of mush and mojo

I've spent a beautiful and breezy California weekend trying to get my painting mojo back after months of ineffectual doodling. I've been trying to work on portraiture, which as I've mentioned before is not a strong point but something I love. The problem is that I tend to fixate unhappily on a desire to reproduce a precise likeness of the individual, unable to balance that with the more encompassing and interesting emotional aspects of the subject. I need to loosen up. The best artists manage to combine elements of both the objective visual and subjective emotional to create a work that embodies an overarching truth. Today, I achieved neither. Today, I achieved mush.

In searching for inspiration, I came across a portrait I did awhile back of mixed-media artist Betye Saar, based on a picture in an old LA Times magazine. I was drawn to the textures and colors, and the way the then 74 year old grandmother stood out against the background even as her clothing blended in to it. I loved her strong features and regal presence; the substance implied by the weight of her jewelry, the bravura touch of purple in her hair.

I didn't capture it all; I keep using too much water, the whole thing is at once too tightly controlled and overworked; it's evident that I had quite a bit of trouble with the jawline. And yet despite its flaws it's a picture that makes me smile, in large part because the photo was accompanied by a pithy quote by Ms. Saar; one which I admire for it's brave truthfulness, even as I ignore it's wisdom daily:

"There's a freshness about youth..and it's sort of pitiful when you see older women trying to grab on to that instead of holding on to the grace that comes with fading beauty."


It takes a great deal of strength to, in that lovely turn of phrase, 'hold on to the grace that comes with fading beauty.' I am not that woman. I am Woman, Hear me Mush.