At long last I have finished my painting of The Temptation of St. Anthony of the Desert. I have some shading to tend to, a few details that need enhancing, but for now, I’m out of the Hermitage.
oil on canvas
36 by 52 inches
It is satisfying to have chronicled the painting from the first roughing out until completion. I haven’t posted play-by-play images, as that would be dull as dishwater given the progress I made, but I have stashed them in my library.
Given that I may very well be the worst photographer ever, I am going to post individual images of details.
The abbot, an attempt at self portraiture, not sure if it is successful or not.
A detail of my trusted mechanical pencil; the bane of every art instructor I have had. There is a serious resistance to mechanical pencils amongst the art establishment. I developed a fondness for precision instruments when I worked in interior design. Habits fall off slowly.
The “L” is not a signature but a reference to 50, my age right now. A memento mori.
Bearded Prickly Man
A wee little red devil who unfortunately doesn’t photograph well.
In finishing this painting there is a personal symbolic value, I think i’m ready to start venturing out of my own hermitage. I have for the last year been squirreled up with my dogs, my paint, and my thoughts. Essentially a recluse. As I gear up towards moving to a vital city, attending a school that is both exciting and intimidating , I’m finding myself more and more venturing forth. A small step in tackling my anxieties is taking a yoga class with my sister-in-law this afternoon; silly how intimidating that feels, but I’m going forward. Wish me luck.
Until next time,
take care, be well,
Post Script: On the themes of hermits, the hermitage, and creation of art and one’s self ; this morning’s New York Times ran a piece about a Brooklyn artist having had spent his life practicing his craft in isolation was “discovered” at 64 by a major gallery, the show a whopping success. A fairytale story of course, but heartening. His work is rich and he has clearly dedicated his life to Breton’s ideals. The paper quotes the artist, Rafeal Leonardo Black as saying “Everybody writes poems at 15 ; real poets write them at 50.”