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Taming the tiger
Some years ago I was in love with tigers. Every Sunday I drove the long distance to Tygerberg Zoo to draw and paint their beautiful pair or Bengal tigers. After some weeks they recognised me and greeted me with soft puffing sounds. I was reminded of my tigers this morning, when I was reading a description by one of my favourite authors, U.S. Anderson, of an apprentice lion tamer. One day this man, he said, although briefed by his teacher, had to walk into that cage alone. Just stepping in there was overcoming the first option in the face of danger, getting the hell out of there, but now he had to deal with the second: freeze. On that first day, in the face of overwhelming fear, he forced his muscles into action, looking squarely at the lion, and moving towards him. The simple fact of not getting eaten made him more confident, and after some week and months, he came to be completely at ease with the lions. This reminded me of how one of the attendants at the Zoo reached out and put his hand flat to the wire mesh of the cage. The tiger came up and rubbed his cheek against his hand. When the attendant had gone I moved out from behind my easel, and held out a large brush, soft bristles towards the cage. Behind me, on the other side of a service road, were some monkeys. The tiger came up amiably enough, and sniffed at my paintbrush, but instead of rubbing against it, he stood up on his hind legs, blocking out the daylight, and let out a roar... I do not remember moving, only that I was standing on the other side of the road, my back flattened against the monkey's enclosure, and behind me, all the monkeys pressed against the far side of the cage, giving me reproachful looks. So I was wondering, that apprentice lion tamer: who was he really taming, the lion, or his own fear? This guy's in love.
There is no artist I dislike as much as I dislike Lucian Freud. And yet... His record breaking painting (£17,000,000), of a nude young woman displays to me the first sign of weakness in his cold emotionlessness. Freud spent about 9 months working on his enormous picture of Sue Tilley, and although some commentators decry his sadistic cruelty towards her, my feeling is that the old fart has gone soft. I think, over those long months Lucian Freud fell in love. For what is love, if not caring attention; and what greater concentration of attention is there than to spend hour after hour with a delightful young woman, naked, open, and vulnerable, listening to her dreams and sadness... So this painting is a miserable failure, his customary nastiness folding into and old man's sentimentality. And that is what makes this a great work of art, for until an artist works beyond the limits of his or her control to the place where we are at the mercy of disaster, there is only mediocre safeness. The considered buildup of paint communicates his patient, if ungainly, acceptance of each change of hue and value. After all the bunk and drivel is done, a work of art only says one thing: "This I love." Book choice.The best book on how actually to paint is "Hawthorne on Painting" Written by a young woman who attended Hawthorne's classes at the turn of the last century, and arranged the notes she made of everything and anything he said into this masterful little book. Needless to say, he married her. It is not easy to find a woman who listens to you, never mind one who thinks you make sense! |
In this issueWebsiteFor workshop information click here. ArchivePrevious newsletters from Ryno are available here Have your say:I have set up a new forum where we can discuss our approaches to art and to life and share your comments on these letters. http://fineartlives.lefora.com/forum/ Pass it onIf you know someone who may be interested in receiving this newsletter, you can easily forward up to five copies at once. |
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