What You Can’t See Online: Art in Person
A patron taking photos by my painting Beverly Ride (78” x 54” – ink, oil & acrylic on canvas) at Castelli Art Space in Los Angeles. Photo credit: Gilbert Molinet.
I often forget that most people see the paintings I make through a computer screen. As thankful as I am for the modern inventions of screens and technology, and the speed with which we can communicate and consume information, there is no phone or monitor that can capture the experience of being live with anything, whether a place, a person, or a piece of art.
There is an energy in objects, especially those made by human hands, that is difficult to convey sometimes without an in-person interaction. It’s the difference between listening to recorded music and enjoying a live concert or watching coverage of a sports game on television versus being in the stands cheering with a good friend, a hot dog, and a beer. Having a conversation over text or on the phone can’t compare to being able to hug a loved one and look into their eyes.
Artist Teale Hatheway (left) chatting with patrons in front of her paintings The Arcade Theatre & The United Artist Theatre (48” x 36” each – mixed media on linen) at Castelli Art Space in Los Angeles. Photo credit: Gilbert Molinet.
Art when seen live offers the opportunity to have an experience beyond what electronic devices and printed materials can offer. There is an abundance of sensory information that travels through the five senses and communicates uniquely to each of us.
A patron at Castelli Art Space looking closely at my painting Leisure Day. Photo credit: Gilbert Molinet.
Seeing art in person also allows us the freedom to get closer, examine strokes, and observe the construction of materials from different angles. We get to see texture that appears flat on screens. We have a chance to see the true color of the artworks. As someone who has spent thousands of hours in my life mixing paint to achieve certain shades, I want the colors to appear in their original truth. Granted, everyone sees color differently, and how a painting is lit and the time of day contributes to those individualized perceptions. I’ve often heard collectors say they enjoy seeing how light illuminates paintings at various times of the day.
Patrons at Castelli Art Space in Los Angeles viewing L.A. Noire (24” x 36” – oil on linen) by artist Gregg Chadwick. Photo credit: Gilbert Molinet.
Ultimately, there is no 6-inch phone screen that can capture the grandeur of standing in front of a 7-foot-tall painting or sculpture and looking up.
The comparison of art seen in person versus art seen via technology seems quite elementary, yet so many people remain buried in electronic experiences (I say as I sit at the computer typing—ha). My fancy for seeing art in person doesn’t discredit the benefits of getting to see images and learn about art online, though. Sometimes it is easier to stay home and look at photos than go out into the world and interact with people. I also love the opportunity to connect with people I wouldn’t otherwise meet who view my art online. There have been many days when kind words from loyal followers or random strangers have boosted my spirits and been the extra motivation to keep creating.
My neighbor looking at Leisure Day (49” x 72” – ink, oil & acrylic on canvas; Note: in real life this painting has a yellow beach—an example of the challenge of capturing a painting digitally in various lights, no matter how fabulous the photographer). Photo credit: Gilbert Molinet.
In August of 2019, I got a reminder from one of my neighbors about the power of seeing art in person. As I flitted about my opening reception at Castelli Art Space to greet the various visitors who braved L.A. traffic to see an exhibit of cityscape paintings in person, I turned to notice one of my neighbors and friends wiping tears from his face.
I asked him what had happened, thinking perhaps something negative had occurred. His response surprised me. “When I look at these paintings I can feel the lives of each of these people… I can feel their struggles and their joys… and the energy of the location,” he replied. The empathy he expressed moved me. Moments later, his partner walked up, also with tears in his eyes. He spoke about the curiosity he had for how the feelings of people had been captured in two-dimensional images.
These two men have walked by me painting outdoors daily for years. They’ve seen countless artworks in process and often stopped to chat with me. One was also my personal trainer for a while and spent hours a week with me. I never would have guessed they would have a profound experience with my art after so much time. They said they hadn’t looked so closely before. In the studio/yard setting, it really wasn’t appropriate for them to block the path to my easel to stare closely at the canvas while I tried to work. (Imagining them doing that did make me laugh, though!) In the gallery, they got to take their time, because the purpose of a gallery is to create a place for viewers to have an experience.
Something in the shock I felt, seeing tears in their eyes and hearing their words, confirmed my belief that art is much more powerful in person than through a screen. I’d already experienced it myself, viewing other people’s art.
A patron at Castelli Art Space viewing the work of Alex Shaefer at the Surf & Turf exhibit featuring LA Skyline from San Julian (24” x 36” – oil on canvas). Photo credit: Gilbert Molinet.
I also advocate for experiencing what is being made today. There really is only a short time when today’s art is available for public eyes—at least contemporary eyes—before the work goes into private collections. It seems common for hundreds of thousands of people to stand in line to see the art of those who have passed away, yet miss out on the opportunity to walk into current galleries and see firsthand the originals of artists who are still alive.
Patron of Castelli Art Space talking to artist Teale Hatheway in front of The United Artist Theatre (48” x 36” – mixed media on linen).
These are the originals that future generations will one day stand in line to see, and we get to see them first. These are the time capsules of our generation.
As fast as technology continues to advance, the creation of art is still fueled by people. I vote for being part of supporting the institutions that create opportunities to experience art live. Regardless of whether you buy art or even like everything you see, your presence matters in shaping what gets created and left for future generations.
So will you see some art in person this year?
Credits:
Exhibition photos by Gilbert Molinet.
Check out the artists included in this blog:
Teale Hatheway
Gregg Chadwick
Alex Schaefer
Thanks to curator/gallery director Dale Youngman for exhibiting us together in 2019, and to Fred Goldstein for creating Castelli Art Space and being a great human being.
About “Where Hearts Reside,” by Harker in The Chase Center Art Collection
In painting Where Hearts Reside for The Chase Center Center Art Collection, for the new home of the Golden State Warriors, I thought a lot about what it means to be an athlete and what it means to be a fan. The interconnectedness between the two is a force that brings thousands of people together to cheer, scream and be part of energy bigger than their own. The magic in this collective spirit wouldn’t be possible without the fans. In this view of a San Francisco neighborhood, the steep hillside turned into an arena in my mind, and the colorful homes became fans in the stands.
Where Hearts Reside by Brooke Harker 56″x 56″ ink, oil & acrylic on canvas
Every house in this painting, similar to people, exhibits distinctive features and contains a world unknown to the casual eye. Whether we know or understand the contents of another’s house, the sight of thousands of colorful houses standing together makes an iconic statement. To me they say, “Hey, whatever the color of your house, you belong here.” This spirit of inclusion is part of being a fan. Whether in the stands, or in our lives, true fans accept us as we are, believe in our unknown potential and show up for us whether we win or lose. They are the ones who rally to their feet when life knocks us down and remind us to get up again.
Two of the loudest basketball fans I’ve ever known also happen to be my lifetime fans and personal inspiration for this painting, my Grandma Betty and my Aunt Vicki. In my childhood, they gave me house painting brushes and buckets of water to paint the sidewalk. They attended every school play, never missed a birthday, saved every postcard from my international travels and hung my artworks throughout their homes. They loved me through my awkward years, which included a brief determination to play basketball in fifth grade, even though I wore a back brace for severe scoliosis and wasn’t the best player. They held a space for me to be me even though they weren’t artsy themselves. I watched them do the same for everyone else in my family. Their squeals of joy and gasps over the thought of my work being considered by the Golden State Warriors, filtered into the process of creating this painting. With bright eyes, they told me it didn’t matter if I got selected. They were so proud I made it far enough to even be considered. Their joy ignited a sense of purpose in me that stayed with me through the thousands of steps I took to and from the easel to make this painting. I wanted to honor how fans influence who anyone becomes. They give us roots in the world and inspiration to soar.
A week before the Golden State Warriors made their official announcement of the selected artists for the Chase Center to the public, Grandma Betty passed away at age 95. Although she never got to see this painting, I know that wherever she is, she is cheering.
True hearts reside in the spaces where people cheer for others.
Not Painting
As we enter a new year, we hear a lot about what we are going to do or not do in the coming year. The fitness industry loves this time of year, when people get fired up to join a gym, exercise more, and eat healthier. Many common New Year’s promises point to the ways we have failed to be productive in the past. So much of our thinking is about doing. The idea is that if we check more off of our “to do” lists, we will somehow be better people, more satisfied and content. It’s not always possible to do do do, though, even though I think it is quite fun to be active. Lately, I have been embracing the space in between doing. It is an uncomfortable space at times. The mind can become a little like a kid on a car ride—“Are we there yet?” Or in the case of my mind, “Is it time to paint yet?”
I spend much more time getting ready to paint than I actually spend painting sometimes, and this is when I feel the space between actions. This is different than procrastinating. When a flower isn’t in bloom, it isn’t procrastinating or unproductive. It’s gathering nutrients and growing. None of us can be in bloom all of the time, yet the New Year comes and we make a bunch of promises about how much we will bloom. It isn’t possible to bloom constantly, though, and when people have the expectation of being superhuman, they might feel disappointed with themselves when they’re not. I know this from personal experience, as I’ve often expected myself to be a bit like a superhero with a paintbrush.
Lately I have been asking, “What about the spaces in between accomplishments? Isn’t that life too?”
This is something to ponder in a culture that talks so much about productivity and achievements.
The practice of yoga talks about the transition from one pose to the next being more important than the poses themselves. For years, yoga has been an important part of my life and one of the ways I get ready to paint. I have heard many yoga teachers say that it is the space between knowing and not knowing that is terrifying. I’m not sure I was ever entirely kind to myself in the past when in such a place because I wanted to be moving. Maybe I didn’t link the space between actions then to a connection with the unknown. Lately I’ve been in a more peaceful place in observation of what it means to be an artist and not paint.
Still the mind, like that child in the car, keeps asking, “Is it time to paint yet?”
I stepped onto my patio today to look at the light. A soft morning glow warmed the outdoor space where I paint. I wondered if today would be the day I felt called to return to the easel after a stretch of not painting. Or would I sit on my favorite outdoor chaise lounge in a red wide-brimmed hat that is way too big for my head and drink coffee out of a mug that says, “Let your light shine”?
I chose the coffee.
I chose to look at the plants and breathe.
And I thought, “Now is the only now there will ever be … so it’s really important to wear this red hat today … even though it doesn’t look good, it provides excellent shade and it makes me laugh. I will never be this young again… so I’m going to enjoy the sunshine today because I get right now … I won’t get right now later.”
So from this space between painting—before the paintbrushes and palette knives dance again—I wish you find some space in the moments between actions and achievements.
Happy 2019. May you be kinder this year than any other year to yourself and others.
Hitchhiker to Art Collector
We’ve all heard the warnings: “Don’t pick up hitchhikers.” I agree…however, this is the story of how my sister once picked up a hitchhiker who, over a decade later, became one of my best art collectors.
“There was just something about them standing in the rain,” Katie said about that day in 2001 when she saw two men on the side of the road during a rainstorm in Rocky Mountain National Park. “It was like a jolt to my heart. I had to go back for them.” My sister did so despite any logic or warnings our mother, who watched a lot of crime shows throughout our lives, had embedded in her brain.
After dropping the men off at a flooded campsite, she shared the story with her roommates. The roommates worked cleaning cabins alongside my sister at a lodge in Estes Park, Colorado. My sister couldn’t shake her concern for the young men, and the roommates agreed to offer them a dry place to crash for the night in the living room.
Originally from Germany, the two hitchhikers, Malte and Andreas, ended up staying for a week. They had been traveling across country by bus to visit national parks across the United States. My sister’s love of nature, which had motivated her to live in Colorado, was an interest she shared with them. The men cleaned the cabin my sister and her roommates lived in and in gratitude made them a German apple cake.
Katie Harker and former hitchhikers Andreas Niestoy (above) and Malte Humpert (below) in 2001 on the steps of the cabin.
My sister eventually moved to Los Angeles and I followed a couple years later, as did one of the hitchhikers, Malte. Katie and Malte became best friends. My sister has a wicked memory for random facts, especially those related to environment and health. Those who love her call her Wik-a-Katia or Katie-pedia. Luckily, Katie had Malte to nerd out with over environmental topics. Malte founded the Arctic Institute, a nonprofit organization committed to the study of issues related to Arctic sustainability and security that conducts research to help shape policies around the globe. He has traveled the world to speak on the topic of climate change with different nations.
Malte Humpert and Katie Harker hiking in Lake Tahoe in 2018.
Beyond being a dear friend to my sister, Malte has always been a voice of encouragement for the art I create.
Early in my painting days in Los Angeles, there were times my sister would share something Malte and his then fiancée Anneliese had said about my work. Their messages often came in moments when I doubted myself, and they lifted my spirits. I loved Malte and Anneliese for that support long before they ever purchased a painting.
In 2012, they took the leap from admiring paintings to becoming collectors.
Their first purchase:
Venice Beat by Brooke Harker 36″x 48″ ink, oil and acrylic on canvas (painted in 2011).
Malte’s second purchase, Coastal Dreamin’, went to his parents in Dusseldorf, Germany.
Coastal Dreamin’ by Brooke Harker 30″x 60″ ink, oil and acrylic on canvas (painted in 2012).
The Humperts went on to commission two works on paper, of Georgetown University and Lake Tahoe.
Me, my sister Katie (and her amazing hair) with Anneliese and Malte at their wedding at the Grand Canyon, in 2013.
The Humperts have watched my sister grow up, witnessed the evolution of my art and been enthusiastic cheerleaders along the way.
They also have a really cute dog named Mango. I strongly suggest following Mango on Instagram (@dognamedmango), because what brightens a day more than seeing videos of a golden retriever jump through snow? Okay, maybe a visit from Mango in the art studio. I got to meet Mango early in 2018 when the Humperts visited to check on two commissions of the South of France slated for the collection of his parents in Germany.
I didn’t get a lot of painting done that day…however, it was worth it to hug Mango. See @dognamedmango on Instagram for more cuteness.
Lumiere du Su by Brooke Harker 30” x 55” ink, oil & acrylic on canvas.
Le Sud au Matin by Brooke Harker 30” x 55” ink, oil & acrylic on canvas.
Malte and Katie in 2018.
Katie and Malte’s friendship has always delighted me. They plot to save the world, while I’m painting it. We all impact the world in different ways.
I’m not sure how many artists can say a hitchhiker became one of their art collectors, nor do I recommend picking up hitchhikers in the hopes of selling them art. However, I do recommend believing that goodness can be found in unlikely places.
My sister with former hitchhikers Malte and Andreas at Lake Tahoe in 2018—plus Mango.
To learn more about the Arctic Institute or to get involved visit www.thearcticinstitute.org.
Always a Good Idea
“Paris is always a good idea.”
—Audrey Hepburn, Sabrina
I made my first trip to Paris by train when I was living in Germany in my early twenties. Ever since I started traveling internationally at age seventeen, my goal had always been to blend in, be respectful of other cultures and attempt to speak some of the local language. I’d never been much for tourist attractions or crowd experiences, for the simple fact that they felt overwhelming and inauthentic. I preferred connections with real people and opportunities to learn about their lives. The last thing I ever wanted to look like was a tourist.
And then I arrived in Paris and saw the carousel…
Something about the sight of the carousel next to the Eiffel Tower activated a sense of magic in me. As the type of person who used to shove herself into those twenty-five-cent toy car rides at shopping malls long after puberty, I became fast friends with the carousel.
It was also my birthday, and being on the carousel felt lighthearted and joyful.
I really needed a break from the kind of rigid thinking that accompanied my then fifty-to-seventy-hour work weeks as a civilian working with children for the US Army. Although time with children activated a certain spontaneous creativity, the world of military regulations just wasn’t lighthearted, joyful or invigorating.
Being on that carousel lit me up and reconnected me with a part of my true nature…a spirit of play. It also kicked off one of my most epic birthday celebrations, which included friends chasing me with silly string through the streets of Montmartre, the famous artists’ district, at night. I could hardly breathe, I laughed so hard. It’s one of my favorite memories.
After that first birthday trip to Paris, I returned to my stressful job in Germany and continued the struggle to make lives better for military dependent children. Beyond the system being messed up, there was something inherently taxing in watching children say good-bye to parents being deployed to war. What was even more taxing was that I knew I wasn’t totally being my authentic self. I wanted to be “normal” and have a predictable job, although I really wasn’t cut out to be in such a routine. I survived in the military world for a while because part of my personality is very particular and literal. However, unless it’s channeled into creative projects, that part of my personality can be less than fun.
I hit a point a year and a half after that trip to Paris when I realized that I’d gotten far out of balance with my own well-being and spirit. During one of my calls home to the states, my stepmom suggested that maybe it wasn’t the healthiest to be crying daily from stress.
I took her words to heart and asked myself, “Is this who I want to be in the world? A frustrated, unhealthy person?”
I had a steady salary with benefits, a gorgeous apartment with a view, the ability to travel Europe on weekends or paint in the studio I made in my apartment, and amazing friends. Yet the work situation wasn’t sustainable long term for either my health or my artistic spirit. I knew deep down I was meant to be creating…even if I hadn’t yet considered doing so as a profession.
With the encouragement of friends and loved ones, I left that job for the unknown. Although it weighed on my heart to leave the children while their parents were deployed, I had to trust that others would pick up where I left off in advocating for them. As much as I wanted to save the world, I had to save myself first.
When I chose to set myself free, Paris was the first place I wanted to visit. I wanted to feel the magic of the carousel again. I bought an Eiffel Tower keychain that I carried for years to remind me that we always have the choice to change our lives.
The Eiffel Tower became a symbol of freedom to me. That’s why it has shown up in so many of my paintings. The carousel became a symbol of finding joy in simplicity.
Years later, I returned to Paris as a professional artist to take thousands of photos for future paintings. I actually forgot to take a ride on the carousel that time! I guess I was having so much fun, I didn’t need the reminder.
I can’t say I’ve achieved the kind of non-touristy interactions in Paris that I’ve aimed to have in most countries. Instead, I am a sucker for walking around the city eating croissants, drinking hot chocolate and seeing the Eiffel Tower from every perspective possible.
The energy of Paris gave me permission to just be a tourist and enjoy simplicity. I learned there that it’s always a good idea to show up in life, and sometimes it’s enough to just be happy about the little things.
In the paintings I make, those little things, the details, when added together, make the bigger pictures.
Et c’est parti by Brooke Harker 60” x 57” ink & acrylic on canvas
La Magie du Carrousel by Brooke Harker 68” x 68” ink, oil & acrylic
Side note: La Magie du Carrousel translates to The Magic of the Carousel. When I was working on the title for this second painting of the carousel and the Eiffel Tower, I brainstormed online with the eight-year-old daughter of one of the friends I used to work with in Germany. Special thanks to Emma Kinnear for suggesting “magic” be in the title.
Finding “Love of the Voyage”
During a visit to Sicily with my sister, I wandered away from the streets of Trapani on a windy summer day. I felt called near the sea where I found a collection of boats tied beneath the harbor wall.
My heart leapt to discover the treasure of this view. I couldn’t stop smiling. I had envisioned painting boats for years.
I climbed onto the jetty as a mist of sea jumped to greet me.
I probably took over a hundred photos from this view and then sat in joy for quite some time.
In the midst of creating this piece, I processed what it felt like to paint in LA again after months of being overseas. There is no way around transitions, they are part of the journey in life. I chose this composition with it’s memories of joy to keep me company.
I can’t say this was an easy piece to create all the way through. I got lost in the water and a bit lost in myself. I wasn’t painting the same as I did before I left for Italy, nor when I was there. I had to assimilate shifts in thinking which at times felt awkward. I felt frustrated to not know my way forward.
It was when I remembered to enjoy the not knowing in the process, to love the voyage, that I found my way with this work. We can’t know the answers before we know them. Even then, outcomes cannot be controlled. Maybe every day is a transition– a chance to get happy and choose to find joy in the unknown.
Love of the Voyage, by Brooke Harker 46″ x 68″ medium: ink, oil & acrylic on canvas
Story of “A Vicenza Lifetime”
A Vicenza Lifetime is the first painting finished of Italy since my return from the 2015 residency on a farm south of Rome. This painting is inspired by two people whose selflessness touched my heart and supported me in the creation of one of the biggest adventures of my life so far. Here is a bit of our story:
The opportunity to paint in Italy came at a time when I craved a change of scenery more than I wanted certainty in surroundings. I said yes to living on the remote farm of the curator Alfio Borghese without knowing how much of the details or logistics would work out to create a solo exhibit in another land.
I’d lived a summer in Italy before, in my early twenties, working with children on a US Army base in the northern city of Vicenza (about an hour from Venice). I had learned a few basic Italian phrases and traveled the country on weekends. Yet this was to be a completely different experience than one of a college student accompanied by other English speakers on a trip overseas. I would be on my own to figure out how to communicate with Italians and get work done in an unfamiliar setting, with a relatively short timeline compared to how many months I normally spent to create a painting. This was both a terrifying and invigorating concept.
The thought of living in another culture without knowing the language fascinated me since childhood. At six years old, I started collecting Barbie dolls from around the world and imagined connecting with interesting people on international travels. 
Around the same time, I met a little girl in school with long blonde hair who wore a white and red checkered dress. I had no idea then that she would travel to as many countries as I had dolls on my shelf, take breathtaking photos of the world, and that she and her future husband would be a very dear part of my journey. I kinda think it would’ve been cool if I knew something about our future then. Like a child fortune teller with valuable information to share at slumber parties, I could’ve told her how she would be married to an officer in the US Army who she’d met while teaching English in Korea. She’d be a professional photographer, I’d be a professional artist, and we’d meet up in Rome.
I wasn’t a fortune teller in second grade however, and life is better discovered as it unfolds. It amazes me though that each person contains an adventure in them that only time uncovers. Yet the seed of what makes them special is always there.
Erika and I collaborated on many creative projects in childhood that usually involved us dressing up in costumes for class reports and finding reasons to serve food to our classmates. The genes of being a thoughtful hostess resided in her then naturally as she came from kind parents who always organized wonderful gatherings with the best snack selections.
It had been nearly two decades since Erika and I lost contact post junior high when we found each other again through Facebook. She became a cheerleader for my paintings, and I became a fan of her photography. It amazed me to see the places she traveled to and the beautiful life she had created. I marveled at how she gracefully walked the path of a military spouse, which isn’t an easy path. Her ability to embrace other cultures and relish in life’s details from the local food and wine, to conversations in other languages probably helped her thrive all these years. Erika lived with her husband Steve for six years in Vicenza, the very place I had first spent a summer in Italy.
I’m glad I had that time in Vicenza in my early 20s. I’d gotten to live out some of the stereotypical romantic experiences associated with going to Italy. I was in a completely different place on this trip. I’d said goodbye to one of the most significant relationships of my life the day before I received the offer to paint in Italy. This trip was far beyond just a dream, it was an opportunity to be lifted from the depths of sorrow and create. As the saying goes, when one door closes…well I kinda felt like I jumped out the window and had to learn to fly. The curator who invited me hardly spoke English, I hardly spoke Italian and we’d just met. He offered me a place to stay on his farm near the town of Paliano. 
I wasn’t sure how I would fund or accomplish the trip…yet every bit of my instincts told me to say yes to the opportunity. I remember a yoga teacher telling me once that if I wanted to do a handstand, the desire had to be greater than the fear. Well I never really desired to do a handstand. I felt more comfortable being afraid of handstands. I did desire this leap out of my comfort zone. The thought of staying within the familiar walls of my apartment in LA, accompanied by grief, terrified me more than any of the potential outcomes of going overseas and taking a chance on creating an art exhibit. I had to trust the unknown. In doing so, I began to experience miracles of generosity that assured me I was doing the right thing. Then one of the greatest acts of synchronicity occurred, Erika’s husband got stationed in Rome to study at the US Embassy for the same months that I would be painting on a farm south of there! I felt like the skies had parted, and I had angels.
Erika welcomed and anticipated my arrival in countless ways that put my mind at ease. Steve, who had never met met me, received and hauled countless packages of supplies for me including a 45lb roll of canvas. They didn’t treat my arrival like it would be a casual meet up for coffee, have small talk with an old friend and part ways. Their hospitality went far beyond the average host who invites someone to stay in their home for a few days or a week. After having had little contact with Erika for nearly 20 years they offered me a beautiful room with a balcony in Rome for months and asked for nothing in return.
Steve said I could even have another room to paint in if I wanted. I knew I would make far too much of a mess to paint inside, yet the offer touched me greatly. It impressed and delighted my heart to know that Erika had found a man to walk beside her who matched the thoughtfulness and integrity so characteristic of her. I felt so loved before I even got there.
When the plane touched down in Rome and the Williams picked me up at the airport, in some ways I felt like I’d gone home in being around Erika. In the moments of walking next to her in the airport parking lot, it fascinated me to observe how the little blonde haired girl I’d known had grown into a beautiful woman who looked and sounded almost the same yet mature and sophisticated. She’d kept the core of who I spent so much time with as a child in Iowa.
This reunion slumber party in Rome also came with a cute little white dog, Siggy who had more stamps on his passport than the average American citizen. At that point, he had been to 26 different countries. I didn’t even know that dogs could have passports.
We became instant friends.
For several days Erika helped me get set up in Rome. She taught me the best places to buy subway tickets before the crowds and away from scam artists. She went with me to get an Italian sim card for my phone and showed me how Italians use plastic gloves to pick up produce in the grocery store. We mapped out and walked routes to art stores where I would get additional supplies and have twenty plus canvases built and stretched. All of these paintings would be created in three months time.
Once I arrived with my Italian host on the farm, where I was to paint, I went looking for the bus stop. I saw many buses pass each day…they just didn’t stop.
The nearest bus stop would be six miles away with no shoulder as crazy Italian drivers sped by. I hadn’t rented a car since I would be painting most of the time. It’s very difficult to get an automatic rental car in Italy. Google maps had the location of the farm marked as another city all together. Calling a cab was impossible under those circumstances, plus the nearest towns were too small to have taxi services. I later learned how to send a latitude and longitude coordinates via WhatsApp so that people could find me. Before then, Erika and Steve drove me on multiple occasions to and from the farm with groceries and supplies. This was a two hour drive for them round trip.
I quickly fell in love with painting on the farm. I also struggled a bit to adapt to the culture. The apartment in Rome gave me a refuge to decompress and heed insight. Erika understood both the American culture of accomplishing tasks and reveled in the way Italians knew how to slow down and enjoy the simplest pleasures of life. It just wasn’t possible to live in Italy the way I had in Los Angeles. Erika said, “In Italy you might have a list of twenty-eight things you want to get done in a day and you will probably only get two of them done, and one of them will be to take a shower.” Her words helped me begin to process the cultural differences and my experience with a little more humor. I felt like I had joined a club of people who knew what it was like to live in Italy as an American, a totally different experience than one of a tourist. This was a far more intricately different culture than I had imagined.
I felt so thankful for this time together. I got to hear her stories and reflections as I went through my own transformation. Despite my painting schedule and Erika’s busy travels to various countries for Steve’s work, we managed to fit in a trip to Vicenza. Although we shared this place in common, their bond far exceeded mine. They called this place home. I got to hear about the city from her perspective and see some of her favorite places. I also got to go with Erika on two of her photoshoots and see her at work. (Consider getting your own photoshoot with her if you are an American getting engaged in Europe or for another special reason! Oscar Elnes Photography) I felt so proud to see her in action. I mainly like to point the camera and push buttons…and she had so much knowledge. There is something magical about witnessing a person’s childhood and then seeing who they turn into and how they contribute to the world.
I created A Vicenza Lifetime specifically for Erika and Steve. It was actually another collaboration for Erika and I since she took the photos of the bicycles that I added to the painting.
Siggy also stars in the painting. This painting is the framework of a place they love, I trust that their memories will fill in the rest of the color.
A Vicenza Lifetime arrived safely to it’s new home with the Williams family, in Belgium, a couple of weeks ago. This painting only begins to express the gratitude I feel for them.
I wish that life showers Erika and Steve with the kind of good karma they deserve for being such caring, thoughtful, pure of heart people. They certainly have made my world a better place and have supported the future of many more paintings. Grazie mille amici!
Behind “Driving Fire”
Somewhere I heard the quote: “Go as far as you can see and you will see further.” These words became my guiding light while working on this painting. I started Driving Fire as the largest piece for my first solo exhibition in Italy. The deep green viridian color called to me yet gave no other instructions.
I chose a color that represents heart energy. The selection of Hollywood seemed a fit because it is a place where millions go to follow their dreams. It is a place of infinite possibilities and a place where many get disillusioned in the pursuit of doing what they love.
I took the photo inspiration for this work during an evening out with curator Alfio Borghese. It was on his remote farm near Paliano, Italy (south of Rome) that this painting took flight.
At times this painting got tied to old wells, trees, farm machinery and various buildings around the property.
I felt the most free and the most confused while making this painting.
(photo above by Fabio de Paolis)
I really couldn’t see how the painting would possibly get finished in time for the opening.
Whenever surprise guests showed up on the farm for long traditional Italian meals in the middle of the day, it always seemed to be this painting that I was working on.
(a few of the above friends: art critic Paolo Mangiante, curator Alfio Borghese, art critic Paola Boschieri, & photographer Fabio de Paolis)
I laughed a lot while making this painting because I was sure the scenarios that took place behind the scenes belonged in a movie.
My loves, Virgola and Punto, the farm dogs that kept close to me during the residency usually took shelter next to this painting during frequent rain storms. Although I wished they wouldn’t since the oil was still wet, the threat of dog fur in the paint was the least of my worries. My head swam with thoughts completely the opposite of what I would advise others to think in creating a positive work environment. Then I remembered to change my thoughts.
I returned to the words: “Go as far as you can see and you will see further…”
I remembered my father’s saying from his time in the US Marines: “adapt, improvise and overcome,” and that is exactly what I had to do. I could not control the outcome of the painting by thinking about what would happen if I never figured it out. Giving up would not finish the painting…and I always talk about painting with joy…where did the joy go? I had to think differently…I had to find the joy in the not knowing.
I began to see this painting as a parallel to life. I couldn’t see to the end of its creation, just like we can’t see through the course of our lives…moving forward is a matter of trust.
Driving Fire refers to the deep passion in any person to move forward in the direction of whatever it is that they desire. This fire lives in all of us whether it rages or gets a little muffled. It’s not always safe, easy or fun this drive…but the alternative is less fun. The end of a famous Winston Churchill quote says, “…it is the courage to continue that counts.” Sometimes continuing forward means finding a way to re-ignite the energies that drive us regardless of the circumstances and learning to trust along the way.
Driving Fire by Brooke Harker
ink, oil & acrylic on canvas
59″ x 66″ (150cm x 169cm)
(above: curator Alfio Borghese, artists Elena Sevi & Brooke Harker, art critic Marcello Carlino of Rome at the opening of “Una Prospettiva Eclettica” at Villa Comunale di Frosinone)
Timeless Gratitude-Holiday Cards 2014/15
I have been meaning to share a behind the scenes glance at my annual holiday card project for awhile. Although it is mid-May and long after an appropriate time to share news about the holidays, the cards I created for 2014/15 (sent in February:) were about gratitude…which is really a timeless subject. AND this is my practice blog entry:)
In 2012, after years of not sending cards, I returned to my childhood tradition of making original cards. Each year my collectors and important people in my life get mini original paintings on canvas. This is also a gift to me, taking the time to make little originals that I get to give away as an expression of my love and gratitude for the many people who make my world a better place.
Step 1: Stapled scraps of left over Step 2: With ink, I painted all the
canvas to a board and painted them. people I felt gratitude for in 2014.
Step 3: I applied left over oil paint from recent works.
Much of the paint for these cards came from working on the painting Vacation in the City 1, 48″ x 48″, ink, oil & acrylic on canvas.
Step 4: Cut up the canvas scraps into mini compositions and look for areas that need more love.
Step 5: Glue all of the mini paintings to blank cards. Here they are:
Above: one of the cutest dogs in the world letting me know that the holiday card arrived.
Below: a photo from one of my collectors who framed her card:)
Brooke Harker
