Profiles in Painting
oil on canvas, 24 x 30"
oil on canvas, 24 x 30"
1987 self-portrait
I was 25 years old when I painted this. I noticed there were changes happening to my jawline. The realization that one is not immune from aging, even while basking in the warm glow of youth, is never easy. My ponytail was in it's early stages then. That year I received my MA from CWRU and taught art at summer camp. While working at the YMCA, I was faced with the indignity of being told that I had to secure my hair back with bobby pins, which made me promise myself to never cut my hair too short for it to be adequately restrained with a simple piece of elastic, and I never have. I was the only guy with a ponytail teaching at any school I was ever assigned for twelve years. The cruel hand of time has ripped the hair out of my head and caused the skin on my face to sag even more. Someone guessed my age as 62 the other day. Still, I won't go quietly into the dark night. I ran 42 miles this week and haven't greyed too much. I can still drink all day and rock all night, OK, so not on a weeknight, but still! Back in 1987, when I painted this, the last year I was single, I didn't have much, but I remember being full of energy and gloriously excited about the future. I think I've spent the last thirty years trying to find a way to never stop feeling that way.
I was 25 years old when I painted this. I noticed there were changes happening to my jawline. The realization that one is not immune from aging, even while basking in the warm glow of youth, is never easy. My ponytail was in it's early stages then. That year I received my MA from CWRU and taught art at summer camp. While working at the YMCA, I was faced with the indignity of being told that I had to secure my hair back with bobby pins, which made me promise myself to never cut my hair too short for it to be adequately restrained with a simple piece of elastic, and I never have. I was the only guy with a ponytail teaching at any school I was ever assigned for twelve years. The cruel hand of time has ripped the hair out of my head and caused the skin on my face to sag even more. Someone guessed my age as 62 the other day. Still, I won't go quietly into the dark night. I ran 42 miles this week and haven't greyed too much. I can still drink all day and rock all night, OK, so not on a weeknight, but still! Back in 1987, when I painted this, the last year I was single, I didn't have much, but I remember being full of energy and gloriously excited about the future. I think I've spent the last thirty years trying to find a way to never stop feeling that way.
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