What is it Good For?
March 8, 2010 by Steve
Tracks 24x36 1024x676 What is it Good For?

"Tracks" 24"x36" oil painting by Steve Alpert

Art mirrors society. Tom Hanks states, “War is a part of the human condition,” in a recent promo for the HBO miniseries, “The Pacific,” produced by Hanks and Steven Spielberg that premiers March 14.

Back in the 1970’s, “The Deer Hunter” was the first stab at reflecting the Vietnam War.  It was more like a dagger in the heart.  “Apocalypse Now” weighed in a short time after and gave us the psychedelic insanity of the era as Robert Duvall’s Col. Kilgore laments, “Charley don’t surf!”  ”Platoon” came later and director Oliver Stone, himself a Nam Vet, sobered us up with his tragic and bitter rendition.  One vet told me “Platoon” was right on the money, another vet told me it was not the way it was.  Then we were given, “Coming Home.”  Enough said.

If I admitted how times I’ve seen, “Saving Private Ryan,” well, I’m not going to so we’ll just leave it at that.  “Band of Brothers,” the HBO miniseries, I will admit to having watched all ten episodes five times.  That’s all I’m admitting to, anyway.  Everybody can get behind WWII, Hitler had to be dealt with and did the Japanese really think they were going to be sailing underneath the Golden Gate Bridge?

Hollywood is an unpredictable tribe.  Hard to comprehend, “Saving Private Ryan” did not win Best Picture in 1998.  What was Best Picture that year, you ask?  “Shakespeare in Love.”  Last night’s sweeping victory of, “The Hurt Locker” speaks volumes about where we are today.  You can compare the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq to Vietnam all you want, but one thing here is screamingly different.  The men and women in uniform doing the work, giving their blood — because as we all know freedom is paid for in blood — they are not being called bums when they come home, they are not being spat upon, they are not being refused a beer at a bar at O’Hare.  This crop of warriors are being thanked and honored.  And treated for PTSD’s.

I’m trying to figure why things are different now.  Us Baby Boomers, are we finally guilty enough about how we allowed the Vietnam Vets to be destroyed when they came home?   Has it finally sunk in?

I was at a dinner with a Vietnam Vet a few weeks ago.  A Marine.  After dinner, I asked him about the war.  His blue eyes bugged out, face reddened and he looked at the floor and spit the words, “That war is long over, my friend.”  A polite way of saying to me, “Back off, Jack.”  Awkward silence.  And then he exploded into a vitriolic rant against all Generals and politicians.  That war is definitely not over for him, I thought.  After you are in combat, is it ever really over?

Tom Brokaw, in his series, “Boomers” juxtaposed two Boomers, a 58 year old Marine, still active and embarking on his fifth combat tour (3 in Vietnam, 1 in Iraq and his 5th will be in Afghanistan), and a Conscientious Objector during that period.  Two guys diametrically opposed.  Both believe they are patriots.  The hardened Marine has strong feelings for his country, believes in what the flag stands for and willing to put his life on the line for it.  The CO is proud of the stand he took back then and believes we ought to bring everybody home.  Today.

I asked my wife, Dorothy who she thought was right.  “Both.”  I took issue with the CO comparing Afghanistan and Iraq to Vietnam, but both men absolutely believe they are patriots.  Is that what is so powerful about this country?  I think so.  I had a history teacher in high school, Bill Clark.  He was a wonderful guy, always wore an American flag in his lapel, a clear indication in 1968-69 what side of the Vietnam War he was on.  Mr. Clark was all Hawk.  Of course, we always discussed the Vietnam War at that time, as those boys who did not go to college would be elegible for the draft.  When any of us expressed dissent against the war, Mr. Clark would smile and say, “This is America, where you have the right to be wrong.”

I don’t know who is right and who is wrong.  But one final thought.  A few years ago my stepson Matt asked the question, “If you had one question to ask God what would it be?”  My knee-jerk response was, “What did you do with Hitler?”  Dorothy thought and said quietly, “What is the purpose of war?”

As the director and producers of “The Hurt Locker” gave their thanks to all the men and women in uniform, Dorothy is sitting on the couch, eyes welling up.  We talk about these kids all the time.  I continue to make paintings to honor our men and women in uniform.  At dinners where we hold hands and I lead the prayer, I always conclude with these words, “…and we think of our men and women in uniform wherever they are, who are in harm’s way fighting for freedom.”  I am never able to finish that sentence without my throat tightening up.  So as we may not all agree on the correctness of our involvement in the Middle East, at least we can all agree on one thing;  we honor the troops.  And that, I think is a giant step forward.

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HIGH TIDE, LOW TIDE
October 20, 2009 by Steve

 

"The Adventure Begins" 40"x72" oil painting by Steve Alpert

"The Adventure Begins" 40"x72" oil painting by Steve Alpert

Two years ago my wife Dorothy met a woman, a lawyer who worked for the organization that administers the famous aircraft carrier Intrepid, now a museum at Pier in the Hudson River in Manhattan.  Next thing you know, I’m in Dorothy’s friend’s office offering to make a large painting of the Intrepid for their fundraising efforts, and also hoping to put a deal together to sell posters in the on-site museum store.  All sounds so good on paper, yes?

This was a year after I had completed the large painting, Legacy, I’ve written about in past posts.  Legacy still lives in my storage cubby after much talk from lots of folks who wanted to utilize Legacy.  Being the habitual dreamer/fool that I am, I had high hopes for a large painting of the Intrepid, and thought it would be lots of fun to make.  Fun, that’s the key that opens the door to commitment to make a painting no one is paying for, up front at least.  Artists are the ultimate entrepreneurs.

The Intrepid is a large subject, just physically sitting there at the pier, it’s beyond huge, a monster.  At that time, Intrepid had been moved to Staten Island for installation of new exhibits.  I was granted access.  All I needed was an idea of what the painting would be.

I began research in the library but found nothing particularly interesting.  I requested permission to board the great ship.  March of 2008, on a day as cold and gray as the Intrepid itself, I was shown around by Exhibit Director, Chris Malanson, a bright and creative professional who was going to make magic in this unique museum experience.  Chris told me much of the ship’s fascinating history.  I took lots of photos.  When I got back to the studio, my mind was as blank as that large canvas staring me in the face.  I went back to the ship a second time.  This time I wandered around on my own through narrow rabbit warren compartments in the bow section.  Imagining what it was like in the Pacific, Japanese fighter jets buzzing and bombing, the chaos, the loss of life, the months and years of war and peacetime,  thinking about the life of the ship and all the men who served and endured.

What would the painting be?  Still clueless.  I’m talking about nothing, nada.  I hit the bookstore looking for picture books of WWII aircraft carriers.  One book had an image of the USS Enterprise, another carrier of the era and the image was a dark and beautiful painting.  This was it – I would model my painting after this one.  I needed to latch onto something and I was taking it and running with it. 

Then I did something that was really weird and uncharacteristic.  I hired another artist to render the image of the big ship onto this big 40”x72” canvas.  It was an odd choice for me, and one that would prove to keep me away from working on the painting for one year.  For a while I felt I was cheating, that the image wasn’t mine, that I was, “producing” the painting.  But there it was, and Sarah did a fine job complete with figures of sailors I would later obliterate.  In Sarah’s rendering the Intrepid was tied up and being boarded by her voluminous crew.  It felt static to me, maybe the choice of image was wrong.  I didn’t know but the whole project became stuck in the mud.

Intrepid felt like inert, a gargantuan hunk of steel looming above a pier.  There was nothing exciting to me about it at all.  I hated it.  The canvas went into the storage cubby sitting next to Legacy.  Let them lean against each other and talk about nothing.  

Then, the economy tanked and my art selling business came to a grinding halt.  There was no reason to continue making paintings although my new dealer, Alan Blazar had spread my paintings around galleries all over the east coast.  Nothing was selling.  Not only was the Intrepid docked, so was my painting career.

For four months I didn’t go into the studio.  Never turned the lights on.  After eight years of continual development, putting in my ten thousand hours in front of hundreds of canvases, it was time to put the brushes down.  I was angry and disgusted at nobody in particular, just the world that pulled the rug out from under me.  I knew I was not alone, there were many others suffering a hell of a lot worse.  Time to hunker down, let it go, do other things, work in video or whatever I could.  The painting career would be put on ice until the thaw, whenever that would be.  Life is like the tides, they come in and they go out.  In time, things would change, but Americans were in for a long winter…so was I.

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THE BLACKHAWKS, PT 5
August 13, 2009 by Steve

 

Artist Steve Alpert signing Blackhawk posters

Artist Steve Alpert signing Blackhawk posters

THEY LINED UP to get a personalized Blackhawk poster. It was the Salute to the Wounded Heroes fundraising dinner for Fisher House at Fort Monmouth, NJ.   I remember the date well, June 9th, 2007, the day my step-son Matt was graduating from the University of Chicago.  I flew back to New York after two days in Chicago of pre-graduation festivities.  I made the commitment to the fundraising dinner for Fisher House many months earlier and had to honor it.  Others made greater sacrifices than this, I told myself, but I definitely felt it.

During the Walter Reed Hospital trip (see, The Blackhawks Pt 4) I learned about the tremendous work Fisher House does.  They build multi-family houses on VA hospital grounds where families of wounded sons and daughters can stay for up to a month for free.  I called Jim Weiskopf,  VP of Marketing for Fisher House, sent him a CD with the images.  Jim hooked me up with the fundraising chapter in Monmouth, NJ.  On a cold day in February, Fisher House volunteers Ed Carnes and Kit Roach, who work for General Dynamics, made the two and a half hour drive each way to my studio to see the eight paintings I was offering up for donation, all proceeds going to Fisher House.   Turns out Kit has the magic touch and sold ‘em all to defense contractors in the area. Fisher House was now $27,000 heavier.  

It was a big room with at least three hundred people.  I was set up at a table near the bar.  Men and women in full dress uniform and civilians in suits lined up for me to personalize their poster.  Cocktail hour was in full force, and feeling like a warm homeland scene from a Tom Hanks movie…camera flashes from group photos dotted the room while the band played easy listening selections for the happy fox trotters on the floor.  

“This is for my son, Jeff.  He’s in Baghdad…”  With a silver Sharpie I scribbled, “To Jeff, thank you for your service, God Bless…”

“Make it out to Captain Bobby…he’s my brother, in Afghanistan, somewhere…”  

I made sure to make personal contact with each person who approached the signing table.  I introduced myself and shook their hands. There was a softness about all of them, wistful, tentative, thinking about the person they would send the poster to.  It was evident how badly they missed their loved ones so far away.  The line kept growing and I kept signing away, asking about the person it was going to, who they were to them.  It was a deliberate and careful process.  I had the utmost respect for these people.  My art had brought me here to this time and place. The better part of an hour passed and the line dwindled as polite applause signified the band was done, couples pivoting off the dance floor to find their seats.  Musicians left their instruments on the bandstand.  One last person stood in front of me, a woman. Blonde, attractive, nicely dressed, late thirties.  A self-possessed air of quiet.  

After introducing myself I asked, “Who would you like me to make this out to?”

“To David.  My husband.”

“Okay, where is David?”

“In Iraq, Baghdad, I think.  I never really know.  He’s a jet pilot.”

“Excellent!  When does he come home?”

“July.”

“Oh great, July, that’s next month, right around the corner!”  I smiled, relieved for her. 

A long moment as I replaced the pen cover.

“No, next July.”  

Whoa, next July, I thought to myself  looking up at her.  How do I describe the expression on her face?  She held her practiced yet fragile smile, her mask for this stressful time in her life.  She was strong enough to hold the smile, it was part of her job, especially on this night.  Underneath the mask you knew she was working to hold herself together.  Another whole year!  Her eyes glistened just a touch, tear ducts welling ever so slightly.  Exposing her truth.  

A giant wad of cotton jammed  the back of my throat.  A really awkward moment.  A razor sharp glimpse into the stark realm of war and sacrifice.  Of pressing your limits against a cold, hard wall.  Being profoundly alone.  Unsure of what calamity Fate might bring.  Hanging on to Faith and Hope.  Waiting…

“Next July… right… wow… I’m sure he’ll be okay,” I said with as much reassurance as I could muster and attempting to return the made-up smile.  SO LAME!!!  “I wish you all the best.”   I meant it with all my heart.  Thank goodness I could lose myself putting the rubber band around the rolled up poster.  Fingers clumsy.  She watched me fumble with the rubber band.  I handed it to her and, managing an empathetic smile, looking in her eyes.   

“Thank you,”  she said, turned and walked away, her skirt doing what women’s skirts do, high heels tapping against the wood floor getting lost in the clatter of plates and silverware as everyone was into the appetizers.  I watched her disappear into the maze of tables.  The loneliest person in the world.   

The journey of the Blackhawk painting and posters did not end there.  I gave a poster to Don Lang, a family friend from Schenectady, NY who then said his neighbor’s son was a pilot in Iraq, and I should send him a poster, which I did.   I organized a group of friends to send packages of sweets, coffee, and DVD’s to American and British soldiers in Iraq, and now Afghanistan.  The Package Support Team.  We’ve gotten some wonderful emails from Iraq and Afghanistan, some of us received American flags as thank you gifts in return.  Last week I sent another Blackhawk poster to Afghanistan.  I often think about where those posters might be living, in common areas, bunk quarters, wherever, and I think of the men and women who pass through those rooms, look at the poster and think that someone back home cared enough to send that.  Brings them a piece of home, reminding them of what they are fighting for —  all the good things the American experiment is.  Worth fighting for.

 

 

 

 

  Artist Steve Alpert with the, "Blackhawk" painting

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Artist Steve Alpert with the, “Blackhawk” painting

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THE BLACKHAWKS, PT 4
August 10, 2009 by Steve

THE FIRST YOUNG MAN WE MET HAD SEVERE HEAD INJURIES.  He was all of 24, if that.   Fresh lacerations snaked all over his head like stitches on a baseball.  Staples had been recently removed.  His left arm was in a cast from shoulder to wrist, left leg also in a cast.  Half a dozen broken ribs.  Severed tendons and God knows what else.  All from an IED while on patrol in a Humvee in Iraq.  I don’t think both eyes were working correctly as he did not look directly at us and his eyes were definitely not in synch.  His Dad sat at the foot of the bed.  My buddies, Randy, Tony and I  thanked him for his service and offered trinkets; movie passes, Starbucks cards, and a poster of my Blackhawk helicopter image.  We shook his hand.  He told us the story of the explosion that will profoundly live with him for the rest of his life.  He thanked us for coming.

 

 

'Blackhawk' 42"x60" oil painting by Steve Alpert

'Blackhawk' 42"x60" oil painting by Steve Alpert

 

We were at Walter Reed Hospital in Washington, DC, June 2005.  I had made us an appointment one month in advance  to meet wounded GI’s, to thank them for their service.   Still paying off that Vietnam Veteran debt and doing what I can to not have this generation coming home to be ignored and worse. Any American citizen can do this at any VA hospital.

The second man we met was in a body cast.  Another IED victim.  He was a little older, in his late thirties, married with kids.  He lay in a darkened room by himself, a large man, but seemed small in the room.  He was fully conscious, totally bummed out, saddled with a tenuous personal situation at home.  He aired it all out with us and we were good listeners.  I wished I could change it all for him and make it right for everybody in his family.   We wished him the best of luck and thanked him for his service.   The third young man was a paratrooper who smashed his elbow on a tough landing in Afghanistan, full of bravado and vinegar, itching to get back to his buddies.  

The fourth young man was yet another IED victim in a dark windowless room lit only by a dim lamp in a corner.  His mother perched in a chair across from the bed.  He was a small, wiry guy, probably the toughest guy in his outfit.  From Kentucky mountain country, thick accent, I had to really tune in to understand his words.  But, there was no mistaking his spirit.  Smiling, he held his hand out in the air for us to shake.  He greeted us like old pals.  He sustained ghastly head injuries, his forehead unnaturally creased and pushed in.   My stomach ached imagining what he must have endured in that horrifc moment.  His eyes were now dark and unseeing.  He told us he could see light and shadow but that was pretty much it.  He had the sunniest dispostion. Indefatigable.  I was — we were — really taken aback by this severity of his wounds.  Initially, just looking at this young man made us quiet, yet his spirit was so full of light and hope that he lifted us up.  He was bubbly, reassuring us he would be soon be fine.  I wanted to believe him.  Probably took such a devastating hit in that Humvee that any bit of life he could now experience was all gravy to him.  ”I really look forward to be able to go to the movies, thank you, Sir,” he said in our general direction, “and I can’t wait to see this poster, I’m sure it’s really great…thank you very much.”  He was so composed and together and, the only word that comes to me now is, “sunny.”  He told us about what he remembered about the explosion, where he was, what they were doing.  I don’t remember any details, only that I prayed that he would fully recover.  Whatever fate had in store for this fine young man, he would bring joy to others, that’s for damn sure.  We bid him good-bye, God Bless, same to Mom.

Shuffling out that room what I wanted to do was to be left alone, collapse in a heap and sob.  Our Army Captain hostess gave us Purell hand cleaner after we left each of the soldiers, and I lost myself in the spreading of the stuff all over my hands.  I watched the clear gel work into the palms and the tops of my hands, but my heart was still racing from being with that last kid and his mom.  She was deeply upset and quiet.  But her son, oh man, he took on the job of cheering everyone else up.  After all that trauma, the loss of vision, headaches, who knows what else…how long could he keep that up, I wonder?  As I write this I wonder where that fine young man is right at this moment, and what he is doing.  I send him all the white light I can muster.  We all agreed  that he saved us on that day.  

Every time I get upset about something, I think back to that day at Walter Reed,  and how those deep, deep breaths felt when I stepped out into the June sunshine on the front steps.  My life has been a piece of pie compared to what those guys would carry with them from then on.  The Blackhawk posters we left with those young men — lasting mementos, tangible evidence that their fellow citizens cared enough to thank them.  The Blackhawk poster image had another mission one year later.  One that would pack an equally powerful emotional wallop…

How can you show gratitude to someone with a gift of your art?

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THE BLACKHAWKS, Pt 3
August 7, 2009 by Steve

 

"Tracks" 24"x36" oil painting by Steve Alpert

"Tracks" 24"x36" oil painting by Steve Alpert

 

 

For $39.95 I could send a package of goodies GI’s in Iraq.  I gave my credit card info, felt good about it for a few moments and then forgot about it.  A few weeks later I received a large envelope with a 5-Dinar note — freshly liberated no doubt, with an image of Saddam emblazoned– and two CD’s chock full of photos images taken by GI’s in Iraq.  Some of the images were gruesome, some others depicting daily living conditions in the Green Zone and in the field.   I narrowed it down to a dozen or so, and chose  the four photos to make the paintings shown here.

Working on these photos carried me out of my studio and into the narrow viewfinders of an American soldier in a war-torn land far away.  While painting, the music is going, and the mind does wander…things that crossed my mind; Iraq…a new place for Americans to fight.  But such an old story;  men — now women, — trained and outfitted to kill the enemy.  In a universal sense, this is just us humans doing business as usual, working out our differences by physical power and violence.   A lot  of people get killed, maimed, lives forever scarred and altered, families ripped apart, souls irreparably damaged.  

 

"Sandstorm" 12"x16" oil painting by Steve Alpert

"Sandstorm" 12"x16" oil painting by Steve Alpert

 

 

But now, it’s our guys and gals wearing the Red, White and Blue, and in my little life I watched the Vietnam Vets come home and get ignored, spat upon and worse.  I feel a sense of collective guilt as a part of a generation that allowed that to happen.  I want to support this generation of warriors, make them feel suppoorted.  I feel compelled to honor them.  My gift of being able to make paintings is the perfect way for me to honor them.  

So, I made the paintings.  Where would they go? I still had no clue but I knew they had a job to do and I would find a to make that happen.  I wanted to choose images that speak of strength.  I was never a flag waver.  As a young man of the Vietnam War generation, I did not want to go, although had I been drafted I would have a and taken my chances like the rest.  My lottery number was high, I was not called.  And yet, I feel I missed something, maybe I missed the giving of service.  So, now in my fifties, I could indeed be of service to the generation of this era, this war.  A lot of people at first blush think that these paintings are pro-war.  A reporter tried to bait me into a political discussion about this series of paintings.  All I said was that these images are about honoring our men and women in uniform.  Nothing more, nothing less.  The viewer bring his/her own politics to it.  I have my point of view, but who the hell cares about that?  My paintings can speak for me.

I had eight finished pieces now ready to go — but where?   Stay tuned…

 

"Night Scope" 18"x24" oil painting by Steve Alpert

"Night Scope" 18"x24" oil painting by Steve Alpert

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Watching" 24"x30" oil painting by Steve Alpert

"Watching" 24"x30" oil painting by Steve Alpert

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THE BLACKHAWKS, Pt 2
August 4, 2009 by Steve

 

"Mission" 36"x72" oil painting by Steve Alpert

"Mission" 36"x72" oil painting by Steve Alpert

I was on to something.  What exactly it was I was not sure, but I was spurred on.  I had that feeling of excitement that art-making is about, much like falling in love — an irrational crazy thing with a life of its’ own.  That image in the NYTimes (Nov. ‘03) of the tiny Blackhawk helicopter in that big airspace still was haunting and intriguing.  The first large painting, “Blackhawk” (see previous post, “THE BLACKHAWKS, Pt 1″ and/or click on the above link, “Steve’s Images” and find the Blackhawk image…click on that for a full screen version) was moody and ominous embodying conflict, power, and a childlike fascination with implements of war. Inspiration was also derived from artist-hero Gerhard Richter, who painted a series of WWII German fighter jets, huge images of the Luftwaffe warbirds of his youth.

I set out another large canvas on the studio wall, 36″x72.”  Filled up a palette with oil colors, took a knife and went at it, applying globs of paint on the canvas, working them in.  Three hours flew by, smoothing and blending, witnessing the oil pigments suspended in the oil work their magic.  Working wet in wet and watching the sky appear, then the land below, and the action of the blending where sky meets land on the horizon.  At the end of the session, dabbing in a little Blackhawk helicopter suspended in the slightly off-center right.  It was in the spirit of that NYTImes photo of the vulnerable little aircraft, it’s crew inside, tending to the business of flying her. “Mission” is the finished work.

The paint was thick enough to require two weeks to be dry enough for the big canvas to be moved off the wall.  I was building a series, no doubt, without any appreciable notion of what would become of those paintings.  I knew something for sure, I would continue to make more of these paintings.  I always have landscape paintings that are in various stages of completion hanging around the studio and chose two such pieces that seemed to lend themselves to this series by painting in Blackhawk helicopter images in them.  ”Medevac” and “Three Birds” are the resulting pieces in the series.  See below.

When you are totally engaged in making new work you are excited about, things happen.  Make a commitment, and the Universe suddenly supports you!  This is what was happening, here.  I was beginning to get the feeling these paintings were made to perform a function, a mission to honor our men and women in uniform. What happened next initially seemed really odd, but because of the power of intention, and the momentum that was now powering me along, it felt absolutely right.   I had an insight these paintings would allow me to participate in the world in a big context outside the confines of the studio or a gallery.  It was an unexpected pop-up on eBay opening up yet another opportunity…

Stay tuned for the next post…

 

Medevac 24x48 300x148 THE BLACKHAWKS, Pt 2

"Medevac" 24"x48" oil painting by Steve Alpert

"Three Birds" 12"x36" oil painting by Steve Alpert

"Three Birds" 12"x36" oil painting by Steve Alpert

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THE BLACKHAWKS, PT 1
August 1, 2009 by Steve

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Blackhawk" 42"x60" oil painting by Steve Alpert

"Blackhawk" 42"x60" oil painting by Steve Alpert

 

 

September 11, 2001.  My wife and I live five miles from Ground Zero.  You know the rest.  I was born in Manhattan, this is my home territory, I was shaken more than I can describe here.  I never felt unsafe anywhere, ever, until that morning.  All the people we knew who knew people who never made it out of those buildings…all the buzzing of fighter jets and Blackhawk helicopters in the days and months after.  The stories that kept emerging.  That odor…

Two years later, November 2003,  two Blackhawks collided mid-air over Northern Iraq.  We lost 17 people.  Long piece about it in the NYTimes.  They ran a long narrow image of a tiny Blackhawk in that huge space.  The craft looked incredibly vulnerable.  I decided to make the first image of a Blackhawk.  Large, 42″x60.”  Totally jazzed about making the painting.  No idea of what might happen to the painting, who would buy it, none of that.  

Before I attacked the large piece, I made a small study, 9″x12.”  I asked a friend to come over and see it.  He bought it on the spot, still wet. His God-son had been a Blackhawk pilot, retired Army, and was just completing his graduate degree.  The painting was for him.  So, this little study found it’s way to an actual Blackhawk helicopter pilot, right away.  I was stunned.  The resulting big piece, “Blackhawk,” is above.  ”Blackhawk,” completed in 2004 took me on an unexpected journey that continues as I write this.  In many ways it changed my life.  More on this to come.

Intention is the biggest part of art, the reason why artists are the ultimate entrepreneuers.  We make stuff because we need to make it.  It is a little crazy, I admit, but  it’s what makes the world go ’round.  Stay tuned…

What work are you too, compelled to make?

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THE ENEMY IN THE MIRROR
July 28, 2009 by Steve

 

 

 

Oil Painting by Steve Alpert

Oil Painting by Steve Alpert

 

Making commission paintings can be a tricky business.  Your client likes your work – correction — they love your work and want a special piece from you.  They want a piece over the mantle, over their bed, a special place they have in mind and they want your unique set of abilities to make that special piece, just for them.  It is a deeply personal transaction.  Wouldn’t it be easier if they would just purchase a painting in inventory?  It would.  And who said life was simple?

You come to agreement about what kind of image will be made.  If it’s the magnificent sunset view of the Severn River in their backyard, ask your client to send you a series of photos they’ve taken.  Next, agree on which image will become the painting.  Agree on size, price and deadline, and get half up front.  

Begin work.  Early stages of a painting can be fragile, unformed, even unsteady.  And then the  chattering monkeys — nobody’s friends –  move into your head of unknown origin generating evil and destructive chatter;  “How am I going to get this painting into high gear?  Will they like it?  I don’t want them to like it I want them to love it.  Will they hate it?  Will I love it?  Right now I hate it.  PUT THE DADGUM PHOTO AWAY AND JUST SHUT-UP!”  You are making a painting, not reproducing a photograph.

 Here’s three valuable thoughts to vanquish the chattering monkeys in your head;

1) Self-doubt is the enemy of the warrior.

2) Self-doubt is a form of quitting.

3) Be a warrior not a worrier. 

Experience teaches me not to listen to those chattering monkeys I allow to take up residence in my sub-cranium rent free.  I throw’ ‘em out into the street, and make my painting.  If I can make my painting, and like/love it, then my clients will.  It has never failed.

 How has self-doubt short-circuited your art-making, and your life?

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30 MILES FROM MOSCOW
July 9, 2009 by Steve

 

"Portrait of a Soldier" by Steve Alpert

"Portrait of a Soldier" oil painting by Steve Alpert

The recent passing of Robert S. McNamara brings back chilling memories.  The Vietnam War was  the war  of my generation. I had the 2-S college deferment, and a lottery number of 197 — not called.   Visiting the Vietnam Veteran Memorial Wall in Washington DC 1985 crystallized it all for me.  The wall enveloped me in it’s blackness.  I stood there small and breathless at the enormous volume of names weighing on me.   Visceral.  At my feet was a letter from a mother to her son in a plastic stand.   People leave all kinds of things there.  It was her late son’s birthday.  I read the first paragraph and could read no more.  Reduced to a heap of weeping flesh, stomach heaving.  An irrational feeling of guilt  – my name should be up there.    Had anyone ever given us a good reason all those fine young men and women and children in that country to suffer and die.  Ours and theirs.  The Domino Theory?  Are you kidding?

I am haunted by World War II, European Theatre.  Good guys against bad guys.  Embarrassed to admit how many times I have seen, “Saving Private Ryan,” and “Band of Brothers.”  Years ago, my wife and I were having dinner with another couple.  The man, a fine fellow, travels a lot for business.  I described to him my inexplicable draw to this time and place in history.  He leaned in, face turned to stone, ice blue eyes boring through mine and spoke in almost a whisper, “I’ve never told anyone this, but I have the same feeling…I was a Nazi officer…”  He really said this.  ”…on a business trip, standing on my hotel terrace about thirty miles from Moscow.  The thought came to me, ‘We got this close…”   The Germans were  indeed thwarted thirty miles from Moscow.   An irrational thought told me to reach across the table and choke this Nazi SOB right there at the table over coffee and cheesecake in a restaurant in New York in 1998.   Would not have been acceptable behavior.  Would have had cheesecake all over my shirtsleeves.  Never saw him again after that.

Who knows?  What I do know is that somewhere in my DNA lives a strong feeling for combat vets.  The painting, “Portrait of a Soldier” is my tribute to all of the soldiers thrown into the degrading chaos and destruction that is war.  I don’t know combat in this life.  If there such a thing as past lives, I knew it then.  A few electrons from that life seem to be with me in this one.   Painting allows me to fully express this feeling, as in the above, Portrait of a Soldier.   To me, this is a painting that tells a big story.  Somehwere, somehow, my story.

What stories are you telling with your art?

 

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WAITING FOR THE CALL
July 3, 2009 by Steve

ALL ART HAS IT’S OWN LIFE CYCLE.   The artist is often the last one to know the trajectory of a piece once completed.  Case in point;  “Legacy,” 40”x78,”  oil on linen.  Obviously, a big story.  I created this painting beginning in June 2007, in collaboration with Jan Scruggs, Founder and Director of the Vietnam Veteran Memorial Foundation.  The VVMF created the Vietnam Veteran Memorial Wall in Washington DC, 25 years ago.  If you have not been there, you are missing a major lifetime experience no matter what your connection to the Vietnam War might or might not be.

 

"Legacy" oil painting by Steve Alpert, 40"x78"

"Legacy" oil painting by Steve Alpert, 40"x78"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was Jan’s idea to have the eight uniform eras of US soldiers represented; Continental Army, War of 1812, Civil War (Union), Spanish-American War (Rough Riders), WWI, WWII, Vietnam, Desert Storm era (Present).  I know, I hear you, we’re not dissing Korean War vets – their valor and sacrifices are well remembered.  Uniform-wise they were in WWII style uni’s.  For a full screen look at, “Legacy” please click on the gallery link at the top of this page, and click on the second image on the top line.  Or, click on this link; myartheart.com/steves-images/

The painting was ostensibly headed for Washington DC in a new project the VVMF is putting together, but “Legacy’s” participation got derailed.  Such is life.  The painting sits in my studio, waiting for it’s call to duty.

My feeling is this painting has a big job to do, and my vision for it is to be in a public place where people can grasp the concept of ghostly American sentries patrolling quietly and tirelessly crossing a golden field (amber waves of grain?), protecting the virtues of freedom and everything good that the red, white and blue stand for.  The painting took the better part of four months, painstakingly researched at the West Point Cadet Library, and completed – ironically enough – on September 11, 2007.  “Legacy” has already logged about five hundred miles having traveled to Washington DC once, with a possibility of a showing in DC again later this year.

This is one of the major works of my life.  I have learned how to be patient…sort of…most of the time.   I keep putting feelers out anywhere I can for this work to find it’s proper home.  I keep telling myself, this is not about me as the artist now.   I have already done my job.  Other forces of fate will be required  to guide”Legacy” where it is destined.  I have faith that “Legacy” will get the call to action, at the right time and in the right place.  It will be a most satisfying day to pack her up in her crate made especially for her, and send her on her way. Meantime…

Do you have faith that your work will find it’s way to where it should be?

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