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So impressive was our appearance that the New York Times sent both a reporter and photographer down to Greenwich Village to cover the spectacle. Below are a few of of the more colorful highlights from the article.

"It is safe to say that Claude Monet never had to contend with oversize police trucks blocking his view of Rouen Cathedral. He also probably avoided errant soccer balls from nearby playgrounds. Eighteen plein-air painters who set up easels around New York last weekend weren't so lucky. The police truck pulled up on the corner of Bleecker and llth Streets Sunday morning as the instructor, Charles Sovek, was demonstrating how to paint rain-slicked town houses. "Now we add in the rooftops," Mr. Sovek was saying. "Very Parisian. I think that's why we like the Village so much; it's very much like Paris."

"Phil Levine, a native New Yorker, has been leading Americans on painting excursions to Europe for 11 years, but last week-end was the first time he had taken them to the city of his birth. The idea, he said, sprang from a desire to connect with New York after the events of Sept 11, 2001. So it was that a group from Florida, Georgia, North Carolina, Connecticut, and the Upper East Side - mostly women, many of whom were more accustomed to painting the hills of Tuscany - paid $300 to spend three days testing their artistic mettle in the New York City rain. "It's been like boot camp for painters, Mr. Levine said. "It's pushed people and challenged people to paint in conditions that never thought they could paint in." Artists who paint on the city's streets are rare, he added. "A lot of people are into cutting-edge art," he said. "They're not painting from life. But we're city boys. We want to paint the grime, the grit, the music, the energy, the sounds."

"The first day, the group settled under the arch near Bethesda Fountain in Central Park. "It had a very European quality," Mr. Sovek said of the arch. It also had occupants. "There were 18 of us and an equal number of homeless people," said George Miller, a painter from Long Island. Did they offer critiques? "They had some things to say," he said, "but they also snored really loudly." The second day, under an overpass in Chinatown, the group jostled for space with curious pedestrians. "They didn't realize that we were paying to watch Charles," said Heather Whitehouse, of Cheshire, Conn. "So they would duck under and push us aside." Even in the Village, local residents presented challenges. A boy sent a soccer ball sailing into one painter's head. A man scooped up the group's doughnuts and threw them into a garbage can. And as Mr. Sovek added highlights to his painting of the street corner, a pigeon lighted on his canvas, then took off, like an urban benediction."

Commentary

Fame, Fortune, Honor and Bliss

3 September 2003 — A thoughtful student gave me an old Art Student's League of New York catalog entitled "The Immortal Eight and their Influence." Aside from the Eight - Henri, Sloan, Prendergast, Shinn, Lawson, Luks, Glackens and Davies - dozens of their students were also featured. All worked around the 1920's through the early 1950's. A few like Edward Hopper, Alexander Calder, and Georgia O'Keffe had achieved national recognition early on and, like their mentors, continue to be respected as solid American painters. Many of the others, however, have literally vanished from the records. And it's upon these that I would like to focus.

An Edward Hopper watercolor probably fetches a couple hundred thousand dollars in today's market. An oil, even more. Yet his classmate and lifelong friend, Guy Pene Du Bois has little name recognition and brings in far more modest prices for his paintings. Sure, Hopper was special - and I'm a huge Hopper fan - but the variance in recognition sort of reminds me of today's absurd imbalance between our lavishly paid C.E.O.s and the majority of other, often equally "talented" folks beneath them.

So what has happened to the nameless majority of artists who were just as technically adept as the big names and on occasion even more creative? Well, I have a hunch about this. Looking at the various biographical statistics, most lived long lives. And here's my point. Many probably continued to paint, experiment, grow and enjoy the chase long into their sunset years. Like Marsden Hartley, a few hit pay dirt after they were gone. But the ones that intrigue me are those determined characters who painted because it was the process, not the carrot stick of fame, fortune or honor, that motivated them to the studio each day to see what the Muses had to offer. And here lies the bliss.

Many of my students get so caught up in the desire to "succeed," that they miss the very quality that can make them an artistic success. And that's the ability to unclutter one's mind and respond with unfettered wonder to whatever it is you're painting. Get it down any way you chose, tight, loose, colorful, whatever. But by doing so with candor and enchantment with the process, satisfaction can't help but be the result. So next time you wander through the hallowed halls of a museum or leaf through an art book, know that for every Henri, Sloan, or Prendergast, there are untold histories of artistic lives brimming with wonder, accomplishment and fulfillment.

"Fishing on the Seine"

I did my first plein air painting in the backyard of a boarding house in Los Angeles in 1956. Just last week I sat on a bench and painted a small oil of a Central Park hot dog vendor. Having gone to school in California at a time when location painting - especially in watercolor - was at it's zenith, I couldn't help getting caught up in the process. Even moving back home to the comparatively colorless vistas of suburban New York and Connecticut failed to dampen my enthusiasm for working from life. I was hooked. In the traditional sense, I can't really call myself a plein air painter. According to Webster's dictionary, plein air reads: (French, open air) !: of or related to painting in outdoor daylight. 2: of or relating to a branch of impressionism that attempts to represent outdoor light and air.

I'm not a purist about painting under natural light. Candles, street lamps, fluorescent or neon lights all have a place in my imagery. I also like to occasionally paint lines around things. Or, if a subject has a particularly interesting shape, I'll flatten the form to empathize the silhouette. Subject wise, I probably revel more in the real and raw of a grungy harbor or congested back street than placid expanses of flower covered hills and snow tipped mountains. But who needs categories? Whether you call yourself an impressionist, realist, luminist, tonalist of fauve, it's the quality of life, energy and inventiveness that validates a picture.

It's taken me years to acquire a broad enough perspective on painting to steer through the mazes of options and pitfalls working from life can present. It comes down to interpreting what you see onto a canvas. The tough part however, is comprehending that a canvas can never be an open window into reality. It's a flat piece of canvas with brush loads of colors piled on top and unless you arrange those colors into some kind of order or design, no matter how much you think you're painting what you see, the viewer won't be convinced because it's simply impossible to transform canvas and paint into three dimensional reality. A picture can only remain an artistic interpretation. The word "artistic" is key here because this is where the order and design come in.

Suppose two artists paint a cow grazing in front of a barn. One paints every spot on the cow's hide perfectly. Each bale of hay is in exactly the right place and every piece of glass in each window of the barn is counted twice to make sure the number of panes tally up. The other painter not only simplifies the spots on the cow, but paints in a non-existent window to better silhouette the animals interestingly shaped rump. Both artists paint the barn red. But the second paints the bales of hay alongside more greenish, to better compliment the red of the barn, while the first painter sticks to the true, putty-like hue of the straw. Both paintings are now framed and exhibited. Someone walks up to the first painting and tells the artist it looks pretty convincing but if he could see the real cow and barn he could tell a lot better how accurate the picture was. Someone approaches the second artist, studies his work and comments "I like your painting." There's no talk of accuracy or counting window panes. Simply "I like your painting." The lesson is, no matter how carefully you copy what you see, unless it's selectively edited, the work can't help but remain an incomplete statement. When filtered through an artful arrangement of shapes and colors, however a picture ceases to try and mimic reality. Instead it becomes an independent construction. In other words, a PAINTING of a cow and a barn rather than an imitation.

A lot of years have gone by since I stood under that blue California sky and struggled to paint my first landscape. And not once have I doubted or regretted making it a lifetime pursuit. Like most of my days, tomorrow is an unknown quantity. I may go outdoors to paint. If it's cold or snowy, I'll work in my van. Or, my sweetheart Peg may have plopped some flowers in a coffee can on the kitchen table that catches the morning light at just the right angle. The painting on the cover of my last book came about exactly that way. However it goes, there's sure to be some adventure.

The future? New times bring new subjects and the rosy glow of the setting sun can be just as enchanting on a kit banking a corner on a skateboard as it was when Sorolla painted his picturesque oxen pulling sailboats onto a beach in Spain. Atmospheric vistas, flower-filled courtyards and adorable children splashing in tidal pools will probably always find a place in the genre of painting from life. But to really count as an important avenue of expression in an increasingly complex world, there also has to be a place for more innovative, contemporary themes. They could be nature based, as in many of Fairfield Porter's fresh solutions to landscape, or glaringly lit interiors like Wayne Thibaud's gaudy yet irresistible line up of banana cream pies. Whatever the subject, I think painters will always feel the importance of painting from life and getting rained on, sunburned and tricked-up by fast changing effects. But also tasting the exhilaration of seeing a fresh bunch of shapes and colors come alive on a canvas. And for me, that's what it's all about.

"Strawberries in Colander"

The Artist’s Magazine - How do you come up with new ideas for painting subjects?

Charles Sovek - Painting from life solves a lot of problems, here. Keeping my eyes open, both indoors and out, I seldom am at a loss for what to paint. The trick is how to keep the initial “wow” intact all the way to the last brush stroke. I function best doing “series” works. Like last week I got a lot of momentum going doing some still life themes for a show I’m having this spring. The first couple were not very good and I was discouraged. But I kept plugging away. And here’s a good chestnut IT’S NOT SO IMPORTANT HOW WELL YOU PAINT, IT IS IMPORTANT THAT YOU KEEP ON DOING IT. By being tenacious, even my darkest moods eventually fade and I’m back in the groove of trying to snare a masterpiece. Changing subjects can also be a good remedy. Also changing mediums or formats, like small to big or vice versa. Then, if I’m still blue, I get out my concertina and take a shot at Lady of Spain. Finally, if still zip, I get out Part 1, 2 and 3 of the Godfather, take a day off and submerse myself in movie magic. That hasn’t failed yet.

T.A.M. How do you know when it’s time to try something new?

C.S. When I know how the painting is going to turn out.

T.A.M. Are there any exercises or tricks you rely on to get your creativity flowing?

C.S. With landscapes, I have a couple of special locations I save for blah days. These places never fail to inspire me. There’s a point on the beach in Provincetown where the old Unitarian church meets the houses in a skyline configuration that artist’s have painted since Hopper and Demuth. I can see why. The magic is there. So too, with places in Taos and Mendocino and New York City and Paris. Places that always seem to want to be painted. Indoors, music usually gets me in the mood. Being a night person, a quiet studio, music, a good still life or figure motif in front of me... doesn’t get much better than that.

T.A.M. What’s the most creative thing you ever did?

C.S. 1992. Had written three books, done dozens of articles for you guys, had a zillion adoring students and sold well in galleries. Yet...I was a closet colorist. Really afraid to let it rip. Tone was king cause I could control it. I saw a catalog from a show in San Francisco of a group of artists called The Society of Six. Subtitled, California Colorists, I was first intrigued, then boggled and finally smitten. I got on a plane (from New York) flew to San Francisco, went to the gallery to see the actual paintings, took a week tracking down the places the artists painted. Most were either condos or had fences around them. But I found a few intact, set up my easel and began for the first time in my life painting with PURE color. The experience was intoxicating. Never have used earth colors since. Some of my collectors and galleries squawked. Too bad. Even ten years later, I can still feel the tingle of liberating myself from a lot of traditional baggage. Lew Lerhman wrote about me and included that experience in his second book called “Successful Artists, something, something, something. North Light published it and you might even have a copy on your bookshelf.

T.A.M. What do you consider to be the secret to maintaining artistic inspiration?

C.S. None. Like van Gogh , you need to believe in yourself and trust that the muse of the arts has favored you. But you only find this belief and trust by working your butt off just as hard as you can.

T.A.M. Any other thoughts on the subject?

C.S. Being an artist is a privilege. It’s not about money or fame or even pleasure. It’s being in a special place where the currency is expression, originality and serendipity. Kids know about the place without ever being taught. So do the students who ask hard questions and aren't afraid to trust their gut when given pat answers. It’s not really about craft so much as using whatever tools that are at hand to show how you feel about what’s around you.

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