I recently had a request for two commissioned pieces of artwork. A colleague, who is also a fisherman, saw a piece of my work hanging in another colleague's office and asked about the artist. He had no idea I made art. He asked me to take a look at a couple of photos and to consider producing holiday gifts for him. I warned him that photorealistic rendering is not my forte. But if he wold give me some creative license to "do my own thing" I would take up the challenge.
I really wanted these pieces to be good... really good. And I'd toyed with the idea of working with sheet copper for a long time. So I decided to take the plunge and figure it out, to see if I could really do it and satisfy a client, and myself, with the work. The photos that follow document my copper hammering adventure.
I'm very satisfied with the work. And fairly certain that my client is also satisfied with my work. I think the finished pieces look great. And I'm really excited about what I've learned about working with the media. I did have to solve a few problems, like fabricating the tools to make the scale and fin shapes. And I had to invest in a couple of pairs of titanium bladed shears. But things worked out really well. Like I said, I'm very satisfied.
I'd like to acknowledge my photographer and friend, Billie, who was there with me for this entire project. She's the bomb.
Please leave any comments, notes, criticism... whatever in the comments sections below the posts. I really do appreciate the feedback.
Monday, December 23, 2013
The beginning of the hammering of the scales on Walleye
finished pieces
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Progression of a Painting
The following images are of a commissioned painting I recently completed. It's a square format, roughly 24"X24" on a piece of canvas I stained years ago with solvent based ink. The canvas is mounted on a wooden support made of 1"x1" pine.
I began this piece just before vacation on the beach in 2012. I did most of the drawing and early textural work actually sitting on the beach in Virginia. My best estimate is that there are at least seventy layers of acrylic, ink, sand, glass beads, copper wire, feathers, rice paper, and (I'm sure) some other assorted found objects in the work.
The drawing and overall image is taken from a photograph of a fish that a friend's brother caught near Atlanta. He had no idea what kind of fish it was and asked me to identify it, drawing on what he thought was my extensive knowledge of fish. Luckily for me, it was easy to identify: a black crappie, what we in south Louisiana call a "Sac-a-lait."
This image is very different, in a way, from most of my work in that it is a more realistic rendering of a real fish rather that a whimsical invention of my mind's vision of some fantastical sea creature.
Obviously, there are many more "steps" involved than just three. But I feel like these three give some idea as to how my process works. Also, I only took a handful of images in the progression. Enjoy!
I began this piece just before vacation on the beach in 2012. I did most of the drawing and early textural work actually sitting on the beach in Virginia. My best estimate is that there are at least seventy layers of acrylic, ink, sand, glass beads, copper wire, feathers, rice paper, and (I'm sure) some other assorted found objects in the work.
The drawing and overall image is taken from a photograph of a fish that a friend's brother caught near Atlanta. He had no idea what kind of fish it was and asked me to identify it, drawing on what he thought was my extensive knowledge of fish. Luckily for me, it was easy to identify: a black crappie, what we in south Louisiana call a "Sac-a-lait."
This image is very different, in a way, from most of my work in that it is a more realistic rendering of a real fish rather that a whimsical invention of my mind's vision of some fantastical sea creature.
Obviously, there are many more "steps" involved than just three. But I feel like these three give some idea as to how my process works. Also, I only took a handful of images in the progression. Enjoy!
Progression of a Painting, Start to Finish [the beginning]
Progression of a Painting, Start to Finish [part 2]
Progression of a Painting, Start to Finish [final]
Saturday, June 8, 2013
Thoughts On Why I Run: Lessons On How To Live
Earlier this week I felt the need to do some inspirational reading. So I pulled a book off my shelf called Going Long. It's a compilation of running stories by various authors. Most of the stories are relatively short. And I know that I can plow through a story in a single sitting over a cup of coffee or a beer without too much trouble. I've read the book in it's entirety several times before. So I've been cherry picking the ones that interest me most right now, the lighter inspirational pieces, skipping the harder to read tales of come backs from horrendous accidents and stories of defiance of imminent death, like the Terry Fox story. I'm still having some occasional trouble sleeping. And I'm still experiencing some sudden outbursts of emotion, crying for no reason at very inopportune times. I prefer not to immerse myself in anything harrowing, at least not for now.
The story I read this morning is called The Man Who Taught Me Everything by Amby Burfoot, winner of the 1968 Boston Marathon. I was eight years old at the time. It would be another five years before I'd officially begin my now forty year running career at the age of thirteen. I really like Amby's writing and I've always admired his approach to running. I consider him a kindred soul. The man who taught Amby everything is a man named John "the younger" J. Kelley, winner of the 1957 Boston Marathon. Kelley was his high school cross country coach and his mentor throughout Amby's running career and his life.
There are quite a few lines in this book that stick with me, lines that, in some way, stir me, remind me of my mother and my grandfather, of my high school coach, of my past, of why I, Tim Phillips, am still running after forty years now, and why I still enjoy it. The story begins with these words, "If you are lucky in life, you might meet someone who changes everything forever. If you are very lucky, you might meet this person when you are young and lacking direction. If you are very, very lucky, this person might remain an influence for decades to come — a touchstone you can revisit for counsel and wisdom." I was exceptionally lucky because I have had two of those people in my life: my mother, and her father, my grandfather, "The Moose" as I knew him.
Both of these beacons in my life are now gone. Both taken from this world prematurely, their days cut short by the gods for whatever reason the gods have. But the beauty that these two bestowed upon me is the most powerful force in my life. They taught me how to live life, to make it all count, to count in the most beautiful way possible, to enjoy every minute, even the shitty ones, as a gift, a gift that could be snatched away from me at any time. They taught me that there is no time for meaningless acts, no time to bitch and moan, no time for self-pity, no time for negativity and cynicism. Life is a party, a wonderful, beautiful, non-exclusive celebration that everyone is invited to, but far too few choose to participate in. And therein lies the the key: To live well is a choice. To be happy is a choice. To inject passion in life every day is the goal. And we get to choose how we approach life.
I also need to mention that I haven't always been successful at this. It takes lots of practice, like Zen, or playing the guitar, or riding a skateboard. Daily practice is the key. And the more familiar I am with the exercise the better I get. But to practice every day is the only road to glory. As I get older this approach has gotten more and more important and pertinent for me. I still need to practice every day.
Another Burfoot passage in his story that I love is, "Kelley taught me everything that I would ever need to know about running and most of what I've found to be true in life. I learned that consistency is everything, that long runs increase endurance, that hills build character, and that speed work is good, but only on a limited basis. He taught that running comes easy on some days, is tough on others. That you can win races if you have talent, train hard, stay healthy, and run your guts out. But you'd better learn humility, too, because no one wins every race. And the crushing defeats might ultimately outnumber the eased up victories." My god! So much there that smacks of my mom and my grandfather. Neither were runners. But they subscribed to exactly this mentality. They lived life really well, with abandon and humility.
For me, one kernel of wisdom that Amby credits Kelley with teaching him is something that reminds me so much of my mother and The Moose that's it's as if they are speaking directly to me. "Most of all, he showed by example that running [life] should be wild, adventurous, deeply personal, and soul satisfying." Wow! That hits me directly in my heart, "...wild, adventurous, deeply personal, and soul satisfying." I can't think of a better homage than to approach life, and running, in this way. It's how I was taught to live. It's exactly why I run.
The story I read this morning is called The Man Who Taught Me Everything by Amby Burfoot, winner of the 1968 Boston Marathon. I was eight years old at the time. It would be another five years before I'd officially begin my now forty year running career at the age of thirteen. I really like Amby's writing and I've always admired his approach to running. I consider him a kindred soul. The man who taught Amby everything is a man named John "the younger" J. Kelley, winner of the 1957 Boston Marathon. Kelley was his high school cross country coach and his mentor throughout Amby's running career and his life.
There are quite a few lines in this book that stick with me, lines that, in some way, stir me, remind me of my mother and my grandfather, of my high school coach, of my past, of why I, Tim Phillips, am still running after forty years now, and why I still enjoy it. The story begins with these words, "If you are lucky in life, you might meet someone who changes everything forever. If you are very lucky, you might meet this person when you are young and lacking direction. If you are very, very lucky, this person might remain an influence for decades to come — a touchstone you can revisit for counsel and wisdom." I was exceptionally lucky because I have had two of those people in my life: my mother, and her father, my grandfather, "The Moose" as I knew him.
Both of these beacons in my life are now gone. Both taken from this world prematurely, their days cut short by the gods for whatever reason the gods have. But the beauty that these two bestowed upon me is the most powerful force in my life. They taught me how to live life, to make it all count, to count in the most beautiful way possible, to enjoy every minute, even the shitty ones, as a gift, a gift that could be snatched away from me at any time. They taught me that there is no time for meaningless acts, no time to bitch and moan, no time for self-pity, no time for negativity and cynicism. Life is a party, a wonderful, beautiful, non-exclusive celebration that everyone is invited to, but far too few choose to participate in. And therein lies the the key: To live well is a choice. To be happy is a choice. To inject passion in life every day is the goal. And we get to choose how we approach life.
I also need to mention that I haven't always been successful at this. It takes lots of practice, like Zen, or playing the guitar, or riding a skateboard. Daily practice is the key. And the more familiar I am with the exercise the better I get. But to practice every day is the only road to glory. As I get older this approach has gotten more and more important and pertinent for me. I still need to practice every day.
Another Burfoot passage in his story that I love is, "Kelley taught me everything that I would ever need to know about running and most of what I've found to be true in life. I learned that consistency is everything, that long runs increase endurance, that hills build character, and that speed work is good, but only on a limited basis. He taught that running comes easy on some days, is tough on others. That you can win races if you have talent, train hard, stay healthy, and run your guts out. But you'd better learn humility, too, because no one wins every race. And the crushing defeats might ultimately outnumber the eased up victories." My god! So much there that smacks of my mom and my grandfather. Neither were runners. But they subscribed to exactly this mentality. They lived life really well, with abandon and humility.
For me, one kernel of wisdom that Amby credits Kelley with teaching him is something that reminds me so much of my mother and The Moose that's it's as if they are speaking directly to me. "Most of all, he showed by example that running [life] should be wild, adventurous, deeply personal, and soul satisfying." Wow! That hits me directly in my heart, "...wild, adventurous, deeply personal, and soul satisfying." I can't think of a better homage than to approach life, and running, in this way. It's how I was taught to live. It's exactly why I run.
Saturday, May 4, 2013
In Yo Face
ink and nail polish on wood 6"x12"
•entire piece executed in one session
at a bar over a bottle of wine after The Fest•
Friday, May 3, 2013
Friends and The Fest
For the past week or so I've been away from my computer, sort of isolated in my own home, during certain hours, from some of my things, some of my instruments that are such a part of my daily routines and interests. So no blogging for me lately. BUT... I have two of the most outstanding reasons in the world for not being able to easily access the huge room with the yellow walls where my art table, music equipment, and my desk and computer sit: Excellent friends crashing on the futon, here from D.C for reason number two; The New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival, Jazz Fest, The Fest. Yeah you right!
It's one of my favorite times of the year, Jazz Fest. I go all day everyday, rain or shine. Yeah. I'm that guy. I love me some Jazz Fest. We ride our bikes out there sometime around noon usually, maybe with a Mardi Gras cup filled with home made beer or some almost-too-sweet wine clenched in one hand, wearing an impossibly shiny shirt pulled from way back in the Fest Shirt Section of my clothes closet, and a beat up yet dapper white hat (a Jazz Fest Veteran in its own right) and a pair of shoes that are either made to handle being hosed off at the end of the day or that are just downright disposable. The bike ride out is always a mellow experience, full of chatter and anticipation of the impending joy. We lock the bikes up within a few blocks of one of the main Festival entrances, but even closer to the Santa Fe restaurant, the purveyors of our favorite sidewalk margarita stands, and grab a cocktail for the walk.
And the Fest... what can I say? Two weekends, seven days out at the Fairgrounds, the second oldest horse racing track still in operation, a beautiful, centrally located venue that has been the site for the Fest for many years now. Twelve stages and tents, amazing food that vendors have to "auditionn" for in order to be accepted into the food line up. The music line up is amazing, way too many big names to list here. (check out the lineup here: http://lineup.nojazzfest.com/) And the crowd is mellow and the vibe is sweet, happy, and peaceful. During the week, all over town the music clubs and parks in the city light up with music everywhere — everywhere!— in a city already boasting a legendary live music scene. Honestly, it just gets ridiculous.
One of my personal Jazz Fest traditions is to produce a small body of art work, usually drawings, executed during the week of The Fest, sometimes at The Fest. Last year a white baseball cap served as my sketch book. That cap is now one of my favorite pieces of head gear. I've posted a picture above. This year I have a few other works in progress. I'll be posting those as I finish them.
And our friends... our friends! Our lovely friends who have stayed with us in the past for previous Jazz Festivals, one of whom used to live in New Orleans, his wife now seven and a half months pregnant, love The Fest as much as we do. And this year they brought with them a friend of theirs, a Scotsman from Edinburgh who had never been to New Orleans much less The Fest. He ate boudin and shrimp, made new friends in the almost two hours he spent chatting and learning to suck the heads and peel the tails while belly up to a folding table strewn with hot crayfish in a friend's yard. Early in the mornings he walked around our Freret Street area neighborhood, took some photos, and most assuredly soaked up some local culture. I can't speak for him, the Scotsman. But I'm pretty certain he had good time. And we enjoyed all of them and their time here. The Fest is such a great way to relieve stress, decompress, and just enjoy the company of friends, the music, the food, the culture, and the peaceful joy that permeates the entire event.
Now our friends are gone. We miss them already. But this is the second weekend of Jazz Fest. And we've got to keep the momentum and the traditions alive. Unseasonably cool temperatures are on tap, a very unusual development. We drank a whole five gallon batch of home brew last weekend. But I'm confident we can find some suitable commercially available product that will fulfill our needs this weekend. And I know that I still have a few rarely worn shirts that are frighteningly and stylishly appropriate for some intensely sincere Festin'. Yeah you right, mah li'l dawlins!
It's one of my favorite times of the year, Jazz Fest. I go all day everyday, rain or shine. Yeah. I'm that guy. I love me some Jazz Fest. We ride our bikes out there sometime around noon usually, maybe with a Mardi Gras cup filled with home made beer or some almost-too-sweet wine clenched in one hand, wearing an impossibly shiny shirt pulled from way back in the Fest Shirt Section of my clothes closet, and a beat up yet dapper white hat (a Jazz Fest Veteran in its own right) and a pair of shoes that are either made to handle being hosed off at the end of the day or that are just downright disposable. The bike ride out is always a mellow experience, full of chatter and anticipation of the impending joy. We lock the bikes up within a few blocks of one of the main Festival entrances, but even closer to the Santa Fe restaurant, the purveyors of our favorite sidewalk margarita stands, and grab a cocktail for the walk.
And the Fest... what can I say? Two weekends, seven days out at the Fairgrounds, the second oldest horse racing track still in operation, a beautiful, centrally located venue that has been the site for the Fest for many years now. Twelve stages and tents, amazing food that vendors have to "auditionn" for in order to be accepted into the food line up. The music line up is amazing, way too many big names to list here. (check out the lineup here: http://lineup.nojazzfest.com/) And the crowd is mellow and the vibe is sweet, happy, and peaceful. During the week, all over town the music clubs and parks in the city light up with music everywhere — everywhere!— in a city already boasting a legendary live music scene. Honestly, it just gets ridiculous.
One of my personal Jazz Fest traditions is to produce a small body of art work, usually drawings, executed during the week of The Fest, sometimes at The Fest. Last year a white baseball cap served as my sketch book. That cap is now one of my favorite pieces of head gear. I've posted a picture above. This year I have a few other works in progress. I'll be posting those as I finish them.
And our friends... our friends! Our lovely friends who have stayed with us in the past for previous Jazz Festivals, one of whom used to live in New Orleans, his wife now seven and a half months pregnant, love The Fest as much as we do. And this year they brought with them a friend of theirs, a Scotsman from Edinburgh who had never been to New Orleans much less The Fest. He ate boudin and shrimp, made new friends in the almost two hours he spent chatting and learning to suck the heads and peel the tails while belly up to a folding table strewn with hot crayfish in a friend's yard. Early in the mornings he walked around our Freret Street area neighborhood, took some photos, and most assuredly soaked up some local culture. I can't speak for him, the Scotsman. But I'm pretty certain he had good time. And we enjoyed all of them and their time here. The Fest is such a great way to relieve stress, decompress, and just enjoy the company of friends, the music, the food, the culture, and the peaceful joy that permeates the entire event.
Now our friends are gone. We miss them already. But this is the second weekend of Jazz Fest. And we've got to keep the momentum and the traditions alive. Unseasonably cool temperatures are on tap, a very unusual development. We drank a whole five gallon batch of home brew last weekend. But I'm confident we can find some suitable commercially available product that will fulfill our needs this weekend. And I know that I still have a few rarely worn shirts that are frighteningly and stylishly appropriate for some intensely sincere Festin'. Yeah you right, mah li'l dawlins!
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Today I Prayed
That's right. Today I prayed. Those close to me know this can't really be true. They know I'm not the church going, prayer reciting type. My adult church going, getting dressed up and attending a formal service at a house of worship days, have been limited to maybe once or twice a year for many years now. Most of those times were for weddings, christenings, or funerals. And my piety is... let's call it weak at best.
But those close to me also know that I have a strong sense of spirituality. And I do reach out to the powers that be, whatever we may call them, on a very regular basis. I do attend services very regularly, usually daily. I meditate deeply and get myself into a trance-like state while I rev my body up into a comfortable frenzy in order to get closer to the powers that be, in order to feel the presence, if not touch, the other side. I dance a familiar and contemplative dance. Regularly I seek the solace of losing myself to the groove of the universe. This is what I do when I run.
My church, my service, my moment with my gods, for a very very long time now for me, has been my running. I feel most natural when I run. I know that we are part of something bigger than ourselves when I run. I talk to my deceased mother when I run. I give thanks when I run. I figure out exactly what it is I believe in when I run. And this morning, six days after the frightful events at The Boston Marathon, time enough to have finally gotten some much needed sleep, I awoke with a need, a desire, to pray.
So I slipped on a pair of shorts, laced up my shoes, got my cap, sunglasses, and dug an old green Boston Marathon t-shirt from deep down in my running shirts drawer and headed out the door. I also took my iPod Shuffle. I don't always run with music. I normally like to just get deep inside my own head, without distraction, when I run. But I knew I'd want the choir there at this celebration. And man, did they ever show up — The Ohio Players, Ali Kahn, Sinead O'Connor, Los Lobos, Ruben Blades, Caetano Veloso, Cassandra Wilson, Miles Davis, Little Milton — all of these and more, playing their asses off at my own private prayer session. Yeah you right!
So, you may wonder what I prayed about. I'm still sorting that out, thinking it through, so many things. I'll elaborate more on those things once they become more clear to me. One thing I am certain of though, is that I'll be out there praying regularly. And sometimes I'll be out there praying with an incredible soundtrack.
But those close to me also know that I have a strong sense of spirituality. And I do reach out to the powers that be, whatever we may call them, on a very regular basis. I do attend services very regularly, usually daily. I meditate deeply and get myself into a trance-like state while I rev my body up into a comfortable frenzy in order to get closer to the powers that be, in order to feel the presence, if not touch, the other side. I dance a familiar and contemplative dance. Regularly I seek the solace of losing myself to the groove of the universe. This is what I do when I run.
My church, my service, my moment with my gods, for a very very long time now for me, has been my running. I feel most natural when I run. I know that we are part of something bigger than ourselves when I run. I talk to my deceased mother when I run. I give thanks when I run. I figure out exactly what it is I believe in when I run. And this morning, six days after the frightful events at The Boston Marathon, time enough to have finally gotten some much needed sleep, I awoke with a need, a desire, to pray.
So I slipped on a pair of shorts, laced up my shoes, got my cap, sunglasses, and dug an old green Boston Marathon t-shirt from deep down in my running shirts drawer and headed out the door. I also took my iPod Shuffle. I don't always run with music. I normally like to just get deep inside my own head, without distraction, when I run. But I knew I'd want the choir there at this celebration. And man, did they ever show up — The Ohio Players, Ali Kahn, Sinead O'Connor, Los Lobos, Ruben Blades, Caetano Veloso, Cassandra Wilson, Miles Davis, Little Milton — all of these and more, playing their asses off at my own private prayer session. Yeah you right!
So, you may wonder what I prayed about. I'm still sorting that out, thinking it through, so many things. I'll elaborate more on those things once they become more clear to me. One thing I am certain of though, is that I'll be out there praying regularly. And sometimes I'll be out there praying with an incredible soundtrack.
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Exhaustion
Exhausted,
I look for solace
in things that
cannot
possibly
bring me joy.
I live overlooking,
often,
all the beauty that
sunsets,
and artwork,
I look for solace
in things that
cannot
possibly
bring me joy.
I live overlooking,
often,
all the beauty that
sunsets,
and artwork,
and a good cup of coffee,
and the feel of grass between my toes,
cool and fresh,
offer me,
freely.
and the feel of grass between my toes,
cool and fresh,
offer me,
freely.
Friday, April 19, 2013
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)