"I think continually of those who were truly great," begins British poet Stephen Spender (1909-1995).

in my family, less than an "A" on the report card was failure.  I graduated 5th in my large high school class and thought myself a failure.  In our entertainment-driven culture, we celebrate the Big Stars, forget the Has-Beens, and pity the Wanna-bees.  
I made a B+ in my first college drawing class.  Therefore, I believed I was a no-talent failure.  So, I majored in art history instead of studio art, as I had planned.  
 
About 5 years later, I returned to school and earned that BFA in Studio Art.  "So there!" I could tell my past self.

Twenty five years later, am I famous?  No.  Does it matter?  Not at all.  Will I achieve the stature of a Leonardo, a Michelangelo, a Raphael?  Extreeeeeeeemely doubtful.  Will I ever even be a big fish in a small pond?  Does it matter? What matters is to keep at it, despite the lack of glory, fortune and fame.  

Perfectionists get very little done, you know.  Sometimes a "good enough" job really is good enough, if you put your heart and soul into it.  I give you a Leonardo.  And, one of my small paintings.  His is magnificent.  And mine?  Well, it's good enough.

Mona Lisa, by Leonardo da Vinci (as if I really needed to tell you)

Senalka, acrylic on panel, 12 x 12 inch, by Laura Grimes


And, here is Stephen Spenders poem, in its entirety:

 I think continually of those who were truly great.
Who, from the womb, remembered the soul's history
Through corridors of light where the hours are suns,
Endless and singing. Whose lovely ambition
Was that their lips, still touched with fire,
Should tell of the spirit clothed from head to foot in song.
And who hoarded from the spring branches
The desires falling across their bodies like blossoms. What is precious is never to forget
The delight of the blood drawn from ancient springs
Breaking through rocks in worlds before our earth;
Never to deny its pleasure in the simple morning light,
Nor its grave evening demand for love;
Never to allow gradually the traffic to smother
With noise and fog the flowering of the spirit. Near the snow, near the sun, in the highest fields
See how these names are fêted by the waving grass,
And by the streamers of white cloud,
And whispers of wind in the listening sky;
The names of those who in their lives fought for life,
Who wore at their hearts the fire's center.
Born of the sun, they traveled a short while towards the sun,
And left the vivid air signed with their honor. 
~ Stephen Spender ~

"A portrait is a painting with something wrong with the mouth."  "Every time I paint a portrait, I lose a friend."  Both quotes by American Impressionist painter John Singer Sargent.


After 32 years of marriage, I can draw a recognizable picture of my husband from memory.  But it is still going to be a much better likeness if he poses for me.  Imagine how frustrating it is to try to get a likeness of someone you don't know.  For example, a model at an open studio session.  Some artists have the ability to capture a likeness quickly.  For me, what a struggle!  I get closer and closer to a likeness the more often I have the same model.  My favorite model is Senalka, who, alas, moved to San Francisco.  

Here is one of my first drawings of Senalka.  Not much of a likeness at all.

A later version.  Beginning to get closer.

From the same session as the one just above.

I believe this one succeeds as a drawing and perhaps come a little closer.

Still not there.  Dang!

Perhaps the closest of all.  But still not quite right.  And, she has moved away.  Alas.

For over 25 years now, a lifedrawing open studio has met on Tuesday mornings at the Dougherty Cultural Arts Center in Austin, TX.  I attended this studio in the 80's, intermittently in the '90's.  In this, the first decade of the 21st Century, I became more regular.  Dorothy Billman started this endeavor, and she stayed on as the studio monitor for 25 years.  Aa few years ago, at the age of 83, she fell and cracked her pelvis.  I substituted for her, expecting her return.  She planned to return.  But, she did not get back to driving.  No one was willing to take it on, and I wanted to keep drawing, so I stepped in officially.  The group has grown, so much so, that I opened up another open studio at the Austin Visual Arts Association on Wednesday mornings.  I put us on MeetUp.com, where I promote, not only my group, but every lifedrawing group in the Austin area, at least the ones I know about.

Lifedrawing sessions normally begin with gestures.  The model does very short poses, usually one-minute ones, poses that could not be held for much more than a minute.  Gesture poses are active, dynamic.  My favorite part of lifedrawing studio is the gestures.  I could do an all-gesture class of 3 hours, but, even with breaks, the model would collapse with exhaustion. 


I believe gesture drawings are similar to calligraphy.  When we watch a master of Asian calligraphy at work, we do not see the years of practice, the honing of skill over time.  We see deft strokes of the brush, quick, yet somehow without haste.  Perhaps the brush moves for a minute or less.  Yet,  the artist's hand produces great works of art in that small space of time.


So I offer you, the reader, just a few of the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of gesture drawings I have done in the last 25 years or so
I will not claim they are great works of art.  They are a record of a moment, a moment that is gone, but not lost.
 

We still have some undeveloped property here in the suburbs.   What used to be scrub land, good only for goats, has been sold, a parcel here, a parcel there.  I walk my dog and we explore these places which will someday soon be eradicated.  One such spot of land was completely bulldozed a few months ago.  They turned it into a moonscape.  I'm sure it's cheaper and easier to just scrape the land, fill in where needed, compact the dirt and put up the buildings.  Then, plant a few puny trees.  Maybe even a flower bed.  As they have been erecting the building, I believe it is turning into an office space.  We have plenty of vacant office space around here.  But, no matter.  And, how can I criticize?  Our house sits on what was once such a place.  But, we should stop now and then to remember that something was lost.

This abandoned loveseat sits under a cluster of cedars on just such a parcel of land.  I had to make my way thru some brush to get to it.  I have some scratches, but, darn it!, I wanted the picture.  It is extremely shady in that grove.  This was the best I could do with my iPhone camera.


I see it and wonder: how did it get here?  Did the trees, the brush grow up around it?  Perhaps a couple once sat in it, when it was new, and enjoyed the sun.  Now, old and worn, crumbling, paint flaking, it sits in deep, deep shade, empty and forgotten.  


I think of how our culture treats the elderly.  We see them as old and worn.  We forget them.  And in doing so, cut ourselves off from wisdom, from perspective, from history itself.  Barring illness or accident, we will all be aged one day.  "Respect your elders!"  Once, we rolled our eyes at that sharp rebuke.  But, our time is coming.