Sagadahoc Story #69: 12/7/98.

This Indian Autumn has malingered well into December, and the path to Seven Eagles is as soggy as Spring. It was so warm last week the ladybugs came out of hiding and the house was full of crawling details again.

We've thinned out the rodents, though, which is a mixed delight. That midnight snap of doom, and the morning cortege to the back garden, is a daily confrontation with species hubris, and mortality. The morning I found two fieldmice in a bucket of kindling by the stove put the cap on it. One mouse had gone for the cheese, and the trap hadn't killed him outright (as is often the case). He'd crawled to the edge of the kitchen counter and fallen into the bucket, trap and all. His companion must have come to help, because there she was, curled up beside him at the bottom of the sheetrock pail. I dispatched the Samaritan, and the word must have gone out. We were bagging two for two each night, but there hasn't been a skitter in the walls since.

And a good crowd it was. Almost shirtsleeve weather and Christmas on the horizon filled the burg with browsers. People don't know how to deal with nude studies, of course, and it's fun to watch confrontations with naked form. What can you say? How do you THINK about it? Not that the traffic was unsophisticated. Most visitors were part of our extended circle: artists, models, patrons, friends and family. That's what local arts events do: bring together the arts community for celebrations of mutual support. It's not like exposing genitalia at the mall. But we have enough cultural ambivalence about nudity to go round, and three rooms full of nakedness can turn your head.

The work of younger artists seemed most impressive in pure technique: ink wash, pencilled crosshatching, charcoal fluidity, smudged shadows. I number myself among the novices in figure studies, and was reminded how I'm just coming to a mastery of an individual drawing style. A look at the offerings of the old guard showed me new mountains to climb.

I won't attempt a review of everyone's offerings. You can look at some samples on the Drawing Circle Pages, and make your own judgments. Besides the figurative, some artists displayed work in other genres, and some friends of the drawing circle brought in items to show and sell. As with most arts events, those who had small cash and carry items did the bulk of the trade, although Arlene did a roaring business in expressionist drawings and portrait print boxes.

Was there a regional ethos apparent in the work? Naw. I had to put that hobbyhorse back in the closet. If there's a Maine way of seeing the figure, I couldn't deduce it from this show. What did become obvious, though, is a Maine way of exhibiting. Or maybe a provincial way. This show was not about who had the most talent, who was the most authentic, the most important, the highest priced. It was about the process of making art, and how to encourage one another. Here were all the ingredients of the quest. Learning the technique. Finding the individual expression. Reaching for a deeper telling. And coming into the full life of an artist. A walk around Arlene's studio was an encounter with awareness, and a reinforcement of a local arts community.

The whole process of putting the show together was an eye opener. How do you pick out a show collection from the piles of studies? A few drawings may strike you as particularly effective, but are they representative? And what does that mean? I couldn't come to grips with it until I noticed that I could arrange figures into a series of exercises, dance steps, moves. Because my technique is the quick study in ink and watercolor wash, I do best with shorter poses, and they're the most dynamic. Where Susy and Mark delight in the longer sittings, where they can stretch out their dense technique, I'm done in 15 minutes, max. So my better efforts tend to be kinetic images, perfect for sequencing.

Once I had a hook it was easy to cull the piles, and I even put together a little book of prints called "Exercise Book #1: The Stretch." , and a print of bowings called "Obiesance."I began to imagine cutouts and collages and merged prints of figures. A way to move to another level. Spending two days with all the variations on a theme left me hot to make some new music.

The Drawing Circle

Isn't it curious how I can be left cold by a museum collection of "Maine's Best", and revel in a backroom exhibit of "unknowns?" It may be because the museum setting is so pompous and pretentious. So full of itself, that it demands critical assault. And commercial galleries are so full of whispered hucksterism you can't hear the quiet voices in the art. It was refreshing to simply show our work, and share our thoughts. Let it all hang out.

The balmy south wind of this morning came round to a hard westerly, then a chill norther. Maybe it's time to put more clothes on.