lessons in planning

He walks into the room, I know he's going to work. He's wearing his paint splattered camouflage shorts and a white t-shirt. He walks into the kitchen and mixes himself a drink.

I ask him what his plan is for the painting sitting, waiting patiently for him to be ready.

"I don't like to plan," Rey says, grabbing at his hair and yanking it out by the roots. Annoyed with my idea of planning.

"I start with a simple idea. Something that catches my eye."

"I start with a color palate, something that will set the mood."

Rey picks up his heavy helping of jack and coke. The ice clanks against the side of the glass. He smiles, then takes a long sip. His new drawing rests on the easel, he leans against the wall and fingers his chin.

He's thinking, but not planning. He claims there is a big difference. He spots me questioning his process, my eyes fixed on his canvas.

"Planning means you know what is going to happen next, I usually don't. I know where to start and how I want it to finish but the actual process is like a magical journey."


How do you plan a magical journey? Creative thoughts are built around impulses. The word impulse, by nature means to be done without planning or forethought.

"The rush of not knowing, that is what drives to me finish, it's like unwrapping the biggest gift under the tree on Christmas." Rey laughs and picks up the brush. He dips the end into a fire orange, the color reminds me of over ripe tangerines. He drags the brush in a zig-zag motion across the mid-section of the canvas, he turns to me and smiles.

"There is my start, now let's see where it takes us." I can't help but to smile back, he's voice is alluring and confident. I feel like were on the verge of something wonderful. He seems willing to take me along on his magical journey.

I try to remember to breathe. I can hear my heart pounding.

I can smell Rey's intoxicating cologne mixing with the aroma of the oil paint. I close my eyes, letting the sounds of his brush lure me. I open them to discover we are indeed on a journey and I don't want it to end.

And now I understand, I'm experiencing the rush of not planning...

waiting for clarity...

Photographs, magazines, old movie stills, Rey searches in vein...He walks into his make shift studio. Rests a Jack and coke on the dining room table, as he plants his butt on a worn stool. A newly purchased canvas, rests, waiting, on the cheap pine easel, I surprised him with last week.

A single easel, a clip-on light, burning into the white...the dam white is glaring at him. He furrows his brow. Grips his fingers, tightly, around a freshly-sharped graphic pencil.

And, unconsciously, picks up an over-worked, misused, rubber eraser, just in case.

The blinding white light dances, creating shadows, on the now, taunting blankness.

He adjusts the light. Roughly, tugging on the shade, swearing at his misfortune.

Rey squirms, uncomfortably on the wobbly stool. He stiffens his back, then relaxes. He stretches his confused fingers and drops his unused pencil in defeat. The eraser remains tight in his grasp.

He cracks, his knuckles, allowing the eraser to crash to the floor. He cracks his neck with his eyes squeezed shut. He twists his back with one hand remaining on his hip. He scans the room looking lost.

He catches me watching. A quick, unsure smile flashes across his conflicted face.

He picks up the pencil and glances at me with intrigue. I'm pretending not to look. He studies me, I grow self-conscious from his eager stare.

I can sense a mixture of caution and creativity pouring through him. He scoops up his pencil and feverishly drags the lead across the white space. Creating swooping circles, long straight lines and tight ovals.

Fast and furious, as inspiration clearly rings in his ears.

A wide smile parades, as the music of his magnificent muse sings, and his gifted hands produce.

I leave him alone to create. Daydream. Transcribe and discover. I leave the room knowing that he'll find the clarity to the picture so desperately trying to sneak it's way out.

Rey Cabrera

...What's in a name?


He's been wrestling with it again.

He paces, grunts, looks at me for help. *sighs* I don't have an answer. His frustration is relentless and eats at him continuously. This branding issue has become severe. He tackles it again without any success. I throw out some suggestions...
Rey-Rey
Cab
Whiskey Rey
Classico Rey

...he rejects them all...

Of course, he does!
You're Rey Cabrera...I so desperately want to shout.
I see him screaming inside...
But,
I love his name. How can you be "successful" at anything if people can't find you?

The question invades his sleep. There are so many Rey Cabreras on the web. He feels like a lost soul at sea,asking, where is the light on land?

I don't give up. I remind him with love coating my voice that there IS room for one more Rey Cabrera. Once this new show sells out, there will only be one Rey Cabrera on the minds of people that appreciate art.


I can only hope that the name Rey Cabrera will one day be as big a his...

If doubt had a face...

...it would be easier to dismiss.

Rey struggled last night.

He had so much churning inside his mind. He walked into the kitchen and poured himself a stiff drink. He glanced at me, watching, sitting on the sofa with my book. He flashed a smile, an unsure smile, it filled his face. Then vanished, as he turned on the light above his easel.

He stood examining with drink in hand and a stern upper lip. He sipped, staring at the undone canvas. He picked up a brush and fought hard to apply a thin coat of paint. He took another sip.
He grunted and sighed. He threw down his brush and pulled away to look. He didn't look me, he simply turned off the light, and went to the kitchen for another drink.

The ghost of doubt had invaded.

The Eye of an Artist

"I'd like to paint that," Rey says while studying a book on pigeons.




As he leaves the room I look at the cover.

At first glance I only see a bird. I've never been fond of birds. To me they represent disease and filth. But I try a new, unfamiliar approach.
I challenge myself to look deeper. Allow my eyes to see what Rey has seen. He has seen beauty, something so profound, that he wishes to express it in paint on one of his beloved canvases.

For this reason alone, there must be value in this bird pictured before me.

I pick up the book.
I set it down and really look, struggle to find my inner artist vision.

I first notice the pigeon is an extraordinary looking pigeon. Not the typical grey, park-beggars I see on a daily basis and avoid just as often. No, he is different almost regal.
His eyes are fiercely yellow and vengeance is easily depicted. His beck is adored with a egg-white, billowy flesh and the end is razor sharp ready to strike. The thin snow-white feathers of his head lay flat and appear almost silky. The feathers on his body fold onto themselves like a mink coat exposing the thin like hairs of his individual feathers.
The soft greys and creams of his feathers lend him direct vigilance, aggression and power. Yet the weigh in his eyes, and the depth in his breast, express an underlining solicitude. I get the sense of a loving individual, mastering his environment,caring for his children; all against the wisdom and struggles of the world he lives.

I pull myself away.

As Rey walks back into the room. I feel we've shared a secret moment. I do not dare tell him. I would never try to compare his bountiful vision with my meager attempt.

I set the book down in awe.

I feel eager to indeed watch Rey work this bird into one of his pieces. And I'm sure NOW you do to.




Rey's vision to me is pure and profound; a wonder.

The way he can dissect beauty from the most mundane things. He can submerge his mind into a space where only the single layers of powdery grace exist.

It takes an open mind to see the wonder and blunders of the world.

Artist take snapshots.

They train their minds to see in minutes rather than in bulk. When you break it down like an artist, the strangest objects obtain festivity and elegance.

And for a fleeting moment the elegance he saw belonged to that of a simple pigeon.

Try this simple exercise.

Walk into a familiar and comfortable room in your home. Close your eyes. Count to ten, allow your eyes to fully go blank. Then open them really quick.

The first thing your eyes land on take a moment to appreciate.

Study the color, texture, and shape. Then go beyond. Push your mind to experience what you are looking at. Imagine the object to have feelings. Sit with the thoughts for a while.

Let the beauty wash over you and then you too will understand the eye of an artist.

Quiet space

The glimmer of brilliance flashes in his eye as he brings the brush to the blank canvas. The incredibly thin hairs of the brush are loaded with a brunt orange. The first stroke washes the white with a burst of color, bringing the background to life.

He stops.

He picks up another brush, thinner, loads it up with a flesh color, and with a gentle hand sweeps the eyelids of the tender faced boy.

He pulls back, brings the end of he brush to his pursed lips. A faint look of discontent washes over his face. In a rush, as if a fire has been started under his chair, he starts to pack up his paints. Throwing them one by one into the container. Slamming the lid. He grabs a paper towel and wipes his brushes,while he hangs his head.

The demons won this round, I can only assume.


He gingerly picks up the innocent looking face. He stares at blurred color on the canvas and shakes his head without saying a word. I hold my breath. He carries the canvas carefully, almost lovely to rest on the shelf. I can see the longing to finish in his clouded eyes. I don't dare interfere. I have no words for comfort. Nothing I can say will help make things right. He must face this battle alone.

Tomorrow he will once again go into battle with demons and doubt.

In the end he will win, and I will be there to see it and so will you!

The first day back

I sat down on the sofa with a book and from afar I watch as Rey sharpened his pencils, skillfully preparing for his first sketch in over a year.

The hopes were high, the stress was thick with anticipation but his attitude seemed ready to work. He started slowly. Carefully studying the picture on his blackberry. He brought his pencil to the 3"/4" canvas and drew a loose oval. To the untrained eye, namely mine, it seemed like false start.
I left the room, to make him a drink and a bite to eat. He smiles and looks up, he seemed pleased with his progress. I wasn't too sure. I should have known better. To my own amazement, the sketch was done.

Not only was it completed in what I felt like record time, it looked so perfect. Nothing could have been added. In the time it took me to walk upstairs and back down into the kitchen, make a simple Margarita and plate of nachos Rey had finished his drawing.

I watched in awe as he headed into the garage and pulled out his brushes, paints and turpentine. He asked for a roll of needed paper towels. Now I can't wait to see the paint as it appears on the white empty space.

Tune in for more tomorrow...

Starting Over

In life there are moments when we think it's over. We're ready to turn in our dreams and surrender our hopes to the "real" world. That was the case for Rey Cabrera, at least for a while. He had hung up his paint splattered camouflage shorts, stored away his beloved brushes and paints and traded them all in for a more respectable, Corporate tailored suit.

That was then, this is now, he is BACK.

His skills are sharper than ever and so are the ideas he has in store. His art fluids are flowing and he's ready to once again face his inner demons. Only this time,we'll be invited to walk the fires of creation along side him.

Rey Cabrera's art and ideals are, in this reporters opinion, sheer genius.

It is my honor to bring to you, his fans, the real man behind the paint and canvas. Come along on the journey, of an artist, from conception to completion. We will follow Rey on this adventure for a six month period. This is a once in a lifetime chance to see the inner workings of such a private man. Rey Cabrera is allowing us to go behind the Velvet curtain and enter a world he never shares.

Tune in for pictures, interviews, updates on progress and private thoughts of the artist, Rey Cabrera.