Stout on Painting Antarctica

ARCUDI: When you go to these places, like the Emperor penguin colony, what are the reactions of the animals? I imagine there's very little interaction between humans and animals. Do they react? Do they all run, or can you wander right up to them?

STOUT: The Emperor penguins are interesting because they are by nature very curious animals. Gerry Kooyman is the man who has been studying these penguins for many decades. He's sort of proprietary about them -- they're his birds. I took a Twin Otter out to his research camp. I got out of the plane and went to greet him; he was very cold. He knew who I was, why I was there. We'd already arranged that I was going to come see the Emperor penguins and do drawings of them and take photographs. But instead of a warm greeting he just grunted, "They're over there," and turned his back to me. I didn't know that I was being tested. Several hundred yards away was the Emperor penguin colony. Gerry was watching to see how I would approach his birds. Was I going to be this crude jerk, barge into the colony and disrupt things in the taking of my photos and in making my drawings? I kind of got a sense of this. I'm sensitive to wildlife anyway. What I did was walk toward the colony; when I got about a hundred yards away I got on my knees and got out my telephoto camera and positioned the telephoto lens in front of my face. The rest of the way towards the penguin colony, I waddled like a penguin on my knees, using the lens like a beak. By Antarctic Treaty, you can't get any closer than 15 feet away from any animal. Once you're 15 feet away, if the animal wants to approach you, that's fine. It's the animal's choice and decision. I got 15 feet from the colony, sat down and started taking photos and doing drawings of the penguins. The Emperors all started to gather around me. They wanted to see what kind of weird penguin this red-coated penguin was. They checked out my backpack, examined the straps and looked at my art supplies; they picked everything up, scrutinized it and put it back. Once they were satisfied, they wandered away. It was really extraordinary. Because I had been so sensitive in my approach to "his" birds and had done nothing to frighten them, scare them or disrupt their lives other than just by having my very presence there, when I got back to the research camp, I was greeted with open arms by Gerry Kooyman. He said, "Look. Any time you want to come back, you're welcome. I've got another colony I'd love for you to see." It was a completely changed attitude.

ARCUDI: There was a time though when the penguin was actually a commodity, and there're still some relics of that.

STOUT: Sadly. Macquarie Island, one of the sub-Antarctic Islands, is an island where in the 1870's seal hunters set up huge iron vats. Macquarie Island used to be covered with all kinds of seals; fur seals, elephant seals. The seal hunters would kill the seals and throw them into these vats, boiling them down for their oil. In a very short time they had completely wiped out all of the seals in the area, so they turned to the penguin colonies that were there. For the most part, they didn't even bother to kill the penguins. They'd just throw the live penguins into the vat and boil them down for their oil. Soon, there were no penguins left on the island. With no more seals or penguins, the seal hunters abandoned the island, leaving all of the machinery where it is still there to this day, rusting away as a grim reminder of a sort of penguin holocaust. I thought it would be interesting when I did my painting of a macaroni penguin to have the penguin standing right in front of one of these big, rusting hulks; a happy-go-lucky bird against a grim reminder of the past.

ARCUDI: Is that just a coincidence that's a macaroni penguin in front of a pot?

STOUT: That's the first time I ever thought of that! I swear to God. That never even occurred to me. I just chose macaroni because they're kind of goofy looking penguin: they have these big silly tufts of yellow-feathered plumes over their eyes. In the 1700's there was a group of Italian dandies, young men who used to dress up in ruffles, laces, silks and furs; really fancy clothes. They also all had hats sporting big, long plumes. These guys were called Macaronis. And that's why in the song [Yankee Doodle] it says, "Stuck a feather in his cap and called it Macaroni." That's how the macaroni penguin got its name.

ARCUDI: That's a great painting.

STOUT: That's one of my favorite paintings. When I was doing the paintings for the show, I was still studying with the best art teacher I ever had. His name was Harold Kramer. He was head of the illustration department at Chouinard, my art school. I studied privately with Hal off and on for about twenty years after I graduated. While I was working on my first Antarctic show I would bring each painting in to Hal for criticism. I was enrolled in a figure class of his. He always had something really illuminating to say about each work. That's one of the things I loved about Hal. He was completely honest; he'd never bullshit me. He'd just deliver the most straight ahead, straightforward, penetrating criticism that I've ever found. He could always go right to the heart of what was wrong with a painting and how it could be fixed. I love good criticism. Man, be as tough as you can. If I need someone to tell me my paintings are wonderful I'll show them to my mom -- she never fails me. I don't understand artists who can't take criticism. Criticism is a gift. If the person criticizing your work is right about what's wrong with one of your pieces, well, lucky you -- you've just discovered something that can make you better. If the critic doesn't know what they're talking about, well, then its just words, water off a duck's back. No harm done. Like Norman Rockwell, I also always get feedback from lay people -- non-artists. They often catch things that artists don't see. Getting back to Hal Kramer: his crits were always illuminating and beneficial. I brought that macaroni penguin painting in; he just stared at it silently for about ten minutes. I was standing behind him. He didn't say anything. I walked to a position where I could see his face; a tear trickled down his cheek. What higher compliment could I ever get in my life from this master? It was a moment I'll never forget.

ARCUDI: I was always curious about how much of it was photography and how much of it was from your experience with the penguins. I guess there were a lot of photos taken, but it wasn't always telephoto lenses.

STOUT: With my Antarctic paintings, here's my process: I take tons of photos in Antarctica. I mean tons. I think I took 6,000 slides my first trip and probably twelve-to 18,000 slides my second and third trips. Once I'm done shooting pictures at a spot, and it doesn't take long to burn through a roll or two of film, I spend the rest of the day doing drawings. When you take photographs, you nearly always miss the moment you're looking for. As soon as you see the moment you want it's already in transition; by the time you click the shutter it's changed and gone. What I use the photos for is detail if I need it. Say, the scales on the bird's feet or the complex beak structure and proportion that penguins and petrels have, or if I'm working tight enough that I'm actually painting the lay of the feathers or the plumage, I'll use the photos for that. But as far as the actual positions of the birds, the posture, the way they're standing or moving, the way they're situated, their rhythms, the idea for the painting itself -- that all comes from my field studies, from the drawings I do on the spot. Those are always full of life. I get to draw exactly what I see, not what I'm hoping to see with the camera or what I just missed seeing with the camera. That keeps a juice or energy going within the paintings. They don't look dead. They don't look like I just copied some photos - because I didn't.

[To read the full version of this interview, please see The Comics Journal Winter 2003 Special Edition.]

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