Monumental Me

A recent class assignment asked us to compose "monumental" self-portraits, along the lines of Emperor Constantine's famous busts. To facilitate "big thinking," we had to execute the project on 3'x4' sheets of paper. No stranger to self-portraits, I wanted to capture something unique with this one---and so it became my own little (or big, rather) "Ode to Mornings." Or perhaps "A Coffee Cup Manifesto." Or "The Infinite Struggle of Waking." Either way, I think it captures my workday trek from the Bronx to Manhattan at the bright hours of way-too-early. For a better sense of the drawing's scale, refer to the photo below.

All about Andy

As promised, Andy Warhol is here as the fourth iPad portrait in my series of famous New York City artists (he follows Whitman, Woody, and the Fitzgeralds). Famous for the mysterious, incredibly removed persona that he wore for so much of his career, Andy is still regarded as one of the foremost leaders of the pop-art movement, undermining traditional fine art conventions with ideas of manufacture and celebrity--the artistic merits of which critics are still debating.

Known primarily for his arresting, unapologetic images of a commodified America--from soup cans to famous faces--Andy also produced a great body of film work in his "Factory" studio in New York. Much of it deals with the arguably self-destructive regulars of the Factory (leading some to call into question the ethics of Andy's documenting them; but then again, I suppose it's fitting that reality TV should have a precursor in Andy). In their camera angles and content, the films definitely lean toward the more "inaccessible" realm of medium, but much like Andy's work on canvas, his work on celluloid is hard not to watch.

For Andy's portrait, I wanted to present a man who spent his artistic career reflecting the public rather than channeling himself. He (or rather, his persona) has been quoted saying "I'll be your mirror"---the reflective glimpse he offers being of our own media-crazed, celebrity-obsessed preoccupations. And so I worked to make Andy as compositionally in-your-face as I could, emphasizing not his pallid, expressionless visage, but the inaccessibility of it. Andy's glasses deny us any view of his eyes, reflecting instead the hyper-commercialized world of Times Square around him. (The multiplicity of Cola signs as reflected in his glasses also serves as a nod to the multiplication of images employed in his screen-printed work). The pallor of his face is both arresting and remarkably shallow--there is little physical depth to his ghostly figure, fitting for an artist who was determined to be persona rather than person. And so, in a painting that's all about Andy, we actually see very little of him. We confront instead a constructed figure who is both product of and response to his time.

Remembering Doc Berger

DeSmet Jesuit High School lost one of its greatest teachers this past week. Dr. Patrick Berger---lovingly referred to as "Doc" by just about everyone who knew him---was the rare breed of teacher who melded education and entertainment so seamlessly that it was easy to forget how much we were learning in between all the laughs.

Doc was as exuberant as they come, no matter what challenge lay at hand. He introduced us to great American authors---from Hawthorne to Fitzgerald---with the same vehemence that he employed to rally the troops for our annual calendar sales. We all welcomed his morning announcements orations with smiles and chuckles; the greatest tragedy is that we never thought to record his rich monologues and set the audio to a medley of inspirational movie speeches---the Youtube hits could have been gastronomical. Truly, Rome may have had Cicero, and England, Churchill, but we had Doc. There was no equal.

In his wisdom, Doc also knew that grading high school English papers was a dish best paired with a cold glass of scotch---or perhaps an entire bottle or two...we were never quite sure. But the advice was valuable, and the individual concern always evident. Doc met us where we were and encouraged growth from there. In doing so, he won the respect of everyone. His infectious laugh was matched only by his enthusiasm for the subjects he taught, and I'd like to think we were all the better for it.

In memory of Doc Berger and his unparalleled spirit, I've put together the above portrait---an attempt to capture the Doc that I knew best. I am sure that his spirit will live on in all who had him as a teacher, and all who knew him as a friend. May he rest in peace while we carry on his passion.

If you would like to read more about Doc, feel free to view this obituary at stltoday.com.