Okay, this one is done. Now you can compare and contrast with the early stage posted below. It was a fun painting to do, and I’m happy with the results, particularly the balance between the tight and the loose bits. Thanks, Paul, for revealing the many treasures of Binghamton, and especially the Clinton Hotel bar. When the Baroness and I drive upstate this summer we might stop there for a quick one – and we’ll certainly toast our tour guide.
If all this is about ye olde bar rooms in New York City, and it is, you knew this was coming. This sketch in oil is from the Ear Inn, as fine example of an untouched neighborhood joint as any you’ll find. Considering what is happening to what has been for decades a sparcely populated backwater of lower Manhattan, that is a small miracle. Being so far off the beaten path has helped preserve the Ear Inn’s regulars-only character, but you can’t help but wonder how it might change with Soho creeping ever westward, and all the new office space opening up. But for now it’s still as it ever was, and always worth a stop. This picture is of the flipped up hatch at the end of the bar, and the random looking collage formed from an old cardboard drink coaster, a drawing of a crayon label “The Ear”, an enameled metal “In” sign, and a price list in a plastic sleeve hanging from a rubber band. Our old friends Peto and Harnett would be pleased with the composition.
Remember this one from such posts as that one below? Now it’s on its way to being a full fledged painting. This is the early stage. Roughly, everything is in the right place and I’ll start fussing with textures and details in various areas until I can stand to look at it without seeing twelve things I want to change. Then I suppose it will be done, and I’ll post a pic of the finish product for comparison.
This one’s almost done. Nowadays there are so many identical “P.J. O’Somebody’s Authentic Generic Shebeen”, with the same canned decor, that I suspect there has to be a place that sells an Irish-Pub-In-A-Box kit. Even in out here in Sunny-Woodside (or Woody-Sunside, if you prefer) – a bona fide Irish neighborhood for decades – most of the bars look like they were all extruded from a nozzle labeled “Irish-Bar-O-Matic.” You won’t get that feeling at Dublin House, 225 West 79th Street near Broadway, which has been the real deal since the 1920s. We seldom make it to the West side, but a stop here is more than worth the schlep. The space is a little narrow in the front and they have these tiny two seat booths, part of a unique look that reminds you of a time when everything was the product of an individual carpenter; nothing in here is out of a catalog. Even if you’ve never been inside, chances are you know this place from the sign. It may be the best sign on an Irish bar in the city – look here for a very nice 3D image. I’m happy with the way this painting is turning out. The color of the floor might be a little over the top, but it fits with my memory of the general warmth you feel on entering the place. One part I’m enjoying is the very dark green of the front of the bar, which I’m afraid is reading as black in the photo. Oh well, if you could see everything in the photo there wouldn’t be much point in painting the picture.
Interesting article in the Times today about cash registers and the last guy on the Bowery selling new models and repairing old ones. They mention in passing that bars still want an old looking cash register to add a little authentic ambience. Above is a quick sketch of two kinds of cashbox, a kind of ‘Eighties electronic register with a LCD display that apparently doesn’t work anymore, and the old standby of yore, an El Producto cigar box. Chalk one up for you Luddites; the cigar box still holds money. The bar is the Clinton Hotel in Binghamton. Stay tuned to see what this will look like as a real painting.
Just to mix things up, I’ll post two in one week. Why not? I’ve been meaning to mention the book I’m reading, New Art City by Jed Perl, as it has a way of fizzing up my brain with a bunch of random thoughts that might be lost if I don’t start writing them down. I’m reading a section about collage as it relates to nostalgia and how a synthesis of both these may have influenced apparently very different styles of painting. This just after watching Tony Bourdain’s No Reservations episode about vanishing Manhattan. It’s a big subject, the most trite thing you can say about it is this city has been in a perpetual state of nostalgia since the days of Pieter Stuyvesant. This never changes. It is the universal experience; you get off a bus from the hinterlands and shake the cornstalks out of your clothes, or you finally move out of your parents’ semi-detached in Canarsie, either way, at the moment you are young and free and starting to live in New York City someone will tell you in no uncertain terms that you missed the real fun by about ten years. It was just as true in 1915 as it is today. That said, we are shedding the good stuff at a rate unparalleled since the 1960s, to the point where, as Nick Tosches complains in the Bourdain program, New York exists primarily in our failing memories. The show itself was a very short catalog of the best of the oldest, all places the Baroness and I have on our list of essentials. When Tony visited a certain ancient, old-fashioned French institution, however, it started getting a little too close for comfort. There is nothing like this place for atmosphere, but I had to laugh when Tony insisted the food was good. Maybe Tone’s tastebuds are blown out from livin’ la vida bad-boy, but nobody goes there for the food, no matter what they tell you. You go because it’s the last of the Mohicans. In other words, nostalgia for the place even before it goes under. The segment made me fear for the health of Monsieur Robert, the owner, and by extension, the restaurant itself. A few years ago Paul Lukas had a feature in the Times about the vivacious Dames of Beef visiting this same sweet old doll of a restaurant. The resulting publicity forced a big increase in reservations that caused a lot of strain on the restaurant, and especially on Monsieur Robert, who runs a tight ship, but prefers a relaxed, unchallenging cruise to gale-force business. Which is why I’m not going to add to the feeding frenzy by typing the name here. To see this TV show in constant re-runs really worries me.
Anyway, back to book I’m reading. There is, of course, no single book to read on a subject as giant as art in New York in the middle of the Twentieth Century, and every book about any scene (large or small) will leave out great chunks that someone will find crucial, but there are some nice connections here. For instance, he starts talking about collage and nostalgia, you know what’s coming and here it is, lovely, sensitive section on Joseph Cornell; but getting from Cornell to Ellsworth Kelly is an unexpected and interesting journey. It made me think about how interested I am with the found collages stuck to the walls of all these old bars. The thing-ness of these random bits of paper, photos, football pools, placed by human hands but in the most automatic, chancy way relates strongly, I think, to Perl’s discussion of dada and collage. Applying chance to composition with the rigor of Arp can lead to beautifully serendipitous results. (Serendipitous if you believe he never cheats when he’s making a collage of bits of torn paper dropped from a height onto another blank sheet of paper. Ah, well, it wouldn’t be cheating to sort of nudge a scrap of paper when you stick it down.) I’ve always be a fan of your Nineteenth Century trompe l’oeil still life artists, your Harnett, your Peto, especially the postcard rack on the door ones. Imagine what you get with that head-on, flat aspect, but you had your local bartenders picking the subjects and arranging them! That might be where I’m headed…
Still terrible at posting stuff here, I’m finishing a painting of the Dublin House, making sketches for new ones to start, so where is any of that? Lazy. Here’s a rough idea for a new painting. It’s acrylic, which I’m liking for quickly trying things out. The speed and lack of preciousness helps to generate some fresh ideas that hopefully last through the transfer to the slower medium of oils. That’s the plan. The subject is the interior of the Union Course Tavern in Woodhaven, Queens, which makes a claim to being THE oldest bar in the five boroughs. Sorry, McSorley’s, but 1853 is the claim and it’s a hard one to beat. Union Course refers to the racetrack of that name which made Woodhaven a destination for sporting types beginning in the 1820s. Back in the mid-Nineteenth Century the tavern was called the Blue Pump Room. The sign behind the bar used to hang outside when it belonged to the Neir family. The glory days are just about over, and there is none of the hype that draws the fratboys to McSorley’s, but this is the honest neighborhood shot and a beer joint you used to find on every block and now — good luck, buddy. So, by all means, go there. If the door is locked don’t be afraid to knock.
Six of the Greatest Hits (including all of the above) are on display at 18 Erie Street, aka World of Style Vintage / Balance Salon, in lovely Jersey City. Real near the Grove Street PATH. They will be up through the first week in March, and I will be there to sign autographs and kiss babies on Friday, March 6th, for a combo JC Friday and show closing event. More detail can be found here. See you on the 6th?
You know you are in a quality joint when you see that Aristocrat Gin bottle proudly displayed. If you recognize the Zemkoff Vodka and Aristocrat brands you maybe a regular of Julius at 159 West 10th Street in the West Village, and if you are, I salute you. This is one of the few truly unchanging bars in the city. If you’ve never been you are headed for regrets-ville. It is the realest of deals, completely untouched by the Squares in a neighborhood irretrievably ruined by the worst elements of the Sex-In-The-City-fication horrors. As Jeremiah points out in his informative article linked above, one reason Julius has survived when so many other neighborhood taverns have mutated into sets for Friends must be that it is a gay bar dating from an era when that meant something. One gets the impression the crowd there doesn’t suffer fools and/or straight people gladly. I’ve never felt anything but welcome, though I could be accused of being both foolish and girl-crazy; at least I’m no Square. Naturally, it’s a question of deportment, and I have the added bonus of the vivacious Baroness V.O. whom I rely on to charm us out of any tight scrapes. The other reason for Julius’ unchanging nature is the hideous yellow stucco facade. This kind of ugly lets you know there is nothing trendy going on here. Inside it’s a museum of forgotten barroom culture easily equal to Chumley’s, Minetta, Old Town – name your classic joint.
This is a sketch in acrylic and gouache that might turn into a real painting. I haven’t done much with acrylic in a while. Ever use a palette knife on paper? Effective, and also just plain fun. Started thinking about what a white elephant these huge cash registers are becoming lately. They are all going to end up like those old hand pump beer engines posted below – unused massive hunks of machinery as decoration. This one isn’t pretty by any standard, but if they ever decide to replace it with the crappy new computer cashbox you see everywhere, you know they aren’t going to remove this one. Too damn heavy! Of course, the old cash register is a good indicator of the kind of old dump I love. As bon vivant Paul Lukas says, if you see a computer display behind the bar you are in the wrong place.
Updating the post below regarding Fedora. Here’s the finished painting. This photo is a little saturated, and the inky blacks have lost some of the subtlety of the actual picture, but you will get some idea that the colors have been refined. When the three brightest areas in the top half of the picture – the white wall above the payphone on left, washed-out area center left around Oscar statuette, and ceiling at right – started getting more assertive I felt like I was finally getting there. The space feels right now. But I think I need to do another one of the bar here at Fedora. Something about the low-ceiling vibe needs another go to get it right.
