Tuesday, May 15, 2012

The Painting of Dimon Commences

Shoulda started earlier, but life is complicated.  Consider this:

The good news, as I move with deliberate strokes to catch up, is the eyes.  Big, black, opposing comma-like shapes.  If you get the eyes right (which I think will be easy) and the hair, it's gonna be like shooting cheese in a barrel.

And on the subject of Dimon's hair, executive gray is one my specialties, since I own some in real life.
I wouldn't describe your hair as executive gray.
No?
No.  For one thing, it's almost all white now.  You've lost that salt and pepper thing.
Like Gandalf the Gray, after his fight with the Balrog, becomes Gandalf the White.  It's a sign of power.
No it isn't.  It's a sign of age.
Oh.
Plus, tell me the last executive you've seen who looks like he brushed his hair with an egg beater.
It's called finger brushing.
Look at Dimon's hair, then look at yours.  Is all I'm saying.

Regardless, the key to executive gray hair is to lay down a layer of black first, then add the lighter colors.  This is a self-portrait painted when I was in Leesburg some years ago.














Work on paper, very rare.  Measures two feet by 3 and a half.  Roughly.  The smart money says, particularly if you own something of mine already, to snap this up for $24,000.  Work on paper.  Very rare.

And speaking of executive gray and how to paint it, consider this bad boy, painted within days of the above S-P:























Old Bobby Lee.  Bobby the Butcher, some called him.  A good man, others.  Me?  I'm going with a brilliant man pushed by what one might call the Forces of the Market into really fucking up.  Sounds like Jamie Dimon, although it's a bit fatuous, if not downright dishonorable, to compare Pickett's charge to JPMorgan losing what is to them, largely, cigar money.  Morgan's two billion is far more important from a qualitative point of view than a quantitative one.  Longstreet wouldn't have sat on the fence weeping had he been watching the London whale cost three rich people their jobs.

I miss this painting so much it makes me want to cry.  Literally, it makes me ache every time I look at it.  Objectively speaking, I might rethink those red goobers on his forehead, but we're not speaking objectively.  This is probably the last painting of mine that my father saw before he died, and he loved it too.

Talk amongst yourselves.  I'm all verklempt.  

Oy.


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