old English myrige [pleasing, delightful,] of Germanic origin; related to mirth .
Happy |ˈhapē|
adjective ( -pier , -piest )
1 feeling or showing pleasure or contentment : Melissa came in looking happy and excited | [with clause ] we’re just happy that he’s still alive | [with infinitive ] they are happy to see me doing well.
• [ predic. ] ( happy about) having a sense of confidence in or satisfaction with (a person, arrangement, or situation) : I was never very happy about the explanation | I can’t say they looked too happy about it, but a deal’s a deal.
• [ predic. ] ( happy with) satisfied with the quality or standard of : I’m happy with his performance.
• [with infinitive ] willing to do something : we will be happy to advise you.
• (of an event or situation) characterized by happiness : we had a very happy, relaxed time.
• [ attrib. ] used in greetings : happy birthday.
• [ attrib. ] fortunate and convenient : he had the happy knack of making people like him.
2 [in combination ] informal inclined to use a specified thing excessively or at random : our litigation-happy society.
PHRASES
( as) happy as a clam ( at high tide) extremely happy.
happy hunting ground a place where success or enjoyment is obtained. [ORIGIN: originally referring to the optimistic hope of American Indians for good hunting grounds in the afterlife.]
DERIVATIVES
happiness noun
ORIGIN Middle English (in the sense [lucky] ): from the noun hap + -y 1 .
Yes, this is what I hope for you.
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Drawing by Marty Coleman
Definitions by us all
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by Marty Coleman | Dec 22, 2014 | 'In The Gallery', Marty Coleman |
Chapter One
Rita got the invitation the same day her date stood her up (she hadn’t had a successful second date in 2 years) so she decided to go to the opening alone. She knew the show would have nudes in it, but didn’t realize every single painting was of a blue, slack-shouldered loser with a big dick. This depressed her until she finally broke out laughing and said to the young woman standing next to her, “This show is ‘truth’ – men are just big dicks.” The both laughed and became friends. They left the gallery disillusioned and went to see a movie about a female army ranger who was stuck in the mountains and had to eat her fellow male army ranger who died to survive. That made them feel better.
The End
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by Marty Coleman | Dec 19, 2014 | Anonymous, The Senses - 2014/15 |
Eye Believer
What is the most compelling thing in a murder trial? The eyewitness testimony. It’s graphic, emotional, and compelling. Why? Because the person saw it happen. That’s strong. It’s also often wrong. Eyewitnesses are known to actually be notoriously unreliable in many cases.
Ear Believer
Have you seen the Christmas movie ‘White Christmas’? The housekeeper is an eavesdropping busy body who overhears a partial conversation over the phone and makes assumptions, and shares them, about the whole nature of the conversation. It leads to a big huge mess.
Smart Believer
So, what is the solution to this dilemma of having something seen or heard that seems to be rock solid? Withholding judgment is how I deal with it. I say to myself, What’s the rush? Why do I have to go on social media or to my friends and say something RIGHT NOW about this event that I have heard or seen just a fragment of? Why not be patient and wait to find out more about what is happening? Why not investigate and look deeper?
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Drawing and commentary by Marty Coleman
Quote by Anonymous
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by Marty Coleman | Dec 18, 2014 | Sketchbook History Tour |
I got up early on the day after the Dallas Marathon that Caitlin and I ran in. Caitlin and Linda were sleeping in so I went off to Starbucks to draw and have some coffee.
The sun rose as I started to draw, hitting this woman who was studying intently. The pale yellow glow was focused directly on her and I quickly started getting her down on paper. After I had drawn her top half she got up, picked up her backpack and laptop and looked like she was getting ready to leave. Luckily she was just going to the bathroom. When she returned she crossed her legs as you see here and I was able to finish drawing her without it looking disconnected from the top.
She kept her head down for a good portion of the time but I had to draw her facial features from memory since I hadn’t drawn them while she was sitting the first time and now her face was turned at an angle. I kept waiting for her to turn back to the right side of her page so I could see her face straight on again but she didn’t.
I showed her the drawing after I was done. I try to gauge the reaction from the people I draw and I definitely felt that while she was impressed to some degree, she was also perhaps a bit freaked out by it. I introduced myself, gave her my card and told her to contact me if she was interested in seeing the drawing after I had finished it. I asked her name and I thought she said ‘Alton’ but when I repeated it back to her she said what I thought was ‘Alta’. So, until I hear otherwise, she is Alta!
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Drawing and story by Marty Coleman
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by Marty Coleman | Dec 17, 2014 | 'In The Gallery', Marty Coleman |
Prologue
She didn’t realize today would be the most important day of her life.
Chapter One
The Waitress was waiting tables, depressed and annoyed at having been in the city for months and still not having made any friends or making any progress in her hoped for career as an actress. Her first table wasn’t making her feel any better. The man at the table had stopped her the moment she set down his coffee. He took hold of her hand and stared at it. He said, “You have a beautiful hand” then let go of it and thanked her for the coffee. She rolled her eyes as she walked away. “What a loser.” she mumbled.
For the rest of the breakfast he was deep in conversation with his breakfast companion, an elderly woman. The Waitress guessed she was at least 50 years older than he was. At first she thought it was probably his Grandmother, but as she heard snippets of the conversation she got the impression it was a business meeting. They talked a lot about costs, delivery dates and clients.
When she took the check from the artist at the end of the meal one of the dollar bills fell on the table. He picked it up and gave it to her. When she took it he said loudly, “WAIT!” Once again he took hold of her hand, this time with the dollar bill still in it. He looked up at her and said, “Would you consider modeling for me?”
She gave a deep sigh, rolled her eyes and looked at him with a smirk. “I am a legit artist, really!” he said with a laugh.
The elderly woman nodded her head and said, “He is right, you know. I am his art dealer, have been for 10 years. You can bring a friend or escort to his studio if that would make you comfortable. And don’t worry, he will pay you very well.”
The waitress looked at him and said. “Do I have to be naked?”
He laughed again. “No. Well, your hand does. I want to do a sculpture using your hand holding a dollar bill.”
She popped out her hip, put her hand on it and smirked again as she said, “My hand? Really? Not my surpassing feminine beauty? I am not sure what to think of that.”
Everyone laughed. He said, “Well, how about this. I will do a drawing of your surpassing beauty AND pay you if you will model your hand for me.”
She stared at him a moment then looked over at the elderly lady. The lady said, “You really should do it, you know. He’s a great guy and artist, plays good music in the studio and always has good coffee brewing.”
“OK. Done deal. I’ve always wanted to be a hand model!” Sara said.
The artist brought out an old-fashioned appointment book, flipped the pages and landed on a Saturday about 2 weeks away. He asked, pointing to the page, “Would this be ok? That Saturday, maybe at about 10 am?
She brought out her iPhone, checked the date and said, “Looks good to me. See you then.”
He got up to leave with his dining companion and the waitress said. “Do you want to know my name? And maybe we should exchange phone numbers? And I will need the address of your studio as well”
He looked at her with a silly grin and said. “Sorry, I always forget that part. Thanks for reminding me. My name is Art Mann and this is my dealer, Vivian DeWhite. What is yours?”
She raised one eyebrow. “Your name is Art Mann? Really? Come on.”
He looked at her, put up two fingers side by side and said, “Scouts honor. That’s my given name.”
She shook her head with a slight grin. “This is just too strange.” she said under her breath. “My name is Sara. Sara Montgomery. Nice to meet you Mr. Mann!”
She got his number and the address and said her goodbyes. As he went out the door he turned around and said with a laugh, “Be careful with that hand for the next two weeks. No ditch digging or other manual labor, ok?”
She gave him the thumbs up with her soon to be immortalized hand and went on to finish her shift, chuckling about the encounter for most of the rest of the day.
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Chapter Two
Sara spent the morning of her modeling debut trying to figure out what and how she should prepare. She hadn’t dug any ditches and she had moisturized each day. She did do her nails the night before. And since it was winter she did have warm gloves for the trip to the studio. Her hands were set.
He said he was going to draw her ‘surpassing beauty’ so she had also done her hair up nice, plucked her eyebrows and bought new mascara that didn’t clump. She wore a simple green leotard type top, not too much cleavage but enough to maybe impress just a little. She tried it with and without her bra and even though she thought of herself as still being pretty uplifting in that category, she was worried the studio might be cold and her perky girls would be way too obvious. She erred on the side of caution and wore a bra. She wore her go-to jeans and ankle high boots. He didn’t seem like a perfume type guy so she didn’t put any on.
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Chapter Three
Just as she was about to ring the buzzer at the apartment building when she was startled by the door opening and a very good looking man burstimg out. He smiled at her as he bounded down the stoop and said in what sounded like a German accent, “You must be the hand model. You can go right up, he’s expecting you. It’s on the 3rd floor.” He was 10 steps down the street by the time she got out a “Thanks.” and turned back towards the door. She was pretty sure he hadn’t heard her.
She could have gone without the bra. He had a wood-fired stove in the middle and, in spite of the 2 story wall of windows on 2 sides bringing in incredible winter light, the place was toasty warm. She was very nervous coming in but he welcomed her in with a big smile and a quick hug and that put her at ease. He offered her coffee or tea and had orange scones on a red plate waiting for her. She chose the supposedly great coffee and took a scone.
They made small talk for a few minutes, mostly about the cold front that had just moved in and if there would be more snow. He then jumped up, took her hand and said, “Come on, let me show you my space!”
He had a large array of canvases leaning up against the walls to the left, facing away from her. She was dying to know what they were of but he didn’t offer to turn them around. There were some drawings tacked up on the partition on the right, between the studio and what she figured was the kitchen and living area; portraits, body parts and full nudes in what she thought was probably charcoal. Among the drawings was a drawing of an ear with a big gaudy earring hanging from it, a portrait of a woman with a patch over one eye and a fully body nude of a man who she thought looked like the guy she saw bound out of the building. The drawing was complete except for his genitals. There was just a blank space where they would have been.
There were also three stands with clay sculptures on them against the windows. There was a nose with a clothes pin holding the nostrils closed, a foot in a high heel standing on an unbroken light bulb and a set of very round butt cheeks with a smoking pipe sticking out of it. Each one was about 2 feet tall.
He said that each piece started the same way the one he was going to do of her started. He met them as strangers, liked something about them and asked if they would model for him. She couldn’t help but wonder about the circumstances behind them all, and finally had to say something when they got to the sculpture of the butt cheeks.
She could feel a flush coming to her cheeks as she asked, “So, how exactly did you approach this woman to ask her to model her butt for you?”
He laughed, “I was wondering if you were going to ask! So many people see these pieces and know that they are all of strangers and never ask. I would certainly ask if I heard that story!” He pointed to the butt cheeks and said, “This is actually one of the simplest of explanations. She works out at the gym I go to. She is pretty much a superstar there and loves being the center of attention. I did exactly what I did with you, minus the ‘touching the body part’ part of course. I just told her she had amazing glutes and asked if she would model them for me. She did look at me a bit funny but I explained myself and she agreed. That is all there is too it.”
“Did she know you were going to stick a pipe up her butt?” she asked with a smile on face.
He bowed his head a bit and responded, “uh…No, she didn’t know that. I didn’t even know that until I was pretty much done. But, she’s seen it since and thinks it ‘gnarly cool’ to quote her.”
She looked at him and said, “Now I am nervous! What are you going to do or add to my hand after you are done sculpting it? Should I be worried.”
He laughed, “No, I already know what is going in your hand. It’s going to be the one dollar bill you had in your hand at the restaurant when I asked you.”
“Really?” she asked. “Promise? You promise nothing perverse or x-rated will be in my hand? I don’t want to bring my mom and dad to some opening and find my hand has a dildo or something in it!”
“No, sorry.” he said. “Just a boring old dollar bill, I promise.”
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Chapter Four
The actual modeling session went by quickly and without much excitement. He posed her arm so her elbow was on a table and her hand was facing straight up. At first her hand was empty but with her fingers together as if she was holding a dollar bill in them. He took photos from every conceivable angle, with and without a flash. He had her hold a dollar bill and he did the same set of photos all over again. He then sat very close in front of her and drew her hand a number of times. He did quick 30 second drawings that looked like scribbles to her and then worked his way up to a drawing that took almost an hour. She got a break after the short drawings and that was a very good thing because the coffee (which was very good) had gone through her and she was about to pee in her pants if he hadn’t stopped drawing right then.
She pretty much ran to the bathroom, barely getting her pants down before she let go. She hung her head down while she went, eyes closed in relief. It wasn’t until she looked up to find the toilet paper that she realized there was a huge drawing of a orangutan’s face staring right at her from the back of the bathroom door. She almost screamed when she saw it. She muttered to herself as she washed her hands, “At least it wasn’t butt cheeks”
The hour long pose was much harder than she imagined. Her fingers got tired and cramped and then seemed to fall asleep. She had to take a break and shake out her hand to get blood flowing back to it. But soon enough it was over. He exclaimed, “Finito! at least for now.” She got up, stretched a bit and asked if she could take a look at his drawing. He gestured to it sitting on his drawing bench and said, “Feel free. I will use it, along with the photos, as a basis for the sculpture. I expect it will take me a few months to finish it. I am going to have a show in the fall at Vivian’s Gallery and I am hopeful it will be in the show. I will let you know. “
After a break for more coffee and one last scone he said, “Ok, I promised you a drawing of your surpassing beauty so let’s get to it.” He brought her over to his drawing table and had her sit across from her. He told her to just look right over his head out the windows behind him. He said her eyes could go wherever she wanted as long as her head stayed in the same position. As he drew she scanned the apartment building across the street. There was one window with the curtains open where a woman was pacing back and forth talking on the phone. She imagined what that conversation was all about, creating a story in her head about the woman and her lover having an argument about how badly he behaved at her company Christmas party the night before. Before the drawing was over she had decided the woman really needed to break up with the guy and see a shrink.
Right as she came to that conclusion Art said, “Ok, all done.” He picked up the drawing and turned it around to show her. She had to admit, he had made her look beautiful. Probably the most beautiful she had ever seen herself. And it wasn’t that it was unrealistic, it actually did look just like her and it was beautiful. She really didn’t know what to say but she managed to eek out a “Wow, that is amazing, thank you!”
Art went over to a drawer, slipped the drawing in. Sara looked at him and said, “What, I don’t get the drawing?”
He said, “I said I would draw you, not that I would give you the drawing.”
She stared at him. “Sheesh, what a rip off. I was brought here under false pretenses!” She said with a laugh.
Art said, “I didn’t say I would NEVER give it to you, just not now.”
Sara harrumphed, “Alrighty then. I’ll expect it for Christmas or my birthday.”
And with that, it was time to go. She had about 2 hours to get home, maybe take a nap and get ready for her dinner shift at the restaurant. He led her to the door of his studio and handed her a check as he bid her farewell. It was for $250.00. Not a bad haul for a few hours of sitting around with her hand in the air, she thought.
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Chapter Five
Sara didn’t see Art again until the opening of his show 8 months later. However, In the intervening months Sara’s life changed dramatically. In spite of the hand cramp she loved doing the modeling. She found out from a friend that agencies around the city didn’t just look for face and body models but also for body part models, like hands and feet. She got up her nerve and contacted an agency after seeing photos of hands on their site. Sara had a photographer friend take some photos of her hands in Black and White and submitted them to the agency to be considered.
Within a week she got a call asking her to come in and within a week after that she had her first job hand modeling. It was for a brand of rubber gloves and she was photographed putting the gloves on and off. It wasn’t glamorous and it paid poorly but amazingly within 4 months she was getting enough work as a model to go down to about 3 dinner shifts a week waiting tables. After 3 months she had a premium shoot for jewelry that paid really good money. She got to wear bracelets and rings all day long as they photographed and videotaped her lounging around in a very ritzy apartment on the 76th floor of some building on the upper east side of Manhattan. They had put a very sexy party dress on her and even did her makeup and hair. It wasn’t scripted or rehearsed but at the last minute they asked her say something while looking directly into the camera while slipping a bracelet over her wrist. It was just one line, “It’s not jewelry, it’s art.” and she nailed it the first time around. They had her do it twice more just in case, once smiling as she said it and another time looking off camera.
She had to give the dress and jewelry back of course but her makeup and hair were still done. Even back in her day-to-day clothes she felt like a glamorous movie star. When she went back out onto 5th Avenue pretending to be a movie star. She put her sunglasses on with one deliberate arch of her arm and hand to her face. She pulled her gloves on with an elegant tug. She stopped to look in the windows of the boutiques, striking a deliberately casual pose each time. She went into one of the stores and bought a Burberry scarf. She threw it over her shoulder with a flourish as she left the store. When stopping for coffee she kept her sunglasses on inside the coffee shop. She said, “Thank you, dear” to the barista.
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Chapter Six
On the evening of Art’s opening Sara was ecstatic. She had the date circled on her calendar for over a month. She had even rejected a modeling gig that afternoon because she knew the photographer was notoriously flaky and would take about 3 hours longer than he said he would to get the project done. He also had tried to hit on her last time they worked together and she wasn’t the least bit interested. She had her hair and makeup done in that same glamorous style she had at her first big jewelry shoot. She bought a low cut green dress that she felt showed off her new, thinner figure, to best advantage. This time she wore perfume.
She went to the opening alone. She knew her mother would freak out if there were any ‘naked’ pieces so she thought it would be better to bring her to the gallery when it was empty instead of on opening night. She could have brought her younger brother but once again he would have giggled and made fun of anything remotely skin oriented. She had one friend, a model she had met recently, who was going to go with her but she had come down with Bronchitis and was coughing incessantly. It was better to just enjoy a solo night out and see who she might meet at the show than force some friend who wasn’t going to be into it to go with her.
When she arrived the gallery was filled with people who she did not know. She immediately started to think it might have been a bad idea to come alone when Vivian DeWight approached her with arms outstretched and a big smile. She greeted Sara and gave her a double kiss, not air kisses but actual kisses, on both cheeks. Sara liked that, her lips were warm and she could smell a great perfume on her.
Vivian quickly turned away and pulled a young man over. “Sara, this is Hans. He’s from Germany, just moved to New York about a year ago. He is also one of Art’s models. As a matter of fact, he is in a painting very close to the sculpture of your hand!”
Hans shook her hand politely. She could tell he didn’t recognize her. But she recognized him as the guy leaving Art’s studio as she was arriving that day. She remembered his height and his very cool floppy knit cap. He gave her a bit of a thrill as he pulled his hand away from her, dragging his fingers ever so slightly across her palm as he did so. She was a terrible guesser of height and age but she thought he was at least 6 feet tall and maybe 30 years old. She really had no idea but she guessed in her head all the same.
Sara said, “He doesn’t remember, but we met that day at the studio. Well, almost met. He came out in a rush as I went in. He let me in and yelled, “Third floor!” as he ran down the steps.”
Hans looked at her intently and said, “You know, now that I look at you, I do remember. You had on green that day as well, right?”
Sara was impressed. To remember what color she was wearing 8 months later? That showed some serious attention to detail she thought. She said, “Yes, I was. Some sort of brownie points are due for remembering that!”
“I have a thing about color, I pay way too much attention to it!” he said with a smile.
Sara responded, “Well, it worked on your behalf tonight, that is for sure.”
Vivian said, “Well, you two seem to be getting along famously. I am going to go check if the wine has run out yet. You two enjoy!” and off she went.
There was a bit of an awkward silence after Vivian left. Then Hans leaned forward and said, “By the way, your hand looks and feels more beautiful than the sculpture of it.”
Sara felt her neck warm up, a sign she was about to blush. “Thank you. Wait, how do you know my hand feels better than the sculpture?” she said with a laugh.
“Well, don’t tell anyone but I always find a way to touch sculptures, even if there is a sign saying ‘Don’t Touch’.”
Sara raised an eyebrow and said in mock indignation, “So you went and fondled my hand before you even knew me? Aren’t you the rude sort!”
Hans laughed, “Yes, I am afraid I am a bit of a rule breaker that way. So sorry, but I couldn’t resist. It really is a beautiful sculpture of a beautiful hand!”
Sara responded, “Well, I just arrived and haven’t even seen my allegedly beautiful immortalized hand yet. Are you going to show me where it is or do I have to search it out myself?”
Hans grabbed her hand and said, “Let’s go, it’s in the back gallery. It’s where all the best pieces are!”
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Chapter 7
Twice, as they moved through the crowd, they were stopped by people greeting Hans and telling him they loved the painting he was in. One slightly tipsy woman in a blue beret said, “That painting has me wanting to see more!” Sara was puzzled, and after they moved away from the woman, said to Hans, “She wants to see more? There’s like 25 more paintings within 100 feet of her, what is she talking about?”
Hans laughed and said, “Oh, yea that. I’ve already gotten a comment like that 3 times tonight. You’ll see what she is talking about when you see the painting. But just remember, the artist is a master of hyperbole and symbolism, not realism.” She had no clue what he meant by that.
They both collected a champagne flute and plate of hors d’oeuvres by the time they got to the back gallery. Sara was putting a brownie shaped like a starfish in her mouth when she finally saw her piece. It was what she expected and then again it was nothing like she expected. It did look like her hand, the shape of the fingers, the size of the fingernails, even the longer than usual life line on her palm, were all exact. Her hand also had a dollar bill in it, just like Art said it would have. But she didn’t expect her hand to be green nor the dollar bill to be purple. But not expecting that didn’t mean she didn’t like it. She thought it was very cool. She liked the colors being different. It made the piece familiar and new at the same time. She put down her plate and glass and brought out the price list they had at the gallery door. There was a photo of her piece on the front and a list of all the pieces in the show inside. She looked up her piece and the brownie almost fell out of her mouth. It was listed for $25,000.00!
She leaned over to Hans and whispered, “If I knew the piece would be that expensive I would have asked for more money to model!”
Hans responded, “Tell me about it! The painting I am in is priced at $60,000.00!”
She looked at him with her mouth open. “Really? Wow, I want to see it, where is it?”
He chuckled, “You are standing right in front of it. It’s right behind your piece, over there, on the left.”
She looked up and saw a painting at least 8 feet tall. It was of a sparse landscape with a nude man standing in the middle of it. There was a road leading from the man’s feet back to a volcano in the distance. He was looking down with sloped shoulders. He had on his cool knitted hat. His eyes were sad and he looked depressed. He also had a very large penis hanging straight down.
Sara pointed to the penis and laughed, “Don’t tell me that is what Art saw on you that he wanted to paint!”
Hans responded dead pan with a straight face, “Yep.”
Sara stiffened and stopped breathing. Nobody has a penis that big she thought. She was trying to figure out what to do next when Hans slapped her on the back.
“JUST JOKING! He actually liked my cap and that is what got his attention. He asked to paint me when we met at a coffee shop one morning.” Hans said through his laughter.
Sara breathed again and laughed as well. “Ah, so that’s not realistic?”
Hans said, “Well I didn’t say that.”
Sara was trying to figure out how to change the topic when Hans said, “But sorry to disappoint, it’s not. I didn’t even pose nude for him. I had on underwear on. He told me the painting would eventually be a nude and I told him I was cool with it but he said I didn’t need to pose nude, which was a relief. I am a bit too modest for that. Ironically, now everyone thinks I did pose nude and that I have this gigantic appendage. It’s really pretty funny to me.”
Sara laughed and said, “This has got to be the strangest conversation and evening I have had in a long, long time!”
Hans laughed as well as he responded, “You and me both.”
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Chapter Eight
After that funny episode Hans and Sara walked around the gallery together. They had a hilarious time talking about the art, wondering if they would ever buy any of the pieces if they had the money. They decided they would. Hans said he would buy her hand sculpture and put it on his dresser to hold his watch. After explaining her mother would disown her if she had a big painting of a naked guy in her apartment, Sara said she the most she could get away with would be to buy the sculpture of the big butt with the pipe coming out of it so she would have something to hang her scarves on. Her mom would likely have a heart attack when she saw it, she said. They decided Art would never let them buy the pieces if they knew what they would be used for. They also came to the conclusion that they should form an artist’s model union and demand more money.
After about an hour of walking around the show Hans asked Sara if she would like to go get a bite to eat. They said their goodbyes to Art and Vivian, thanking them for including them in the show. It was a warm evening and they walked across town a few blocks to the West Village where Hans said he knew of a great place that served killer Pho noodles. Sara had never had Pho noodles but was game for it.
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Epilogue
Sara and Hans dated for 2 years before Hans asked her to marry him. They were married in Vivian’s gallery and Art was in attendance. His wedding gift was two drawings, the portrait of Sara he had done and the drawing of Hans that had been on his studio wall when Sara modeled. Art had never finished the drawing, the genitals were still missing. Hans and Sara had both pieces up in their living room and loved to tell the story of how they met when people would ask about the drawings.
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The End
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by Marty Coleman | Dec 12, 2014 | Paul Valery, The Future - 2014, Yogi Berra |
This ain’t nothin’ but another future.
Pet Peeve Rant
A pet peeve of mine are the Facebook posts that brag about how great the past used to be. How we didn’t have seat belts and we didn’t die, how we didn’t have the internet and we played in the mud and we didn’t die. How we had respect for our elders and we didn’t die. That grandma cooked things from the garden and from stuff given by a neighbor and we didn’t die.
The upshot of all that is ‘The past we had was great because we didn’t die.’
There is then of course a comparison to now. Now we have fat kids on the internet who don’t play in the mud and they are going to die. We have seat belt laws and that takes away our freedom to die. Other peoples’ kids are brats and they are going to cause themselves or others to die. Our country is going down the toilet because of all these terrible people who weren’t raised right and that is going to cause us to die.
The upshot of that second part is, ‘the past was much better, the present sucks and the future is going to suck even more and as a result we are all going to die.’
Style and Culture
And this really shows up in style and culture. The saggy pants? They show humanity has fallen. Forget that the same person who says the saggy pants suck also says the old style of the high waisted shorts from the 80s suck too. Low sucks, high sucks.
Music today sucks of course. Why? Because it’s not the old music, which was much better and proved we were geniuses back then. And people allegedly making music now? They suck and their music sucks because they aren’t as great as we were.
It All Sucks
Here is the truth; if you think the present and future suck it’s because you are becoming an old curmudgeon who has forgotten how your grandparents said the same thing about your generation. It’s because you gave up on discovering new music and movies and art and literature. It’s because you are afraid to see your world disappear but you are even more afraid to explore the world today. So you sit and complain about things you haven’t really explored or tried to understand. You judge because judging feels good and backs up your prejudices and inclinations.
It’s All Great
Here is another truth; the youngest generation doesn’t really care what you think. They are on to you. They listen to your rant and know you are speaking from ignorance. They know their music is awesome and their art, and their movies. They know their food and attitudes and work ethic and a million other things are just fine. They don’t need your approval.
Barbarian Truth
The truth is the worst of the older generation has ALWAYS condemned the world to destruction at the hands of the younger Barbarians at the gates. Ancient Greek curmudgeons complained about the younger generation 3,000 years ago and it hasn’t stopped yet.
How To Not Be A Curmudgeon
And the other truth is the best of the older generation stays open to what each new generation has to offer and does it’s best to understand it on the new generation’s terms, not their own. They keep an open mind about music and art and tattoos and clothing and style and words and sex and ways of understanding the world. They are the ones who stay young and engaged in the world today.
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Drawing and rant by Marty Coleman
Quote by Yogi Berra, 1925 – not dead yet, American Baseball player and Paul Valery, 1871-1945, French poet
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by Marty Coleman | Dec 10, 2014 | Jack Welch, The Future - 2014 |
In the future, this will be known as #4 in my Future series!
All to Some
Let’s get this out of the way right off the bat. We have very little control over anything. If you don’t know that, you probably will learn it soon enough. Having determined that we have very little control, let’s also acknowledge that means we do have some control.
Some to None
Within the admittedly small area where we could have control, many of us don’t take it. We are like a hot air balloon drifting in the wind. If it blows us towards the fire, we become a fire fighter. If it blows us towards the office building we become an office worker.
None to Done
Why don’t we take control of those things we are capable of controlling? Maybe it’s another person; a parent, spouse, boss, friend, who is trying to control you or circumstances. If you are afraid of conflict or worried about consequences of fighting for control, you are likely to let the other person’s vision for your future to dominate.
Here’s a great example of what I am talking about. A friend in college was a wonderful organist. He had a dream of being an organist in a big church as his career. But his father was adamant, he was going to go into banking. And so he was a teller in a bank and had every intention of going into banking even though he didn’t like banking. He was a very depressed guy.
Do you have an example of this in your life or the life of someone you know?
Done to Fun
If you don’t work towards the future you want chances are you will be dissatisfied with the future you find. And that means you won’t have the fun and joy in life that you could have if you pursued your vision.
Don’t be a hot air balloon, be an airplane.
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Drawing and commentary by Marty Coleman
Quote by Jack Welch, 1935 – not dead yet, American businessman. His original quote had ‘destiny’ instead of ‘future’.
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“Control your own future or someone else will.”
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by Marty Coleman | Dec 3, 2014 | 'In The Gallery' |
Prologue
She was born in 1975 in Tupelo, Mississippi but moved with her family to Paris, France at the age of 2. She had been married but her American husband had been killed in the Iraq War. She was an accountant and liked to do crafts. She had one son.
Chapter One
The mom brought her son to see the museum exhibition of the famous artist’s work. She had been a muse for the artist, posing for a giant sculpture of her head, as well as a number of paintings. The artist had painted 10 paintings of her but only two were in the show. Both were big paintings of her jumping. In one, she was jumping over a fence to escape a bear. In the other she was jumping into a pool to escape a fire.
Chapter Two
After they saw the paintings they went into the gallery that had the giant sculpture. She explained to her son that she had to sit still for a whole hour, then would get a 5 minute break, then would have to sit again for another hour and how this went on for about 4 hours each day for a month. The son thought that would be really boring.
Chapter Three
The son also thought the sculpture was boring because it was just his mom, only really big. The son got excited though when two young women came up to his mom and asked her if she was the model. They asked all sorts of questions about the artist and wondered if the artist was looking for models because they thought it would be cool to pose for a famous artist. The mom said the artist was always looking for models and to just email the artist through the artist’s website. The son pointed to the giant sculpture and said, “My mom had to sit still for like forever and barely ever got to go pee.” The two women laughed and patted him on the head.
Chapter Four
They looked at the other paintings in the exhibition and the son asked all sorts of questions. His mom answered them all as best she could. He told her he thought the paintings of her jumping to escape things were the best in the whole show and asked if they could go back into that other gallery to see those paintings again. He also said the painting of the man with the blue penis was really funny because no one really has a blue one.
Chapter Five
After they left the museum they went for ice cream as it was a very hot day. The son told the mom she was prettier than the art she was in. The mom smiled and was happy.
Epilogue
What is the gender of the artist?
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Drawing and short story by Marty Coleman
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by Marty Coleman | Dec 2, 2014 | Abraham Lincoln, The Future - 2014 |
It’s day #3 of The Future!
The Big Picture
As a coach of runner’s moving up in both distance and speed I regularly come across a lot of doubts and fears. Their goal is a race about 12 weeks away at the start of the season and they are often petrified about their ability to achieve their goal. They can run a 5k race (3.1 miles) but a 10k (6.2 miles) or 15k (9.3 miles) or 1/2 marathon (13.1 miles) race? THAT is something beyond their abilities and thus they fear they can’t do it.
And you know what my response to calm their fears and give them confidence is? I tell them this: You are right, you can’t do it…
Yet
I teach them that three letter word, ‘yet’, and it makes all the difference. It makes a difference because it helps them understand two critical things. First is, they don’t have to run a 1/2 marathon today. All they have to do is run the training run slated for today. That means they have to run 3 miles, maybe 4. Not 6 or 9 or 13, just 3, which they know, and I know, they can do. They can relax that way and just focus on the small picture, a much easier task.
Second is, training (and life) is a cumulative process. That brick wall you sometimes hit in training? While it stops you dead in your tracks, it also returns some value. And that value, otherwise known as ‘experience’. will come in very handy, perhaps at the next training run. Or maybe on your rest day. Or maybe 10 weeks down the road at the race. Who knows when you can spend what you earned from that workout. I don’t know. But I know you earned it and it’s in you and you will need it later on in the future.
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Drawing and commentary by Marty Coleman
Quote by Abraham Lincoln, 1809-1865, American President #16.
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by Marty Coleman | Dec 1, 2014 | Visual Poems | Photos |
Outwin Boochever Portrait Competition
Every three years the Smithsonian’s National Portrait Gallery in Washington, D.C. holds a juried portrait competition. The process is very competitive, as you might imagine when the first prize money is $25,000.00. The time frame is long. The semi-finalists will be announced in March, 2015. They will then send their actual work for consideration and the finalists in September, 2015. The exhibition will open in March, 2016.
I waited until the last day to enter this year. I had created a portrait collage earlier in 2014, using photos taken of my friend, the Meteorologist, Brittany Rainey, at Philbrook Museum of Art and at her home. It is one in a series called ‘Visual Poems’ that includes images and written text. It’s also a continuation of my long-term ongoing series, ‘IN Public/Private’ on public personalities in Tulsa, primarily TV news anchors and reporters.
The Meteorologist’s Poem
Here is the image reduced in size. The printed image should be around 4 feet wide.
I also sent a closeup detail so they could get a better idea of the piece.
Find more of the Visual Poems Series here
Find the ‘IN Public/Private’ series here
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Photo-collage by Marty Coleman
Model – Brittany Rainey
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by Marty Coleman | Nov 27, 2014 | Thanksgiving |
Happy Thanksgiving everyone!
I thought it would be cool this year to show a selection of drawings from past Thanksgivings. Some have links back to the original post, others don’t because the original post was just the drawing.
2013
Original Post – Perfect vs Wonderful
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2011
Original post – The Gratitude of Escape
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2010
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2009
I did a 5 part series on gratitude that year.
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by Marty Coleman | Nov 24, 2014 | George Will, The Future - 2014 |
This is yesterday’s future napkin.
The Unannounced Life
My late father, Skeets Coleman, home from World War II, did not return to Iowa where he was raised but instead stayed in the San Diego area and operated the Del Mar Airport in the late 40s. The secretary he hired? She, Dorothy Lee Powell, became his wife and my mother.
My late ex-father-in-law from California, Dwight Johnson, was in military training in Vermont back in the Korean War era. He needed an ironing board and being the do-it-yourself type, he went to the local hardware/lumber yard to get a flat 1×6 piece of wood to use for that purpose. The person who sold him the board? She, Vivian Lambert, became his wife.
In the 70s I transferred to UC Santa Barbara after having left a college on the East Coast. I got involved with a Student Christian group on campus. At a Halloween party I met a girl dressed up as Pippie Longstockings. She, Kathy Johnson, later became my wife.
In 2000 my oldest daughter, Rebekah Coleman, left Oklahoma and went to St. John’s College in Maryland. One of the first people she met, Patrick Evans, is now her husband.
After my divorce in 2000 I started dating via online dating services. Unbeknownst to me a woman, Linda Reynolds, divorced a few years before, also was dating online. We had a date and 3 years later we were married. I gained a step-daughter, Caitlin Reynolds.
In 2011 my 2nd youngest daughter, Chelsea Coleman, moved to Berkeley to escape the cold and dreary winter in Seattle while her then husband was deployed for 6 months. She started playing music with various people. One person she played with, Graham Patzner, became a friend, and after her marriage ended in divorce, they started to date.
How the Future Arrives
My point in reciting this family history is simple. To remind myself that the future arrives unannounced every day. Whether it’s for good or bad, all our planning and organizing of life will never overcome that one inescapable truth. When we understand and accept that, our lives become easier and happier.
The Result is Thanksgiving
One result of these unannounced futures is that I am now Papa Marty and Linda is MeeMee to Vivian Isabel Evans and Otis Martin Coleman-Patzner. Another result is we are headed to Dallas for the Thanksgiving weekend to visit Caitlin and go to the Dallas Cowboys football game.
And for all those futures past, I am filled with gratitude and thanksgiving.
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Drawing and commentary by Marty Coleman
Quote by George Will, 1941-not dead yet, American writer and political pundit
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by Marty Coleman | Nov 21, 2014 | Illustrated Short Stories
Prologue
The Belly Dancer was glad the final pose in her debut as a figure model for the art class was laying down. She was also glad she could close her eyes because then she wouldn’t have to look at the hideously scary painting of a wolf that was on the wall behind her.
At the last minute she decided to get her scimitar and use it as a prop in the pose. She knew it would create drama, adding an exotic and dangerous element to her character. While she knew it was unlikely the artists drawing her would understand, when she danced she became Zaira, The Rose Princess of the Tribe. She changed from being the dutiful daughter, the loyal office worker, and the meek sister into the strong and courageous Princess.
Chapter One
The room was warm and the pose was easy. Soon she had closed her eyes and fallen into a dreaming sleep. She dreamt she was alone in the hot desert of North Africa. She was out searching for her little brother, who had not returned after a day in which he had supposedly gone out to catch lizards in the dunes with friends. It was now night under a full moon and the family had spread out across the desert to find him. She was given the direction due south, towards the small group of hills that made the southern border of their tribe’s land. She was about a mile from their home when she heard the howls.
Chapter Two
Howling was not uncommon in her land but it was always far away. This time it was very close. She walked faster along a line of date trees that were fed by a small spring to the west. She knew the trees would lead to the edge of the hills and that would likely be where her brother would go if he were stuck in the desert at night. It was also where the howling had come from. The moon had partially disappeared behind the hills by the time she reached their start. She could see shadows cast by jagged rock outcroppings. It made for a disconcerting scene.
Chapter Three
Just as she was about to call her brother’s name she heard a rustling behind her. She turned to see another large shadow, also appearing to be of jagged rocks. Then the shadow moved. Then the shadow snarled. She was able to see now that it was a large wolf, bristling hair high up on it’s neck and back. It’s head was lowered and it started pacing back and forth in front of her. Every turn it made it took a step closer as well. She was able to see as it got closer that it’s mouth was dripping something. When it turned again and came another step closer she could see it was blood.
Chapter Four
She had been taught to hunt by her father, a rarity among the women of her tribe. But he had told her that the hunted doesn’t care of you are a woman or a man. If they sense fear they will attack. He wanted everyone in his family to be able to protect themselves and anyone else in the family, no matter what they were born as. She was thankful for her upbringing even when it meant she was teased by the boys and girls in her tribe.
Chapter Five
She slowly put her left hand over her head and reached behind to her back. She drew out her scimitar from its sheath and brought it to the front. With her right hand she drew out the knife she had in her belt. The wolf sensed his prey getting ready to defend itself and attacked swiftly. He ran directly at her, a distance of about 20 feet. It took no more than 3 leaps before he was airborne with his teeth bared, aiming for her neck. She was able to fall to her left as he passed over. As he went by she thrust upward with her knife, piercing his chest on the right side. He collapsed as he hit the ground. A second later he was back up. He turned, exhaling and coughing. She knew she had hit his lungs. She knew she had but a moment to do what she knew was next. Instead of waiting for him to attack she ran towards his wounded right side. He was not able to turn quickly in that direction and before he could get around to face her she had struck a blow on his neck with her sword. He fell to the ground, his spinal cord cut.
Chapter Six
She didn’t have to take a second look at her foe. She knew he was dead. She turned back to her task, calling her brother’s name while running around the nearest rocky rise to see if he was behind it. She was worried that the blood on the wolf’s mouth had been that of her brother. She was prepared to see her brother dead and mangled somewhere close by. When she came around the rocks she did indeed see a mangled and bloody body. But it was not of her brother but of a young lamb. She called again as she walked deeper among the rocks. A few moments later she heard his faint voice responding. The voice was above her. She looked up and saw her brother standing on a single pillar of rock, no wider than he was.
Chapter Seven
Zaira returned to her family’s home with her brother about 3 hours after she had left. They were welcomed back with love and tears. She told the story of her search, the fight with the wolf and how her brother was smart enough to escape the wolf by climbing up a high and precarious set of rocks that the wolf could not climb. The family was proud of Zaira and told the story for many generations thereafter.
Epilogue
Zaira woke with a start when the drawing monitor called ‘time’s up, pose is over.’ When she opened her eyes the first thing she saw was the painting of the wolf on the wall. She laughed at the wolf and told the assembled artists, “I just killed that wolf in my dream!” They all applauded and thanked her for her heroic deed.
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Drawing and story by Marty Coleman
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by Marty Coleman | Nov 17, 2014 | Jean de La Fontaine, The Future - 2014 |
My Morning Destiny
I woke up at 4:30am this morning. That actually not that odd of a time for me, maybe about a 1/2 an hour earlier that my usual early start. I could have stayed in bed another 1/2 an hour but my mind had decided on ‘The Future’ as being my next series and I needed to go write it down and start researching. It’s now 11:30 and, in between checking posts from friends and families, I’ve been working on preparing the series and on this drawing for about 6 hours already.
When I found this quote today I realized I had just seen it within a day or so on Facebook. I thought it was something my friend Kimberley Blaine had posted but I couldn’t find it on her timeline so it probably was someone else.
Final Destination
Have you ever seen the movie ‘Final Destination’? It’s about a group of friends who do not get on an airplane because of a dream one of the group has while napping at the airport right before boarding that the airplane is going to explode and crash and they will all die. The airplane does in deed explode right in front of them and they are thus saved from death.
However, it now seems they have cheated death. They were suppose to die and didn’t, thus the grim reaper has to go find them and kill them. The movie is filled with crazy and convoluted ways people die. It’s gruesome and scary and funny and shocking all at the same time.
Your Destiny
Have you had this experience? It’s not uncommon in both fact and fiction. There have been many stories over the centuries of people doing everything they can to avoid their destiny when it comes knocking, only to find it where they land in their escape. It’s not just about escaping death, but many other things as well; success, failure, family, aging, disease, fame, disaster, you name it and we can be adamant about trying to avoid it and it still finds us.
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Drawing and commentary by Marty Coleman
Quote by Jean de La Fontaine, 1621-1695, French Poet
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“A person often meets their destiny on the road they took to avoid it”
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by Marty Coleman | Nov 16, 2014 | Sketchbook History Tour |
Figure Drawing
Ever since I was 17 and still in High School I have been figure drawing (yes, that means naked people). I also taught it for quite some time during the 80s and 90s.
Often times artists don’t really want to take a class in figure drawing, they just want to draw the figure. To fill that need around the country at art centers and museums and schools they have open figure drawing sessions. You pay a certain amount to cover the cost of paying the model, and then you just draw. They have someone in charge of hiring the models and keeping time, but that is about it.
Zaira Amar – 3 minute pose
It’s Not What You Think
Most of the time these sessions are very staid and mundane. I don’t mean there aren’t great models and drawings being done but, opposite of the popular imagination, they aren’t lascivious bastions of libertine men and scarlet women indulging in pornographic excess. They are models, male and female, with bodies of all sorts posing in academic poses that aren’t presented as sexual or titillating.
Zaira Amar – 3 minute pose
Dr. Sketchy
About 10 years ago a burlesque dancer in San Francisco, Molly Crabapple, decided to try something different to shake up this way of figure drawing. She founded the Dr. Sketchy’s Anti-Art School. It really isn’t a school at all, it’s just a fun, recurring event that combines performance, modeling, drinking and drawing.
Zaira Amar – 10 minute pose
Lot6 Art Bar
Last night (11/15/14) was the first Dr. Sketchy event in Tulsa in many years. I had wanted to go to it back when it was last active, in 2010, but never got around to it. But I had an opportunity last night to go. These are the drawings that resulted. Nothing fancy or profound, just some fun drawings. It took place at a very cool Art Bar close to downtown Tulsa called Lot6.
Zaira Amar – 5 minute pose
The Belly Dancer
The model you see here, Zaira Amar, first did a belly dance, then sat for a total of 5 drawings, ranging in time from 3 to 20 minutes in length. I can tell you, it’s not a lot of time when a model is nude, but put her or him in a costume with textures and baubles and jewelry and yards of fabric and it’s really not a lot of time!
Zaira Amar – 20 minute pose
Scimitar
She had a giant scimitar sword that she held for a few of her poses. I was worried she would drop it or cut herself somehow, but she obviously knew what she was doing with it having danced with it many time I think.
Here’s the finished drawing, completed a few weeks later. Here’s a link to a short story illustrated with this image.
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Comedy Included
In between the dancing and modeling there also was a stand up comedian, Drew Welcher. She was pretty funny, mostly self-deprecating about her sexuality and her body. She got a bit raunchy, but I was busy drawing her and was actually only paying so much attention to her routine.
Drew Welcher – Stand-up Comedian
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The Burlesque Dancer
The other model for the night was Afsana Rose, a burlesque dancer. She did a very cool feathered fan dance, then modeled for times ranging from 3 to 20 minutes just as Zaira did.
Afsana Rose – 3 minute pose
While I was drawing, Hilton Price, the MC for the evening, took this photo of me drawing Afsana for future publicity.
Draw What It Is Doing, Not What It Is
I got a drawing lesson many decades ago from a great professor of mine, Michael Mazur. He said, “make your hand do what the thing you are drawing is doing.” In other words, if the thing is solid and rectalinear, then make your drawing hand make those solid and rectilinear movements. And if your subject is a feather fan, then make your hand make the movement a feather makes. That’s easier said than done of course, but that is what I kept in mind as I drew her feather fan in these two drawings.
Afsana Rose – 5 minute pose
Tattoos
Afsana had a many tattoos, most of which I was not able to capture in the short time I had. One tattoo I had noticed and was glad I was able to capture was a spider web in her underarm. All I could think about was how much it had to hurt to get it done!
Afsana Rose – 10 minute pose
Frilly
Afsana changed costumes a few times. She wore a frilly sheer polka dotted light covering over a 50s style white push up bra in the pose above. Once again, trying to capture the action of that frilly outer garment was the key to the drawing.
Afsana Rose – 20 minute pose
Boa
In her final pose she was in what seemed like a pretty classic burlesque outfit. The preeminent feature was the very big feather boa. But it wasn’t feathery in the same way as the fan. The feathers were blocky and squared off at the end, so I made that sort of movement with my hand as I drew it. She also had long gloves on that weren’t too different in color from the boa so I had to make sure their texture and lines were sufficiently different enough to stand out.
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Award
At the end of the session the artists can submit drawings to be judged by the models. Each model, and the comedian, decide which drawing they like best and that artist gets a small prize. In my case I received a little sketchbook, something you all know I will use! I also got free admittance to the next Dr. Sketchy, so that’s cool as well.
It was a cool and different figure drawing experience. I made a number of new friends and had a great time drawing.
I might work on some of the drawings a little bit more. I am tempted to finish some, add color to others. We shall see and I will let you know!
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by Marty Coleman | Nov 14, 2014 | Sketchbook History Tour |
My wife of 8 years, Linda, and I spent our 8th anniversary at the hospital. We were married on 11/11/06 at 11am.
She had already been sick for 9 days at this point so I already knew we weren’t going to be doing a big night out. I was expecting to cook something up, something easy. But instead the xray from the day before came back and her bronchitis had turned into Pneumonia. Her Dr. requested we go get a ‘breathing treatment’ at whatever ER we wanted to go to. That trip turned into a 2 day stay at the hospital and that is a good thing. She was able to get breathing treatments and IV antibiotics.
We had Pei Wei take out for our anniversary dinner while watching TV. That is what she is doing in this drawing, though she says it looks like she is calling to heaven to be taken away! I told her not quite yet. She said ok.
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Drawing by Marty Coleman
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by Marty Coleman | Nov 11, 2014 | Love - 2014, Nikki Giovanni |
I have been trying to think this quote through to see if it is true. I am not sure yet. What do you think?
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Drawing by Marty Coleman
Quote by Nikki Giovanni, 1943 – not dead yet, American writer and activist
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by Marty Coleman | Nov 10, 2014 | Love - 2014 |
Not Hate
We often hear about the terrible domestic tragedy where a wife is slaughtered by a hate-filled spouse. It happens way, way too often (once is too often). At least one of that couple had a deep deep hatred for the other. It was a hatred harsh and bitter enough to lead someone to murder. It always astounds me to imagine someone actually doing that, but it happens all the time.
Not Anything
But while those violent acts get the attention, the vast majority of relationships that break up don’t end in hatred and violence in the long term. They end in indifference. The end with a ‘meh’. When we cease to love someone what usually happens is we jettison the feeling. We temporarily have other feelings, including hate, for the person we are breaking up with. But long term we end up shutting down the love and replacing with nothing. No feelings, no emotions, no travails. That is why people say it is hard to love again, because they’ve hardened themselves with indifference.
Outside of a Relationship
The danger isn’t that we reel in a bit after a relationship. It’s that we may reel in all our feelings for everything. For our neighbors, our friends, and our city. For our society, for our culture, for nation. We just don’t care much anymore because caring, and the loving that comes from that caring, is too hard a task. It has too many dangers, too many risks.
Cocoon
As a result we stay in a cocoon of protection. At least it seems like we are protected. But in truth we endanger ourselves. Just like the person who thinks if they do no physical exercise then they won’t get an injury. That is likely true, they wont get an injury. But they will atrophy. And guaranteed atrophy is much more dangerous than a possible injury.
Watch out for wrapping your love into too big of a cocoon. We all have been hurt, but those who heal and go back out onto the field are the ones who will keep their strength, and their love, strong.
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Drawing and commentary by Marty Coleman
Quote by Elie Wiesel, 1928 – not dead yet, Jewish writer and activist. Holocaust survivor
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by Marty Coleman | Nov 6, 2014 | Love - 2014, Quentin Crisp |
For Your Better
There’s part of me that disagrees with this. After all, don’t we want to be in a relationship where the other person is encouraging us to be better than we are, to change for the better? I know I am not perfect and could be better so why not have someone who wants that for me as well? Don’t I want to be in that sort of relationship?
For Their Better
But we know this is not what this quote is talking about, don’t we. This quote is warning against, not the person who wants the best for you, but the person who wants the best for them. They don’t want you to change for the better because it’s your desire. They want you to change to meet their desire. They want you to be prettier, or have bigger boobs, or make more money, or be more of a do-it-yourselfer, or more religious, or a million other things. But they want it to make their life what they want, not what you want for your own life.. They want the hot wife or husband, or the bigger house or the greater religious reputation. Maybe they want life to be easier for themselves and it would be if you didn’t annoy them so much with your hobbies or your style or your habits or, or, or….the list goes on.
Who to Avoid
If someone see and hears from you that you want to be this or that in the future, then of course we want that person to be supportive and encouraging about that change. But when we don’t initiate it, but it comes from their desire to control you and turn you into who they want? That is the person to avoid at all costs.
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Drawing and commentary by Marty Coleman
Quote by Quentin Crisp, 1908 – 1999, English raconteur. He lived a very interesting and unique life, well worth reading up on if you are worried about your individuality being too ‘individual’.
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by Marty Coleman | Nov 5, 2014 | Love - 2014, Stephen Stills |
Truth
This is one of my favorite lines from a song. The moment I heard it, I believed it was good and true. Years later I became familiar with Jesus’ teaching of “Love your neighbor as yourself”. When someone questions Jesus about exactly who is his neighbor, Jesus tells the story of the Good Samaritan. The point of that story is that everyone is your neighbor and should be treated as such.
In other words, you never have to question what it is you are to do. You are always to love the person in front of you.
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Drawing and commentary by Marty Coleman
Quote are lyrics from the song, ‘Love the one you’re with’ by Stephen Stills.
Most people think it is a ‘Crosby, Stills and Nash’ song, but it was actually written and performed by Stills on his debut solo album in 1970. It was later recorded live with C S & N and that is how it became thought of as a C S & N song. The line was not made up by Stills. He kept hearing a fellow musician, Billy Preston, say the line in daily life and asked him if he could use it in a song. He agreed.
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by Marty Coleman | Nov 4, 2014 | Collections |
Last week I showed you a collection of naked men. It got more hits than any other post I have had in probably 6 months to a year. I am sure those trolling were disappointed to find out they were cartoon naked men with very minimalist interpretations of their packages, but hopefully it was interesting for the rest of you.
Why Naked?
Today it’s a naked women collection. I am pretty sure the trolls will be equally disappointed in the lack of graphic rendering.
Those among you who are upright citizens might think, ‘Well dang Marty, aren’t you the ‘Napkin Dad’ and aren’t you suppose to be an example of good morals? So, why are you drawing naked women (and men)?’ The answer is simple. I like drawing naked people. I am an artist and a big reason for that was that I was raised in a family that appreciated and collected art. My Grandfather collected art and had a fantastic collection of prints, drawings and paintings. Many of those were handed down to my mother. Thus, my household growing up was full of art, many pieces were of nudes. How early did I actually start drawing the nude? From the very beginning. My first art exhibition ever was in my High School Library in my senior year. My subject matter? Nudes that I drew from actual models. No, I am not joking. It was a different era. I like drawing naked people because it allows me a fantastic opportunity to communicate both emotions and ideas.
The Naked Emotion
You might ask, ‘But you have 4 daughters, aren’t you worried you are influencing them to think it’s ok for women to be objectified by depicting the nude?’ My answer would be the exact opposite is what I think I am influencing them to think. That it is ok and positive for women (and men) to be depicted nude (and for artists to do the depicting) when you are being true to the story you want to tell and the feeling you want to arouse. Funny I know, the word ‘arouse’ is a loaded term when talking about the depiction of the nude. But feelings about the nude are not restricted to sexual arousal. Embarrassment, pride, relief, compassion, empathy, anger, hurt, shame, exhilaration, triumph, and many other emotions and feelings can also be depicted and elicited by the use of the nude in art, photography or film. Sometimes the nude is actually the best vehicle for getting those emotions communicated in a compelling way. I would hope my daughters and grandchildren would see art, and the nudity depicted in it, in that light.
Me and Michelangelo
Of course it is somewhat silly and ironic that I write an essay about the nude in art when what you are about to see are cartoon drawings. My drawings here are not in competition with Michelangelo’s sculpture of David for the exaltation of the human form. But they are in keeping with the impetus of the artist to try to communicate well, which is all I am really trying to do when you get right down to it.
Here is a selection through the years. A link to the original posts are below each image.
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1998/99
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2001
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2003
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2004
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2009
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2010
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2011
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2012
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2013
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2014
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