Happy and Sad

Isaac Hernández, Self-portrait, oil pastel on paper, 2010.

I’ve been drawing self-portraits for many years. It’s funny, because I don’t look at myself in the mirror very much, other than when I’m drawing a self-portrait. There are many days when I don’t look at myself in the mirror at all. After all, if you don’t shave or comb your hair, you don’t need a mirror. You can wash your face, floss and brush teeth without seeing you.

When I paint a self-portrait, the person in the mirror is a stranger. And since painting occurs very much as meditation for me, that person is often pensive. And those thoughts looks different every time. I’d like to capture silly emotions all the time, but do you know how difficult is to keep a big smile while looking at yourself in the mirror for hours? And with no make up! I invite you to try it.

Some people have given me a hard time for painting myself sad all the time. To them, I dedicate the self-portrait above. What can I say. I’m a happy guy. And I’m a sad guy. I treasure all emotions. I’m happy I’m sad. I couldn’t have painted myself happy without painting myself sad first, see below. Because if we were happy all the time, we would be bored from happiness.

Both portraits are still in progress. I guess everything is always in progress. When it’s over, you die. I’ve tweaked the one on the bottom several times, correcting different elements to make the forced perspective from down below work. Thanks to Libby Smith, who I had as a teacher, it’s easy for me to see what’s wrong in a face, mostly my face. Yes, I know, Libby, the ears need to move a bit lower still and the left eye (the eye on the left which also happens to be my left eye, since it’s a reflection) still needs more work. And the right could use some adjustments too. But I ran out of yellow. I painted until the oil pastel was the size of a grain of rice. I’ll get some more yellow, and I’ll continue working on it once I shave. I will come back to this blog and add the dimensions. Suffice to say that the sad golden portrait below is at least four times larger than the happy blue portrait above. What does it all mean?

Isaac Hernández, Self-portrait, oil pastel on paper, 2010.

Hikari Haiku

Last year I did a series of self-portraits using the Hipstamatic app for iPhone. The idea was to take 100 photos during 100 days; they ended up being more. For some of them I wrote Haiku poems, what I call a Photo Haiku, or Hikari Haiku. This series of photos can be seen in “I’m Not My Face: 40 Years of Self-Portraits”, a new book launching at the end of 2012.

Self-portrait No. 6.
Almost February
Life’s like a Christmas tree
Time passes quickly

Self-portrait No. 10.
I wanna be a dog
Be closer than I appear
Wind blows in my face

Self-portrait No. 11.
Thousand-words-picture
Who’s the man in the mirror?
Does he even know?

Self-portrait No. 12 (February 6, 2011).
Why do I worry
I’m only getting older
Life is beautiful

Self-portrait No. 13 (February 5, 2011).
A midday siesta
Eyes open to inner thought
What will they see now?

Self-portrait No. 14 (February 7, 2011).
I look pretty scary
When I brush my pearly whites
If I only knew

Self-portrait No. 15 (February 8, 2011).
Sweet scent of flowers
In the middle of winter
Did you stop and smell?

Self-portrait No. 16 (February 9, 2011)
I would love to paint
What a beautiful mirror
Lit by winter light

Self No. 17.
Darkness surrounds me
Like a box of chocolates
Almost Valentine’s

Self No. 18.
I feel like hiding
Under the covers of truth?
Deep inside my thoughts

Self No. 19 (Feb. 12, 2011).
I’m disappearing
Belong no longer here
Not quite, but almost

Self No. 20 (Feb. 13, 2011).
Sometimes not knowing
One hundred self-portraits
I hide behind me

Self No. 21. February 14, 2011
Migraine coming now
The new day has just begun
I can feel your pain

Self No. 22. February 15, 2011.
Andalusian dog
More or less, in dog years,
Five hundred years old

Untitled in Orange

Evolution of Self-Portrait. ©2012 Isaac Hernandez

Immediately after I finished the last happy self-portrait I set off to making a new one. I wanted to revisit the idea of having both hands in the picture, so as to take turns painting with one hand and then the other. I did this for the first time in one of my first oil pastel self-portraits; the one that reminds people of Edvard Munch’s The Scream.

I also wanted to use up all the colors that I never use, since I was running out of bright colors anyhow. So I started with pink, purple, black and beige… The sequence above was all done in one day (actually in just over one hour, which is fast for me), on November 2011. Interestingly, I ended the session by drifting to oranges and blues, colors that I tend to use more.

But one thing was different, I left some black showing through; I normally don’t use black at all, except when I painted the black-and-white self portrait, Thinking of Basquiat. And yes, I wanted to make a serious portrait for no particular reason, perhaps to balance the happy one.

I left the drawing in the studio for months. I wanted to continue painting it, but I didn’t. I can make many excuses, but the thing is that I didn’t. Nevertheless, I’ve been busy with many other creative endeavors, including writing The Magical Seaweed play, so I didn’t miss painting terribly (only a lot). But I did wonder whether I was ever going to finish this self-portrait.

Then, on February 11, 2012, after a day in which I felt like people didn’t care for what I had to say, including some of my students in the photography class, I hid in the art studio. I suddenly was in the same mood as the painting I had started over two months ago. I don’t remember ever painting with so much anguish. Below’s the result, although it’s probably not done yet (I ran out of orange!). I won’t touch it much more, as I like the looseness of some of the “brushstrokes”.

Isaac Hernandez, Untitled (Self-Portrait), oil pastel on paper, 2011-12. ©2012 Isaac Hernandez

Some people don’t like that I paint myself looking sad. Is it because they prefer to think of me as a happy person. Well, I’m a happy person, but I do get sad, and I celebrate that. Besides, it’s easier to be serious than laughing when you’re holding a pose in front of the mirror.

Munch’s $119,922,500 Scream, and I

Reflections from an artist on witnessing a record art auction

by Isaac Hernández

As I type this, the Sotheby’s Impressionist & Modern Art Evening Sale is broadcasting live on my screen. Claude Monet’s landscape painting (Lot 35), estimated to be worth between US$1 and $1.5 million dollars is on the block… and it just sold for $2.3 million. It’s pretty exciting to watch people spending so much money on art, even if it seems extravagant. Camille Pisarro’s Lot 36 just sold for $1.3M. Manet is next, then Renoir, Pissarro… The millions are flowing faster than I can type. Constantin Brancusi’s Prométhée (Lot 43) just sold for $11.25M, well over the estimated $6-8M; to think I could have hit the “Bid” button and it could have been mine.

The star of the auction, Edvard Munch’s The Scream, has already sold, well above the starting bid of $50 million and even past the expected $80 million, to reach almost $120 million in just 12 minutes. It now holds the record for the highest price paid for a piece of art at public auction. Before today, Pablo Picasso’s Desnudo, hojas verdes y busto was the most expensive art piece sold at auction. In a private deal, the record goes to one of the five versions of The Card Players, by Paul Cezanne, sold to the country of Qatar for over $250 million, as the prized jewel of a new art museum.

Did Edvard ever suspect that his pastel would sell for $119,922,500? He might have been honored and outraged at the same time; screaming, if I may say. Toward the end of his life, he lived a spartan existence in Norway. Upon his death in 1944, he donated all his works to the City of Oslo, who founded the Munch Museum in 1963.

There are four versions of The Scream, but this is the only one in private hands, and mounted in its original frame was painted by the artist with a poem describing his inspiration. Thomas Olsen, a friend, neighbor and patron of Munch, who helped the artist to hide his paintings away from the Nazis,  bought it in 1937. His son Petter will use the proceeds of the sale to fund a new Munch museum, art center and hotel in Hvitsten, Norway.

People often say that the above oil pastel I painted in 1990 reminds them of Munch’s The Scream. It was one of my first self-portraits. I was not thinking about Munch’s masterpiece when I drew it, but rather about how to draw while having both of my hands in the painting. As I always paint my self-portraits looking at a mirror, I had to switch hands back and forth; the right side of the painting is drawn with my left hand and the left side is done with my right.

Other people say that my paintings remind them of Van Gogh’s. I take it as a compliment, even though it’s also a bit sad, because I don’t intend for my self-portraits to look like those of anyone other than my own.

Incidentally, no art pieces by Van Gogh were offered at this auction, but two of his painting are among the top ten highest priced ever sold at auction: Portrait of Doctor Gachet (1890), sold to Ryoei Saito for $82.5M in 1990 (he was so in love with it that he wanted it to be cremated with him upon his death), and Portrait de l’artiste sans barbe (1889), sold for $71.5M in 1998.

I don’t think my 1990 self-portrait looks like Munch’s painting at all. If anything, it was inspired by the work of artist Bonnie Blau, my teacher at the time. If you want to buy this painting, or any other of my self-portraits, come by Roy!  in Santa Barbara, this coming June, where I’m honored to have a solo exhibit featuring a dozen self-portraits, offered for sale well below $119,922,500. If my paintings are really anything like Munch’s, Van Gogh’s, or anything in between, your grandchildren may have a great return on your investment. There will also be limited edition giclée prints for sale, and an eBook with a collection of self-portraits from the last 30+ years. Or you can just hang out at the opening on June 7 (6 to 8pm) and have some fun.

The last lot of the auction has hit the block. The other top prices have gone to Picasso’s Femme Assise dans un Fauteuil (1941), sold for 29.2 million dollars. Salvador Dali’s Printemps Nécrophilique (1936), sold for 16.3 million, and Joan Miró’s Tête Humaine (1931), sold for 14.9 million. I was distracted typing, and missed my chance to bid.

It’s not a bad day for Spanish art. Hey, I’m immigrant from Spain, just like Picasso and Miró. I wonder if that increases the value of my art, even slightly. Don’t get me wrong, I know I don’t compare to Picasso… and I’m still alive.

The Scream, in Munch’s Own Words

Nice - 22.01.1892.

I was walking along a path with two friends—the sun was setting—suddenly the sky turned blood red—I paused, feeling exhausted, and leaned on the fence—there was blood and tongues of fire above the blue-black fjord and the city—my friends walked on, and I stood there trembling with anxiety—and I sensed an infinite scream passing through nature.      

—Edvard Munch

The Other Screams:

• 1893 (tempera and crayon on board), at the National Gallery of Norway

• ca. 1893, (pastel on board) thought to be a preliminary sketch for the work, at the Munch Museum in Oslo

• ca. 1910 (tempera and oil on board), at the Munch Museum in Oslo

• Munch also created a lithograph of the image in 1895

 

Sunburn

Isaac Hernandez. "Sunburn (self-portrait)". Gouache on paper, 2012. ©2012 IsaacHernandez.com

Last week we celebrated the cast party for The Magical Seaweed with a barbeque that included a beach clean-up. I got a bit sunburn. It was the perfect opportunity to play with my son’s gouache paint set. Who knew gouache could be so much fun? I guess I did, but it had been a long time since the last time I played with gouache.

After the Play

Isaac Hernandez. "After the play (self-portrait)." Oil pastel on paper, March 20, 2012. ©2012 IsaacHernandez.com

The play is over
Nowhere to hide
Now, I’m low
Before, I was high.

I did the drawing above with a piece of brown oil pastel, but unlike other oil pastels where I build layers upon layers, I traced lightly, treating the pastel as conte crayon or charcoal. I even used a similar pose and composition that in a self-portrait from two years ago (below) done in conte crayon (when I had more hair), which was shown at the Atkinson Gallery back in 2010. Unlike conte crayon, you cannot erase oil pastel, so I ended up tracing very lightly. The result has an ephemeral flair, as if I’m going to disappear, which is the way I’ve felt ever since Carmen’s death.

Isaac Hernandez. "Self-portrait." Conte crayon on paper, 2010. ©2012 IsaacHernandez.com

A la Carmen

Isaac Hernández. “Carmen is Gone” (Self-portrait). Oil pastel on paper, 2012. ©2012 IsaacHernandez.com

I woke up this morning with Carmen in my mind, just like every single day, and a sentence in my lips, “We haven’t ask death for an explanation,” except in Spanish: “No hemos pedido explicaciones a la muerte.” And I had to write a poem. I then proceeded to translate it to English (see below), which was easier than I thought, since the emotions are so there. With it I try to fill the void, just like I attempted to do working on the oil pastel above. It started as an orange and blue painting, and soon became very blue, and black.

 

A la Carmen

No hemos pedido explicaciones a la muerte

No pudimos entender lo cierto

No nos dio tiempo.

 

No nos acostumbramos al vacío de las horas

El pozo que ayer rebosaba con tu risa

Se traga ahora negro los segundos.

 

Ya no existen en el mundo lágrimas

Para inundar la emoción a flor de piel

De días sin fin y noches sin sueño.

 

Tu ausencia llena cada instante

Como el eco de tu voz en la distancia

Que quiere dar consuelo.

 

Dime por favor que la vida es sueño

Que despertaremos de la eterna soledad

Para reír juntos de nuevo.

To the Carmen

We haven’t asked death for an explanation

We couldn’t understand what’s certain

We had no time.

 

We can’t get used to the emptiness of hours

The well that yesterday overflowed with your laughter

Now swallows, black, the seconds.

 

No more tears in the world remain

To inundate our raw emotions on edge

The endless days and sleepless nights.

 

You absence fills each and every instant

Like the echo of your voice heard in the distance

That wants to comfort us.

 

Please tell me that life’s a dream

That we’ll wake up from eternal solitude

To laugh again together.

 

©2012 Isaac Hernández

Self-portrait in Yellow

Isaac Hernandez. Self-portrait (Untitled) 2011, gicleé print, 10″x10″. ©2012 Isaac Hernandez

I painted this large self-portrait, the largest so far, some time in the Spring of 2011, and continued onto the Summer. I was exploring with the idea of making a happy painting with a serious face.

Happy colors. Sad face. Kind of like the make-up I got as a kid at Circus World. The make-up artist asked me if I wanted to have happy clown or sad clown face.  When I answered sad, she was really worried and tried to convince me otherwise. Why did she even asked? I think I was the only sad clown in Circus World that day. My brother and sister were both happy clowns. Why did I pick sad? I guess I’ve always had certain curiosity for sadness. If it had happened today, I’d probably have the FBI investigating me. :) ; or shall I say :(

The picture above, taken in April, is not the final version. This yellow painting became the main attraction at my solo exhibit of 12 self-portraits, “I’m Not My Face”, which hanged at Roy’s during the month of June, receiving rave reviews. Soon we’ll be launching “I’m Not My Face: 40 Years of Self-Portraits”, the book.

Isaac Hernandez. Self-portrait (Untitled), (painting detail) 2011. ©2012 Isaac Hernandez

It’s big. There are two giant yellow Senelier oil pastel sticks layered onto the paper.

Isaac Hernandez. Self-portrait (Untitled) 2011, gicleé print, 10″x10″. ©2012 Isaac Hernandez

How I love to get my fingers dirty. The Senelier oil pastels are especially sticky, yum!