| Close To Home |
| Stories | |
| Written by Bob White | |
| Wednesday, 18 June 2008 10:30 | |
|
My life has no purpose, no direction, no aim, no meaning, and yet I'm happy. I can't figure it out. What am I doing right? Charles M. Schulz (1922 - 2000) As some of you may know, the current issue of Fly Rod & Reel magazine marks my one-hundredth column with John Gierach. Our very first collaboration occurred twenty years ago, in July of 1988, when I illustrated his article "East Big Fish" for what was then called Rod and Reel.  After Lee Wulff's tragic death in 1991, the editors at Rod & Reel asked John to write the magazine's closing column, and they asked me to illustrate it. Our first regular column together, "The Sporting Life," was published in March of 1992. This July marks our 100th column together, and I wanted to do a painting of John fishing his home water to commemorate that event. Today’s image is that painting, and is titled “Close To Home”. To mark the event, Lisa has created a 100 Painting Retrospective, and for the very first time, visitors to our website will be able to review all 100 paintings from John's columns in one place. When she suggested that we build this retrospective, I found the idea both exciting and frightening. Did I really want people to look back over sixteen years of my artwork and be able to compare and contrast what I did then with what I'm doing now? In the end I decided that we all start somewhere, and if I wasn't getting better at what I do... then I should be doing something else. Besides, I like some of the early paintings as much as I do the recent work. Twenty years is a long time to work with someone, and looking back over the sum total of it causes me to think about how I ended up where I am. If you had asked me, when I was my son’s age, what I wanted to be doing when I was 50 years old, first I would have laughed at you, because I’d never be that old, and then I would have described, more or less, exactly what I’m doing right now. I’m not exactly sure how I came to this place - sitting in my studio writing to you about my artwork. In retrospect, who I am now seems to be the result of a myriad of accidental, unintended, sometimes painful, and oftentimes fortuitous events. I certainly didn’t set out with a plan in mind, and there was never any indication of a route to take. I just sort of wandered along whatever path seemed right to me at the time. And now I find myself a painter, working in watercolors and oils to create the kind of classic sporting images I looked at in magazines and books when I was a kid, when I should’ve been doing my homework. But, this missive isn’t about me; it’s about the work I do. The images I create speak for themselves, and I’d like to think that what they convey to you is much more important than anything I could possibly say about them, or myself. Every painting is different, and while some are certainly more successful than others, this generally has more to do with how well I know the subject matter than any magic I perform with my brushes or colors. If a painting is about standing in a stream when it’s cold and snowy, then it can only be as successful as I’ve been cold and wet. If a painting is about being alone with my thoughts while crossing a river at dusk, then it can only be as true as those moments I’ve experienced. A painting about feeling small on big water, and desperately trying to reach a good fish with a long rod, can only be as right as my casting. For me, a painting is successful when it evokes sensory responses beyond the visual. When I look at a good painting, I hear the river glide past, or tumble over the rocks that define its course. I can feel the temperature; warm on my back, or the cold, wet, slickness of a foggy day. A great painting lets me taste the wind and feel the perfect balance of a fine shotgun. This only happens when the painting is speaking. My job as an artist is to give my work its voice. Not everyone is going to hear what my work has to say, and that’s all right with me. I’m not trying to paint for everyone. I’m attempting to capture a moment in time, and convey that to those who’ve been there too. When someone looks at one of my paintings, smiles with recognition, and says, “I’ve been there.” Then I know I’ve done my job. I’ve gotten it right. I was once asked if I considered myself to be a painter, an artist, or an illustrator. It took me a few moments to sort it all out before I answered that I think of myself as an artist that illustrates with my paints. There’s nothing that I like better than illustrating a good story, and I don't know of any better storyteller than John Gierach. I was determined to do a painting of John fishing for our 100th column together, so last September I went out to Colorado and followed my friend around on his favorite stream for a few days. Don’t ask me where, as I promised not to say, and as John writes, this is the kind of promise that’s sacred among fishermen. Over the course of three days, I took hundreds of photographs of John, and one of the last frames I shot, was of him landing a nice fish. After John left the stream, I noticed a beer can under a log, and waded across the river to pick it up, because everyone knows that picking up a can on the water is good luck. It’s a good thing I did too, because I’d need the luck; just afterwards I went down and my camera got soaked. Fortunately, I didn't lose any of my shots, and as luck would have it, the last frame I took is the photograph that the 100th painting is based on. Whenever I paint, I always have a mantra that guides my work. The mantra for this painting was “complex, not complicated”. I wanted the painting to be complex, but not overworked. I wanted it to be loose and painterly, because I believe that the marks a painter leaves on his canvas become his signature. I wanted people to recognize John as the fisherman, and the painting as me. It wasn’t until I finished the painting, “Close To Home” that I realized that this is exactly how I would describe, John: complex, not complicated. That’s what I enjoy about John and his writing, and what I hope you’ll enjoy about my artwork. |
|
| Last Updated ( Wednesday, 18 June 2008 10:49 ) | |