No Dancing. No Cake.

In the world of Studio C Shute, yesterday was a pretty good day … more on that soon.

In all the different challenges I’ve pursued over my life — tennis as a kid, and later broadcasting, marketing research, real estate investing, and of course art — I’ve managed to succeed. And I’ve also failed to succeed. In fact, I’d characterize my life so far this way: some modest success coupled with some spectacular failure. So even though I’ve spent the morning dancing around the studio, and singing with Motown records, and soaking in a bubble bath, and eating cake for breakfast … I know this supremely important thing: there will be mornings like this one, with dancing and cake … and there will also be mornings quite unlike this one. No dancing. No cake.

Years ago an important mentor in my work life, who was also a big history buff, used to say these words to me when I was dancing around the office over some great triumph or another : “all glory is fleeting”. As I understand this well-known tale, when a Roman commander would return home after great victories in battle, his magnificence would call for a grand celebration. And as he rode through the city, cheered by adoring citizens, a servant stood behind him in the chariot to whisper in his ear: omnia enim et voluptas vana gloria. Sobering, yes … but I guess we can all take heart in Napeleon’s response: Glory is fleeting, but obscurity is forever. So this seems like the perfect day to post the happy little birthday mouse. Oh Yeah!

African Queen

Mervil Paylor (Mervil Paylor Design) and I met for the first time in 7th grade at Charlotte’s Quail Hollow Junior High. The next year it was Carmel JHS where we sat beside each other in the back of Mrs. Mosley’s language arts class. We loved Mrs. Mosley, but she was a considerably-less-than-spectacular teacher, so Mervil and I engaged in a kind of Dada banter we called “ChitChat” during the otherwise boring two-hour sessions. We invented a language art of our own — trading endless, random, nonsensical strings of words as if in actual conversation. The currency of ChitChat was the unexpected, so a winning contribution was one so outlandish that it halted the non-stop flow of the game. Although we were not in the same school tribes, our intellectual connection transcended all boundaries, and we became life-long friends. Through all these years we’ve delighted in collaboration … like two parts of the same brain separated at birth … giddy with reunion … and dancing across the universe.

In the last decade — in both research and art — I’ve found it troublesome to take on today’s work with yesterday’s technology. Of course that sounds wonky on its face — a classically trained portrait painter is, by definition, using ancient technology. But it’s not the essential nature of art or research that bothers me, it’s the business models. I love the old ways of observing people, reading their secret micro-expressions, asking them questions, truly seeing them, and painting their portraits … I just want to do those things within the context of modern life. So I’ve been tinkering with a new business construct for Studio C Shute … for a start, the Amazon store (in progress). But c’mon, using new marketing channels is a no-brainer. The part that’s really keeping me up at night is the painting itself … how the portrait lives in the world today … certainly not the way it did in the 1500’s … or any century since. How is the portrait … individualized art …. the personal narrative … how is the hand-crafted portrait consumable today? Perfect opportunity for a collaboration with my “shared IQ”. Trust me on this: Big. Things. Are. Afoot!

It’s been almost exactly two years since I made my way back home … to the Carolinas … where my roots are deep. When I arrived in my little mill town, I was lower than penniless. Somehow I managed to find a home, keep myself and the pets alive and healthy, and claw my way back. But there were some dark nights of the soul. Struggling to rebuild, it was a year before I could afford a hot water heater … nothing like a cold shower on a freezing winter morning to test one’s mettel. I remember plenty of times having to decide who got food …. me or my house-mates — Alia Atreides, The Amazing Poppy, Romulus Prince of Maryland, and Duncan Idaho. Needless to say, on those occasions I always went without, and they never did. Funny, having lost so much weight, people commented that I was such a successful dieter … I certainly didn’t want to scare the hell out of them with the truth.

Last night I watched Two Popes … fabulous. The future Pope Francis tells of a time, his dark night of the soul, when he could not hear the Voice of God. There were moments in my life … during times of prosperity and big white houses … when I didn’t hear God. But there was never one single nano-second in the past two years that the Voice was silent. On those hungry nights I would feast on faith for dinner, and make my way to sleep knowing I’d have the same for breakfast. The Voice always said, “never give up … go to sleep … you have arrived … you just don’t know it yet.”

When Mervil turned 60 she wanted to let the occasion go unmarked. Well that didn’t happen. One of her talents is creating amazing events, so no one was going to let her off the hook for this milepost. We all received an invitation with only an address in Davidson NC and a time. Turns out she had rented an old movie theater for a private screening of African Queen, followed by a themed dinner at a nearby bistro. It was the first time I’d seen African Queen on the big screen. What a difference, right? As is always true with great art, the movie spoke DIRECTLY to me: it washed over me with “never give up … the lake is just on the other side of these reeds … and the rains are coming. Go to sleep … you have arrived … you just don’t know it yet.”

But Hasn't Everyone Had a Jim Dine Phase

My sister Terri doesn’t really like my work. Not the portraits, at least. I say this with absolutely no emotional attachment … lots of people are simply not “portrait people” … as a terrific art dealer in Atlanta told me recently, “no one in this town wants to buy a painting with a face”. To me they are like those people out there who don’t like cilantro or mayonnaise or liver pate … they just don’t like those things … it has nothing to do with me personally.

But every time I go over to Terri and Jeff’s I see lots of other things I’ve made … other than portraits … most came from a time of artistic gestation … when I dabbled in everything. Bear in mind, this dabbling is exactly what a student artist should do. In the classical tradition this is a time of training the hand, and finding the voice, and it is perfectly acceptable to do copies — either of an actual painting or of a signature style. So I did plenty. Mercifully, most of my early wanderings haven’t survived, except for a few paintings and sculptures, including Three Hearts from the Jim Dine phase … my take on his beautiful pop art hearts. This large painting hangs in a bedroom of my sister’s house.

As I begin to work on a couple of new narrative portraits, I’m thinking a lot about using abstracted as well as representational elements unified in the same picture … not a new idea in painting, but one I’m trying to work out in my own voice. In that spirit, it was good to see the hearts from the Jim Dine phase. It was … for me at least … so easy to relive that time … dive back into the shimmering water of artistic abandon … and the compulsion to PAINT EVERYTHING! For several years there was really nothing in my heart but painting. For better or worse, those days seem to be returning.

I was just reading a great article in Kosmos Journal about Liminal Leadership, an iconoclastic look at the kind of thinking necessary to address planetary problems. https://www.kosmosjournal.org/article/liminal-leadership/ . As the author says, “Needs—like to breathe, eat, love, and make community—are arguably impossible to change, whereas rethinking the structure of society is merely extremely difficult. Keep in mind that the ‘reality’ of these socioeconomic systems is a human construct; the deer and the sea algae do not buy food. As our systems begin to fray in this unraveling time, reorganization is necessary.”

Taking on expansive, boundary stretching ideas like this sends me into the world of thinking in pictures. The process is so automatic now, that I rarely notice the auto-translation. Read the words, feel the pictures. Seeing the Three Hearts painting, I remember the time of three hearts in my life, and the difficult relationship I was compelled to reconcile in the language of my soul — pictures. And I remember that I didn’t chose to risk everything in that nascent time because I wanted something from painting … I did it because I would die if I didn’t. I love this passage from the Liminal Leadership article:

Being a parent is sometimes dangerously close to playing God with someone else’s life. I was afraid to send my son to a professional acting school when he was 15. He was a good student on a path to a good university. I asked his acting teacher if he thought it would curse my son’s life to send him to study a skill that would likely land him a lifetime of waiting tables, and his reply was this: “If your son wants to go to acting school, don’t send him. If he will die if he doesn’t act, send him.”

Anyone who wants to help usher in a new way of living that honors the wellbeing of all people and the other organisms had better be willing to risk everything to get there. It will take nothing less.

The Hitchhiker

After a week off for loved ones and chores, I’m back in StudioKitchen today … finishing the underpainting for Winston …. and cooking fresh collards from the garden for dinner. Evidently, this is the Lockhart studio version of my personal New Year construct … always a ritual to focus on what matters most — first painting, then people, then more painting tomorrow. I realized this year how deeply important holiday habits are to me and my family. History teaches us that to destroy a culture’s rituals is to destroy its mythology … and thus its identity. Codified within my family’s holiday rituals is our living story … it has stretched and shifted over time to accommodate many lives, but it continues to play out every year. It anchors us like nothing else can — this is the real beauty of holidays with family.

So by painting today I reaffirm that beauty and artful storytelling and loved ones reign in my world. Those of you who know me, know all about the strange relationship I have with painting …. and with that side of myself. It would probably be different if I’d grown up in the arts … maybe more unified in me if that were the only side of myself that ever found expression. But coming from a conventional suburban life, the artist was a curious intruder. It’s as if I was driving a lonely backroad late on a foggy night … fog thick like dragon’s breath … and picked up a mysterious hitchhiker. He got in the car and said nothing … just rode with me all the way home and never left. I think of him now as my muse … a presence rather than a force. As a frequent visitor in my dreams, he is sometimes a white winged Archangel and sometimes a broken, weary Templar knight who somehow made his way home. He is that whisper you hear behind you, in the hairs on the back of your neck … one that feels so real, you hold your breath for a minute, and don’t want to turn around to look for fear of seeing the hitchhiker standing in your kitchen. Yikes!

Last night it was the Archangel who visited … a bit after midnight. In the dream I was sitting on my back porch with an orange sunset when he came out of the west and said “I’ll see you on the other side” … his statement was more of an instruction than a goodbye. After that he crossed over the house and the river, and came back out of the bright yellow sunrise in the east. What a terrific wowie-zowie-world-of-weird omen for the New Year, don’t you think? Out with the old; in with the exciting, creative, and beautiful NEW! I can already see two new narrative portraits that will push the boundaries for me … one features my stunning Venus model, Josie, and is already underway. The other is a Garden of Eden allegory, one I’ve been imagining for years. So thanks as always, Hitchhiker — thanks for the reassuring dream visit — and have a Happy New Year.

StudioKitchen Gallery

I love working in my StudioKitlchen. These are the views from my drafting desk/kitchen island … starting work on a Christmas painting for my niece Aubri … an oversized rendering of her bulldog puppy, Winston. He’s darling. I won’t finish by Tuesday, Christmas Eve, but I’ll show her the underpainting and then finish next week.

During the reclamation of this space, we took out all the built in cabinets, which were probably added to the house in the 50’s. Originally the kitchen would have had free standing cupboards, as it does now … my motive was not to remodel with slavish historical accuracy, heaven forbid. I just like the texture and look of the old wooden surfaces … and also having plenty of room to hang artwork.

Pictured around the Yellow Cupboard are Santa Knows Son of Man; oil sketch of a model whose name I can’t remember; one of the impenetrable Unseen Architecture pieces, this one painted on the porch of Ann Tracey’s Folly Island beach house; a funky string instrument with a neat carved face; three Belgian ceramic chickens; the amazing Alia Atreides; and self portrait in gray sweater. On the Bright Red Refrigerator wall are Dreamy Dark Landscape, done by an unknown art student thirty years ago; Einstein Santa Knows; Steve Jobs Santa Knows; a symbolic landscape, one of the first things I ever painted, which oddly makes a lot more sense to me now than it did twenty years ago; a lovely woodblock print by Tony Roati in 1987; Red Fredrick study I did in preparation for the larger portrait of this subject; and Rowers, a charcoal drawing I did several years ago … with a great frame from a company called … I’m not kidding … The Bad Ass Frame Company. And yes, there’s another wall but I’ll post that later … for now I have to get back to Winston.

Purple Snow

Here’s Prince as Santa Knows. This was done in Columbus Georgia a couple of years ago. I had an amazing studio there for a short time … Columbus is a great art town, and I received a commission to paint a series of southern musicians. Prince was a commission from my friend, Sheri Baker … we share many interests, notably a love of Prince and Woody Allen. In fairness, Sheri is much more knowledgeable about these artists’ work than I am … she is an absolute fountain of Prince intel.

So when I started working on the image, I couldn’t come up with any ideas for the background …. actually I came up with lots of ideas, but none seemed worthy of my subject. I posted an in progress image on facebook, asking for help, and Ann Tracey, a great friend and brilliant copywriter came up with Purple Snow. Genius, right! The execution took some figuring … I wanted the snow to be as intricate and rich as Prince’s music. And looking at the painting this morning, with the perspective of time, I’m satisfied. Sure wouldn’t want to paint those ice crystals again … once is enough for that.

My Inner Atomic Blond

This Santa came from somewhere deep … it’s an entirely invented face. 2009 was an interesting year. The depth (and breadth) of the recession had become clear, and (thanks to information from my brainiac financial wizard cousin, Chris) I knew we were in for at least 7 years of difficulty. Life had always been way too easy … we had three houses at the time, so we put everything on the market and decided to stay in the one that didn’t sell. That turned out to be Fort Gaines, Georgia … and despite the world crumbling all around, it also turned out to be a wonderful place to ride out the storm.

I vividly remember painting this Santa. My studio was still under construction, so I was working (of course) in the kitchen. I wanted viewers to feel soothed, and loved, and peaceful … so I made this face … with every single mark guided entirely by the feeling it evoked in me.

I actually dreamed of this Santa last night. He brought me a nail gun … crazy, huh … but that’s exactly what I’m giving myself for Christmas, so I guess there were visions of sugarplums and power tools dancing in my head. Between now and the New Year, with the exception of family time, I’m going to do StudioKitchen carpentry … and yes, I’m going to channel my inner Atomic Blond and crush my fear of power saws.

The Universe Is Perfect

My teacher, Ben Long is a bossy person. He’s a natural leader … decisive, demanding, forceful .. and also very loving. I tend to get along with people like that because I absolutely hate being the boss … I’m thrilled to be associated with someone who is willing to take the burden of leadership … and let me play with pictures and ideas and colors and numbers and words …. like a productive child.

We worked in the South of France one summer — five male artists (Ben’s usual disciples) … and me … the novice, come to painting late in life, non-French speaking, totally lacking in the requisite artist-ennui, horribly insecure, but simply too excited to give in to fear. We all encamped in Ben’s Roman era villa in tiny village of Foissac. I quickly realized that the time was rich with not just with art and culture, but also important rituals and requirements. I certainly didn’t realize it at the time, but it was my initiation into the life of an artist.

Within days after we arrived, Ben insisted on a group day-trip to Marseille … the official purpose of the outing was calamari at his favorite waterfront hangout. Bear in mind, traveling with Ben in the South of France is traveling with a famous person … there was always lots of attention, and fussing over him … also the best tables in restaurants, and trips back into the kitchen to watch the chef prepare something “special for the Maestro”.

But it turned out the other reason for the trip was to purchase two essential items for me — a beret and a knife — the compulsory uniform and tool. So after lunch we all paraded down the street to the little shop that sells one and only one thing — berets. We all crowded into a tiny, narrow, ancient store, high-ceilinged and dusty. All along the right hand side were windows with an unbelievable port view. On the left were floor to ceiling shelves with boxes arranged by size … and there was a creaky rolling library ladder so the shopkeeper could reach all the inventory. And Oh My God!!! the shopkeeper. He was an old man, stooped over and shorter than I. He was as grumpy as Ben … so naturally they greeted each other with hugs and kisses, pouty bottom lip snorts, and all sorts of chit chat. At one point I thought they were going to cry. Finally Ben instructed him to fit me with the proper hat (apparently that’s what happened … since they spoke in French I have no idea what was said). The merchant took the tape measure from around his neck, measured my head carefully, grunted, slid the ladder down to the end of the shelves, and climbed the old creature to its top. He brought down one beret … no, I did not have a choice … and fitted it on my head, pushing it down lower than I would have, to a place in the middle of my forehead and just above my ears, where it fit …. PERFECTLY.

We went to another shop for the knife … Laguiole sheppard’s knife .. with the traditional North Star and Napoleon’s Bee … and the non-traditional cork screw. Again, the precise item was selected for me … I had no say in the matter … I was simply told “pay the man, Cindy”.

My Lockhart StudioKitchen is chilly in the morning … we’ve managed to bring this little cabin a long way, but the heating problem is yet to be solved. Paint is harder to handle when the temperature is cool, but I can make that work so long as I can keep myself reasonably warm. Turns out, wearing a hat makes all the difference … along with my wooly gray sweater and magic Patagonia layers. And guess what … I happen to be blessed with a marvelous beret. Funny how that happened … I guess it’s true — the universe is perfect.

Dalai Lama Santa

Here’s another Santa Knows painting … Dalai Lama … one of two in the series that I’ve actually sold. This one went to someone in Seattle … which (who knows why) pleases me enormously. The other was Prince, the Purple Snow Santa … he’s down in Georgia with my dear friend Sheri Baker.

Of all the Santas … think I did ten or eleven in all … I have only three, my favorites — Albert Einstein, Steve Jobs and Surreal Santa, Son of Man. No artist wants to be their own best collector, but I don’t think I could part with these guys. Yesterday, the Christmas spirit got me, maybe because I wrapped presents (paintings for everyone!) … so I dusted off the Santas and hung them in the kitchen. Yes, on the wall above the Bright-Red-Refrigerator … what’s not to love. Wonder if I should display them all year … they sure look happy up there.

Chattahoochee Sandbar

Finished the Sandbar commission late yesterday. This picture was such a joy to paint … I felt like a kid playing outdoors on a summer day.

Santa Knows 2011

In 2011 Steve Jobs dies, and no one was surprised that he was Santa Knows for the year.

Sandbar in Progress

I’m always cautious about posting work in progress … some people (understandably) don’t love process the way I do. It is what it is and I know not everyone wants to see the sausage getting made. That said, posting this in-progress landscape image. The details are missing but the structure is there. Loving this location the way I do… the underlying structure is beautiful.

Surreal Santa

Years ago, way before I ever started painting, I went to an astrologer-psychic person. The first thing she said … and kept saying over and over was this: “I can see that you are in a highly creative field … I’m not sure which one since you missed being a writer by just one click … are you a chef?” At the time, making my way through life as a public opinion researcher (and perfectly happy about that), I tried to make her reading fit my reality “… well I do work for television stations and ad agencies … close enough.” Turns out that wasn’t close enough.

Now, having ended up as a portrait painter, I think I missed being a surrealists by ‘just one click’. When I swerved over into that lane (the Unseen Architecture days) nobody went there with me. I mean nobody … even my lifelong friend and kindred spirit, the amazingly talented Mervil Paylor said “I understand the idea you are trying to express, but I’m afraid most people will look at these paintings and think ‘plaid’.” I still dream in ‘plaid’ … and long to see those visions in common hours … but for now I’m leaving Unseen Architecture in dreamland.

That said, here’s a Santa Knows tribute to one of the greats — Son of Man, the 1964 painting by Belgian surrealist René Magritte. It’s always been a favorite … particularly love the cameo in Thomas Crown Affair (the 2nd one) … one of those art heist movies I love so much.

Artist Statement

As of December 2019, here is the Lockhart StudioKitchen. WOW has this place come a long way. I’m awestruck with gratitude for the forces and people on team Cindy. You deserve my best, and that’s what I’ll return to you.

Painted the floor this weekend. The original plan was to do it section by section, until it occurred to me that I’d have in-progress disruption for weeks. The idea on the floor paint is to unify the space with a neutral color, in this case the old fashioned gray porch paint … and then distress it to show a bit of the history beneath. Now there’s not much left to do in this space … stove and sink, and a bit of carpentry. We’ll get there.

Already it feels so terrific … like my best work is buzzing. I’ve certainly loved studios before, but I’ve never traveled so far for one. From this resting place I’m thinking a lot about what my work should be and what it should mean … beginning to craft an Artist Statement … they do, and should evolve over time. In the past, writing them was a chore, but curiously, that’s not the case this time. Below is some aspirational language … and I have to admit it’s a bit embarrassing to state it in such a definitive PRESENT TENSE. But I have to state it that way because … well … that’s what ya do. (… and if you think it’s rubbish, please be kind.)

I am a storyteller. My stories are humanistic and bright. They celebrate love and beauty. Although I acknowledge the reality of ugliness, I won’t be painting it … let other artists carry that water. At its best my work is richly layered — arrestingly beautiful, both personal and universal … and of both authentic and perceived value.

…OK, that’s just a start …. obviously I’m still working on it … but now I have to go and work on other things. Stay tuned.

Santa Knows Premier

2006 marked the beginning of an annual Christmas card tradition for Studio C Shute — Santa Knows. Here’s the story:

I had been looking, and looking for just the right card to receive from your portrait painter. The list of recipients started out small … family, friends and, the real impetus — portrait clients. I’d been selling and living in the DC market for nearly three years at that point, with steady work, so the number was maybe 30 or 40. Of the cards I reviewed, nothing rose above the level of ‘let’s put this in the stack with all the others’ … what I was really going for was ‘this came from our artist friend, wow, let’s save it!’. With time closing in one Saturday morning on the Choptank River, I decided just to do what artists do …. and so I was, as my adorable friend Bob Fouhy always used to say, “off like a honeymoon nightie!”

The card needed a theme, something clearly stretching the boundaries of tradition. I decided to play off the notion that “Santa knows if you’ve been naughty or nice” because I think that’s the coolest aspect of the Santa … presents are interesting, but c’mon, they’re nothing compared with Omniscience. Eureka. Santa Knows was born.

My model, James Peters Snyder was at the time a well-known architect in DC, having in previous years done the wonderful National Indian Museum. It’s a triumph of design, I think, on the National Mall across from the Capitol. Architects and artists usually get along, and he was happy to help. I used oil wash on a small piece of gessoed paper, with a little bit of pencil. Three colors: Williamsburg bohemian green earth, aquamarine blue, and permanent rose.

And weirdly …. Santa Knows was a hit. From that first small mailing, I got tons of notes and calls from people who loved them … they loved the idea of a studio-made card … hand-signed … with an invented origami-style envelope made from regular printer paper. I stayed up all night figuring out how to fold the paper so that it would close with the stamp, no glue or cutting, and still meet USPS requirements … it took 10 times longer than the painting itself.

The project became a tradition for over a decade, and the mailing list swelled. Subsequently, I used a well-known face … Einstein, Steve Jobs, Dalai Lama” … so all year long people would ask who Santa Knows would be that year. Have to tell you … sitting here this morning in my cozy Studio Kitchen … and writing about Santa Knows …. I’m really missing the guy!

The Beast Within

Recently I got some disturbing news … unexpected and personal … anyway the details are unimportant. And the second the truth of it hit me, I threw up …. literally. First time that’s ever happened. My loved ones understand this reaction in context: I may be a handful (as my mother says), but I aways keep my dinner down.

Here’s the amazing thing: the whole time I was convulsing, I heard one thing over and over — ‘this is one of the greatest gifts of your life’. Now with some distance, I understand the profound truth of that message. Time to face the beast within.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve always heard an inner voice. As a child I heard it audibly; now it just comes through as a thought … one from outside … generally in conflict with whatever I was actually “thinking” at the time. My talent, like a runaway horse, always scares me, but the voice never does. And I ALWAYS listen.

In the studio I let go of reality … fully surrender … and the voice takes over. It bypasses my conscious mind entirely, going right to muscle memory. That’s particularly true with portraits, when it’s essential to leave the self behind. In the early days of painting I would dip in and out of that zone. As I progressed, I transcended more and more. For me the real difficulty of painting is to stay in that unknowable place … because when you come out, it is the beast you hear.

I remember the first painting done completely in the zone … it was very early, a self portrait, almost two decades ago. When I look at it now, I know the voice is magic … I’m honestly not sure I could paint this well again, even today.

Buster

Here’s Buster. Hopefully in a week or so he’ll be dry enough to ship to Mississippi. I was not sure the ears-back pose would turn out, but Rheta was good with it … she said that’s how he always looks. I think he looks really sweet.

Fantasy

This might surprise you, but my fantasy has never been to be famous. My fantasy is to be average. OK. As a public opinion researcher I truly understand what that is. So maybe just slightly above average.

I remember driving through the mountains of North Carolina in my 20’S and seeing a trailer nestled sweetly in a valley and thinking that the person who lives there works in a furniture mill. I would fantasize for hours about how their alarm clock would go off and they would get up for their shift.

But I never wanted to wake up in the morning and look in the mirror and do this. In 43 minutes.

Self Portrait With Gray Sweater

There’s something strange in the air today … I woke up with a profound sense of “difference” in the world … as if I went to sleep in one reality, and woke up this morning in an entirely different universe. It’s not a bad feeling … just very odd. So … what’s a painter to do… Self Portrait in Favorite Gray Sweater. Have to say I like where the hair is going!

Buster In Progress

Here’s a new piece, Buster, after the first work session. My dear friend Rheta Grimsley has commissioned a couple of pet sketches in the past, and we are surprising her husband with this new one for Christmas. Rheta is a fabulous dog lover, one of her books is a dog memoir … wonderful story … so I consider her sort of an expert. Having her consider my dog sketches collectable is a big compliment. I’m so thankful for that.