A Pear GabFest

I should call this picture ‘Facebook.’ I shall let you decipher that one. You can expect pears as a recurring motif in my artwork. I like fitting them in somewhere in a visual narrative, I will admit. Allow me a kind of psychological stab why this may be the case:

Sometimes we say we like things but when we peer into ourselves and ask honestly if we chose to like these things, we find that other forces, both within and without, are playing upon our psyche and if we're honest about what we find, we might just come to realize that circumstances, not objects and ideas, in a sense, chose us. It may be like two good friends who come to realize they did not set up the circumstances of their meeting and further realize it’s not something they ‘willed.’ But, if they are wise, they’ll know this is no matter, as the fact is they were brought together and, whether intentional forces or luck had something to do with it, is beside the point and live their lives happily together anyway. I’m inclined to say I like pears but, I find I’m inclined to admit I don’t recall deciding it. I might even be inclined to say, it was decided for me.

As I've hinted at in the past more than once, when I was young I was paralyzed out of productivity by a certain amount of obsessiveness that truly bordered on the clinical. It’s one of the great regrets in my life that my productivity in the arts---and most things---was hampered by this and it’s why today I’ve gone the other route and just decided to say shit is finished. I now compensate by going the polar opposite way. I’m not the first artist to point out that the real skill in creating anything worthwhile is not only simply knowing when something is finished, but also having the foresight to know that if one goes on with it, it’s in danger of being so overworked as to die. I’ve seen it. I’ve caused many deaths.

The pears.

When I was in my mid-twenties I went to work on a canvas that had a pretty simple concept and design. I was working from ‘life.’ I had two kinds of pears (I’ll only slightly spare you ‘a pair of pears’ by placing it inside these parenthesis where it’s masquerades as an afterthought. Who am I kidding?). I had a lovely d’anjou, the green ones, short and pudgy, as wide as its height. The other was your typical brown bosc pear, those earthy ones standing tall and skinny resembling a kind of attractive clay color. I found I had an odd ‘pairing’ (Ok! Last one! I’m annoying myself!). I thought this contrast would somehow make a great concept for painting. I placed them in front of a brown paper bag. This was the layout: Two pears, one short and green, the other tall and brown, standing in front of the wrinkled paper bag that originally housed them. The background would be dark so as to make these three objects simply “pop!”

That was it. Poetry in its sheer simplicity.

The first thing I did was get these pears down on the canvas. May I just indulge and say they were fabulous! It was one of those intuitive things where that certain special invisible something takes over and, before you know it, you’ve got some pretty spectacular stuff down and it all happened so quick that you’re left asking yourself, “Was this me? Who did this?” I swear I still see them in front of me on that canvas. I captured them in a way that I never captured an object before. They seemed to be simultaneously ‘painterly’ whilst also seeming real. Actually, they transcended even realism. I was extremely happy with them. I created the ultimate illusion. I was actually taking what would appear to be—almost literally--- earthbound objects and I was truly giving them spirit. You know how I believe this can be potentially dangerous talk so, please just take it as a measure of how strongly the sensation was felt with me.

I was so inspired by this success that I next went on to the paper bag. I went straight to work on the paper bag. Let me say now that, in hindsight, like the pears, I can also see this paper bag in my mind’s eye. I mention this because today, on ‘seeing’ it, even right now, I realize I was too harsh. It actually wasn’t as bad I as I thought. However, this is hindsight and I don’t know if objectively, it was painted pretty well, or subjectively, I may have eased my demands. No matter. Yet more layers of regret. Not only was I too harsh on the work as it was being produced, I may have also been also pretty wrong about my own skills after it was laid down. These things appear to be one and the same so I’ll still just roll it in to one big ball of regret. Andrew Marvell would put down his quill in a frustrating huff never to write another poem had he met me.

The paper bag proved difficult. It was just too complicated in all its creases and angles and the complicated light and dark they produced as well as all those mid tones in between. I worked on it for ages. Mind you, this still life was always set up right in front of me. The pears and the bag existed. They sat in the same spot day in and day out. I started living uncomfortably in between all those beige creases and I felt smothered. As a matter of quelling my frustration, and coming up for much needed air, I left the stifling aspect of that paper bag and routinely went back to the pears to do some touching up. There was plenty to do! In fact, it became a kind of “Dorian Gray” of the fruit set as the pears started withering daily. I found I was always adding new features to these poor organic creatures brought on —in a slightly ironic fashion—by times ceaseless but slow decay. This was actually fun, too! For example, on the d’anjou pear there started to appear a kind of natural ‘bruise’ that took the form of a deep red color right in the middle of it. Vermillion crimson, here we come! It was a great addition and added even more character to it. Here was this little red spot like Jupiter’s storm that contrasted so beautifully with that (now fading) vibrant green that was that small planet of a pear! I found myself having to add little dark brown spots that were a clear sign of decay and I had to add new dynamics of light and shade where some areas of the fruit were changing shape by slowly collapsing in on themselves. It sounds a little sad but I was sort of like one of those people who find a new, almost exciting, "raison d'etre' in having to take care of a sick loved one. Your sad for them but, you’ve got stuff to do!It was fun! I loved the transformation! I was still happy with my pair of pears (I said I would stop this!). But, Christ! That fucking paper bag! I wanted to place it over my head and deep breath myself out of existence! It was a nice thought.

Another interesting thing about people is how we sometimes romanticize our own death. We tend to imagine it while we’re still here.

“What do you have for us, Jenkins?”

“Detective, what we seem to have found here are three organisms decaying in a kind of triumvirate tragedy. Two pears and a man. I can safely say…

"Jenkins, godammit! You and your night school literature classes! Give it to me straight! No fancy talk!”

“We think the pears got a head start, so we’re assuming—just surmising, mind you!---that the fella couldn’t handle seeing the pears like that. He must have decided to join them, if you know what I mean, sir.”

“Damn it, Jenkins. Sign me up for that Literature class! I’ve seen many things in my day, Jenkins, lots of gruesome stuff, but I’ll be goddamned if this isn’t the saddest. Tragedy, Jenkins. You’re right. Do you guys do Shakespeare? Jenkins, what’s this?”

“He seemed to have been working on a painting, sir. We think he was a painter.”

“Take it for evidence. Hmmm. Pretty good paper bag.”

“I agree, sir.”

I went back to the paper bag but I could not seem to get it right! At one point I even painted it out of the picture. I even recall coming up with a new concept where I had my precious pears hanging from a string that was nailed to the wall. However, this seemed to my young sensibilities, even then, to be a bit too ‘clever clever.’ No matter the ideas and how to solve it, I went back to the original.

I was hell-bent on that paper bag. I never got it to my liking. I hated that paper bag because it could not live up to the quality of those pears. I was even blaming the paper bag on their deaths. IT was the reason the pears were disappearing! Things got just too weird. Eventually, my pears became unrecognizable, both the models, and the ones on the canvas, though the ones on the canvas I still remember having some kind of painterly charm. The ones on the canvas never abandoned me. I also became so attached to the ones I was painting, the actual fruit, that I felt this strange desire in me not to replace them. I never did. When they went, I was forlorn. When they went, so did the painting. They went to the same place: The rubbish bin. Alas...

I know things die. No one thinks of death more than me. The fruit had to die but, I realize now, the painting was supposed to be an extension of me. It was supposed to be my kind of 'immortality.' It was how I was supposed to 'live on.' I only vaguely realized it then and even now, like a good detective, I'm surmising. All I have now is memories and vintage wine. I wish I hadn’t been so harsh. I wish I had that damned painting.

What was the point of all of this, anyway? Why did I bore you? Oh! Yeah! Just a reminder that to get things done before we completely decay. Also, enjoy it all while we are decaying. Also, also, when I eat a pear it's a heightened experience.