My favorite Updike short story was A&P, where a young man, a cashier, makes the big break that he thinks will change his life, or so he thinks, by just walking off the job. No such fantasy with the women I see behind the counters checking out my items. Nothing but a life of sacrifice, most of which will probably go unappreciated and that’s when I wonder if I’m just a storyteller or a painter? who once again wants to capture that feeling in a painting? or a story? Or both?
You see, I’ve always been a sucker for women whose lives seem to be lonely and bleak. Purely subjective, of course, from an outsider looking in. I even make up whole stories based on a simple encounter, like a cashier at Walmart today, wondering if she will go home to some low-income apartment with two or three kids to take care of, barely scraping by because of a deadbeat dad who split a long time ago. Because as a painter and a writer, but ultimately a storyteller – when I see someone I want to paint, I also see a story.
And therein lies the problem: asking them to pose for a painting that may really not represent them at all – but one that I only imagined in my mind. All the while afraid they might suspect I’m up to no good. Usually they’re flattered, but until they actually see the results, if they consent in the first place, it’s always something I’m particularly wary of. Particularly since I know my motives are not only noble in intent, but it’s my way of giving them what at least in my mind is something they may never have ever had. Like a certain appreciation or dignity long overdue. Particularly when I see them working so hard at a job I know they don’t even like. But due to circumstances, they have no choice.
Like this girl today, who could have been a model for a Renaissance painting in a different time, but features that more than likely will go unnoticed for the rest of her life and merely be lost in the crowd. And yet, in my eyes, I see not only a face but a whole person, best summed up in that face! – that not only goes SO far beyond the vacuousness of the everyday, but a whole persona in a face that timelessly not only expresses the reality of everyday struggle, pain, and suffering – but most of all – shows a resolve that endures (yet all the while goes completely unnoticed)!
And THAT’S where I come in. I not only want to capture it and show the world what I see – but even more, to appreciate it – respect it – honor it – see the true beauty, humanity, and dignity that I see. Which has been the driving force for all my portraits. From my earliest memories even, whether it was Cochise after seeing Jeff Chandler in Broken Arrow or Will Sampson whom I painted decades later. Yes, even Richard Nixon, whom I was commissioned to paint in 1980!
Remember that famous photo of Lange’s of that Depression Era mother called Migrant Mother with that stressed-out look that essentially covered up her innate beauty? That’s what I see in this girl. Something that can be best said in a painting. Not because I don’t have the words, but something in the face inspires the words in the first place! And therein lies the dilemma as well as the mystery: how do you vicariously, like an actor or a movie director or an author, capture all that in a way they don’t take personally? Yet all the while knowing it’s really a compliment to them that they elicit that kind of response in the first place? Even if it’s not the actual person? – but rather a symbol of something I’m not even sure of myself?
Something that often can only be expressed visually – that CAN’T be put into words. And then, to make it even more challenging, how does a perfect stranger say all that to a person to get them to pose in the first place? Once again, unless they know who you are, you’re still suspect.
And then you even wonder if you’ll ever get beyond a few preliminary sketches. Or will my inner compulsion lead to a whole series? A Cristina’s World even?
But you’ll never know unless you ask her in the first place.
Evolution of a painting.
To be continued.