We live in a wonderful urban neighborhood in Honolulu called Kaimuki. Seated on the backside of Diamond Head, it’s an enjoyable mixture of both modern and century-old homes, a funky/trendy business area, and a populace that includes most all of our island’s varied ethnic heritages.
It’s also great for walking…rolling hills, old concrete sidewalks (with the occasional child’s handprint), and fresh trade winds that provide delightful comfort during an evening stroll. One notable feature is a high, rocky point topped by a small park. Called “Christmas Tree Park” by locals, it’s just a few blocks from home, and during early evening it’s quite popular. There’s a group of dog-lovers who habitually gather, perhaps some first-daters trying things out, and a variety of others who enjoy the westward view over Honolulu at sunset.
While I’m not a regular, I do occasionally drift up that way after supper. And it was on such an evening that I finally decided to get started on the early-evening painting I’d been contemplating.
The Influence
For years prior, I’d been admiring a painting by the 19th century Spanish painter Ramon Casas. His was also a “townscape”, of Montmartre, painted as it appeared back in the Impressionist days. I’ve always been excited by Casas’s picture; an interesting puzzle-pattern of darks and lights, rooftops, roads, and trees. It was definitely an inspiration for where I hoped my own picture could go.
As for my effort, I envisioned a days-end feeling: the fading daylight, with rose colored cloudbanks overhanging the rooftops and random jumble of our neighborhood. And all to be painted in thoughtful, descriptive brushstrokes.
The initial setup and progress in the lay-in.
A Strategy
I decided it would be best to arrive at the spot around 5:45 each evening. This would allow a window of workable light of perhaps 45 minutes. I supposed I’d need perhaps 8 or more sessions, but it was hard to tell.
Practicalities
I keep “prepared” wooden painting panels in my studio, and decided 9 x 12″ was the right size. I also chose to use a tripod mounted pochade box. This would keep things compact… important because my own shadow was needed to block the sunlight behind me from falling on the painting, which would distort the light/shadow effect. Gusts of strong wind made using an umbrella to shield the painting from the setting sun too risky.
The Start
The first round of work involved getting the “main pieces” in the right spots on my panel.
I never rush this step because the personality of the whole painting begins in how the painting’s space is”divided”.
I thought of the “main pieces” as the areas of land, sea, clouds and sky. . . 4 large, interlocking puzzle pieces. Which of those areas were to “dominate” is what determined the cropping.
The large tower’s placement in the lower left quadrant was important. It’s a strong “point of attraction”…but needed to be placed with care. The distant peninsula needed that slight “opening” on its far right edge. It connects sky and ocean as a single shape.
After the first sessions work. The paint was scraped down with a palette knife to “lose” hard edges and unify the work overall.
Next Steps
Weather permitting, I continued to return each evening for more work on the painting. Progress was gradual, but steady, always keeping the original intentions I described in mind.
In time I found that I was able to anticipate what the light and color were likely to do, which was a big help. This is just a sidebar here, but becoming familiar with the “personality” of a given location is a really wonderful secondary aspect of the “plein-air “painting process. One’s painting locations can also, in time, become places of deep reflection and attachment.
The painting on my studio easel, a few more sessions in, undergoing some morning-after adjustments.
As the work progressed further, I also committed to trying to maintain some ideals…
To attempt to paint the “ensemble effect” …the overall appearance of the entire scene as it might appear in one glance.
Seeing everything as “simply a piece of paint” of a particular shape, value, and color.
To pursue “suggestion” over “explanation”.
Completion Of The Work
The completed painting
Further sessions were simply about adjusting and refining, always with an eye towards the look of the entire painting, not fussing over specific and irrelevant details.
There was a nice general interest from the public. Most were unfamiliar with the kind of work I was doing. It was pleasant to offer some explanations to the curious. That was a nice sidebar to the whole project.
Because the painting is in traditional oils, the actual drying time is a minimum of six months. At that date, the owner of the painting will return it briefly for a final varnish. This will the crowning moment. . .the painting will then be restored to its original richness of color and permanently protected.
A brief encounter on a bus sparked a portrait of a stranger, drawn from memory
I was recently on a visit to Portland, Oregon, which is my hometown. I’d planned to hit the local art museum, where I’d also attended art school decades earlier. As things worked out, taking the bus for my Sunday morning visit was easiest, and an idea that I looked forward to.
Being an experienced public transit guy, I’ve benefitted from the variety of experiences I’ve had on subways, trains and buses. This includes uncounted hours of sketching in public transit…which ties in with my Rembrandt interest. So many of his drawings emanated from his solo experiences walking and simply observing the everyday life which surrounded him.
So, the story is that I climbed aboard a city bound bus, sparsely occupied. I had a small handful of fellow passengers and a driver who was all business, but approachable. I checked with him about my destination, he confirmed I was in the right place. Finding a seat facing the front of the bus, I was immediately next to the seating reserved for the elderly and handicapped that face the aisle. Because I’m feeling a bit outgoing this morning, I eventually start a chat with a fellow about my age across the aisle. It’s just pleasant small talk, but l feel at home back in Portland again.
As our trip to the city center continues, we stop and I sense a bit of change in the mood as a hard-luck sort of fellow comes aboard. Wrapped in what looks like a discarded cargo blanket, and with only the bare essentials of decrepit shoes and shorts otherwise, the small, haggard fellow takes the seat directly in from of me.
Because it’s Portland, it’s become a normal sight, and this man seems utterly beyond concern with anyone’s reaction. All the same I could feel our fellow passengers tighten up a bit.
Since I’d already broken the ice with my other neighbor, and knowing that I only have another fifteen minutes ride ahead, I decide to ask the man in the blanket how things are going today. Glancing my way, he remarks that he’d been better, but I think he appreciated being addressed politely. Positioned as we were, I studied the fellow a bit, who was sitting in perfect profile. I noticed a recent patient wristband which probably accompanied the sutures on his forehead.
Somehow, momentary mutual trust was established, and so I mentioned that I was a visitor to Portland, but also a native. He was a native as well, and I ventured to ask if he’d attended high school in Portland. Grant High School, he responded. I then mentioned that I’d gone to Jackson High, and asked which years he’d attended Grant. He was class of ’75, I was class of ’74. He then mentioned having wrestled against Jackson. I asked how he’d done, and he said he’d won…and had gone on to place well in the state championships. He smiled a bit and seemed happy at the momentary recollection. But just as quickly he returned to his present reality.
Coming near the end of the my ride, I managed to locate the only cash I had, a single dollar bill. I folded it my hand, but as it turned out he signaled to get off the bus first. Before he rose to leave, I managed to explain that as a graduate of Jackson High School, I probably had known someone he’d wrestled against. Therefore, in consideration of the ass-whooping he’d delivered, some royalty payments were likely overdue. I apologized for the meager offering, but he accepted it. Within a moment of having left the bus, I caught a glimpse of him putting the money to immediate use with a drug dealer who’d set up on the sidewalk.
I now suppose this fellow, if he didn’t get massive help, was a dead man walking. Perhaps I brought a little joy into his bus ride, or contributed to his decline. But by the time I’d gotten to my destination a few minutes later, I’d decided I could at least attempt a drawing, a souvenir of a chance encounter, since I’d been studying him closely.
My first shot at capturing my recollection
I found a table and a cup of coffee on a sidewalk near the art museum, and set to work. General to specific, overhead lighting. I drew a skull in pencil, and added features as I worked. He reminded me of some of my Scandinavian relatives, naturally small and slender, with similar construction in the features. I put that familiarity to use.
The final image evolved over time. I’d pull out the drawing days later and shift something, or darken or lighten.
One interesting aside was that while I was working at the table above, a really charged-up (drugs) fellow came by and wanted to see what I was drawing. I showed him and he complimented the drawing. And as he did, I looked at his eyes, which had been giving me problems in my drawing. And I saw the same look in his eyes that my drawing lacked. It’s something I recognized from the photos of holocaust survivors or POW’s I’d seen. A stare, but a hollow one, if that makes any sense.
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That’s a question I’ve loved asking people as we view artwork together.
I love it because it begins to open us up to the idea that there may be a deeper experience awaiting when looking at a painting. That without any awareness on our part, a piece we’re viewing may be subtly guiding our eye intentionally.
An interesting side of composition involves the deliberate leading of the viewer’s eye. It’s not something I was every really “taught”, but since realizing that it exists, it’s added a lot to my enjoyment of good paintings and drawings.
I think it’ll do the same for you. But the first step is to study what attracts our attention and what gets it to move in a picture.
A Power of Attraction
Our eye is always searching…in a sense, it’s hungry. We can notice how it works when leafing through the pages of a book, searches a room for misplaced keys, or recognizes a familiar person in a crowded public space. Our attention is drawn and engaged before we know it. For our purposes now, we’ll simply call a this a “power of attraction”.
For paintings a “power of attraction” is anything within a picture’s composition that can attract your eye. We already know that a bright color in a drab setting or a human figure in a landscape can become a center of attention…what a lot of people call a “focal point”.But let’s consider what else an artist might use to move your attention in a more subtle way. Just for starters it could be any of the following…
-an open window or doorway in a background
-a contrast of light or dark, such as a highlight on a dark shape
-a color, by it’s strength or by contrast
-a contrast of objects…something that differs from others within it’s setting
-a figure or animal
-a sharp edge surrounded by softer edges
-any point/mark that has “power” due to it’s placement, especially nearer to an edge of the painting
Whatever it might be, it will possess a visual magnetism that makes itself known to you subconsciously. And importantly, not all objects have equal power of attraction.
As I gradually became used to this, it became very interesting to look at a picture merely only to see how the artist would draw my attention from one point to another. One specific moment I learned a strange truth…that the central and dominant THING in a painting was not the main subject but an essentially abstract shape placed in the full light, with the artist in the self-portrait playing a slightly secondary role. I found that reasoning to be fascinating.
And the artist?
Rembrandt Van Rijn
Why Study Rembrandt?
Though there are countless examples in traditional art we can study, I found that Rembrandt, and especially his drawings, are the ideal place to begin seeing this business in action. Often his seemingly modest & commonplace themes become excellent lessons in leading the eye.
As an introduction to the concept for us to try together, this pen drawing is a fine example. I recommend that you enjoy a few moments with it before proceeding. Just pause and ask yourself where your eye wants to go as you examine it.
Rembrandt’s pen and ink drawings have a variety of “attraction” points that reveal themselves with a bit of looking. The drawings were often created on ramblings in his town and surrounding countryside. This was not an extraordinary sight in Rembrandt’s day, perhaps the same as an everyday home would appear in our own neighborhood. These drawings represent his everyday experience, just as we also have our own familiar features of our time. He was an eager observer, and exercised his gifts of observation and interpretation continually.
In this example, you may have noticed that your eye moved from part to part, resting here and there, and connecting one spot in the drawing to another.
A focal point isn’t enough
Having a point of interest that dominates the picture (a focal point) isn’t really the same as creating a series of connections that can lead a viewer through a picture. The reason is because a single focal point’s value is mostly only interesting as an object. The alternative we see with the Rembrandt drawing, a designed picture suggesting a discernible pathway, is a series of small discoveries that gives our mind an incentive to engage. Ideally, one is led to travel through the picture rather than looking at the picture.
Below is a breakdown of what I get from my own study of this beautiful drawing. I’ve found that the various things that attract my eye have differing strengths, but that with one thought a pattern can arise. But that’s just my interpretation. Where does YOUR eye lead you?
While I admit my diagram is subjective, I hope you agree that this is a dimension of picture enjoyment that, for an artist, is a valuable way to unify a composition. Rembrandt’s drawn works (for me) are a particularly enjoyable source for seeing this in action. If you’d like to dig deeper, I suggest looking at the library for books on Rembrandt’s drawings, or finding the old Dover publications of “Drawings of Rembrandt” (volume II is my favorite) as a starter.
If you want to really get a handle on composition, it’s a fascinating dimension.
We know that with practice, most artists will get a handle on “how” to paint the parts of a picture. But the composing of pictures is a different task…one that requires experimentation, sensibility, and the development of taste. And the question is…where do we find those tools?
It’s good question. Here’s where that question has led me.
There’s a Power of Pattern
In my own long search to learn how to compose (meaning “organize a painting well”), I saw that I’m drawn to certain pictures by some vague attraction that I can’t account for. An example was that while flipping through the images in art books, something was making me stop and go back to something that flashed by my eyes in a moment, even though I’d only had the briefest of glances. Over time I was able to figure out that an overall pattern of a painting was the subconscious power at work.
Realizing this, I was able to eventually work out a simple method of analyzing the paintings I most loved, and then adapting what I’d found into my own pictures. The method is useful in studying the work of others, or designing one’s own compositions. I simply call it the 4 value study.
The 4 Value Study
This process takes the artist through the placement of the largest shapes first. This is the division of the canvas, so to speak, and these are the big initial decisions that eventually affect everything to follow. If you’re doing a study from a painting in a book or one in a museum, you will gain insights into how that artist has chosen. If you’re out in the field on a landscape o working with an interior subject, you’ll be planning in advance how the pattern might work, and preparing for less struggle in the long run. It’s often been observed that the regrettable decisions that are evident in a finished painting are choices made in the very first stages. This reduces that danger.
Also among the benefits are
it can be done in a short amount of time, (in this example, about 25 minutes) with simple materials, and in your personal sketchbook. This enables you to easily review.
The exercise has you retrace the original artist’s steps, because you start with the “big pieces” that make up the underlying structure. This puts you “looking over their shoulder” in the decision process, because they probably put their energy into the interrelationship of the main pieces.
With only 4 values to work with, you must ignore details and and instead see the painting in terms of a pattern…that is an intentionalarrangement of big values and big shapes. That’s part of what’s catching your eye to stop and look in the first place.
Where do I start?
Begin with a good painting from a good source.
Find a painting that you admire… a painting that you wish you had made. I sometimes look online, on sites such as Pinterest, and have particular artists I find especially beneficial. Their small studies are often in the same mix with their completed works and are great helps. Also, books and catalogs from museums, available free at the library, are a good place to poke around for images that impress you. But best of all is before an actual painting in a museum, which is a wonderful way to the most out of a visit. And nobody will mind your sketching in a small sketchbook. Other people will be interested/inspired to see you working.
If you choose a photograph, choose a photo in color rather than black and white. The advantage of color is that you’ll learn to read the value of color, which takes some practice, rather than having it done for you by a black and white reproduction.
The only tools I use are a soft graphite pencil (6B is good), and an eraser at the end for cleaning things up. And as I’ve mentioned, I like to mingle the 4 value studies in my regular sketchbook that I do my other work in.
Procedure
For the demonstration, I’m using my sketchbook and an image from a book. The painting is by a favorite Russian impressionist, Isaac Levitan. I picked it for its full value range (meaning from white to almost black and simple grays) plus interesting big shapes. He’s a favorite artist of mine, so why not get inside his head? What easier way to learn about his work?
The art and the sketchbook positioned for easiest comparison.
In the image above, my sketchbook and soft graphite pencil are at hand, and the painting I’m working from is immediately in front of me at a comfortable angle. This is so my eye travels the shortest possible distance to compare the image and the drawing.
Part 1. How to start
A. Find the proportion of the rectangle that I’m copying. It needs to be the same proportion (size) as the rectangle in the reproduction. If you need to use a ruler, feel free. Notice the faint “crosshair” lines to show the center of the rectangle…and it’s okay of they are loose and sketchy at the start. This division of the rectangle will help p you tell where the shapes in the painting are.
B. Make a scale of 4 steps below the rectangle. Start by drawing a small white box, two more empty boxes, and then a very dark box, like I’ve done at the base of the drawing above. This is the outside range of our pencil’s ability to create light and dark. Between the black white box and the black box, create a light grey and a darker grey. Try to keep the steps between all four values even.
Important-everything within your drawing is going to be in one of these four values, even though you’ll see many more values in the painting. Your challenge here is to simplify the many values of the painting into four.
C. Start with a large shape first. The dark water forms a big shape, and the sky another, so I’d start with one of those. Try to place them as accurately as you can, and with a very light, sketchy touch. If you can do so very lightly, it’s a good advantage. Study the original and compare the big shapes to what you’re making, and adjust if you see something that looks off.
Once that’s established (again, with a light touch so you don’t have to scrub out dark lines when adjusting later), continue to outline the shapes of the painting. Sky shape, trees shape, snow shape, etc.
Some advice that will be very helpful..work from the largest first, lightly, then work your way down to smaller shapes. Disregard as many details as you can, they’re just clutter at this point. Add them after the big shapes and values are right.
Part 2. Getting the Light & Dark
Now it’s time to render the values.
To begin this step, take the lightest of our two grays and cover the entire paper with it…except what is to be white. This is what I’ve done in the image below. You can see what I did in the photo, and using light 45° strokes is the easiest and most natural way to lay down a gray. We’re “reserving the white”, much as a watercolor painter does… but everything else will at least be the second grey. So you can cover everything but the lightest shape with it.
Our lightest gray applied.
Third Step
The addition of the first grey sets us up for the next, our darkest grey, which is 75% darker gray from the white to black. Since we’ve already applied our light grey over everything that’s not in the white value makes this step easier. Anything that’s not in the darkest dark or the lightest grey will be made of this, regardless of what type of object it happens to be. And remember, it’s only shapes we’re interested in, not any details.
One thing you’ll probably realize is that all of this requires you to make decisions about how to group things simply. Four values aren’t nearly enough to account for everything we see in a painting, but that’s the good part…we now have to forget about what things “are” in the painting and work as a designer…grouping values together regardless of what they represent (sky, water, hills, etc.) in the picture.
The reason you want this skill is because it will lead to freshness and clarity in your own work. And you can develop the skill in your sketchbook…it’ll change how you view painting for the better.
Final Step
To finish, it’s simply a matter of adding the pattern of the darkest darks to the other three. This is where it’s advantageous to have used a soft pencil; it makes that darker value easier to apply richly.
After doing so, I finally clean up the whites a bit with my eraser, re-adjust the values a bit overall, and enjoy the drawing and painting. A light application of a spray fixative will preserve it for years to come.
Conclusion
One of the main task of the painter is to arrange and organize what you paint. Determine what’s important, and discard everything that isn’t. With this method and some practice, you can learn the thinking artist’s you admire put into their own paintings, which is information that you won’t get by just looking and admiring.
And finally, the greatest benefit comes when you are in the field working out a painting, or in a studio with a painting, this skill will certainly help you quickly determine your best design.
I hope you’ll give this a try…and would love to hear about your experience or any questions. Feel free to comment, and GOOD LUCK!
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Each developing artist has the opportunity of determining the type of artist they wish to become.
For some of us, this direction may be the response to obvious inborn tendencies. In this case the direction seems rather clear, and it becomes a matter of obtaining skills and experience, which marks the beginning of the journey. For others, the choice can take a different course; one of feeling your way along, stopping completely at times… and trying different doors, developing a gradual view of where to aim. And combinations of the two are often possible.
In either instance, for any prospective artist, the skills necessary to achieve a level of proficiency require time and sufficient interest on the part of the person to develop.
The necessary ingredient for any art enthusiast’s growth is that they must be a self-starter. And in service to this truth, it’s the development and maintenance of skills that I’m writing about today.
On occasion, perhaps a few times a year…I find myself needing to retreat from the usual routine and just concentrate on my general basic skills. And one of the most effective ways that I know is to do either a drawing or a painting from a plaster cast.
The Cast
Plastercasts have been around for centuries, and acknowledged as an excellent tool for developing visual perception in an artist. This is for good reason…
Among these qualities:
Casts are stationary models.
The cast is white, which means it’s halftones and shadows are clear shades of grey, and so within the reach of charcoal (if drawing) or paint.
Casts are often styled after fragments or entire sculptures from classical sources, and so possess intrinsic refinements.
On my little journey with the cast below, I set out to do a brief (a matter of about 6 hours) but fairly thorough oil study under daylight conditions. This is enough to serve as a checkup on my “eye” for shapes, distances, values.
As seen in the photo, I set the cast up so that it was directly next to the primed panel I was to paint on. I then chose a viewing position (about seven feet back from the arrangement), where I was to spend about half my time looking and deciding from. This is important; you must be viewing from exactly the same point, at a distance, and making your decisions there, approaching the actual painting only to paint what you’ve decided to from the viewing position.
After the strokes are placed, I step back and assess. This procedure is continued for the duration of the exercise (the strategy described is referred to as the sight-size method).
As each additional bit of the painting moves forward, it’s important to compare carefully from the viewing position. Height, width, shape, and value are all improving gradually and in a unified manner, with no single aspect getting further along than another.
This procedure goes from the largest to the smallest, the outside (biggest shape) to the inside (smaller shapes), and from the general to the specific. This is itself a remarkably helpful habit to acquire for a representational artist.
Over a few hours the painting begins to resemble the cast more and more. Because I prefer daylight for illumination, the shadows move very slightly but constantly, so I must eventually select a time of day to limit the work, which I can return to a following day at the same time.
The artwork and cast are set up closely to help with easy comparison.
The Reason
The entire point of all this is to tune-up my ability to see shapes (the cast, the shapes of shadows upon the cast, etc) accurately. This includes being able to read the values (degrees of lightness and darkness) of the shadows and the half-tones truthfully.
The wonderful thing about the procedure is it will teach us to work from general to specific. This is a very good habit to formulateand will serve you well in everything you do. The image above shows the first hour or so of work… essentials are laid- in very generally, yet still with relative precision at each touch of the brush.
As I worked, I gradually adjusted things more closely to the actual cast, but moving around the object to where it was farthest from “truth” (the actual appearance of the cast) rather than “finishing” bit by bit. It’s important to keep the entire painting moving forward in the general-to-specific mode, much like slowly adjusting the focus of a lens.
As I proceeded, remembering to step back to my observation point regularly, I found that I tended to make my shapes a little too wide, and so became mindful of that. As the light on the cast gradually changed, the shadows correspondingly moved and changed value, so I also had to stay on top of that as well.
Gradually the cast came together over two mornings of a couple hours work each. I chose not to push it any further though there were things that could have be better…. with me, there’s a tipping point where the painting can turn to an over-finicky attitude that interferes with the general purpose of the exercise.
The Benefit
Confidence…I can look at something in nature (meaning anything visible to my eye) and I’m able to trust my eye to assess the height, breadth, value and shape accurately. I could liken this quality to clear diction in a speaker, being “in tune” to a musician, the ability to assess actual flavor to a winemaker.
Fluency…this increasesefficiency; I can grasp the actual shape of a mountain or a portrait sitter’s head faster and with less struggle than ever before. I can catch distortions much earlier, rather than when the work is too far along. This creates a real freedom to explore color and other expressive qualities because I trust the general foundation of what I’m painting is in place.
The cast-study at completion time. 9″x 9″ oil on oil-primed masonite panel.
So, in conclusion, I highly recommend this exercise as a skill building instrument. It’s for anyone painting anything where representation matters, not excluding landscape, seascape, genre, figure, or any other form of painting. I’ve benefitted countless times from the imbedding of the good habits that come with this sort of work…and frankly, I enjoy the work very much.
When traveling, no other activity in painting brings me more excitement than taking my old pochade box outdoors in search of a new motif to tackle.
Being a Hawai’i resident, trips to the mainland are welcome opportunities. I can paint in situations where the visual content is rich in different ways than at home. The architecture, color, climate, citizenry…all offer a fresh point-of-view. I love carefully scouting out a spot where I can unobtrusively compose and paint a sketch.
But when working in oil, there’s also a serious practical matter involved. How can we get damp paintings home safely with minimal expense and fussing?
Here’s what I came up with.
Divide and Conquer
For this to work, the oil sketches need to be the same dimension. Fortunately, I only brought the size panels that fit my box, so all are 8 x 10″.
In this image, the paintings are numbered from earliest (1) to latest (3). When it came time to pack, painting 1 was sufficiently set-up
My three fresh paintings, in order of dryness to the touch.
as far as being dry to the touch. It was the least vulnerable to damage. 2 was still soft, but was fairly set-up as far as dryness to the touch, being about 4 days along in drying. Painting 3 was the wet one, and so became the big concern among the paintings as I packed them.
Just a note…I don’t use driers (or any other means) to accelerate the normal drying time of oil paintings. Exposure to air circulation and normal daylight conditions are ideal. That discussion is for another time, but I wanted to mention it here.
Enter the Bamboo Chopstick
Being that I live (and eat) in Hawai’i, I’m used to disposable bamboo chopsticks as a part of routine life. When I needed to find a short, thin, readily available spacer to separate the paintings, I needed not look further. The ones we found are rectangular at the grip, ideal for use as spacers. Easy to cut if needed, they rest positioned on the painting’s edge, where the rabbet of the frame would overlap. That means any area of damp paint the chopstick might disturb would be easy to touch-up, and likely invisible once the paintings are framed.
The driest painting, upper left, with two bamboo chopsticks in place.
Using painting 1 as the base, I added a pair of chopsticks cut to the height of the painting, and placed them both along the edges on two sides.
The second driest painting, top, resting over the first painting, separated. Two more sticks are in place, this time on the horizontal edges.
Next, I seated painting 2 on the platform thus created, and also facing paint-side up. There’s about 1/4″ between the paintings, which is great.
For painting 3, wettest of the oil paintings, I faced it downwards. I was careful to seat it where the chopstick dividers would rest against the painting’s edges. Once positioned, I used some packing tape to bind the whole “sandwich” firmly together, as seen below.
The third and final painting, the wettest, is placed wet-side inwards. on top of the prior painting. The entire “sandwich” is then snugly and carefully taped into place with packing tape.
When this was done, it was only a matter of wrapping the combined paintings in some sturdy brown wrapping paper, and taping them closed.
Since I decided to carry them in my suitcase, I took a moment to indicate the contents on the wrapping, in the off-chance that my bags were opened for inspection.
Paintings wrapped and ready for my suitcase. On the off-chance that the bag is opened for inspection, I’ve marked the package descriptively.
I hope this is helpful to others. The whole process took about 20 minutes, and everything survived the flight perfectly.
This morning, Honolulu was greeted with overcast skies, so I immediately changed my painting plans to take advantage of the situation… because an overcast day is ideal for painting ocean studies.
“Ocean studies” are exercises. In painting and drawing, we gradually educate ourselves about the behavior and look of the ocean by repeated exposure. The more of this direct contact I have, the more fluent I’ll become, enabling me to paint with more confidence and authority.
With ocean work, “overcast” helps
Overcast is good because it’s on such days that I find the ocean easiest to paint. In Hawai’i, perhaps unlike other areas, finding shade to work in is critical. Oftentimes, the rocky coastlines I prefer lack shade. So it’s great news when we have some good cloud cover.
Some other points regarding overcast days:
-Almost all the values (shades of dark & light) will fall in the middle range. What this means is that the lightest whites of the breaking waves are slightly less than the pure white on my palette. The darks in rocks are slightly less dark than my darkest pigments. Therefore, our notes of color become closer to what can be reached with paint.
-Because sunlight is restricted, the effect of sunlight is diffused and doesn’t change as much during the painting session. This might give me more time to paint before the light changes.
My purpose in making studies
In anything I refer to as a “study”, my main intention is to learn by doing.
If a study looks good when finished, that’s terrific, and I want that to be the case. But that isn’t the entire target. Ocean studies are an ongoing seeking-out of design ideas, the “notes” of color (the actual look of the color in the right value), and the shapes and rhythms of the sea. By exposure to direct observation, brush in hand, a vocabulary can be built. That’s a skill I want to have internalized so that when struggling with a painting I’ll have a reliable sense of when I’m getting close to the look of nature….and when I’m not.
Ignore the spectacular
The ocean possesses numerous sensitive moods, and each has artistic value. The dramatic crashing wave-against-rock theme is not the only possibility, so it’s wise to become aware of others. The observation of the quiet-but-telling secondary actions of the sea is of great importance and is possibly the most difficult. Understanding that waves are visible, fluid manifestations of energy is a good framework for launching out on the work of painting the ocean, and if viewed that way, we may find interesting motives for paintings.
Getting practical
I’m generally hoping to be out early for ocean work. My setup is with a lightweight easel and color box that I’ve been favoring over the last few years. I carry the minimum of things needed, refined from a lot of practice, and pack my equipment the prior evening. When I arrive at the location, I don’t haul my equipment around looking for a spot. Rather, I look for my spot and then bring my equipment to it.
My palette for the ocean includes (Lead) White, Yellow Ochre, Cadmium Lemon, Indian Red, Permanent Crimson, and Viridian; for blues, Cerulean, Cobalt, and Ultramarine, and finally Ivory Black. For the painting to follow, I chose an 11 x14″ oil-primed wooden panel. This is large enough to allow some freedom of brushwork, but small enough to complete in a few hours. As the photos show, it’s mounted against a neutral gray backing, which allows a consistent middle gray around the margin of the study; this helps me judge things a bit better.
Composing
I always try to think through the composition of anything I put my brush to. That’s a discipline I need to practice. Art ultimately is dependent on taste…and so each step can at least be an effort in the direction of making better choices.
In this case, my interest was the action of the largest wave. Since the painting is so middle-value, I chose to include the rock (which is stationary and dark), and place it where I thought it would be most helpful to the overall design. This gave me something dark to measure the other values against. Also, the wet sand aspect introduced the only truly warm color notes (ochre), and added to the dark of the rock, really helps bring the study to life.
I always want the largest shapes (sky, sea, sand, white of the waves, etc) to contribute to an interesting pattern in and of themselves. In this case the division shown on the white panel, though done quickly, does reflect some concern for realizing that. Notice there’s a small “x” mark painted in the center of the canvas… it’s a help to arranging those big shapes. The lines are painted in after some planning with light charcoal lines, which were dusted off before the paint went on.
Painting general-to-specific
I always begin work from the most general towards the specific. This applies to shapes, values, and colors. So after the drawing in of the main shapes, my next objective is to seize the overall color-cast of this morning, which is a gray and cool effect. The best place is to begin with the sky, the furthest element from me and also the source of the light.
I mix a general value of blue gray, getting as close in color as I can to what I’m seeing. Using a large filbert brush I begin to lay-in the sky with a hearty amount of paint. I use individual brushloads placed side by side, something like a mosaic. My task here is to cover the white panel with a general value of each main color area. Once I get this, I will come back and refine the work. Virtually everything in my painting will be treated more than once, or more times. In the general-to-specific approach, it’s important to get the entire painting started (general), and suspend working on the specific (smaller elements and details) until that’s accomplished. Then, revisit each element, drawing it all together into a cohesive visual whole.
As I am doing this, I’m also watching the general motion of the sea, and considering how I might best capture the action of the waves, the purpose of the study.
Initial lay-in of pigment
An important point to keep in mind, and the reason for starting with the sky, is that whatever is going on there is also happening in the ocean. Students hear me refer to the sky and the ocean as a married couple; one’s mood is affecting the other’s mood directly.
As I get the general effect of the sky in place, I begin to work that color down into the color of the water. Because we have overcast conditions, I can get the actual colors and values I see in the water without too much trouble.
Continuation of lay-in
The large area of broken white water, generated by the breaking wave and shallow, sandy bottom, is a matter of getting just the right value of gray. I carefully mix what I need and, adjusting as I go, lay it in to the area. I’m using as much pigment as I can get on the brush, with only a touch of linseed oil. A well-loaded brush and individual brushstrokes placed one against the other is my procedure for building the painting.
My next move requires care….the general color of the rock, and especially it’s shadow side, needs to be dropped into place. because the dark shadow is the low end of my value scale.”How low”, compared to straight black, is important to judge correctly. I also look at the temperature of the dark (warm or cool?) and place it. Now, I can judge everything in the painting between the lightest and darkest notes of value…and adjust confidently now that these vital “bookends” are established.
Nearly completed
As the morning progresses, I have a nice amount of paint built up on the canvas. I’ve taken real care in getting the color of the face of the wave, the middle note, as close as I can to what I’m seeing. Having Viridian on my palette is important for this.
The sun’s made it’s presence known, having moved from behind the clouds and created some light/dark contrast in the green area of the wave. I now paint those darker notes with a reasonably large brush, thinking about the direction of the strokes. At this stage, how my brush work may add to the vitality of the action is paramount. During the initial lay in, it was less so. Because I have a good body of paint in place, these darker strokes ease into the existing paint beautifully.
The completed study, framed
After about 90 minutes, the sunlight has managed to overcome the gray skies, and it’s unwise to continue. Doing so would introduce an entirely different concept, and one must avoid “chasing the light”.
I bring the painting back to the studio, and from memory and best judgement I make some adjustments. This stage, in actuality, is clarifying and simplifying. We don’t always make the best choices in the heat of battle, so checking back on the morning’s work after a break is always good.
Again, I’d like this to be a beautiful piece, but my real mission has been to objectively study the ocean, adding to my general knowledge of the sea. I add my monogram signature, and in 6 months the study will receive varnish for protection.
As we wade into this topic, you should know that I love Rembrandt’s drawings and look at them often…for both pleasure and for learning purposes. You should also know that I’m not a Rembrandt scholar. I’m simply an artist eager to look at Rembrandt drawings to learn about composition…and whatever else great painters such as Rembrandt might have used to put their pictures together.
The Miracle on the Water
The drawing we’re looking at here is one of many Rembrandt drew around New Testament Biblical accounts. In this case, the telling of Christ’s miracle of walking on the water, and specifically the Gospel of Matthew account, which is the only one to mention Peter’s attempt to walk on the water himself. For those interested or unfamiliar, you can read the biblical accounts here.
Rembrandt’s purpose in making the drawing was likely to work out how he might present the story visually in a painting. Whether he intended this drawing to be viewed by the public or drew it as a private expedition, I can’t say…the scholars might know. But either way, it’s likely a compositional drawing…concerned with deciding on the viewer’s (that’s us) point of view, choosing the characters involved, and pinning down the precise point of action to be depicted.
Rembrandt’s “Christ Walking on the Water” 1638, from the British Museum
It’s such a curious drawing… delicate and refined in some portions and heavier in line and rougher in effect in others. Compare the refinement of the figures of Christ and Peter to the boxier character climbing out of the boat. You can easily imagine that his legs, simply drawn, are an afterthought and his figure originally ended at the railing of the boat as his smaller companions does. That difference contributes to my idea that it was a working sketch, with choices and changes evolving along the way.
An organized sketch
Though sketch like, the drawing is a clearly organized arrangement. You can always look to Rembrandt for wonderful lessons in organization and leading the eye. There’s a sweep from Christ’s figure on the left to the boat’s hull and back, which provides a sort of rocking feeling that is appropriate to the conditions of the sea. But I also find that after we step inside the drawing, there’s a particular path our attention wants to follow. As with many Rembrandt drawings, this is arranged deliberately.
Here’s a diagram of the triangular relationship that’s at the heart of the drawing. Thoughtfully considered, one will notice a sequential arrangement of not only the actions but the intentions of the characters involved.
Triangular relationship of key actions
As the Gospel story indicates, only Peter asked the he might leave the boat. So what is interesting is how the characters are illustrating, and I’d say animating, an entire sequence of action.
A sequential animation?
Due to placement, Christ’s figure attracts our attention from the start, and we easily follow His arm to poor, foundering Peter, angled so powerfully in Jesus’ direction. From there, our attention most easily moves up and to the third corner of the triangle with the boldly drawn (and unidentifiable) character just leaving the boat. Look at that figure’s elbow forming the right corner of our triangle. Does he even seem aware of what’s going on beneath him? And to the left of him, we see the young-looking fellow tucked away behind. He’s only observing…but an important element, bridging the space from the boat over to the head of Christ reaching down to rescue Peter, their hands almost, but just not quite, touching (a wonderful choice). And the animation repeats itself…a cycle of questioning, deciding, acting, failing, and finally rescuing. A profound statement of the faith process.
A subtle, interesting light source
Another surprising feature of this drawing started with my questioning the indications of light and shade in the drawing. Often Rembrandt’s more complete drawings utilized tones of wash to indicate light and shade, but not in this case. This is a line drawing only; though somewhat rough in the application, there are (what artist’s call) cast shadows on the hull of the boat, and correspondingly on the ocean. A cast shadow occurs when an object, in this instance the boat, is completely blocking the light source…(the darker the shadow, the brighter the light) and the figure of Christ and of Peter are very carefully shaded with even hatching lines, exactly as if backlit. I wondered about the intention of this, but the reason gradually became clear. The oval behind Christ is a representation of the moon, and we then remember (from the biblical account) that this drawing represents a nighttime event.
I invite you to try and view the drawing in that sense…do you agree that the drawing becomes a much richer experience? Hopefully you can imagine and admire the thinking and visualization necessary to put this together, and yet we should not be surprised. Rembrandt’s drawings are like that.
I’d love to hear your comments and thoughts!
(And, as sometimes is the case, there’s been recent suspicion that the drawing is not by Rembrandt! You can find British Museum information concerning that here).
If you’d like to read my post of another Rembrandt analysis, it’s found here.
