Obviously they just couldn't decide what color to paint that room.
Although I grew up in Houston, a big city, I may perhaps be a small town yokelette at heart. I say that because I still don’t understand modern art. When I was growing up and we went to MFAH on a field trip I saw a big white canvas that had one red stripe of paint on it that had been applied with a roller. I was only 12, but I asked my teacher “Why is that here?”
“Because it’s art, Michele.” I was told.
“Not to me.” I said. I guess my lack of appreciation for the finer things in life was already set.
Now, almost 50 years later, I pretty much still feel the same way. I can appreciate a small amount of modern art occasionally. But for the most part, I like art that actually looks like something- something real.
When I went to art school in the mid 70′s, I was trained to paint or draw so that our finished product could be used in print media, either in an ad or perhaps in a magazine or annual report. Coke foods, a division of Coca-Cola, was one of my clients.
I did a damn fine coffeemaker if I do say so myself; and fur, I could paint fur that looked so real you’d think you could reach out and touch it. Of course all this was done (BC) before computers, when art was done before the aid of a computers and most of us still walked around with our knuckles dragging the ground.
We used pen and ink, Luma color dyes, gouache and acrylics. Airbrushing an illustration was done with an actual airbrush- imagine that! I was good.
The CEO of a prominent Houston company had seen some of my work and called to commission me to do a portrait of his wife from a photo that he’d supply. (It was to be a surprise Christmas present for her.) This was December 1980. He wanted a small painting, 12″x14″, so we agreed on $500. I was tickled.
He had the photo messengered to me and when I saw it was I ever surprised. He was in his 60′s. She, not so much- mid 20′s was my guess; maybe mid 30′s (but I really didn’t think so). I thought she was his daughter- but I actually didn’t give a rat’s patootie either way; I wasn’t sleeping with him after all.
In addition to that though, she looked like she was ready to go perform on stage; her makeup was, to be politically correct, quite “intense”, although it was obvious the photo had been taken outside somewhere.
I worked on the painting for three days after which time I declared it finished. From 6′ away you couldn’t tell the difference between the painting and the photo. I was thrilled with it. Him, not so much.
“You made her look like a hooker!” he bellowed.
“And?” I said. “It looks exactly like the photo. See for yourself.” He couldn’t disagree.
The man paid the balance he owed, all the while grumbling about how I “didn’t do her justice”.
That was my last commission portrait because I discovered that people don’t want to be painted how they really look; they want to be painted how they see themselves- or how they see their loved one; which can be very different from what the rest of us see indeed.
The photo I included today is from a painting that the MFAH has on display right now. I guess some things never change.
I’m heading down to the seement pond to take my critters for a swim now. G’nite.
