Roofless Painters

Painting by Julio Panisello-Huguet

Originally posted in our Roofless Painters Blog.

We're well into July and already immersed in our new monthly collection, but June still lingers in our rearview mirror, like the dim crescent moon we’ve seen these past few nights fading and dissolving into the distance. Have you noticed it? We started this post before June came to an end, or was sunsetting, as mentioned in the statement we read on the closing of the legendary Marlboro Gallery in New York City a couple of months ago. The notion of 'sunsetting' evokes a far more chic transition than a plain shutdown, so from now on, we are forever replacing with this term anything that ends. The expression invited us to muse on the history and legacy of that iconic gallery: how many cherry paintings might have graced its walls over the past eighty years? We think most likely none, so in some small way, it felt gratifying to correct that imagined omission by dedicating our June to painting cherries, ensuring their rightful place in our year's collections. Cherry season epitomizes the essence of June, a month embodied by these luscious fruits and their many associations. This year's season brought us creative joy as we painted and savored the cherry sweetness throughout the month. We set to work our individual realism skills to create several cherry still lifes, or still lifes with cherries, ever uncertain which choice of words best conveys the premise. Observing Philip Guston's cherries from 1976, we wondered if he also fell under their Venusian spell and painted them precisely in June almost 50 years ago. As with all our subjects, the process of painting cherries transcended the task ahead; it became a bountiful source of inspiration and joy. Cherries have secured their place in every religious text, revered or feared since the inception of sacred writings. They embody purity and a sweet disposition, and painting them has allowed us to imbue ourselves with these very qualities, sustaining our sanity throughout the month despite the tumultuous state of the world. Cherries have also been used in art as analogies for sanguine emotions associated with blood unshed: love, desire, and even obsession. Throughout history and across geographical boundaries, cultures have incorporated cherries into their art, not only as a symbol of summer and innocence but also within their love narratives and romantic traditions. In American folklore, cherries are imbued with Venusian qualities and used in rituals to express romance. This rich cultural and symbolic significance of cherries in art added layers of depth and appreciation to our understanding of the fruit as we were painting it.

We learned that each cherry tree species, flaunting its blossoms to signal winter's end, produces a unique cherry fruit a few months later, signaling summer's arrival. Even among the few cherry tree species that produce sweet, edible cherries, not all the fruits share the same qualities despite appearing similar when we see them bagged at the supermarket; each has its own distinct character. As we painted them, we noted the spectrum: some cherries deep crimson bordering black, others lighter red, the rainier kind blushing. Each of us translated these nuances differently, applying our personal experience and style. Just as we noted all these variations, we also extended these reflections to the mundane moments in our lives that seem routine but are, in fact, so unique. This effort to focus on diversity enriched our appreciation for the natural cycles, making painting cherries in June a journey attuned to life's nuances and possibilities. A perfect escape and refuge.

We also learned quite a few things about the physicality of cherry architecture. They are not round like balls or inflated like pool toys; they possess a distinctive shape with lobes crowning their top area and a remarkably svelte bottom. You can always see their side split, the 'cherry dimple.' The proportionally thin and long stems are anchored in a soft indentation, cratering below that wavy, lobed crown, resembling a quasi-orifice. And they always come with it. It's like when they are picked, the cherry tree lets them go with that graceful arm, not by themselves. Capturing these subtle details required reshaping their form numerous times throughout the process; it was quite the challenge, demanding keen observation and the flexibility to revisit our initial impressions several times. Then there was the matter of color. Cherries are not the simplistic red we often imagine unless they are caramelized and colorized to adorn white cakes. There is an undercurrent of blue within that red, leading us to use Alizarin Crimson as our base. In our study of Wayne Thiebaud's stunning cherry paintings, we noted the significant blue overtones he incorporated. Our focus on exploring the color of cherries turned into a journey of discovery, making us keenly aware of anything with a cherry hue around us: cherry fabric, cherry lipstick, cherry furniture. Such a perfect shade to bask in during the radiant summer months. And finally, there was the sheen. Their taut and shiny skin reflects light in a manner that adds complexity to their deceptively predictable appearance, capturing the immediacy of the present moment. This luminous quality was truly the cherry on top (sorry, we couldn't help using the pun ) during our painting process, adding depth and realism to our work. The sensuousness of the sheen spot brought us back to Philip Guston's fascination with cherries. During his transition from abstraction to figuration, Guston frequently depicted these fruits, their reflective surfaces mirroring his own artistic evolution. As he drew inspiration from the everyday objects around him, the seductive charm of the cherries' glossy skin provided a perfect subject for exploring the interplay between light, color, and form. Perhaps it was also a good subject because, during that period, he only painted with three colors: white, black, and pink, not red. This reflective quality, both literal and metaphorical, also became a central theme in our 'cherry paintings,' challenging us to capture the unassuming beauty that Guston himself had once sought. Working on this subject will forever cement the notion that June is not only the month when we celebrate Pride but also when hydrangeas bloom, and now, the month of cherries. The transition from the warm yellows of May, which we embraced for our self-portraits, to the rich reds of June has been a deeply satisfying change of palette. This chromatic turn of the page has not only mirrored the natural world's shift but has also brought a sense of renewal and excitement to our practice. Speaking of turning the page and changing palettes, we find ourselves now at the midpoint of the year, prompting us to reflect on the six subjects we have explored since January and exchange our favorites. By the way, for reference, we decided early in the year to count 2024, not in months but in paintings. This approach has allowed us to move away from conventional timekeeping and instead measure our year through the lens of our creative output. It has been liberating, helping us shift focus from the rigid structure of days, weeks, and events to more meaningful and inspiring painting-based cycles.