A painted portrait results from the work that at least two people do together.  The painter and the person being painted -- the model, the subject of the painting -- make the art.  An understanding of what happens when a portrait is being created requires that we hear from both sides.  Amia Lieblich, a friend and colleague, helps us understand.  Last January, Amia and I worked together over several days to produce a number of drawings and a portrait sketch in oils.  While I painted, she did a lot of observation and later recorded her notes.  She then wrote a paper about the experience.  The paper was delivered at a conference and is being published in the International Journal of Education and Art.   Please click here to take a look at what she wrote.  And click here to see a powerpoint presentation of photographs that accompanied her talk.

  
Amia Lieblich is Professor Emeritus of Psychology at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, and she currently teaches in the Academic College of Tel Aviv-Jaffo. She is also now President of The Academic College for Social Sciences and the Arts, located in Netanya, Israel. Professor Leiblich is an internationally well-known figure in narrative psychology.  Along with her foundational methodological and theoretical contributions to the field, such as her co-editorship of The Narrative Study of Lives series; she has written many well-received books about the psychology of Israeli society, such as Tin Soldiers on Jerusalem Beach, Kibbutz Makom and Seasons of Captivity. Her writings compellingly capture people as they live their lives.  Note her work that focuses on the psychobiography of creative women.  She has published books on Israeli writer Dvora Baron and poet Leah Goldberg. Her three most recent books are: Yaldei Kfar Etzion about the second generation of an Israeli kibbutz which was occupied and destroyed during the War of Independence, Arak for Breakfast, which describes a beach community of elderly citizens near Tel Aviv, and Watch Me – about her experience as a participant of a community theatre.

 

Several friends who read my last blog about my new dog, Ula, said they would like to see some examples of those paintings with little dogs that I wrote about in the post.  At left is Goya's haunting painting, The Dog, from his Black Paintings series. 

To see Bonnard's The Bathroom with little brown dog at center stage, click here.
And for an early but still provocation Lucian Freud of Girl with a White Dog,
click here.

     For the first time ever in my life, I have a dog.  Ula, a tiny 12-month-old Havanese, and I are learning to do many things together these days, but my absolute most favorite thing is to have Ula at my side while I paint in the studio.  She can stay quiet for hours.  She asks to be picked up and played with only after I have put down the brushes and have moved into "time for a break."  Then, the dog dances and becomes irresistible:  No matter how breezily or strenuously the painting session has gone, Ula's main job is to tell me how much she missed and loves me. I also imagine nods of approval as she glances at the work.  Suzanne and her dog --the rewards of those painting interactions far outweigh the hassles of walking the puppy in the rain and snow, figuring out how to sneak her into a restaurant, getting her not to bark at strangers, finding room in the apartment for all the stuff she needs, etc.

     Many friends have asked:  Why, after all these years of not having a pet, and in what looks like a pretty organized life, did you decide to get a dog now?   One reason for the change was another dog. When we were hanging the Hammertown Rhinebeck show way back in June, I met a wonderful little dog.  Tough Guy accompanied his owner Virginia Strull, the woman who handled press and other arrangements for Hammertown, to the hanging.  During the eight-plus busy hours that Jeff Daly, with a little help from Virginia and me, worked to put up the paintings, Tough Guy just sat and very patiently and very attentively watched us. He was a center of calm, sweetness, and affirmation.  He only stirred when Virginia left the room; then, he quickly left his comfortable Hammertown armchair and followed her where she went.  I thought to myself:  I could have a dog like that one. I shared my wish and Virginia kindly introduced me to Mary Cane, the woman who bred Tough Guy, and explained that Mary might now have a dog or two that she wanted to put up for adoption.  After all the necessary interviews, visits, and overnights, it happened, we officially adopted Ula (initially named Turbinado Sugar) last Wednesday, on October 26th.  
    
     Of course, there could also be other, more long- standing and deep-seated reasons for this turn to a dog and my idea that dogs and painting just go together.  Think of all those magical little dogs that appear in the wondrous paintings by  
Pierre Bonnard.  Right smack in the bottom center of a large luminous canvas filled with jewel-like color is a little dog curled up on the bathroom floor.  And there she/he is again in another bathroom painting or in a dining room/still life painting at the edge of the canvas, where the dog is coming in or going out and adds movement to the composition.  Bonnard's works on paper also feature dogs, they are stars in the artist's presentation of contemporary French urban streets.   Think about dogs and Goya.  Dogs are again in many of the artists' pieces and most compellingly in what many have thought to be one of the greatest paintings ever, "The Dog" in Goya's series of Black Paintings.  Think about the unforgettable dogs in Lucien Freud's work.  In many canvases, the power of what Freud adds to our understanding of humanity has a lot to do with his depiction of the relationships between persons and dogs.   And this list of painters with dogs could go on for a long time: Titian, Veronese,  Velazquez, Chardin, Manet, Vuillard, Sargent, Hockney, and many more.  How could I not get a dog?