Gods of Gravity

Gods of Gravity: Sketch – ink, watermedia – 7.5 x 11 inches.

“The Kalevala” is Finland’s national epic poem. It unfolds in a harsh and beautiful landscape of dense green forests and snow-covered lakes. Of course, it contains all the elements of epics: shipwrecks, magical visions, the imprisonment of the sun and moon, bloody battles, a virgin birth, a miraculous infant, etc, all flowing toward an inconclusive outcome, like a dream. It exerted a deep influence on J.R.R. Tolkien and it worked its spell on me.

I visited Finland for two reasons: to research the origins of the poem and to see the paintings of Finland’s most famous artist (and illustrator of the epic), Alexi Gallen–Kallela (1865-1931). The artist’s home/studio/museum is located in Tarvaspää, on the outskirts of Helsinki. During one long afternoon, I was its only visitor.

I had admired the artist’s work for years, but what captivated my imagination in the studio was his piano. So I sat with it in silence and then made a detailed sketch in pencil. When I’m drawing I can be wide awake or in a dream, its hard to tell. The piano felt like a magical animal, asleep, like a sphinx, but full of power. There was no candelabra in the room, it appeared from nowhere, in the energy field of the piano. The shoes appeared out of nowhere too, grounding the instrument, even as it rose up from the floor, as light as my breath.

The artist’s home is small, but when I left, exhausted, it had felt like a cathedral. A long time passed before I was able to add the colors. The drawing is still not finished. They rarely are.

Cala Saona

 

Cala Saona, Formentera, Spain – Watercolor, pencil, ink – 5 x 8 inches.

When you draw or paint in public, people become curious. Whether working in a café, or in a waiting room at an airport, or on the corner of a street, you attract onlookers. I’ve been menaced by street thugs in Barcelona, but encounters with onlookers are usually pleasant. Sometimes sad, such as meeting a woman one morning in Valencia. I was drawing the decrepit husks of vacant apartment buildings that were about to be demolished. She told me that the 3rd floor flat of the building I was drawing had been her home. After the structure had been condemned by the city, she had been forcibly evicted by the police. They threw me out onto the street, she told me, “con golpes y patadas,” with punches and kicks.

My usual reaction to people who stop to watch me is to ask, “do you like to draw?” In all the years I have worked in public, I have never yet encountered a child who answered, “No.” With adults, however, the responses are mixed. The funniest exchange happened on the island of Formentera, when I was drawing these cliffs at twilight. The island, with its lively nightlife, transparent waters, clothing-optional beaches and mild weather attracts visitors from everywhere, especially from the less-temperate climates of northern Europe.

I had been working for a while and had been aware of the presence of someone standing behind me. It was an elderly gentleman, quiet and attentive. I asked him the question. Embarrassed, he backed away. “No,” he said sheepishly, “I’m German.”

Knives and Panpies

Knives and Panpipes – Water-media, pencil, ink – 8 x 11 inches.

Spain is the noisiest country I have ever lived in. Without a doubt, Valencia is its loudest city. The din of traffic, sirens, car horns, and work crews tearing up pavements is the ambient racket of urban life everywhere. But Valencia adds its own sonic touch: the explosions of firecrackers and rockets, at random, day and night. Was that thunder we heard? No, it was 10-minute volley of explosions celebrating the victory of the city’s football team. Valencia’s patron saint is the Virgin of the Forsaken. I call her the Virgin of Gunpowder.

Not long ago on a quiet street in Havana, a lovely sound I had not heard in many years reminded me of Valencia. It was the gentle trill of a panpipe. A knife-sharpener was near! And there he was, right around the next corner at the back door of a restaurant. Why sharpeners announced their presence with panpipes, I don’t know, but that sound, and the sight of a man with grinding wheels connected to the back wheel of his bicycle, and clusters of women with kitchen knives has been in my memory for nearly 40 years. Back then, the pipes were made of wood. This Cuban’s pipes were made of green plastic, but their sounds still touched my heart.

Panpipe music has all but disappeared in Spain. But not sharpeners. During the months of my last stay in Valencia, I met Álvaro, El Master Filo, whose shop sits across the street from the Ruzafa Market. I included my two favorite knives in the sketch. I’ll take them to him in a couple of weeks. He’ll laugh when I ask him if he plays panpipes.