I did a quick sketch, showing Rachel standing confidently, surrounded by the wild animals. Notice the scribbled notes to myself indicating the animals I envisioned.

Original sketch for Rachel's Menagerie

I quite liked the idea and the composition, so I developed it further. In these early sketches I included several animals that would end up not making the cut: the tortoise (lower-left), gorilla (top), and monkey (lower-right). The monkey was replaced by a crocodile, and I simply had no room for the other two. However, the gorilla and tortoise did make it into a similar painting I did of my daughter Eliana some years later.

Second sketch for Rachel's Menagerie

I made the decision to portray the animals realistically which required research. This was 1998, and although the Web was around, there was no Google image search. Instead, I plumbed my image clip file and my collection of National Geographic magazines to create a series of fairly detailed sketches.

Various animal sketches

I then had Rachel pose for some reference photos. Initially I wanted her to stand with her hands on her hips, but she couldn’t quite get the pose right. So I had her stand with her arms crossed instead.

Rachel sketches

Finally it was time to create the painting, using my standard ink and watercolor technique. But almost immediately I found myself disappointed in the direction it was going. I had failed to capture Rachel’s likeness with the ink line, and the colors were muddy and dull. Frustrated I almost gave up.

Rachel's Menagerie (version 1)

But then I had a radical idea—to redo the piece with acrylic paints instead. I worked in acrylics only occasionally, because of the time required to paint with them. But I had had good results with the medium when I did use it, and the thought of painting the animals with the thick viscous paint somehow appealed to me.

Rachel's Menagerie (version 2)

The results were far more successful. The animals were much more colorful and lifelike. And Rachel looked like Rachel. Not that it was perfect; I was less satisfied with the left side of the painting which consisted of three brown-gray animals. So a few months later I replaced the kudu (a type of African antelope) with a mandrill, a kind of baboon with a very colorful face. I also added a flamingo, to brighten the top-left corner.

The illustrations had to be in black-and-white so Russo could make Xerox copies and put books together for everyone in the class; a really nice idea. I drew mine with pen and ink. The results were mediocre at best.

Suit (version 1, 1988)

The line work was stiff, the layout was pretty straightforward and dull, and I made the choice to cut-off the heads of all of the figures. I did this to create anonymity; I didn’t want the people to be anyone in particular. But the result was an awkward composition. However, I still liked the concept, and was determined to take another stab at it.

About a year-and-a-half later I finally got around to redoing Suit.I decided to do it in color, in the style I had developed for myself. I also did it much larger, to make it easier to add detail, And most significantly, I made the decision to show the figures’ heads. In order to add variety to their appearance and a greater sense of realism, I modeled several of the clothed figures on people I knew. The nude, however was a generic person, based on a model from an artist’s anatomy book.

Suit (version 2, 1990)

On the whole the results were much better than the original. However, I still was far from satisfied. I was disappointed in several of the faces, and the nude’s anatomy needed work. I also came to feel that the composition was still rather dull—just a horizontal line of people; it looked far too staged. I began to think about a radical redesign of the piece.

Several years later I tackled the concept again. This time I created a layered space—figures standing in front of others. Many of the figures were eliminated, others were turned-away from the viewer or obscured. The result was a tight, informal composition that had a much more candid, slice-of-life feeling. I also made the decision to add a bit of modesty—hiding the nude’s crotch behind a glass of wine. I limited my palette in an attempt to unify the piece and help the nude stand-out. And I added myself to the crowd—the figure on the far right talking to the nude.

Suit (version 3, 1993)

It was certainly an improvement; however I still was not completely satisfied. The piece lacked a context; it was crying out for a story that did not exist. Who were these people and what were they doing? Why was the woman nude? And why didn’t the people seem to care? Was it one of those nightmares people have when they’re naked in public and no one notices? Perhaps.

Then it occurred to me that the woman might be Eve. But if that were the case where was Adam? And who were the other people in the picture? Angels? No, demons—the Devil’s minions! It didn’t take much editing to turn my character into Old Nick himself—I altered the expression slightly, gave him a better haircut, and put his arm on Eve’s shoulder. Adam took the place of the center male figure, and the other party-goers underwent their own transformations. I wanted them to look more sinister, so I drew upon art history for some inspiration. The woman on the left acquired the profile of Sargent’s mysterious and haughty Madame X. I also gave her a hat reminiscent of the Minoan Snake Goddess, which I felt was appropriate, given the snake’s historical importance to the story of Adam and Eve. The woman behind Eve quotes Gustav Klimt, whose figures (especially the women) were always sexually charged and often quite scary. The other figures were more generic. Originally the figure between Adam and the serpent woman resembled Hitler, but I felt that was way too heavy-handed, so I dialed it back. The wine (or whatever it was) became the perfect substitute for the “forbidden fruit.” I was also tickled that the left figure’s hand was already in the perfect position to shield Adam’s genitals; it all fell together rather nicely.

The Seduction of Adam and Eve (original, 2003)

Even so, I began to have doubts about the direction it was going after I had painted the outer figures. Before I finished Eve, I set it aside and became distracted by other projects. It wasn’t until several years later that I unearthed it and  finally finished it. I was satisfied with it…for a while

But as I continued to look at the piece (as I usually do with my art—I never stop critiquing) I came to be dissatisfied with Eve. I didn’t care for her face, and her anatomy needed some work. So several years after I had finished the painting, I decided it was time to address the issue. However, rather than redo the entire piece again, I opted to paint a new Eve by herself on a blank page and scan her into my computer. Then I used Photoshop to drop her into the painting.

The Seduction of Adam and Eve (altered, 2007)

The results are much stronger I think, but the finished image exists only as a digital file. Is that cheating? I drew and painted everything; and I’ve employed patches in my work before. But this patch didn’t require the use of an X-Acto blade and tape or glue. And I’ll bet you had no idea I patched Eve into the piece before I told you.

Brown University's Van Wickle Gates. Photo by Will Hart (1990). Used under the Creative Commons license.

The Rhode Island School of Design, where I attended as an undergraduate, back in the 80s, was right next to Brown University, the Ivy League school (which is perhaps better known these days as the college that actress Emma Watson went to). The two schools had a reciprocal program that allowed Brown students to take classes at RISD and vice versa. Students from both schools also mixed and mingled along Thayer street—the main drag through Brown’s campus, which is lined with bookstores, a movie theater, coffee shops, restaurants, and all sorts of shopping designed to appeal to the college crowd. And there were the numerous social events—concerts, sporting events, parties—that drew students from both schools. As a RISD student, I could not avoid Brown even if I had wanted to—it was an omnipresent force in my life.

The former Brown Institute. Photo by Bill Klotz.

After graduation I left Rhode Island and headed to Minneapolis. There I landed my first teaching job at a school named, ironically, Brown Institute. This Brown had made its name as a school of broadcasting—many of the biggest radio and TV personalities in the upper Midwest were Brown Institute graduates. In 1988 they introduced an Advertising Design program, which I joined two years later. At that time Brown offered certificates and a few associates degrees, but by the early aughts there was a push to offer bachelor degrees in all programs (to generate more revenue). To highlight this shift, the school changed its name to Brown College. Of course this tended to cause confusion—especially for those outside of the school. On numerous occasions I heard a well-meaning friend inform someone else that I taught at Brown University, which I would have to quickly correct.

I spent 21 years there, and while I had a lot of enjoyable moments, there were many days I wanted nothing more to walk away, and leave Brown far behind me. But I stayed on, reluctant to leave a job that provided a steady paycheck and health care benefits, especially with a young family. Finally, in 2011 I moved on to St. Cloud State University; I was finally free of the Brown moniker…or so I thought. Walking to my office in Stewart Hall one day I glanced up at the building that sits across the street, and saw this:

Brown Hall, St. Cloud State University

My first Adam and Eve dates from around 1993.

Adam and Eve (version 1)

Patch in Adam and Eve (version 1)

I decided to depict Eden as a birch forest, for that was my idea of paradise. I also opted for traditional portrayals of the serpent and fruit (an apple). But as is the case with most of my pieces, it didn’t take me long to start thinking about changes…

Initially there was an apple hanging in the tree to the right, but I decided I didn’t like it. Rather than redo the entire piece, I cut-out that portion with an X-Acto knife and patched-in a new piece which I then painted on. The patch is more obvious when you look at the back side.

And no, that’s not acid-free tape. I should really replace it.

Despite not wanting to redo the project for sake of the apple, I did consider doing a second, more modest version for certain audiences—I wondered if Christian publishing houses for example might be offended by the nude Eve. I kept the design pretty much the same, I simply moved Eve’s hand up over her breast. This also made a certain amount of sense since according to the account in Genesis, Adam and Eve became aware of their nakedness and covered themselves after they ate the fruit.

Adam and Eve (version 2)

But as you can see, I abandoned the piece before finishing. I believe I was unhappy with the coloring. But I also had issues with Adam—his body needed work and I grew to hate his shaggy, hippie hair. Furthermore, I didn’t care for Eve’s posture. According to the story, Eve persuades Adam to eat the fruit; this Eve looked too passive and ashamed, certainly not persuasive. So I went back to the drawing board (quite literally) and redesigned the characters.

Adam and Eve (version 3)

My goal was to make Eve look more confident, more in control. She is taller, stands erect, and looks Adam in the eye. I also darkened their hair and skin, and gave Adam curls, all in the hopes of making them appear less European. One of the biggest changes was the addition of legs and wings to the serpent. In reading through the Genesis account I was struck by the fact that the serpent was not cursed to crawl upon his belly until after Adam and Eve sinned. The implication was that he had some other way of moving prior to that—perhaps legs, or wings, or both. Thus my serpent became more dragon-like.

This is one of my most stolen images. I periodically use Google to search for my artwork on other sites, and it always turns-up a few hits, mostly on blogs. The thieves almost never credit me, and occasionally cut-off my copyright notice. I send cease and desist e-mails when I can, although  I haven’t figured out how to do it in Korean yet.

A few years later I did a more unusual rendition of Adam and Eve, but the story behind that piece is fairly long and convoluted, and deserves its own post (to follow…).

In January 1991, the G-Men won their second Super Bowl™, beating the Buffalo Bills in a nail-biter. To get there, the Giants had to go to San Francisco for the NFC title game and beat the 49ers, who had beaten the Giants earlier in the regular season (a déjà vu situation which is repeated this year). The Bills also had beaten the G-Men that year, so not surprising, the Giants were underdogs in both games. To celebrate the victory, I created an illustration.

L.T.

The painting shows a giant (pun intended) Lawrence Taylor (my favorite player at the time), towering over several other NFL players. On the bottom-right are a 49er and Bill. The 49er is Joe Montana, San Francisco’s quarterback (and ironically, another of my mom’s favorite players). I hated the 49ers back then. Four years earlier, the Giants had knocked-off Montana’s 49ers by the ironic score 49–3 on their way to their first title.

The Buffalo Bills player was their star running back Thurman Thomas. I actually liked the Bills, being another New York team, just not as much as the Giants. I would root for the Bills in the next 3 Super Bowls, and be disappointed every time.

Behind Montana and Thomas is a Philadelphia Eagle player. The Eagles are a long-time nemesis of the Giants, and the only other team to beat the G-men that year (they actually split the season series). I love it when the Giants beat the Eagles, almost as much as when they beat the Cowboys. I’m not sure why he’s wearing #9; I think he was supposed to be Randall Cunningham, the Eagles QB, but Cunningham wore #12. An error on my part? #9 was actually back-up QB Jim McMahon, who is white. Oops.

Moving from right-to-left we next come to Dan Marino of the Dolphins. The Giants didn’t play the Fish that year (I don’t believe), but I included him because I hated the Dolphins and Marino. Seeing him on his knees before L.T. gave me great pleasure. Next comes a Washington Redskin player; at the time #45 on the skins was tight end Mike Sellers, but I didn’t know that. He was meant to be a generic player. I included the Redskins in the painting because they were division rivals, and had won the Super Bowl in 1987 (and would go on to win again the following year, though I had no way of knowing that then).

Next to the Redskin was Mike Singletary of the Bears. I was not a Bears fan; I had recently moved to Minnesota and begun cheering for the local Vikings, and the Bears were one of their rivals. I also still felt the sting of the 1986 Super Bowl, when the Bears crushed my adopted Patriots (I was attending college in New England at the time). And it bugged me whenever people dared to compare Singletary to Lawrence Taylor. I felt there was no comparison—L.T. was a far superior linebacker.

Finally, I added a Viking. The Vikings were not very good, and weren’t rivals of the Giants, but I decided to include one as a nod to my new local team. You can’t see his number, but in my mind he’s meant to be Anthony Carter, the Vikings star receiver at the time.

The Giants fell-off after that. Bill Parcells left, Phil Simms retired, and so did L.T. Then in 2000, ten years after their last Super Bowl appearance, the Giants turned it around and finished first in the NFC. That same year my adopted Vikings were the second-best team in the conference, and they met in the NFC championship game in January 2001. It was a win-win for me, one of my favorite teams was going to the Super Bowl regardless of the outcome. I was looking forward to a good, hard-fought, exciting game.

It was a disaster. The Giants crushed the Vikings 41–0 (or as Vikings receiver Randy Moss colorfully put it: “forty-one—doughnut!”). I decided to do another illustration:

Laugher

The Vikings had looked inept, like a bunch of kids playing against adults. The players depicted weren’t meant to be anyone in particular (though Ike Hilliard was #88 on the Giants), I didn’t want to seem like I was picking on one particular Viking—they were all terrible; Thus I tried to obscure the number somewhat.

The Giants lost the Super Bowl in 2001, but won it again in 2008 (after the 2007 season). It was an exciting, improbable run as the G-Men, a Wild Card team, went on the road and beat the Bucs, Cowboys and Packers to reach the championship game where they stunned Randy Moss (again!) and the undefeated Patriots. I immediately began planning a new illustration featuring a fearsome Michael Strahan, but I never got past the preliminary sketch stage (alas).

But now I’m thinking maybe I should do another one. Well, if the Giants go all the way again this year, I definitely will.

Update (April 3, 2012):

Well as many of you know, the G-Men went on to win their 4th Super Bowl three weeks later. I was quite pleased to say the least! I’d like to do another illustration to celebrate the victory, but I haven’t had time quite yet…

There is one sequence of images in particular I like to show them—I call it my “Litany of Failure,” a set of five (so far) failed attempts to get a particular piece right.

The origin of the concept also goes back to art school; we were given a simple assignment: illustrate a song. After some thought I chose “Verdi Cries,” performed by 10,000 Maniacs, and written by Natalie Merchant. The song is a nostalgic look back at a vacation spent at a sea-side resort when she was a young girl. The song begins:

The man in one-nineteen takes his tea all alone.
Mornings we all rise to wireless Verdi cries.
I’m hearing opera through the door.
The souls of men and women, impassioned all
Their voices climb and fall, battle trumpets call
I fill the bath and climb inside, singing:
“La la la la la la
“La la la la la la”

I did several sketches before settling on a concept that showed the young girl sitting in her bath tub, singing to herself.

That same semester I was in the midst of a struggle to find a workable style. I had recently begun to use a dense pen-and-ink crosshatch technique combined with washes of watercolor, inspired by children’s book artists like Maurice Sendak and Mercer Mayer, which I used on my first attempt. The results were mixed; in critique my teacher said that the washes of color were too flat and similar in value (that had been my intent). So I went back and darkened some areas to create more variety of tone.

Verdi Cries (version 1)

I’m not sure why I made the tub purple; seemed like a good idea at the time. Dissatisfied with the results, I went back and did another version. My intent was to keep the washes lighter, as they had been in the original. I also made a few other changes—I removed the rubber duck (it didn’t seem to fit the song) and the plant in the window.

Verdi Cries (version 2)

I didn’t like this one either. A few months later I made one more attempt, but abandoned it before I had finished inking it.

Verdi Cries (version 3)

I’m not sure why I gave up on this one. Perhaps I was just sick of it.

By early 1992 I had refined my style to rely less on ink line and more on color. I decided to take another crack at “Verdi” using this newer approach. I made a number of other changes to the piece, including a tighter cropping, replacement of the radiator with a counter, and a radical redesign of the girl. I also put the spider plant back and gave it a companion plant, and I removed the shovel and pail that had been outside the window.

Verdi Cries (version 4)

In general I was much more pleased with the results, but I was still not completely satisfied. I had eliminated all of the cross-hatching except that which remained on the wall, and now that seemed out of place. The reflection of the tile floor in the tub was also inaccurate, and that bugged me. And I didn’t like the purple curtains. But that thing that I was most unhappy with was the girl—she looked too exuberant, like she was belting out her song. “Verdi Cries,” however, has a very low key, wistful quality, and it seemed to me that the girl needed to look more contemplative, like she was singing quietly to herself. So in 1993 I made yet another attempt…

Verdi Cries (version 5)

I corrected the tub reflection and altered the girl to fit the mood of the song. I also added a cat—specifically our cat Nani. I also put the rubber duck back in the tub. But as you can see, I never finished the painting. I was unhappy with the green wall, and I wasn’t sure what to do with the curtain. I also felt the tub was too shiny—it looked more metallic than porcelain. And how could the tub be full when the drain stopper is hanging over the side? Frustrated, I walked away.

It’s been 18+ years now; every now and then I consider taking another crack at it…