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.
By this, I mean that to improve, I need to work on my skills. It doesn’t matter what the thing is…many aspects of being an artist require that skills get “under your skin”…become subconscious and natural.
Have you ever thought of art as a discipline? It’s wise to give it a try.
Following Good Examples
From a young age I made progress when making an effort to emulate something that had moved me. In my ongoing search (and I sincerely hope you’ll have your own), I’d find heroes… and then ask myself what do they have that I don’t?
In time I saw that I want my drawing to be fluent…with color both representative and inspired. And I need a design that makes the most of everything that the subject offers. These are examples of the sort of things we all need to identify about our own taste. And each of us will need to discover what moves us inwardly enough to take the risk of hard pursuit.
Arthur Melville (1855-1904) Scottish artist
My hungry eye has led me to discover artist’s I never would have dreamed existed. This beautiful watercolor by Arthur Melville contains much of what I respond to. It’s an example of casual appearance which disguises his powerful ability to compose, draw, and then execute something that, we might guess, was only a brief impression on the artists’ mind. I’m grateful to have discovered his work, because he possesses the vitality and skill that I desire to obtain. From this example, and the work of many others, I get insights…. and then look for ways to practice what I’ve learned.
I look at using exemplars, like Arthur Melville, as hints to what I could do using my own living environment. In his painting above, I see a well drawn solitary figure, surrounded with plenty of suggested activity. There are subtle echoes of shape and color, and an excellent dark/light pattern.
Where can I find something that would have those elements now, in our world?
Putting Inspiration to Work
During the period of the COVID restrictions, I decided to visit our local green market on Saturdays. This was one of the few places where people could gather communally (albeit very supervised) and go about the business of life. I would take my traveling watercolor kit over with 1/8th sheets (7.5″x 10″) watercolor paper and then search to find a shady spot to paint from. This meant being wedged into areas between parked commercial vehicles, behind the scenes. Privacy was never guaranteed, but I’m used to onlookers and questions. From these cramped little shade-puddles I tried to compose and paint.
It’s Just Practice
I viewed these works as practice opportunities. Arranging elements, capturing fleeting effects, and convincingly drawn figures who were often there for moments at a time. It’s juggling and there’s never a dull moment.
Even as I write this now, I’m reminded of John Sargent’s quip that watercolor is “making the most of an emergency”.
Each painting is 7.5″ x 10″, and usually represents a single visit of a couple hours duration. I hope this energizes you to have a look at your personal world and see what’s possible.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
