Extraordinarily Ordinary - What Do Dreams Know of Boundaries?

A new movie about Amelia was released in October, 2009. I, of course, waited patiently for the film to be released on DVD so I could bring it home and enjoy it at my pace, with my own really cheap and lightly buttered popcorn. I had a hunch I was going to like this movie simply because the reviews that followed it’s opening gave insight regarding style and content that actually sounded great to me. I’m going to spend a moment or so with critics’ words, if I may, and defend a movie that has been brutally bashed since it opened. 


•  Frustratingly old-school; Hollywood-style Entertainment Weekly:
Ok, I understand that today many people like fast-action-jerky film work, or weird experimentations from the ‘sundance’ crowd. Truth is, some of us completely enjoy still-camera cinematography; we like to build a story visually, piecing things like costumes, sets, and audio tracks together with a steady, and I mean steady, accumulation of information. Perhaps that is old school, but I’m old so who cares. I like it. In Amelia, it’s one of the most charming aspects of the film. I can watch it and not become nauseated, which is amazing because I hate to fly and there are a lot of shots that are way up there looking down.


• The movie is imprisoned in safety NPR:
The movie stays right on the truth the entire film. It ignores urban legends and myths and, instead, concentrates on a nine year span of Amelia’s life which is mostly shown as her personal reflection of events that brought her to that fateful flight in 1937. She is winging around the world while she remembers. What else would the woman have done? If I were in her shoes I would have been full of retrospect, and this point-of-view has to limit the story to an absolute and safe place. Amelia’s diaries and log-books were heavily quoted and the voice of the aviator comes across clearly, even ordinarily quaint some times.


• The script smoothes over the many controversies surrounding her life, including her open marriage to Putnam, her rumored bisexuality, and whether or not she was a spy. Jezebel
Oh, my ... um ... let’s start with the open marriage. Yes, Amelia and George had an open marriage, which was more than unusual during their day. The proof of that is the letter she wrote to Putnam when she finally accepted his sixth marriage proposal.

"You must know again my reluctance to marry, my feeling that I shatter thereby chances in work which means so much to me. . . .In our life together I shall not hold you to any medieval code of faithfulness to me, nor shall I consider myself bound to you similarly . . . .I may have to keep some place where I can go to be myself now and then, for I cannot guarantee to endure at all the confinements of even an attractive cage."

The movie showed her writing that letter and giving it to her husband to be, and the idea of an open marriage was covered pretty well in this script. The only things missing were wild sex shots and in your face social judgments and lecturing. Frankly, I don’t want to imagine Amelia doing that and, in my opinion, she never did. Listen closely to her letter and you may hear a gal who was concerned about being owned. Remember the year (1931); understand what was expected of women back then. Amelia was fiercely independent and wanted to remain that way. She wanted to fly.

As for bisexuality and being a spy? That is pure speculation not founded on any provable truth. For folks who want to see this sort of story, you ought to write a script and call it Stella ... base the story-line on Amelia but add your fantasies for fun. You could have your steamy Ewan McGregor sex-shots, sultry leads, wild explosions ... CGI the plane ripping apart as it bounces across the ocean, what the hell. Stella could parachute out in time (not the navigator, though ... a man would not think quickly enough) and land on an itty-bitty South Pacific island, be a castaway for a while surviving by her own American-heartland-wisdom, drinking cocoanut milk and eating killer crabs she wrestled with her bare hands before the Japanese found, imprisoned, then lastly shot her dead-by-firing-squad for being a spy.  Dammit! That is filmmaking -101 ...

But that’s a different story ... let’s get back to Amelia and the critics.

• I'm not suggesting that Mira Nair should have invented anything for Amelia. It is right that she resisted any temptation. It's just that there's a certain lack of drama in a generally happy life. Chicago Sun Times:
This movie is not about Amelia’s life. It’s about a nine year span that lead from the first woman to sit on a plane flying across the Atlantic to a woman who was piloting a plane while trying to circumnavigate the globe.  Yeeesh ....

There are aspects about Amelia’s early life that are very interesting to ponder, and they follow a trend most surely. For example, Amelia did not grow up in a normal home with mother and father. She was sent to live with her grandmother, then on to finishing school. Dad was an alcoholic and that unsettled Amelia’s world on many levels. The same kind of thing was true for the other strong ladies I wrote about earlier in There’s No Crying in Baseball. Dottie (Dorothy Kamenshek) went off to play baseball at 17 years old. I can’t find any information about her childhood or family relations, but how many 17 year old girls would have been allowed to go alone to Wriggley’s Field to play baseball during WWII? And then there’s Donna Hillman-Walsh, who grew-up the daughter of a Hollywood starlet and was sent away to finishing school at 14, then headed out to New York to learn how to race thoroughbreds. Research either of these ladies and you’ll find very little information about early family life and relationships. Truth be told, all these girls were extremely independent tomboys who’s goal in life was to be the very best that they could be, doing what only men were allowed to do. All were highly motivated, and all were very good. I would be interested in watching a film or documentary about this sort of stuff. But not in a film about a nine year span that lead to Amelia’s final flight. For now, let us focus on this movie and understand that Amelia was generally happy to be flying. Ok. What’s wrong with that?

•  Amelia is a by-the-book bio-pic. By following the template, it's as safe and straightforward as one could possibly get, without narrative flourishes and with minimal exaggeration to satisfy Hollywood's appetite for fictionalization. Reel Views
YEAH!!

•  When it comes to some of the wild speculation that has arisen over the years about what happened to Earhart during that final flight, the movie doesn't even go out on a limb, opting instead for the sort of vague, open ending that, is historically safe and cinematically dull. The Washington Post:
It is true, this movie does not dare to try to answer what happened at the end. Amelia simply flies away. This movie is true on fact and as such, how could it speculate an ending?

•  ... old-fashioned, star-powered bio-mush Variety:

•  ... an object lesson in the follies of the conventional biopic, which puts mindless recapitulation of historical data above analysis or insight.  A.V. Club:
Did this critic just say that opinion should rise above historical data? I say, save the imagination for fantasy scripts. A film like Amelia should be held to standards of accuracy just in case some young person who knows nothing about Amelia sees it! Entertainment can teach and there’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, wouldn't we be prudent if more films aimed to educate?

I could go on and on with these reviews, but you get the point. How about we simply consider the film without the disappointed critics’ ramblings about what they wish it had been. True, anyone who ever researched Amelia knows the story going in, and comes away with no new information. The tale is what it is, why expect more? If you can’t handle that sort of thing don’t bother watching this movie. You would miss a beautiful film if you opted out, though, and just seeing the old-time news reels morph into modern day, full colour actors is a truly sweet effect.

Hilary Swank does a marvelous job becoming Amelia, though at times I could swear I heard Katherine Hepburn dialoging in aviator costume. As a girl I had a vision in my head that was Amelia and Swank nailed it for me; her big goofy grin, the confident swagger, the midwestern speech-halting accent, the kind of shy yet public figure, the in-love with her man though not publicly showing it woman.

In truth, there was only one person cast in this film that I wish had been just about anyone else. Whenever I see Richard Gere (he plays Putnam) in a film I see only Richard Gere, never the character he’s trying to play. The sets, costume, and filming technique all took me back to another time and I loved that. Richard Gere would rip me right back to my time and I hated that. George Putnam was a ground breaking fellow who, with Amelia, presented the very first public relation/image building situation and made her a star. He had a certain charisma and style. Richard Gere is frumpy (I thought so back when I first saw him in American Gigolo, I’m just sayin’). And, not even considering his acting, the guy is just too old for this one and does not look good in 1930s costume. Still, even with that, I like this film very much and would recommend it to anyone who wants to know about, or simply remember, Amelia.

As for her fate and the open-ended conclusion of the film, I think it’s our job to research and dig and learn. For sure, the truth is not settled yet, though many people think they know what happened. Some still cling to spy notion, others to the drowning theory, and some (like me) are convinced that Nikumaroro (Gardner Island) will prove once and for all that Amelia Earhart was a damn good pilot who didn’t survive because the United States Navy failed her.

Consider all the evidence I mentioned in part one of this story, and add to them this:

• Amelia’s last radio contacts where strong and clear, which indicated she was very near Howland Island and had the seaman on duty the night before not left certain tracking equipment powered on, the battery would not have been dead and the Navy could have pinpointed exactly where she was during every last moment of her flight. (yes, this is shown in the movie)

• Amelia’s very last transmission said   "We are on the line of position 157 337. Will repeat this message on 6210. We are running North and South." That put the Electra on a navigational line that coincides with the Phoenix Islands, with Nikumaroro (Gardner Island) specifically. The plane had more than enough fuel to get there, and the tide was low and the island’s reef was dry during the time they would have arrived, and that island is much easier to see from air than Howland. The reef is big and smooth enough in places to permit a bumpy, yet safe landing. As far as Amelia knew, the navy could track her. Landing was a smart thing to do.

• Credible radio distress calls were heard over the next four nights. Those transmissions coincided with times when the tides were low enough to allow prop clearance for an Electra’s engine to run. Why is that significant? The engines running at a certain speed would charge the batteries needed to send out signals. And, if the plane ditched into the ocean no signals could ever have been sent. All electrical systems would have failed if the plane did not sit on land, with undamaged landing gear beneath her.

Directional bearings of nearly 200 distress calls, taken by Pan American and the US Coast Guard, pinpointed those distress signals in the vicinity of Nikumaroro (Gardner Island).

• US Navy search planes did not fly over that island until a week after the plane disappeared. By then, distress signals had stopped. The pilots of the search planes noted “signs of recent habitation” on this officially uninhabited island. They saw no aircraft, but a photo of the island taken during the search shows the tide was very high with rough surf on the edge of the reef. If there were an aircraft on that reef, it would have been hidden by the surf.

• A colony was established on Nikumaroro (Gardner Island) in December, 1939 and residents from there report that aircraft wreckage was on the reef, as well as in the lagoon, when they came. They, apparently, stripped many parts from the crash and used them to fabricate things for themselves. A US Navy pilot saw island locals using an airplane control cable as lead fishing line. He asked them where they got the cable, they said from the plane wreckage that was there when they arrived.

One part of the Amelia story that truly annoys me are the words repeated by the fellows who let the lady down. They were very quick to point fingers at her, claiming she was a terrible pilot without the skills needed to complete her mission. Truth is, some fellows simply could not take orders from a girl, nor would they ever accept that a female out-performed them. Amelia was an amazing pilot during the time when aviation was new and extremely dangerous. She did things men died trying to do, and I believe she landed that plane on a small island out in the middle of nowhere, and the Navy did not heed reports of distress signals or take the Gardner Island theory serious in the days following her disappearance. She is my hero, as most strong and independent women are, and I am grateful for sky trails she blazed all those years ago. I encourage you to watch Amelia with those sort of thoughts in mind. 


And we'll leave this post with her words ...


"[Women] must pay for everything .... They do get more glory than men for comparable feats. But, also, women get more notoriety when they crash."

Extraordinarily Ordinary

There are names that always stir the imagination. Zorro brings visions of a black mask, cape, horse, and dashing sword-play. Neil Armstrong perpetually gives us one giant leap for mankind, and Kermit keeps insisting that it’s not easy being green. For me, there are dozens and dozens of names that trigger cogitation on a wide variety of subjects, revolving around a broad collection of people who inspired a little girl from the west. When a name from my inspiration-list appears anywhere, I stop and read or look and learn some more. Recently, the name Amelia has come two fold.

We all know who Amelia Earhart was; the female champion who flew far and wide to show the world that girls could tame distance just as well as the boys. Her story is the legendary tale of record breaking, cutting edge technology, tough as nails and still as pretty, love and dreams and tragedy kind of thing. I ate that up as a little girl. I wanted to be Amelia. Well, I didn’t want to fly, but I wanted the courage to do what I dreamed of doing; to go beyond being just a girl; to find the bravery to look a challenge in the eye and spit on it.

Young women today may not really comprehend how significant those rebellious thoughts of mine were. Just consider, for a moment, that when Amelia was hired to be the first woman to ‘fly’ across the Atlantic in 1928, she was not allowed to control the plane. She sat in the back and looked out the window. Though she had her pilot’s license, the idea of a female having the stamina to perform a trans-Atlantic flight was incomprehensible. Amelia was distressed by the attention she got for just sitting there:

"I was a passenger on the journey...just a passenger. Everything that was done to bring us across was done by Wilmer Stultz and Slim Gordon. Any praise I can give them they ought to have...I do not believe that women lack the stamina to do a solo trip across the Atlantic, but it would be a matter of learning the arts of flying by instruments only, an art which few men pilots know perfectly now..."

Do you hear that?  She believed a woman could learn the art of flying better than few men pilots knew how. When I was a little girl women still had very few opportunities to pursue any dream that existed outside of the prescribed idea of the perfect woman’s world. She was the first person who helped me understand that in order to play with the boys I would have to be many times better just to receive half the recognition. And, living like that as a girl was possible to achieve.

When I first heard her name she’d been missing for 30 or so years and was still very much an enigma. I loved her ... her tomboyishness, her fashion sense, the truth that she was as ordinary looking as anyone else in the world. And, I loved the idea that she found a man who supported her ambition and was seemingly fine living in her shadow of fame and popularity. Yes, Amelia gave hope to little girls who would rather play with a frog than a doll.

So, as I grew I always acknowledged any new information about Amelia. We all know her Electra disappeared as she attempted to fly more than 7,000 miles across the Pacific Ocean. She had already flown 22,000 miles and this part of the journey would take her to Hawaii, and then to California where she would be praised for two major firsts...she would be the first woman, and she would travel the longest possible distance, circumnavigating the globe at its waist.

But, she never landed for refuel on Howland Island. The world has since asked, “Amelia, where are you?” Several theories continue to circulate:

• Amelia was on a spy mission for President Roosevelt, was captured by the Japanese and forced to broadcast to American GI’s as “Tokyo Rose” during World War II.

• She purposely drove her plane into the Pacific.

• She lived for years on an island in the South Pacific with a native fisherman.

• In 1961 it was thought that the bones of Amelia and her navigator had been found in Saipan, but the bones turned out to be those of Saipan natives.

• Amelia secretly finished the mission then moved to New Jersey, assumed a new name, married a different fellow, and lived out her life.

• And, the most exhaustive inquiry into Earhart’s fate since the US Navy’s 1937 original search has been (and is continuing to be) by The International Group for Historic Aircraft Recovery (TIGHAR), who are attempting to conclusively solve the mystery of Amelia Earhart’s disappearance with investigation procedures that employ rigorous standards of evidence and documented facts. They are focusing on a remote, uninhabited Pacific atoll of Nikumaroro (formerly Gardner Island, which is where garbled transmissions believed to be from the electra happened for 4 days after she failed to find Howland Island) and have recovered physical evidence that suggests the Earhart flight may have landed there on July 2, 1937. In 1940 a partial skeleton and an old fashioned sextant box were found under a tree on the island’s southeast corner. The skeleton was eventually lost in Fiji sometime after 1941, but detailed measurements of the bones indicate that they belonged to a “tall white female of European ancestry”. Other artifacts include improvised tools, an aluminum panel (possibly from and Electra), an oddly cut piece of clear Plexiglas which is the exact thickness and curvature of an Electra window, and a size 9 Cat’s Paw heel dating from the 1930’s, which resembles Earhart’s footwear in world flight photos.  In 2007 TIGHAR performed another high-profile expedition where they were reported to have found additional artifacts, including bronze bearings which may have belonged to the aircraft, and a zipper pull which might have come from her flight suit. All this evidence is circumstantial, but quite interesting when you consider the island is uninhabited.

Today, there is continuing promise with TIGHAR’s research.  That is part one of the two fold that I mentioned at the beginning of this post. TIGHAR’s team will be on the island until June 14, 2010 and they are releasing new finds continually. I encourage you to follow TIGHAR’s 2010: Niku VI Expedition updates, and to read this Discovery News article that was released on June 3, 2010.

New hard truths about the real Amelia continue to tickle our hopes that someday, and maybe soon, we'll know for sure if she was a castaway on Gardner Island. This moment reminds me of the days right before they found the remains of the Titanic ...

(Part two, of my two fold story, will be coming next posting)

A Lesson in History - Rembrandt

From time to time I have an urge to share some truths I've learned over the years. This is one of those posts, which contains adapted excerpts from my book Of Fur & Feathers - An Artist Passing Through

This story is about Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn (July 15, 1606 – Oct. 4, 1669). Rembrandt was a Dutch painter who is generally considered one of the greatest painters and printmakers in European art history. His contributions to art came in a period historians call the Dutch Golden Age.

Having realized youthful success as a portrait painter, his later years were marked by personal tragedy and financial collapse. Throughout his lifetime his reputation as an artist remained high and for twenty years he taught nearly every important Dutch painter. Rembrandt's greatest creative triumphs are epitomized in his self-portraits, in which he surveyed himself without vanity and with unconditional sincerity and truth.
____________________________________

When I was a very little girl I found a mentor. Rembrandt. He was the first master that I copied and when I learned to read I began to understand his history and purpose. Everything he was has everything to do with who I am as a painter today. Why?

In the beginning I had only the pencil. I could hold it and with concentration it would mimic the lines I saw on a piece of paper. Coordination was the first step and, like everything in life before the pencil, it was a doable thing with practice. Basic lines, shapes, and added values were practiced daily. I was limited to only the technique of creation by imitation until words began to enlighten the mysteries of art. Once I could read I began to study everything I could about painting, with Rembrandt consistently remaining at the center of my interest.

In all honesty, I found that Rembrandt and other masters were like gods to me. They were beings who turned simple pieces of paper or canvas into perfect dimensional worlds of beauty and drama. Their humanness didn’t become clear until I could research and dig for the truth. I had to know – what made them so great? Could their time have been so different from ours that their brilliant minds rose above and beyond what simple folk like me could achieve? What gave them such passion to learn to be the best? In all my studies I found there are links from there to here and each master is but one piece of massive puzzle. And, here is one piece to serve as an introduction to a brilliant mind:

Greatness Was Born

Rembrandt was born at a most opportune time, when his world was a newly formed country that pulsed with the fever of expansion and growth. The Netherlands had recently won an eighty-year war of independence with Spain, and Europe was beginning to recognize it as a country in its own right. The artist was born to a miller in Leiden on July 15, 1606, the ninth of ten children. He was the only van Rijn child to go to the University of Leiden (at age 14), and his training there was probably geared towards preparation for fine citizenship in Leiden – perhaps as a preacher, or civic councilman. Or, maybe he was placed in the University to avoid service in the town Militia. Rembrandt’s father had injured a hand as a town soldier, and his oldest brother had problems while in the Militia, as well. As a University student no service was required, and one received a good ration of free beer to boot!

After a short stay, Rembrandt dropped out of the University and enrolled as an apprentice in Jacob van Swanenburgh’s studio to learn the craft of picture making. No one really knows why his schooling at the University was cut short right before its finale; but I imagine he may have found ‘classical’ training boring and desired to satisfy a passion for painting. His parents  allowed and supported this direction for his life.

There are no surviving paintings from his earliest years in that studio but, surely, what he learned there were the basics every artist needed; how to grind paint, size canvases, clean brushes and palettes; and how to stroke with a brush, draw with chalk, and compose a painting; how to render drawings from live models, or make copies from early masters. Swaneburgh had spent time in Italy and surely the Italian influences began for the budding artist in this studio.

Rembrandt stayed with Swaneburgh for three years, then did a brief six months apprenticeship with Pieter Lastman, a famous master in Amsterdam. Lastman had recently returned from Italy, where he was strongly influenced by Caravaggio’s use of lights and darks (chiaroscuro), as well as works from the famous masters Leonardo, Michelangelo, and Raphael. There is no doubt that Caravaggio’s techniques, taught by Lastman, had a profound effect on  the very young artist from Leiden.

After his stay with Lastman, Rembrandt returned to his home town and appears to have opened a studio with a fellow Lastman student named Jan Lievens. In that studio, the two painters often rendered paintings of the same subject, using the same models and props, and their resulting works have been a challenge for historians in respect to attributing certain paintings to either artist. They were friends with the same goal in mind; become a better painter and find success as masters in their own right.

By 1627, Rembrandt began taking on his own students (most notably, Gerrit Dou). In 1629, the statesman Constantijn Huygens, came to the Rembrandt/Lievens studio and purchased a few paintings from each, then secured a commission for Rembrandt that began a series of Passion Paintings for the Court in Hague, which was concluded in 1646.

By the end of 1631, Lievens left for England to become a Court painter, and Rembrandt moved to the new business capital of the Netherlands – Amsterdam. There, he began an association with an art dealer named Hendrick van Uylenburg and found success as a practicing portraitist. He also met and then, in 1634, married Hendrick’s cousin, Saskia van Uylenburg.

It is easy to imagine his life to this point. He was a very young man with a driving interest in painting, and by his mid-twenties he was a sought after portrait painter with a stunning reputation. Success was not only at his fingertips, it was clinch-fisted and strongly held by an extremely confident young artist.

The training that brought him to success is an interesting point. Rembrandt got a late start in his education as an artist. Most young people at that time began at the age of eight or nine and were well advanced by the time Rembrandt apprenticed at his first studio at the age of fourteen. By nineteen he seems to have learned all that he could from Swaneburgh and Lastman and his work quickly surpassed his teachers. Still bucking the established system, he did not dream of going to Italy to learn directly from those thought to be the best. It is said that Rembrandt, when asked when he planned to visit Italy, replied that there was no need for that. All of the old masters’ work was coming to Holland and he could study what he needed right at home.

After he moved to Amsterdam, before he married Saskia, a very significant event happened that tells us much about his disposition and personality. He was commissioned by the Amsterdam Guild of Surgeons to produce a group portrait that would represent Dr. Nicolaes Tulp as the director of a human dissection. Prior to Rembrandt’s Anatomy Lesson, those sorts of paintings held a simple row of men, all looking equal in importance and rather boring. This artist took the composition to a place never before seen. He built a pyramidal setting where each person within the canvas space expresses a different emotion and purpose. Dr. Tulp is the only fellow wearing a hat, and his hands are absolutely perfect and delicate in every way. He was the leader of the group, both in reality and in this painted recording.

When looking at this Anatomy Lesson it’s easy to believe that much effort was made to create a fantastic portrait of each individual man, even the poor criminal whose body is being taken apart for the sake of scientific discovery and teaching - he lies motionless wearing his ashen skin rather naturally.

One element of the painting that is often over-looked, but fascinating none the less, is that the right arm of the corpse is too short when compared to the rest of the body. This is the only imperfection I can find when reviewing Rembrandt’s Anatomy Lesson, and modern x-rays of the arm reveal that it was originally painted as a stump without a hand, which reflects the truth of the situation. The criminal’s hand was chopped off as part of his punishment for being an armed robber, and then he was hanged. What this tells us is that Rembrandt most likely attended the actual dissection in preparation for his painting, and the missing hand was painted over the arm-stump later. Why did the painter do this? Did the surgeons wish to pretty-up the painting? Or was it Rembrandt’s decision? When one studies the work closely, from the rich flesh-tones of the living to the blueish-gray of the dead, including all the clothing and instruments and props, and the expressions of every body within the space, the conclusion has to be that it was at the direction of the surgeons.

Whoever delegated the alteration, a puzzling point still remains. Why did the artist simply make a hand on top of the stump instead of extending it from the wrist joint as it would naturally be? Rembrandt was a realist who painted the truth as he saw it, whether it was ugly or beautiful. He painted from nature, always. More than that, when he considered composition, he combined inspiration from nature with elements from those he admired most; Caravaggio and the other Italian masters. He was an intellectual artist who calculated every inch of his canvas and painted accordingly. My gut tells me that Rembrandt thought that the  painting was perfect with the stump, and the hand was simply painted because he had to do it to please the patrons, so he placed the new limb in an area that did not affect the white loin cloth of the dead, or any other space around it. It’s the only part of the piece that is not true to life.

With The Anatomy Lesson of Dr. Tulp, Rembrandt believed he hit his stride and this painting was proof to the world that he was a master equal to the Italians everyone loved. He signed his forename for the first time in the upper right hand corner of the canvas. Rembrandt. In his mind, he must have believed he belonged with Leonardo, Michelangelo, Raphael, and Caravaggio, and the world needed to know him on a first name basis. The rest of Amsterdam society believed Rembrandt to be great, too, for the Anatomy Lesson was a huge success that propelled him to the status of Holland’s absolute best portrait painter. His reputation was established and he settled down into a life as a wealthy, successful man. All the self-portraits he executed during this period show the content painter loaded with confidence and faith in his future and position as a master artist.

When I first read the story of Rembrandt’s early years I became fascinated with the idea that he didn’t follow the established rule. His schooling was short and influence from his teachers limited. He took the basics, then walked away to find his own interpretation of technique, and didn’t seem to admire his contemporaries enough to follow them. Rather, he adored the work of the Renaissance masters and hungrily sought examples from them to emulate. In reality, he was combining the very new with the very old and the end result was a stunningly powerful mix that would push him to a place of high honour. Are his paintings the thing that makes high honour so? Or is it the artist himself?

After all my years of study, I have come to believe that his nature has everything to do with our respect for the painter from Leiden. And, his nature was all about process and understanding. I admire his steadfastness; his ability to pick up his brush and simply paint as he wanted to paint; his urges to explore beyond examples left by the masters before him, as well as contemporaries around him; his will to survive which allowed him to continue during times when most people would have crumbled; his tendency to buck the established system and never bow down for the sake of money; most of all, I admire his sense of self.

He dares us to look at him, with all his self-portraits. This man is an enigma who has challenged historians since before he died. His life was devoted to painting and teaching, yet he left no journals or books that speak of his processes or intent. He does not tell us how the applications came to be, or why.  Even with our scientific brilliance we cannot understand his simple act of impasto or varnishing techniques. We can only study the paintings. Those tell us he followed the general process of inventing, dead colouring, and work-up.  Everything about his paintings follow the rules set forth by the traditions of painting, as well as rules established by the art scene of his day. Yet, everything about his application has a twist. Rules are bent and subjects are a reflection of the raw world around him, not a classical ideal at all. With this in mind, one can only think that in Rembrandt’s mind process was important and good, yet the individual perspective must provide a balance of honesty in an otherwise cookie-cutter world. If I were to advise anyone who wishes to become a painter, I’d tell them to build a strong foundation of technical prowess, then search their soul for the honesty one needs to find the perfect place of self, for what is seen through those eyes can only be beautiful and good.

suggested reading: 

Aesthetically, A Resting

Paintings are such special things.  Have you ever seen one that you immediately came to adore and you knew as time passed you’d find yourself thinking about it, wishing you could have found a way to make it your own? I was musing about one like that today, about a precious little pastel depicting sea lions on rugged ocean beach rocks. It was one of the last paintings mastered through our print-shop and as it went through the process I sat with it for a long while – just looking. The colours were so gentle. The animals naturally congregated for moments of rest and relaxation. The hand that applied the chalk knew so surely how to sculpt her vision as she used the velvety-quality of a well done pastel to her advantage.

"At Rest" by Ina Prosser.  © All rights reserved. 

Accepted into the 15th Juried Exhibition of the International Association of Pastel Art - 2010

The piece is titled At Rest and I know the artist made it as she remembered her walks along a California beach years ago. For me, this painting did something that few paintings can do. It brought forth pure emotional reaction. I was amazed as I held my breath and let my eyes dance over the many little dashed lines of colour ... so gentle, so controlled. Technically it was sound in composition and colour work, the balance was solid and atmosphere believable, but I didn’t care about that. I just wanted to feel it.

I think it may be that this painting came into my life at a moment when I needed the freshness of its concept. There is this thing called an aesthetic experience that we painters constantly strive to achieve, and viewers sometimes capture through our work. Some call it an Aesthetic Arrest. It’s tough to describe because it lives in a place that is not definable with words; it is not the same for each person; nor even the same for the same person every time. It’s a mental experience that requires complete surrender of the left side of the brain to the right. Women have a better chance to achieve it simply because of how our brains are built, but men can capture it, too. When we are working in our studios and find the ‘zone’, we are actually plowing through artwork as an aesthetic experience guides what our hands and eyes are doing. We have no sense of time. We forget how to perform simple life functions, like going to the bathroom, eating, drinking, or even talking. In my prime painting days my zone time would last from 8 to 16 hours. I had learned ways to enhance and maintain the experience by fueling-up on protein and carbs before I’d begin; having a thermos or two of coffee and lots of water at hand; no telephone lines or doorbells allowed; and a constant stream of violin and piano concertos by Mozart. I’d end a long session all sweaty with aching hands, shoulders, and very tired eyes. At the end of those days I’d shiver with a chill, then wrap in a blanket where I would fall asleep so soundly twelve alarms couldn’t stir me in the least. I had extreme aesthetic experiences in my studio and that made me an extremely prolific painter.

As business and responsibility took over my world those experiences were less and less, and so was my production. The last year of our business became so stressful that I believe I forgot how to stop and enjoy the moments a painting can give. With my own art, I only painted one day a week, pulling out six hours of production, tops. Meanwhile with business, hundreds of paintings a month used to flow through the print-shop, the recession took away 90% of that flow. I wasn’t the only artist constrained by the cash-choke-hold and chaotic economic times. Every painter I knew was suffering.

Right about the time it became obvious that our print-shop would not survive, this little painting came through and it caused me to pause and remember. It wasn’t painting or art or business that I thought about, nor my studio or easel or brushes. But a moment. A moment of fresh air and rejuvenation. Time with my dear family and nature. Simple beauty. I marveled at the delicate perfection of the human hand and mind, the sensitive nature that lightly placed periwinkles and golden yellows in ways that expressed form and life. Life ... breathing animals at peace for a moment just by the side of the big and open world of moving tidewaters, wind, rain, and fog. A rest.

The most amazing thing to me about an aesthetic experience is the truth that all of my senses participate. In the case of this little painting, I smelled salt while I was zoned with it. I felt the ocean breeze and heard the distant gulls. The power of nature could be heard as water swells gurgled against the wet sand. I was transported by feeling to another place, another time, another moment.

That is what a painting can do for a viewer. It does the same for the creator, too. There is no doubt that when a painter feels the groove of an idea, that comes through in the finished product. It is especially so with a technically sound artist ... one who knows how to design and draft so well that those qualities can take a back seat and perform beautifully while the brain plays in the land of emotion. Ina Prosser made the little sea lion piece and all her years of learning and doing came together to build an aesthetic experience for me. Beauty, in her own humble words, is a result of life experience:

“ We all respond to the ocean, sand dunes, green forests, sparkling water, fields of flowers, colors of fall, snow, warm fire, and a bountiful table, as well as all the tragedies of our lives. Some will write about it, some will make music or sculptures, and some will paint. As a result of our life experiences we will each express ourselves in our own way. That is the beauty of art.”

Appreciating art comes from that very same perspective. I cannot tell you how many times a patron came to me, seeking to hire a commission where I would imitate a painting that moved them years ago.  They’ve been seeking that feeling, or subject, or idea, and cannot find anything that stimulates them like the original. Perhaps I could do that for them? The answer to that is always,  “No. I can’t.” Nor could any other painter, not even the artist who created the first one that began the quest. Every painting experience is unique, so is every finished work of art.

If you, as a patron, find yourself so amazingly moved in the moment with a painting or drawing or whatever, find a way to take it home right then. It’ll end up being a part of your memory, otherwise, and regrets will come if you don’t. More than that, good artists need support these days, and I don’t mean the artists that critics claim are the great ones of our day, nor even ‘museum’ copies of previous masters that you’ve been taught to love. I mean those quiet artists that live in your community, who are trying to find a why to make enough money to pay the bills, buy more paints and supplies.

I wish I could have purchased Ina’s painting. It is a masterpiece I would surely have cherished as it allowed me to take a moment of rest when I needed it most. Instead, I am a patron stuck with a just the memory ...

And We Throw the Remote Because ....

When was the last time you watched one of those movies that just pissed you off? Not pissed because of content or storyline, just pissed because you felt you’ve been duped and wasted nearly two hours of off-time. And, what’s worse about the pissy movie is the truth that the previews didn’t look all that bad and you know it could have been lightly entertaining, or at least mildly cute. Expectations weren’t that high anyway, simply because it was just a silly romance/comedy. How hard could it be to make one of those that is palatable? Notting Hill did it. 50 First Dates did it. Two Weeks Notice pulled it off. The Princess Bride felt like a classic while doing it. My Big Fat Greek Wedding was exceptional at it. Even in Splash it was ok to watch a fella fall for a fish. But this thing I saw last night ... oh ... my .... gosh!

What in the world is up with Sarah Jessica Parker? 

I confess I had never seen her in anything before and couldn’t pick her out in a crowd of ten. I heard she was in something rather popular called Sex in the City. I think that was a television show, but I don’t watch TV so I wouldn’t know about that. They might have even made a movie or two out of it. I just don’t positively know. However it comes, I’m not one who will give time to something called Sex in the City. If sex is different in the city, I don’t want to know about it. If it’s not different in the city, what’s the point of putting it to film? I admit, here and now, I could be very wrong with this opinion. I only know I stopped watching TV by choice for a specific reason a long time ago. I will probably dig into that subject one day, but today, I’m rather inclined to talk about the movie that pissed me off. 

The thing that can make a movie work, even if the writing is ordinary, or the sets are cheesey, or the director is clumsy ... is the cast. If chemistry between people can be found then things like American Pie can have success. If chemistry falters, then colossal failure can make the best of scripts go bad. 

This movie had Hugh Grant as comedy/romantic lead. He’s a given okee-dokee for this sort of role. Easy as pie, he can pull it off. Sam Elliot played a ranch hand and State Marshall. He rode horses, shot a gun, and tossed horse-shoe-ringers like batting a bug. Wow! That’s another easy as pie. Two for two. Mary Steenburgen played the roll of Elliot’s wife and she looked just like a ranch-hand lady I know, even talked just like her (Hi, Teresa) ... pulled it off.  Easy as pie. But the female lead ... Parker.  She parked the film dead in it’s tracks.

Why so harsh, you ask? Have you seen her try to act? Have you heard her voice drone on and on ... apparently never shutting up while her hands constantly touch her hair? For the first time ever my family and I hit mute when her speaking parts came, and would only resume volume once we saw her co-star’s eyes glazing over and the camera switching to the next scene. What is strange about that is none of us felt like we missed any of the story. Add to it, I’ve seen Hugh Grant in many films and, sure, he’s a stiff English guy that always looks uncomfortable around girls, but there’s a consistent sense of likability between characters. Not in this film. Grant and Parker have all the chemistry of pint-sized mosquito and a horny-toad. It was really painful to watch and I don’t hold that against Hugh Grant. 

So, I’ve had a day to simmer with this stupid movie. That’s probably why I’m pissed because, now, it’s taken far more than the nearly two hours I spent with it last evening. I’m trying to understand why I had such a bad reaction to this actress. How could the first ten minutes of the film tempt me to throw the remote at the TV and run away screaming? And why didn’t we just turn it off once we saw what it was?

I know, for me, it’s the ying/yang thing.  You can’t see the light without the dark.  You can’t have an up without a down.  You can’t miss what is gone if you don’t see the now.  Parker is the now.

What is gone? Beautiful, classy, mannered, respectful, magic, intelligent, stimulating, mysterious, well dressed, healthy.

What is now? Painfully fake, rude, ugly, disrespectful, predictable, ordinary, boring, self-centered, frumpy, judgmental.

What is gone? Marilyn Monroe, Katherine Hepburn, Maureen O’Hara, Vivien Leigh, Natalie Wood, Raquel Welch, Joan Crawford.

What is now?  Sarah Jessica Parker, Paris Hilton, Jennifer Aniston, Angelia Jolie, Pamela Anderson, Sharon Stone, Lindsay Lohan.

Take a moment to think about that.

You know, it never really mattered how physically pretty an actress was back in the day. She always looked good – just by the clothing, hair and, most importantly, the manner in which she carried herself. The same was true for the men. I miss that ... The biggest rebels of them all (like Francis Farmer, for instance) bucked the system a bit and didn’t play the game by letting Hollywood choose their name or who they’d marry for public relations. But they always looked good (In Francis’s case, at least until they put her in an asylum and hid her away ... but that’s another story). From the point of view of the kid who sat at the theater munching popcorn, those people who acted were simply amazing and perfect humans. Today I often want to throw the remote at them. 

It shouldn’t really matter how Hollywood presents it’s players, but it does. Young people imitate what they admire and Hollywood heroes influence far more than we give them credit for. It goes deeper than that, though ... deeper than the superficial “this is how I’m going to dress and wear my hair and talk” imitation sort of thing. I’m thinking of simple behavior. 

I’m not sure when that element of our society changed, exactly, though I suspect it had something to do with curtailing descipline (I don’t count time-outs as discipline), the halting of teaching of etiquette (yes, I walked around with a book on my head and learned to eat soup without slurpping), and twisting a truly defined sense of masculine/feminine (don’t read into this one, I’ve always supported equality and women’s rights - I’m talking about simple balance here, like nature balances). 

That’s brought us to a place where, I don’t know about you but, I’ve come to detest going where little kids may be simply because it’s difficult to tolerate the screaming, running, whining, demanding little people. I watch many young mothers and it’s pretty easy to see that they don’t know how to parent, they have no control, the kids control them. The sad part is that the children are not bad, and neither are the young mothers, they just don’t know any better. There’s a generation that dropped the parenting-ball somehow and those resulting lost young ones are going to have to figure things out on their own. In the mean time, all the Hollywood hoopla pushes the condition by using toys, clothing, foods, and whatever else they can, as vessels to slap the latest-greatest movie character onto. It is their intention to drive the demanding kids to beg the young parents to buy, buy, buy. It’s working. And it’s killing our society. It’s killing it faster than Joe Camel could have ever dreamed.

In my ponderings you are going to find me talking about movies that have survived their opening season and are now only available on DVD (except for special occassions when I may go to the theater).  I’m inviting all who will listen to try this approach with me. Stop playing Hollywood’s hoopla game and spend some time at home, with your family, watching thought provoking productions. Skip the commercials and sales pitches, fast forward through previews that scream and flash and push mediocracy. Consider the players; learn who’s writing, directing, making costumes and sets. Verify movies based on truths and find yourselves talking about life and people. (It's like reading a good book together if you play it right) It doesn't matter how much money is spent on a film (Good Will Hunting), it doesn’t even matter if the star is well-known. What really matters is quality. So much of the time it’s about money, it seems, and who pulls in the most on opening week. Forget about that and let’s enjoy things that have stood the test of time, either short term or long. Let’s reward creativity of the mind, not of the marketing.  ‘Cause, dang it!  Sarah Jessica Parker is a terrible actress ...

And Sarah Jessica Parker makes me think of these things.  Damn.

** The movie is called Did You Heard About the Morgans?  I recommend you avoid this one ... **

  

It’s Time for Your Close-up

I sat in the dentist’s chair this morning waiting for my turn with the tooth man, when the assistant asked if I’d like a magazine to read.

“No, thanks.”  I said.  “I’ve read all in the rack.”

The selections were rags about Outdoor Camping (as opposed to what? Indoor?) and How Things Work. Pretty simulating reads for a dentist’s visit and interesting enough three months ago. She said she had a new magazine in her car and proceeded to fetch it for me. It was People. Sorry, but I think that is some of the most boring dribble out there and I’m too old to begin to appreciate the faces on the pages. I really don’t know any of the modern ‘stars’ and I don’t watch TV. I go to the movies about once a year for a reason. I like to buy DVDs after the newness wears away and they cost what they are worth. I like to watch my movies at home with the volume set at a place that doesn’t rattle my brain. I like to fast forward through really bad previews that I’ve seen again and again. I like my popcorn fresh with real butter on it (not too much), with a cup of perfectly warm coffee on the side, and chase that with icy cold and yummy water. I like movies that are well written and played, especially stories about exceptional people in extraordinary situations ... I don’t care about special effects or who’s the ‘hotty’ of the day. I’m an old dork, actually, and I’m ok with that.

None the less, there I sat with People, thumbing through the pages and catching glimpses of terribly dressed and apparently famous young people with names I do not know, feeling incredibly aged and out of date. There was the Sandra Bullock story, er ... Jesse James story, but I don’t care how he feels at all.  I like Sandra’s acting and think he has too many tattoos. But, who cares how he feels? Not me. I was only happy that I actually recognized those two people in that People magazine. I found myself more fascinated with the advertising, honestly. At least those felt creative so I kept on thumbing through. Then, just a few pages from the back, I came across an advertisement for an HBO movie that’s soon to air. I recognized Michael Sheen’s face right away and immediately snapped to attention. I like Michael Sheen. A lot.

The film advertised is called The Special Relationship and it is about the friendship between Bill Clinton and Tony Blair. Sheen, naturally, plays the part of Blair. It is the third major film in which he performs that character and I’m wondering how long it will be before Americans actually believe he is Tony Blair.  He looks very similar to the politician, and plays him so believably well. The part of Clinton is portrayed by Dennis Quaid, which has me a little concerned but, by the photo in the ad, Dennis pudged up a bit, grayed his hair, and if he pulls off the Clinton speaking style then maybe I’ll believe enough that it’s him.  Maybe.

After catching the actors and the general subject, I read that this film was written by Peter Morgan. That, right there, is the reason I will make a point to find this movie once it comes out on DVD. If you do not recognize Morgan’s name, you may be familiar with some of his work. Two of my all time favorite films were written by Morgan, and both of those starred Michael Sheen.

The first was produced in 2006 and Helen Mirren won an Oscar for her performance as The Queen. Sheen, naturally, played the part of Blair. The plot reflects an intimate, behind the scenes struggle between HM Elizabeth II and Prime Minister Tony Blair after the death of Lady Diana in 1997. The Royal Family wanted to keep the tragedy private, while the public demanded an overt display of mourning. Most of us know the story well. Most of us remember the week after Diana died. Few remember that Blair had been Prime Minister for only three months and the handling of public relations would set how the world perceived the man, and modern Royalty for that matter.

The story isn’t what I liked about the movie. I’d seen several others regarding Lady Diana and Prince Charles and found them tired and tedious. This film had a freshness about it, an authenticity that lead me to believe I really was peeking in on their world. Helen Mirren was fabulous as Elizabeth. Combine solid performances with Peter Morgan’s story telling style and you end up with what feels somewhat like a documentary. And, I don’t mean that in a negative way at all. I mean it in the sense that it’s an honest documentation of real and specific events. Watching the movie brought back many memories of the week Diana died and I just wanted to say one more ‘amen’ for her at the end of it. That was a nice feeling after a movie like that.

The second Morgan film taught me that what was special about The Queen was equally true for Frost/Nixon (2009). I almost didn’t buy this film because I hate the way Hollywood portrays Richard Nixon. It’s not that I love Nixon, or that I’m saying I agree or disagree about whether he was the worst president ever or that he was he overly villianized. I simply don’t like it when a movie and it’s performers tilt a story to make me believe it their way, and when they present Nixon they generally make a goon out of him. I’m not interested in seeing Nixon the goon ... I’ve seen enough of that already. I want to know what really happened.

I was 16 years old when Nixon sat down for an interview with David Frost and I remember well the moment the former President broke.

“I let the American people down. And I'll have to carry the burden the rest of my life."

I wanted to thank him for saying that back then. I wanted to thank David Frost for finally getting someone to sit down and talk about the chaos our politicians had delivered. Because, after that interview, it seemed America could finally move on and we did, and that was that.

What prompted me to buy Frost/Nixon  was knowing that Peter Morgan wrote it, which led me to hope it would be as honest as The Queen, and Ron Howard directed it (No matter what you think of Ron Howard’s politics, you must admit his movies are entertaining and pretty honest). And Sheen, naturally, plays the part of David Frost. I was hoping for a little insight not about the Watergate scandal (that’s another subject that’s been over-done and worn out), but about what prompted Nixon to sit down for hours of taped interviews with a British jet-setting playboy. When watching the original airing of the interview I did sense the battle of wits going on, and the moment Nixon uttered those truthful words we all understood his political career was over. He gambled, and he lost. Just as Frost gambled, and he won.

Morgan, just as he did in The Queen, interweaved actual archived news footage from the time period and wrote his script in an almost word-for-word narration of the real thing. Both he and director Howard let the actual events speak for themselves and that really was refreshing to see. I did learn what drove the interview. Sheen played Frost so well I quickly forgot Tony Blair, and Langella delivered the essence of Nixon so well that when that final interview brought the lingering close-up, I grinned in remembrance of the moment Nixon realized it was all over for him. Even knowing the story and remembering the infamous line, the time spent with this film felt like a pay-off well worth it.

Political films are beasts I generally try to avoid, unless there may be some truth in them that is free from political agenda. The two mentioned above are examples of the best sort of docudramas out there. I have high hopes for The Special Relationship. Again, I’ll be watching some history from my time, with characters and events I followed as they were happening. The media, as media does, tried to sway my opinion then by feeding limited and sterilized information. The ‘other side’ tried to persuade by outrageous claims and accusations. I have my sense of the truth about it, but do look forward to verifications and enlightenment.  For sure, I’ll already be inclined to believe what I see, simply because Peter Morgan is so darned authentic.

And that’s what I learned at the dentist today.

There is No Crying in Baseball!

As I was looking over the news the other morning I was caught by the headline  “Player portrayed in 'A League of their Own' dies.”  I really did enjoy that movie but, more than that, I enjoyed the portrayal of women who stood in the face of criticism and followed their dreams. In their day there wasn’t much opportunity for that but it seems like when opportunity did arise, some gals went beyond just being good at something ... they excelled. It’s true, the movie was a fictional account, but the characters in the film were composites of real ball players living through real incidents. One must still understand that the original players who consulted for the film, or who spoke in interviews later, all agreed that Dorothy Kamenshek was the main inspiration for Dottie (played by Geena Davis).

Dorothy was the clear superstar of the real women’s league and was chosen as one of the Top 100 Female Athletes of the Century by Sports Illustrated. She played first base (in the movie she played catcher position) and was a slugger of a batter who could hit with power, or bunt gently when necessary. She was a smart, tough, player who stole 109 bases in 1946, and was so beautiful that she did wind up on the cover of Life magazine.  She would perform stunts (like doing the splits when catching a ball) and that helped drive the popularity of women’s professional baseball to the point of tens of thousands of folks filling the stands as the women played.

The evening after I read that Kamenshek passed I dug out the old dvd and watched the movie again. I wouldn’t have thought a film like League of Their Own would hold up so well over time, but it does. It is kind of sentimental storytelling, and sitting through anything with Rosie O’Donnell and Madonna is a tough concept to anticipate. Still, both were likable back then and the story of women’s strength is powerful as ever. It is funny and thought provoking and those are wonderful traits in any film. Actually, this movie was well cast and if you read about what was removed for the sake of time, you’d probably agree that editing was superb.

I often wonder how young women today feel about characters like Dorothy and her team-mates. Is there any concept of the strife and pain the gals faced? Of the physical and mental demands? As a female who grew up in the middle of women’s movement, I was ‘first’ girly in a ‘man’s’ job and was picketed by folks who objected.  I had things thrown at me and was taunted daily about how I should stay in the kitchen and make babies. Today, young women can work pretty much anywhere they want, and their wages closer reflect what the male counter-part makes for the same sort of work. Like it or not, women such as Dorothy Kamenshek made that possible.

There were more than Dorothy, though, and many of them are nearly lost in hubbub of our fast-paced entertainment industry. I’m going to introduce to you a woman who performed well in the Sport of Kings – who helped open the doors for generations of girls with a dream. She had the strength of character to ignore the taunting, to perform through broken bones and spills while she kept flashing that winning smile, appearing in commercials for Lady Clairol, Dutch Masters Cigars, A&W Rootbeer, and Burger Chef.  She was also featured on To Tell the Truth and What’s My Line and was written about in popular magazines including People and Sports Illustrated. It seems especially notable that in the dirty world of sports it is important for the Powers That Be to include and promote the pretty ‘girly’.

When this lady was tops in her sport she was known as Donna Hillman, and was one of the first generation professional female horse jockeys. As it was for all women racers, she struggled to get mounts and traveled from track to track until, in Atlantic City, she had the leading win percentage of all riders. In Jamaica, during three months there, she rode twelve races a day and won many daily doubles, earning her the nickname “Double Donna”.  In 1973 she represented the USA in the Inaugural International Ladies Race in Australia. Hillman rode professionally from 1971 through 1976, and is justly being recognized for her efforts in an upcoming feature length documentary titled Jock, which is about the first generation of female jockeys who, in the late 60's and early 70's, fought for the right to ride professionally.

To get a little perspective on the importance of someone like Hillman, one must realize that in 1968 horse racing was the most popular American sport.  It attracted more attendance than football, baseball, or auto racing. Most notably, it’s long history and traditions precluded women from ever becoming professional jockeys. They were considered the weaker sex. A director of the Jockey Club said, “They’re not strong enough to be good riders. They’ll freeze. They’ll panic.”  Another trainer continued “ ....  all women are like housewives. If you watch a woman at a stop-light, she’s the slowest one to accelerate because her reflexes aren’t as good as a man’s.”  It took a lawsuit regarding sexual discrimination to change that pompous control and in early 1969 the Sport of Kings became fair game for either gender.

The United States became the first nation in the world to allow women professional status as horse jockeys and to run against men. Of course, the male ego was threatened and they boycotted. They threw rocks and bricks at the ladies. They held back opportunity and mounts. But ... it was only a matter of time. Those pioneering women who blazed the way tolerated the intense pressure that they stay in the kitchen and played by the rule that they had to be better and more perfect than any man. As gals, we need to tip our hat to them.

 Donna Hillman and Dun Pen, her first winner, breezing at Belmont

Surely, there are those asking, “What does this have to do with creativity?” The answer is simple.  As I stated in a previous post, I’ve met a lot of different kinds of creative people – one thing they have in common is an intense desire to be the best they can be. They don’t follow the normal rules set up by those that run the society ... and those that run the society seem to believe that the more creative we are in our thinking, the worse off society would be.  Well, I don’t agree with that at all and I think our general urge to be creative and different is something that struggles for realization all the time. Pay attention to the traits you find in creative people and look for any relationship that ties perfectionism and purpose to creative product. Music. Movies. Writing. Painting. Performance. What you will find as relationship is worth understanding.

In the case of Donna Hillman, let’s first call her by the name she is known by today. It is Donna Walsh and she is a good friend of mine. I love to talk racing days with her but, beyond all that, we enjoy discussing painting (both hers an mine) whenever we can. Donna began her relationship with horses through her love of art. She, at the age of 14, sold her first two paintings and bought a horse, which lead her to the race track, and on and on. That is not normal behavior for a 14 year old kid. But, Donna did not grow up with normal boundaries of society. Her mother was a movie starlet in the ‘30s and ‘40s known as Joan Barclay. As typical, creativity for Donna didn't fall far from the family tree.

When Donna retired from racing she devoted her energy and time to painting. Over the years she’s developed a style that is charged with passion, holding a delightful grasp on that most wonderful thing known as value. In laymen’s terms, her sense of dark to light is strong and exercising that quality in a controlled manner does give each two dimensional work a delicious sense of depth. I would wish for everyone to meet Donna on those days when she emerges from her studio, still smeared with paint from head to toe and pacing almost nervously as she chats on about whatever is exciting her at the moment.  You can see her brain working, feel the energy of a person who is bursting with desire to express charges that are racing through her mind. When she focuses that energy to accomplish an end, it’s powerful.

Over the years it has been my job to meet artists, help them become better at their craft, critique their handiwork, seek inspiration, and explore ways to self-promote. When I consider all that I’ve met, I have to say that Donna is the most tenacious, always eager to drift in another direction if it appears a better route. I know she understands very well that there are many paths up that proverbial mountain, and the view from the top is still the same. She will do whatever needs done to get there.  Most importantly, she constantly works on fine-tuning her skill with the brush so every painting she makes seems to be better than the last.  That is the ideal state for an artist.

When I view Donna’s body of work I find I am drawn to two paintings in particular.  One, called Hawg Dawg is an oil showcasing her dog, Peetie, looking like he’s ready for a ride on across country.  Her love of animals is evident in many of her works, but this one brings that notion home just a little bit stronger. Her point of interest is in our face, and I like that.  I’ve met Peetie.

The second work that strikes me as prime is a piece she calls Horsing Around. Lighting in this, as well as Hawg Dawg, is supreme and well controlled. A level of nervous energy emits from both, too, by means of confident brush work and design. When I see these art works, I see Donna’s persona shinning through. That is how it should be in art.

I know there are many who like to believe that we painters should be reflecting what is happening in our society .... I think that is more like social journalism and nothing more than reporting what is outside of ourselves. Then there are those that believe we painters should be simply searching for expression that is not recognizable by representational things – few can paint that way successfully, I think. Those sort of artists must be a chaotic mess of expression to reflect that in a painting (previous post Jackson Pollock is a perfect example of that concept). When I study the timeline of art and honestly search the human element of painters and personalities, I’ve come to believe that our art works really need to reflect who we are as individuals. As people. As thinking and feeling beings. Some of us love beauty and struggle to express it. Some seek perfection. Some are inventive with expression and explore unique approaches of application. The best of them all are honest with themselves.

Donna Hillman-Walsh is honest with herself and worries about her work being misunderstood. She never wants to come across as a fool, though if you see her at any public function you’ll marvel at her level of confidence and never see the apprehensions she probably feels as you look over her intimate paintings. Knowing her, I do believe we are watching the training her previous career has given. Think long and hard about the difficulties she stood up against back in the racing days and realize her drive is a trait every one of us should possess.  As I told my girls many years ago. Never give up. Never surrender. Never say die. Be the ball. It is true you must be twice as good for half the recognition. That was reality in the early-girly horse racing days, and in the days of Dorothy's baseball momma-drama. It’s doubly as true in the world of art today. Let’s tip our hat to Donna and Dorothy for blazing trails many years ago, and especially to Donna for honestly sharing her drive with all of us today. Beautiful art is a beautiful thing.



To view Donna Walsh’s work online:
HIPART.COM or  TMFINEART.COM

To follow the production of the movie Jock, visit:
jockthemovie.com