Michael D. Fay UHA ID: 10202138 Master of Fine Arts in Illustration University of Hartford ILS 970 Thesis Defense and Exhibition Naturalist to Imagist: The Boy Who Drew Soldiers ©2012 Special Thanks To my wife, Sergeant First Class Janis M. Albuquerque, for her invaluable intellectual and technical assistance despite being away at war on the other side of the world. To my editor, Mrs. Nancy Moore, former managing editor of the Fredericksburg Free-Lance Star, for her superlative feedback and timely review of my written material. Naturalist to Imagist: The Boy Who Drew Soldiers Table of Contents Introduction Page 1 Inspiration Page 10 Process Page 51 The Works Page 74 Marketing Page 88 Program Page 92 Conclusion Page 94 Biography Page 95 Bibliography Page 97 For all intents and purposes, this thesis is a “reaction paper” about me. You’ll read where I’ve come from personally and artistically, where I am now as a result of this program, and where I hope to go with this thesis and a career as an illustrator with an invaluable MFA. You will also learn about a novella-in-progress and see how personal experience, behavioral psychology, and historic and artistic precedence inform thesis illustrations. The title of this thesis, Naturalist to Imagist: The Boy Who Drew Soldiers, joins two components related by a core theme of empathy. The first part of the title refers to the impact this program has had on my art. I’ve learned new skills and a fresh attitude about the nature of picture-making. The second part is the title of a self-authored rite-of-passage novella. The two elements capture the inter- relatedness of my growth as an artist in the University of Hartford’s Limited Residency Master of Fine Arts in Illustration program, and show how the material in the novella is deeply informed by my time at war. This thesis will return again and again to three words—naturalist, imagist and empathy, so it would be well to give working definitions at the outset. A naturalist is an artist working in the tradition of 19th century French Naturalism. Naturalism, as seen in painter Jules-Alexis Muenier’s (1863-1942) Young Peasant Taking His Horse to a Watering Hole (Fig. 1), while often utilizing impressionistic techniques, avoids romantic idealization or an overt narrative, and exercises a minimum of visual editorializing. On the other hand, an imagist, exemplified by the American illustrator Maxfield Parrish (1870-1976), primarily draws upon internal vision in the creation pieces like The Lantern Bearers (Fig.3). The naturalist objectively observes and records without completely distilling away personal style. The imagist’s creative presence saturates the work, and the rules governing the physics of the world take a back seat to imagination. Imagists like Parrish are theatrical directors overseeing everything from plot, sets and costumes to the casting of actors. The naturalist is an extrovert; his creative source is primarily external reality. Conversely, the imagist is an introvert, drawing inspiration from inner material and imagination. Naturalists and imagists share a common denominator in the use of photographic 1 reference (Figs.2 and 4). The naturalists used photography as an aide-memoire, while for imagists like Parrish, known for his use of a system called Dynamic Symmetry, it is a means to design pictures for calculated effect. Fig.1 Jules-Alexis Muenier, Young Peasant Taking Fig.2 Jules-Alexis Muenier, Preliminary photograph for Young Peasant His Horse to a Watering Hole, 1891, oil on canvas. Taking His Horse to a Watering Hole, 1891, from glass negative. Fig.3 Maxfield Parrish, The Lantern Bearers, 1908 Fig.4 Maxfield Parrish, Preliminary photograph oil on canvas. for The Lantern Bearers. Empathy comes from the Greek for feeling, ‘pathos’. Pathos has generated a family of words used to describe our emotions in relationship to others, objects, ideas and even to ourselves. All of us at one time or another have felt strongly against someone, antipathy; cared little to nothing for something, apathy; or even found ourselves weeping with someone we hardly knew, sympathy. The word empathy, a relatively modern word coined in 1909 by English psychologist Edward B. Titchener (1867-1927), means to “feel into”. Unlike its close relatives—sympathy, “to feel with” and apathy, “to feel not,” empathy is a way of knowing, neither divorcing oneself from feelings nor wallowing in them but rather 2 staying in the tension between them. Empathy is a mature relationship with emotions and takes time, experiences and conscious choice to develop. Empathy lies at the heart of The Boy Who Drew Soldiers storyline and influenced my transformational “naturalist to imagist” experience in this program. If we forego the litmus test of “how will it look reproduced,”Italian Renaissance artist Michelangelo Buonarroti’s (1475-1564) Sistine Chapel Ceiling frescoes (Fig.5) can easily be seen as one of greatest pieces of graphic illustration. Michelangelo subscribed to the Renaissance maxim “Ogni dipintore dipinge se”—every painter paints himself. This paper will bear this out. Whether in the selection of objective material or referencing subjective influences, this thesis is as much a personal testament as a body of illustrations for a rite-of-passage novella about a World War I British soldier. Consequently, there will be honest and direct references to personal experiences as they relate to thesis illustrations and changes in attitude about the practice of illustration. Fig.5 Michelangelo Buonarroti, Sistine Chapel Ceiling, 1508-1512, fresco. I spent twenty-eight years of my working life as a United States Marine. During that time I did nine combat tours; eight in uniform and one as a retired Marine embedded as a free-lance correspondent for the Canada’s National Post and The New York Times. I joined the Marines in 1975 an insufferable romantic, a talented artist without discipline, and a three-time college dropout with a penchant for double rum and Cokes. I was in desperate need of a path into adulthood. The drill instructors at the Marine Corps’ Parris Island boot camp demanded everything, tolerated nothing and gave me no choice other than to finally grow up. The Marines allowed me to not only grow up, but to grow out. My career as a Marine flies in the face of stereotypes about military service. An initial enlistment as an infantryman specializing in mortars was followed by tours as a double-entry bookkeeper, aviation electrician, helicopter air crewman, and recruiter. I rose through the enlisted ranks to gunnery sergeant and retired as a chief warrant officer. For my final decade in the Marines I was appointed the official combat artist for the National Museum of 3 the Marine Corps. My job was simple and direct; go to war and do art. Paradoxically, the Marines, an organization legendary for no-nonsense practicality, allowed me to finally realize what it meant to be a full-time artist. The Marines had not only shown me the world, but more importantly, myself and how to realize my potential. Those years as a Marine have given me a retirement, a circle of close friends, professional accolades as one of a handful of working war artists, a mature worldly outlook and a ninety per cent Veterans Administration disability rating. I have chronic post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). This thesis’ illustrations are informed by content drawn from experiences in combat and PTSD therapy. Fig.6 Howard Pyle, The Battle of Bunker Hill, 1897, oil on canvas. Fig.7 Michael Fay (b.1953), The Siege of Boston, n d, pencil on paper. 4 Fig.8 Michael Fay, Detail from The Siege of Boston. Before becoming a Marine, I was a boy who drew soldiers. A lot. By the age of four I knew I wanted to be an artist. Inspired by visits to battlefields in and around my father’s hometown of Boston and Howard Pyle’s (1853-1911) painting The Battle of Bunker Hill (Fig.6), I drew imagined Revolutionary War combat (Figs.7 and 8). Other wars followed. I would sketch everything from Romans fighting barbarians (Fig.9), coonskin capped Texans defending the Alamo (Fig.10), doughboys advancing across no man’s land (Fig.11), GIs dodging explosions while fighting the Nazis (Fig.12), and even soldiers of the future (Fig.13). My drawings of war were a source of both consternation and pride for my parents. There was agreement I had native talent. A friend of my parents, artist and teacher Mitzi Denitz (b.1929), pointed out six-year-olds normally don’t draw overlapping sails and lines of foreshortened soldiers with the level of detail in my interpretation of the British invasion of Boston in 1775. The acknowledgment of my ability was matched by a lack of consensus over whether to encourage it. I have little doubt, were I an elementary student today with the same predilection to draw soldiers, I’d be given an obsessive compulsive disorder diagnosis and medicated. Fig.9 Michael Fay, Romans and Barbarians, n d, pencil on paper. Fig.10 Michael Fay, The Alamo, n d, pencil on paper. 5 Fig.11 Michael Fay, Doughboys, n d, pencil on paper. Fig.12 Michael Fay, Battle of the Bulge, n d, marker on paper. Fig.13 Michael Fay, Soldier of the Future, n d, pencil on paper. My early art teachers clearly saw a calling, while my less sure parents feared a curse. Teachers submitted my art to competitions, like those sponsored by Hallmark Cards, and I would win. Parents, though proud of the recognition, would bemoan the mountains of paper wasted on imaginary warriors and battles. After knowing poverty during the Great Depression and enduring World War II, what they knew of art came from Hollywood and the tabloids.