Let the background tell a story

The first painting shown at the September ASA critique was this portrait of Terry Richard, painted way back in March during a Judy Carducci workshop. Judy was pretty jazzed about it, so I figured it would gather some admiration, and needed brownie points towards the coveted "Signature" status (as described in the post before.)

I suppose there was some admiration about the likeness from the group, but it didn't stop there. Linda Anne Misja, the moderator, liked the bold brush stoke on the shirt. That was a Carducci pleasure as well. But the shadow under the hand was bothersome to her. Ah... I remember Judy saying the same.

The horn also was bothersome and the hand too big. "No, no" two members didn't agree. I experience relief.

Then Jack jumps in with the uneven background; too light around the hat. It makes the eye to to the greatest contrast at the back of the hat. Hm-m... Jack had a point there.

Terry is also hanging in my dining room, until I decide what, if anything, to do about the background. At first I thought knocking down the gradation would be an easy fix. But as I let things lie, I've decided I don't want it to be a plain, boring background.

I am meeting bi-weekly with Shannon Casey, who has just begun her journey as a full-time artist. She described several portraits she is doing. Each has a story in the background, to describe the portrait that the eye can't see. Her delight in telling stories is catching. I like that challenge.

Terry invited a few of us painters to see his apartment, just a brief walk from CVAC, where the workshop was held. It's an old guy's apartment, full of old paintings and collectibles. I have to remember what collectibles perhaps. Was he a cop once? Were their trains? Wasn't there an old traffic light up there?

Or, it could be a story about an ivory tower. There is room for a window. Should it just have clouds, or look down on the world of friends berry picking in the sun?

Should it be about New Orleans, now bedraggled and unable to regain it's former glamor? Yes. He could be sitting on a porch in one of those struggling wards ... both losing the war with nature and entropy, the man palsied and age-spotted, yet still hanging on to a bent but luminous trumpet.