Robert Flinkman

Robert Flinkman
Portrait of Martin Romano
oil on canvas
24" X 20"
1978
copyright 1978 Robert Flinkman

 

January 20th, 1978          Friday

Constance asked me how I release my emotions, thoughts, frustrations. I answered her quite plainly - artwork. I would love to do nothing but artwork, read, or listen to classical music. It is through those means that I release myself - happiness as well as sadness. To me, painting is a
language. It is through paint, subject matter, color that I talk to the viewer. A composer talks by music, a writer by words, an artist through paint, pastel, sculpture, or drawing. When one views a work of art, one not only enjoys what is being viewed, but must understand also what and how the artist is saying what he is. I talk through painting. By doing Marty's portrait, I am expressing my feelings and thoughts about him., as though I was telling whoever viewed the work my thoughts. But often people really don't view artwork that way. Instead they content themselves only by purely superficial means.
Not many people really care to read what I have to say or understand fully what I am saying. But that is alright I am painting for myself, to release all that I feel or think. Constance tells me that Marty does that through an active social life. Yet I am not that way. I keep a smaller circle of friends, a few close ones and that satisfies me. Marty definitely knows more [people], yet that bothers me little. True, I would prefer that he knew lesser, true, I am possessive, but I cannot help but feel that if something went wrong, trouble arose, many would hear of it.

 

January 23rd, 1978       Monday

Finally, the long awaited moment came and what an exquisite, soothing feeling it was for me to pick up brush, paint and palette and start painting. Impatiently I waited for him to finish his meal, at this time, again unfortunately, many friends were around. I was friendly, contributing to the discussion, yet more and more I felt such a need to smell, feel, touch the paints, canvas, brushes, apply the paint, feel it mix, take form. It was as though I was deprived of food and drink, only finally to have it within reach, but couldn't touch it yet. Work went smoothly, easily. The forehead gave me some trouble. I scraped off the paint, only to start again. Marty's left hand is quite done, his face and right hand have the basic colors, I need now to develop them better, work with them more. One or two more sittings will provide the time needed for this, the rest I will work on here in my room.
My affection for Marty grows, of which I am glad. He and I are quite close, yet what I feel -- is it love? Is it love in a very high, sublime, moving sense? Am I truly uplifted inwardly, that I feel for him that great inner stirring? I am afraid to answer that question, for it would be in a negative vein. Yes, there is attraction, he is good looking, well built, forward looking in his career objectives. We appreciate and respect one another for our selfs, what we have learned, stand for, our interests and so on. Yet is this love? I really don't want to answer this - now.