I spent the afternoon out painting yesterday and came back to the studio with nothing—a failed watercolor painting, a real dog. As I sat looking at it and the other "dog", an oil I'd painted the day before, I felt an old familiar feeling begin to creep over me: would I ever produce a winner again?. One might think that after more than 30 years of painting this question would no longer be part of my private soul-searching. Wrong. I'll admit, it is a less frequent occurrence, but when it happens, it is even MORE discouraging because of the years put in, the time, the past successes. When you are a beginner, you expect some unsuccessful efforts. But at this stage of the game?
Yes. At this stage of the game and at any stage of the game. Years of experience up the ante, but if we are serious about our work we will always demand more from ourselves. Our standards grow with us in the quest for excellence.What may have satisfied us earlier will not suffice now. But what do we do with this grinding, deflated feeling of failure, the discouragement that hangs over us like a dull curtain?
Let's get some perspective. We are searching for excellence, right? In order to improve our skills, we have to 1) be in the "learning zone"(see blog of 7/25/10), where comfort is not a consideration; and 2) we have to be willing to fail. So...knowing these two things let's reevaluate the "failed" painting experience. Is it a failed painting or a valuable step to the next good—maybe even great—painting? A seed sowed in roughed up but now fertile soil? Can we dare to be grateful for this mess we see before us? And even if we can theoretically reason ourselves into gratitude, what action can we take to move past this disheartened feeling and realize some tangible benefit right now?
What I did was this:
I took the watercolor outside to the hose and scrubbed it down to a mere ghost of its former self, then put it up on my easel to dry. I took my painting knife to the oil and scraped the canvas clean, down to, yes, a mere ghost of itself. Then I sat back, had a cup of tea, and contemplated each pale offering. I waited for the paintings to speak to me.
After a while, I was able to see places where my drawing was weak and tentative. I saw where my composition could be reorganized and strengthened. I could see that I got fussy, too detailed, neglecting to define the big shapes. I realized I had been focused on painting "things" instead of the big shapes, color, value and edges. It was if I were looking at the process of the paintings instead of the paintings themselves.
I picked up my brushes and began to paint over the ghost paintings with big bold brave shapes of color. I felt the sense of freedom that comes whenever there is no expectation. Almost immediately an old familiar feeling washed over me . . . PASSION!
In class we are continuing to train our artist's eye to see color changes every time there is a plane change in an object. Above is last week's still life study painted indoors in incandescent light. Notice the "notes" of color on the fruit, and how they change as the planes change. We are not using lighter or darker versions of the same hue to show form, we are making actual color changes. Notice, also, the cast shadows on the different colored cloths. Shadows are cool, however, there are varying degrees of cool. The cast shadow on the cooler green cloth is a cooler shadow color; on the warmer yellow cloth, the cast shadow is a warmer shadow color. As we refine our artist's eye by practicing these studies, our paintings begin to blossom with vibrant color!
Last week we discussed the type of practice that yields the most satisfying results: deliberate practice. In order to grow as painters, we have to challenge ourselves with our practice, not simply stay in our comfort zone, painting over and over again an image that satisfies our desire for immediate gratification. We have to be willing to place ourselves and our ego in the precarious situation of uncertainty. In other words, we have to be willing to fail in order to improve.
In his book, Talent Is Overrated, Geoff Colvin writes of three practice zones:
Zone 1 is the "comfort" zone
Zone 2 is the "learning" zone
Zone 3 is the "panic" zone
Performance progress takes place in Zone 2, The Learning Zone, where the student is challenged to perform just beyond his or her reach—enough to be out of the comfort zone—but not too far beyond as to cause complete confusion and discouragement.
As painters, what we are practicing is not technique, but seeing. With each study, we are challenging ourselves to see the color of light on objects (or the landscape or a figure), on a particular day, at a particular time, in a particular environment. Each situation is unique, there is no formula. We attempt to translate the color changes we see using the pigments we have on our palettes. It is an ongoing journey with each new subject, with each new day. What can be more exciting?
This is a demo study of round objects painted indoors in incandescent light. It is more difficult to differentiate the shadow from the light masses in round objects than it is in blocks. We are challenged to find the light and dark masses without the help of the clearly defined edges of the blocks. However, if we keep an image of our block studies in mind when assessing the set-up, we have more chance for success. Imagine a block sitting next to one of the clementines. Ask yourself where will the shadow and light masses fall? Transfer that information to your round objects. Simplify the shapes into one light and one dark mass.
When painting, remember to keep the light and the half-lights in the light planefor the first few passes. In the above study, you can see how the light masses are clearly defined even though there are color changes within the mass. The colors in this light mass all stay within the "light" family. It all reads as light.
The same principle follows for the shadow masses, the value must stay in the "shadow" family. When you are looking at your set-up, squint your eyes until the colors you see in the objects reduce themselves to only light and dark masses or shapes. When you paint the shadow mass, even though there may be several color changes within the shadow, make sure the shadow shape maintains its value integrity. Observe the shadow on the white pitcher above. Although there are several color changes within the shadow, they all stay in the "dark" family. When you squint it down, it should appear as one shadow.
Reflected light is difficult to paint correctly. Although the color differs from the other shadow colors, the value of the reflected light mustmaintain the integrity of the shadow mass. If it doesn't, it will not read as reflected light, but will appear as an odd shape instead of part of the shadow. In my demo above you can see reflected light from the clementine on the bottom right side of the pitcher. This reflected light does not seem quite dark enough to me. It almost pops out of the shadow family into a lighter value. I've kept it this way so you can see for yourself. Squint it down and observe how it just barely (if at all), stays within the shadow mass.
When setting up a still life for practicing round objects—vases or fruit—make sure you choose objects that have a solid color. Variegated fruit or shiny or transparent vases are not good for seeing the color changes in the masses. Stick with opaque solid colors in your objects and in the cloths. Keep practicing!
This is a watercolor block study in sunlight that I painted as a demo for my students last week. The block study is the first step in learning how to paint using color to show form. The "colorist" or Impressionist movement is based on the premise that every time there is a plane change in an object, there is a color change as well. This is not a new observation; it emerged about 150 years ago in Europe. It is not a technique, it is a way of seeing.
As more colorful pigments were introduced to artists in the middle of the 19th century, color began to take a more prominent role in their paintings. New pre-mixed paints in metal tubes freed artists to paint outdoors, instead of being confined to their studios where they had to grind their own pigments. Claude Monet began to discover, by painting the same outdoor scene over and over again at different times of day in different weather, that the color and quality of light falling on the same object changed the color of that object profoundly. He realized he was actually painting the color of light instead of the object itself. Thus Impressionism was born. Although there have been many permutations and "isms" in the evolution of art since that time, the colorist tradition has been carried forward.
American Impressionists such as William Merritt Chase, Charles Hawthorne and Henry Hensche kept the flame alive. Hawthorne founded the Cape Cod School of Art in 1899. His protegé Henry Hensche became the director in 1930. Hensche died in 1992. I have had the privilege of studying, in oils, with several of Henry Hensche's students through the years. Along my path as a painter, this way of seeing and painting is by far the most exciting and challenging. My goal is to interpret in watercolor what I have learned in oils. Painting block studies in various lighting situations is the first step to glorious paintings filled with color and light.
I had hoped to blog from France, but we were pretty isolated and the wifi connection was poor. I hit the ground running after I got back. Five new paintings were due to my gallery, and luckily there were five from the trip that I matted, framed and delivered on time. Next day taught my Tuesday morning class and later on that week wrote a new poem for the Friday poetry group. Phew!! Not being able to relax and nurture any jet lag, I came down with some kind of stomach virus. No fun!
France was a valuable experience. Although there was a bit too much sightseeing and not enough painting time for my taste, I was very pleased with the students' work. We had a newly built art studio to use, which came in handy because it rained a few times. Most of the days were grey days, so we got to practice our light skies and darker, closer-in-value ground planes. I think it is more difficult to paint a grey day than a sunny day, and it is certainly more difficult to teach the colorist approach on a grey day. We were all hoping for sun, but didn't get much of it. One morning I went out before anyone else was up and found a bit of "bright" if not sun, for an hour or so.
I enjoyed painting with gouache while I was there. In the past I have used gouache on top of watercolor, but this time I used gouache exclusively on several pieces and was pleased with the result. The pigment particles of gouache are large and opaque, so they sit on the surface of the paper, unlike watercolor. The resulting matte finish is even and very pleasing. There is something about the look and feel of gouache that captured the grey overcast weather and the intense green of the ground plane perfectly. Here is one of my gouache late afternoon grey day paintings.
"Cool and Cloudy"
John Singer Sargent, a master watercolorist, was very concerned with the surface quality of his watercolor paintings. History tells us that he would paint the same image over and over, not only to achieve the look of effortlessness, but also to preserve the pristine surface quality of the paper. In contrast, Winslow Homer, another watercolor giant, scraped, scratched, rubbed and overpainted on the same paper to achieve the results he wanted, surfaces bedamned. I am with Sargent on this; I love surface qualilty.
I'll be posting some daily paintings for auction on eBay soon.
I went in to the de Young today to see the "Birth of Impressionism" exhibit. It opens to the public this Saturday, June 22. Birth of Impressionism. The Musée d'Orsay in Paris is being remodeled, and they have sent some of the most famous works here to San Francisco during the renovation. How lucky for us! This is the only venue where they will be exhibited in the US. The exhibit is in two parts. This first part extends through September 6, 2010.
The exhibition begins with some pieces that were representative of the conservative Salon pieces of the day that had allegorical, mythical and religious themes with the idealization of the female form. The brushwork was hardly noticeable and the surface of the canvas was silky smooth. Some of the works were monumental in size. If you've read any of the history of the Impressionist movement, you will know that the Impressionist group rebelled at this traditional Salon fare and that the Salon scoffed at the casual themes and loose gestural brushwork of this new radical group. It was a struggle of the "old" versus the "new" art. I have always been fascinated by this period in history and I think you will too. At any rate, it was a thrill to see in person some of the works I've been looking at and reading about for years.
Among many stunning and well known pieces, some highlights for me were "The Floor Scrapers" (Caillebot), "Study in Grey and Black" (Whistler-Whistler's Mother), "The Swing" (Renoir), "The Dancing Lesson" (Degas) and a snow scene by Monet and several wonderful pieces by Manet. Because Cezanne emerges in the latter part of the Impressionist movement, (he's really a Post-Impressionist), there were only three of his pieces. I love Cezanne and am looking forward to the second part of the exhibition from the d'Orsay in which I'm hoping there will be more Cezannes. I was disappointed there was only one piece of Berthe Morrisot's. She's one of my favorite Impressionists. One of the most surprising pieces was "The Pedicure" by Degas. An odd subject for a painting, I had never seen it before and I absolutely loved it! See it above.
I feel emotional when I am in the presence of great art and its history. Today was no exception. Standing in front of these masterpieces is a spiritual experience for me. No matter how many times I visit museums, it never changes. I am so grateful to be able to see these paintings, albeit sometimes through tears!
I leave for France on Saturday to teach a 10-day painting workshop. I am very excited about this. I will blog from Southwest France if there is an internet connection available. If not, then I'll be in touch after June 4th.
This is what we painted last week in class. It is a view from outside my studio.
Almost every beginning painting student hopes to paint a wonderful piece of art. Yet a majority of these students do not avail themselves of the one tool that will guarantee progress: daily practice. I have encountered so many beginning painters whose expectations, upon first picking up a brush, are quite unreasonable. If the result of a few hours of dabbing doesn't produce a piece that is framable, they berate themselves as having no talent, or worse, a failure. I try to impress on my students the need and the importance of practice. Charles Hawthorne an American painter and teacher, encouraged his students to practice by doing many "starts", telling them that the finishes will take care of themselves. By doing starts—and stopping when you no longer know what you are doing—you will make progress far quicker than laboring for hours or days over the one large "masterpiece". With each start, one is able to go a little farther towards completion.
Having taught both piano and painting, it is interesting to observe the differences in students. My piano students were not only willing, they expected to have to practice their scales and exercises daily. They would no more expect to play a Mozart piano concerto in the first six months of lessons than fly to the moon. Not so for the painting student. Some beginning painters are perfectly capable of expectations that far exceed common sense. On the first or second try at picture making, they are often soundly disappointed. When I suggest daily practice doing starts or small 6 X 6" paintings, I am often met with surprise. They do not accept the fact that these early paintings contain the seeds of their next painting, that they have to paint, as one of my teachers told me years ago, "acres of paintings" to get to the good ones. Many students show up for class, stating they haven't "picked up a brush since last class", yet they expect improvement.
As a teacher, my primary goal is to inspire my students. The more one practices, the better one gets and the more fun painting becomes. Throughout the journey, there are "aha" moments when plateaus are reached and the act of painting becomes almost an out of body experience. Often it does not take "acres" of paintings to paint some good ones. It boils down to the simple fact that if one wants to become a painter one has to PAINT!
This image is a 6 X 6" demo I did for class. Last week one of my students brought some fresh strawberries for the class. Because it was raining we couldn't go out to paint, so we stayed inside and ate and painted strawberries!
In my ongoing painting classes, I ask my students to arrive a half hour before class begins so that I can give them feedback on work they've done on their own during the week. In my years of teaching I have noticed that many of the more experienced students are their own best critics. They ask questions like,"Is the mountain too dark?" or "Should the shadow on the grass be a bit cooler?" I typically tell them if you have to ask, you already know the answer.
There exists among some painters a phenomenon that I call the "apron string" syndrome. This affliction is characterized by a pervasive lack of artistic confidence. However long some of these painters have been slogging away at their craft, they invariably defer to someone else for the final OK, the ultimate decree that the piece is finished and framable.
That is not to say there is no value in seeking out the opinion of teachers and artists whose work one admires and whom one considers a mentor. A great painter is always student. However, there comes a time when one must take the ultimate responsibility for the decisions and the marks he or she makes. This is a liberating step in one's artistic journey.
