One of my hobbies is writing, but I have writer’s block and haven’t written anything in months. I’ve read that doing something creative other than writing can cure writer’s block. So I decided to try painting.
Anastasia is an artist from Kazakhstan. I met her at an art show in Paris last Fall. She moved here several years ago and opened a small studio and art gallery on l’Île Saint-Louis. I asked Anastasia to teach me to paint, and I was happy that she agreed. But first she tested me. She had me draw some birds. She was not impressed and said I need to learn to draw before I can paint.
These are the birds I drew for her at a park during my first lesson in March (crows):
Since March, she gave me lessons and had me keep a sketchbook. I drew this in June:
I’ve painted a few things too but only in watercolor. I prefer watercolor. Oil paint stinks, egg tempera is messy and requires a huge investment in equipment for making the paint, raw pigments, and lots of eggs which I would rather eat than use to make paint. I’m only willing to work with the more natural media so acrylic is out.
I read Marcel Proust in college, and ever since then, I wanted to go on a Proustian literary tour and visit the places he described. Proust once said, “at the Ritz, nobody pushes you.” Thusly, the Ritz Hotel was on my list. I went with Anastasia. There is a dress code. Anastasia wore a dress. I wore a suit jacket and motorcycle boots since I don’t have shoes. Once comfortably settled in plush armchairs in the company of rare books and warm woodwork, we chatted and indulged in the memorable delights of madeleines and tea.
A madeleine is a small, plump cake molded in the shape of the fluted valve (shell) of a scallop. It is a little bit drier than a sponge cake and melts in your mouth. The rich, buttery flavor is brought to life with the zest of lemon. You eat it with tea.
The first time I went out with Anastasia was an afternoon on a péniche on the Seine last Fall. The way she looked into my eyes was disarming, but that is another story. We had madeleines and tea on the boat that day.
Anastasia said it would be good practice to sketch the room. We began sketching in pencil. There was another couple next to us having tea, but we did not sketch them. They were elegantly dressed but not flashy. The man wore a fitted designer suit with gold cufflinks and other details, and the woman wore a dress and gold and jewels. They looked like they had just come from or were about to go to a fancy event. I thought they were Mediterranian or Southern French because of their tans and dark hair. The woman looked over at us sketching and remarked that I look remarkably like Van Gogh and asked if I’m his reincarnation. I showed her my bad sketch of birds so she didn’t think that any more.
They had moved to Paris about a year ago from the Middle East when the man, husband Ras Kabir, was appointed to some high position in the embassy of his home country here in Paris. The woman, his wife Maiz, came here with him. I won’t name it for purposes of privacy.
They were also eating madeleines. I took another bite of mine, and Maiz asked about the American presidential election. I told them everything about it is depressing, and I will not go back to the US if Trump is elected and probably not if Bill Clinton’s wife gets it because she is just as bad but in different ways. Bill Clinton’s wife the calculating murderess versus Trump the impulsive murderer who kills in a fit of rage. That’s how I really feel about those two scumbags, and I don’t hide it.). I only understand politics on a superficial level so I didn’t say much more than that. They talked some about Islam and Trump’s attitude toward Muslims in the US and US and British history of invasion and current American military operations in Muslim countries.
Americans love Rumi, and Maiz must have realized that. She mentioned that she likes to read Rumi’s poems. She reads him in the original language and likes the English translations too. Afterwards, all of us exchanged phone numbers and promised to have tea together again.
I didn’t expect to speak to them again, especially since their country is unstable and I had called the rulers of my home country psychopathic murderers, but a few weeks later, Maiz invited me to coffee. We met at Shakespeare and Co, an English language bookstore and coffee shop across the river facing Notre Dame. She mentioned that her husband had gone overseas on business and invited me to the horse races at the famous Hippodrome in the village of Chantilly the next day for the most famous racing event of the year, the Prix de Diane aux Longines.
Anastasia is an artist from Kazakhstan. I met her at an art show in Paris last Fall. She moved here several years ago and opened a small studio and art gallery on l’Île Saint-Louis. I asked Anastasia to teach me to paint, and I was happy that she agreed. But first she tested me. She had me draw some birds. She was not impressed and said I need to learn to draw before I can paint.
These are the birds I drew for her at a park during my first lesson in March (crows):
Since March, she gave me lessons and had me keep a sketchbook. I drew this in June:
I’ve painted a few things too but only in watercolor. I prefer watercolor. Oil paint stinks, egg tempera is messy and requires a huge investment in equipment for making the paint, raw pigments, and lots of eggs which I would rather eat than use to make paint. I’m only willing to work with the more natural media so acrylic is out.
I read Marcel Proust in college, and ever since then, I wanted to go on a Proustian literary tour and visit the places he described. Proust once said, “at the Ritz, nobody pushes you.” Thusly, the Ritz Hotel was on my list. I went with Anastasia. There is a dress code. Anastasia wore a dress. I wore a suit jacket and motorcycle boots since I don’t have shoes. Once comfortably settled in plush armchairs in the company of rare books and warm woodwork, we chatted and indulged in the memorable delights of madeleines and tea.
A madeleine is a small, plump cake molded in the shape of the fluted valve (shell) of a scallop. It is a little bit drier than a sponge cake and melts in your mouth. The rich, buttery flavor is brought to life with the zest of lemon. You eat it with tea.
The first time I went out with Anastasia was an afternoon on a péniche on the Seine last Fall. The way she looked into my eyes was disarming, but that is another story. We had madeleines and tea on the boat that day.
Anastasia said it would be good practice to sketch the room. We began sketching in pencil. There was another couple next to us having tea, but we did not sketch them. They were elegantly dressed but not flashy. The man wore a fitted designer suit with gold cufflinks and other details, and the woman wore a dress and gold and jewels. They looked like they had just come from or were about to go to a fancy event. I thought they were Mediterranian or Southern French because of their tans and dark hair. The woman looked over at us sketching and remarked that I look remarkably like Van Gogh and asked if I’m his reincarnation. I showed her my bad sketch of birds so she didn’t think that any more.
They had moved to Paris about a year ago from the Middle East when the man, husband Ras Kabir, was appointed to some high position in the embassy of his home country here in Paris. The woman, his wife Maiz, came here with him. I won’t name it for purposes of privacy.
They were also eating madeleines. I took another bite of mine, and Maiz asked about the American presidential election. I told them everything about it is depressing, and I will not go back to the US if Trump is elected and probably not if Bill Clinton’s wife gets it because she is just as bad but in different ways. Bill Clinton’s wife the calculating murderess versus Trump the impulsive murderer who kills in a fit of rage. That’s how I really feel about those two scumbags, and I don’t hide it.). I only understand politics on a superficial level so I didn’t say much more than that. They talked some about Islam and Trump’s attitude toward Muslims in the US and US and British history of invasion and current American military operations in Muslim countries.
Americans love Rumi, and Maiz must have realized that. She mentioned that she likes to read Rumi’s poems. She reads him in the original language and likes the English translations too. Afterwards, all of us exchanged phone numbers and promised to have tea together again.
I didn’t expect to speak to them again, especially since their country is unstable and I had called the rulers of my home country psychopathic murderers, but a few weeks later, Maiz invited me to coffee. We met at Shakespeare and Co, an English language bookstore and coffee shop across the river facing Notre Dame. She mentioned that her husband had gone overseas on business and invited me to the horse races at the famous Hippodrome in the village of Chantilly the next day for the most famous racing event of the year, the Prix de Diane aux Longines.
The art process is one of the richest paradoxes I know: on the one hand you are trying to develop eye-hand coordination while on the other hand you are tasked with letting go of control so that true creativity can emerge. You must have the discipline of an adult while trying to regain the fearlessness of a child that has never known there is even such a thing as a "bad" drawing. When I used to do landscape painting I was always exhilarated by the dual nature of the process: on the one hand, using my eyes to see every single angle, form, shadow, detail etc and concurrently abstracting the whole complexity into a few starting lines; when this happens it becomes an effortless flow into simply what emotional appeal attracted me in the first place--the landscape within the landscape. You must learn to cultivate your inner critic while also setting such firm and carefully maintained boundaries from him that even the most expert dog-trainer would be impressed.