MANILA, Philippines - It’s 12:45 p.m. and the class monitor shouts, “Okay, everybody in!!!” We file in all ages from 20 to 85, the most senior being a survivor of Nazi concentration camps. My studio mates are people from different states and countries, speaking different languages. Carrying our heavy cloth bags filled with tools of the trade, we excitedly get into place, as if it were all a play. We are ready to begin yet another life painting class at the Art Students’ League.
I love the light as I enter the studio. It is from a north light skylight above our heads. It was much more magical years ago when it was true sunlight. Today, it is from spotlights beaming down at us through smoked glass panes. It is yet another reminder that we are in the heart of fast-changing New York City. Our school is caged in scaffolding on 57th street, which is bearing up builders of the tallest condominium skyscraper in Manhattan. Temporarily blocked from true light, bravely, the League carries on, a doorway for many to express an inner light, which burns within every one inside its hallowed halls.
The walls of the studio are a medium neutral gray. And as I look at the model on the platform, he is shining amidst the plain wooden easels and bareness of the studio. This place has been the foundation of my learning for about 20 years now. It’s interesting how the gray walls have never changed for decades, but, each day I paint them, they look different, sometimes a mix of flake white, sienna, cobalt blue and raw umber, and another day maybe rosebud pink with cadmium yellow, ivory black and titanium white. It changes with the model, depending on what they are wearing, the color of their skin and the type of day it is outside… also on my clarity and understanding that day.
It is 1 p.m. and the model has begun posing. Today, it is Henry, an elderly gentleman and he is holding an Appalachian dulcimer. It has an ancient, beautiful sound. As he settles into the pose, I pause, grateful for the experience of painting him. I find joy in my painting spot, which is so close to him I can see all the lines and creases of his face. I analyze his beard, which is a warm transparent white. I check the triangular composition his body makes on my canvas. Making mental notes of the strongest colors, I memorize the mustard color of his vest. In my peripheral vision, I notice again the background turning greenish gray behind him as I stare at his warm vest.
Mia Herbosa, visual artist based in New York City
I am thrilled how things are always so dynamic in the place. I pray he is comfortable enough to last the three weeks it takes to paint him. It’s 2 p.m. and our instructor, Harvey Dinnerstein comes in. He has made quite a name for himself in our school and must be one of the most respected and senior of teachers, having developed many a great painter since the early 1980s. He looks like a wise old Rabbi at 88 years. His eyes are sharp and his sensibility for classical values as keen as ever. He comes to us one by one, examining our paintings and tells us his thoughts on which direction the painting should take. The invaluable help does wonders, for they were things our own eyes could not see at first. Sometimes it is about color, sometimes it is of soft edges. Now, it is of human proportion and paint luminosity. Always, there is more to learn.
Through the years, I’ve had many instructors. Each devoting their lives to teaching and to making us see. My inner life has grown incredibly rich with all they have shared and imparted. All my work, all the years of painting “radiant bohemians” since 1992, I offer to them, the models and the League, in gratitude. Watercolor, sculpture, printmaking, drawing and oil painting, each medium has been a vehicle to express this immortal life. This inner life we have is as deep as the seas, vast as skies, and dynamic as the wind. My thoughts are a world away as I try to get the right angle of Henry’s ear as it meets strands of his hair behind his head. To paint this way is to both excarnate and incarnate.
Then it is 4 p.m. Time to pack up and run for the train at Pennstation. My husband and daughter are already waiting for me. Another layer of life... I can’t communicate with them the depth of feeling I have gained for gazing at models and traveling through life this way. But, I love them and their presence, support and companionship in my life.
There is an intimacy in class learning side by side. We hardly know one another but we understand each other through our paintings. It is so wonderful! No words are needed to respect each other’s vision. It is like yoga, and this is our Sadhana.
I take what I learn home with me, and in the silence of my attic with only brushes, paint and pictures to talk to me, I put a stroke of rosy flesh on the breastbone of my latest portrait. Here, I know, blood pulses closer to the surface.
Looking back on my life, I’m glad I didn’t die before I turned 20. I almost did. I thought I might. But I didn’t. Back then, when I thought life might be ending, I felt extremely frustrated that “real” life for me had not even started. Twenty-seven years after, I know I have made the most of my time. I’ve loved much and helped others as I could. And I know that it is in focusing on my art that I may help the most. It is where a key to Divinity lies. Thank you for all those who have journeyed with me, supported and watched over me. You are my family. And we are all one.
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Mia O. Herbosa’s “Radiant Bohemians” is her 14th solo exhibition, which opens at the Forbes Pavilion on Aug. 18, from 5:30 to 8:30 p.m. For information, call Elaine Herbosa at 0917-8901219.