The Art of Todd White

When I was New Orleans the other day (after Mardi Gras), I toured some of the art shops and studios. I wanted to see what commercial art looked like these days. I had no imtention of buying. It was more research than anything. I was hoping to absorb some technicques and styles that I want to imitate or learn. Most of the art was decent but then I stumbled upon some paintings by an artist named Todd White. I was immediately taken. His work is visual stunning and surreal. It is the odd mix of caricature work and bold colors but never cartoonish. He finds the right angles to express people's moods and understated emotions. Here are some of his pieces.

Just the Blues

Now, this is art. I looked for the artist's website, and I found it (http://www.artofwhite.com/). Most of his works are posted there. I just want to show you a couple. On the website, the artist would write the meaning or inspiration behind some of his pieces. The painting above, Just Blues, was music inpsired the artist explained. He wanted to paint in shades of blue. The piece is perfect, (at least in my eyes). The shades of blues capture the coolness of the music or the man or both. It is the static loneliness of the moment that I like the most. I notice it in the angular cuts of the guitar player's face, his one noticeable eye, the sharpness of his jacket or the enmptiness in the room. For me, the painting richly captures a musician's absolute belief in his music and the loneliness that comes with that, but at the same time the desire to be heard by an audience, which he sees in everyone. It is why he is looking at the artist painfully hoping.

Just a Taste

Todd While does many paintings of people in social cliques. They always stand side by side facing the artist like a mock lineup of the usual suspects. These cliques are easy for the artist to find because he lives in Los Angeles, in the very center of Hollywood chic. He regularly tours the restaurants, bars and hip night spots looking for inspiration. This painting Just A Taste is probably the result of one of those tours.

In my mind, he is definitely mocking the clique that loves to taste wine. It is a lie when they say, "just a taste". There are empty glasses on the table, and more bottles to drink. They only go to wine tastings to drink for free. It is their little secret. They eye one another nervously hoping their secret would not be found out. The pretense is further erected by the way they hold their glasses: tilted, above them or under their nose. It as if wine was a delicate prism, which must be held just the right way. It is only then the true light of a vineyard can be seen, smelt or tasted. Then, there are those who seem to be waiting for what others have to say. They hope their internal comments are equal to ones voiced by others. It is the game of the pretentious. The painting evokes that so well. It is in the characters' shifty eyes and slighted demeanor. The way the characters are placed offhandedly from another. Their glasses are struck perfectly in front of them. It is their object of pretention. The painting is brilliant. I wish I could have it.

My New House

White does many paintings of women. Some of them are semi erotic. The women are provocatively clothed or barely clothed. All seem ready to shed that that final layer in the viewer's imagination. Others just catch that moment of emotion that women seem to have. It seems to make them stand perfectly still, in that erect contemplative mood. It is the sudden introspection and thought that White catches. This piece frames that moment perfectly.

The lady looks doubtful of her new environs, questioning herself. Part of her cannot believe she going to live here. Or, she cannot believe she bought this place. She is unwilling to step forward until she comes to some resolution about this. It is the impetousness of emotion. Her eyes are searching for the answer. She even grips her purse tightly in case she has to make a run for it. Or she is scared and gripping the purse is the only sign of her understated emotion. Whatever it is, it is absolutely stated with her conservative manner. The artist does an excellent job of rendering that moment. My New House is the kind of piece you stare it. You want to know who this person is and why they are in such personal turmoil. It tells a story that everyone wants to hear.

I am now a dedicated fan of Todd White. His art is instructive. I can watch his pieces over and over. People interest me like they interest Todd White. It is those moments that evaporate so quickly that I want to capture in my paintings. This artist is doing what I only dream of. On his website, he describes an artist as being a voyeur. They just sit and watch, and watch, and watch. In so doing, they hope to capture every last fleeting detail but from my experience it never happens.

White's paintings do not just capture fleeting moments but the exactness of them. He comes in at off angles and freezes the frame. He has caught them emotionally redhanded, or with red wine in hand. It should be noted that White paints the hands and fingers first. In each piece, they are quite noticeable. Those fingers are often long and insidiously emaciated which is perfect. They deliciously serve the etiquette of the character whether strumming a guitar, holding a glass or clutching purse.

Todd White's perfects in his paintings the vanity of the individual. The uniqueness everyone thinks they have but really it is an imagined difference tolerated by everyone else. Todd White shatters that illusion succintly. He has mastered the skill of an artist, which is his imagination and not in his hands.

The Inspired Trini

Art in Progesss: Potrait of a Young Man IV

It is finally done. I like it but have many problems with it. Next time, I will do better. Hope you like it.

Inspired Trini

A very, very short story

The young boy skating stopped abruptly, with much disregard for his skateboard. Something had got his attention. The board skirted to the left, stopped, and then turned over like a dog on its back. The boy stood erect, frozen into position, akimbo style. His small arms were cocked showing a defiant, almost impatient, rectitude.

Was he looking at the lake, the ducks, or people? No, it was a remote control boat. The incessant buzz of its engine had caught the boy's attention. He looked on with hidden jealously. The boat belonged to another young boy about 20 feet in front of him. The skater watched the boy enviously, desiring the boat for himself. He wanted the pleasure more than he wanted the toy.

The boy, with the boat, had no idea that he had stirred such jealously behind him. His concentration was on his birthday gift, the remote control boat. He had blinders on. It was him, the boat and the rest of the world was nothing. It was the absent-minded carefree pleasure that the skater craved.

An idea slid across the skater's face. There was a flash in his eyes, the immediacy of action. He turned away, putting the boy and the boat behind him. They were dismissed but not forgotten. He raced off on his skateboard; his legs pushing forward with urgency and intent. He reached his distracted mother a couple of minutes later.

He bolted out, with heaving breath, "I want.......


Inspired Trini

Art in Progress: Potrait of a Young Man III

I have finished most of his lips, except the upper right of them. Doing that part was as difficult as I thought. Lips are not as smooth as skin. There are valleys and ridges on everyone's lip so light reflects in some places and forms shadows in others. It is a landscape of its own. Pigment in the skin changes so suddenly. Sometimes there is not much contrast in shade only the hint of a difference. I do know how to do shade a hint of difference as yet. I have sketched in his fingers. At least you know now what is holding up his head.

I am very close to finishing. I am actually getting tired. To watch the same face for hours gets annoying. I scream in my mind hurry up already. I want to see the finish sketch as much as you do. I guess we all have to wait.

Inspired Trini

First Day at Mardi Gras New Orleans

In the 5 years I've lived in Louisiana, I've never been to Mardi Gras. Some would say that is shameful. I would agree. This year was different though. I had the time, the will and means to attend. I would do just that. I was going to the Crescent City, the Big Easy, New Orleans for the celebration. I was excited. Friends and co-workers had told me many things about the Mardi Gras--all spectacular and wonderful. I had listened intently but held much reservation.

I am from Trinidad. We have own carnival. It is on the same day as well. It would be hard not to compare celebrations. I already have a deep and joyous history in Trinidad's carnival, but I must give this Mardi Gras a chance; at least, the opportunity to create wonder and excitement in me. I would be its puppet. In the end, I would know how Mardis Gras is. I would know if to give it the awe and status reserved for what I already love...Carnival.

It was Sunday night when we got into New Orleans. The outskirts of the city looked abandoned and unimportant. It was the distant glow from the city center that offered any sign of life. It's what you noticed as you made that final drive into the city. I-10, the main artery into the city, is an expansive 4 lane highway with many twist and turns. At the speed limit, riding I-10 was a roller coaster ride bringing you to the heart of the city.

When we arrived, its heart was beating wildly. There was a parade en route. Most of the the streets were cordoned off. We could not get to our hotel. Traffic was at a crawl. We called the front desk to ask how to get around. Impossible, they answered, as if it were foolish to even consider such a thing. I got the same reply when I asked policemen and natives. (I needed a second opinion). We were stuck but not dismayed. We were in New Orleans. Mardi Gras was happening. We needed to be part of it. We parked the car quickly as if it was more a burden than anything else. We were tired of making circles. The parking garage was far from the hotel. We didn't care. We would get to the hotel later, or better yet whenever. It was not going anywhere. There was more to do outside than inside.

The Bacchus parade that had stopped our advance to the hotel. Sunday was their day through the streets. Bacchus is the Greek god responsible for wine and song. He is the root of the word 'bacchanal', which means 'orgy'. What we were watching felt much like that. The crowds were heavy and energetic, enthusiastic to the point of exhaustion. Breathing room was at a bare minimum. You shared the same untidy desperate space with everyone else, desiring the same excitement. You were together but forcibly so.


The best real estate to watch the parade had been gobbled up earlier in the day, by nuclear and protective families. They developed their property well. Lawn chairs and coolers became landmarks that were well guarded, and served as fence posts to their property. Ladders became impromptu lookout points for children. From a distance, these ladders resembled guard turrets. The adults could climb them and watch with eagle eye for all the unacceptables. It was a scene. Suburbia had colonized the parade route for Mardi Gras.

The entire parade route was cordoned off with steel barricades. It stopped the families from colonizing anymore space. People crammed themselves against the steel curtain as if magnetized to it. Everybody was waiting for the Bacchus Parade to reach his/her spot. We did not mind waiting either because the temperature was perfect. The nighttime air was cool, comforting, even welcoming.




You could hear the parade before you could see it. The sound of enthusiasm and excitement rose to a crescendo as the parade came near. I could see the lead float. The smiling face of Bacchus slowly but surely coming towards me. His face stopped every now and then as if to say hello. The crowd responded thankfully with screams and yells. His face was bright and colorful lit up by well positioned lights in front of the float. I had never seen something like this before. It was an elaborate, colorful stage set on wheels. On the float, there were so many props and jubilant actors, all in splendid costume.



It was we, the spectators, who delivered the lines, "Mister, throw me some beads!". Man, woman and child, belted that refrain at the top of their lungs. The revelers on the float responded in kind. They flung beads at the crowds with uncaring aim and uncanny strength. Beads were in the air like wingless birds. I stood back watching. The revelers could not give away enough beads. It was like money, people wanted more. Unlike real money, they did get more. Float after float came by, necks were getting heavier and heavier with beads of all colors.

Adults and kids wore their beads proudly like jewelry precious and iridescent, or as medals hard fought and hard won, or sometimes both. I was in awe, and in confusion. Why throw beads? Why collect so many? It is a Mardi Gras tradition. The beads were a prize to be cherished, an award for attending. It is the gallantry of the event.

We stood there watching floats for at least 3 hours after which we could not take it anymore. My eyes were beginning to get numb. I needed some new stimulation. How about Bourbon St.? Who says no to Bourbon St.? We get there. We did not have to walk far. The time is well past 12. The parade is still not over. We will take the tour of the bars. Everything is expensive. We walk like tourist wide-eyed and hoping none of the filth rubs off on us. The smell is awful like you are below the sewage instead of above it. We walk for an hour very uninterested with everything. We are tired from the trip, circling the streets like some buzzards, and an endless parade. We decided to call it a night.

The streets are clear of people but their garbage is every where. The barricades have moved to open all the streets. The city can breath again after being choked up. We find our hotel easily. The hotel clerk is polite even at the hour we come in at. Our room is small and slopes a little bit, or is it I am tired and little tipsy? (It slopes. I check in the morning) We shower and prepare to sleep. The bed is a welcome sanctuary. Sleep comes faster than I could think about how my day was.

Today was the first day. And imagine, I have two more to go.

Inspired Trini

Art In Progress: Potrait of a Young Man II

I have drawn part of his lips and all of his teetth. It looks okay to me but I have my doubts. I am making progress that is what is most important. I have been drawing and erasing so much that the paper is beginning to wear thin. I have to be more exact now. The first line has to be the right and true line.

When you look at the individual parts do they look okay but are they effective as a whole. The finished product will resemble somebody but it may not be the person I intended on drawing.

Inspired Trini