We have a room full of Henry Moore sculptures on permanent display at the Art Gallery of Ontario in Toronto. I tried to seduce a girl in this room when I was 18. It was my first year at the Ontario College of Art, just next door. She was more experienced than me. At love. She lived with 2 guys. I wanted her. She enjoyed teasing me. We went to her place after making out behind a giant Moore. Her boyfriends were there. It was uncomfortable for me. She enjoyed my squirming and confusion. I left.
The sculptures are magnificent. I can't imagine that they had cared about my frustrated adolescent lust. But they watched. I wonder if they remember. I visited the room again this summer with my son Jacob and one of my students. Jacob was sitting in on my teaching that day. The rest of the class remained at school completing a project. We drew for 2 hours. Jacob turned 10 this summer. I loved the enjoyment he took in the sketching. The pleasure. His focus. His pride the work he had done. We sketched people all the way home on the subway. I never pushed this on him. Art. It just captured his imagination. Now he's an artist. He carries a sketchbook to events and family functions. To draw.
Moore's sculptures, all boney, washed in acid, holding time, tears and loss, fix me in space with their textured fleshy architecture. His drawings are marvelous too. I wish he had been my teacher. Someone like him. With his passion for work. I wish I could believe in making art. I just don't.
jacobs moore's
2 comments:
I keep thinkig your boy's called Jacob Epstein! It's the sculptures i guess. Sweet boy. Enjoyed your flash site particularly the war movie and the marketing game. You're a talented guy.
I saw a retrospective of Jacob Epstein's work in Israel back in 1972. It was amazing. I posted a new link to some work from my ever-repositioning 'brand'. It's more personal work, since I don't make any money at it, I can call it Fine Art, right? I hope you'll check it out. Thanks for the kind words. It's gratefully accepted encouragement.
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