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?