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About
Michael Newberry
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Michael
Newberry, 2011.
Coming from
a representational art background, I seek to innovate
visual language and concepts, and illumination
is one of
my main themes.
Biography -
Places, Points, and Works
Formative
Years 1956-79
La Jolla was
a sleepy, wealthy, easy going beach town when I was born
there. Growing up as a beach urchin with my
brothers and sisters, I would regularly ditch school, body
surf, and play tennis ... and make art.
Warwick's Book Store, 1960's, La Jolla, California.
As an 11
year old I stood with my grandmother in
front of Warwick's bookstore, pictured above,
looking at
a portrait of a
woman on the cover of
a huge book. Her eyes were expressive with deep
feeling; and I remember my eye following the curves
of her mouth, chin, and neck, gently moving around
her earlobes, and stopping at the glints of light of
her earrings. The present was left behind. After a
lapse of a quarter of an hour or so, I looked over at my grandmother
and she gave me an odd expression - it seemed to say
"It's okay, you keep looking." I continued to
observe the painting.
Some months
later on my 12th birthday, my grandmother gave me a
present of that book, The
Complete Works of Rembrandt.
Hendrickje
Stoffels, 1645, oil on canvas, 30 x 25 inches.
Louvre.
This painting was the first artwork that spoke to
me, as an 11 year old.
In the
evenings I religiously studied Rembrandt's paintings,
absorbing their light, shadow, feeling, and human depth.
This ongoing experience sparked my visual creation,
and I have painted or drawn almost every day since
then.
There is one
aspect of my upbringing that, though not an art
thing, had an important influence. The world's greatest tennis players passed
through the La Jolla Beach and Tennis Club. As a 10
year I asked my tennis hero Rod Laver to hit a few
balls with me, and he did.
And a few
years later, I witnessed the
birth of woman's professional tennis from the
perspective of my sister Janet, who turned pro on
her eighteenth birthday.
The lessons
I learned from tennis were never to whine, always
improve your weaknesses, be your best,
know your abilities, never give up, and always
honor greatness in others.
At 17 I had my first art show in a local bank, started
selling, and had my first commissioned paintings. There was a problem with
commissions - the
collectors' impressions of the persons in the
portraits were not mine. From that experience,
I decided to
paint for myself, and never did another commission.
If I am going to be an artist, I am going to
paint what interests me, and nothing else.
Edgar Ewing, an
early American modernist, was my art
teacher and mentor at U.S.C..
He taught me
composition,
spatial relationships, and the dynamic play between
objects, and gave me just the right amount
of
knowledge to further my progress. Unfortunately, there was no formal figure drawing or technical
training. The other teachers focused
on conceptual art, installation art, and repetitive
mark making, which gave me a thorough grounding in
postmodern art. Figurative art and realism
would come later, being hard won developments that I would
have to learn on my own.
Edgar Ewing, (1913 -
2006), American Engine, oil on canvas, 40 x 45
inches
During college
and summer breaks I visited museums
such as: The Norton Simon (Van Gogh), LACMA
(Rodin sculptures), Guggenheim (Picasso), Ringling
Museum of Art (Monet), The Rijksmuseum (Rembrandt),
Kroller Muller (Van Gogh), The Louvre. And I visited historic and archeological
sites in England, Greece, Holland, and France.
At this
period, I read Dostoevsky, Nabokov,
Plato, and Mary Renault. And I read about the Minoan
discoveries of Sir Arthur Evans and Heinrich
Schliemann.
In the early
70's the art climate of Los Angeles was about installations, minimalism, pop,
abstract painting, and concept art. These fields had nothing to offer me in terms of the kind of
depth, passion, authenticity, and mastery which I
was looking for in painting. To grow and to try new things I moved to Holland
in hopes of finding a mentor and supportive art community.
Newberry, Self-Portrait
(19 years old), 1975, oil on linen, 14 x 10
inches.
Collection of the artist.
Holland was fun.
Initially,
I lived in rooms, and ended up in a Scheveningen
fisherman's house where tram #11 meets the
North Sea. In The Hague I spent two intense years at
the Free Academy Psychopolis, drawing from live
model 6 days a week; morning, afternoon, and evening,
resulting in thousands of figure drawings in conte,
pastel, and ink. There was no instruction there,
just the opportunity to observe/draw live models.
Newberry,
Girl Reclining, 1979,
mixed media, 18 x 24 inches.
Tenney Family collection.
In my free time I painted life size
nudes in oil. My style then was gestural, energetic,
transparent, colorful, and bold. This is where I met
a lifelong friend and spiritual sounding board,
Robert Mechielsen, an innovative architectural
designer.
Newberry, Rob II, 1978,
oil on canvas primed with rabbit's skin glue, 36 x
56 inches.
Geir Friis collection, Nesconset, New York.
Newberry, Jette, 1977,
oil on canvas primed with rabbit's skin glue, 69 x
40 inches.
Grant Barnes collection, Los Angeles, California.
This is also
the time I researched, from scant information, how
to prime linen canvases with dried rabbits' skin
double boiled, making a disgusting smelling liquid
which I applied to the canvas warm. When dried, it
served as a protective barrier between the linen and
oil medium, preventing the linen from rotting. Thank
god, modern gessoes improved upon that 15th century
process.
At this time
I read Rand's Atlas Shrugged. Her intensity, seriousness,
and
respect for creators matched how I felt about my art
heroes.
Commuting
between New York and The Hague, I would roll up my
unfinished canvases and take them with me. Robert
Mechielsen and Lynia Zaaijer posed for a few of my
paintings, along with Dutch television star Jette
van der Meij.
The late
70's period was horrible for figurative artists.
Figurative art
wasn't to be found in contemporary galleries or
museums. It was considered a dead art. But how could
such a powerful expression really be dead? How was
that possible? Screw the contemporary art scene.
Figurative art was unbounded by ideological, and
emotional states, indeed it is as open and unique as
individuals. I opted to push the limits of my art
knowledge including the figure. This is
when the
influence of tennis, past great artists, and confidence in my own
abilities came together supporting me through some
difficult years.
Figurative
Realism - Between New York and Holland, 1979-84
The
challenge of realism was appealing to me, and for
the next few years I honed my skills, developing several
life sized figurative paintings. Fantasy and
imagination are awesome things in art, but realism
holds a special place - it is a life line. Without
that connection my imagination would fly away,
spiral out of control, and out of sanity, and I might
never come back.
Newberry, Lynia
Wearing a Hat,
1981, oil on linen, 48 x 36 inches.
Private Collection
Newberry,
Woman's Head (Lynia Zaaijer), 1979,
life size, bronze.
Lynia Zaaijer collection. The Hague, Holland
In 1979
I tried my
hand at sculpture, making a portrait of my friend
Lynia Zaaijer. This is my only sculpture, but for a
tiny clay Venus I did as an 11 year old. A difficult problem
was how to end the bust at the
shoulder/neck line; I solved this by cutting off
where a necklace might fall.
In New York
I lived in a rotted building in the lower
eastside, and continued figure drawing studies in a
nearby, grungy studio that hosted uninstructed
figure drawing.
In my place
there was no furniture, just a mattress on wood
crates, and my art stuff. There I met my great
friend and model, Jennifer Trainer Thompson. She
went on to be a very successful writer and
fundraiser for MASS MoCA.
New York has
great museums which I regularly visited: The Frick,
Whitney, MOMA, and the Met. Also, I spent some time visiting New York's
contemporary art galleries, but the installation works,
negativity and gross view of life, disgusted me so intensely
that afterwards I couldn't paint for days, and
couldn't shower long enough to get the feeling of
shit off of me. To keep my spirit up
I stopped visiting these types of galleries.
Around this
time I took a reality check. Slumming it was a long
way from La Jollan life - how good of a
painter was I? Was this sad lifestyle worth it? Did
I have enough talent to wow myself like how I felt
about my heroes Rembrandt, Monet, Van Gogh, and
Michelangelo? At this point I wasn't there. I studied
the time lines of the great artists that I loved.
With two or three exceptions in which the artists'
education and times were in sync, they didn't dial
in until their late 20's. After this research I gave
myself till I was 28 or 30 to make a work that would
totally blow me away. Until then I would keep pushing
my limits.
Vermeer was
a big influence in my early work. I lived close by
the Maurits House, where The Girl with Pearl
Earring is. Time to time, like many young
artists, I was flustered with my
portrait work. So I would hop on a tram, and drop in to
the museum to see how Vermeer did it.
Newberry,
Woman in Blue,
1981,
oil on linen, 55 x 36 inches.
Private Collection
Narratives
Painting
observations are difficult enough, but when you add
concepts, emotional themes, or a story, they open up
intensely difficult tasks to paint. Every mark,
every gesture, every nuance either enhances the
theme, or defeats it. Narrative paintings answer
questions like: Why are they in that pose? Why that
setting? What is this story about? Is there a moral?
In 1981, at
25 years old, I completed Promethia, which combined
the backgrounds of a Palm Springs desert, La
Jolla's UCSD's Library, and my painterly invention
of the sculpture. Promethia shows my vision
for the synergy of figurative art, modern
architecture, and clean environment.
Newberry, Promethia,
1982, oil on linen, 78 x 58 inches.
Private Collection
During this
period, I formed my goal to merge the
influence of Rembrandt's realism and light, with the
French Impressionists' (mostly Monet) color theory,
and with my special outlook on life.
Newberry, Pursuit, 1984,
oil on linen, 84 x 60 inches.
Private Collection of Geir
Friis.
Breakthrough
This period
culminated in the creation of Pursuit. The
painting took me 16 hours a day, every day for 6
months. This painting was the culmination of
everything I knew about color theory, light and
shadow, anatomy, depth, gesture. It also expresses
my belief that great visions are not strolls in the
park, or politically correct parties, rather they
are challenges that demand the very best of you, yet
don't guarantee success. The tension creating this
was almost unbearable, and at the same time every
moment of those 6 months felt glorious.
The
intensity was kind of frightening; I had a fear that I
might be going crazy. One time I had worked until 3
am, and awoke at 5 am, bright eyed, and decided to
catch the Staten Island Ferry to take breakfast in
Manhattan. On the ride, the colors of sunrise were
spread out over the water towards the Statue of
Liberty. I was studying the subtle shifts of the
hues and tones, and how they diminished and
intensified depending on were the objects where in
space. At that moment I understood as long as I was
connected to reality through observing it, art
wasn't taking me away from reality, or making me
crazy, I was simply going further and further into
how vision works. With that as my foundation I was
free to drive as far as my art vision could take me.
Working for
months or years on one painting is not very
practical from a business or pragmatic point of view,
but it is from a point of view of confidence in
humanity. In a healthy world we all will pursue the
things we love, and have faith that with fortitude and vision we can make
creativity the norm.
End of Part
I
Michael Newberry
MTNewberry@gmail.com
310-913-8986
Michael Newberry in the Santa Monica studio, 2010.
Biography -
Places, Points, and Works, Part II
Ascension Years
1984-1990
The section of
Staten Island near the ferry dock was fairly run
down, with cheap housing and dusty convenience stores.
The local laundry mat was across the street from
some government housing projects, and it had "out of
service" signs scratched on the enamel of the washer
and dryer lids.
Once a group of
six or so young black guys were gathered on a side
walk in front of me as I was walking home with my
finished laundry. It occurred to me to cross the
street to avoid them, but I thought better of it,
and continued walking towards them. There was a
momentary tension as they stood without moving,
blocking the sidewalk. I walked up to them and said
"pardon" and a couple of them moved aside and let me
pass. For the remainder of that walk I thought about
how it was my choice to live in that miserable
place; it was cheap, close to Manhattan, and
afforded me time to paint full-time. But for those
guys, it was what they knew, and they probably also
knew that I and the other artists, actors, dancers
were just passing through.
After finishing
Pursuit in Staten Island I tried to market my
work to art magazines and Manhattan galleries.
American Artist magazine then had a section on up and
coming artists, and they rejected to do a feature on
me because I was "white, male, and living in New
York City." Alan Frumkin (Frumkin Gallery) thought
my paintings were too "lyrical." Sherry French spent
10 minutes with her nose up against the surface of
Pursuit; I realized that she wasn't looking
but stalling because she didn't know what to say me.
An art dealer asked me to come in for an appointment
after seeing an art invitation of mine. She gave my
athletic frame a look over, and said I didn't look
like an artist. Another art dealer said about
Pursuit that "New York is not ready for this
kind of art."
Undoubtedly
marketing and savvy self pitching skills were not
part of my repertoire, but I thought it would be
obvious to anyone, and especially art experts, that
all my time and energy went into my complex and
audacious works. There is very little you can do
when all the doors you try don't open. Not seeing a
future in New York, I rented a big car, rolled up
all my works and drove home to La Jolla and started
looking for a job.
Tennis was my
best bet for well paid part-time work and I soon got
a job teaching it at the Jack Kramer Club in Palos
Verdes. One of the highlights there is that I gave
about 30 playing lessons to a young Pete Sampras,
never losing. I also coached Nicole London to a 12
and under national title. Far from feeling relief
with this kind of quality job, I was fearful the
successes at the Kramer Club would wipe out my life
as an artist.
So in-between
lessons and every free moment I had I spent working
on the life sized portrait of Puccini.
To be continued
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