Archive for the ‘My way of doing it’ Category

Reevaluating the Palette

Thursday, December 15th, 2011

I’ve found that it’s a good idea to periodically review the paints in my palette. Not only do I consider which ones I’ve made good use of and which I haven’t, but I also find it helpful to update my charts that show how they interact with one another. While doing that this fall, I made some discoveries that will help in my paint choices for the coming year. Among other things, I have found that there are several paints that could be dispensed with or be replaced with a more satisfactory alternative.

Palette, December 2011

Of my five yellows, I found that three are very similar in color but behave differently in use. The yellow ochre, a semi-opaque that tends to muddy my mixes, will not be replenished when it runs out. The similar raw sienna is more transparent and poses less of a mixing problem. It provides a more subtle and slightly warmer underwash than the third similar color, quinacridone gold, which is stronger and more lively for mixing with other colors. New gamboge is also a rich, warm, more intense yellow that is good for mixing. And the bright, cooler Winsor lemon is needed for the lightest, clearest yellows applied over reserved white.

In the brown realm, burnt sienna is my standby, supplemented by burnt umber for my darkest darks (often mixed with indigo) and the more red-toned brown madder, which I also love to pair with indigo. I’ve tried sepia but found that that’s another color I can dispense with.

It has perhaps been a mistake to rely too heavily on the transparent reds—permanent alizarin crimson and permanent rose, more recently supplemented with the lovely quinacridone red and quinacridone magenta. Being transparent, these are fine colors for mixing, but I find the quin red a bit wimpy on its own. I need a good rich red to punch up a painting. A transparent scarlet lake is a new acquisition that I hope will fill the bill. It has a warmer cast than the cooler reds I’ve been using.

Though I have a purple (Winsor violet), I seldom use it, usually preferring to mix my own from the colors used elsewhere in the painting. This helps to maintain a sense of color unity throughout, rather than introducing an unrelated hue.

Of my blues and greens, Payne’s grey (which I consider a very muted blue) is my least used. Cerulean, being opaque, doesn’t blend well with most other paints (though permanent rose transforms it to the startling and lovely hue my father used to call “sky-blue pink.”) Cerulean is fine as a sky color but is largely limited to that use. And I find that the hue is very similar to that of Winsor blue (green shade), which is more amenable for mixing. French ultramarine blue and cobalt blue, on the other hand, are both workhorses and must-haves, as they are both useful for skies, water, shadows, and blending with other colors. The muted indigo (a premixed blue blend that can be subtle despite its powerful pigments) has become a personal favorite and almost indispensable to me. A new acquisition is Manganese Blue Nova, a Holbein paint, which creates a lovely range of greens when mixed in varying proportions with quinacridone gold. Though I haven’t used them as extensively, I enjoy the liveliness and mixability of my Winsor blue (green shade) and Winsor green (blue shade), from which I can achieve a good range of aquas and turquoises when blended together. Their transparency seems to lend them both to successful mixing with other colors. Permanent sap green has become another of my workhorses, as it is a good supplement to palette-mixed greens and is, in itself, easy to vary for great foliage.

I like the clarity and vibrancy of the transparent colors, particularly the quinacridones. And I’m less concerned now than I used to be about whether a pigment stains or can be lifted off the paper. So, as you see, as my tastes and needs change over time, I expect my palette selections will continue to change as well, both adapting to and contributing to the evolution of my work.

“So, what’s it to you?”

Saturday, October 15th, 2011

It’s fun sometimes to take a good, close look at an everyday object to see beauties we don’t normally take time to appreciate. An open mind, a fresh way of looking at things – these keep me alert and keep the world interesting. How can we get bored when there’s a new discovery to make simply through closer study of what we think we already know?

110805 Eye of the Moon

One day I picked up a moon shell, at first glance round and gray, rather undistinguished and dull. But a closer look drew me into its vortex. There I discovered colors and textures and understated line that cried out to me to paint them.

In trying to categorize my finished painting, “Eye of the Moon” (#110805), no established category seemed to fit. What was it? A still-life? An animal? An abstract? But then, … does the category even matter? It is what it is, and that is open to the viewer’s interpretation. So I’m calling it an abstract, though it is actually merely a loosely rendered depiction of an actual form.

The question is less “What is it?” than “What is it to you?” And that’s part of what art is about – allowing our eyes to see the unexpected and our minds to read the unexpected into what we see.

Cropped by a Mat

Friday, July 15th, 2011

If you take a painting to a professional framer, you can expect the mat to cover only a half inch or less on each edge of the paper. This is an easy one-size-fits-all decision for the framer, but it is not always optimal for the artwork. A mat should be both positioned and sized to enhance the painting. It is for this reason that I prefer to mat my own work. I frequently leave a considerable expanse of white space around the painted image. As I work, the balance may shift to the left or right, thereby leading me to leave more border area on one side of the paper than on the other. I do not consider this edging an integral part of the painting, though it can be treated as such. In which case, it should be balanced with the rest of the work.

110207a The Guardian

My painting “The Guardian” (#110207), above, is an example of what I mean. I created this piece for my students to demonstrate a number of different painting techniques. In the process, the work grew organically. We discussed how to make the most of less-than-ideal brush strokes, how to turn “oopses” into “wows” and how to rework weak areas to give them more punch. In the process, balance shifted, edges extended and changed shape, the students’ questions directing me where to go next.

When the painting was complete, there was considerable white space on all sides. I could have cut the excess paper away, but I didn’t feel either any need or desire to do so. Instead, I played with two different-sized mats. I knew that the larger 10”x14” mat opening, illustrated below, would leave some white space on the sides and allow the loose brushstrokes at the top and bottom to show.

110207b The Guardian

So, though that option appealed to me, I also tried a smaller mat with a 7 ½ x 9 1/2-inch opening.

110207c-7-5x9-5h

When I laid this on the painting, as you can see above, it tightened the edges so much that I felt the painting looked cramped. So I turned the mat 90 degrees and tried a vertical format. In this way I found two possible crops, either of which could have worked.

110207d The Guardian

The first of the vertical options, shown above, kept the agave plant in the foreground as the center of interest. The second, below, made the waterfall the center of interest and placed the agave into a secondary position. However, I didn’t feel that the overall composition in this format was particularly good.

110207e The Guardian

In reviewing all the possibilities I had tried, I decided that the larger mat was closest to what I wanted. Yet it wasn’t quite right; despite the narrow white space on the sides, the painting felt tight at the top and bottom.

So I tried a third mat with a slightly larger opening, 11×15, just a half inch more on all sides than the first one I had used. This revealed enough white space on all sides to complement and enhance the loose overall appearance of the painting, as you can see below.

110207 The Guardian

As it worked out, in this case, a one-position-fits-all matting job would not have been terrible, but if the painting had not been centrally positioned on the paper the result could have been dreadful.

“Neither a borrower nor unethical be”

Friday, July 1st, 2011

As I borrow and rephrase Plutonius’s advice to Laertes (from Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 3, line 75), I do hope Mr. Shakespeare will forgive the liberties I have taken. Fortunately, since I wasn’t able to ask his permission, his original line is now in the public domain. But I still can’t claim it as my own.

101205 Holly Berries 2010

An artist for whom I have considerable admiration and who has influenced my own work has been struggling lately with her students’ and others’ “borrowing” her compositional concepts for their own commercial use. What’s wrong with this practice? Aren’t they selling their own paintings? The answer to that is a matter of ethics. Yes, they did lay the paint on the paper. But no, since the concept and the original composition did not spring directly from their own minds, it is not really theirs, any more than the title of this article is mine.

Perhaps it would help to ask what constitutes “original” art? Many artists might see the same view of a subject and have the same general idea of recreating the image in paint. The originality lies in the artist’s perspective, interpretation, and treatment of the subject. This includes the parameters within which the subject is placed (the placement on the paper, as well as how closely cropped it is), the angle at which it is depicted, lighting, tone, and mood, as well as what the artist chooses to emphasize or minimize. These differences become quite apparent in sketches made by different artists. But it is true in photography, as well. No two photographs taken by different photographers are likely to be exactly the same.

What if two artists base their paintings on different sections of the same photograph? Can they claim that their works are “original”? Only the artist who shot the reference photograph can ethically claim the resulting painting as solely his own work. Why? Because the original photograph was part of the concept of the paintings, and the photographic perspective was selected and composed or cropped by the workings of that artist’s mind. In that case, the photographer may be able to claim originality in the painting. If the painted treatment, however, is not original – for instance, if the treatment copies the style of a different artist – the finished painting still might not be considered “original” even though the artist did shoot the original photograph. Though the composition was original, the style was not; therefore the finished painting is still considered derivative.

In that case, is it ever acceptable to base a painting on someone else’s photograph or style? It can be for certain purposes.

I consider it acceptable use if someone else takes a photograph and either requests that a painting be derived from it or grants clear permission for it to be used as the basis for a painting. But in either case, the artist must not claim full credit for an “original” work of art, and appropriate credit should be given to the photographer.

In the same way, for certain purposes, it can also be acceptable to base a work on someone else’s style. For instance, a teacher might ask all her students to work from the same photograph or painting. Isn’t that granting permission to develop work based upon someone else’s? Yes it is. However, producing derivative (non-original) work in a learning environment is very different from deriving financial profit from non-original work. Students have long been encouraged to study, copy, and imitate other artists’ work. The purpose, however, has been to help those students learn skills and techniques, not to gain financial profit from someone else’s creations. Derivative work can be educationally profitable, but it should not be used for financial gain. And it should never be presented as “original.”

Non-original artwork should be neither sold nor entered into art competitions. It is often recommended that an artist retain any reference materials used (such as original photographs and sketches) so, if challenged, he or she can verify the originality of the artistic concept. Although U.S. artists are automatically considered the copyright holder of all original work, the copyright can be registered officially through the U.S. Government Copyright Office. This registration makes it much easier to prosecute violators.

“But what’s the big deal?” some people might ask. “What harm does it do if I sell a copy of someone else’s painting or photograph that I’ve painted myself?” In the first place, the unrecognized photographer is usually not being compensated for his contribution to the work; and your derivative work reduces the value of another artist’s original work because it is no longer unique. In the second place, not only has your work created competition for the original, but (being derivative) it could be mistaken as poor quality output by the original artist, thus compromising that artist’s professional image. In the third place, presentation of derived work as original is extremely damaging to the long-term reputation of the derivative artist. Word gets around the art community, and such short-sighted actions as selling derivative pieces as originals can leave a permanent scar on an artist’s name.

(Please note that I do not have a background in law and am not attempting to offer legal counsel. The comments presented here are the philosophy that I try to follow in my own practice, and I feel that they are a good guideline for most artists in a similar situation to follow. If you face a sticky ethical question, you are encouraged to seek appropriate and knowledgeable legal advice in your own locale.)

Lessons of Value, Part 2

Wednesday, June 15th, 2011

To help my students recognize the importance and effectiveness of a good value range in their work, I had them begin a project, as I wrote about last time, with a monochromatic under layer to establish their values. The second stage of the project was to introduce supplemental color.

I limited my students to the use of only two additional colors, of their choice. I opted to use brown madder and raw sienna over my own indigo base in “Stones in Shell Dish” (#110307).

110307 Stones in Shell Dish (final)

I began with a light wash of raw sienna across the entire dish, then glazed more localized areas with one or more of my three colors to achieve the effect I wanted. The more I worked, the more I continued to increase the value range that even the initial monochrome study had not reached. I cannot tell you how many glazes I applied, because I didn’t keep track. Layer after layer after layer went on. I worked on the piece for several weeks, both in class and out of class, until I was finally satisfied with it.

My students weren’t the only ones who learned from that lesson. But that’s part of why I enjoy teaching. There’s always something more to learn. And one of the best ways to learn is by doing the assignments right along with my students.