Derek Weiler 1968-2009

Derek (detail), oil on canvas,

collection of Gerald and Marie Weiler
© Shannon Reynolds

I’ve been thinking about Derek all day, reading the tributes, and wanting to write something myself. But when I found myself using the past tense, my heart broke and I couldn’t continue. Finally I decided that if I addressed myself directly to Derek, the brutal finality of the grammar might be a little easier to take.

Derek,

I have your advance reader’s copy of Roberto Bolano’s 2666 on my nightstand, your mixed tapes and cds throughout my music collection, your face in many photographs documenting some of the best moments of my life, your portrait as Fifth Business (the role you chose to enact, so aptly, in my Dramatis Personae painting series) in my living room, your words and gestures in my memory—everywhere traces of you, and yet, unbelievably, never again you.

You insinuated yourself so easily, so modestly, but so indelibly into so many lives. I doubt that anyone who knew you for more than a few minutes ever forgot you. I can’t believe I’ve had the privilege of your friendship for over 15 years. Your boyish good looks (a cliché turn of phrase that was made for you) and affable demeanour belied your strong opinions. But you never shied away from debate and were always willing to consider other perspectives. You were the beating heart of our long-running book club, and you kept us punctual, diligent, and well-read—feeding us links to interesting supplementary articles and reviews on our blog, not to mention the celebrity status you conferred on us when we attended the IFOA annually. Without you, how can we go on?

In my mind I can conjure you so easily. I’ve been remembering one gesture in particular, one I’ve seen you make so often, the one where you scoop your arm around Sari’s shoulder and pull her next to you, then look down at her while she looks up at you and exchange that perfectly intimate smile only possible between people deeply in love. The memory makes me gasp—at the realization of what you gave, of what you had, and of what we’ve all lost. Too soon, Derek, much too soon.

You’ve left a uniquely Derek shaped hole in my life, and in so many others. Thank you for spreading yourself around so much. I’m so glad I knew you. I’ll never stop missing you.

Shannon

Points of Departure

Opens tomorrow. The opening reception is Sunday, March 1 from 2-4. All are welcome. Click the invitation for a larger/more legible image. Or follow this link for more details.

Facing my self portrait

I will be part of a three person exhibition coming up at the end of the month. The Art Gallery of Peel is in my childhood home town and the exhibition, entitled Points of Departure, features three artists: me, Phil Delisle, and Linda Martinello, who grew up in the region but have since moved away. We all find different points of departure for our work: portraiture is mine. The curator has asked me to include the self portrait I painted as part of my Dramatis Personae series.

Self portrait as director, oil on gessoed board, 16" x 20"

The portrait, painted on a piece of gessoed board, is now four years old, and has been languishing at the back of a stack of paintings in my studio. Today I pulled it out to consider how to frame it for the show. Facing an old self portrait always produces a bit of a Dorian Gray moment for me—except that it’s the flesh and blood me who’s changing. In this self portrait I was playing the role of a theatrical director so I tried to assume an expression of directorial authority. Looking at my other self portraits, though, it seems that my expression is always the same. Maybe the roles I try to project are all in my head. In any case, this exercise of reexamining an old self portrait with the objectivity of several intervening years is a bit strange. I remember the struggle for self-depiction and wanting to walk the line between self-flattery and self-deprecation. It’s always a fine line, no matter how we represent ourselves—in words, in paint, in facebook profiles. I’m sure I’ll paint many more self portraits over the course of my life—probably not with the same frequency as Rembrandt, but possibly with the same need to chronicle my own life and my painting style and ability in my changing face.

Points of Departure runs from February 25 – March 22 at the
Art Gallery of Peel located in the Peel Heritage Complex,
Wellington St. E.
Brampton, ON L6W 1Y1

Outlier

Outlier--still life with tomatoes, oil on board, 5" x 7", 2009

Drawn from life

from top left: male profile, charcoal and gouache on Fabriano paper, 10" x 12"; female profile, charcoal and chalk on Whatman paper, 14 1/2" x 11"; Chris, charcoal on BFK Rives, 12 1/2" x 22"

Drawing the human figure from life is one of the great pleasures of being an artist. Nothing has quite the same sense of immediacy: landscapes and still lifes tend to hold still, but a live model is always a time limited challenge. These are a few sketches from some recent life drawing sessions.

January 11

Winter citrus, oil on maple panel, 11 3/4" x 11 3/4", 2009

Hand Planes, Dürer, and a Cure for Melancholy

I am about to begin the second of my hand tool paintings. You can see the first and the story behind it here. This subject of this painting will be two mitre planes of my own—generously given to me by their maker, Bill Carter, and his wife Sarah.

Since my first tool painting (done in exchange for a favour by my neighbour and plane maker, Konrad Sauer), these hand tools and the makers and users of them have captured my interest. I’ve been on the lookout for examples of other artists depicting hand tools in their work.

Albrecht Dürer's much discussed Melencolia I
(hand plane in foreground)

Recently, I was contacted by Bill Duce who came to my site via Konrad’s. He reminded me of Albrecht Dürer’s famous etching, Melencolia I, in which a winged female figure sits, chin on hand, with woodworking tools, including a hand plane, strewn at her feet and many other meticulously rendered elements rich with symbolism and allegory surrounding her. I have a book of Dürer’s work by French scholar Marcel Brion and I read his chapter on Melencolia I. In it Brion writes that there was a distinction at that time in the early 16th century between morbid and healthy types of melancholy, and that Dürer himself didn’t fear melancholy, but frequently submitted to it. Melancholy is not uncommon for artists and it is good to be reminded that in earlier definitions melancholy wasn’t viewed as a necessarily interminable or devastating condition, but rather as, in Brion’s words, “a salutary sort of restlessness, resembling the recuperative weariness of an artist after a productive period of toil”. How gratifying, I think, considering that I have often experienced dry periods of relatively melancholic inertia following intense periods of work—even while sitting in my light-filled studio surrounded by the tools of my trade, the evidence of my prior labours, and books full of inspiration.

Reading beyond Brion, I found an article by Eric G. Wilson, a professor of English and author of “Against Happiness: In Praise of Melancholy”, in which, citing Keats, Handel, and Georgia O’Keefe as examples, he embraces the idea of melancholy as a possibly necessary precursor to inspiration that should not be denied. Wilson decries our contemporary addiction to happiness as a craze that leaves little room for the recuperative introspective gloom that so many artists seem to require. In Brion’s book he writes that Dürer would have been acquainted with a statement by Ficino that “all men who have excelled in art have been melancholy”, and maybe this allowed him to feel melancholic but never wholly succumb to despair. This morning, reading my Globe and Mail, I read Ivor Tossell’s column in which he writes that Facebook has created a strange alternate universe of perpetually happy people where no one wants to commit social networking suicide by admitting to any kind of melancholic impulse—where we are all poseurs in a collective game of putting our best persona forward. To this day I don’t know what to make of Facebook. I check in from time to time, but I find I honestly can’t keep up with or add to the constant chipper buzz. How can anyone find any kind of inspiration or even recognize one’s own thoughts in such a cacophony? I’ll take my salutary melancholy in the studio.

To tie this back to hand planes, let me just say that I was in one of those recuperative states following an intense bout of forced creativity for Star Portraits when I decided to contact Konrad about that favour I owed him. Following my afternoon with him in his shop becoming acquainted with the tools of a trade altogether foreign to my own, inspiration, and a kind of awe at the ingenuity of people who chart their own paths in life, appeared and lead me down the most fascinating path—one that has found me with two mitre planes of my own and paintings to paint. Unlike Dürer’s melancholic figure, I’m inspired for the moment, but I won’t deny melancholy when she strikes again, I’ll just take heart, recognizing like so many artists before me that inspiration often arrives in the most unexpected places.

Green Chysanthemum

Green Chrysanthemum, oil on board, 5" x 7", 2008

My last painting of 2008.

January 5

Pomegranates, oil on maple panel, 11 3/4" x 11 3/4", 2007

Pomegranates figured in my painting for last year's Christmas card as well. Somehow, I neglected to post it here.

Pomegranates (detail), 2007

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I hope you had a wonderful holiday season.

Once, a still life with pineapple and pomegranates, oil and gold leaf on plywood panel, 15 3/4" x 19 3/4"

This is the full painting that I used as the basis of my Christmas card this year. I was thinking about the incredible abundance of once exotic and rare fruits, especially in this frigid part of the world. Given the unpredictability of our climate, our fuel costs, and our economy, to say nothing of the new focus on locally produced foods, I thought I'd paint some of these exotic-become-commonplace subjects before they become the exclusive fare of the super rich once again.

Interconnectedness

Mitre plane in brass and boxwood, oil and gold leaf on panel, 10" x 10"

Last winter, our neighbour Konrad milled a window sill for us. Konrad Sauer happens to be a highly sought after maker of custom hand planes. You can see his work here: Sauer and Steiner. In exchange for the sill we agreed I would paint at least one still life portrait of a piece or pieces from his hand tool collection.

Only in the last couple of weeks, thinking a still life painting would be a nice break after the frenetic pace of Star Portraits, did I finally make it over to his shop to get a bit of a primer on hand planes, woods, and metals, and to select one of his storied collection of hand tools as the subject for a still life painting.

We settled on an amazing miniature mitre plane, made from the brass of an old tenon saw back and infilled with English boxwood. The brass bears the stamped marks of the original saw maker alongside those of the plane maker, Bill Carter, who lives in Leicester England with his wife Sarah, and who has made more than 700 planes in his lifetime. You can see Bill and Sarah’s excellent website here: Bill Carter Hand Made Planes. The little plane is an exquisite object in itself, all the moreso when you realize that it is a precise, efficient woodworking tool. These tools of astonishing beauty are made by hand with care and precision and are purchased by wood workers and furniture makers who hand craft wood into furniture or cabinetry or musical instruments that will last for generations. What a contrast to the disposable world of cheaply produced goods most of us live in.

I have the utmost respect for these makers of hand tools—I like to think we share a certain sensibility. I am looking forward to recording some of these unique tools, so unfamiliar to many of us, and so different from the mass produced tools so readily available, in still life portraits.

The story might have ended here, but it does not…

In my larger painting series, I have often incorporated text into the backgrounds of my paintings—to suggest a narrative that runs deeper than the surface of the person or thing I have painted. I am always drawn to story and to the written word. When I got the little plane back to my studio, I took a look at the website of its maker: Bill Carter Hand Made Planes

Mitre plane in brass and boxwood, oil and gold leaf on panel, detail

After reading about Bill’s plane making I decided to contact Bill and Sarah to request permission to use the stories from their website in the background of my painting, to which they readily and generously agreed. Imagine my surprise when several days later I opened my inbox to discover that I would be the extremely honoured recipient of two Bill Carter miniature mitre planes—tenon saw brass bodies and ebony infill, stamped with Bill’s name and address across the heels. I was so moved. I am extremely flattered. Of course I intend to show my gratitude with portraits of the miniature planes for Bill and Sarah. Almost overnight I have become an amateur of hand tools with a tiny but meaningful collection. I will post portraits of the tools on this blog in the future.

How amazing that in repaying the kindness of a neighbour, I have made a connection with a couple an ocean away who will bestow on me an incredible gift, which I will attempt to repay and each of us will have a little something of the other to remind us of this connection. How unexpected, and how lovely.

STAR PORTRAITS

I can’t resist posting about my current art endeavour.

In November I learned I had been selected to appear as a participating artist in STAR PORTRAITS—a television series based on a British show of the same name which aired on BBC One for three seasons and boasted the largest audience of any arts show ever in the UK.

In Canada, Star Portraits is produced by PTV Productions Inc. and will air on Bravo! in the Fall of 2009. The series combines the art of portraiture with celebrity biography and is hosted by Canadian musical theatre star Louise Pitre. The premise for each 1/2 hour episode is that three artists meet a mystery Canadian celebrity on camera at a location revealed only the day before. The artists spend a few hours hastily sketching the celebrity and then return to their studios where they have two weeks to finish the portraits. Afterwards, the artists and celebrity reconvene, the portraits are unveiled, and the celebrity chooses one for his or her own collection. Of the remaining portraits, six will be chosen by the Portrait Gallery of Canada for their permanent collection and the rest will be auctioned off at Joyner Waddington’s Auction of Important Canadian Art, with proceeds going to the celebrities’ charity of choice.

It's nerve-wracking to be in the spotlight, and two weeks is a very tight deadline for a finished portrait in oils, but I think the complete series will be great to watch.

Drawing and painting as a spectator sport (at least one in which I am part of the spectacle) is very new to me, and I was ill prepared for the performative act of painting on demand—in an unfamiliar space with unfortunate lighting and television cameras inches from my canvas. But in spite of my anxiety at being on camera and in the public eye, I am very happy to have had occasion to paint the portrait of such an exceptional Canadian as…

To learn more, stay tuned, or visit the official Star Portraits site to see the entire cast and learn more about the show. See if you can guess which celebrity I painted. I’ll post more closer to the air dates. My star portrait will appear on this blog and on my website after my episode airs.

March 4

Cat jump, India ink on paper, 5" x 7"

This quick ink drawing--inspired by my cat when he was young--is pinned on my studio wall. When I saw the topic for this week's Illustration Friday I decided to take it off the wall and post it here and there.

February 27

Winter hope, oil on wood panel, 9 3/4" x 15 3/4"
SOLD

Unfortunately my high hopes for the subject of this painting, a hyacinth bulb, were dashed when I realized that in spite of the healthy root system and promising green sprout, my bulb (and all of my hyacinth bulbs this year) was a dud. It grew just that much and then gave up. So I'm saving my hopes for spring. Today, with even more snow on the ground and a forecast low of -21 C, I think I may have a long wait. Last fall I was on a bit of a quest to find hyacinth glasses, which seem to be very common in Europe and virtually unheard of here (except for the clumsy versions that sometimes come prepackaged in a gift box with a hyacinth bulb). So I was excited when I spotted this vase with its hyacinth glass shape in IKEA. I have two large ones, which provided successful habitat for two amaryllis bulbs, and two smaller ones, which may have played a role in arresting the development of the hyacinths. Maybe I shouldn't have messed around with the vase designer's intentions. Maybe it was a case of bad chi. But now, all hope for this bulb is abandoned--except in the painting where (in Grecian urn fashion) hope springs eternal.

February 21

Flint and Ro-ro

Flint, oil on hardwood panel, 24" x 24"

Ro-ro, oil on hardwood panel, 24" x 24"

These paintings can be hung at any distance from each other so long as the eye contact between cat and boy is maintained. Like this:

Or this:
I'd like to see them hanging in a stairwell.

These are the first two finished portraits in my new Feet of the Master(ed) series. I first experimented with the physical relationship between paintings in my Suspect Profiles series when I hung my portrait mug shots according to the height of the subjects. I think this series will present some great opportunities to mess around with wall placement again.

Valentine's Day Self Portrait

Valentine's Day self-portrait, oil on panel, 12" x 12"

Even though I am a portraitist, there is something about self portraits I still find daunting. I painted this one, today, to rise to the challenge proposed by one of the blogs I love to look at: The Portrait Party
For the month of February, the blog invites people to celebrate 'the greatest love of all' (a la Whitney Houston) with self portrait submissions. I think this will be mine.

January 28

Billy and Suzie (nearing completion), oil on hardwood panel, 24" x 36"

I've begun a series of paintings with the working title "At the Feet of the Master(ed)". In it, I hope to depict the close and complex relationships between people and their pets. Given the multi-billion dollar pet industry and new niche businesses like doggie daycare, professional dog walking services, and gourmet and organic pet food companies, the question of who is master of whom is more apropos than ever. I'm not sure whether I'll depict my human subjects in part, as in this painting, or whole, but as I learned in my much earlier Drinks in Hand series, in which I painted only the hands of my sitters holding favourite drinks, some models are more willing if they know they won't be readily identifiable in the finished paintings.

Below, is a series of photos of the painting in progress.

January 20

Afternoon Nap
oil on hardwood panel, 10" x 16"

After some months away, I'm planning some changes to the blog to better reflect my current work. More soon.

September 14

Norm
oil on stretched canvas, 11" x 14"
collection of the artist

Posting may be a little sporadic over the next weeks. I just finished my once per term stint as exam proctor and marker at the local university, and now I'll be turning some of my efforts to our interminable home renovations.

August 30

Whippets at Bayswater
graphite and gouache on wood, 10" x 10"

This is a very preliminary sketch for a painting in a series I'm beginning.