Paint Bigger

 One of the ironies of growing older as an artist is this: as one finally has more available time to devote to art, one's capacity inexorably diminishes with age.  In my case, I've noticed that its gotten harder and harder to focus on smallish details in a drawing or painting. 

Hence the visor, complete with interchangeable lenses and headlamp that I find necessary whenever painting most icons nowadays. 

It's really just a minor inconvenience (at least in the studio I don't have to wear a facemark- another minor inconvenience).   I'm grateful too that my hands continue to remain steady (if I don't drink too much tea!)  and with sufficient light and the additional magnification, I'm able to see well enough to continue drawing and painting. 

I'm reminded of my visit in 1985 to Holy Trinity Monastery in Jordanville, New York where I met the master iconographer Fr. Kyprian, who at that time was in his 90's.  He was in his studio up on a high ladder working an enormous icon of the Mother of God and Jesus, wearing a paint-splattered apron and a pair of glasses with thick lenses.  

When we were introduced, he graciously welcomed me, noticing that I was somewhat astounded by someone as old and frail as he was clambering up and down a tall ladder.  Nodding towards the ladder and the mural sized icon behind him, he laughed and made the comment that as his eyesight worsened, his solution was to simply paint bigger. 

Not a bad approach to age and art. 

Goodbye to All That

This is, I promise, the last that you'll be hearing about my solo exhibit that closed on Saturday at the Alaska State Museum.  The exhibit has been taken down, the icons are being returned to those who so generously loaned them and the museum staff is readying the gallery for the next exhibit. 

I'm grateful for it all -- the work of preparation, the exhibit itself, everyone involved from start to finish.

A couple of thoughts.  First, I've been surprised at how tired I've been at the end of each day helping to take down the exhibit.  Which is, I suppose, a reminder that I'm just about a month and a half away from my 64th birthday.  I used to manhandle that 6'x3' icon (above)by myself, which the museum staff is taking down with a lift.  Twelve years later, I don't think I could pick it up by myself - I'm no longer strong enough (that, and my back!)

Secondly, as the show was coming down, it occurred to me that I won't be doing anything quite like this again.  It was a retrospective exhibit, which occurs at the end of one's career as an artist.  I may exhibit again but most likely nothing like this.  This particular chapter of my life has come to a close.

Which is alright, as it is an inevitable part of life and growing older.  An exhibit is relatively easy to say goodbye to.  Not being attached to your body, to your strength, to your various abilities and skills, to the illusion that your life somehow belongs to you, well, there's a challenge.

In the end, I think, it is gratitude that allows one to say goodbye with thanksgiving and equinimity.