Author: root_cms

it was the summer of 2019
at the Poor Farm
i thought to myself, I don’t paint, what would i look at, how would I begin
too many questions clouded my imagination
picking up a brush isn’t second nature to me, how does Leslie do it, so natural – it’s her element, not mine
so many brushes, paints, techniques, to choose from, I was overwhelmed
but leslie invites you to paint, to be, to see what you see, do what you want to do
she opens a space that is welcoming and comfortable, free of judgement
but there I was, judging each awkward swoop after the next
time goes by
one paper after the next
but…before you know it, you start to drift in and out of conversation, your eyes grazing the landscape
you’re taking in the mood and atmosphere
you start playing with the brushes, the paint
you begin creating your own techniques, seeing the macro and micro, the nuances
and you realize, just how peaceful the moment is, how enjoyable
leslie looks on with delight and surprise, pointing out wonderful moments
you are proud of what you made and can’t wait to do more

August 23, 2019

Little wolf Wisconsin

Before I showed up to our painting date, I’d been feeling burnt out, out of practice, and disconnected from the art community in Chicago. Leslie’s kind words and sharing about our mutual experiences at the Glasgow School of Art brought back so many fond memories and left me feeling completely refreshed and re-invigorated with my work. I feel very grateful to have been a part of this project and hope to see it continue.

September 3, 2018

Garfield Park Conservatory

Pools of pigment
little fingers and wandering eyes glide by
as we sit among the ferns
returning to the present
each mark an act of resistance
to the here and now
until we part

January 9, 2020

Garfield Park Conservatory

We had been in quarantine for months, and I had been ordering flowers each week from a friend to help her stay in business.
Iris season had started and she brought me three dozen stems, covered in huge blooms—some warm and pink-yellow like a peach, and most a shimmering white that was nearly grey.

Leslie is the first person I had seen outside of my household in so long. She came to my apartment which stands along a grassy boulevard; we sat far apart, our voices carrying on the breeze to make conversation.

Irises have been a poignant point of focus as I’ve grieved the passing of my father.
Leslie has approached me with tenderness and compassion since his death, and she appreciates how long and unpredictable feeling our way through loss is.

I’m suspicious of images per se, and if they occur in my work, they are usually appropriations rather than inventions, but the voluptuous, lacy blossoms in these bouquets appeared to ask for a kind of impressionism in my looking. Drawn in powder, just a puff of an impression.

This year contains so much loss, personally and across the globe.
There was tremendous sweetness in Leslie’s arrival, our time working together, and then a puff and gone again, our drawings and a couple of photos she took as an easy residue.

May 31, 2020

in person remote Marshall Bvd Chicago

My plein air painting date with Leslie Baum, August 29, 2020

I met Leslie at Humboldt Park on a Saturday morning in August. We found a shady, secluded area behind the baseball diamond near North Avenue and Humboldt Boulevard to set up our painting zone. Leslie brought two aluminum tables that unfolded from briefcases and a stool for each of us, as well as a small canvas bag filled with watercolor supplies for me to use. With our backs to the bleachers of the baseball diamond, we had a lovely view of some grassy wetland and several trees. We talked as we painted. The conversation flowed naturally as we recounted the last days leading up to the pandemic, how we were getting our groceries, and the story of how Leslie began teaching. Apart from a few curious park wanderers who asked what we were up to, the area was all ours. I made four paintings. It felt like a meditative exercise. I remember a quiet flow, looking and painting at the same time, not really thinking. I was inspired by clumps of yellow and lavender wildflowers, the negative shapes between slanted tree trunks, and many tiny buds on branches. We each took a break to take some photos. When we were done I walked Leslie back to her car and then walked toward home through the middle of the park.

August 29, 2020

Humboldt Park

A friend on a bench. Brushes in pockets.
Plants are smiling and I, well, I’m a little nervous about them.

September 3, 2017

Garfield Park Conservatory

Chilling sparkle, brilliant huddle

September 7, 2019

Hahn House Wisconsin

For four years I watered and cared for a gifted perennial to no avail. I became used to the plant as an unblooming specimen, acclimated to its bright green leaves and stems as the only color expected from the healthy and stubborn plant.

It lived with me and my two roommates, and when I decided to move out and into an apartment on my own in March of 2019, I left the bloomless flower behind, my attachment apparently not warranted without the promised blossom. Within two weeks of my departure from the apartment, twin blooms slowly began to develop, light pink buds darkening into blood red as their stamen pushed out like tongues from slowly parting lips.

I don’t remember what I painted with Leslie last March, but I do remember the curiosity of bustling onlookers within the humid Fern Room, her deft classification of the my stubborn and sudden bloom (amaryllis), and that we sat side-by-side on a bench dedicated to Ann Marie Pianka with the inscription “May Her Love Bloom Eternal.”

April 20, 2019

Garfield Park Conservatory

He wore layers but knew his fingers would get cold.
He chose his hat carefully.
“These brushes are softer than those,” she said.
He always loved drawing trees.

October 23, 2019

Garfield Park Conservatory