This month I had the opportunity to get to the mainland, primarily on a family visit to Portland, Oregon. While there I spent a gloriously cold morning with my beloved eight by ten inch pochade box painting a street scene from my old stomping grounds in Portland’s Southwest side.
It’s a special thing to be back in a place that holds so much that is terribly dear to me, but that has also changed tremendously.
While working out the painting, I was happy to meet a number of very nice and very encouraging passers-by. That was a plus, because I didn’t know what working on the streets would be like anymore. And, of course, the more time I spent my considering my surroundings, the more it became an indicator of how much both Portland and I have changed since my leaving in 1985.
Purposeful Painting
Somehow, when you’re painting something you know and care for, the work just goes better. You don’t have to dig up a rationale for choices, or to dwell on how it might be received. You’re invested…it’s got a built-in purpose, a token of gratitude and affection. I hope that reads in the final work.
“Every good picture is fundamentally an arrangement of three or four large masses-“
So begins Chapter 1 in my aged copy of “Elementary Principles of Landscape Painting”, by John F. Carlson (now revised and available as Carlson’s Guide to Landscape Painting).
Like many others, I really admire John Carlson’s landscape paintings. I first encountered them face-to-face at the Grand Central Art Gallery in NYC. And this was about the time I’d heard about his book, “Carlson’s Guide to Landscape Painting”. But I have to say that when you see his work on a wall… it’s deep and it’s impressive. You know it’s the work of a painter who valued his craft and was genuinely responding to nature in a powerful way. And that leads to paying much closer attention to what he had to say back in 1928, when his book was first published. I can only hope that everyone who has read it might also, someday, have the chance to see his work personally.
John F. Carlson “Snow Lyric”, undated, oil on canvas 16.25 x 20.25″ Image courtesy of The Athenaeum
Carlson’s Theory of Angles and Consequent Values
One of the great practical lessons from the book is Carlson’s summation of how light affects the elements of the landscape.
He refers to it as the “Theory of Angles and Consequent Values”. Carlson recognized that any landscape typically possesses four groups of values (degrees of light and dark) affecting three major planes… the horizontal ground plane, the angle plane represented by mountain slopes, rooftops, etc., and finally an upright plane, perpendicular to the ground plane, which can include anything from trees and walls to a standing human.
In order to interpret the landscape in a painting successfully, an artist needs to simplify and organize nature. Values are that which make form visible. Translating nature into value patterns,(i.e. grouping of lights and darks into shapes), are one of the ways of doing so. Applying Carlson’s theory makes that much easier.
“The first two things to study are form and values. For me, these are the bases of what is serious art.” -Camille Corot
When daylight is overhead, as it would be at noon for example, the sky is the source of light and therefore occupies the highest values on the gray scale. The ground plane receives the largest amount of light, and accordingly is the next lightest value plane. The slanted/angular planes receive less exposure to direct light than the ground plane and so rest within a middle-value range. This leaves everything in the upright plane to become the darkest value element.
While this is a wonderful help in creating order, it’s also a little abstract when read on the printed page alone.
A Model
Because of this, I decided it would be easier to understand if I had a physical model, and over time I’ve built several. Most recently a student and I assembled one out of white foam core, which makes Carlson’s theory much more tangible. I thought it would be fun to share with others who may want to repeat the exercise themselves.
The Carlson model assembled and drying
We added a small structure at an angle for additional interest, which isn’t from Carlson’s original description.
When finished and assembled ( using a steel ruler, an X-acto knife, acid-free Foamcore, and Lineco PVA glue), we put the model outdoors in daylight with the sun directly overhead. The results are shown below.
The model outdoors in noonday light. The cast shadow is the darkest value, the ground plane the lightest.
This pencil drawing, from my prior post, remains as a solid summary of what I’m after in my final piece.
I’ve relied on it to refresh my memory…in the heat of constructing a night painting, it’s easy to gradually lose oneself along the way. One needs an anchor, a plan, and I’d be lost without it eventually.
Small Pencil Sketch
The Essential Question
So, what am I after? It’s hard to know with certainty. It’s not a commercial question, though it’s a given that I’ll be doing my best to make it as beautiful as I possibly can. But there has to be something communicated, something that I see and consider worth attempting to help you to see. And as I progress through these stages of organizing the picture, that’s the thing to be cleared up.
Right now, all I know is that I want to create an emotional response like what I’ve experienced at night, out on those cliffs. And to communicate it clearly to others. I hope that this basic motivation will become more nuanced as I proceed.
The Practical: Finding My Way
One of the particular difficulties is that the final painting must be done in the studio, and from studies that cannot be executed directly from nature. It’s too dark outside. So my “visual memory” must be sharp and reliable enough to put things together. And that’s not a clearly established procedure like some other aspects of painting. I’m finding my way gradually.
At this point I’ve determined that the next step forward, now that the basic color/mood sketch and thumbnail are established, (here), is to make studies of the clouds. They are the most complex and dramatic elements in the painting. Accomplishing this will enable me to work out my composition intelligently.
The Cloud Studies
I painted three main cloud studies from a nearby hilltop over several sessions. I sketched in the ocean beneath for scale.
It’s crucial to decide where the light source is to be in the final painting. I’ve decided it will be the moon, and positioned directly above the view, and out of the canvas. This was established in the thumbnail sketch. This is an important consideration and especially for a night painting. I want the moon outside the canvas because I would like to attempt to suggest it’s effect without including it.
Because of this, I hit upon the idea to paint the cloud studies outdoors at noontime, when the sun illuminating the clouds from directly overhead would replicate the moon at night. I could then paint the forms I saw being created by sunlight on the clouds with confidence that they could translate into the night time effect by adjusting the values.
The cloud studies in order, 11 x 14″ each.
These studies were essential and are extremely useful…not only for a night painting, but as contributing to my general knowledge. I know that work one does from nature, with all it’s hassles, roots itself in an artist’s mind in a unique way. And they were great fun to work on! Forms like clouds need to be rearranged and manipulated to move the eye within the painting; I’ve come to know that clouds are among the most flexible and reactive of the forms occurring in nature. Full of surprises, expressive, and very, very beautiful.
I’ll be springing the final study in my next installment. Mahalo (thank you) from the South Pacific!
For artists who draw with a plumb line regularly, here’s a nice addition to your box.
The tools of drawing are pretty simple, but over time have a way of becoming lifelong companions. A well seasoned palette that fits the arm well, a mahlstick that’s been with you for years…these small things count for something in the pleasure and challenges of our work.
I began using a plumb line years ago. At that time it was a simple arrangement of a small lead fishing weight and some black thread. I still have my original from back when and it works fine, but after seeing students come up with some awful makeshift contrivances (when I wasn’t looking!) I decided to try and raise the bar for them. This upgrade is simple to do and works well.
You’ll need a few things first.
Brass lampshade finials. Check your hardware store for these.
Strong black thread. Black reads best in multiple situations, the thread I have is of a similar strength to that of dental floss. Upholsterer’s thread might be best.
Candle wax or paraffin.
Electric drill and small bit (5/64th or smaller) and a vise or clamp.
The brass finials are inexpensive and easily available, and also a perfect weight.
To begin you’ll need to drill a small hole after securing the finial in a vice. Enter with the drill bit from the threaded side, and drill a clean bore all the way through. Brass is soft and pretty easy to drill.
You should be shooting for holes like the ones below.
Next, take about 20″ of your sturdy black thread and tie up a big knot of some fashion that is larger than the hole you’ve drilled. Thread the other end through the exterior hole and back through the finial, pulling it until the knot is snug against the brass.
Next, pack or drip wax into the threaded end of the finial, adjusting the black thread so it is perfectly centered. There may be a better solution than wax, but it’s usually handy and works. Let me know if you have an improvement to offer.
Trim and tie off the end…I find 18″ of thread to be more than enough, and it’s better to be a bit long than too short. For storing, I just wind around the weight.
I’ve just finished this new oil painting after many interruptions, mostly weather-related. But I managed to shoot some sequential images along the way, and I hope you find the process and progress interesting.
October Sun Oil on hand-primed linen, 26 x 28″
Setting Up
My setup for starting. I’m careful that the top of the canvas is perfectly level with the horizon, which you can see win the photo. I have a large pair of “Square Corners”, wooden right-angles, leaning against the right leg of the easel. When used as a viewfinder, these help tremendously with visualizing the composition. They are a must-have for composing from nature like this.
The drawing of the main lines, big shapes, and divisions of space on the canvas.
I start by placing a small x in the center of the canvas to build the composition around. Adjustments included enlarging the main tree in size from what nature provided, and moving the small island on the horizon to the far left of the canvas as a balancing measure. I’ve moved the horizon line up because it was too close to dead center.
All of this is important work and anticipates the end result I have in mind. Chances are good that anything I really dislike in the final painting is already taking root in a choice I’ve made at this stage. This part of the process can be done in one session, and an overcast day is fine for this step. I prefer to have some time back in the studio with the drawn-in painting to view the composition, preferably after leaving the location. That way I can be more objective about where I’m heading with the painting.
The composition is drawn in with a thinned mix of Ultramarine blue and Indian red and painted in with a hog-bristle round brush. I use a rag and a bit of Gamsol to wipe away any lines that need removing or adjusting.
Proceeding into Light, Shade and Color
Once light and color are introduced, the painting sessions require similar light. And as the painting progresses day to day, the window of painting time narrows to accommodate the specific effect I’m painting.
A photo taken after one or two sessions of light/color work. You can see that I’m careful to have the canvas perfectly level with the horizon. I’ve established the lightest note of light ( white of the wave) and the darkest dark (foliage in shadow) and every other value-note should fall between those two spots. This photo is taken AFTER the actual work was finished for the day… one must work when the easel is in shade, because working with direct sunlight on the canvas throws the values off, making the darkest notes appear too light.
A long shot at the end of a session, close to the last one. The painting is pretty close to being finished. This is after the light effect has gone, which is a delightful time to be with the painting and in the place after an hours’ s hard work. Notice I’m practically alone on the beach!
Framing
While the painting is in progress, the other side of the effort is that I build and finish each frame for my paintings. This work takes place on days when I have time to chip away at the framing task, often in the middle of overcast days, since most of my painting is either early or later in the daylight hours.
I enjoy building the frames and take pride in being able to make something that intentionally complements each picture.
Here, I’m fitting the frame around the finished painting. I begin making color decisions for toning and finishing the wood with the painting in place. The frame will be sanded and shellacked for smoothness.
I first decide whether I want the frame’s effect to be darker than the dark notes of the painting, lighter, or somewhere in the middle. Dark makes the picture stand out (or”pop”, a word I don’t like!), but also can make the picture feel heavy in the room. This is especially true in Hawai’i , where light colors and an airy feel are part of a desirable interior. I choose to go with a middle tone, picking up on the colors in the shadows.
And here’s the final painting. October Sun, 26 x 28″, oil on hand primed linen. And currently available for sale.
When the opportunity arises, I’ve been working out some small figures in oil. Done in two to three hours, my goal in these small paintings is to see how much value, color and shape alone can form the image.
Any thoughtful observer of artists sees that as an artist’s abilities increase, they discard or reorganize much of the visual information present in their subject. Beginners, by contrast, are troubled by seeing everything. They possess little ability to edit what nature visually presents them, or perhaps understand the value of it.
As I chip away at these small oils, my goal is to see how much I can suggest with each touch of the brush…creating a mosaic of tones and colors that my viewer assembles.
I find it a very refreshing and intriguing approach to the visual world. I will be pursuing this more.
There is something to be said for hanging on to work that seems to be going nowhere. Can a lingering painting be revived?
This is a quarter sheet (11 x 15″) watercolor that was in a stack of unresolved pieces that occupy a drawer or two in my flat files, an Elephant’s Graveyard where works on paper (quite a few) are exiled when they refuse to stay airborne. Sometimes they see daylight again and come back into usefulness as the backside of a demonstration piece or practice sheet.
Makapu’u -End of the Beach 11 x 15″ Watercolor
This painting was probably started around three years ago from a plein air trip to this end of the beach. It caught my eye the other day…I remembered giving it up as being rather dark and unappealing. I was originally trying to go after the colors in the water using the darkness of the cliffs as a foil but didn’t feel it had a sufficient exit for the eye and lacked variety in the color.
Approaching it as a stranger now, I could see that with the addition of a few minuscule adjustments I could possibly bring it back to life. I lifted some paint for figures to provide some sense of scale, lost some edges, and deepened a wash or two. Not more than 30 minutes effort.
The lesson I take from this is that it’s sometimes good to work on multiple pieces and move from one to the next. When you reach an impasse or lose your enthusiasm….just give it time. There is no expiration date on a painting if the underpinnings of a decent idea might be lingering, waiting to be revived.
On many occasions, I’ll find a subject that requires an immediate response, so I take the plunge. But either weather, the poor quality of the light, or other circumstances make an in-depth plein air study hard to manage.
So, oftentimes I’m disappointed. The results of these plein air sketches are not as effective as they would be if they were more fully developed. And almost always the main weakness is in the composition. Either nature didn’t provide (or I didn’t recognize) a suitable arrangement of elements to make viewing the painting a fully satisfying experience.
This sketch (above) is a 7 x 11″ watercolor that is our case-in-point. It was sufficient in a no-frills way to capture the general effects. But the sunlight was on again/off again, I had interruptions from rain, and the composition now seems crowded into the rectangular format.
A Reminder and a Reference
The sketch’s real value to me is only this: when reviewed later, after I’ve moved on to other work, I’m reminded of visual/sensual experiences ( I mean sounds, smells, circumstances) that are now part of my memory. It conjures recollections much more like a movie than a snapshot. The sketch has become a reminder and a reference.
What artists know is that sketching something plants the entire experience of being somewhere much more firmly in the mind than passive observation or photography. The information from sketching is sifted. More personal as well as visual, gathered through the lens of our own personal temperament. And this added dimension ultimately enriches the final painting.
From this stage, I’m then able to deal with the composition.
As mentioned, the first sketch doesn’t suggest the grandness of the place. It’s hemmed in by the rectangle and lacks clear areas of interest. So I put together this second study (below) in my studio, making better use of the elements that nature provided as well as altering the composition to suit my desire for a better eyepatch and more interest.
Waimanalo watercolor study, 6 x 14″
This small study is still “the place”, but is now better organized to lead the eye in an interesting way. The addition of figures and refining and simplifying the shapes now give me something with more pictorial interest.
A Point of Departure
From here the watercolor can serve as a basis for many possibilities… an oil painting, a larger watercolor, or a pastel. In this instance I thought a larger painting in pastel would be a good response, to be worked up in my studio. So I used both the first sketch and study to refer to as I worked. I think I developed a better painting than I might have had otherwise…while making it much more “my own” in the process.
Here’s the easel setup with the watercolor study positioned so I can see it directly with the pastel painting. After several sessions I was able to complete the pastel.
And below is the final painting, now framed and in a private collection.
Makapu’u Head from Waimanalo, 10″ x 24″ Pastel. Private collection
One Final Thought
We obviously live in a time of technology, and the option of photography as a useful reference tool has been available and used by many painters for a long time. And undeniably, many beautiful works have resulted from this.
For my own efforts I have decided to invest in drawing and painting without the advantages/disadvantages of photography as much as possible. And I recommend that my students, while they are my students, try and do the same.
Art-making and life-living in our modern world have increasingly become solely results oriented. Labor saving devices are a wonderful blessing for the many people occupied in endlessly routine and stifling or tedious work. We’re thankful for labor saving devices whenever the labor is unpleasant, dangerous, or unprofitable.
But artworks are different. We are richer for the experience of interfacing with our subject over time, watching the many variations and possibilities, getting to know the subject in many moods.
