Brian Jerome

I used to say everything I do is a self-portrait, so what does it mean now that I’m going to really do a self-portrait? I’ve been putting this off for so long because who knows what might happen. But now it’s time. I put on waltz music.

The canvas I was going to use is no good because I don’t have the right size stretcher boards. I find a different piece of canvas that will work, stretch it, gesso it and hang it on my studio wall, partly covering a blank canvas—another piece in progress.

While the gesso dries, I’m stirring up memories. Where I came from, what I’ve experienced, things that have made me. I want to try to consolidate all this into a picture that sums me up. I want to find a way to say all the things that can’t fit into words. I’m thinking of the rural landscape where I grew up compared to the city where I live now, and how I want to be in both places at once.

Summer’s gone and winter is in sight, and this has me a bit melancholic. I mix up brownish pink and blue oils and block these in with a palette knife, pink at the top of the canvas and blue at the bottom. These are soft colors, not as obtrusive as what I’d usually pick. Now I start brushing, smoothing it out. This is relaxing. Soon I switch from a brush to an old t-shirt. Back and forth I wipe, using my whole body. The shirt saturates with paint, and the transition becomes even smoother. It reminds me of looking at a lake, that pull and push, feeling warm in the sun. Working this way relaxes me, which helps when life is not so relaxing.

While I work with the shirt, I make some marks with dry mediums, like charcoal and graphite. That relaxes me, too, how when the paint goes over those marks, it subtly changes, getting less bold.

I go have a cigarette and then sit with the painting to see if there’s any more I can do today. I decide there is, but first I let the paint dry. In the meantime I work on other pieces.

I don’t use sketches or external reference material in my work. Just my memories and emotions. But as I work, the piece itself becomes reference material, showing me to some extent the way forward.

With the ground in place, I add referential marks to show more complete thoughts. I use oil sticks, oil pastel, colored pencil and graphite. Very slowly I work up some pink at the bottom left—it’s almost figurative. It’s still abstract, but things are starting to evoke a sense of narrative: from where I was to where I am now. Different marks reference different points in my life. Some of them are almost like written language but not quite, like those fuzzy memories that you can’t quite make out. It’s difficult to represent yourself in a painting, just like it’s difficult to remember conversations from when you were 8.

This isn’t painting so much anymore as drawing. I grew up drawing, so it’s a nod to that. I like having something tactile and hard. That’s why I work on the wall, how it’s solid. It’s a stress release, pushing against the wall that pushes back. It feels good, whether it’s leaning up close or standing back and making quick marks. Though, even the quick ones are slow and intentional. Though it’s relaxing, there is some tension because the aesthetic here is not quite right. But it’s late and I’m getting tired, so the tension will have to wait till tomorrow to resolve. I’ll work on what I see in the next session.

The next day I put on waltz music again. The painting before me is a conglomeration of my past. That’s who I was. Now on to who I am. I’m on a white acrylic house paint kick and that’s what I reach for. It’s thick and opaque. I don’t want to block out all those nice moments from yesterday, so I paint some of the white a little translucent. Even when I’ve done it I scratch through the white, drawing my way back in time. Whoever you are, you can still see who you were before. Maybe if this was a comic book panel, the next panel would be all white. So here I’m just gesturing toward that. From far away it will read as white, but if people take the time to get close and slow down, they’ll see all the interaction. They’ll see more of me.

This piece is feeling more like me now. Maybe it’s because I had a better day overall. But anyway I’m working a bit faster now, feeling more hopeful. It’s almost a runner’s high what I feel, that this painting is coming together. That tension from yesterday is going away.

Now I need to take a breather. I might finish this tonight. I’m going to have a beer and stare at the picture. Hopefully I’ll come to terms with it how it is or figure out what else it needs. I have a feeling that it still needs at one or two more moves on it for completion.

The waltz music is still on when I come back. I’ve thought about this piece, and I decided I want to bring out some more highlights in the upper left, which I want to act as an entry way into the rest of the painting. Like the prologue to a biography.

I also make some marks with graphite and crayon at the bottom right. I’m thinking about how this piece will be read. I think it’s a left-to-right painting, or top-left to middle-bottom-right. It’s the story of the progression of myself, of the coherence of consciousness.

One last thing, on impulse: I grab a red oil stick and use my finger to push it in over the white. What is it? What have I done? Maybe it’s my beating heart or brain. Maybe it’s my fingerprint, or my signature. As soon as I do this, I know the piece is finished.

I clean up a bit, though my studio is a wonderful mess, and now I’m going to have dinner with some friends. We’ll catch up, and I’ll tell them about what I’ve learned doing this piece.

This story was written by Tim Gorichanaz based on interviews with Brian Jerome. You can learn more about Brian on his website.