Framing a Painting

I just went back through old posts and it seems that there has been no mention of any of the key elements of this post: a frame, a painting and a hammer.  Shame, it would have been so much easier to point back and say, "remember this and remember that? Well guess what?!"

But let me start at the beginning.  Around three and a half years ago, shortly after I first discovered Build It Green NYC, back when they only had the Astoria, Queens location, I was out there picking through stuff with nothing special on my shopping list when I found a cache of very nice picture frame material.  There were a few dozen pieces in lengths ranging from three feet to seven feet long, no two the same.  Mostly, it was moderately ornate, gilded (or silvered) frame stock with deep, undulating profiles, mostly made in Italy.  It seemed to be the leftovers/remainders from jobs done at some higher-end frame shop.  The price was a song so, certain I would find a use for it, I took it all.  And then I did nothing with it.

This past May, wandering through our favorite flea market in the whole world, Marche Paul Bert at the Marche au Puces Clignancourt in Paris, I found a painting I liked - a small oil on wood panel of a lion in a landscape from the mid-1800s.  The seller described it as a "salon painting" - unsigned, unknown artist, unimportant - but lovely in its way.  The painting itself was just about 8" x 6" but it was in a huge, impossibly ornate, gilded rococo frame.  The frame was at least 4" wide, maybe more, and... well, it was basically crazy-busy gilded gesso sculpture.  In any event, I wanted the painting but I didn't want the frame - and not just because it would have been a huge pain to carry it back on an airplane.  Long story short, after some negotiation, I bought the painting and left the frame -- the seller probably thought I was crazy to want this unimportant little painting and not the spectacular frame that made it seem like it might matter.  The painting has been tucked away in a drawer ever since.

Then, earlier this year, probably around the first of January when I was thinking about New Years Resolution type stuff, I realized that one thing I'd like to be better about is not postponing enjoyment of the things I already own while focusing on the things I want and don't yet have and how to get them.  A prime example: a piece of unframed artwork in a drawer.

So I began shopping for just the right frame for my salon lion.

After stopping in to a couple local frame shops I remembered all that frame stock in my basement and I went down and picked out a couple pieces that seemed right.

One of our local frame shops is so backed up that they will only work on frames you buy from them.  The other good local shop (Brooklyn Frameworks) was happy to take my old stock and put a frame together for me (although I did end up adding a linen liner - which is basically another picture frame inside the first picture frame).

I picked up the picture frame today and mounted the painting the minute I brought it in the door and then hung it right away.  I am thrilled - not just with the framed painting, but with the progress I've made in just enjoying what I have.

So, without further ado, here it is:

I hung it just above my dresser - if I had a dressing room, I would have hung it there.  It feels like a personal painting and over my dresser feels like a personal spot.

Why personal?  The painting makes me think of my father, which is odd since he passed away a few months after I bought it, without ever seeing it.  It makes me think of him because I knew when I bought it that I wanted to show it to him.  I thought he might like it, the folly of it, an odd lion in a landscape at sunset rendered with big gloppy strokes.  I thought something about it would make him smile.  Mostly, I knew he would really look at it and think about it and then, almost certainly, say something appreciative about it as he did about almost all the art I have bought and hung.  I wanted his good opinion and perspective on it.  I didn't get that, but I still think of him when I look at it because one of my plans for this painting was to show it to him and talk to him about it.  I imagine what the conversation would have been like and it makes me feel closer to him.

Oh, right, the hammer!  I bought two nice old cobbler's hammers at a flea market last fall.  Then I put them in a box and never did anything with them.  This evening I used the skinny one to nail the little hooks into the wall to hang my painting.  It was kind of thrilling.

Art Acquisition: Who is Grisha Dotzenko?

I picked up this woodcut print at BIG NYC the other day.  It was in the back leaning in a stack of other framed artwork against the wall.  It was $10 and is really nicely framed.  It is titled "Miracle" and signed "Grisha Dotzenko" and dated 1961 and has an "A/P" designation on it, all in pencil .  

I Googled the artist's name and enough credible references came up to confirm that it was not just some student work from a summer workshop in the Berkshires.  More important though, I really like it.

V was surprised that I didn't think it a little too religious looking for my taste, but I quite like whatever is going on in it: a God-like thing with lots of little folks under its wings zapping or creating a flower.  I also like that despite the composition which feels like it should be hung in landscape orientation, it is signed to be hung in portrait orientation - it makes it seem like this powerful thing is diving straight towards the earth rather than just flying along -- it makes a collision seem inevitable.

Anyway, this is not a great pic with the reflections showing and I will add better ones later once I figure out how to photograph it through the glass without too much reflection. (click pic to enlarge)

Whence came a painting.

It would be fair to say that our approach to art acquisition is "all of the above".  

Case in point: about three weeks ago, V and I were in Manhattan with the baby and we saw an old portrait in the window display of the Angel Street charity thrift store in Chelsea and we both immediately liked it. Sadly, it wasn't for sale yet - the store manager told me that it would go on sale, along with a bunch of other fancy items in the window, on Feb 25 and he didn't know the price yet.  

So, yesterday at 10:15 I rushed out of the office to be at the store by their 11am opening time.  Turns out Chelsea isn't as far from my office as I thought and, thanks to a well-timed train I made it to the store in 15 minutes.  I was the only person there and I stood reading in the cold while people lined up behind me (although other people didn't start showing up until ten minutes before the door opened).  At one point I worried that since I didn't know where in the store the portrait would be, I might miss it and lose it to someone in line behind me while searching for it, but just before they opened the doors, I saw an employee place it on the front counter beside the register.  Obviously, there was also the possibility that when I did reach it the price would be unacceptable and all would be for naught.

Things worked out.  I got in first and got the painting and the price was reasonable.  Although while I was admiring my claim, an older gentleman walked up and tried to take it out of my hands as I was looking at it.  He said, "oh, I would like to see this."  And I said, "Yes. But sorry. I am purchasing it." And he had his hands on it and was trying to turn it around to look at it himself and said, "May I?" And I said, "Sorry. No."  And he said, "What?" And I said, "Yes. I am purchasing it."  And he said, "Oh no!"  And I said, "Yes."  And he seemed sad and gave up.  Then, as I wandered about a little to see what else there was, I heard a couple more people asking the manager where the portrait of the boy was and I heard him replying, "It is sold already."  And, of course, that made me feel very nice indeed.
 
So now we own this slightly crazy portrait:

Size Approx 14" x 18" - photo of painting as first seen in thrift store window

It's a little beat up and crackly, but V thinks it is wonderful and I really like the way the light is breaking through the clouds over his left shoulder.  It will inevitably cost more to frame it than it cost in the first place if we go to a frame shop so I guess we need to start thrift-shopping for the perfect frame.