Entry - 4.10.21

 

I

I looked out the passenger window barely conscious of the shabby businesses and rundown houses that bordered the service road of Sunrise Highway, a conduit that had been an inescapable and abiding feature of my environment since my earliest childhood. Our family home was situated a few blocks from the highway, only a sprawling shopping plaza providing a critical buffer between this active thoroughfare and our residential enclave. Having experienced a number of transformations during my youth, this once sluggish byway punctuated with countless stoplights had evolved into a multi-laned superhighway sandwiched between two service roads. Now, whenever out in our yard, day or night, I experienced the rumbles, roars and squeals of cars and trucks racing by our neighborhood, a background din so persistent that regular exposure had deafened my ears to its presence.

I don't think my circumstances would be that different from most other kids growing up on Long Island in the 1960's. With the end of World War II, an insatiable demand for housing had spurred a development boom that eventually consumed every last scrap of available land however rugged, marshy or sloping. During this frenzy of development, historic Long Island was eradicated and the natural landscape subdued. A network of roads was established to serve the exploding population, and with every passing year traffic congestion grew worse and worse. Small errands within just a few miles of home would take forever. And while counties and municipalities rushed to address the needs of communities that seemed to pop up overnight, only the most essential services were provided. There were few cultural institutions. Public transportation was unreliable and inadequate. For real employment opportunity, New York City was your only reasonable destination. Long Island had been turned into an extended bedroom community provisioned by numerous shopping centers and malls and served by an enormous network of school districts. My mantra in those days was: suburbia is a place with all the problems of a city and none of its amenities.

But I wasn't thinking about the deficiencies of Long Island that day. I was embarking on an endeavor that would take me to New York City for an extended stay, and I was occupied with my private thoughts, still plotting out the details of how I would proceed with my project. As my father exited onto Deer Park Avenue, my mind turned to logistics – how I would navigate the trains and subways with my unwieldy gear and what objectives I needed to accomplish each day once I had reached my destination. Though my plans were a bit involved, I was excited at the prospect of getting out of the family home and immersing myself in work.

About a year earlier, while living in Brooklyn during my grad school studies, an untenable situation had developed with my apartment-mate which necessitated an urgent call to my parents seeking their permission to return home for an extended stay. They did not hesitate to give their okay. Even though my relationship with my parents was quite good, I was still deeply appreciative of their ready willingness to take me in again after my fairly brief foray into “independence”. As an expression of gratitude, I began tackling many of the niggling chores that had been left neglected of late around the ol' homestead. I spent weeks out in the yard mowing, weeding, raking, edging and trimming. I particularly recall inching along the street-side curb on my butt in the summer heat, pulling out the stubborn weeds that had penetrated through the asphalt and always refused to surrender easily to their fate. How many times as a young boy, head bowed between knobby knees splayed out from the legs of my ridiculously short shorts, had I performed this very same duty? After all my struggles to obtain an education, I couldn't help but feel a little amused at my situation... and disconcerted too.

Meeting my college expenses and getting established in an apartment had badly depleted my meager savings, so I had made an effort, somewhat ineffectually, to obtain local employment. Throughout my grad school years, I had served as a consultant at a state agency, had tutored children in NYC's Chinatown and had worked as a clerk at a 7-Eleven, never earning a substantial salary but always securing just enough cash to get by. A financial award from my college and a school loan had been instrumental in keeping me afloat as I had finished up my studies. Now that I was out of grad school, a quickly dwindling reserve of savings was all I had to meet my expenses. But all the same, I never felt constricted and, oddly enough, always seemed to have sufficient funds to meet my immediate needs.

As we proceeded along Deer Park Avenue, a two lane thoroughfare that, passing through some residential areas lined with shade trees, had retained some semblance of charm, we didn't talk much. My father was a quiet and gentle soul seldom asserting his presence forcefully on his children's lives. His impact was in deeds and not words. He was the epitome of dependability, always available to assist us, without complaint, in our youthful ventures and high jinks. His parenting style was definitely “hands off”, but, if you needed him, he would be out the door and on his way in a matter of minutes, day or night. The silence we shared wasn't awkward. One of the greatest comforts of familial relations is that the need to entertain or impress is nonexistent; too many years of daily essential contact had transpired for such trivial concerns to matter.

My father pulled into the railroad station parking lot, and I directed him to move out of the regular flow of traffic passing by the terminal to drop off travelers. I would need time to unload and organize my supplies. Once the car came to a stop in an inactive sector of the lot, I started to open my door when my father extended his hand to me. He was holding a wad of bills.

“Listen,” he said, “I appreciate the work you've been doing at the house, and I'm sure you might need a little money.”

I was very moved. Though we had never wanted for necessities at our home, I knew that money was always tight, leaving virtually no room for frivolous extravagances. This contribution certainly meant a real sacrifice for him.

“No, Dad. Really. I'm doing okay,” I replied, conveying as much confidence as I could muster. “I've put some money aside. But I'll definitely let you know if I get desperate.”

I got out of the car and retrieved from the backseat a large, handled shopping bag and a backpack crammed with clothing and supplies. After slipping on the backpack, I fed through the open passenger's window an extremely long and bulky item that resembled a sail-wrapped spar. I crouched down into the car to say goodbye to my father and thank him for the ride, and he sort of smiled at me. “Hey. I know you're going to make it. You work so hard at it.”

I grinned. “I'm not so sure about that. But thanks.”

While I heaved my “spar” upon my shoulder and headed for the station, I felt a bit flummoxed. As I have stated earlier, my father was a man of few words. I believe that up till then I could count on one hand the number of conversations we shared that could have been categorized in the contemporary lingo as “heavy”, and here he was prognosticating optimistically about my future prospects... just as I was rushing to catch a train with my arms loaded with a ton of shit. I was far from certain about what he meant by “making it”. I wasn't even sure if I had any firm idea of what I was trying to accomplish, what achievement would leave me satisfied and if I even held faith in such an elusive concept as “success”. But one thing was clear to me: having witnessed my years of persistent effort, my father empathized with me and was becoming concerned about my welfare. I was grateful.

I entered the station, bought a ticket, then climbed the concrete steps to wait on the platform. When the train arrived, I clumsily boarded and squeezed through the heavy metal doors that opened onto the passenger compartment. Making my way down the aisle, being very careful not to inadvertently whack anyone in the head, I scanned the overhead racks to find a span long enough to accommodate my “spar”, which when standing on its end was nearly as tall as myself. I was peripherally aware of disconcerted and irritable stares following my activities as I hoisted my load onto the rack and took a seat. As the train accelerated out of the station, I pulled a book out of my bag, then slouched down in my seat, feeling relieved to have completed this first leg of my journey.

Gerard Wickham, Portrait of My Father, 1981

II

I had known John Matthews ever since my younger brother Tim had enrolled in his mother's cub scout pack. At a nearby schoolyard Tim and I would often run into John and his grandfather, a stocky, elderly man with a thick Irish brogue. Tim and I would be walking Sam, our Terrier Spaniel Mix, while they were giving Pepper, a purebred German Shepherd, an outing. Eventually, John started joining our band of neighborhood kids who socialized and played sports together – in particular participating in our daily half-field, self pitch baseball games throughout the summer months. John didn't have an easy time penetrating this tight-knit company of youths who for the most part shared a history that had commenced in babyhood. Being an outsider, he suffered a lot of ridicule and derision, but he never let it dampen his spirits, continually reappearing on our doorsteps ready to endure whatever new abuse would be meted out that day. I couldn't help but admire him for this.

Gerard Wickham, Portrait of John Matthews, 1980

With time, John successfully integrated into our band and, having weathered a storm of persecution for years, had developed into an independent, confident freethinker who pursued his interests and goals unfazed by the approbation or criticism of others. On his own, he competed with the swim team for years, cultivated a taste for serious literature and developed into a capable musician, traveling into the city to jam with Old-Timey performers while still in High School. Later on, after dropping out of NYU, he traveled widely throughout the United States, alone and with just a few bucks in his pocket.

Gerard Wickham, Portrait of John Matthews, 1980

After my journey on the Long Island Railroad and the NYC subway system, I arrived at the apartment John was subletting from a friend, a hairdresser who used the location both as his living quarters and for his business needs. The place was a modern and attractive, ground-level studio situated (if I recall correctly) in the eighties a couple of blocks off of Manhattan's Museum Mile. The walls and furniture were austerely white, a sign of the most contemporary taste at that time, and the floor was fashioned from highly polished, blonde wood. Because his friend actually worked on his affluent clientele in the unit, he had installed a quality sound system complete with a set of bathroom speakers to entertain his guests during hair washings and cuts. It seemed to be the perfect location to execute my task.

Gerard Wickham, Portrait of John Matthews, 1981

As planned, I set to work almost immediately, extricating my stretcher strips from their canvas cocoon and constructing a perfectly squared frame on which to spread my already measured and precut rectangle of canvas. I needed to get the first coat of gesso on my canvas before dinner, so it would be dry and ready for a second coat upon our return. At that time, I commonly added sand to my gesso to enhance its texture, and I retrieved a coffee can filled with Fire Island beach sand from my bag. After a few hours work, we headed out the door to enjoy a meal at one of the many local establishments, and later I applied my second coat of gesso to the canvas before going to sleep on the sofa.

Each ensuing day followed a predictable pattern. After a quick breakfast, John would leave for his job at a nearby lighting store while I prepared for a day of painting. Having selected the music that would accompany my efforts that day, I would set up my palette, mix up my thinning medium and then paint throughout the day. When John returned in the evening, I would finish up my work, clean my brushes and dispose of my palette before going out for dinner at a nearby affordable restaurant, selected by John whose weeks of living in the area had provided with an invaluable expertise. Then we'd head out for a night of drinking prior to returning to the apartment and starting the cycle once more. It was a rigorous routine, no doubt, but also one that sparked intense creativity and provided a sense of profound intellectual satisfaction.

Gerard Wickham, Portrait of John Matthews, 1983

As with most of my more ambitious works, the idea for this painting had germinated quite a while ago and had been kicking about my brain for some time. John, being a serious musician, had often introduced me to a lot of great new music. There was a piece that he played for me repeatedly which featured a narrator who in a booming, pompous voice shares his observations concerning the ladies of Paris. His pronouncements are all shallow and clichéd and, in my opinion, were intended to expose an underlying chauvinistic bias in the male perspective. My not-so-perfect memory suggests that the piece was written by Philip Glass, a composer about whom John was particularly enthusiastic at that time, but of that I'm far from certain. (Can anyone help me out here?) Anyway, I began to entertain thoughts of painting my own image of the ladies of Paris within which I would defy the offensive, hackneyed platitudes, exhibiting both a sexist and cultural bigotry, that were commonly promulgated in the media. My intention was to present a ring of four nude women who, rather than express the uniformity and anonymity of the stereotype, would, in pose and gesture, represent very specific attributes. Furthermore, opposing figures in my ring would exhibit traits that negated those of her corresponding partner. In a very abbreviated and immediate fashion, I hoped to lure the viewer into anticipating the satisfying affirmation of a familiar and comfortable perception only to discover that the image refused to permit that. But I want to make clear that my intentions were not pedantic. I had no interest in educating or enlightening my audience. My motive in creating this work was in presenting an image that embodied coinciding perspectives which seemingly negated each other.

To achieve this delicate balance between perspectives, I relied on technical and aesthetic devices that essentially cloaked specificity within a complex layering of surfaces and a linear network of gestural brushwork. I used no source material in this work, relying wholly on my imagination in its creation. There was no need for preliminary sketches, since the evolution of my conception contributed to its aesthetic character. The adjustments I made, the repositioning of figures and the distortions I imposed upon them, enhanced the visual allure of the painting while promoting the ambiguity I desired. I began by roughly laying out my composition on the canvas in super-thinned oils, then blocking in general areas of tone in thicker paints. I regularly reevaluated my efforts, sometimes deciding to scrape off wet layers of paint and at other times choosing to wipe off or smear it to permit the subsequent reworking of an area. In applying paint, I used a variety of brushes ranging in size from very fine to extremely broad, and I often worked with a palette knife. In wax-coated paper cups, I mixed up solutions of thinned paints which I applied to the canvas in rapid strokes, commonly working mechanically, relying on intuition to guide my hand. As the painting gelled, I became more comfortable using impasto, knowing that the basic structure of the work was established and would not change too dramatically later on. I painted my figures in tones of garish pinks and peaches, suggesting the lurid imagery of pornography which I presented incongruously within a high art setting. At one point, I indicated summarily a generic city skyline but, finding the reference too concrete and dissimilar to the rest of the painting, subsequently eradicated it almost entirely. When I sensed the work was nearing completion, I “redrew” the composition in dilute solutions of pure black and white applied in broad, gestural strokes. This process provided the image, up until then a loose arrangement of planes of color infiltrated by lines, with an overweening structure that more aptly suggested form while emphasizing anchors and thrusts within its composition.

As is my usual practice, I allowed for a final day of labor once the painting was ostensibly realized. I spent hours examining the work, scrutinizing it up close, then distancing myself from it or selecting different angles from which to view it. I addressed details that disturbed me, tonalities that needed adjustment and compositional irregularities. On this day, most of my effort was devoted to seeing rather than painting. When John returned from work that day, I happily informed him that the painting was complete.

Gerard Wickham, Portrait of John Matthews, 1983

I should add that throughout my stay John had been regularly discussing with me his intention to install full-spectrum lighting above the painting. He explained that most artificial light sources only provide light from a small segment of the spectrum, while full-spectrum lighting, as it name suggests, covers the entire spectrum, making it much more akin to natural light. Within his responsibilities at the lighting and décor shop, he had been installing these lighting systems in the homes of many wealthy Manhattanites and had seen firsthand the impact they achieved, particularly on artwork. He would be able to obtain all of the components from his shop for next to nothing by purchasing open-boxed items gleaned from returns or upgrades. I was skeptical and didn't encourage him. To my way of thinking, a painting is an independent object and, as such, must function within whatever lighting is available, whether natural, incandescent or fluorescent. Undaunted by my lack of enthusiasm, John began preparing for the installation, returning from his job each day with some new item. Eventually, in the evenings when I wasn't painting, he was up on a ladder, drilling, hooking up wires and positioning power tracks.

On the last evening of my stay, with his installation complete and the painting finished, wired and hung, still quite wet, upon the wall, John turned on the new lights and we stepped back to view The Ladies of Paris. I was amazed at how big a difference the full-spectrum lighting made. The painting really sang. I believe I can fairly state that we were both pretty satisfied. I had added a successful major work to my oeuvre, and John wouldn't have to share his living space with an abomination. We went out one last time to enjoy a celebratory dinner and down a few drinks. In the morning, I packed up my things, took one last look at the painting and headed out for home. The entire process had taken about a week, more or less.

Gerard Wickham, The Ladies of Paris, 1985

III

During the following months, John informed me that he often observed individuals outside his apartment stopping to examine The Ladies of Paris, which was hung beside huge windows that opened onto the sidewalk at street level. On one occasion, he responded to a tapping on the glass to find a group of young women gathered at the window who wanted to get a better look at the work and learn a little more about it. I must admit that my interest in executing this painting in situ was both practical and promotional. I wanted the work to be very large. It is, in fact, the largest single-paneled painting that I have ever created. I knew that, once the canvas was stretched and the painting executed, conveying it on public transportation would become an impossibility. But I was also motivated by a longing for exposure, specifically at a location that would experience a lot of street traffic from a potentially sophisticated, art-wise public. So I was very gratified to learn that the painting was inspiring interest.

Unfortunately, within a relatively short time, John informed me that his sublet was over and he had to move out of the apartment. But he would still be living in the general area. So, on a quiet evening, he and I carried The Ladies of Paris along the sidewalks of Manhattan, squeezing through crowds and rushing across streets to avoid traffic. If I had to move the painting today, I would carefully wrap it in several layers of thick plastic tarp and secure it with tape and rope, but I didn't think like that then. I was used to transporting paintings, often still wet, on buses and subways in all kinds of weather and never thought to cover them. My existence was a little more helter-skelter; there simply wasn't the time or the money to be dainty. Consequently, without any protection whatsoever, we lugged the painting through the city, with me painfully aware of the fact that just one strong gust of wind could be disastrous for such a large work, possibly misaligning or snapping the stretcher strips and distending the canvas beyond repair. I definitely had some misgivings but plunged ahead anyway. Naturally, it being New York City, pedestrians stopped us on the sidewalk, asked to see the painting and provided impromptu reviews on the street corners. Somehow, we pulled off the operation without a hitch.

Following a second move through the streets of Manhattan, I realized that The Ladies of Paris had to find a more permanent and secure birth. Therefore, much to John's chagrin, after one of my own moves within Brooklyn, we drove the U-Haul truck into Manhattan, fetched the painting and then stored it, resting on wooden supports and covered by a drop cloth, in my parents' basement – a sort of somber turn of events for a work whose origins were so social and public.

Afterword

I only painted my father once, though I drew him on multiple occasions. While posing for the portrait included here, he predictably fell asleep, his chin dropping to his chest leaving only the crown of his head visible to me. I used whatever information I had already gotten on the canvas and a lot of imagination to complete the portrait, while he enjoyed a profound slumber. A detail I noticed while examining the image in preparation of this blog entry is the reflection in my father's glasses of the long bars of fluorescent lighting secured to our kitchen ceiling which nearly obscures his eyes completely. Another observation is that he is pictured wearing the lightweight gray sweater that he favored above all others during the last decade of his life.

At the time of our drive to the Babylon train station which I recount at the beginning of this entry, I hadn't an inkling that my father would die in about a year and a half from complications arising from what should have been minor surgery. Our abbreviated conversation that day remains a powerful memory that has come to define my father for me.

On the other hand, I painted and drew John too many times to count. He was an ever-present fixture at my parents' home for many years, always amenable to pose whenever requested. He would often bring along his guitar, and I would sketch him while he performed his regular repertoire of traditional folk music and Simon & Garfunkel songs. Later, when we were both living on our own, John would stop by my apartment now and then and accommodate me by posing for a few hours, which was critically helpful in my first year of grad school during which I was still painting expressionist portraits.

In the years following my execution of The Ladies of Paris, John and I experienced a gradual deterioration in our friendship often resulting in misunderstandings, minor collisions and inane confrontations. Inevitably, a final falling out occurred resulting in the severance of all communication between us. That happened over thirty years ago. Now and and then, mutual acquaintances will mention John and provide a few murky morsels concerning his activities. Hilariously, I believe he ended up living in Paris.

In spite of my father's rosy prediction concerning my art career, I think I can reasonably state that professional success has eluded me. While pursuing my studies, I always believed that hard work and persistence would ultimately yield great fruit, and the positive reaction of my instructors to my work apparently endorsed that perspective. But I also realized once my schooling was over that many other factors, some within my own personality and some determined by random circumstance, would impact more significantly on my prospects than the quality of my work. After some years of futile promotional endeavor, I chose to accept a secure position at a government agency and remained there until my recent retirement. During that time, I continued to work diligently on my artwork, and perhaps my output over that period might demonstrate to some small degree how industry in isolation can result in a different kind of achievement. I guess, if that's what he had in mind that day in the LIRR parking lot, my father was clairvoyant.

In my estimation, The Ladies of Paris remains one of the most concise, effective and satisfying articulations of a technical and intellectual approach to painting that I initiated in the early 80's and explored for nearly a decade. Though today my artwork looks very different, I still view this painting with both great pride and pleasure. Having survived those early hazardous moves, the painting has since experienced better treatment: being transported properly and protected from moisture, extreme temperatures and accidental damage in storage. For nearly the last thirty years, this painting has sat in my current home's upstairs studio. As of this writing, The Ladies of Paris has never been exhibited publicly.

As always, I encourage readers to comment here. If you would prefer to comment privately, you can email me at gerardwickham@gmail.com.

Entry - 1.16.21

 Thus far in my life, most of the people I’ve come across have been wearing clothes, so I guess you can say that I’m used to it. On the other hand, even though there is a large contingent of folk out there who believe that it’s a blast to dress up the family pet in human attire, when I view the inevitable snapshot documenting the transformation, I can only opine that the poor animal looks ridiculous. It makes me wonder if, when the first human decided to don a raggedy animal skin to cover his or her nakedness, the rest of the troglodytes didn’t roll on the cave floor convulsed with laughter. “Man, you look ludicrous!” No. Wearing clothing is definitely not natural. But I must admit there have been times when riding the crowded NYC subways that I’ve wished I were ensconced in a couple of extra layers of clothing… maybe even a medieval suit of armor, or, while strolling past the Fire Island nude beach, a brief span of pristine sand littered almost exclusively with the carcasses of superannuated males festooned with bronzed paunches sagging beneath a rat’s nest of snowy white chest hair, that I have chosen to cast my eyes out to the vacant sea rather than subject myself to the ghastly spectacle.

Surely wearing clothing has many positive points, but, all the same, perhaps we've pushed a good thing a little too far. I mean each of us was born with a body. For better or worse, it's always with us. We can't escape it. It occupies space and asserts its existence on our consciousnesses a hundred times a day in a multitude of ways. It's in our best interests to make peace with our bodies and coexist rationally. To feel shock or shame at the display of nudity seems both laughable and aberrant. We must recognize that, though commonly just a head and two hands protrude exposed from our cocoon of clothing and footwear, there are also many square inches of hidden flesh under that protective covering equally deserving of attention.

Venus of Willendorf

Ever since Paleolithic times, artists have striven to develop approaches to represent the human body. Humans are pretty unique, the only fur-less and featherless biped I know of, so executing an easily recognizable likeness of one is fairly elementary. It would be difficult to draw a gopher that couldn't be mistaken for an agouti or a sparrow for a wren, but humans are a piece of cake. Be that as it may, the conventions the artist adopts for conveying the human form tells a lot about his or her perception of the human condition and reveals much about the society in which he or she has matured. It is my thinking that making even an abridged and imperfect survey of how the nude has been presented throughout art history has the potential to “expose” much. I'll give it a try.

Art for the ancient Egyptians was created for a variety of reasons, primarily relating to projecting governmental power and endorsing a state religion. Over Egypt's long history, murals and relief paintings served as vehicles to decorate space and document aspects of the population's experiences, both in practice and spiritually. Though the Egyptians produced many eloquent and poignant works of art, their society certainly didn't promote individual expression and originality in the arts. During a history that literally spans thousands of years, very little stylistic development occurred. I suspect that artists were viewed as craftsmen and did not hold a particularly high station within Egyptian society. Once an effective convention was formulated for depicting a being or object, it would be pointless to “reinvent the wheel” and establish new approaches for conveying this information to the viewer.

In depicting the human form, the Egyptian artist sought to present each part of the body in its most recognizable and archetypal configuration. So, the lower body, arms and head were presented in profile, while the eye and upper body were shown frontally. When tackling a nude, artists applied the same conventions, infusing their subject with neither greater import nor erotic energy and executing their portrayals with businesslike efficiency.

Based on my limited observations, I would say that the ancient Egyptians regarded nudity pragmatically. Living in a hot climate compelled people to wear as little clothing as possible. Men are usually portrayed wearing only a short wrap-around skirt and woman a sleeve-like dress that left the breasts exposed. Children wore nothing until reaching their teen years. I include here a painting of the royal family, the children presented naked. (Could you imagine a court portrait of a British aristocratic family displaying the children similarly?) Slaves were not provided with any clothing whatsoever. On the other hand, nude figures rarely appear in Egyptian art. Besides children, the most common individuals to be depicted in the nude are performers: dancers and musicians. This leads me to believe that, though the Egyptians viewed nudity practically, under the right circumstances, they could find it entertaining and arousing.

The art of ancient Greece celebrated the magnificence of Man. Whether analyzing sculpture, drama, poetry, ceramic decoration, architecture or philosophy, we cannot ignore one central fact: that the Greeks held faith in the unlimited potential of humans, both physically and intellectually. And it wasn't sufficient that the Greek citizen excel solely as an athlete or a scholar; ideally, he had to strive for a perfection of both body and mind. This objective reflects the Greeks' desire for balance. Two of their gods, Apollo and Dionysus, came to personify opposing, but equally appreciated, inclinations within the human psyche. While Apollo was the emblem of rationality, order, purity and discretion, Dionysus was the proponent of drunkenness, excess, wantonness, emotionalism and chaos. Though the Greeks were proponents of productive, structured labor, they also recognized the need for release and relaxation. A number of their festivals, intended to honor the gods, promoted that participants surrender to a frenzied, ecstatic mindset and pursue irrational, instinctive inclinations.

In Greek art, this longing for balance is most perfectly exposed in the employment of contrapposto, whereby the individual depicted is shown resting his or her weight on one stiff leg, while the other leg is relaxed and bent at the knee. This very natural pose impacts on every other aspect of the figure: the slope of the hips, the relationship of the shoulders, the tilt of the head. Wisely, the Greeks recognized that a static, symmetrical pose would not convey a sense of visual harmony as perfectly as a naturalistic one.

It was the norm (not the exception) for individuals to be portrayed unclothed in Greek art. How else could the artist pay homage to the majesty of Man? How else could the artist exhibit his understanding of human anatomy and mastery of his craft? The Greeks were comfortable with nudity. Their athletes trained and competed publicly in the nude. During some religious festivals, processions of naked men and women were organized. In fact, the Greeks believed that their ennoblement of the nude was a sign of their sophistication, a trait that separated them from the barbarians on their borders. But let's be clear about this, the Greeks did not believe that imperfect and deformed bodies were suitable for representation in art. Their goal was to express perfection and balance, so only the idealized human physique could facilitate their achieving this aim. Additionally, the Greeks determined that the male body was the most perfect vessel for communicating their faith in human potential.

The Romans shrewdly adopted Greek culture, perhaps their most manifest artistic innovation being the development of a style of realist portraiture which captured objectively, and at times brutally, the features of an individual in a sculptured bust. Many of the greatest works of Greek sculpture with which we are familiar today are known from Roman copies. But with the fall of the Roman Empire, the influence of the Greeks came to an end. This is unusual in that commonly a conquering people (in this case northern barbarian tribes) will embrace the culture of a more sophisticated, though defeated, civilization. Consider the history of China for example. But when Rome fell, the northern tribes were unable to sustain the kind of infrastructure and organization that would permit the production of refined, complex artworks.

During the Middle Ages, art became what I might call “purposeful”. Whether decorating a weapon or a ship, illustrating a book or adorning the interior of a church, art served a practical purpose. At times, it increased the value of or sanctified an object. At other times, it served as an educational tool, communicating a narrative to a largely illiterate population. In playing this role, it no longer mattered if art that represented the human form exhibited a knowledge of human anatomy or an urbane aesthetic as long as it effectively conveyed its intended message.

Once Christianity took hold in Europe, it brought with it the novel idea that pleasure was sinful. The concept of the seven deadly sins is a potent expression of a philosophy which prohibited many natural human proclivities and attributes such as pride, sloth, gluttony and lust. In this new cultural epoch, presenting the image of a naked human being that might inspire impure thoughts and provoke sinful activity was frowned upon. So representations of nudes are rare in Medieval art. On those occasions when artists did depict the unclothed human body, they were compelled to do so by an interest in conveying medical information, illustrating stories from the Bible or chronicling the lives of the saints. Their portrayals were crude, awkward and naive and exhibited no potential to arouse sexual desire in their audience.

During the 14^th century, Italy rediscovered Classical culture. This interest in ancient Greece and Rome impacted on nearly every aspect of Italian life. Technical innovation and scientific research, including anatomical study, were encouraged. Latin became the language of the educated elite and the lingua franca of the Catholic church. Scholars and aristocrats latinized their very names. The poetry, philosophy, histories, drama, architecture and literature of the ancients were investigated, and, of course, the visual arts were rejuvenated. As we all know, this period became known as the Renaissance. It occurred over centuries and eventually impacted on nearly every realm in Europe.

Exposure to the art of Greece and Rome led to the development of complex, sophisticated sculpture that portrayed the human body realistically and in anatomical precision while attaining an aesthetic perfection not achieved in Europe throughout the previous millennium. Suddenly, the contrapposto pose reappeared in art. Life-sized figures carved in marble or cast in bronze adorned the interiors and exteriors of churches and government buildings or occupied public squares. Large scale equestrian statues that celebrated rulers and warriors presided over city centers. Often the gods, goddesses and minor deities of the ancients were depicted in this period's art.

Artists of the Renaissance didn't just copy Classical Art; they made numerous innovations of their own. Unlike their Greek and Roman predecessors, Renaissance artists developed techniques that brought two-dimensional representation to an aesthetic level on par with sculpture. Initially, the fresco was the preferred medium of painting, but ultimately, because of their ease of use, illusionistic potential and durability, oil colors became nearly universally adopted. Very importantly, scientific rules for creating the illusion of perspective were established during the Renaissance. In Southern Europe, a style of representation that favored an idealized version of reality was adopted, while in the North art presented a harsher more illusionistic view. Artists chose to revisit themes from Classical literature and mythology but also determined that Biblical stories and contemporary notables were worthy of representation.

With a renewed interest in Classical Art, the nude once again became a viable subject for artists. They studied anatomy and participated in human dissections. Artists strove to understand the mechanics of the human body, and the nude was the perfect vehicle to display their newfound knowledge. At the same time, “Man” in all his physical and intellectual perfection once again became the centerpiece of every form of artistic expression. Paintings and sculpture that celebrated the glory of Man were embraced and financed by society's secular and religious elite – the nude being regarded as a completely acceptable means for expressing this new focus on the individual. In addressing the nude, many artists retained a sensibility very much in line with their Greek and Roman forebears. They employed the nude dispassionately to assert their skill and knowledge while achieving an astounding aesthetic perfection. I would include Michelangelo, Leonardo Da Vinci and Albrecht Dürer among this class of artists. But during this period, we also first see artists presenting the nude as an object of carnal interest. Art now held the power to arouse as well as edify.

Sandro Botticelli - The Birth of Venus - 1485

Michelangelo - David - 1504

Titian - Venus of Urbino - 1534

Caravaggio - Amor Vincit Omnia - 1601-02

Albrecht Durer - Adam and Eve - 1504

 For centuries afterward, the nude remained an acceptable motif for artistic expression. At times, the mores of society drifted toward the conservative and the display of representations of naked figures was not favored. For instance, even before Michelangelo's death, drapery was being painted over the genitalia of figures included in the Sistine Chapel's Last Judgment. Plaster fig leaves, positioned strategically to assuage the delicate sensibilities of the pious and prudish viewer, were affixed to Classical and contemporary sculpture. But, regardless of changes in mores and taste, the nude continued to be represented in art and art students were expected to study anatomy and work from the nude model. I would say that, for many years following the Renaissance, depictions of nude figures fell into one of two categories: realism (as epitomized by Rembrandt) or ornamentation (as represented by Peter Paul Rubens).

With the arrival of the nineteenth century and the rise of Victorian standards, the nude experienced a subtle transformation. A wave of prudishness and propriety took hold in Europe, making artistic themes that overtly addressed issues relating to sex unacceptable. Nudity could only be condoned if it was considered edifying, so artists justified their potential moral transgressions by relying on a few elevated themes that necessitated the inclusion of nude figures in their work: biblical stories, classical mythology and history. At the same time, the nude was now presented in a manner meant to titillate the viewer. Perhaps, the Victorians, hampered by impracticable standards, sought a welcome, yet surreptitious, release in their art.

Francesco Hayez - Susanna at her Bath - 1859

Lawrence Alma-Tadema - The Tepidarium - 1881

William-Adolphe Bouguereau - Psyche et L'Amour - 1889

As the Victorian era drew to a close, artists, weary of the unrealistic longing for piety, purity and chastity (never even remotely realized), began to openly address themes relating to sexuality. The Symbolists sought to explore the universal leitmotifs that defined human existence, many of which concerned the cycle of life and relations between the sexes. The Decadents went even further. Fueled by a disgust with a civilization which had seemingly reached a moral and cultural impasse, they created an art that expressed a cosmopolitan cynicism and savored sexual perversion. For the first time, European artists employed the nude as a vehicle to flagrantly expose the mechanics of sexual attraction, going so far as to delve into inclinations and proclivities which inspired activity that fell outside the realm of what was perceived as morally acceptable.

Edvard Munch - Death of Marat - 1907

Gustav Klimt - Goldfish - 1901-02

Ferdinand Hodler - Youth Admired by Women II - 1904

Aubrey Beardsley - Cinesias Entreating Myrrhina to Coition - 1896

At the turn of the twentieth century, with the Modernist revolution taking hold, the nude remained a viable subject for artists, but now the nude, like every other genre of representation, simply became a vehicle for exploring the current “ism” that was being advanced by the artist. To a greater extent than ever before, technique reigned supreme in art. How one painted or sculpted was primarily what a work of art was about. The nude lost the ability to challenge the stuffy standards of a righteous, religious establishment. The artist no longer utilized the nude to startle the viewer out of comfortable complacency, to arouse, to expose and propose practices that trespassed beyond the confines of the norm. If a nude were to offend the tastes of the public, it would do so not on the basis of its subject matter but by how that representation of its subject matter was executed.

Henri Matisse - Male Model - 1900

Pablo Picasso - Nude Combing her Hair - 1906

Ernst Ludwig Kirchner - Bathers at the Shore - 1913

Marcel Duchamp - Nude Descending a Staircase, No. 2 - 1912

Eventually the avant-garde's passion for technical innovation led to the rejection of all representational imagery, and consequently serious artists no longer considered the nude worthy of exploration. Several decades passed before artists felt provoked to address the nude again as a legitimate subject for examination, and when they re-approached this traditional subject they did so dispassionately... with a new objectivity.

Traditionally, only youthful, physically-fit models were considered worthy of representation as nudes, and many artists continued in this tradition. But something had changed: the nude was now removed from the narrative and was coolly examined as one would a potted plant or a side of beef. During this period, it was permissible to paint representationally as long as the artist did not infuse his or her subject with meaning... that the illusion that subject matter was selected randomly was maintained... that subject matter simply provided the artist with the occasion to mechanically reproduce the visual experience of an external appearance was asserted. The nude provided the opportunity to explore anatomy, the structures that compose the human body, the sinews that hold bones together, the blood vessels that move oxygen throughout the body, the wrinkles that form from the repeated flexing of the epidermis. Commonly, the figure was presented in overall, artificial lighting that was neither mysterious nor dramatic and left no doubt that this work was executed in the antiseptic confines of the studio. The work of Philip Pearlstein and William Beckman comes readily to mind.

Philip Pearlstein - Two Models on Wooden Lounge with Swan - 2013

Philip Pearlstein - Female Model on Chrome Stool, Male Model on Floor - 1979

William Beckman - Studio Five - 2010-12

Andrew Wyeth also produced extremely detailed and carefully executed depictions of nudes. It is thought that he ran afoul of the critics by remaining faithful to representative imagery throughout the most turbulent years of the Modernist revolution in the United States, especially the period during which Abstract Expressionism was becoming established, but his real sin resided in continuing to address subject matter in an empathetic and poetic fashion. I believe that it was his portrayal of a specific kind of light, one that recognizes its own feebleness and transience, that generates an aura of melancholy in his work. This, of course, violated the taboo, incontrovertible at that time, that all serious art must eschew meaning and, above all, sentimentality.

Andrew Wyeth - Lovers - 1981

Some artists chose to depict nudes that defied the norms of what would traditionally be considered appropriate: the aged, the obese, the imperfect. At times, artists did this to confront or disturb the viewer in a snide or comic manner. But, conversely, other artists wanted to reveal a more inclusive perspective of humanity, one that realistically documented all aspects of the human experience.

Alice Neel - Self Portrait - 1980

Odd Nerdrum - Unarmed Man - 1995

Larry Rivers | Double Portrait of Berdie | Whitney Museum of American Art

In my opinion, the most important nudes produced by any contemporary artist were executed by Lucian Freud. He painstakingly recorded every nuance of the human body, often reevaluating tonalities and contours multiple times and, in the process, building up magnificent thick encrustations of paint. His models were required to pose for him for an endless series of sessions, while he scrutinized every facet of their forms. For Freud, painting the nude offered the opportunity to explore the psychological condition of his subject, not only through an examination of facial expression but through the depiction of gesture, posture and attitude. And Freud refuses to omit in his explorations of the human body the flagrant exposure of his subject's genitalia, a feature of equal importance in defining an individual as the arch of an eyebrow, the deportment of the mouth or the contraction of a hand. His nudes are not inviting; they are raw and real, displayed uncomfortably for our inspection.

Lucian Freud - Naked Girl - 1966

Lucian Freud - Naked Girl Asleep II - 1968

Lucian Freud - Benefits Supervisor Sleeping - 1995

And this seems an appropriate place to end my brief survey of how the nude has been represented in western art from pre-Christian times to the present. It is clear that artists have used the nude for a wide variety of purposes: to promote an ideal, to display scientific scholarship, to inspire religious fervor, to titillate and arouse, to defy moral standards, to advocate an avant-garde approach to creation, to assert an existential viewpoint and, on a most elemental level, to explore what it means to be human. The nude is not going to disappear as a viable subject for artistic exploration. Our interest in the nude is hardwired by evolution into our human architecture. Nevertheless, it's hard for me, after seeing Freud's work, to imagine where future artists will take the nude, but it is inevitable that a new perspective will emerge.

As an epilogue to my survey, I will relate a personal experience.

That's me wearing a cap in the background.

I have mentioned in earlier blog entries that I attend weekly life drawing sessions at the Unison Arts Center in New Paltz. At the end of one of our Saturday sessions in January 2019, the proctor announced that an exhibition of nude figurative work was opening that afternoon at Barrett House in Poughkeepsie and that his work would be included in the show. The exhibition was called The Body Beautiful II. As I was crossing the Mid-Hudson Bridge on my ride home, I thought to myself that it would be unforgivable of me not to attend the opening, especially as I would be passing through the heart of Poughkeepsie during my drive anyway. I mean I'm retired now with lots of free time on my hands and certainly can bear a little inconvenience in order to be supportive of the local arts scene. Right? So I made the slight detour to stop by Barrett House.

I wasn't sure what to expect from this show. I'd never attended an exhibition at Barrett House before, but I knew from past experience that the quality of work shown at local venues can vary greatly. As I entered the show's first room, I was pleasantly surprised to find most of the work to be of fairly high caliber – technically competent and often refreshingly inventive. I found myself going back to take second looks at several pieces. The opening was well attended, with a good-sized crowd sharing the first room with me. At some point, a petite, elderly woman made a beeline for me from across the room and began talking to me about the show. She took my arm and led me through the exhibit pointing out specific pieces of interest and introducing me to artists. She seemed to know I was an artist, but, for the life of me, I couldn't figure out how. I mean I am definitely not a local celebrity, and I wasn't carrying a portfolio or wearing a beret. She explained to me that she was one of the curators of the show, and just to make conversation I asked if all of the show's contributors were members of Barrett House. Instead of answering my question, she invited me to submit work for consideration for the next Body Beautiful exhibition and provided me with her email address. At that point, she wandered off to attend to other visitors, and I made my way through a number of rooms on various levels to see the remainder of the show.

The possibility of participating in the Barrett House exhibition the following year actually appealed to me, but I hadn't painted a “serious” nude in many years. I really didn't possess any work that I would consider worthy of submission, so I thought I would have to forfeit this opportunity. However, over a week or two, I contemplated the possibility of executing a large nude before the next exhibition, and, though doing so would mean surmounting some organizational and logistical hurdles, I began to grow enthusiastic about the potential project. I won't bore you with all the details, but over the next month, I made contact with a model I thought ideally suited for this project; and she proved agreeable to participate. I also secured a location at which I could properly distance myself from the model and position my lights as I desired (in order to heighten the contrasts between lights and darks while not obscuring detail). Though it would have been great to paint from life, I don't have the resources to hire a model and rent a space for what would amount to countless sessions. So one afternoon, I took over a hundred photos of the model, some full body, others details... some in natural light, others artificial. I never experimented with the pose - only my positioning, the exposure settings on my camera and the lighting. And, luckily, after reviewing the results of this photoshoot, I was very satisfied with what I had captured. (In truth, even less-than-superb pictures are perfectly serviceable to me since imagination and personal conventions play an equally important role in my creations as the information I gather from photographic documentation.)

I decided I wanted to paint a strongly vertical image of the model, slightly larger than life-size, and prepared a canvas of appropriate dimensions (70”x 30”). I spent several sessions establishing the figure on the canvas and blocking in my underpainting, and then initiated months of sessions developing tonalities, building up layers of paint and laying bare detail. Though I love painting the nuances of flesh, tackling several square feet of it proved a challenge to me. It took me over a year to complete this work.

Gerard Wickham - Emily - 2020

Even with such a simple subject matter, I was able to explore the dualities and ambiguities that usually excite my interest. When selecting my model, I was careful to choose an individual who, though attractive and fit, was not a paragon of perfection – preferably an ordinary person who would not capture one's attention if passed on the street. Without a doubt, my model is youthful, her body toned from regular exercise, the muscles in her shoulders and abdomen being particularly defined, but her very youthfulness means her body retains the ungainly elasticity of adolescent development. In particular, the attenuated spans of her shins, conspicuous in my painting, are evidence of the strain of a not very distant growth spurt. The model's youth and fitness make my image inviting, even alluring, but there is also something slightly repulsive about it – akin to the cold illustrations of patients displayed in medical journals. The harsh lighting exaggerates the swollen network of veins in the hands and feet. The skeleton proclaims its presence, particularly in the knees, rib cage and collarbones. Tonalities within the epidermis vary in accordance to exposure to sunlight and the chafing of clothing. The rather blasé pose leaves the model's genitalia displayed coolly and casually. Within an unwavering repetition of horizontals, the model is posed, vertical, static, central and symmetrical, but the varying axes defined by the relation of foot to foot, knee to knee, hand to hand and shoulder to shoulder along with the tilt of the head create a sense of movement. And, though this painting is without a doubt a figure study, it also serves as a portrait of a specific individual.

Gerard Wickham - Emily (Detail) - 2020

This blog entry ends with what may be a lamentable or comic postscript – depending upon your perspective. When I completed this painting after months of effort, I contacted Barrett House to learn more about when the next Body Beautiful exhibition would be held and gather details of how I should make my submission. I was informed that because of the coronavirus pandemic the organization had no plans to schedule another Body Beautiful exhibition at this time. So this large painting now sits in my studio gathering dust. I do show locally from time to time but can't imagine another venue at which exhibiting this work would be considered plausible. Whatever the ultimate outcome of this endeavor, I honestly have no regrets about executing this large nude. I was motivated to tackle a subject matter that would normally intimidate and overwhelm me just on the basis of the complexities involved in organizing its implementation. I am satisfied with the results of my efforts. And, believe me, if my incentive for creating my artwork was about a public response, I would have hung up my palette long ago.

As always, I encourage readers to comment here. If you would prefer to comment privately, you can email me at gerardwickham@gmail.com.