Eavesdropping in Mr. Huntington’s Gardens

Occasionally I am invisible. If I sit in one place long enough and draw, people start treating me as part of the environment. This is good when people don’t ask me questions while I am trying to draw. This is bad when people step right in front of me and block my view. This is what happened last week at the Huntington Library.

So there I was sketching a fountain on the North Vista lawn with Mr. Huntington’s mansion in the background, and I must have been making myself very invisible because an entire tour group walked right in front of my view and turned their attention to a rather pedantic looking older gentleman in a tweed coat, barely ten feet away from my spot on the grass.

I had just finished the block in and was starting in on the details, only now all I could see were a bunch of big touristy backsides. I tried craning my head awkwardly to get a view between their legs, and you think at least one of them would take the hint, but my view was completely blocked by yards of khaki. So I waited. And it turns out I was rewarded with a bold bit of fabrication.

The older gentleman stroked his mustache and beard and nodded very seriously and tapped a finger to the temple of his glasses. “Now this lawn wasn’t part of the original plans," he said. "Mr. Huntington created this lawn for a beautiful young French girl, Arabella, who was Mr. Huntington's mistress for many years. The young lady was a frequent visitor to the house, but Mr. Huntington could never convince her to leave her beloved France. ‘No, I could never leave the beauty of Paris,’ she would tell him. Arabella would stay with Mr. Huntington for a while, then go back to Paris for months and months. Now you should know that Arabella was very beautiful. And Mr. Huntington very much in love with her. So he began collecting art to impress her. Every season, he would buy some new painting or sculpture or furniture, and he would travel to Paris and go straight to Arabella and say, ‘You must come back to Pasadena and see this marvelous thing I have bought for you.’ Flattered, she would always accept his invitation and travel back to Pasadena with him. And they would have a wonderful journey. She would arrive at the mansion full of excitement for this new marvelous thing and for Mr. Huntington. Mr. Huntington would host a grand party to show off his new acquisition, and he would parade Arabella around on his arm, and they would seem to be radiantly in love for a few weeks. Then Arabella would begin to miss Paris, and she would go to Mr. Huntington and say, ‘I cannot stay. Your house and its art and its grounds are beautiful, but I miss the gardens of France.’ Soon afterwards, she would pack up her bags and leave.”

“As you can imagine, Mr. Huntington was distraught. Every wall in his house was full of fine paintings, and every possible space held beautiful sculptures and figurines. The furniture was rich and wonderfully French. His house was full of artworks for Arabella. Yet it was not enough. She always left him and returned to Paris. One day, Mr. Huntington sat in the window on the second floor and looked out over his grand driveway running through his woods to his grand gate. And he almost gave up. Then an idea came to him and he smiled. If Arabella wanted gardens, he would turn the grounds around his mansion into gardens that would rival Versailles. Then he got to work. This lawn we are standing on was the first of Mr. Huntington’s gardens, and he filled it with fine statues from around Europe.”

One of the women raised her hand and asked, “Did it work? Did Arabella come back to stay?”

“No,” said the older gentleman, “It did not work. Arabella came to see Mr. Huntington’s lawn, then returned to Paris as before. He tried again and again and again. He built the Lilly Ponds, and the Australian gardens, and the Rose gardens, and Arabella came to see them all. And she was always excited at first. But in the end, she always returned to Paris. Frustrated and hurt, Mr. Huntington took Arabella back to Paris, and left her there. He wanted to be alone for a while so he went on a journey to far off Japan. He stayed in a small village for a year and a day, in an old wooden and paper house that he came to think of as a second home. When it was time to return to Pasadena, Mr. Huntington decided to build a new garden just for himself. He brought the old wooden house back with him from Japan, and had it rebuilt on his grounds, board by board. And around the house he created a garden that reminded him of the small village where he had stayed. When all was done, Mr. Huntington looked over his new garden with pride and love, and he thought no more of Arabella until he saw her at a party in New York. They talked, awkwardly at first, then spilling into their old affection for each other. At some point he invited her to Pasadena and she accepted, but Mr. Huntington did not think she would visit. He went back to Pasadena alone. To his surprise, Arabella followed him a few days later. It was a beautiful autumn day and they walked through all of the gardens Mr. Huntington had made for her. Then they came to the garden Mr. Huntington had made for himself. Arabella gasped and gripped his hand. She fell in love with the Japanese garden, and with Mr. Huntington, and she stayed with him here in the gardens until his death. Now if you follow me, we will go and see the gardens that Mr. Huntington built for his one great love.”

After that the older gentleman waved the tourists on towards the mansion. I caught his eye as he turned, and I raised an eyebrow at him. He gave me a mischievous wink and smiled and trotted off with a new spring in his step. With my view of the fountain clear, I finished my sketch. I laughed to myself and wondered what other tall tales that old trickster would tell his audience as they walked around the gardens.

Verbal Sketching

Getty Center, photo by me

I find comfort in museums. Many people find comfort in nature, a return to their primal instincts. Me, I'm at peace in a room filled with paintings and statues from the past. Museums hold the best of humanity. Whenever I'm disappointed in the human species, I go to a museum and I'm wonderfully reminded of the greatness and beauty that human's can accomplish. 

Currently at the Getty Center (Los Angeles) is a great show about the negative space in drawings. The Poetry in Paper runs until October 20, 2013. The curator, Stephanie Schrader, did something very unique with this exhibition. Instead of detailed labels for each drawing, she wrote a Haiku poem describing the piece. The union of past greatness with modern elegance made me laugh, gasp, smile and term the phrase verbal sketching.

Here are some examples:

I've sat in the Capitoline Gallery in Rome several times. I've sketched, I've written, I've hidden from the rain amongst the halls of broken statues. The words "Antiquity looms," captures the mood perfectly.

I love this haiku because it teases the drawing with regards to the negative space. "No chair but not a drop spills," made me giggle like a child who wants to point at the drawing and enter a discussion regarding elementary physics. 

This haiku really captured the idea of verbal sketching for me. Walking along the foggy moors of Scotland, where the air is so thick a castle may lay hidden, undiscovered, only a short distance away, remains a strong memory with me. Yet I've never written a description of those moments. But here, the "Blank expanses" are the endless moors, that at first appear blank. The "Fog dense as citadel walls," is absolutely true, except it is a wall one can wonder through blindly, then a creature jostles near and quickens your heartbeat until you learn it is only a sheep with a blue splotch of paint upon it's white wool. Then the sheep vanishes as suddenly as it appeared. As you get closer to the discovery of a castle, you find yourself surrounded by the structures of a medieval city on the banks of a Loch - an "Old city shrouded" - with battlements poking their heads above the fog as it sinks lower, pouring over your feet and pulling you toward the water's edge. 17 Syllables captures my entire paragraph. That's why haiku is AWESOME. (5, 7, 5, that's all you need.)

This sketch could have been so many haikus because the expression on the old woman's face is in my opinion, rather flexible. Who doesn't love the phrase "Wrinkles of red chalk?" That's just fabulous. That's why haiku is fun. It forces you to bring together multiple concepts in a few words. 

This haiku captures not only the description of the environment, but the attitude and character of the subject which I wouldn't have thought about without the haiku. At first glance, I thought, "That's a nice figure drawing." End of story. I walked away. Then I went back and read the haiku and suddenly an entire person burst forth in my head. This is wealthy young man, accustomed to his spoils and leisures, but soon, his elegant supports will fall out from under him (notice the negative space below him) and he will be forced to discover what skills he can master for his own survival. 

So when wondering a museum, or sitting at a cafe, if you don't have a sketchbook or notebook handy, doodle a haiku on a napkin. It will force your mind to capture a moment, a memory, in a verbal sketch.

What Story Do You See?

I had an amazing experience on Mother's day. I discovered my older brother is AWESOME! Admittedly, my mom and dad are also awesome, but I tell them that all the time. But my brother? This is the boy who picked me up, threw me across the living room and concussed my head into the wall. This is the boy who taught me that no room in the house was safe. This is the boy who smashed my right hand with a bowling ball and to this day I'm unnaturally left handed. Truth be told, I learned to handle a knife at the ripe old age of 6, pick a lock at age 7, and he's still scarred with teeth marks in the center of his back.

Violence aside, my brother did teach me my multiplication tables when I was 4, all the known species of whales at age 8 and how to fly a plane at age 12. He also taught me how to use power tools and not lose a finger. What I remember most, is him building train sets in the garage complete with detailed plane crashes, ripples in ponds and WWII bomb sites. I marveled at the worlds he created. Then for 20 years we went our separate ways and I forgot that he built dioramas.

Last weekend, my mother asked him, "When's your next Nerd Olympics?" That's when I learned that my brother, my injury inducing, fear provoking (he's calls it confidence building), but highly educational brother, is a gold medalist diorama creator. I never even knew these competitions existed, but holy crap, my brother is phenomenal!

Above is a current project he's working on, a bombed out bridge with an urban cafe and a live-in studio above. And a river. Good grief, he built a river. You can see how he builds everything at this website: http://www.modelarmour.com/index.php?option=com_jfusion&Itemid=81&jfile=viewtopic.php&f=13&t=8296

Below are two other award winning diorama's. What stunned me are the multitudes of stories his diorama's tell. My mom is an avid reader and my dad is a writer. So I guess it's no surprise their two kids turned into storytellers.

Grandma's Quilt

I love this one! My brother even sculpts the people, which I really think is his key to storytelling. I have to ask my brother how the fleeing pantless soldier is able to stand at that angle. That guy is hauling butt. The vixenous sisters already miss him, and have absolutely no respect for the months of work that went into sewing the quilt that shields one sister's indiscretion.

Captains, Castles & Kings

What's the story here? What are these boys playing at? There are two boys holding shields and hurling rocks at each other. The youngest boy is wearing an oversized helmet backward and raising a stick into the air, commanding his troops below. Spikes protect his tank/fort against a siege. The older boys have a vague recollection of the horrors of war, but the youngest is king of his castle, completely ignorant that the tank he currently claims as an invincible fort is also the weapon that killed his father.

What stories do you see?

Stories Within Art

I constantly wonder why some art pieces are endlessly fascinating and why others leave no impression at all? 

Why do some paintings entrance me time and time again? Why are other paintings, though skillfully crafted, totally unmemorable?

I recently saw an amazing art show at the Weisman Museum of Art at Pepperdine University in Malibu which solved my years of fretting. The show, Illustrating Modern Life, The Golden Age of American Illustration from the Kelly Collection, (see events tab) is one of the best exhibitions I've ever seen. And I'm a museum junkie, so that's saying something. 

The answer to my question - STORY!

 

The Customs Inspector by Elbert McGran Jackson for Collier's Weekly, March 1930

My take on the story: A handsome, brazen, brash customs inspector asks an attractive traveler if she's carrying any illegal food products in her trunk. She flashes him a winning smile, tightens her coat's waist belt to emphasize her figure and replies that she would never do such a thing. The inspector mistakes her action as a flirtation, instead of as the intended distraction, and requests to examine her baggage. She finds his determination irritating at first, but after he compliments her various shawls, shoes and accessories, she finds his self-deprecating lack of fashion knowledge to be charming. Then he finds her miniature bottle of illicit Absinthe, and gains an entirely new respect for the woman. He sincerely apologizes for having to abscond with her precious souvenir, but she only smiles and nods accent for she knows her pint sized bottle is still safely hidden in her jacket, resting on her waist belt.  

Waiting by Dean Cornwell for Cosmopolitan, Feb. 1921

My take on the story: She's just been sent out of the family drawing room. Her parents anticipate the arrival of her betrothed, an advantageous match that will insure money enough to preserve the magnificent manor house the parents intend to grow old in. However the daughter feels only duty bound to the forthcoming attachment and pleads for a miracle to save her. Her emotions match the staircase upon which she sits and a deep melancholy consumes her. Now she is merely waiting for her parents to call her in so she may be formally introduced to her future husband.  

If someone wrote a book that was described as, "Jane Austen meets Downton Abbey," this would be the cover art. 

Your challenge - Run with this idea! Leave a comment with a story for one of the below paintings. 

Wing Walkers by Harold Von Schmidt for Liberty Magazine, April 6, 1929

Florist by Joseph Christian Leyendecker for Kuppenheimer Style Book, Spring 1920

Don't Let These Obstacles Keep You From Travel Drawing

The biggest obstacles to drawing while travelling have little to do with artistic skill. Don’t let these common obstacles keep you from giving it a try.

Drawing in Public

It can be embarrassing to draw in public. Strangers will be fascinated by you. They will walk right up to you and look over your shoulder, completely oblivious to the fact that they are making you nervous. Skill can help you feel more confident, but the only thing that will really help is experience. Over the years I have come to realize that curious strangers simply enjoy watching me draw. They are far from critical. They praise my worst drawings, and I get the feeling they would like to sit down with me and draw as well—If only they had the confidence. This will happen to you. Maybe not at first, but if you stick with travel drawing, eventually someone will walk up to you and instantly become your number one fan. You will never forget the first time someone drags their fascinated child away from your sketchbook.

Travel Companions

Travel companions are trickier. Unless they like to draw, they will not understand your desire to sit in one place for the better part of an hour. Shared experiences are one of the great joys of travelling. Drawing is solitary. Your companions cannot join in that experience. It isolates them. Besides, there are so many other things to see than the thing you are drawing. And you are wasting their time.

You owe it to your companions to be honest and upfront about your desire to spend time drawing. You do not owe your companions all of your time and attention. Usually, you can work something out. My wife keeps a list of alternative sights in mind in case I suddenly decide to draw for a while. But most of the time, I schedule my drawing time with her. This means I miss the chance to draw some things during the day, but it is easier for us to coordinate. This works both ways. My wife likes to write on location, and will warn me when I should plan to fend for myself for a while. 

Drawing Supplies & Comfort

You won’t draw much if your drawing kit is so cumbersome you keep leaving it in the hotel room. Travel light. At home I have a large sketchbook—so large I usually work at an easel. I love this sketchbook, but it would be ridiculous to travel with (it doesn’t even fit in my largest suitcase). For travelling and sketching around town I have a small sketchbook that fits in a bag I don’t mind carrying everywhere. If you won’t carry your sketchbook everywhere, get a smaller sketchbook.

Pick materials you already enjoy drawing with. I don’t recommend trying to learn new drawing techniques while travelling. Learning a new technique or medium takes a different kind of attention than sketching. This can take you out of the moment and make it harder for you to appreciate what you are seeing. Having said that, you don’t have to be a master by any means. You should, however, enjoy using the materials you bring with you. 

Consider bringing a portable chair with you. Nothing is worse than drawing in an uncomfortable position. The downside of bringing a chair is that you have to carry it around. However, a comfortable chair can be worth the extra weight in certain situations. I definitely wish I had brought my chair to Pompeii. I wasn’t comfortable standing up that day, and I feel like I missed the opportunity to draw some amazing stuff (sometimes it is hard to draw standing up, no matter how fit or young you are). I was only able to draw this column because there happened to be a comfortable stone in a good position. There is rarely a good place to sit in front of something you would like to draw.