Ephraim Rubenstein

Ephraim Rubenstein was born in Brooklyn New York in 1956. He received his BA in Art History from Columbia University and his MFA in Painting from Columbia University's School of the Arts. In addition, he attended classes at the Brooklyn Museum Art School, the National Academy School, and the Art Students League.

Rubenstein just had his eleventh one-person exhibition in New York; seven at the Tibor de Nagy Gallery, one at Tatistcheff & Co., and three at George Billis Gallery in Chelsea. He has exhibited, as well, at the National Academy of Design, the Butler Institute of American Art, the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts, and the Maier Museum of Art. His work is represented in numerous public and private collections, including the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Exxon Corporation, and Deloitte & Touche. 

Rubenstein was Associate Professor of Art at the University of Richmond from 1987 to 1998, where he received the Distinguished Educator Award and the Outstanding Faculty Award from the Commonwealth of Virginia. He has taught at the Rhode Island School of Design (RISD), the Maryland Institute College of Art (MICA), and the National Academy of Design School. He is currently on the faculty of the Art Students League of New York, where he teaches the Literature of Art Seminar and Life Drawing, and at Columbia University, where he teaches Life Drawing in the Department of Narrative Medicine. For more information, visit www.ephraimrubenstein.com.

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            [post_content] => The American Dream: American Realism, 1945–2017 is an international double exhibition of work by an eclectic group of 67 American artists, organized by the Drents Museum (Netherlands) and Kunsthalle Emden (Germany). Ephraim Rubenstein is exhibiting Studio Interior 2 in this show that presents the most extensive overview of American realism to a European audience.  The show continues through May 27, 2018.

[caption id="attachment_29165" align="aligncenter" width="489"]ephraim rubenstein american dream Ephraim Rubenstein, Studio Interior 2, 1986, oil on linen, 44 x 30 in.[/caption]
            [post_title] => Ephraim Rubenstein in The American  Dream
            [post_excerpt] => The American Dream: American Realism, 1945–2017 is an international double exhibition of work by an eclectic group of 67 American artists.
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            [post_content] => [caption id="attachment_22222" align="alignright" width="424"]Rembrandt drawing Rembrandt, The Screaming Child, c. 1635. Pen and brown ink, brown wash and white lead on paper, 20.7 x 14.2 cm. Kupferstichkabinett Berlin.[/caption]

The toddler is absolutely furious. Livid with impotent rage, he is being removed indoors from his games and friends by his resolute mother. Whether he was misbehaving, or it was beginning to rain, or it was just time for dinner, we will never know. But we do know his anger. With arms thrashing and legs kicking hard enough to knock one of his little shoes flying, he clenches the fingers of his left hand in a gesture usually reserved for crucifixion scenes, and lets out an ear-piercing scream.

We feel for his mother. Brow knit, with her body centered and her weight moving forward, she does what mothers have to do, and have always had to do, and the child’s tantrum will be no match for her resolution. She will prevail.

But in the meantime, she has to suffer the criticism of a sententious elder who, standing just inside the doorway, shakes her finger and offers advice as to how things were done in her day. And to top it all off, the child’s friends and/or siblings are assembled in the doorway, cackling at this humiliating affront, and perhaps as well at the fact that the toddler’s dress, in the course of his struggle with his mother, has gotten lifted up and has exposed his nakedness.

This scene, familiar to anyone who has ever raised children, was recorded in 1635 by Rembrandt, using his favorite bistre ink applied with both pen and brush. Rembrandt and his wife Saskia had just had a first child of their own, Rumbartus, who survived only for two months, so children were very much on the artist’s mind. As a matter of fact, so many of the drawings that Rembrandt produced during the later 1630s were of mothers and children, that one of his collectors, Jan van de Cappelle, assembled an album of over 135 drawings depicting the Lives of Women and Children by Rembrandt.1

Done on a piece of paper about 8 x 6 in., the drawing was probably executed in a matter of minutes. Up close, it is a flurry of lines, scratches, and a few simple washes of tone, but stand back and there are five human beings in a setting involved in a timeless drama. The visual information is delivered with a swiftness and vigor that is breathtaking. Look at the figure of the elder. The position of the head in relation to the shoulder lets you know that she is crouching down, insinuating herself between the head of the child and the head of the mother­, a visual equivalent of interfering. As your eye moves down the line of the right shoulder, Rembrandt’s pen stops and slightly hooks the line under to make a notation of where the shoulder ends and the upper arm begins. Continuing down, the sequentially cascading curved lines give you the flow of the folds of the drapery, but notice how he doesn’t neglect to give you several horizontal elliptical lines, denoting the cylindrical quality of the form of the arm underneath.

All of the lines in the drawing are infused with information. Look at all of the mouths, and see how simply and quickly Rembrandt establishes their facial expressions. With an upturned stroke of the pen, one character smirks; with a shorter diagonal stroke, another one’s mouth gets set in determination; and with a broad, fat horizontal mark, there is a gaping rictus.

With another few summary indications, Rembrandt frames the scene in a doorway, and positions the mother and child on center stage. A broad wash of shadow throws the other two children into the recess along with the shadow that the mother casts on the wall. Rembrandt makes you feel the weight of the child, because some of the darkest darks in the drawing surround his body, and darks are one of the ways we have to denote weight. You feel the mother’s strength because Rembrandt has reinforced the position of her feet with strong lines, and has anchored her body to the ground with a strong cast shadow. The mother needs her weight established, because the child’s arms and legs thrash about at different angles, like the spokes of a wheel that is about to start spinning.

Rembrandt drew a lot. We have over 1400 of his drawings extant, and there were certainly many more. You do not get to be this good without reams of paper behind you. You get the feeling that Rembrandt, like Leonardo before him, carried paper and pen around with him wherever he went­, that he was the man on the street with the sketchbook. In an age before the photograph, with none of the constant barrage of reproduced images from books, newspapers, magazines, billboards, television, and film, visual artists had to capture their own references. Part of studio practice was the building of an inventory of studies which could serve as references for subsequent paintings. Our child’s face will reappear later that year on the terrified boy in The Rape of Ganymede, this time, the insistent mother being metamorphosed into the libidinous Zeus in the form of a giant eagle.2 But to Rembrandt, who always strove for the emotional reality of every subject, the observation of a child being carried away, was certainly to be of value, be it for a Ganymede or a Massacre of the Innocents.

This drawing is a miracle. There is so much knowledge and feeling in every line and touch. How could Rembrandt have drawn all this so quickly? It happens too fast to think everything through on a conscious level. He is making crucial split­-second decisions as he goes along. While he was studying the mother’s face, trying to get her exact expression, he must have seen the shoe go flying out of the corner of his eye, and remembered it for later, because the shoe would have hit the floor before he could even have gotten his pen out of the inkwell. A lesser artist wouldn’t have noticed it, or having noticed it, wouldn’t have felt its importance and would have left it out.

A drawing like this involves seeing, reacting, and remembering. With the pen in continual movement, the drawing embodies a seamless coordination of hand, eye, mind, and heart. The result is a statement that comes out of time, across time, a message to us of continuity and sympathy from the seventeenth century.

Notes
  1. For a discussion of this and other Rembrandt drawings in their larger art-historical context, see Julia Lloyd Williams, Rembrandt’s Women, the catalog for one of the most moving Rembrandt shows I have ever seen.  (New York: Prestel, 2001): 129–­33.
  2. Kenneth Clark, An Introduction to Rembrandt (London: John Murray, 1978): 44–­6.
[post_title] => The Screaming Child [post_excerpt] => A drawing like this involves seeing, reacting, and remembering. With the pen in continual movement, the drawing embodies a seamless coordination of hand, eye, mind, and heart. [post_status] => publish [comment_status] => open [ping_status] => open [post_password] => [post_name] => rembrandt-screaming-child-ephraim-rubenstein [to_ping] => [pinged] => [post_modified] => 2016-11-23 08:27:05 [post_modified_gmt] => 2016-11-23 13:27:05 [post_content_filtered] => [post_parent] => 0 [guid] => http://www.asllinea.org/?p=22220 [menu_order] => 0 [post_type] => post [post_mime_type] => [comment_count] => 0 [filter] => raw ) [2] => WP_Post Object ( [ID] => 17945 [post_author] => 3 [post_date] => 2016-02-04 14:32:28 [post_date_gmt] => 2016-02-04 19:32:28 [post_content] => [caption id="attachment_17983" align="aligncenter" width="660"]Ephraim Rubenstein quickening image gray gallery Ephraim Rubenstein, Agamemnon, Sofa III.
Graphite, wax, charcoal, ink, Conté pastel, and Nu-pastel on paper. 40 x 60 in.[/caption] This past week, my colleague David Dodge Lewis and I were invited to show our drawings together at the Gray Gallery, East Carolina University, in Greenville, North Carolina. The exhibition, The Quickening Image: The Wax-Resist Drawings of David Dodge Lewis and Ephraim Rubenstein / A Twenty Year Collaboration, opened on January 21, 2016 and will be on view through February 19, 2016. David and I have worked together for over twenty years developing a technique for large-scale black and white mixed media drawing called "wax-resist" drawing. It uses wax as a stop-out for subsequent ink and aqua-suspended charcoal washes. The technique is complex and powerful. It utilizes both wet and dry materials; graphite, wax, ink, charcoal, conté, pastel, salt, etc. It has the ability to be used very abstractly with all sorts of wonderful effects, as well as in the service of rendering and creating illusions. All in all, it is an amazing process, very new and little known, and we have come up with some striking drawings as a result. We used the word quickening in the title to foreground the sense of life, liveliness, and movement that the process has allowed us to impart to our subjects. [portfolio_slideshow id=20846 width=636 height=500]   The Quickening Image tells several stories. First, it is the story of a radically new drawing technique: It incorporates both wet and dry materials, as well as both linear and painterly elements. It derives its power from juxtaposing and resolving many contradictory tendencies: drawing/painting; wet/dry; careful/spontaneous; planned/accidental. The Quickening Image also tells the story of a number of historically marginalized tendencies now given center stage: It is drawing, but on the scale of, and with the impact of, painting; it is grand work, but in black and white rather than in color; it is on paper rather than canvas; and for drawings that are so animated, its subjects are often inanimate objects. Third, it is the story of a collaboration. David Lewis was aware that the English sculptor Henry Moore used wax as a resist for ink washes in his sketchbooks to quickly develop images at a small scale. David began using paraffin wax himself in large-scale works for exhibition in the mid-1980s. By the early 1990s Lewis was offering workshops in his wax-resist process, including ones at the University of Richmond, where I first observed it. With David’s help, I spent the next twenty years adapting the process to exploit its potential for his own vision. Finally, it tells the story of a friendship. When artists were members of guilds and often worked collectively, there was a continual transference of information, both technical and aesthetic. Later on, artists became much more isolated, and it became rarer for artists to learn from each other. In order to do so successfully, there has to be a level of mutual trust and respect that is unusual in our time. I have been continually amazed at how open and generous David has always been with his time and knowledge, and I have, in turn, shared this process with my own colleagues and students in New York. After ending at the Washington County Museum of Art, the exhibition traveled to the Longwood Center for the Visual Arts in Farmville, Va. where it was on view from June 20, 2015 to November 22, 2015. After closing at East Carolina University, the exhibition will travel to the Evansville Museum of Art and Science in Evansville, Indiana, where it will run from December 11, 2016 to February 5, 2017. Subsequently, it will be exhibited at View Art Center in the Summer of 2017. We have built a website for The Quickening Image, which gives information about the exhibition, as well as a catalog of images.
David Dodge Lewis, Capitol Columns 4. Graphite, wax, charcoal, ink, Conté, pastel, and Nu-pastel on paper, 40 x 26 in. Ephraim Rubenstein, Gargoyles II. Graphite, wax, charcoal, ink, Conté, pastel, and Nu-pastel on paper, 50 x 38 in. David Dodge Lewis, Barnacles 14. Graphite, wax, charcoal, ink, Conté, pastel, and Nu-pastel on paper, 50 x 38 in.
[post_title] => Ephraim Rubenstein's Two-Person Show [post_excerpt] => An exhibition that tells the stories of a radically new drawing technique, collaboration, and friendship. [post_status] => publish [comment_status] => open [ping_status] => closed [post_password] => [post_name] => ephraim-rubenstein-quickening-image-2 [to_ping] => [pinged] => [post_modified] => 2017-07-13 09:48:42 [post_modified_gmt] => 2017-07-13 13:48:42 [post_content_filtered] => [post_parent] => 0 [guid] => http://www.asllinea.org/?p=17945 [menu_order] => 0 [post_type] => post [post_mime_type] => [comment_count] => 0 [filter] => raw ) [3] => WP_Post Object ( [ID] => 16038 [post_author] => 26 [post_date] => 2015-07-16 11:02:26 [post_date_gmt] => 2015-07-16 15:02:26 [post_content] => Working With Our Hands Starting in the late Middle Ages, artists worked resolutely to establish themselves as thinkers and intellectuals who rivaled the poets and other men of letters. They did not want to be included with all the other artisans—carpenters and blacksmiths—but wanted to be accorded the status of practitioners of the liberal arts. Leonardo and Michelangelo believed their task to be of the highest intellectual and spiritual order, and in their work, they embodied the finest balance between thought and execution, between conceptual ideas and the making of physical objects by hand, that the world has ever seen. In the West, working with one’s hands has always been placed beneath working with one’s mind. Starting in the early twentieth century, this balance between thinking and making began to unravel, and by the 1960s, became completely undone—this time, in favor of thinking. Several of the leading minimalist sculptors lauded the fact that their works were products purely of the mind. They had liberated themselves from all of the menial aspects of their art by sending the specs for their pieces into the factory where someone else—a workman—would make it. They succeeded in making objects that were not degraded by having been touched by the artist.* I have always loved working with my hands as well as my mind, bringing a physical object into existence that was previously just an assortment of raw materials. And like most people who like to make things, I have an abiding love and respect for my tools. My tools are relatively simple and straightforward. I appreciate the fact that in a time of dizzying technological change, the tools that I use each day are remarkably similar to the ones that Titian used five hundred years ago. And among these tools, one that I value the most is my palette. [caption id="attachment_16047" align="aligncenter" width="660"]My first Oil Painting Palette copy Ephraim Rubenstein, Oil painting palette[/caption] While I have quite a number of palettes at this point, this was my first—the one that came with my first folding French easel and which I have been painting on for over forty years. It is made out of a piece of cherry, and if you look at the backside, you will see the raw wood. But the front side has a gorgeous dull luster, a patina that comes only from constant use, like a fine piece of furniture that has been frequently polished. The Palette as a Concept It is important to remember that a palette is both a physical object and a concept. It is conceptual in that it encodes numerous choices regarding, for instance, how many colors you use, which specific ones and in what order you arrange them. If you look down the aisle of any large art supply store, you realize immediately that there are hundreds of colors! How do you know which ones to choose and in what order to place them? There is no such thing as a correct or neutral palette. Every palette has an agenda; it aids and even encourages you to paint a certain way. For instance, I paint from nature, and I am interested in replicating the visual world. This has to affect my choice of colors. If I painted non-representationally, my concerns would be different, and so would my color choices.** Most painters I know working in a full-spectrum manner have between ten to twenty-five colors on their palettes—obviously, quite a range. Real estate is very limited on a small palette, so you want to think very carefully about your choices. For instance, some painters want to mix all the secondary colors themselves, so they might put out a number of blues and yellows, but not any greens. Whatever your color choices, I think it is very important to lay them out in exactly the same place every time. Once you have been doing this for a while, you will not have to waste any time looking for your colors—you will already know where they are. The palette is like a piano or computer keyboard, and you want to be able to do the equivalent of touch-typing. Imagine a pianist who needed to look for his or her notes! If you look at my palette from the side, you will see a slight "shelf" or rise beginning to develop. It is the accretion of many, many days of laying out the same color, in the same place. It is the visible evidence of work. [caption id="attachment_16041" align="aligncenter" width="660"]Detail of Built-up Paint-1 Ephraim Rubenstein, Oil painting palette (detail of elevation)[/caption] The palette should be considered as an ensemble—an entity in which the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. It is a serious thing for me to add or remove a color. Because when you add a color, you not only need to know all about that color itself, you need to know how it will interact with all the other colors on your palette. For this reason, I lay out all of my colors, every time. I have heard students look at a subject and say, “there are no reds out there, so I won’t put any of my reds on the palette today.” But colors are used not only for themselves, but are used to enhance or mitigate other colors. If you have a green that is too intense, for instance, you might need to calm it down it with a red. Even though a dozen artists would organize their palettes in a dozen different ways, there still are some constants. For instance, most painters find it extremely useful to group their warms and cools together. All the color decisions we make relate to whether a note is warmer/cooler, or lighter/darker than its neighbor. So we are constantly weighing these colors against each other. (Warm and cool are, of course, poetic associations; warms remind us of fire and the sun, cools of water and the forests.) If you look at my palette, you will see that I have my colors in a sequence from the violets to the blues, then the greens, browns, reds and finally, yellows. White is up in the corner where I can get to it easily (You will also notice that we use much more white than any other color).*** This palette seems to make sense: it is orderly, easy to read and use. Compare this to a really bad palette, one which I pulled out of the garbage many years ago and kept as an example. What a complete mess! The warms and cools are all mixed up without rhyme or reason, the surface was never cleaned after painting, so the mixing area has been ruined, etc. etc. [caption id="attachment_16042" align="aligncenter" width="660"]Bad Palette Unknown artist, terrible palette[/caption] Exactly what your order is, is less important than that you have an order. It doesn’t matter if you have the reds on the right or the left—so long as you can find them automatically. That is why it is so hard, for instance, to cook in someone else’s kitchen; you don’t know where anything is. You know that all the silverware is probably together, as are the plates and glasses, you just don’t know in which drawer to look. The Palette as an Object As well as being a concept, the palette, as you can see, is a physical object that needs to be cared for. My palette is 11 x 16 in., which fits in the drawer of the folding French easel. I would find it hard to paint on a much smaller palette, because I wouldn’t have enough room to mix. (By the way, the palettes that come with the Pochade boxes are considerably smaller as well as being recessed into a well, which would be less than ideal for me. (Obviously, some people do very well with them). My indoor (studio) palette is considerably bigger. I love the additional room to mix, but would find it difficult to carry around. My palette is my ally in making paintings. My palette has served me well, helping me make paintings, for better or for worse, for four decades. When I am having troubles, I look down at my palette and remember that I have actually painted some good paintings on it before. It has been to three continents, and it gives me strength when my confidence lags. I think that artists are basically animistic—we see life everywhere. So to me, my palette is a living thing, and a treasured thing, at that. I try and get my students to see the virtues of using a stable wood, Masonite, or glass palette, one that they will work with, get to know and with which they can develop a relationship. What kind of relationship can you have with a piece of wax paper you are about to throw away the minute you finish with it? It doesn’t always work. The convenience of disposable palettes will often win out. Other problems with wax paper palettes are that, because you set them up new everyday, you tend to lay out your colors every which way, certainly not in the kind of strict order that will allow you to learn to touch-type. Also, you get lazy and don’t put out all of your colors each time. Laziness, short cuts and convenience are some of our biggest enemies. Painting is a discipline, and requires you to get into good work habits early on. Half the time when a student is having problems in a painting, I will have a look at their palette, because that is where the troubles often begin. The palette is where you make your decisions—where most of the work is done. The canvas is the repository for those decisions. If a student starts mixing on the canvas rather than on the palette, the painting will likely start to look like a mess as well. I love looking at artist’s palettes in the museum. It is like seeing Paganini’s violin. I have seen, among others, Pissarro’s, Whistler’s, and Turner’s palettes. Now mute, how those palettes have sung! I get a chill down my spine looking at them thinking, this is where it all happened. [caption id="attachment_16090" align="aligncenter" width="660"] James McNeill Whistler's palette and brushes, ca. 1889. Leon Dabo papers, Archives of American Art, Smithsonian Institution. James McNeill Whistler's palette and brushes, ca. 1889. Leon Dabo papers, Archives of American Art, Smithsonian Institution.[/caption] _______________ * In 1964 Donald Judd “began delegating fabrication to professional artisans and manufacturers (such as the industrial manufacturers Bernstein Brothers) based on his drawings. In 1965, Judd created his first stack, an arrangement of identical iron units stretching from floor to ceiling." ** My colors are, from left to right: Ivory Black, Ultramarine Violet, Cobalt Violet, Pthalo Blue, Ultramarine Blue, Cobalt Blue, Cerulean Blue, Manganese Blue, Flake White, Terre Vert, Viridian, Pthalo Green, Yellow Ochre, Raw Sienna, Caput Mort Violet, Burnt Sienna, Van Dyke Brown, Burnt Umber, Raw Umber, Alizarin Crimson, Cadmium Red Light, Cadmium Red Deep, Lemon Yellow, Naples Yellow and Hansa Yellow Deep. I started out with fewer colors. Over the years, I have added some to fill in gaps—notes that I couldn’t hit. Very occasionally, like when I did a series of paintings of pink roses, I will add some colors to help me in a very unusual and specific range, without intending to keep them on my palette long term. *** This is why whites generally come in much larger tubes. Theorists have been arguing for centuries as to whether black and white were colors, or as Alberti claimed, only "mitigators" of colors. For our purposes, let’s call them colors. Ephraim Rubenstein teaches life drawing at the Art Students League. [post_title] => My Oil Painting Palette [post_excerpt] => There is no such thing as a correct or neutral palette. Every palette has an agenda; it aids and even encourages you to paint a certain way. [post_status] => publish [comment_status] => open [ping_status] => closed [post_password] => [post_name] => my-oil-painting-palette-rubenstein [to_ping] => [pinged] => [post_modified] => 2017-07-31 16:48:06 [post_modified_gmt] => 2017-07-31 20:48:06 [post_content_filtered] => [post_parent] => 0 [guid] => http://www.asllinea.org/?p=16038 [menu_order] => 0 [post_type] => post [post_mime_type] => [comment_count] => 0 [filter] => raw ) [4] => WP_Post Object ( [ID] => 13313 [post_author] => 3 [post_date] => 2014-11-18 10:23:16 [post_date_gmt] => 2014-11-18 15:23:16 [post_content] => [caption id="attachment_13314" align="aligncenter" width="660"]Equestrian,_Barcelona_I Ephraim Rubenstein, Equestrian, Barcelona I. Wax resist, 38 x 50 in.[/caption] The Quickening Image: The Wax-Resist Drawings of David Dodge Lewis and Ephraim Rubenstein/A Twenty Year Collaboration is an exhibition consisting of several stories. The first is the exploration of a "radically new drawing technique" known as wax-resist drawing. The second is the scale, vigor, and subject matter of the drawings themselves. Third is the the collaboration and friendship between the two artists, David Lewis and Ephraim Rubenstein. The Quickening Image includes forty-two works and opens at the Washington County Museum of Fine Arts (Hagerstown, MD) on January 24 and continues through April 12, 2015. [caption id="attachment_13316" align="aligncenter" width="660"]PaestumIVedit Ephraim Rubenstein, Paestum IV. Wax-resist drawing, 38 x 50 in. “I sat for hours and watched the sun and shad- ows move across this wall of pillars for Paestum IV. The contrast between this ancient building and the fleeting effects of light was so mesmer- izing, I hardly knew where to start to capture the subtle differences in tone. This was by far the most complex wax-resist drawing I had ever done.”[/caption] [caption id="attachment_13315" align="aligncenter" width="400"]El_Cid_Final_58_x_45 Ephraim Rubenstein, El Cid I. Wax-resist drawing, 58 x 45 in.[/caption] [post_title] => On Exhibition Ephraim Rubenstein's Wax-Resist Drawings [post_excerpt] => The Quickening Image: The Wax-Resist Drawings of David Dodge Lewis and Ephraim Rubenstein/A Twenty Year Collaboration is an exhibition that embodies several stories. [post_status] => publish [comment_status] => open [ping_status] => closed [post_password] => [post_name] => exhibition-ephraim-rubensteins-wax-resist-drawings [to_ping] => [pinged] => [post_modified] => 2016-02-11 10:05:23 [post_modified_gmt] => 2016-02-11 10:05:23 [post_content_filtered] => [post_parent] => 0 [guid] => http://www.asllinea.org/?p=13313 [menu_order] => 0 [post_type] => post [post_mime_type] => [comment_count] => 0 [filter] => raw ) [5] => WP_Post Object ( [ID] => 13292 [post_author] => 36 [post_date] => 2014-11-16 08:43:23 [post_date_gmt] => 2014-11-16 13:43:23 [post_content] => "The Human Presence" is Ephraim Rubenstein's article on Art Students League student and monitor Robin Smith that will appear in the January/February issue of The Artist's Magazine. The eight-page article includes thirteen illustrations of Robin's work, as well as a demonstration page. Robin's painting of veteran League model Connie appears on the cover. Robin Smith paintings [post_title] => "The Human Presence": Robin Smith Paintings [post_excerpt] => "The Human Presence" is Ephraim Rubenstein's article on Art Students League student and monitor Robin Smith that will appear in the January/February issue of The Artist's Magazine. [post_status] => publish [comment_status] => open [ping_status] => closed [post_password] => [post_name] => robin-smith-paintings [to_ping] => [pinged] => [post_modified] => 2017-07-14 09:19:04 [post_modified_gmt] => 2017-07-14 13:19:04 [post_content_filtered] => [post_parent] => 0 [guid] => http://www.asllinea.org/?p=13292 [menu_order] => 0 [post_type] => post [post_mime_type] => [comment_count] => 0 [filter] => raw ) [6] => WP_Post Object ( [ID] => 11669 [post_author] => 36 [post_date] => 2014-08-18 07:20:52 [post_date_gmt] => 2014-08-18 11:20:52 [post_content] => [caption id="attachment_11964" align="aligncenter" width="660"]Billis show Ephraim Rubenstein, Woodley, Summer Dawn, 2012. Oil on linen, 36 x 50 in.[/caption] An exhibition of Ephraim Rubenstein's new paintings, Life Is a House, opens at the George Billis Gallery (525 West 26th, Chelsea, NYC) on September 2 with a reception on September 4, 6–8 p.m. A review of the show, written by Michael Clawson appears in the September 2014 issue of American Art Collector [caption id="attachment_11965" align="aligncenter" width="400"]Billis show Ephraim Rubenstein, Woodley, Interior Sunlight 3, 2013. <br/>Oil on linen, 28 x 18 in.[/caption] The Sentient Object is an exhibition of Rubenstein's still life paintings at the Stone Tower Gallery (Glen Echo, MD), which will run from September 19 to October 19, 2014. The show includes a number of paintings from "The Great War and Me," a series devoted to the Rubenstein's grandfather's experiences in World War I. An artist's talk and reception has been scheduled at the Yellow Barn Studio and Gallery for October 17, 2014. The exhibition is free and open to the public, but tickets are required for the artist's talk and reception. In conjunction with the exhibition and talk, Rubenstein will offer a one-day workshop, "Color Spot Oil Painting," on Saturday, October 18, 2014. Visit Yellow Barn Studio for more information. [caption id="attachment_11966" align="aligncenter" width="660"]Glen Echo show Ephraim Rubenstein, Gas Mask II, 1998. Oil on linen, 24 x 52 in.[/caption] [caption id="attachment_11967" align="aligncenter" width="400"]"The Great War and Me", oil on linen, 62" x 74", 1998-9 Ephraim Rubenstein, The Great War and Me, 1998–9. <br/> Oil on linen, 62 x 74 in.[/caption] [post_title] => Rubenstein's Solo Exhibitions [post_excerpt] => Ephraim Rubenstein will be exhibiting paintings in two solo exhibitions. The first opens at the George Billis Gallery, in Chelsea, NYC; the second opens at the Stone Tower Gallery, in Glen Echo, MD. [post_status] => publish [comment_status] => open [ping_status] => closed [post_password] => [post_name] => ephraim-rubensteins-solo-exhibitions [to_ping] => [pinged] => [post_modified] => 2016-02-11 10:01:49 [post_modified_gmt] => 2016-02-11 10:01:49 [post_content_filtered] => [post_parent] => 0 [guid] => http://www.asllinea.org/?p=11669 [menu_order] => 0 [post_type] => post [post_mime_type] => [comment_count] => 0 [filter] => raw ) [7] => WP_Post Object ( [ID] => 11231 [post_author] => 3 [post_date] => 2014-06-09 12:01:05 [post_date_gmt] => 2014-06-09 16:01:05 [post_content] => [caption id="attachment_11233" align="aligncenter" width="660"]Ephraim Rubenstein American Arts Quarterly "Night Subway (2008–10) looks down into the nearly enclosed street scene beneath a subway overpass. Unlike other urban and bucolic subjects in Rubenstein’s paintings, which are expansive and visually placid, this one shows a kind of controlled disconnection, where figures move on individual trajectories, mostly detached from each other or their surroundings." <c>Ephraim Rubenstein, Night Subway, 2008–10.[/caption] "The most interesting artists have always made work that embodies shifts, even radical jumps, breaking through earlier stylistic habits" writes Sarah Sutro in "Magnifying Stillness: Locating Meaning in the Work of Ephraim Rubenstein," which appears in the Spring 2014 issue of American Arts Quarterly. What makes Ephraim Rubenstein's work, according to Sutro, "is the invitation to enter into the state of the creative mind." Read the article online. [caption id="attachment_11235" align="aligncenter" width="660"]Ephraim Rubenstein American Arts Quarterly Ephraim Rubenstein, Silver Cup, 2010–13.[/caption] [caption id="attachment_11234" align="aligncenter" width="660"]Ephraim Rubenstein American Arts Quarterly Ephraim Rubenstein, River Duron, Ebb Tide, 2006.[/caption] [caption id="attachment_11236" align="aligncenter" width="400"]Ephraim Rubenstein American Arts Quarterly "Rubenstein idealizes these images of home, which aim at a kind of meditative stillness. The Woodley Suite paintings seem to stop time in and around the house and land, conjuring the content and depth of memory." Ephraim Rubenstein, Woodley Interior Sunlight 2, 2012.[/caption] [post_title] => Ephraim Rubenstein in American Arts Quarterly [post_excerpt] => “The most interesting artists have always made work that embodies shifts, even radical jumps, breaking through earlier stylistic habits” writes Sarah Sutro in “Magnifying Stillness: Locating Meaning in the Work of Ephraim Rubenstein,” which appears in the Spring 2014 issue of American Arts Quarterly. [post_status] => publish [comment_status] => open [ping_status] => closed [post_password] => [post_name] => ephraim-rubenstein-american-arts-quarterly [to_ping] => [pinged] => [post_modified] => 2017-07-13 14:32:29 [post_modified_gmt] => 2017-07-13 18:32:29 [post_content_filtered] => [post_parent] => 0 [guid] => http://www.asllinea.org/?p=11231 [menu_order] => 0 [post_type] => post [post_mime_type] => [comment_count] => 0 [filter] => raw ) [8] => WP_Post Object ( [ID] => 9857 [post_author] => 26 [post_date] => 2014-03-26 09:53:37 [post_date_gmt] => 2014-03-26 14:53:37 [post_content] => [caption id="attachment_9858" align="alignright" width="311"]ten books every artist should have Ephraim Rubenstein's Book Pile XXXIV[/caption] Most artists can cite books that have held great meaning for them over the years. Not only have these books imparted wisdom and generated ideas, they have been companions in the long—and sometimes solitary—profession of being an artist. We carry on conversations with great books over the years, and as we change, the works change with us. Different aspects of these works—which we may have missed earlier on—reveal themselves to us on subsequent readings. There are many works that have been crucial to me over the years, but here are ten that I could not imagine being without. I certainly could not have developed my ideas on art without these works. They include artist’s letters, treatises, and landmark works in art history, theory, and criticism. 1. Of the ten books on my "artist’s bookshelf," I would put Rainer Maria Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet first. These letters speak to all young people, but especially intimately to artists. They whisper in the ear of anyone with a soul that yearns to be realized. They are also an invocation, a summoning of the Gods and of mystery, that works like a prayer for all of our artistic endeavors. Rilke speaks about the demands, the pleasures, and pains of the artist’s life like no other. He challenges the reader to see life as mission; to understand that the life that most people live is only the surface of life, and that it is the artist alone who penetrates to the depths of real experience. He continually raises one of the most important, yet difficult, features of the artist’s life, which is solitude. It is Rilke’s belief that without the ability to experience and utilize deep solitude, a truly creative life is impossible. 2. Vincent Van Gogh’s Letters to Theo is second. Never has a creative intelligence laid itself bare as Vincent does in these letters. We see him grappling with all the essential problems; his work, his family, his love objects, and historic and contemporary art and literature. We see him from the inside out, day-by-day, week-by-week, forging the vocabulary of modernism, painting, “not as I see things, but as I feel them.” Van Gogh appeals to us because he is the perennial lost soul, a young person trying to find his way in the world, trying to figure out the meaning of his existence, and of how he can be of use to the world. Vincent is like St. Augustine, but in reverse: he starts out attempting to be saintly, but when traditional religion fails him, he makes a religion out of painting. Perhaps most moving of all is the discovery of how close the two brothers were. Theo went mad after Vincent’s death and survived for less than a year before he himself died, leaving his wife, Johanna, to deal with their infant son, Vincent, and with her brother-in-law’s legacy. [caption id="attachment_9990" align="alignleft" width="394"]ten books every artist should have Ephraim Rubenstein's Book Pile XXXI[/caption] 3. Third is Heinrich Wölfflin’s The Principles of Art History: The Problem of the Development of Style in Later Art. Wölfflin, along with Bernard Berenson and Erwin Panofsky, is one of the Founding Fathers of art history. As Herbert Read said of Wölfflin: “He found art history a subjective chaos, but left it a science.” Anyone who has studied art history is used to seeing two slides on the screen at the same time. This was but one of the innovations introduced by Wölfflin, who believed that all aesthetic judgments were relative rather than absolute, so that something could only said to be “painterly,” for instance, when compared to something else. In The Principles of Art History, Wölfflin examines one of the most crucial paradigm shifts in the history of art, the change from Renaissance to Baroque. He delineates five pairs of opposing qualities that define the major characteristics of each period. He then trains the viewer to recognize each of those oppositions, so that he can then identify any newly-encountered work as being either Renaissance or Baroque. The pairs are: "linear" and "painterly"; "plane and recession"; "multiplicity" and "unity"; "clear" and "unclear" forms; and "tectonic" and "a-tectonic" construction. Wölfflin believes that the shift from Renaissance to Baroque was the greatest paradigm shift in the history of art. He believed that most subsequent stylistic changes followed the same general patterns, so that if you could understand this particular evolution, you could understand the entire history of art. Although Wölfflin is an art historian, he sees like an artist. He is sensitive to the slightest shifts in temperament, as revealed by lines, tones, forms, and construction. No one has ever written about stylistic distinctions with so much passion and acuity. [caption id="attachment_9989" align="alignright" width="350"]ten books every artist should have Ephraim Rubenstein's Book Pile XXIX[/caption] 4. The Principles of Art History is well complemented by Bernard Berenson’s Italian Painters of the Renaissance. Painters is an "education of the eye" using the Italian Renaissance as a model. Berenson’s work as a connoisseur had much to do with how he developed his feeling for the history of art. He spent his days separating the work of artists of varying style and quality, and this made him keenly aware of personal difference. Because he was examining the work of individual artists, he came to see the history of art as being largely biographical; as being part of the “great man” theory of history. He believed that events turned upon the appearance of great thinkers, military leaders and artists, who rose to positions of power based on their unique skills, and who therefore changed the world by their presence. This is quite in opposition to Wölfflin, who, being a Hegelian, thought that history was made up of large, unseen, unstoppable forces, and that if a great man arose, it was only because the whole world’s consciousness had been prepared for it ahead of time. In addition, Berenson based his approach upon the work of the ancient historians, Herodotus, Thucydides, and Plutarch, whose histories were often largely strings of biographies. Berenson was not only interested in biographies, however, but in genealogies; who studied with whom, who was capable of making an informed innovation, etc. He understood that artists are often quite concerned with their lineage. Studying the work of closely related artists made him intimately aware of the difference between the greatest masters and those who were not as gifted. In his art history, therefore, he strayed into two fields not strictly historical; the thorny question of quality, and the psychology of aesthetic appreciation, or the psychology of enjoyment in art. He was as interested in the viewer as he was in the artist, and sought to understand why it was that we were so moved by certain artists, and the mechanisms by which that was accomplished. Berenson’s tremendous analytic powers, his training at Harvard, his friendship with William James, his role as a connoisseur, and his career as a picture dealer and authenticator, gave him interests and credentials that most art historians do not have. 5. Kenneth Clark’s The Nude: A Study in Ideal Form is the first—and still the most serious—study of one of the crowning achievement of Western art, the nude. Starting out by examining the difference between naked and nude, Clark explores in great detail our propensity to idealize the human body, and how this affects every decision we make about ourselves. Clark understands that without this process of idealization, the concept of the nude would be impossible. He concludes that the nude is not a subject of art, but rather a form of art, just as ballet is a form of dance and opera is a form of music. Clark sees the nude as capable of embodying the entire range of human emotions, from pathos to ecstasy, from sensuality to asceticism. He studies, as well, the concept of dipendenza, or the relationship of the nude to architecture. He emphasizes how both forms require that beauty be wed to certain strict functional necessities. Despite his pessimism as to whether or not the nude remains a viable concept for us, this is an incredibly inspiring book about a subject so close to so many of us at the Art Students League. [caption id="attachment_9991" align="alignleft" width="371"]ten books every artist should have Ephraim Rubenstein's Book Pile XXXXI[/caption] 6. The nude’s relationship to architecture brings up my next book, Body, Memory, and Architecture. Written by Kent Bloomer and Charles Moore as an introduction to the study of architecture for their first year students at Yale, Body, Memory, and Architecture is an extraordinary introduction to the subject, because the authors discuss architecture from the point of view of how buildings are experienced by their inhabitants, rather than by how they are built. Bloomer and Moore believe that truly memorable places—places that move us, that we remember and to which we want to return—are based on the human body. Modernism opposed the body with the Cartesian grid, thereby giving us the soulless boxes and glass and steel canyons that oppress us on a daily basis. In the process, architects—along with their arcane concerns (beauty)—were replaced by engineers, with their modern and quantifiable concerns (efficiency). As in so many other fields, specialization took over broader-based humanistic concerns, leaving us with efficient, quantifiable environments that sound good on paper but that leave our eyes undernourished and our souls starved. 7. Leonardo da Vinci’s Treatise on Painting is perhaps the finest book on art that never got finished (like so many of Leonardo’s other projects). But what we have is the literary equivalent of a sketchbook; ideas, notes, discourses, rants, observations, etc. on any subject of use to the painter. What is paramount to note is that, unlike nineteenth- and twentieth-century art, there is absolutely no mention here of the artist’s feelings or emotions. For Leonardo, as for all of his Quattrocento colleagues, the basis of art was rational and scientific, based on an understanding of phenomena that were observable, predictable, and repeatable. As Leonardo wrote, “Those who become enamored of the practice of the art, without having previously applied to the diligent study of the scientific part of it, may be compared to mariners, who put out to sea in a ship without rudder or compass, and therefore cannot be certain of arriving at the wished-for port.” For Leonardo, perspective is the sine qua non of all of the visual arts, without which nothing can be done well: “The young student should, in the first place, acquire a knowledge of perspective, to enable him to give to every object its proper dimensions.… Perspective is to Painting what the bridle is to a horse, and the rudder to a ship.” Nowadays, we take it for granted that artists should always carry a sketchbook around with them, but this was actually one of Leonardo’s greatest innovations. At a time when most artists turned to their studio pattern-books to see how to draw any given object, Leonardo insisted that they go to nature as the source, and take their sketch books out into the street and observe nature firsthand: “Be quick in sketching these with slight strokes in your pocket book, which should always be about you. When it is full, take another, for these are not things to be rubbed out but kept with the greatest care; because forms and motions of bodies are so infinitely various, that the memory is not able to retain them; therefore preserve these sketches as your assistants and masters.” 8. If Wölfflin’s The Principles of Art History helps one to analyze the stylistic differences between periods and styles, then Michael Baxandall’s Painting and Experience in Fifteenth-Century Italy examines the social forces and cultural norms that makes one particular period—fifteenth-century Italian Renaissance art–look the way it does. The book starts out by asking the question, Why is it that Renaissance paintings look the way they do, and how do we read (interpret) them? In other words, when we look at a Florentine altarpiece, we know that there is a lot going on that we can only half understand, like watching a movie with the mute button on. How did a fifteenth-century person see, and what did he or she know that made it possible for him to understand the painting much more completely? Baxandall concludes that every culture has “visual habits,” and that these visual habits allow–or mandate that–we perceive visual information in certain ways. The style of pictures is therefore intimately related to social history. One of the most important social factors that Baxandall examines is money. To Baxandall’s way of thinking, “who paid for the painting” is just as important as “who painted it.” Because patrons often exerted strong influence on artists–both positive and negative–paintings become “fossils of economic life” and “deposits of social relationships.” He does this by examining contracts between artists and their patrons, trying to pay close attention to the client’s role in how paintings look. In Baxandall’s mind, the client and the artists made the picture together. This kind of thinking can be applied to almost any period in the history of art, even though modes of patronage have changed drastically. 9. One of the most inspiring books on the list is Robert Henri’s The Art Spirit. I am not sure if I love it solely for itself, or because it reminds me so deeply of the Art Students League (where Henri taught for many years). Henri sees art making as the purview of everyone, not just professionally-trained artists. As he writes, “In every human being there is the artist, and whatever his activity, he has an equal chance with any to express the result of his growth and his contact with life. I don’t believe any real artist cares whether what he does is ‘art’ or not.” And although Henri carves out a special place for people who do dedicate their life to making art, he feels that all people can live creatively and freely, and be possessed of the art spirit. In Henri’s mind, the "art spirit" is

simply a result of expression during right feeling. It’s a result of a grip on the fundamentals of nature, the spirit of life, a real understanding of the relative importance of things. Any material will do. Anyway, the object is not to make art, but to be in the wonderful state which makes art inevitable. I am not interested in art as a means of making a living, but I am interested in art as a means of living a life. The object of painting a picture is not to make a picture—however unreasonable this may sound. The object, which is back of every true work of art, is the attainment of a state of being, a state of high functioning, a more than ordinary moment of existence. In such moments activity is inevitable, and whether this activity is with brush, pen, chisel, or tongue, its result is but a by-product of the state, a trace, the footprint of the state. These results, however crude, become dear to the artist who made them because they are records of states of being which he has enjoyed and which he would regain. They are likewise interesting to others because they are to some extent readable and reveal the possibilities of greater existence.

10. Finally, I would end with Susan Sontag’s collection of essays, On Photography. We are so saturated with photographic images, and images have so infiltrated every aspect of our lives, that no one today can possibly imagine the world before photography. And while we are all well aware of the pleasures and benefits photography has conferred on us, we are less cognizant of its darker, more insidious side. It is this troubling aspect of photography that Sontag examines in her landmark essay, “In Plato’s Cave.” Sontag presents photography as a highly problematic activity. These problems are moral/ethical, aesthetic and philosophical in nature. Some of the problems that Sontag delineates, for instance, are:

• that photographs can only tell you how something looks at any given moment, whereas the truth about anything is revealed by observing how something functions over time;

• that photographs are confused with reality—they give us the false idea that we can hold the world in our hands as an anthology of images;

• that by furnishing this already overcrowded world with a duplicate one of images, photography makes us feel that the world is more available to us than it really is;

• that people always "look" different when they know they are being photographed. What does this say about truth and appearance?

• that to photograph is to appropriate the thing photographed. It puts one in a certain relationship to the world that feels like power and knowledge, but is not;

• that to photograph people is to violate them, by seeing them in a way they never see themselves: it turns people into objects that can be possessed;

• that there is an aggression implicit in every use of the camera- we “load," “aim,” “point,” and “shoot” the camera;

• that the camera is a kind of passport that annihilates moral boundaries and social inhibitions, freeing the photographer from any responsibility toward the people being photographed (witness the number of people who took pictures of the subway passenger who was pushed onto the tracks, and subsequently killed, instead of helping him up.)

These are just some of the many objections that Sontag raises about this seemingly innocent and now ubiquitous activity. And Sontag was writing before digital photography and cell phone cameras made photography even more ubiquitous than it was when she was writing! All of these books raise issues of fundamental importance to artists. With these texts in place as building blocks, any subsequent works that you may read can be fit into place to form a larger framework for your thinking about the visual arts. Since I teach many of these books in the Seminar in the Literature of Art, I know well the value of re-reading important books. I have read some of these works a dozen times! And the best books will continue to reveal more and more, no matter how many times you read them. [post_title] => Ten Books Every Artist Should Have—and Know Well [post_excerpt] => We carry on conversations with great books over the years, and as we change, the works change with us. A must-have list of ten books for artists. [post_status] => publish [comment_status] => open [ping_status] => closed [post_password] => [post_name] => ten-books-every-artist-should-have-and-know-well [to_ping] => [pinged] => [post_modified] => 2017-09-28 08:07:00 [post_modified_gmt] => 2017-09-28 12:07:00 [post_content_filtered] => [post_parent] => 0 [guid] => http://www.asllinea.org/?p=9857 [menu_order] => 0 [post_type] => post [post_mime_type] => [comment_count] => 0 [filter] => raw ) [9] => WP_Post Object ( [ID] => 8787 [post_author] => 26 [post_date] => 2014-01-21 19:27:16 [post_date_gmt] => 2014-01-22 00:27:16 [post_content] => [caption id="attachment_8822" align="alignright" width="291"]vermeer girl with a pearl earring Johannes Vermeer (1632–1675), Girl with a Pearl Earring, ca. 1665. Oil on canvas, 17 1/2 x 15 3/8 in. (44.5 x 39 cm) Royal Picture Gallery Mauritshuis, The Hague. Bequest of Arnoldus des Tombe, 1903.[/caption] We have all had the experience of going to an exhibition and having one painting stand out so completely in your mind, that you remember little, if anything else, about what you have seen. Such was the case for me with Vermeer’s Girl with a Pearl Earring in the Mauritshuis exhibition at the Frick Collection this winter. I remember feeling happy to see Fabritius’ marvelous little Goldfinch, and making note of some beautiful Rembrandts, large and small, but all I really had eyes for was Vermeer’s enigmatic young woman. I had seen her before several times in the flesh, but I became obsessed with her all over again. And the Frick anticipated and colluded in this obsession by putting her in her own room, genteelly protected by the only velvet rope in the exhibition. And in putting her first, and accentuating her by being solitary, the Frick made sure that the rest of the show could be nothing but anti-climactic. What is it about her? There are a number of things we do know. We know that the velvety black of the background—the only such background in Vermeer’s oeuvre—sets off her milky skin like a star in the unknowing night sky. We know that the formatting is consummate, that the relationship between the figure and the rectangle that composes her is perfect, containing her securely, but at the same time giving her freedom and autonomy. And we know that she is like liquid light; softly melting into the air, yet firmly modeled, substantial in her insubstantiality. But there is also all that we do not know, and what we do not know is as important in this work as what we do. For the image is enshrouded in ineffable mystery. For instance, we do not know who she was, or why she has presented herself to us. Was she Vermeer’s servant, one of his daughters, or a model posing for a tronie?* Two paintings, “Tronies, painted in the Turkish manner,” were listed in the artist’s inventory at his death, and it is likely that this is one of those two paintings. However, the moment seems so private, we feel that he must have known her intimately. Her wide eyes are taking in someone’s presence, but we don’t know whom. The slightly parted, sensuous lips imply that she is about to speak, but we have no idea what she is about to say. She is painted so softly that we do not know where the bridge of her nose ends and her cheek begins. We do not know why she decided to turn around, if she heard a voice, or had a parting word to say. We have clearly caught her attention, but the turn of the head does not even let us know whether she was coming or going. We do not know why she was dressed up in the exotic Eastern turban and gorgeous earring—which, she does not need, for she is herself the jewel. I like to think she is one of Vermeer’s daughters. Anyone who has raised teenage girls knows how much time they can spend in front of the mirror, trying on their mother’s jewelry and clothing, dreaming about the identities they will develop, thinking about who they might become as women. Or poking about their father’s place of business, trying to figure out this strange world of men and their professions, and if your father happened to be a painter, you might try on some of the costumes he had around for models to wear. We do not know if the painting was a commission, or, if so, for whom. One of the greatest assets of Vermeer’s legacy is that we know so little about him. Unlike, say, Picasso, whose every breakfast, lunch, and dinner was recorded for posterity, we have to allow Vermeer to exist in silence and let Vermeer’s work speak for itself. To understand exactly how special this painting is, just compare it to the thousands of other similar heads that were painted at around the same time. Most of them pale by comparison; they look so matter of fact, so much stiffer, so tired of posing. The long hours on the model stand show. But Vermeer gives us an instant, a moment. What is ultimately so satisfying about this painting is that Vermeer locates us in the moment in a way that we all so desperately need. Given our propensity to obsess about the past and worry about the future, we lose the only thing we can ever really have, the present moment, and this is precisely what Vermeer so lovingly restores. And he has defeated death: we marvel at the fact that she has been that young and that beautiful for almost three hundred and fifty years. *Tronies, head studies, were painted by the artist for his/her own use. It became its own valued genre in the Netherlands in the seventeenth century, and it is worth noting that the Art Students League is one of the few contemporary art schools for whom the tronie has been a valued pursuit from the day it opened until today. [post_title] => I Only Have Eyes for You [post_excerpt] => We have all had the experience of going to an exhibition and having one painting stand out so completely in your mind, that you remember little, if anything else, about what you have seen. [post_status] => publish [comment_status] => open [ping_status] => closed [post_password] => [post_name] => i-only-have-eyes-for-you [to_ping] => [pinged] => [post_modified] => 2017-06-26 13:20:16 [post_modified_gmt] => 2017-06-26 17:20:16 [post_content_filtered] => [post_parent] => 0 [guid] => http://www.asllinea.org/?p=8787 [menu_order] => 0 [post_type] => post [post_mime_type] => [comment_count] => 0 [filter] => raw ) [10] => WP_Post Object ( [ID] => 7617 [post_author] => 36 [post_date] => 2013-12-02 14:19:56 [post_date_gmt] => 2013-12-02 19:19:56 [post_content] =>

artist's magazine

Ephraim Rubenstein has published "Life Is a House" in the January/February 2014 issue of the Artist's Magazine. The article, which includes reproductions of nine of Ephraim's paintings, explores how he uses houses as metaphors in his work. [post_title] => Artist's Magazine Article on Ephraim Rubenstein's Paintings [post_excerpt] => These houses are powerful statements about the human condition, as well as meditations on the passage of time and the struggle to remain whole. [post_status] => publish [comment_status] => open [ping_status] => open [post_password] => [post_name] => artists-magazine-ephraim-rubenstein [to_ping] => [pinged] => [post_modified] => 2017-07-28 10:31:17 [post_modified_gmt] => 2017-07-28 14:31:17 [post_content_filtered] => [post_parent] => 0 [guid] => http://www.asllinea.org/?p=7617 [menu_order] => 0 [post_type] => post [post_mime_type] => [comment_count] => 0 [filter] => raw ) [11] => WP_Post Object ( [ID] => 5527 [post_author] => 3 [post_date] => 2013-07-18 06:00:37 [post_date_gmt] => 2013-07-18 10:00:37 [post_content] =>

 The Woodley Suite and Other Works is a solo show of work by Ephraim Rubenstein opening at the Washington County Museum of Fine Arts (Hagerstown, MD) on August 17, 2013. The show continues through November 3, 2013. [post_title] => Ephraim Rubenstein [post_excerpt] => The Woodley Suite and Other Works is a solo show of work by Ephraim Rubenstein opening at the Washington County Museum of Fine Arts (Hagerstown, MD) on August 17, 2013. [post_status] => publish [comment_status] => open [ping_status] => open [post_password] => [post_name] => ephraim-rubenstein-2 [to_ping] => [pinged] => [post_modified] => 2016-02-11 09:13:04 [post_modified_gmt] => 2016-02-11 09:13:04 [post_content_filtered] => [post_parent] => 0 [guid] => http://www.asllinea.org/?p=5527 [menu_order] => 0 [post_type] => post [post_mime_type] => [comment_count] => 0 [filter] => raw ) [12] => WP_Post Object ( [ID] => 5529 [post_author] => 36 [post_date] => 2013-07-15 06:00:37 [post_date_gmt] => 2013-07-15 10:00:37 [post_content] =>

cityscape nyc

Ephraim Rubenstein's gouache cityscapes will be part of the show Seeing the City: Artists’ Views of New York City, at the George Billis Gallery (521 West 26th Street), July 23–August 17, 2013. The opening reception is scheduled for Thursday, July 25. [post_title] => Ephraim Rubenstein's Cityscapes [post_excerpt] => Ephraim Rubenstein's gouache cityscapes will be part of the group show Seeing the City: Artists’ Views of New York City, at the George Billis Gallery (521 West 26th Street), July 23–August 17, 2013. [post_status] => publish [comment_status] => open [ping_status] => open [post_password] => [post_name] => cityscape-nyc [to_ping] => [pinged] => [post_modified] => 2017-07-28 10:08:40 [post_modified_gmt] => 2017-07-28 14:08:40 [post_content_filtered] => [post_parent] => 0 [guid] => http://www.asllinea.org/?p=5529 [menu_order] => 0 [post_type] => post [post_mime_type] => [comment_count] => 0 [filter] => raw ) [13] => WP_Post Object ( [ID] => 3517 [post_author] => 26 [post_date] => 2013-03-22 06:00:14 [post_date_gmt] => 2013-03-22 11:00:14 [post_content] => I live in Ellicott City, Maryland, a small mill town to the southwest of Baltimore. I have been working in this space for over fifteen years. Because it has nice big windows (as you can see), I use this room primarily for daylight setups. (I have an attic space that I use as well, but the daylight in that space is difficult to use, so I save that space for projects requiring artificial lighting.) The best part of the space is that it is right in my house —next to my bedroom, in fact—so I can roll right out of bed and start working with no commute. It also has beautiful light. The downsides are that the room has a small short axis, so it is hard to back-up as much as I would like. Also, the windows face east, which means that the light is hotin the morning, and becomes cooler in the afternoon, as the sun turns the corner of the house. But all in all, I have a great setup. I just love my house, with it's large rooms and beautiful windows, and I enjoy just being in it. Andrew Wyeth said that he didn't have a studio, or one room that he reserved for painting alone. In this manner, he turned his whole house into a studio—it was all fodder for art.[portfolio_slideshow width=636 height=500 id=21230]
The Ellicott City Studio of Ephraim Rubenstein. Photo: Madeleine Rubenstein
[post_title] => The Studio Project | Ephraim Rubenstein [post_excerpt] => I live in Ellicott City, Maryland, a small mill town to the southwest of Baltimore. I have been working in this space for over fifteen years. [post_status] => publish [comment_status] => open [ping_status] => open [post_password] => [post_name] => the-studio-project-ephraim-rubenstein-art-journaling [to_ping] => [pinged] => [post_modified] => 2016-03-21 07:00:50 [post_modified_gmt] => 2016-03-21 12:00:50 [post_content_filtered] => [post_parent] => 0 [guid] => http://www.asllinea.org/?p=3517 [menu_order] => 0 [post_type] => post [post_mime_type] => [comment_count] => 0 [filter] => raw ) )
  • Ephraim Rubenstein in The American Dream

    The American Dream: American Realism, 1945–2017 is an international double exhibition of work by an eclectic group of 67 American artists.

  • The Screaming Child

    A drawing like this involves seeing, reacting, and remembering. With the pen in continual movement, the drawing embodies a seamless coordination of hand, eye, mind, and heart.

  • Ephraim Rubenstein's Two-Person Show

    An exhibition that tells the stories of a radically new drawing technique, collaboration, and friendship.

  • My Oil Painting Palette

    There is no such thing as a correct or neutral palette. Every palette has an agenda; it aids and even encourages you to paint a certain way.

  • On Exhibition Ephraim Rubenstein's Wax-Resist Drawings

    The Quickening Image: The Wax-Resist Drawings of David Dodge Lewis and Ephraim Rubenstein/A Twenty Year Collaboration is an exhibition that embodies several stories.

  • "The Human Presence": Robin Smith Paintings

    "The Human Presence" is Ephraim Rubenstein's article on Art Students League student and monitor Robin Smith that will appear in the January/February issue of The Artist's Magazine.

  • Rubenstein's Solo Exhibitions

    Ephraim Rubenstein will be exhibiting paintings in two solo exhibitions. The first opens at the George Billis Gallery, in Chelsea, NYC; the second opens at the Stone Tower Gallery, in Glen Echo, MD.

  • Ephraim Rubenstein in American Arts Quarterly

    “The most interesting artists have always made work that embodies shifts, even radical jumps, breaking through earlier stylistic habits” writes Sarah Sutro in “Magnifying Stillness: Locating Meaning in the Work of Ephraim Rubenstein,” which appears in the Spring 2014 issue of American Arts Quarterly.

  • Ten Books Every Artist Should Have—and Know Well

    We carry on conversations with great books over the years, and as we change, the works change with us. A must-have list of ten books for artists.

  • I Only Have Eyes for You

    We have all had the experience of going to an exhibition and having one painting stand out so completely in your mind, that you remember little, if anything else, about what you have seen.

  • Artist's Magazine Article on Ephraim Rubenstein's Paintings

    These houses are powerful statements about the human condition, as well as meditations on the passage of time and the struggle to remain whole.

  • Ephraim Rubenstein

    The Woodley Suite and Other Works is a solo show of work by Ephraim Rubenstein opening at the Washington County Museum of Fine Arts (Hagerstown, MD) on August 17, 2013.

  • Ephraim Rubenstein's Cityscapes

    Ephraim Rubenstein's gouache cityscapes will be part of the group show Seeing the City: Artists’ Views of New York City, at the George Billis Gallery (521 West 26th Street), July 23–August 17, 2013.

  • The Studio Project | Ephraim Rubenstein

    I live in Ellicott City, Maryland, a small mill town to the southwest of Baltimore. I have been working in this space for over fifteen years.