The Art of Healing

When the plans for Eskenazi Health were taking shape, 

one of the first considerations was that art

should be an important focus, both of the building itself 

and within its walls. This has been accomplished

with great success; many artists responded to the hospital's

request for proposals and the results are hanging

from the ceilings and walls, as well as on the exterior

of the building itself. It's a beautiful place,

making the experience of healing more tolerable, 

which can all too often be difficult and tragic 

for both patient and caregiver alike.

However, the use of art to provide a pleasant and 

inspiring atmosphere for the patients is not new.

In 1914, Hoosier Group artist William Forsyth led 

a group of his contemporaries in creating murals intended

to "promote healing and wellness." When completed

in 1916, patients could view artwork by Forsyth, John

Hardrick, Otto Starke, and others. 

The most famous of these artists was, perhaps, 
T. C. Steele, whose paintings now hang in a room 

at the south end of the Eskenazi Health main lobby.

The fate of the others have not been quite so fortunate.

Their story, and of the efforts to restore them has been

detailed in an article in this week's Nuvo Weekly.

Perhaps the doctors who practice at IU Health and at

Eskenazi might get together, contribute an hour or two of

their fees to restore these paintings and to

save the Indiana Medical History Museum. 

And, when you get the opportunity, go take a look 

at Steele's paintings. Titled The Four Seasons,

Steele's landscapes drew me into their composition;

I could almost smell the grass, the trees, and hear

the sound of the water as it flowed in the creek.

And the artist used little to no black in his work,

making him a man after my heart.

PC Troubles and A Work In Progress

I am having a bit of trouble with my PC. 

Don't know why I should have problems, but it's definitely 

annoying. I try to be careful to not do anything 

stupid on-line, but who knows?

In the meanwhile, here's a photo of my current painting project.

I am trying to create an impression of what I see

when I look into the Natatorium swimming pool, the way

the shadows of the ripples appear to undulate

on the bottom of the pool, even as those same ripples 

reflect light off the surface of the water.

I anticipate that the outlines on the bands of color

will evolve to blend more into the blue ground.

How Cubism Was Invented ...

...The model moved.
For several weeks I attended a painting class that was divided
into sessions for still life and portrait painting. I hated the first sessions;
I spent four years in high school art classes drawing still lifes 
and swore I'd never do another one. The ones set up for the little class 
were nothing I'd have chosen for myself; I was neither stirred 
nor motivated by them. 
I also did four years of drawing portraits where I showed 
a knack for distorting the features of my subjects. 
Over time, I learned to draw them "correctly,"
but at the cost of individuality, of any distinct personality of line.
So I was torn when I drew this young woman, between the need to 
regain that ability make the painting "look like" my subject
and just painting for the love of color. 
Yep, she sure is crooked, but she resembles her real self, too.
I hadn't painted a human from life for, like, forever, and it shows, 
but I am happy that I just chose to let the brush sort of
fall where it wanted, to let the color do its job.

The Color of Clouds

For the past several weeks, I have been attending a small painting class downtown 

at the Herron School of Art and Design, on the IUPUI campus.

It has been interesting to see the displays of student projects that have

been hung in various spots throughout the building.

Among the ones I saw tonight was this project that I assume was meant

to  demonstrate the effect of reflected light on a surface.

I couldn't see inside the cones other than for some bits of solid color

at the scalloped edges of the shapes. The color inside each reflected 

a pastel version of itself onto the cone above.

As pretty as it is, it could make a really stunning effect

if enlarged to spread over a bigger surface.

This is to prove that digital images can be grainy. 

The photographer (me!) insisted on recording for posterity 

the reflection of moonlight on the edges on clouds.  

It looked to me like a milky streak in a chunk of blue agate.

"Of course he's beneath us, he's an actor!"*

These paintings are small, about 5" X 7" each, meant as sketches 

for a project to show the Ohio River and boats that 

cruised her currents, as well as of scenes and events. 

I made them a couple years ago, along with some drawings,

 adaptations of navigation charts to give the viewer a sense of 

the place, and an idea of where the scene was located.

When the first steamboat journeyed the river just over 

200 years ago on its way to New Orleans, it paddled through 

primeval forests, where flocks of birds, among them 

the now-extinct Passenger Pigeon and Carolina

Paroquette, were so thick they counted in the millions.

During migration, the flocks blackened the 

sky for days. Hunters did not have to aim their 

guns at the birds, but just fired into the air 

for them to fall to the ground, more dead birds

than they could eat. 

The Ohio River got its name from the Native American 

phrase meaning "beautiful river." It would be an odyssey 

to attempt to explore and to effectively portray 

its beauty. One worth doing, if I can find a way. 

*A line from one of my favorite movies, My Favorite Year, 

starring Peter O'Toole. I laugh and laugh every time

I see it. What has it got to do with the little paintings?

Nuthin', other than for the fact that so many people 
do not understand why I want to tell this story.

(But of course I'm beneath them, I'm an artist.) 
Those who bother to listen think 

it's a great story, and are enthralled.