Miracle of the Wine

“Miracle of the Wine.”

The subject of my drawings vary from day to day depending upon where I am and who I am with. For example, on this particular day I am with myself and my particular interest happens to be a story from the Bible. The story is exciting for me because it involves many people involved in actions and dialogue. The Bible doesn’t tell me where this event actually took place, except, in the town of Cana near Galilee, so I had to decide in my artistic imagination upon a logical arrangement to produce a large assemblage of people. Wine is being served by the wine steward and his helpers, so pictorially I plan to locate this activity in the foreground. The wedding couple and their parents along with important guests are also planned for the foreground and the dozens of other guests will be spread across the background. Jesus will be centered among these guests because he will be performing a miracle.

So this is the scene for the most part, as I saw it inspired by the Scripture as it was written. This scene was then sketched in with pencil and then I began adding faces and gestures as they came to me using pen and ink.

As the story continues, Jesus, his mother, and a number of disciples while on the way to Galilee stopped by and were invited to join the wedding festivities. I arranged it so that a great tent was erected over the party area which centered around the young couple and their parents. All the people appear to be happy and gay and enjoying themselves when the wine steward discovered that the wine had been all but used up. He didn’t know what to do, but somehow the word was brought to Jesus’ mother that the wine was almost gone and the steward was at a loss for what to do. Jesus mother spoke quietly to her son and told him the situation and asked him to do something. At first, Jesus was reluctant to interfere but he finally sent word to the wine steward to pour water into the wine kegs. The wine steward then tasted the contents and, behold, it tasted like the best wine they had had all day. This then, became the first sign of what was yet to come from the young Rabbi.

Once the layout for my drawing was determined, it was subject to modification as I inked it in, to give the people facial and body movement. In this case, I started with the wine steward and his helpers. This was the lifeblood area of the party and perhaps the key to making the picture work. The helpers had to show surprise by the change of water to wine. If you pick out the mama and papa of the newlyweds, they should be showing happiness for what was happening, but all the while the guests were totally unaware of the miracle that had taken place – until the wine steward’s helpers spread the word that it was Jesus who was responsible for making it all possible.

I finished the drawing in pen and ink but decided it was too colorful an occasion not to introduce color to this picture, so I use watercolor to enhance the otherwise black-and-white composition of the wedding feast. Some months later, I transposed the drawing to a 2’ x 4’ panel and painted it in oil.

 

Salome, Herod and the Dance of the Seven Veils

Salome dances for King Herod before asking for the head of John the Baptist in return.

 

King Herod was the governor of Judea. He had many faults, let alone a wandering eye for pretty women. One of those women was named Salome. She was young. She was beautiful. And she was put together like a woman should be put together.

The King was having a public relations problem with his subjects and John the Baptist was of no help to him. So he sent out his soldiers to arrest John. He chained him up in a dungeon until he could determine what to do with this thorn in his side. In the meantime he continued to abuse his subjects in every way possible. For relaxation however, he decided to have a gala party for his nobles to experience the benefits of his kingship.

Entertainment would be a prime factor for the party and Salome, who was the daughter of his wife’s brother, would make a  delicious main attraction for the guests, thought Herod. Salome was a dancer extraordinaire but when he asked if she would dance for his guests, she refused. Taken aback by her refusal he suggested he would do anything in the world she wanted. Now Salome’s mother was no great supporter of John the Baptist so she was inspired to suggest to Salome that she should dance if the King would bring her the head of John the Baptist on a plate in return. This appealed to Salome, so she agreed to dance for Herod if he would promise to give her anything she wanted, in the end. The guests were startled when they heard Salome’s fee, but it also excited the guests with anticipation to witness the payoff.

Well, Salome performed her dance of the seven veils and the king could not have been more pleased until Salome demanded her fee. The king was somewhat reticent but he finally gave in to popular support by the audience so he sent for his executioner and gave the order to execute John the Baptist and bring Salome his head on a silver platter, as promised.

From an artist’s perspective, “Dance of the Seven Veils” (ink and watercolor, 1999) was an exciting prospect for painting, given the beautiful woman and a lot of people to depict. I like pictures with a lot of people, men and women with various facial expressions and costumes. I like the idea of having a king and queen observing the dance. The potential including onlookers and their reactions to the dance interested me. I guess it’s the magic of imagination added to the subject that inspires me to do what I do. I sort of imagine myself as being somewhere within the action of the illustration. I try to make a picture that would be of interest to the viewer. If my picture is of interest to me then it will be of interest to others who see the picture. If I enjoyed the picture, others will enjoy it, too – at least, that’s my goal.

 

 

 

Artist Cogitating on Time

Past years and memories seem continually to be leading me to explore the streets, people and places in my youth. I think about my earliest days as a young boy with no real understanding of how or why life changes happen, like walking through the revolving doors into Gimble’s or Wanamaker’s to a wonderland of milling people, colors, sounds and perfumes. And the mystery of why my interests moved from shooting my BB gun at miniature lead soldiers to copying cartoon characters from the funny pages of the Sunday Inquirer, to collecting postage stamps and trading duplicates with my neighborhood friends.

When I think about it, it seems like life just keeps repeating itself. All that changes is people’s faces.

It’s like déjà vu.

Then there was the day of my frustration, of having to wait to enter kindergarten a half year after my cousin Margaret because I missed the cut off date – I was born in October instead of September, big deal!

Well, 80 years have passed since the kindergarten days and my verbal and artistic skills have matured enabling me to create art work based on memories that keep popping up in a word or a thought, as I sit and meditate in my second floor studio in Levittown, PA.

Recently, I put into picture form a painting which sort of includes several stations in my life, fermenting in content as these memories and thoughts came to mind. My major thrust for this composition was to do a self-portrait. However, painting just a plain self-portrait didn’t stimulate my current interest so, as my sketching continued, I added and played with the various elements in my composition. Then, I thought about holding and eyeballing the head of a younger me in my out stretched hand but retaining the prospects of a decent self-portrait. After playing with this idea I still wasn’t satisfied, so I changed the head into a human skull. Much better, I thought. Then one thing led to another as I added some people – figures, perhaps students, or models at my old art school, and then, a 5-year-old me came to mind as well as other relative elements as the composition began to stir my interest.

Oh yes, the violin waving amid the trio of figures is my old “Pop Goes the Weasel” fiddle. Then I dissolved the interior wall behind me and added grass and sky with clouds moving across the face of the moon to suggest the passage of time. That preacher type holding a book, standing between me and the skull must have slipped in as a necessary compositional element, painting-wise, or perhaps because of all the biblical art I have created over the years. Up in the right hand corner is my painting companion Carolyn and that’s me plinking on the mandolin I bought in a music store on Chestnut Street as a possible still life subject in a painting yet to be created, and the cat represents one of my many feline friends from my early year’s on Tenth Street. Of course I had to add some tools of the trade along with my pipe and Zippo lighter in the foreground – AND THERE! You now have a word picture of the painting.

Sisera and Jael: From Bible story to canvas

(The story about Sisera and Jael can be found in your Bible in Chapter 4 of the Book of Judges. )

The story relates that for 20 years the Israelites, once again, have been subjugated by the enemy, under King Jabin of Canaan. The prophetess Debora, who was a Judge of Israel, confers with General Barak, who has amassed his Israelite army and tells him, “Up! this day Yaweh has put Sisera into your power….”

Sisera, the Canaanite general was intimidated by the impending force of the Israelites but still marches against them. His forces, however, are routed and not one man escapes except for Sisera, who flees on foot to the camp of Jael, who feigns a warm greeting and invites him into her tent to rest. While Sisera is asleep she takes a tent peg and pounds it through his temple and into the ground where he dies.

The graphic description of Jael pounding a tent peg through Sisera’s head was a scene I had to put to canvas. This was indeed what I call the “crisis point” of this story and pictorially challenging for my imagination. I visualized Sisera’s face in agony and contemplated the feeling of satisfaction, or whatever, on Jael’s face, as she hammered the stake.

How to do this was my problem as an illustrator and a painter. The written words provided me with the story, but it doesn’t usually provide the setting, like what might have been in Jael’s tent. I had to create a reasonable setting inside the tent for the action that was taking place. Over the years of illustrating Bible stories I have retained memories of costumes and, when necessary, I may have to research materials that might be useful in making my paintings appear authentic, but I am not adverse to using my imagination as necessary, when developing my paintings.

The Violin

Herb Mandel with the refurbished violin his father brought with him when he emigrated from Germany in the early 1920s.

It was in exploring in my parents’ bedroom closet, where I would on occasion discover things that had been stashed away by my mother that I wasn’t supposed to see until Christmas or my birthday, that I found a true treasure. It was in the early 1930s that I found a long black wooden box almost as long as I was tall. I took it out of the closet and set it down on the floor in front of me. When I opened the lid of the box, wonder of wonders, it was a musical instrument, a violin. What a wonderful treasure, I thought. Where did it come from? Why had I never seen it before? I’ll have to ask Mom about my discovery.

My Mom was my confidant, someone who seemed to know everything and usually always satisfied my curiosity. She explained the violin belonged to my father, who brought it from Germany when he immigrated to America before I was born. He loved music and to sing the old German drinking songs and folk tunes, but I don’t remember that he ever played the violin, which I was sure he could if he wanted to. It seemed to me he could do anything. He was my Pop. In fact he was a man of mystery to me because we never had a real father-son talking relationship. He could fix anything, like plumbing, electrical wiring, wallpapering and all sorts of things which fascinated me. I would watch him often when he worked around the house. He had all kinds of tools and saved screws and bolts and nuts and stuff in coffee cans and jars. I admired him with amazement and admiration for all the things he knew and could do. He, however, hardly ever spoke to me while he was working but he noticed I was watching him as he worked.

My father was a patriarchal presence in our family. His word was usually the final word about everything. From childhood to puberty, when I asked Pop a question or discussed anything I would speak to him in German – he would answer in German. We never had a real speaking relationship but I believe he was fond of me and he loved me, even though when I was born he hoped I would be a girl child, at least there were rumors to that effect I would hear from time to time (I had two older brothers). He never spanked me or struck me for any reason that I can remember, although he was severe with my older brothers, but I never saw him lay a finger on them in anger.

On weekends or holidays, Pop would invite his friends to the house for beer and schnapps and after a few drinks Pop would break into an old German song as they sat around our kitchen table…”Ein Prosit, der Gemudlichkeit” and his buddies would chime in, which would lead into the raising of glasses and more songs from their youth in the Old Country which continue through the night into the early morning hours, with Pop conducting the group, using the index finger of each hand.

I was taken by surprise one Christmas Eve, when my Mom gave Pop a large gift package and Pop pulled out a new instrument to me, a Ziehharmonika (accordion) which brought a big grin to his face. He immediately pulled and pushed on it and fingered the dozens of buttons, then to my surprise he began playing one of his favorite German drinking songs to which everyone joined-in singing with much laughter and joy. Pop was in his glory. Yes-sireee, Pop was the original “Music Man.” He also had a strong, clear and resonant tenor voice which he exercised as a member of the Gesangverein at a local Association of Male Singers.

Ziehharmonika (accordion).

I’m sure my musical interests were strongly stimulated and influenced by my early childhood exposure to music. Time passed since I had discovered the violin in my parents’ closet. One day, I answered the doorbell (I was allowed to answer the doorbell) but this time the bell rang and it was meant for me. I opened the door to a stranger who had a big smile on his face who after a moment spoke to me, “How would you like to play the violin, young man”? I was confused and startled, but excited. How did this stranger know about the violin? I spun around quickly to find my mother and bring her to the door as I flustered to her the words “violin… man… door” and pulled her hand hard, to meet the visitor. After a few minutes of listening to the man, she invited him into our parlor where he explained about Professor Barrington the teacher, who would teach me to play the violin. He would even refurbish Pop’s old violin at no extra cost, all for only $2 for each lesson.

Mom looked at me as only a loving mother could look at her wide-eyed son with loving eyes and agreed that I could begin my violin lessons. I gave her a big hug and the man gave her a paper to sign. The man gave me a pat on my shiny blond head and wished me success in my coming endeavors, perhaps as a successor to the then famous David Rubinoff and his violin, who was featured on Fred Allen’s weekly radio show.

Yes, that’s how it all started. I went on to play a command performance by my third grade teacher, before the entire class. The performance was a big hit with the students when I played, “Pop Goes the Weasel” and plucked my E string for the “pop.” I went on to perform for Mr. Rowe, our local Butcher Store owner who paid me with a dime and dubbed me “Rubinoff,” which was his greeting from then on whenever I came into his store.

When I was transferred to Ferguson grade school after completing grade 6A at Hartranft Elementary School, I played in the school orchestra at assemblies and special events. When I moved on to Jay Cooke Junior High, I reevaluated my career goals in favor of the visual arts and discontinued my violin lessons.

I sort of missed the violin after stopping my lessons and at times wondered what might have been had I given more time to pursuing the violin –  maybe even playing in the famous Philadelphia Orchestra.

The story of Job: What do YOU think?

 

The Book of Job presented me with a pictorial challenge to show the story I was reading, as best I could, in one frame. I couldn’t showJob and his friends as well as the scene leading to this point showing God with Satan but I had to include Satan somehow overseeing his responsibility for Job’s cataclysmic misfortune in discussion with his friends. I had to find a way to introduce Satan’s presence. How to do this was my problem. I would have to wait on the painting’s development as it took shape. I decided to wait and see how the composition developed and take my chances. I believe an appropriate opportunity finally presented itself.

Check out the painting carefully.

The element of surprise (for me) which appeared in the epilogue to the story, is that Satan appears as one of the “Sons of God,” still serving on His council of Angels. This, I believe, is the first occasion in the books of the Bible that I have found where Satan and God appear together in general discussion about a “God-fearing” earthling named Job, as God knows him. Satan then proceeds to persecute him.
Satan’s contention being that Job is not the good, kind, considerate-of-others being that God considers him to be. Further, he contends, if God had not constantly placed His protective hand around Job and his domain on earth, that he would surely be cursing God to His face.
God responds simply with a challenge to Satan: that he will place Job under Satan’s power but with the condition that he keep his hands off his person.

Then Satan leaves the presence of God and does his thing.

Soon, Job begins to receive word from many messengers that all his possessions have been destroyed, his animals have been driven away or destroyed. His houses with his entire family inside have fallen on them killing them all. Job has nothing left in the world to live for. He falls to the ground in prayer, he tears his clothes saying, “God gave and takes away, blessed be the name of God.” Festering boils cover his body and he settles into a pit of ashes having committed no sin or insult to God of which he was aware.

Job has three local friends who come to commiserate with him. Their mission is to console Job in his misery and present their reasoning for what and why these tragedies have come to him. Each friend takes his turn, including intermittent responses from Job, to explain what has happened and why, for some 30 chapters until God straightens them all out at the end of the book.

My painting was conceived basically to show Job in his distress while in discussion with his sympathetic friends. The monotone sienna color was used to add to the somberness of the mood and finally I added the shadowed figure of Satan to show the villain who was really responsible for Job’s miseries.
Of course, God answers all the questions and reasoning presented in the long and tiresome dialogue in the book offered by Job’s friends.
I ask you, the readers of the Book of Job, to add your commentary about the blog or the painting, as part of the blog as I have presented it.

Young Girl Contemplating

Young Girl Contemplating

During the final weeks before graduation day from PMSIA (Philadelphia Museum School of Industrial Art) now the University of the Arts in 1948, Wilbert Wilkins, Ben Siegel and I found our dream come true “studio home “at Sixteenth and Sansom streets.

The studio was hidden on the top floor of a row of business buildings anchored by a luggage shop on the street floor. Our private entrance to the building was next to the shop with a stairway leading up to each floor landing. Of course, since we wanted to be on top of our world, this palatial studio was a real find and being in our youth we didn’t mind the climb to the fourth floor. We surveyed the suite consisting of four rooms and a lavatory facility. Additionally, the four walls surrounding the stairwell would provide us with gallery space where we could display our paintings. It was wonderful. Suddenly, for some unknown reason, Ben Siegel, who initiated the search for a studio, suddenly withdrew from the partnership. However, after some quick calculating, Wilbert and I decided to go ahead with the studio but at a greater expense to us, via a two way split instead of three for rental costs and expenses, but then we were used living on a shoe string within the monthly stipend we received from Uncle Sam’s GI Bill benefits for veterans. Good old Uncle Sam.

After several weeks of cleaning, sweeping, sweating and applying five gallons of battleship grey paint to all the walls, we were ready to occupy our center city studio and begin producing such art works as had not yet been seen, by the hoi polloi of our fair city.

Well, during the next two years of Bohemian living and painting like starving artists (and that is the truth), we followed the same routine, except for Sundays, when I would return to my family home in New Jersey for a decent meal. Six days a week, however, we would paint and sketch, have breakfast at Needik’s Orange Drinks store, which for our convenience was located right across the street from our studio and have a hot dog or a donut plus an orange drink (with two glasses, one for each of us), then for lunch, we feasted at Horn & Hardart’s Automat, consisting of one order of three or four (5 cent each) vegetables ( for each of us, if we could afford it) and finally for supper back to Needik’s, for a hot dog, which we shared along with a cup of coffee. It is amazing how little food was necessary to keep the body functioning, but then, as they say, great art can be generated from an empty stomach, if you live long enough.

As days and weeks passed we had visitors, friends and would-be friends and other artists who dropped in on us to chat and commiserate on the hardships of life. One day a friend of a friend visited us with a young woman to see our work. The young woman was attractive and interested in art and artists and as we continue talking she accepted our invitation to pose for us, at least long enough that we completed several paintings including the one shown in this blog.

Then, some 40 years later, I was married and widowed; my two daughters were also married and had their own families. My older daughter, Jean, reminded me of the girl in the painting, so I gave it to her and it now hangs in her home in Levittown and time marches on . . .

Noah’s Grandson, Nimrod, and the Tower of Babel

‘Nimrod the Hunter and the Tower of Babel”

There is one man included amongst the patriarchs in the Book of Genesis who only received recognition by name and lineage, who should (in my opinion) be given status as apPatriarch rather than, or as well as, “potentate,” (which puts him in a class below, I believe). His skills and prowess as a great hunter with a bow and arrow, was recognized, even by God.

Nimrod the Hunter, was a leader amongst men and a builder of cities, including Babel and Nineveh. He was a great-grandson of Noah but did not live up to the virtues and standards that God had found in Noah. He was a bully amongst men, took what he wanted, including women, whatever he desired because he was a big man. His mighty bow and hunting were his major interests in life. He believed in God but was (I believe) somewhat jealous of God.

Nimrod was the most powerful bowman in the land. He believed that if he shot an arrow into the clouds above, it would surely strike an angel, proof being, when the arrow returned to earth it would be stained with blood of an angel. In fact, his concept in the building of a Tower was that he could ultimately be able to reach Paradise.

At some point during the building of the tower in Babel, it is written that God with an entourage, appeared on earth to see what was happening in Babel. What he found was all the people were speaking the same language and he decided that they should speak different languages. No one then would any longer understand one another, so he sent those with similar languages in different directions to establish clans and tribes throughout the land and where they settled they were to multiply and prosper. The workers on the tower also could not understand one another and dispersed with the others. That is how the Tower of Babel got its name.

Turns Out Uncle Sam Did Want Me

Back in June of 1945 I received a second letter from President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, which started with the words: “Greetings … your name has been selected to serve in the armed forces of the United States of America” …and I was to report for my physical examination on a specified date and location.I had gone through this procedure two years earlier but since I couldn’t see the big E on the eye chart I was classified 4F and sent home, unfit for duty in the Armed Forces. As far as I was aware, my eyes hadn’t improved but I reported to the armory as required, sent to a dressing room where all of us had to strip to our shorts and be processed for our physical fitness, to be a soldier. This time, and I never found out why, even though I still couldn’t see the big E on the eye chart, I received a passing grade and that same afternoon was inducted into the Army of the United States. We were then sent home and would be notified by mail as to where and when we should return for basic training. In September I received a letter to return to the armory where I and all the other recruits were bused to a local train station without any word, where, why or what was to happen to us. When we finally arrived at our destination, Fort Meade, Maryland, we were issued uniforms and assigned to barracks. For the next week we were interviewed and tested to determine how we could best be used in the armed forces.

About 100 of us were put on the train destined for Fort Indiantown Gap where we were assigned to the Third Service Command, to perform various assignments, which in my case was to maintain medical statistics in the form of charts, graphs and records. The best part of this assignment was that there were no special duties like KP, guard duty, cleaning and the like. There were still German prisoners housed here who were assigned these menial tasks and Military Police were assigned to see that they carried out their duties.Well, my statistics assignment didn’t appeal to me very much so during the next few days I walked through the camp to see what else was happening there and discovered a sign posted in front of a barracks which read, Information Education Branch. This sounded pretty interesting to me so I went in to see what was going on. I found that they had an art department and the Major, who was in charge, was looking for an artist to replace the Sergeant who was soon to be discharged. To make a long story short, Major Williams liked the portfolio of work that I brought back, after a weekend pass home, and had me transferred to his office the very next day.

During the next several weeks I worked on the second floor of the barracks painting pictures for the mess hall as well as posters and signs which were needed for various camp activities and events. During evening hours I spent time at the camp recreation center where I set up an easel and painted a self portrait. The camp newspaper photographer turned up when he heard about my self portrait, snapped a picture and a few days later I found the photograph in the camp newspaper.

Amarillo Air Force Base

Several weeks later, during off hours, I painted another portrait of myself working at my workstation. Whether or not my activities were serving our country I couldn’t say, but it certainly was serving me. Around Christmas time I was transferred to Amarillo Air Force Base in Texas where I was assigned to make posters and decorations

 for the Stark Mad Club, which was the base entertainment center  where I arranged to have a private room, where I slept as well as worked on silkscreen posters for the U.S.O. groups that entertained the troops. Of course, my work was so important that I was promoted to the rank of corporal.

I guess I should at least be thankful to FDR, for sending me the “Greetings” letter, and the U.S. Congress, for passing the Veteran’s GI Bill, which resulted in most of my art training.

Where Nymphs Come From

During my first two years as a student at Tyler School of Art, the English classes in composition and creative writing became my favorite courses. I didn’t register for painting classes primarily because I wanted to concentrate on sculpture classes, which was my major area of study. However, I continued to paint in my Philadelphia studio because I was required to submit samples of my painting as well as samples of all mediums I worked with for the infamous Senior Revue by Dean Boris Blai, to show one’s proficiency in various art skills. In fact, student graduation was conditioned upon the Dean’s satisfactory revue of one’s entire portfolio submitted, which led to trepidations for some students, like a final exam.

At some point during my first year at Tyler, my Composition professor Mr. Lazarus, assigned the students an art project, to design our concept of a nymph, using any medium, any size, that would appeal to us. The class would vote on whose creation was the winner and he would award a prize.

As certain as I was that I would be the winner, the voting leaned toward another student. Never the less, the sketch that I retained in my sketch-book led me some years later to be inspired to create a painting titled, “Three Nymphs.” I didn’t have a story yet, but decided to allow the composition to evolve as the spirit moved me. I visualized the nymphs just skipping along, having a joyous romp on the sandy warm brown landscape. The girls didn’t have anything specific to do, so I put some flowers in their hands and some blossoms in their hair. They looked to me like they were planting seeds from the flowers, which led me to show one of the nymphs as being pregnant. So a story was beginning to ferment in my imagination. I added a large sun in the sky which seemed too solitary, until I added sun rays with white dots across the warm sun-filled sky. I added a distant landscape of hills and trees but the painting needed more. How did the flower seeds grow and where did nymphs come from, I thought to myself. So I painted an egg on the ground, which in my thoughts, evolved from the seed of the flower. Good idea, I decided, so I added more eggs to the landscape. But what happens to the egg? I questioned myself. It breaks open and produces a … baby,  a baby nymph. Yes! But how does it evolve? From an arm surrounded by vegetation and later, a head and a body and so on. That is where nymphs come from, and now I have story.

This story and painting might never have come into being if Mr. Lazarus had not been interested in exploring what his students thought nymphs looked like.