Ocelot. Graphite on Paper.
A few things. First, I have become somewhat reliant upon “likes” - particularly on Instagram. I draw these guys all the time and I get upwards of 1500 people “liking” the nudes. Each little “like” is an endorphin molecule rushing to my brain. I am worth something in that monopoly-money that is Instagram likes. Beautiful faces can get me close to 1000 likes. Couples kissing can get me around the same. But a beautiful, well hung guy can push me past the 1500 mark. I know I am motivated by the appreciation. And that is actually fine with me for the most part. I WANT to be appreciated. I WANT my artwork to be liked because I like it and I get it. What I have to be careful of, however,, is that I get stuck in some kind of rut and don’t keep going forward in other ways. I wanted to become an oil painter, but I am not oil painting. I am only drawing. Drawing was supposed to be a step in the process of becoming an oil painter…
Second, I have this gallery space- it’s my actual working studio. It’s open to the public on weekends. It is in this beautiful, historic town of New Hope which draws a lot of tourists. I wanted my studio to be a place for gay men to show their gay-themed work. And I am doing that. So there are often a lot of nudes up on display in my space. And a lot of tourists wander in, not looking at the sign that says “this exhibit may feature work not suitable for everyone”... And they look around, and get uncomfortable, and leave. And that’s fine- to be expected. What I didn’t expect is that I would get so tired of it. My fantasy of having a little hole in the wall gallery space like something in the early 80s in the East Village, kind of keeping that defiant gay spirit alive, only in this cool, artsy town - maybe I have to let go of it… I have attracted some people to the space from far away now and then, but on a daily basis, it is more of an exercise in being patient with the human race’s discomfort with homosexuals and the male nude. So I am taking a little time to draw and paint other things. Could be a day, could be longer...
Finally, why on earth would I want to draw a pretty cat. I’m not a 12 year old girl. Well… maybe on some levels I am. Or a 12 year old little boy who loves nature. I grew up in a family that despite all our ups and downs, never wavered in instilling in me a deep love of animals and nature. The family dogs and cats were my brothers and sisters. There was never any question that they were people. Of course they were. Their feelings mattered. As did the stray cats on the street. And the animals in the fields and woods. And we were taught to make no mistake that we were animals too. And not as smart as we think. Dumb overconfident apes with a lot of issues and drives and arrogance destroying our world out of selfishness and compulsion. It’s my world view to this day.
This ocelot is a person to me. So when I draw an animal, I see the person and draw into that just like I would any beardy guy. I remember when I was 22 in Brazil, I went to this open-to-the-public zoo on an incredible estate near Manaus. There was a large enclosed cage with a couple levels for the ocelot. He was out of view. Instinct took me over for a minute and I started purring very loudly (there was no one else around) and the big cat woke up, came down the stairs to his sleeping loft area and walked right up to me with this look on his face. I put my hand through the bar. He came up to my hand and softly bit me- no harm intended. I pulled my hand away quickly realizing what danger I was in. I stood there looking at him for a minute. Then, embarrassed, I turned and walked away.
You want this cat to love you. But it will probably take more than you can offer...