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?