They were sitting by the bathtub fountain
I painted this couple, enjoying a warm snap that we had – it was beautiful that day. They were seated at a table right by the “Mannekin Pis” (replica of the famous Belgian “Pissing Boy”). It was such a good composition, I could have painted several different versions, if I had more time.
She was at SpiderHouse with a large group of "hipsters"
We had a beautiful, sunny and warm day here in Austin last week. I went to SpiderHouse with Erin Park-Markert, one of my art students, to meet my daughter. We sat out on the patio, right beside this large group of “hipsters”, as my daughter calls them. They had pulled two tables together to accomodate the ever-increasing group. Here is what I noticed about the group:
Well, they reminded me of my own college years. They appeared self-confident and easy-going: they were not vulnerable. They could smoke and drink too much,with very little consequence. The air was filled with essence of James Dean.
She was on the phone with a colleague
She came in and sat down with a coworker at the storefront table next to me. With her shiny black hair, and the widely woven houndstooth coat were just too good to pass up. I was in the middle of painting her profile, when her phone rang. It seemed important. There was an interchange of project schedules and the like.
Painting live in coffee houses has taught me that people move a lot, and the artist has to adapt and be fluid with the active environment. As I paint and stare at a person, even their personality and behavior changes. One has to be observant in order to capture with intent: what is real and what is temporal? I hope that makes sense.
She was at Flightpath with her buddy during finals, banging out code
My daughter and I went to FlightPath Coffee during Finals Week before Christmas. This young brainiac came in late with her friend, and snagged one of the best tables. I don’t know if she knew how lucky she was – probably not. These Einstein- types can be totally unaware of the world around them. She had on a huge TULANE pullover sweatshirt hoodie that absolutely swallowed her. She looked like some mad monk working on alchemical formulae. She was eating that code – her entire body was thrust into the act. Then, the caterpillar turned into a butterfly: she took off her hoodie, and the most beautiful, petite,long-necked young woman emerged. She relaxed. I suppose that she was in the groove, and had got over the difficult patch in her thinking.
He was discussing Marguerite Duras and Proust with two classmates
He looked very smart, and I just love sentimentalists. I myself have a thing for John Singer Sargent, who was a contemporary of Proust, so I can understand the attraction to certain artist of the Victorian era who weren’t particularly Victorian. Of Proust, I know very little. This young man could probably tell you a lot.
I loved his long coat, and barbered sideburns. He was talking with two friends about the author Marguerite Duras, a French colonialist reared in Viet Nam. I don’t know which book it was…sorry.
My dad is the little guy in front. His sister Jewel, and brother Pete are in back. Meema was 48 when she had my dad.
Every year at Christmas time, I buy a 4-pack of Dr. Pepper from the Dublin, Texas bottling plant. I buy the soda because it reminds me of my dad. He was raised on a farm in the community of Bunyan, Texas, which is seven miles outside of Dublin. His community was so small, that he was schooled in Dublin. When we would go to visit Meema and Pappa we would drive to Dublin, stop by the Dr. Pepper plant, and buy a soda. A Dublin Dr. Pepper is made with “Imperial Pure Cane Sugar”, and that is what makes it so special.
I loved to go and visit at the farm. The house was built by Pappa out of riverbed sandstone, and he had shaped the stone and mortar to spell the family name “WARD” at the front of the house. We would throw all the fishing tackle in the “turtle” (trunk) of the Rambler. Meema would punch the button into “Drive”, and we would haul off across the pasture to go fishing in the creek. When we got home, Meema would clean the fish, fry it up in a skillet, set out some garden tomatoes, and raw onion. She made sweet tea in big goblets.
My dad died in a tragic accident in the oil patch when I was fifteen, and was buried alongside Pappa in Green Creek Cemetery (a community cemetery predating the civil war). After we buried Daddy, my brother and I went back to the farm, hopped in his brand new 1970 Cutlass, and tore out over the pastures with “Born to Be Wild” by Steppenwolfe blaring from the car speakers. We came to a halt out in the midst of the potato field, and bawled our eyes out. That night, we walked down the dark, caliche road to the community grocery store. We listened as the widowed owner played Gospel songs on her Hammond organ, with her three-legged terrier howling the lead. We laughed our butts off.
Many years later, my mother gave me Daddy’s Bible. In the pages, I found his last Bible study. It was on the HEART. I sobbed. I struggled with my own heart, but I never knew that he struggled with his.
Today, when I bought the Dr. Pepper from the Dublin plant, I thought of my Dad, and I thought about Christ. He is our sweet sacrifice (sugar) and gives us a place in His royal lineage (Imperial). He fills all the chinks, sink holes, and crevices out of our souls, and helps us walk through both the dark roads and green pastures of life. Merry Christmas.
He was reading the newspaper at Epoch
He was reading the paper, and chatting with two girls at Epoch Coffee. He had his folded hands resting on his forehead for just a few moments – long enough for me to get the gesture. He seemed to be filled with the youthful optimism that everything will work itself out for the best. But for a moment, with his head in his hands, he exhibited what my niece terms, “The Dark Years of the 20’s”.
I loved his scrawny figure, the nice authentic Panama, and the way that he interacted with his friends. Upon exiting Epoch, he saw that I had painted him. He got a kick out of it. I hope to run into him again. He is a great subject.
Enrique is the barista at the Apothecary Cafe in Rosedale Village
The Apothecary Cafe is the new coffee house and wine bar that opened up its doors recently. It is in my neighborhood, and I can walk there. The young owners have done a perfect job of combining both the urban and the funk, all tied together with a touch of contemporary Middle Eastern decor. If they changed the glass doors to wood with a small window, this would be the perfect place.
My Dear Neighbor, Martin reading a paperback fiction
Here is Martin. We all love him. Martin is originally from New Zealand. He first came over to America to attend college at Berkley. He is a seismic engineer, and a structural engineer. At the present time, he is working on Building No. 7 (WTC), the Chinese Ferris Wheel (largest in the world), and many other projects – but I would have to ask him about those.
Martin is truly a “man without guile”. His “mate”, Christine says that she has only seen him mad twice in 25 years. He is a jewel here in Austin, and I hope that you will get the opportunity to know him.
Hannah is the daughter of a good friend of mine
This is a studio painting that I just did from a photograph of Hannah. She really did not want her mom to take her picture. Both her mom and I just loved the photo; we can all identify with the raw and stubborn posture. I just love the transparency of emotion that are portrayed here. Kids are not good at faking things just to make nice, and bless them for that.
