Posing a challenge

"North Light," 5 x 7 watercolor, 140 lb Fabriano Artistico extra white cold press paper

I have gained several advantages from the #WorldWatercolorMonth daily prompts that I didn't realize at first.

The first challenge is simply to paint something everyday. But the longer I get involved, there are other challenges...challenges to my imagination to come up with something I want to paint, and then the challenges of being able to paint the subjects to my satisfaction.

But today's prompt pretty well epitomizes my challenges. 

"Pose" was the word, and it is a daunting word to me, full of memories. It's forcing me to try new subjects and techniques, pushing me out of my comfort zone. 

Terrence Miller Clark, artist

It's daunting because my brother and I often posed for my Dad as he drew our portraits over the years. He was a talented portrait artist who could quickly catch a person's likeness, in pencil or oil. 
I am gradually learning to paint the human form as part of a landscape, but to catch a likeness in paint is, to my mind, far beyond my ability. Actually, daunting isn't strong enough. "Intimidating" is the correct word when I think of portraits.

So two days ago, I began thinking of how to respond to "pose," which was indeed posing a challenge.

Finally, and after some value sketches, I decided to try a rough impressionist scene, forgetting the details.

Thus you have today's watercolor.

P.S. In January I did my first portrait, commissioned by a family member. You can see that on the link below.
Watercolor Portrait of TeAta

If you're interested in seeing and reading about my Dad's portraits, here are three more links.
Portraits of an artist
Portraits of an artist-part 2
Portraits of an artist-part 3

A story of when a dream becomes real

"Te Ata," 5 x 7 watercolor, my first portrait

"I don't do portraits. I'm not that good," I told a student last fall who asked if I'd paint one of  her and her dog.
For some reason in December, in my do-it-yourself art school reading, I thought I'd perhaps try to attempt one, more of a hope or dream.
You have to understand that my brother and I grew up in the home of one of the best portrait artists of all time, our father Terrence Miler Clark.
I've written about his remarkable talent  many times. Our memories of being sketched by him are numerous and we both have several of his portraits hanging in our homes. 
"Sit still," we were often told while posing again. Here are two of those stories and examples of his work:

• "Sitting Still"
• "Portraits of an Artist"

I wish I had that talent, but don't. It's more in seeing and being able to transfer that onto paper. I've referred and commissioned a pencil portrait from a former student instead. Susan also has the ability in charcoal.
Also understand that entire books have been written about watercolor portraiture (Dad's were usually meticulous colored pencil portraits).
But then yesterday, a friend called and asked me to do a watercolor card of  a Chickasaw.   I hesitated, but said I'd try.

Then he sent me a photo of who he wanted, but in black and white, plus references for color for clothes, feather, jewelry. 
The pressure built because it was Te Ata, renowned Chickasaw actress and storyteller.
First step was trying to select colors especially for skin color, searching the Internet, and getting his approval.
Second was trying to draw the outline and main features of this woman, which took more than one try.
Several steps were thinking about  deciding colors, solving problems of light and shadow, and where to start.
He wanted a red tailed hawk feather and I knew that would be easiest. The most difficult would be the face and especially the eyes. That meant I'd do her eyes last, so the entire portrait could fail at the last. 
Yesterday, I painted the feather, her hair and costume. And stopped.
Today, after much procrastination, I began by erasing most of the drawing lines, or making them very faint. 
Then came the light flesh colors, leaving the eyes white. Then came the shadowing to give the face form. Then came the lips. Then the eyes, and a few final touch ups on shadows.
I learned a lot, and am thankful my friend likes it, and am thankful for the opportunity to push myself. Taking a risk becomes a story of a dream becoming real.
But it's hard work, though when doing this the rest of the world goes away. I found a quote from my Dad recently, that sums it up: "The harder I work at painting, the younger I feel."

He was not the best father, a father's lament

Dad, Jerry and I,  Manzano Mountains, 1950s

But he was the only one I had.
 Neither am I, but I have tried.

Terrence Miller Clark, 1914-1973.

I've written about him a lot, the talented artist with a wooden leg, coming up out of the dirt poor Oklahoma Depression and red clay town of Comanche, Oklahoma, the oldest of five boys, all of whom fled that town to become successes. 
He could draw before he could walk, I think, and I have so many questions I'd like answered. You never asked as a child, and if it weren't for stories from my now late Uncle Mike, I'd know a lot less.
I want to know more about hopping the freight train that cost him his leg in Tucumcari in 1933. I want to know more about his playing football. I want to know more about his art. I want to study art with him. I want to know what his favorite drink was. I want stories of his teen years and 20s. Alas.
He was incredibly talented as an artist, but he had many flaws...an awful temper, an overbearing selfishness, a wandering eye...and more.

Easter Sunday, Albuquerque

I spent a good portion of my life trying not to follow in those steps, but I too have many flaws and failures, but I've really tried to be a good father, providing for my children, being respectable, being loving. I think he had more excuses, or reasons, for his shortcomings than I do mine, but as I get older the genes and art have kicked in and I know I treasure his influence, his life. He had hard-won guts, even speaking out loudly in church in one Sunday sermon, telling a preacher, "You're wrong."
I see so many posts this weekend from wonderful people saluting their fathers, as the best fathers ever. I am touched, and envious, and guilty, I guess. 
Keep posting those photos, keep mentioning those memories. Keep telling your fathers how great they are, regardless of flaws. You are so fortunate. My wife, with parents in their '80's, says it's hard to believe my parents have been so long gone.
I am not the best father...but I am so thankful my children and grandchildren still love me. All these years later, I'm in his debt, even with his many flaws.
My brother Jerry has commented that I should attempt a family history. That stumps me in many ways, but as I looked back at the previous posts on our father on this blog, maybe I've started.
Consider these articles:

My dad had a wooden leg 
Fathers' Day in black and white 
Fathers' day musings 
Pages from beyond death 
Pages from the past 
Ghosts from the past 
A spooky view of the past 
When iris bloom 
Forbidden art from long ago 
Of time and mortality 
Sitting still, portraits in time 
100 years ago and more 

Tomorrow's pilgrimage toward a reunion

They're all gone now--Sissie, ET, Mom, Ima, Addy, Gladys

Francis Faye Culp Clark

June 15, 1909-

July 5, 1980

It's more than two hours southwest and 35 years back in time for me tomorrow. I go to plant real flowers at her grave, and think, remember, talk, and touch mortality. 
Tell your mother you love her.
Brother Jerry and I have mementos and photographs, and more. We have questions and wondering we'll never find out. We have cousins.

Mom with grandchildren Travis, Dallas, Becky, Derrick and Vance

We and our children and our grandchildren carry her genes, her grace and goodness--and her sense of humor.
Mom, you'd delight in our your grandchildren and great-grandchildren.  
I know it's a long way from humble East Texas, but we've all traveled miles and years, and can never thank you enough for your unselfishness, how you cared for and reared us. 

Retirement at MD Anderson

We wish we were as good as you, but any goodness we have we inherited and learned from being around you.   
We look forward to a big reunion. In the meantime, I'll see you tomorrow.

Front row, right corner, on a Ma Bell basketball team

Dad's portrait of his bride, 1943

Portraits of an artist--part 3

Dad's masterpiece is certainly the large pencil portrait of Will Rogers. The other that gained lots of attention was his portrait of Ernie Pyle, which sold for $1 million in war bonds in Dallas. Pyle's wife, who was mentally ill, probably destroyed it after Pyle's death.
And Dad drew everybody of interest, including preachers, and was often commissioned to do portraits of officers. But his quick sketches and art school work that we still have shows a fascination with cowboys and attractive women.
Here are three, one in Lufkin, another in Taos, another in Norman.

Sitting still, portraits and family memories--part 2

Our mother, Francis Faye, 1943, 8x10

Here are more of our Dad's portrait work. If he had 10 minutes, he'd get someone to sit still and do a sketch. Or, he could spend hours with his colored pencils, bringing people to life.

Early self portrait, oils

Granddad, Erle Thweatt Clark

Grandmother, Sophie Elizaberth Culp

Cousin, Sarah Beth Lutrick

Uncle Rex Thweatt Clark, in England  in WWII

Friend Norma Vaiden, because Dad puts himself drawing her in studio in the mirror

Sitting still, portraits of growing up, and memories

Just before I went to college; Dad's last portrait of me

"Sit still."
That's what my brother Jerry said, when I asked him if he remembered our Dad probably said when we posed  as he was drawing our portraits.
He was wondering if anyone else had to sit for portraits when growing up, especially now that everything is done from photography.
Jerry's the one who suggested this article a while back, and I've been scrounging to find some examples.

Jerry as a teen

Got me to thinking that he provided us some excellent training perhaps...like being behind the wheel by ourselves on long drives. Of course the other side is that those sessions may have made us all the more ready to travel, and not sit still.

At any rate, we both grew up sitting still through the years. I don't think we can't remember not having to sit still. I only wish he could have drawn portraits of my children and grandchildren. Alas.
 Dad could draw before he could walk and had a remarkable talent for capturing the essence of a person, quickly, or even in more detailed work.

Cowboy--13x20,

He drew portraits all his life, living off them at times in the Depression, when beating around the country, especially in New Mexico. There he would frequent the  hotel bars and do "quick sketches" of cowboys and anyone else, who'd pay him 25 cents for one so he could buy meals. That was only a few years after he'd lost his leg hopping a freight train in Tucumcari. "My Dad had a wooden leg."

He also drew a portrait of correspondent Ernie Pyle that was auctioned off in Dallas in 1944 for $1 million to buy war bonds. And one portrait became his masterpiece, the detailed portrait of Will Rogers.

An early one of Jerry, and Jerry colored the background

Lots of his work hangs in our houses, and we have more stuffed away in files, with no place to put them. Here's a sampling.
Have you ever sat for a portrait? It's an exercise in patience and self control.
Now that I think about it, I'd like to ask him what he was thinking, as he watched us grow up, having chronicled us sitting still through the years.
 

Age 5--small one hanging in my bathroom

I also know he drew portraits of many family members, aunts, uncles, cousins, more distant relatives, and periodically someone will send me one he did long ago. Every one is a memory, a bit of personal history. Those deserve the next two posts.

Another of Jerry

 Some are tattered, like memories.

And some predate memory, maybe the first

Why I paint

Art...I've been around it all my life, and it seems I've only recently began painting. Glancing back through old black and white photos makes me realize that's not so. 
I remember getting in trouble in grade school in New Mexico for drawing in class rather than paying attention. But it's only natural, growing up in the home of my Dad Terrence Miller Clark, who was an uncanny portrait artist from Oklahoma who could draw anyone and anything, and a landscape painter. His work hung all over our house when we grew up, and my brother and I still have much of it hanging on our walls or in storage.
I still have his old metal paintbox, with some aged oil paints, out in the garage and Susan has been urging me to try oils rather than just watercolors. I suppose that is in the near future. I do so love the smell of oil paint.
But I know I chose watercolors a few years ago because the opportunity arose to take lessons, I needed therapy, and I wasn't in "competition" with my Dad's work.
Still, I'm sorry it took me so long to "come back" to art...getting away from the type-A career-oriented workaholic I was. 
I found this 3" by 4" photo, dated 1947, of me with watercolors at age three and four in Fort Worth, Texas, , painting. And then here's Susan's 4.5" by 6.5" sketch of that. They both hang on the wall in front of me when I paint. 
I guess that's why I paint.