Champagne & Diet Coke

Some days I'm sitting on a bench talking with Danny, a homeless gent who sleeps in plastic trash bags to keep out of the rain. The next day I listened to a man with eight polo horses explain the need for his eight horses, and just which ones he wants paintings of.

Danny, I pay to sketch him. Mr. Polo, I charge to draw and paint his horses. Never really think about what I do as an artist, just do what I need to, to get by. For ten or more years I spent my mornings sketching people in the different parks along the Fox River. I wasn't looking for possible paintings, just honing my drawing skills. Two men sharing a picnic table and sharing stories of grandchildren, perhaps… As I sketch people, I have always added my own story to each drawing.

A 12-year-old pushes her 5-year-old brother on a swing as her mother sits chatting with another mother, who is nursing a baby. For this one I break out the paints. Panic sets in as I lay all the colors out. “Calm down, just get what I can,” I tell myself. My entire body is into getting this painting done. “Keep sitting there please,” I whisper to myself, placing the first stroke.

Speed painting is something I practice a lot, but will it pay off here. With paint on the steering wheel, turpentine splashes , my paper towel loaded with paint falls to the gas pedal. My only concern is getting the one nursing’s, blouse just right - using one correct stroke. “Oh my goodness! A little girl has joined them! With a deep breath I add the little girl. The background I'll leave and finish later. The figures are my goal here. “What great legs, I must get them,” I think. My mind is racing now as I see my painting taking shape. The prize is mine now, and I even have time to put a tree in and some grass.

The next day I'm off to a polo match, to sketch horses and saddles and whatnot. This is what I do, This is what a lot of artists do. We drive noisy old cars that scare horses, stop polo matches and cause people to stop sipping their champagne. Women in beautiful summer dresses with big sun hats, stare at me. Men who stepped out from Esquire next to me with my diet Coke and paint splattered pants. A rider checks me out from the top of his handsome steed. He isn't pleased with my 13-year-old Cutlass, it needs work. The wood box in the back seat keeps the front seat up right. The struts and shocks beat out a nice cadence as I drive. It gets me to where I'm going. Then my host comes running with a smile and leads me to his horses. He runs and gets me some champagne. With champagne and Diet Coke, I am ready for some work.

The World Beneath My Studio Window

Over the years life has been happening beneath my studio window; the window that inspires me and lets in the light that makes my paintings. Some days the sounds outside bring me to my window and I get to see a different town, that I call home.

Mike, a fisherman, caught fish every morning and afternoon below my window, and released each and every one of them after taking a picture first. Big and small mouth bass, catfish, and sheepshead. All felt Mike's hook, some several times. Fishing kept Mike and others on the straight and narrow. They lived up the hill at the Mission, where you are expected to give up drinking and smoking and maintain a Christian life. It was nice having my morning chats with Mike and his friends.

Lou, another fisherman, fished for his dinner. Sometimes he kept his catch in the city fountains. City workers could not figure out how the fish from the river got up into the fountains. The fountains were a source of entertainment for me. One Sunday morning, Danny, one of our friendly homeless gentlemen, decided the fountains were a great place to wash up. Stripped to his shorts, he climbed in and took a rather cool bath. The police came but did nothing, they let Danny finish and go on his way. As long as no one called and he did no harm to the fountain they let him continue with his bath.

It isn’t always harmless fun below my window. A few fights broke out over who finished the beer and sometimes teens thought it would be fun to get one of the light poles swaying to see if the glass fixture would tumble down.

Kim, who posed for me, often brought sandwiches and bottled water for the homeless who sometimes hung out around the building. Once she had a parade of men up to use my microwave for a hot meal. That was a real surprise opening the studio door to her knock and seeing 4 homeless men with her. I explained to her my landlord did not want these men hanging around and doing their business behind the dumpsters behind our building…

I remember my mother feeding hobos who came to our backdoor. Kim had my mother’s heart. When Kim posed I knew she'd bring something for the men downstairs. Two pizzas one time, a box of danish rolls another time. Karyn, another model, did likewise. Not so much as Kim, but she found ways of helping the homeless.

I have always tried to keep the outside world out of my studio, but sometimes models made me look at the world below my window. I remember a young couple fighting about how much money they lost at the casino. They sat on a park bench arguing about losing $1,500 and what the other was thinking. That was the same bench Danny, wrapped in trash bags, slept on during a terrible rain storm. That was the same bench someone tore from the ground and tossed into the river…