A Still Life of a Still Life

I’m so excited about the assignment in my painting class this week. We are supposed to paint a still life of objects that somehow represent our lives. There weren’t many “rules” other than that there needed to be three or more items, one of which was some sort of photograph of ourselves.

I’ve always liked and admired still life paintings. In college, while on an overseas study abroad program in England and The Nederlands, I visited world-class museums for the first time–the National Gallery and the Tate in London, the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam. I was overwhelmed and in awe as I wandered in front of art by all the masters, but I developed a special place in my heart for still life paintings. I still have, hanging on my living room wall, the framed print of a Dutch still life I carted home in my suitcase thirty years ago. The artist was not well-known, and I’m embarrassed to say I don’t know his name. I do, however, see his still life almost every day of my life. I included a photograph of it at the start of this post, so now you’ve seen it too.

Traditionally, a still life, as you probably know, was an artistic depiction of commonplace items, either natural—such as flowers, fruit, shells, food, stones—or crafted—such as books, musical instruments, jewelry, vases, pipes or dishes.  Many of the items carried symbolic meaning and and the paintings themselves often served as a source of enrichment or focus of meditation. One particular subset of still lifes, called vanitas, included items that focused the viewer on the transitoriness of life. Images of human skulls, overripe fruit, wilting flowers, insects, hourglasses, and candles (sometimes with their flames extinguished) would serve as a meditation on the fact that, well, life is short.

There are many wonderful examples of still life paintings.. Here are a few:

One by Paul Cezanne. He called it Black Marble Clock, but I also see a coffee cup and the remains of a meal.

 

 

 

 

 

This one an example of a vanitas still life by Pieter Claesz. Notice the skull and timepiece.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Another one by Picasso. I see a violin, a journal and some fruit.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When I set out to create a still life for my own painting, I went to my journal to think about what I wanted to create. In doing so, I had my answer.

Most mornings, I crawl out of bed in the dark. I stumble downstairs and nearly blind myself with the kitchen light so I can see to start the coffee maker. While it brews, I feed our dog, Abby, and take her for a brief walk down the street. She is almost as bleary-eyed as I am. By the time I return, my coffee is ready and I head for my favorite chair in the living room, a comfy wingback by the fireplace with an ottoman and everything. I light the fireplace, light a candle, and drop into my chair. I sip my coffee and pull out my black Moleskine journal and my favorite Waterman fountain pen. For the next half hour to 40 minutes, I write or sketch in my journal. Sometimes I’ll meditate, and sometimes, I’ll just sit quietly and listen to the whirr of the furnace, notice the smell of my coffee, or watch as the world outside my window lights up with pink sun. I am still. This is my still life.

It seems like such a little thing, really, a short time spent quieting my mind and my pace long enough to listen for the voice that tells me where I should go, what I should do. But this still life of mine is crucial for my sanity, my sense of contentment, and my confidence. Plus, I think my family notices that I’m less crabby after I’ve taken this time to breathe.

It was, therefore, a no-brainer to decide to paint a still life of my still life. I pulled together the necessary elements: coffee in a cup, a candle, my journal and fountain pen. I grabbed a couple of other objects that are also meaningful to me (see my blog post “The Symbols We Live”). I also included the picture of myself as my instructor requested. I draped a couple of table cloths over a box on my kitchen table and set up my little tableau. Doug was gracious enough to use his photographic skills to take a picture of my collection. Here is the result.

I love how this turned out and am excited to paint it. One of the most enjoyable parts of the whole project, however, was assembling the objects. A still life provides so much room for symbolism and metaphor, which makes it a perfect exercise for art journaling. Creating a personal still life and taking a photograph of it, even with a simple camera like the one in most cell phones, is an illuminating art journaling exercise. It’s creative, playful, and usually requires items that you already have around your house.

Try it for yourself. Make a still life of any aspect of your life. Maybe it’s how you like to cook, or your passion for golf or  water polo, or your role as a parent. Or, like me, you can do something to represent your own “still life.” Take a picture and print it out if you can. Paste it in your journal. You can spend a few minutes writing about the objects that appear in your arrangement. How do these objects speak to you? What are they saying?

Listen.