Mirror

For a couple months last fall I stopped writing reviews.  Comprehensible word making went down the toilet so to speak, and reviews were among the joys I shelved during that time period.

So far this year I'm back in the habit of writing reviews for all four and five star books I read (and absurdly proud of this).  I don't have any reason for not sharing the reviews here, and I feel like this review is really the perfect place to start:

I'm not sure I needed to know this much about Norman Rockwell, but sometimes there's treasure in an information dump.

I've never appreciated a smattering of pictures in a book as much as I did with this one. So much text! I didn't know anything about Norman Rockwell prior to reading this, and after reading this, I'm not sure I really like him. Did he ever let anyone in? This feels very much like a cobblestone street, each rock a voice, all coming together to paint an image of one person.

What I really enjoyed were the stories about the paintings I've seen all my life - what went into making them, who the models were (often the same person for several paintings in a row), the errors (who knew there were any errors at all?). I was shocked to discover Rockwell wanted to be more than what he was. You think if you were Norman Rockwell that would be enough. I was also surprised to read that he always needed the objects he painted in front of him. "He went cold when he tried to draw an image from his head, as he said. He was afraid of what might come out if he allowed himself to fall prey to his imaginings."

I appreciated reading about all the artistic rituals, his obsessions, and the ins and outs of his studios.

It was long, but it was worth my time.

Favorite moments:

"He usually started his day by drinking a bottle of Coca-Cola, which helped him wake up, and mulling over the painting in progress on his easel. He would try to figure out which part of it didn't work and he always found something. This provided him with an entry point back into the painting and opened up a space of concentration into which he could disappear for hours."

When I read this, I was completely overcome with this weirdly profound since of solidarity. Here I am over a hundred years later doing the same thing but with a completely different medium and technology at my disposal. Whenever I get to a stopping point with what I'm working on I take a picture. Any down time I have after that I stare at the picture and find my entry points for the next time.

Another line I felt deeply was when the author was writing about Rockwell returning immediately to work instead of honeymooning with his wife (number two I believe). "Already she [the wife] must have known that artists are high matrimonial risks who save the best part of themselves for their art."

Unlike Rockwell, I caught a lucky break with my husband, because he loves his work as much as I love mine.

I also related to how Rockwell felt about books: "It had always been his habit to thumb through art books during the day, leaving two or three propped open on the floor, near his easel. It was one reliably positive thing he could do when he felt depleted and devoid of ideas."

Yep, sometimes books are what picks us back up again. That's why they must always be nearby!