Still.

There is something about the simplicity of a still life that makes it both accessible and easy to overlook. Still lifes consist of stationary objects; some fruit, a gilded goblet, glistening oysters, the carcass of an animal . . . all inanimate, with exception of the occasional pestilence. They are often passed over in museums, an inefficient use of time to pause and admire when surrounded by scores of brilliant master pieces. Guests tend to focus on beautifully rendered figures and larger works of great historical significance. In fact 19th century classicism taught that there was a hierarchy of artistic subject matter, with historical and religious subject matter given the most reverence, and still life relegated to the lowest rung.

Yet there is a truth in the simplicity of a still life which often seems unattainable in a figurative piece. A portrait is like a snap shot, a moment frozen, a piece of time to be recreated in our minds. A still life has a direct relation to life in the way we experience it. That fleeting moment in a portrait would have existed for just a fraction of a second. We do not experience life in moments of frozen time, we experience life with movement. But a still life conveys what actually was, the way we live it. A butcher’s shop might have hung racks of meat, day after day for years on end. A bowl of fruit could have laid on the table for days with very little change to the color and ripeness. These objects existed throughout the centuries, without movement, in the same way we have and will always experience them.

Personally I am drawn to vanitas, those sumptuous Dutch inventions reminding us of time passing. A candle burning, an open book, a clock ticking, fruit that has just begun to turn. The crisp cleanliness of ordinary items creates a mood of unexpected indulgence. The ripe velvety blush of peach skin becomes a luxury; an array of fruit becomes fecundate visual feast of colors, textures and full round shapes. Everyday life is an indulgence. Our senses are a privilege. Touches, smells and tastes, are beautiful senses, too often forgotten and taken for granted. The vanitas are a reminder, enticing us to indulge, and reminding us that the pleasures of the flesh are ephemeral.

Some still lifes ironically are portraits of death. A slaughter calf, meat, and game, pheasants hanging, all tokens of human superiority and of consumption. I find it interesting, that If you put a human corpse into the painting it becomes a portrait of a dead man. It is no longer a still life. It is easy to forget that we too are animals. Instead of viewing decomposing meat, it is much easier to focus on the soul of the dead man. I have always wanted to create a still life of a hunting scene and include a human being, changing the theme of the still life from the theme of mankind as the conqueror to a vanquished man. A static portrait and a literal vanita.

Wishing to understand my attraction to static compositions, I decided to speak to a fellow artist Anastasia, about the genre. She pointed out that no matter the subject, medium or genre, the essential elements of painting exist within the still life. Not only do you notice principles such as balance, repetition and contrast, but these elements become highlighted without a dynamic subject matter to distract from them. It is also the lack of dynamism in a still life which makes it so remarkable. In her experience, as we live with the studied objects and experience them we begin to understand them. She said that she once worked on a still life for six months straight. She had nearly finished and begun to move on to other paintings. Not long had passed before she came back again to the same painting. It was only then, after six months of observation that she finally understood and comprehended what she was seeing.

My sculptures “Courtesan”, was once named “Still Life with Flowers”. She sat atop of chest full of drawers which contained beautiful textural ordinary objects, such as tools and cloth. In her hands she presented dried red roses. The aim in creating her was to highlight the beauty of daily life. For many of us, life is not constant change. We fall into ruts and we carry out mundane routines. There is richness in these unchanging patterns, and a beauty in the mastering of simple actions. I had wished to convey that with my simple figure. I believe that is why I create static compositions. A dynamic pose will never have the movement of a ballet or a film. I create things, as I see them, still, and enticing contemplation. It is why I named my figure “Still Life”. It was only after she fell, was broken, and then of course mended, that she took upon the meaning of a Courtesan.