A Plumbline in the Hand of Zerubbabel

 

The title comes from the book of the prophet, Zechariah, the fourth chapter, from the time when the remnant of Israel had returned from captivity in Babylon in order to rebuild the house of God in Jerusalem. I had this plumb-bob that I’d found in the dirt as a boy, and the pair of dividers and an Idea started forming. These were architects’ and builders’ tools and somehow the notion came to me of using them in a spiritually symbolic sense. Passages from the Old and New Testaments merged in my mind, first the idea of the City which God builds, but then narrowed down to focus on His spiritual House. In the background is an attempt to visualize the pattern of the Temple seen by the prophet, Ezekiel. 

Some term this the “Millennial Temple“, the idea that the place will be physically built upon the return of Christ, but I am not at all sure that is the right interpretation. Some believe that the whole order of animal sacrifices will be reinstated, but I believe this is an error, unless we jettison the letter to the Hebrews.  What I was trying to get at here is that the temple of the Living God is not any physical building but something that He is building within human beings for eternity, as it says, “a dwelling place of God in the spirit.” It seemed to me that there is a plan for this house, but it isn’t so many cubits (or feet and inches) of stone and wood. It is a living house, and here, temporarily, I switch metaphors. This “house” is also described as a body. I’m setting aside the translators’ word, “church” for now because of the baggage associated with it. The real word means an assembly, a certain, special, set apart assembly, and that is both a house and a body, the “body of Christ.” This body/house takes its entire character and form from the Head, Jesus Christ. It is like a reflection of Him, not a thing in itself apart.  So in this watercolor drawing I tried to typify this pictorially, but it is also a combination of image and word.

The scroll is the “architect’s blueprint”, and the words are from the Greek text of the first two verses of the book of Hebrews:

God, after He spoke long ago to the fathers in the prophets in many portions and in many ways, in these last days has spoken to us in His Son, whom He appointed heir of all things, through whom also He made the world.

Reflections

 

The kernel idea for the picture that became Reflections came about in the Spring of 2001. The painting, Janice With an Amphora had been installed in the Marie Antoinette Ballroom of the Davenport Hotel in her memory, since she had so much to do with the decor treatments we had together come up with for the renovation of that room. She had died before seeing its completion.

Looking at it one day it occured to me that I hadn’t quite gained my object. I had been seeking a way to convey a female gracefulness and dignity in a timeless way, hence the simple Grecian tunic (or chiton). There was something I had not attained. The garment was really a studio prop, not something one would be able to wear in public here and now.

 This way of thinking came from a general dissatisfaction with contemporary dress, male and female, from an aesthetic and artistic point of view. I wanted to see flowing garments and, except for tailored business suits, female attire was typically form hugging, with the exception of a few skirts.

There came a wish to improve on the former painting by trying to design a draped garment that was based on the Greek tradition but which was something a person could wear now without appearing to have just come from a costume party.

So I bought first some cheap fabric and started trying to sew. I had an idea for what I wanted to see but it proved beyond my very limited knowledge of sewing, so I sought out costumers and seamstresses. Another difficulty was finding the right model.

Several months passed before any progress was made, though I did find encouragement. One day I saw in the park across the street four Indian women wearing saris, two young ones in pale green and two matrons wearing white. They were walking across a large lawn and the flow of the drapery was lovely. The young ones were nonchalantly tossing the fabric over their left arm, unconsciously, playfully. The elder ladies walked with a dignity of bearing, very feminine and beautiful, though more stout of form. One of the reasons for wanting to create and depict a draped dress was this very purpose. There is such a preoccupation with being and staying thin, yet these women in saris were lovely and womanly just as they were. This brief vision gave me a poetic surge to continue toward the project, feeling sure it was the right track.

I wasn’t getting very far with the garment but one day in the autumn I saw the model I wanted to use, setting tables for an event in Davenport Hotel lobby. By this time it had become clear to me that it should be a lady in an evening gown, not a street dress, if I wanted to “get away with” this drapery idea. And this had merged with another ambiton of mine: to paint an elegant lady in the setting of the Davenport, and I now knew exactly where I wanted it to be: in the Isabella Ballroom with it’s reflecting mirrors at either end. I also knew I wasnted one with a beautiful but out of the ordinary face and Becky was perfect.

It took a bit of inquiry to trace her down but when I had, and she she agreed, we began taking photographs for the figure’s placement. A lot of photographs!

It soon became clear that to get the architecture of the room that I wanted, with the mirrors, there would have to be another figure. There had to be a logic to why she was standing there, in an elegant ballroom, and it wasn’t to be admiring herself in the mirror.

I must spare the reader more details of the process. It ended up being over 4 years before I called the painting done. And 4 seamstresses.

My other model, Mary, came along after I was sure that there needed to be two women interrupted in conversation. Having abandoned the first dress as hopeless, I went to another dressmaker who started over and came up with the transverse folds. This proved a godsend because I was soon had two gowns and two models.

Or, well, not exactly. The figure on the right, Becky, is wearing the garment that was my original idea. That gown, however, still does not physically exist and what is seen in the painting was patched together from one that was constructed with some poor direction on my part. What there is does not fit Becky! The wine colored gown does and was made for her. The other one fits Mary! Though the owners of the Davenport bought the painting as soon as they saw it, the one gown, which with a little more work could possibly be worn in public, has not been. The painting exists but not the new fashion.

A Type of Womanhood

The motivation for this painting sparked in 1997, when I went to see an exhibition of the work of the Norwegian artist, Odd Nerdrum, at the renovated Frye Art Museum in Seattle. His work, in a painterly “Old Masters” style and technique was very compelling but also extremely disturbing, with titles like Woman Killing an Injured Man. There was a piece called Isola, less dark in its content, and it was of a woman standing full length, facing the viewer, and a draped, wrapped garment, set in an undefined space against a black background. I took it as an image of a Type of Womanhood, in a timeless setting. Though the figure was smiling and unthreatening I was struck but what to me was an essential lack of grace. The word “clunky” came to mind. A link to the Nerdrum painting is here. http://www.nerdrum.com/works/index.php?id=6

I came away wanting to somehow counter it, to offer a Type of Womanhood that did have grace, yet was also timeless. The result was the only oil portrait of my late wife, entitled Janice With an Amphora.