Making Plans

I have just spent a week with my parents in Chicago... a visit and some helping chores. How fortunate I am to have them both still with me and healthy at 84!

I grew up enjoying the story of how they met, in this country, the US, after each having separately fled Europe at the end of WW II. It seemed to me as a young girl that, more than most, my parents' coming together was surely a supreme work of fate. How amazing, it seemed to me, that these two people grew up in pretty close proximity (Lithuania is, after all, a very small country - geographically no larger than our state of Rhode Island)... shared similar experiences of growing up there and in that particular time, yet only met after many tribulations of war and the emigration that took them to the US. And once again, fate puts them both in Chicago, despite some "CLOSE CALLS" of sponsoring distant relatives almost taking one or the other to another city entirely.

But Chicago it was... they met, made plans and made a family.

With my brother gone now, I am nudging them to join me in making plans... for them to come live with me and my husband in Massachusetts.

Perhaps by next summer...

I had these kinds of turns of fortune in mind as I created this image. Kismet in all its forms... and we making plans within those of providence.

Tryst

Just completed this painting... large format for me (40" x 30"). I was surprised at how much I enjoyed working larger... it did prompt me to go online and order a few more larger brushes!

I got the idea for the image when I obtained my own bike several weeks ago. Naturally, I have not used it as much as I thought I would, but am glad to know it is there, and ready. Even at the time I was buying my bike, I found myself wishing I could find more models that were designed like the bikes I was familiar with from my childhood: complete with fenders! They have these retro models today, of course, but as I thought about what I wanted from the bike, and considered that I would not be storing it indoors until after the season, I decided to go with the modern, "stripped down" model.

Once I approached this painting, though, I knew I had to outfit it with the fenders... which made for a challenge, since the "model" for the bike was my own... so I searched online for images of bikes with fenders... and of course could find none that were in the position I wanted, etc... this is the usual process I pursue for my paintings. I get the idea, fix on it, THEN look for ways to set up a reference for it! It is truly amazing that I get anything done at all...

I am pleased with how this came out, ultimately. I like the "story" it hints at... possibly not the same story for every viewer? And despite my cringing initially at the prospect of rendering the perspective on the wheels of the bike, I think it came out pretty convincing. I decided to leave out the wheel spokes and gear/brake wires in the interest of keeping things simple and clean... I am also pleased with the way I handled the sand. I did it with a palette knife... I have used a knife in rendering beach sand in other works, but none so completely as on this one. And finally - as I got ready to sign it, I decided my signature just had to look like it had been written in the sand... what do you think?

Abbey Road

Here is a painting I just completed... once again, from a cell phone photo taken on one of my daily walks on the beach. These little birds - "peeps" the locals call them... although I think they are formally a type of Sandpiper - are ubiquitous along the water's edge. Especially on the part of the beach (South Beach, south of Lighthouse Beach here in Chatham) that was created as part of a "break" in a sandbar several years ago. When I walk this area, I experience it as a series of sand islands surrounded by very shallow surf. Whole flocks of these birds cavort on the wet sand, seemingly chasing the shallow surf as it moves in and out... apparently catching something delectable enough of the time to reinforce their game of tag!

So, I got a number of photos of these guys... including one where these four were all lined up, just like the eponymous album cover. So I couldn't resist the title... And in this image, they are walking, as I walk every day on this beach, which is of itself, something of a miracle.

Every day as I walk I look and am awestruck by the ocean, including its many faces - smooth, mirrored, rolling, rough, covered with patches of foam; and its many colors - blues, greens, violets, golds; and its voice - rhythmic, soothing, roaring... as well as what it does for all life forms.

It occurs to me that, although it has not been a long time, that I have been taking these beach walks, spending time every day, side by side with the ocean has already had a nourishing effect on me, in a way every bit as much as on these little peeps. I feel that when I started these walks, I was somewhat shriveled and brittle, like a sponge without water. But Water relaxes me, as it does a dried sponge, filling me up, making me softer and more supple. The ocean satiates my senses and rejuvenates my spirit. It awakens me from my trance, imposed upon me by years of focusing almost exclusively on the insensible man-made world.

Faithful Tender

I completed this painting a couple of days ago. I had come upon this old-style (wooden) dinghy on one of my beach walks. This time, a walk along the beach at the end of our street, which follows the Oyster River as it dumps into Stage Harbor. At one point, this beach is directly across another one of my favorite subjects, Stage Harbor light (a private lighthouse owned by our next door neighbors). The dinghy was resting half way between that point and the boathouse at Port Fortune Lane (the small structure visible at the left). I was struck by a few things: first, the fact that it is in fact a wooden boat... most I come across are fiberglass or some other modern material. The other was the way the sun was striking its bright, lovingly painted interior and casting a strong shadow on the beach. So... I pulled out my trusty cell phone and snapped a couple of pictures. (This was before my vow to carry my watercolor kit and sketchbook... :-))

The photo I took was almost entirely of the dinghy and its immediate vicinity, I did not include any sky. I decided on a composition with a large sky area featured, to balance the dramatic boat, so I waited to start on this painting until I had a chance to go out on that beach again, in the afternoon, as had been the case in the original picture. At that time, I took a photo of the sky and made a quick sketch with notes when I came home. Then I was ready to start. I did a quick thumbnail of the composition, then went right to the canvas.

As I always do, I started by painting a monochrome underpainting to the level of a complete "drawing" with fairly well developed detail, and clearly stated lights, darks and midtones. I use the "wipe-out" method to get the lights, use colored ground of the canvas as the mid tones, and added darks using more of the chosen monochrome color.

Because of the dominance of the blue sky in this image, I wanted an orange toned ground, so I chose chose Transparent Red Oxide as the color for the underpainting. This is a pretty "fat" paint, so not ideal to use for an underpainting (both because it takes longer to dry, and also because it jeopardizes the "fat over lean" principal for creating stable paintings. I used Winsor and Newton's Griffin Alkyd Fast-Drying Oil Paint to get around these problems. As with many work-arounds, of course, this presented its own challenges: Griffin Alkyds dry fast, alright - so fast that they dry substantially just sitting in the paint tubes! irritatingly tough to get out of the tube in the first place, they aren't smooth and buttery to apply, either... I may experiment with Acrylics in the future, as I doubt that I will buy the Alkyds again.

Meanwhile, however, the underpainting came out serviceable enough... and I was pleased with the base created. One I started the actual painting, I worked on the sky first, putting on three thin coats of blue (an ultramarine mix at he top, shifting to cobalt then cerulean mixed with Zinc white and pink at the horizon) before I added the cloud forms.

Once that was done, I painted the background land mass and structures, painting directly. I also laid in the base for the water. I painted the dinghy and the foreground beach and grass, also directly, at which point the water mass was dry enough to accept some final glazes. I painted the foreground sand mostly with a knife, leaving some of the base ground to show.

I think I am happy with it... I say "I think" because usually I need to look at and reflect on a work for quite a while before I decide if it is "right." I probably make changes less than 25% of the time, but the need to go through this stage is nagging. I plan, however, to take this over to my gallery next week, so I have to condense my reflections this time... what do you think, is it finished?

See One, Do One, Teach One

I am busy working on a number of seascape/landscape scenes right now... and having a ball. I have mostly worked on portrait, figurative and genre scenes over the last couple of years, so this redirection feels really fresh.

So far, I have been relying on photo references.. and I feel mildly ashamed to admit that. I know my work would be enriched by on site sketching... I was struck most acutely with this reminder (of the importance of capturing a scene the 'old fashioned' way rather than relying exclusively on photos) when I agreed this week to take on my neighbors' twelve year old son as a summer pupil. We start next week... and as I contemplated my approach to teaching, I realized that this would be a bit of "do as I say, not as I do" given my current habits! So I vow to start carrying my tiny watercolor kit and sketchbook from now on as I walk on the beaches each day. I will only use my phone camera as a supplement.

Since Theo and I are not able to start our lessons until next week, I have elected to give him an advance assignment. I have given him a book (1001 Paintings You Must See Before You Die, edited by Stephen Farthing), and assigned him the task of looking through the book and selecting five paintings he likes the best. This will keep him occupied until Wednesday! Part of our first session together will include a discussion of why he chose the paintings and what techniques they depend upon. I figure this will help me get a general sense of direction for our work together over the next few weeks. That and an assessment of his current level of drawing capability.

Although I have taught workshops - these have mostly been demonstrations with q&a, and were geared to practicing artists. This is my first time taking on a child. Should be fun (I hope!) Suggestions gratefully accepted!!

The painting included here is one of the referenced local scenes currently on my easel. I relied on several photos taken with my cell phone camera on my walks... in this case on Harding's beach, site of a protected Piping Plover breeding area. The scene has been liberally edited to enhance composition, since plovers rarely stop running very long as they play tag with the waves...I have many blurry images as evidence !

In A Gallery: A New Page

Anyone following this blog will know that my husband and I have recently relocated from upstate New York to our home on Cape Cod. Although we have moved several times as part of the nomadic tradition of "corporate" work, THIS move is a turning point. For one thing, it is made independent of a job. For another, it is the home we have both planned on retiring to (although admittedly, we had imagined that happening a bit further into the future than now!)

This past week marked another turning point for me, emanating directly from this move. I was approached by a local gallery, here in our town of Chatham, MA, and have signed on with them. Having been a decidely VERY part time artist until now, my only experience with galleries had been as an appreciative visitor/spectator. I had no familiarity with the ins and outs of being an artist represented by a gallery.

The Bartholomew Gallery http://www.chathamartandjewelry.com" is right on Main Street, across from the Wayside Inn - right in the heart of town. The gallery owners, Marilyn and Sally, are lovely women who've been in the art business for twenty years, and in this location for six years. And the art in the shop - paintings, sculpture and artist-made jewelry, appealed to me. So it felt right, especially since Marilyn and Sally have been so welcoming and warm.

As you might expect, at least during the twelve-week summer season, they have a particular interest in works that highlight local scenes... So far, I have five works in the shop, including the finished gull portrait, now called Stage Harbor Sentry, which I include here. I have five more started and will post them as they are completed. Meanwhile - I eagerly and hopefully look forward to this new chapter!

Art and Murder

I have just finished reading a fascinating novel: The Portrait, by Iain Pears. The entire novel is a one sided conversation - a monologue (although much more enjoyable than that description would imply). Simply, the artist talks to his friend as he paints. The artist is a Scottish painter living on a remote island off Brittany during the early 20th century. The old friend is an eminent art critic who traveled to the island to have his portrait painted - and to uncover the reason MacAlpine fled London four years before.

I loved this creepy and unusual thriller. It is filled with observations about art, friendship and power... and today, I want to share one morsel that has stuck with me.

"Have you ever noticed that no artist has ever committed cold-blooded murder? In the whole history of art, go back as far as you can, and no artist has ever been a true killer. Oh, I know, there have been accidents, like Caravaggio stabbing someone in a fight, but that hardly counts. And many kill themselves. But what I mean is a deliberate intent, a planned murder. This we do not do. Why is this, do you think? Is it because we are creators, not destroyers? Is it because, - as all the world knows who truly understands - that we are really feeble, frightened characters for all our bluster, more keen on being accepted and praised than wreaking vengeance on others?"

I found this observation/assertion striking... and it got me to thinking. About creativity and destruction... but also about the process of painting a portrait. Throughout the work, as the artist talks to the sitter, he ruminates about many things: their relationship, success, failure... but he also talks about what he sees. He had painted this same sitter twice before (once, amazingly enough, from memory!) and he repeatedly goes back to the differences among the three paintings: what he saw and represented being influenced by what he PERCEIVED about the sitter at the point in time when he painted him.

This made me pause and reflect, - not for the first time, - on the differences between painting from life and painting from a photo. There are so many huge advantages to painting from life: many of them technical. It is simply not possible to see (and therefore easily represent) the volume of an object in space when you paint from a photo. This is especially true of a portrait. The way the light not only falls on the shapes, but also how it moves through the local atmosphere, all but defies capturing when not done in real time with a live sitter. Iain Pears observations on the feelings brought out in the artist by the sitter are a whole other dimension. One I believe is absolutely "on the money."

In the double portrait I did recently of my best friend and her sister (done, alas, from a photo), I found that I had an easier time with (and did a better job of) painting my friend not because the photo of her was better... but because I knew her and have feelings about her that I do not have about her sister. Everyone who views it and knows them both has remarked in some way that confirms my sense that I got Sylvie much better than I got her sister.

Naturally, in the case of painting from life, even with a model that I don't know very well, there is a chemistry that forms... some connection that really does infuse the work. The painting I have attached here - Derrick - is an example of that for me. Although I did not know Derrick well, there was a spark of energy that I believe animates the painting in a way that I don't imagine I could have done from a photo. On the other hand, I had a model sit for me a few weeks back that was a remarkable "downer" experience. Although this young woman was attractive, - I had selected her for her striking features, for some reason our time together left me feeling sapped of energy... almost depressed. A feeling that passed whenever our sessions were over. After I read Iain Pears book and contemplated his comments on portrait painting, I pulled out the studies I did of this young woman... and was blown away by how stiff and blank they look compared to others I executed in the same sitting length. Not the right chemistry for some reason... and it made a measurable difference.

So... does this mean I have to like my subject? I don't think so... but I do think there has to be connection at a psychological level. Something alive and animated between us. Perhaps I should seek a model with whom I would have antipathy... see what that kind of energy does to the work? Could be an unpleasant 3 hours... but the results might be very alive indeed!

Ethan

"I had rather see the portrait of a dog that I know, than all the allegorical paintings they can show me in the world."

Samuel Johnson

About four years ago, after a hiatus of three or four years, I resumed painting. Although I started back in by painting in a workshop setting, concentrated on working from a live (clothed) model, I soon turned my attention to animals. For one thing, I have my own menagerie of cats and a parrot, each of whom I treasure. But in addition, I was prompted into offering a commissioned pet portrait as an auction item for Lollypop Farm - the Rochester, NY area Humane Society. I was serving as a board member of that organization at the time, and was happy to do it. The item generated quite a bit of money for the fundraiser, so I was invited to donate such a commission for the next several years.

In the course of painting the pets whose owners had won portraits in these auctions, I came to appreciate just how cherished most pets are, at least in the US. Each of these animals has a story, too. When I paint a portrait of an animal, I am usually interested in including something in the painting that truly reflects the unique aspects of the animal's life with its human family. For example, I painted one handsome, mature tabby cat - Bob - who had traveled with his human companions to China, and lived there with them for several years while they were on an expatriate assignment. As I spent time with him, and listened to the family's stories of their China adventure and Bob's aplomb throughout, I was left with a keen appreciation for this intrepid little traveler. In the painting, I depicted him lounging near a chinese vase, inscribed with the Chinese script for "long life." I invented the vase, but I think I made a statement about Bob's spirit. And Bob's human companions were very pleased.

The picture I have posted here is a just-completed portrait of Ethan - a beautiful and much loved horse living in Wisconsin. As with most of the animal paintings I have done, I relied mostly on photographic reference, in this case provided by the client. Even when I take my own photos, however, I don't work from just one photo. I also have never used the background from the reference photo(s). For Ethan's portrait, I took quite a few liberties with the setting... creating a white fence to break up his pasture, and seeding the entire area with lawn, since I wanted a bright, colorful setting.

I did work mostly from one reference photo to capture Ethan's likeness. Although even in that situation, I found myself relying on knowledge of equine anatomy to ensure he did not come out looking flat. I am of the school of thought that you can not render anything well unless you know how it is put together. Early on in my painting adventures, I have been know to put a quick "sculpy" figure together to help myself resolve "how it is really built" issues. Ii am convinced that having some basic knowledge of anatomy really does help! I don't profess to be very skilled in this area, but I am most respectful of its importance, and keep and use several reference books - animal and human - on hand to help myself, and I can see where the knowledge has helped me to become better over the years.

Since placement is important for my work, I started out by making a thumbnail sketch of the overall composition I intended for this portrait. But, ultimately, I deviated from this initial plan. Once I was satisfied with the sketch, I did a drawing where I applied my anatomy reference to check out the structure of Ethan's body against general horse anatomy (e.g., rib cage placement). Then I transferred this drawing to the canvas using a grid. At this point, however, the planned composition did not include a fence.

As always, I started the painting with thin darks on a linen canvas primed with gesso is just sumptuous with that thin paint! Such a wonderful feel... Even after I started this underpainting (done in raw umber thinned with turpenoid), I still did not include a fence.

After the underpainting dried, I began the first applications of "local" color by blocking in the middle values and starting to put in some details. This is when I saw the need for changing the composition by introducing the white fence. This is also when I replaced the dirt with green grass.

I spent the next painting session going from the large shapes I laid in first, to smaller shapes that define and show differences WITHIN those large shapes. For instance, the horse is made up of two major shapes--the dark reddish shape, which is a mixture of the Transparent Red Oxide, Alizarin Crimson and Ultramarine Blue, and the shapes where light is striking him, made up of Cadmium Red, Yellow Ochre and Blue with white. At this stage I also thickly laid on smaller shapes to give definition to the horse and background. This was done with very few brush marks to make the shapes, e.g. light purple shapes to define the top of Ethan's back where the light goes through and bounces off his hide, and then took that cadmium red light and mixed it with some of the alizarin and blue to pick out depths and reflected lights and highlights in the neck and facial shapes of the horse.

I added white touched with purple for the blaze. On the near front leg, I used the background green to define the line of the leg and down to the hoof, which is just a grey mark with the brush and needed some further refining before I was finished.

I strived to keep from over working this piece. So, how do you keep from going to too much detail? My reply is to squint a lot, and stop looking for details. Squinting gives you a "hierarchy of edges" showing you which ones are important in your source material, and which ones you can toss out.


I work generally from dark to light, laying in a dark abstract foundation to cement in the design of the piece. Everything is subordinate to that design. I do change colors of things even when I use my own source material. If it makes the design better, it gets changed...

In this painting, I tried especially to make the work about more than the objects and their story (horse, fence, landscape), but as importantly about the amount and feel of the brush marks. A "painterly" painting...

Did I succeed?

Intrinsic Rewards

"You like me! You really like me!"

-Sally Field (upon receiving the 1979 Academy Award for Norma Rae)

Much as I tell myself that awards, formal recognition for my art, does not matter - that I paint to express what is inside of me, I still felt a thrill and a warm rush of acceptance and validation when I learned that I had won First Prize in the Chatham Creative Arts Center Spring art show. I felt especially good because the quality of the art in this lovely show was excellent. Frankly, I would have been honored to get any recognition at all when placed with these works. I am honored and grateful for this recognition from a respected artist juror.

After the initial glow (no sign of wearing off yet!), I got to wondering about validation, acceptance and self-acceptance. I have been an active artist now for more than 15 years... most of that time as a part-time art student. Still, after all this time and after having been accepted into quite a few juried shows and actually won awards, I am still not completely comfortable telling anyone I am "an artist." As though I haven't earned that title... So, what would it take to make me feel entitled to that title?

Possibly my hesitation has stemmed from the fact that I have primarily seen myself as someone LEARNING art... learning the techniques, learning to see, learning to express. Since I am a representational painter, whether or not I have learned enough, that is, whether my work is good enough, is readily apparent... and as long as I can see room for improvement, I have a hard time considering the work "art." Although this may be a very restricted view. After all, since Duchamp signed R. Mutt on a urinal, it seems anything goes as "art!"

Although still self-conscious, I am stuttering less when I let that term "artist" roll off my tongue when describing myself. Perhaps because I have a bit more learning under my belt now... or perhaps because I have received external recognition, and so, validation. But mostly, I think it is because I am less afraid. Less afraid to blunder, less afraid to reveal... Maybe I am braver because I am more experienced, or perhaps just because I am more mature in general. In The Art Spirit, Robert Henri writes, "We are living in a strange civilization. Our minds and souls are so overlaid with fear, with artificiality, that often we do not even recognize beauty. It is this fear, this lack of direct vision of truth that brings about all the disasters in the world." I believe that - especially that fear inhibits our ability to see or respond to beauty.

So am I an artist? An artist makes art, sees art in the world around her and, most importantly, feels art in her heart. Whether she sells her art or not does not matter. What matters is that she makes art. By that definition, I say "yes!" I am an artist... and I would tell any other person who wondered the same, "Make art and you are an artist. If you never put it down on paper, canvas, clay or stone, you only have ideas, not art. Your ideas might be brilliant but until it is tangible others cannot enjoy or appreciate your art."

Having said that, it sure does feel good to have some else say they like you, too!

Remembering My Brother

The darkest day I’ve ever been a part of was on May 25, 2009. My world was shattered when I got a phone call from my father who, in tears, told me my only brother had passed away in the night. He was only 53. A crushing loss for my parents... and a deep, permanent wound to me. This Sunday, May 16th, we are having a memorial service to commemorate the first anniversary of his passing. I am with my parents in Chicago for this observance.

I loved my brother, and there isn't a day that I don't miss him in some way or another. Now, a year after his passing, that emotion is less acute - it has become background noise, part of who I am. Except for those occasions when I remember just how much it hurt, and that time is unforgiving. I miss him when I see or hear things that were special to him. For instance, he adored the Beatles... forever humming one of their songs - big hits and more arcane fare alike. He was a 50s western TV show buff, having collected all episodes of The Rifleman, Gunsmoke and The Wild Wild West. And he loved SciFi: a czar on all facts and trivia from Star Trek, The Avengers and The Prisoner... I am sure I will never be able to see any Star Trek episode (or even a Priceline ad!) without tearing up.

So often I think of something I want to tell him - or a trivia question I want to ask him. It kills me because we had so many thing to do still, so many laughs, so many moments we hadn’t shared yet. I’ll never see him old. Everything stopped that day.

The painting pictured here is one I did a few years ago as a father's day present. It was inspired by an old B&W photo from one of our annual family vacations in Union Pier, Michigan. My brother is 2 or 3 years old here. many of my recurring memories of him are from our childhood, - including those summers in Michigan. He was so earnest and so badly wanted to be involved with the older kids - all of us cousins. We gave him short shrift much of the time. I resented the charge I was given to be sure to take care of him and include him in our games. Oh to have a chance at a re-do... or just one more day in which I could tell him how much I loved him!

We read about - and witness -people who are never satisified with having enough in life. My brother Vytautas was the opposite. He loved life. Simple things made him happy. In fact, he was the happiest person I have ever known. All his life, even throughout his adult life, he was like a big kid.

There is a quote from the new testament: John 12:25 “He who loves his life loses it, and he who hates his life in this world will keep it to life eternal." Meaning people who love life and live authentic, spiritually rich lives will lose their earthly life and go to heaven. Those who hate life are going to hate their eternity as well. If anyone is in heaven, my brother Vytautas is. And I know he is happy...as he always was here.

Far From The Crowd

I have enjoyed starting the full-sized painting of the herring gull I sketched last week.

I usually paint in the traditional way, using a layered oil painting technique. This is the first layer (underpainting). Although not a true grisaille, (I use raw umber straight from the tube, and I use no white), it is monochromatic and helps me define color values for the painting as I proceed. One of the most important aspects of a painting is value and contrast. Correct lighting and dark enough darks. These important aspects can be worked out in a monochromatic underpainting without the problem of wondering what color to use and how to make it the correct shade or value.

I started by drawing in a very rough sketch of the gull (just an outline, really, to get the size and placement set) in conte crayon, then setting this sketch with a fixative. Then I slathered raw umber thinned with turpenoid all over the canvas and wiped it down to a consistent light/mid tone. I like to use raw umber because it is one of the leanest oil paints, so it is suitable for a first layer (remembering the rule of painting fat over lean!) and it dries very quickly - usually overnight.

I then proceeded to develop the image by painting in the darkest darks, blending edges into the mid tone already on the canvas as appropriate, and picking out the lightest lights with a rag moistened with turpenoid. It goes pretty fast and feels very satisfying, since there is a clear and complete image produced in one session.

This composition is very simple, so after I got the gull painted in, there was very little to play with. In a more complex painting, this underpainting stage also provides the opportunity to quickly adjust composition issues that become apparent.

So - as usual for this stage of a painting, I feel pretty good. I like what I see and am looking forward to introducing color. Unfortunately, in my experience, as I move through the layers that are to come, my satisfaction does a bit of a roller coaster: I will, no doubt, have at least one session after which I will not like what I see... hopefully ending at another satisfying point. So... I will enjoy it for now and post my progress next week.

By the way, the working title of this image is Far From The Crowd... what do you think? Is it too cutesy? or just right?

Sketch: Herring Gull

I am starting a new painting: a large (22" x 30" canvas) close-up of a herring gull. It is from a photo I took with my cell phone camera while I was walking along Stage Harbor last week. I have taken quite a few photos of these guys and my interest in them grows with each image. I caught this one standing at the waters edge... but as I started the sketch, I decided it would be a better composition if I put him deeper into the water a bit to capture some reflection of his legs and belly. So, the full-size painting will make the gull larger than life... an opportunity to work the detail of his eye and the texture of the feathers.

I created this sketch using oil pastels on a 9" x 12" canvas board which I pre-wet with medium (Galkyd Lite). I have never had instruction on using oil pastels, since (so far) I have only used them for preliminary sketches. Basically, I use the oil pastels straight out of the box, applying them like soft pastels. I use them "dry", drawing in the subject and applying local color, then modifying the local color with other hues scumbled on top. Then I dip a brush in turpenoid and gently "wash" over this oil pastel drawing to fill in the flecks of white and reduce or remove the "crayon" look.

I have found that the turpenoid is great for removing the oiliness of the top layer which, by the way, can remain undried for months! When I wash it with turpenoid, it dries "harder" somehow - and, of course, quicker. I have ruined some sketches by scrubbing too hard at a passage with the turp... killing the color. But a light coat, immediately blotted up, leaves the canvas board drier and ready for additional pigment, which stays true.

Another property of this medium that surprised me is that it appears to remain soluble in turpenoid forever! I may be exaggerating, but, compared to oil paint, where the only way changes can be made once a passage dries is to paint over it anew, no matter how much time has elapsed, it seems I can always scrub back into an oil pastel sketch with solvent. I find this really helpful, since I often only come to a conclusion about where I want to take my sketch after gazing it at for weeks.

This time, as I say, I laid in a layer of galkyd lite, then rubbed the oil pastel into the moistened canvas board. I am not sure what this will do to the seemingly endless solubility factor... but what I liked about it was that there was less of a "crayon" look right from the start; also, I was able to keep the color application thin for most of the image... then as I dabbed and moved the paint around, I achieved what I think is a nice, painterly effect.

Until very recently, I never viewed my sketches as anything more than part of the planning for a painting. Frankly, I am not a disciplined planner at all. So often I launch right into an underpainting with no sketch or even thumbnail. I think I pay for that impulsiveness in the amount of rework I tend to do on the final painting. Even when I do plan, I have rarely gone beyond a charcoal drawing, focusing on resolving the compositional and value issues. I have found full color sketches helpful when I am painting something for which I have no visual reference. For example, my painting Companions II was an image that popped into my head. If I ever saw anything that stimulated that image in my mind, I did not recall it. So, to work out how I wanted to put the painting together, I needed more than just a value drawing.

When I have used full color sketches, I have discarded them as I would a thumbnail. In the course of our recent move to Cape Cod, though, I found that there were several oil pastel sketches "in process", so they got packed and shipped with all the other art materials. Once I unpacked, I placed these sketches around the studio... and lo and behold, I find a couple of them appealing. They are far more spontaneous and painterly than most of my finished works... and I like that.

This recognition has made me decide to treat these little bozzettos with honor. I will use them not just to work out the most obvious color and placement issues in a composition, but to capture the spirit of what moved me to paint the subject in the first place. Perhaps this will help me retain the freshness, energy and painterly qualities I strive for in my finished work.

The Right Color

"Painting is easy, you just put the right color in the right place." - Nelson Shanks

I have been painting in oil since the mid 90s... and I believe I learned at the feet of one of today's true masters, Wade Schuman. In Wade's studio I learned to use classic palettes. The Dead palette (the basic three-color palette of Rubens and Rembrandt, using only red, yellow, black and white), is a very liberating way to paint figures or portraits: using just these three colors... It helps you clearly see the simplicity and harmony of color relationships. Even with such a limited palette a full range of color can be found, and you can concentrate on painting itself, without the need to juggle your attention on so many elements of your painting. I still use this palette sometimes - usually for portraits.

Another "old masters" palette I learned from Wade was the Neapolitan palette, which is done on a dark ground. I have only used this twice - once being as part of the atelier work in Wade's studio, but I found it a most exciting way to paint. Painting with this method calls for a canvas prepared with a dark red ground (burnt umber, burnt sienna and white gesso). The painting palette consists of what Wade referred to as an "extended earth palette": Transparent oxide red, raw sienna, yellow ochre, flesh ochre, raw umber, burnt umber, sepia extra, ivory black and cold black, and including two "prismatic" colors: Ultramarine blue and alizarin crimson.

Basically, you start by drawing in your basic forms and shadow mass with sepia extra, then you add the light mass and background colors using the extended earth palette and keeping the colors high key. You use the prismatic colors for glazing over intense local color as needed... What is amazing about this method is how quickly you see a fully resolved image. (Me thinks I will try it again soon!).

Then we come to the "full color palette." This is where things become less clear, and where Nelson Shanks' comment rings most resonant. Here we are in the 21st century, inheritors of 500 years of oil painting experience and technical developments that leaves us with an abundance of oil paints and painting materials. I guess that explains the overwhelming array of colors available in most art stores... A brilliant medley that makes me want one of everything! But also leaves me wondering if facing so many possibilities (of colors to choose for your palette) can be too much of a good thing.

I have read that studies show that when faced with two dozen varieties of jam in a grocery store, for example (or lots of options in an art shop?), people often choose arbitrarily or walk away without making any choice at all, rather than labor to make a choice. I have found that as I read or attended workshops, I never came across the same palette preference (on the part of the instructor) twice. For example, here are three full color palettes from three respected contemporary artists:

Bo Bartlett: Alizarin Crimson, Burnt Sienna, Cadmium Red Med., Cadmium Orange, Cadmium Yellow, Yellow Ochre, Cadmium Green, Raw Umber, Cobalt Blue, Ultramarine Blue, Cobalt Violet

Richard Scmidt: Cadmium Lemon, Cadmium Yellow Pale, Cadmium Yellow Deep, Yellow Ochre, Cadmium Red, Terra Rosa, Alizarin Crimson, Transparent Oxide Red, Viridian, Cobalt Blue Light, Ultramarine Blue Deep

David Leffel: Naples Yellow, Yellow Ochre, Venetian Red, Cadmium Yellow Deep, Cadmium Yellow Light, Cadmium Red Light, Cobalt Blue, Ultramarine Blue, Burnt Umber, Ivory Black

When it comes to choosing colors for your palette... how do you decide? You love the work of a particular artist, so you try working in her palette. But is that it? Do you imprint on that palette? Or do you explore? There are so many aspects to it: what you are painting (e.g., landscape v animal fur v human portrait) ... what appeals to you... and perhaps most importantly, how the colors behave together.

I don't pretend to be knowledgeable about the chemistry of oil paints, but I do have a profound respect for how much chemistry determines the interactions of the colors. (Just try mixing vermillion with cobalt blue for example... and compare that to cadmium red light mixed with cobalt blue. Most of us, viewing a dollop of cad red light and vermillion next to each other would see them as extremely similar colors. But boy, do they behave differently!) So you have a matrix of considerations at play... how do you choose?

I would love to hear from someone who struggled with this and came to a choice that is truly theirs.

The Finish Line

After what seems like interminable perseverating (I will have to consider whether this phrase is hopelessly redundant later...) I am at last ready to declare this portrait completed.

Although I am not always plagued with this difficulty, I often do have trouble recognizing when I have finished a painting. As with this effort, I end up repainting parts over and over again... Often when I get in that spot, it feels as though I am in a thicket surrounded by shrubbery taller than me... and I can't see my way out. (A pretty obvious forest-for-the-trees analogy). I know that the right thing to do then is to step away - physically, step back... and even move away in the space of time. Simply put the painting away and not look at it for a while... I know that is the right thing to do... so why, all to often, do I not do it, at least not before the weight of frustration has all but crushed me?

I understand I am not alone in this struggle... apparently Pierre Bonnard was famous for reworking his paintings both in the studio and after delivery, including once having his friend Vuillard distract a guard in the Louvre so he could add a few brush strokes to a hanging painting of his! I promise that if I get in the Louvre, I will not try to guild the lily!

With this painting, I believe my stumbling block was the fact that I had no model, no image to work from. Oh, I had a reference photo- but one with significant challenges to overcome (e.g., flash that flattened the faces). I was painting not to try to represent something I was seeing, but to compensate for it.

So what lesson have I learned from this painting - fraught with too much struggle and no clear end in sight? I learned what every teacher I ever worked with had urged: I should have made a complete drawing (not just a couple of sketches). In this case, possibly even a full color painting to work through the problems... then I could have painted from THAT as a reference I could rely on.

You can bet I will not tackle another such challenge - working from imperfect photography - without drawing on this valuable lesson truly (and at long last) learned!

Feathers

The last few days here on Cape Cod have seen a continued onslaught of Spring in all its beauty. Hesitant, (we have only daffodils and forsythia, with just a hint of buds on willows and other intrepid early-bird plant life) but definitely HERE! Despite the chilly nights (we are going to have frost tonight), the tree frogs are serenading every night. And of course, the birds.

Although we have owned our home here for more than 25 years, we have visited mostly in late summer. I have never had the chance to experience a spring on Cape Cod. For anyone interested in birds, it is a miracle. Cape Cod apparently is on an important migration flyway, and is redolent with birds passing through at this time of year. And the signs are everywhere, among permanent avian residents as well as migrants. Bird song has increased in volume and "musicality". Their behavior has changed, as well: birds that got along together at the feeder all winter are now chasing each other away.

And then their is the plumage... one of the most obvious changes is seen in the Goldfinch, which are now brilliant chartreuse. But everyone seems to have brightened and become more definitely themselves, in honor of Spring.

I have been drawn to painting animals from the time I started painting in the early 90s. Studying in the atelier of Wade Schuman, gave me the opportunity to paint taxidermic or - squeamish alert! - frozen specimens. Wade has an impressive collection of specimens, since he paints only from life (no photos), and chooses to include small animals, birds or insects in many of his magnificent paintings. Not only did this studio work improve my skill and appreciation of technique, it also captured my imagination and spoke to my particular love of animals and birds.

Over the years, I have also picked up a few specimens... careful to avoid abuses and risky practices in the world of taxidermy (re: unlawful harvesting of some species). For example, I got a wonderful American Crow that was sold from the collection of undisplayed dioramas at the Elmyra Museum. That fellow is the centerpiece of my Still Life With Crow http://www.janinekilty.com/large-view/Still%20Life/198017-3-0-916/Painting/Oil/Still%20Life.html

I have found that working from an actual specimen has made me understand and appreciate the structure and appearance of feathers in a way that photos could never have done. Seeing the bird close up, in true light, allows the artist to distinguish soft, "fur like" feathers, like those found on an Eclectus parrot or Ant Pitta http://www.janinekilty.com/large-view/Animal%20Tales/31602-12-6-885/Painting/Oil/Animals.html, from the sculpted feathers, large and small, on a bird such as the crow. It reveals how the feathers change in direct light, reflected light and shadow... and what the colors look like in these states of light. For sample, my friend, the crow, actually has no black in his "black" feathers! His feathers are sumptuous blend of browns, purples, blues, burgundies... yet how black he looks!

I think I have worked myself up into a mood to tackle another bird specimen: shall I do the jay, like the one shown here (from a taxidermy specimen from Lithuania)? Or a European starling?

Art and Golf

Spring. Renewal. Energy. Creativity. Communion. Golf.

Golf? Oh, Janine, you're not really going to write about a sport in this essay are you? Or is this an instance of "One of these things doesn't belong here" lists? No. Golf belongs on that list. Amazingly in my convoluted consciousness, they are related.

I am relishing the arrival of Spring here on Cape Cod... the birdsong is deafening... the air really and truly sweet. So my thoughts turn to Spring and painting, creating. And then Golf. Here is how...

In Steven Pressfield's The Legend of Bagger Vance, Bagger Vance is a mysterious caddy who appears to help Junah, a gifted but struggling young golfer who has lost his swing. Early in the critical match, Vance show Junah "The Field." Vance waves his hand at the course and says "This is the Field," it is the field of play. And he says to Junah, "You are the Knower. All that IS flows from the union of the Field and The Knower." Bagger Vance shows Junah how Jones, an older, more experienced golfer, tunes into the Field before he even approaches the ball. Around Jones, encompassing his body in vibrating concentric fields, spreads an aura of energy. It seemed to be his body, but expanded, augmented. It was a field itself. You could see his will," as Bagger Vance said, "His intention, select the Field he chose, which was the fairway and the target." He describes how Jones has a thousand swings in him, but how, through his intention, he sifts through them all until he finds his perfect swing.

The power of intention. There have been many explorations over the years, ranging from Peale's The Power of Positive Thinking to Julia Cameron's The Artistis Way, to Rhond Byrne's The Secret, of the power of intentional thinking.
Healthy, positive thinking can be bring you vitality: repeatedly creating thoughts that keep one's mind and body in balance. Think inadequacy [even if what you are thinking is a wish to avoid the inadequacy!] and you may ultimately fail to perform in an adequate manner. Think defeat and you will tend to create the circumstances that lead to defeat. But think victory and success, really think it, then you will perform in such a manner that will lead to such an outcome.

This is not "wishful thinking." It is belief in what you are doing, and focus. Focus that puts you IN your vision and your intention. It is Prayer as meditation. Prayer releases power. Prayer also keeps you humble and helps you keep perspective.

Because I remember, too, what Bagger Vance tells Junah when he is worried about the outcome of his efforts "It's only a game. A game you can't win. You can only play."

Happy creating!

La Lucha

I don't speak Spanish - despite having purchased a complete CD audio learning set to teach myself more than 10 years ago. But I understand that in Latin America and Mexico, this phrase, "La Lucha" means "the struggle." When I heard it, the phrase clung to the walls of my consciousness. In the US, to struggle connotes a negative: maybe you are not up to a challenge, or you are facing a foe or something equally undesirable. Maybe it is our modern expectation of an easy life. Like that Easy button in the TV commercial. Money, cars, everything - and without any work, or at least with no more work than is absolutely necessary. And, by the way, I am not excluding myself from this characterization. Let's face it, like most artists - most people, I am lazy, by my very nature. Any of us who are working hard, who appear to have a work ethic, are really just compensating for our inclinations: trying to disguise the slothful underpinnings - afraid people will actually find out we are lazy.

But La Lucha - that got to me because it suggests that there is a POSITIVE side to struggle itself, not just to the potential gains. The battle hard fought AND worth fighting for and winning, but also fulfilling in its own right. The effort is EQUAL TO the gain. La Lucha suggests difficulty on the one hand and opportunity on the other. As Einstein said, "In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity."

So struggle is on my mind because I feel somehow especially mired in it over the last few days. I am working on a portrait (referenced in an earlier blog entry, "Blossoms"), and reached a point - all too familiar - where I neither like what I see nor what I am doing. Admittedly it has all along been a project with technical challenges (working from a single, imperfect photo, wrestling with compositional adjustments for which I have no reference at all), but despite recognizing these challenges, I have given in to impatience and frustration. I believe the axiom that nothing is denied to well-directed labor. Yet I have given in to avoidance behavior several days in a row now.

I remembered La Lucha, and steeled myself to jump back into the struggle. Told myself to pick up a brush and paint ANYTHING - even a lemon, rather than withdraw from the struggle. And so braced, I return to my easel and La Lucha. Perhaps my next blog will include the reclaimed and completed portrait.

WIP: Blossoms from The Same Garden

“Every time I paint a portrait I lose a friend.”
John Singer Sargent quotes (Italian Painter and Artist, 1856-1925)

As I come to the "home stretch" on this WIP - a portrait of my oldest friend and her sister - I fiercely hope Sargent's sentiment does not prove to be true in my case! I am painting this to be a gift for her birthday, next month. A challenge on several fronts: working from a photo is never desirable... but a flash photo is truly the dregs. And the full-tooth smiles certainly don't make for a classic portrait pose. But... I know that the photo I used as reference is one of her favorites, capturing a special moment and an irreplaceable, cherished relationship. So the die was cast: this would be the image reference.

I replaced the dinner plates and wine glasses with my friend's favorite flowers: white tulips. (Still have quite a bit of work left to do on those and on the vase). I also tried to reduce the effect of the flash... but here I feel I have not been successful. I don't feel satisfied with the depth of atmosphere. Most of the portraits I have done (of people, at least!) have been painted from life. Tthe fundamental difference between painting from a three-dimensional subject actually in front of you, complete with actual air and space, and a two-dimensional one on a piece of paper, is that in the photograph, perspective and spacial relationships have already been captured (by the camera). A painter must make decisions on what to include from what s/he sees. When painting from life, one never really looks at a subject from the exact same angle in any given glance, so there's an amount of perspective interpretation that's impossible when painting from a photograph. The end result is, of course, what matters most, but for me, the experience is completely different - and less satisfying when the project must be done only from photos.

Book notes: a few favorite books on art

So I am still unpacking, a bit at a time. This morning I spent a half hour organizing my art books. I think I have too many... but as I consider which to give up... well... can't pry my hands off of any of them!

I have always been very reading oriented - when I get interested in something I immediately get books on the subject. So it has been with Art. Perhaps to a fault (when I read rather than paint!) I have a pretty significant collection of books on artists who have interested me, as well as a few on the history and techniques of painting. Art technique is, I think, an especially tough subject to explain effectively in a purely written format, even if illustrated. So, fresh from a good look across my collection, I share here a few that I have found truly helpful, sometimes inspiring:

-- Alla Prima: Everything I Know About Painting by Richard Schmid

-- Problem Solving for Oil Painters: Recognizing What's Gone Wrong and How to Make It Right, by Gregg Kreutz

-- John Singer Sargent : The Early Portraits (Volume 1), and the Late Portraits, (Vol 3) by Richard Ormond, Elaine Kilmurray;

-- Bouguereau by Fronia Wissman

-- Joaquin Sorolla by Blanca Pons-Sorolla

-- 50 Secrets of Magic Craftsmanship by Salvador Dali

-- Rembrandt: The Painter at Work

-- Classical Painting Atelier by Juliette Aristides

And now I am going to stop... and pick up a brush, which is always more fruitful than reading a book about art no matter how lovely!

Reverie

"The artist gazes upon a reality and creates his own impression. The viewer gazes upon the impression and creates his own reality."
~Robert Brault

Today the weather on Cape Cod is gorgeous: bright, crisp with the unmistakable fragrance of spring in the air. And the sounds, too... a veritable symphony of birdsong.

The only thing that can make this better is to put brush to canvas. Although I am planning a still life, I haven't got the composition of that worked out yet... so I am sharing here an outdoor scene, also on my easel.

This is a view of Stage Harbor light - a privately owned lighthouse at the end of Harding's beach, and part of the view from the end of Sears Road. This is the other side from the view we see. I am working from photos I took two years ago... and have inserted an invented figure. I wonder what she is thinking? Perhaps by the time I finish I will have some idea...

Departure

We are having some work done in our home... today my studio is not as accessible as usual. So, rather than doing without any art activity, I picked up a clayboard and tried my hand at scratchboard work.

I did this nude directly and freehand, with no visual reference: it was more an exercise in using this media - with which I have no experience - than in draftsmanship. I have seen some extraordinary scratchboard works, ranging from bold, loose graphics to meticulously rendered detailed portraits - admire them very much - and assume that most involve preparatory drawings being transfered to the scratchboard. This little sketch was by no means that kind of drawing.

I am sure most who look in on this blog know that scratchboard is a special cardboard or thin wood surface coated with white
clay. A layer of black ink covers the clay layer. The image is made by removing the black ink leaving white marks to show. Artists who work with scratchboard make marks using special tools to scrape off only the black layer: probably quite a variety of tools. I have no such tools... I used an Excel knife...and a small awl! I added color using watercolor paint and a brush.

So what did I enjoy and what did I learn? I feel slightly surprised and quite satisfied with how it felt to do this: I felt very free (perhaps due to the fact that I had no expectations of myself in a "new" medium)... and I enjoyed the process itself, which is a reverse of most drawing processes. I guess that prompted one of the learnings: the reverse nature of the process made me more acutely aware of the use of space. The positive space - for the most part - was the white marks, with negative space being formed by what was left black. I worked somewhat in layers of scratches across the whole board. Each layer or level of detail added more 'light' to the form. I was loose - something I struggle with in my oil painting - and experienced the whole little adventure more as a discovery than a creation.

I will definitely try this again... perhaps even invest in a couple of tools!

A Rediscovered Path: The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron

I first read this book nearly 20 years ago, BEFORE I had found my way into fine art as a pursuit. I had received a copy from a person who worked for me, and I read it as a guide to self-reflection and a goal of being a better leader (I work as an HR executive, and do quite a bit of executive coaching, etc). I found it surprisingly effective and helpful as a "zen" alternative.

In the years that passed I actually took up drawing and painting and have recently "come out of the closet" on the place art has in my life, and my commitment to it. Late last year, I purchased another copy of the book, this time to apply it to my learning journey in fine art. Once again, it did not dissapoint.

While not a how to book, nor an art theory, criticism or history book, it does, in fact, prompt the motivated reader to look inward in a disciplined way, and bring up some of one's own untapped energy and undiscovered point of view: like a guided retreat might do.

Other's might find such an aid superfluous - but I am grateful for some structure and experience laying out a map - complete with suggested detours - for my journey.

I recommend this classic to anyone interested in plumbing the reaches of their creativity and willing to devote some rigor to that process.

Making Room for Art in a Crowded World

I am thinking about my art... yearning to saturate myself in it over the next week when I take time off my day job...

I came to art incrementally and somewhat later in life than other artists. When I think about why I paint, I find that I cannot explain it better than Thomas Merton(American and Trappist Monk at Our Lady of Gethsemani Abbey in Trappist, Kentucky, 1915-1968) when he said "Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time."

And so it is for me: an escape and an exploration at the same time. An exploration through the choices I make, as an artist, every step of the way: what subject? what point of view? what colors, what edges? and then, I get to why? Why do I choose to paint what I paint? and on and on.

I love to paint animals - I love what I see when I get into those paintings: the sentience, the soul, unobscured by pretence... when I paint still life (for me the best way to paint from life), I almost always include some living thing, such as a bird or a mouse. It feels more alive to me that way, provokes more of a story. When I paint pet portraits, of course, I paint mostly from photographs. When I paint these still life compositions, though, I often rely on taxidermy specimens I have gathered over the years for just this purpose... allowing me to truly paint what I see, in the same light with the rest of the arrangement. Currently on my Facebook "Artworks" page: a still life of a crow, painted from "life" from a taxidermy specimen I got from a museum in Elmyra, NY, and which was sold to a couple in Washington state.

I also like to paint people: portraits and genre scenes... because for me, it is the feeling and the implied story that is compelling in the first place... the decisions about how to depict that story then create the painting.

I am pretty old now (middle aged - I won't fess up to particulars), and yet I am learning more about who I am and what is important to me today, through my painting, than I have throughout my earlier life.

All told, art is a losing proposition for me: I lose my inhibitions, all sense of time and all my obsessive worries...aaah!