Life painting Tim

Oil on paper.

23 by 16.5 inches.

I reach the Hawthorn Arts Center in a lather of tardy anxiety, unable to stop thinking about the many ways in which I let down myself and my children.

Thankfully, much of this frantic energy dissipates as I settle into the far more agreeable task of capturing today’s model, Tim.

Tim is unusually thin and lithe, with short graying hair and an almost uncomfortably intense expression on his face. He chooses an unusual pose: interlaced hands, one sneakered foot in front of his body, supported by a small stool. The angle of his leg accentuates its almost exaggerated slenderness and jutting knee-bone.

There is something incredibly beautiful about the man: it’s the beauty of bones, the skull, an athletic form, sparse flesh, thinning hair. The skull beneath the skin, what we so obviously all are. I work really hard, barely conscious of my process, dark to light, choosing brilliant, largely unblended colors.

When time is up, the rest of my life rushes back: how to get home in time to do all the mundane things that need to be done. As I leave, I’m so rattled, and in such a rush, that I fail to notice two things. Firstly, how well I have done this time, and how accurately I have captured the face and attitude of our model. And secondly, how much I have once again painted myself and my mental state even more than today’s model: my exhaustion and excitement, anxiety and near-constant fight-or flight mode.