Oil Painting

As artists, we tend to accumulate frames that just don’t quite work. They may have gotten damaged being shipped to a gallery, or banged around being transporting to a show. Maybe they were “ok” frames, but the finish just wasn’t up to gallery standards, or the color didn’t compliment the art.
There are many ways to bring new life back to those old frames so they can come out of storage and proudly showcase your best art!

I have been a fine art restorer for over 35 years and have learned many tricks about repairing damaged frames that I would like to share. Most artists have the ability to refurbish their own frames, but they lack the know-how. Being able to modify your frames can not only save thousands of dollars, but can open a whole new opportunity to individualize and modify frames to be one of a kind pieces that will enhance your art.

I am going to give a step-by-step guide to create a lovely, hand-rubbed, soft black finish. These same steps can be used to modify an existing finish, or be used with other base colors (not just black). So have fun and get creative!
A friend and wonderful artist, Connie Kuhnle, has used some beautiful, soft, greyed colors for her plein air landscapes. One of my favorites is her antiqued mustard yellow frame on a white and yellow farmhouse scene…sheer perfection!!

I often use antiquing and waxing to add interest to a newly purchased frame that just doesn’t quite have the richness I desire. It is a fairly quick and simple step that can make a remarkable difference.

Frame Makeover

Supply list for warm black antique finish:

1. Black paint — I use semi gloss spray enamel, but any good quality, black acrylic enamel paint will work. You can use a brush-on, although you may find that you have some texture of the brush strokes in the finish. They may not be objectionable, depending on the finish you want.
2. Red paint — (optional)…same as the black. Used to create a red undertone.
3. Fine steel wool
4. Fine 280 grit sandpaper
5. Antiquing stain…raw umber oil paint will work, as will acrylic. you can also purchase a stain, like Minwax, in a dark walnut color.
6. Rottenstone
7. Wax or polish for wood (I like “Bison” Black ebony best)
8. Hammer with a claw side
9. Polyurethane wood finish, semi-gloss, brush or spray

If an antique white frame is desired, you will need white paint in place of black. This same finish works beautifully with a color as well.

1. Lightly sand original finish to cut the gloss a little and allow for better adhesion of the new paint.
2. Pound the frame casually, bouncing the claw-side of the hammer over the surface to create even (but not too uniform) scars and indentations if you want a more antique look.
3. If red undertone is desired, spray (or brush) on red paint. Allow to dry as per instructions on the paint.
4. Lightly rub with steel wool
5. Spray (or brush) on black enamel and allow to dry.
6. Use sandpaper on edges and across the surface to allow some red to show through and give a “worn” look to the finish. It is going to look best if you have fairly even streaking throughout the frame. If the streaking is not even, the frame will look splotchy.
7. Apply raw umber antiquing with a wide brush and wipe with a soft rag, paper towel, or cheesecloth to remove some, but not all, of the antiquing. Allow stain to remain in the crevices as well as the indentations that you made. Allow to dry.
8. Spray or brush with polyurethane finish to seal. Allow to dry.
9. Apply polishing wax and allow it to dry, then buff to a nice hand-rubbed luster.
10. Dust lightly with rottenstone…especially in crevices and detailing of frame. Buff again.

While the written steps may appear time consuming, they really are not. It is important to give each of the finish layers time to dry, so from start to finish, it will take a couple of days, but actual working time on the frame shouldn’t be more than an hour or two. With practice, you will find it easier and easier to achieve the results you are after and start adding your own variations to create one of a kind finishes!

Saying the last two years have been difficult is an understatement. It has been a dark period and for anyone that lost a loved one or was financially affected, you have my deep sympathy. 

I have heard many people speak about silver linings and positive outcomes like connecting with friends, family, or hobbies too long on the back burner. Challenging times can bring with them unexpected gifts, and I’d like to share with you how the past two years have helped me re-align with my deepest values, create a fresh business model, and find new forms of community. And while I don’t want to minimize the challenges we face, I find that I need to hear stories that inspire hope. That little bit of light gets me through the darkness. Perhaps my story will do the same for you. 

“Adversity introduces a man to himself.” – Albert Einstein 

As the pandemic swept the globe we were all thrust into a strange new world. One week I had a full teaching schedule for the year, and the next week everything was cancelled. My family and I had just bought a house and I worried how we would pay the mortgage in the coming months. 

Before the pandemic, I had experimented with doing private lessons online, but was underwhelmed. I saw the potential, but could never find the time to learn about cameras, microphones and streaming software. However, losing all of my in-person workshops made me realize I needed to come up with a new business model, and forced a time of intense learning. My goal was to create an online classroom for my students. It had to be simple and easy to use, but more importantly, it had to be a great learning experience for them. Easier said than done! 

Over the coming months, I spent 12-14 hours per day learning about A/V, video editing software, online classrooms, schedulers and payment processors — all the ways they work and don’t work together. I was in over my head and deeply outside my comfort zone. However, with persistence, the pieces gradually fell in place and I launched my online classroom and started teaching. The hard work paid off.  There was a lot of interest, my classes were full, and students loved the experience. The right tech solution was a must, but what made it special was the sense of community the classes created. Many students told me that this community, and our classes, have helped them get through the pandemic. Even though we were thousands of miles apart, we found a way to be connected, and joined together in a shared experience of learning to paint. 

“A man should not ask what the meaning of his life is, but rather he must recognize that it is he who is asked.” – Victor Frankl 

Creating community and contributing to others’ wellbeing through teaching is very fulfilling and touches on my core needs for contribution, meaning, and purpose. However, there was something still missing. When people asked me what I did for a living, I would tell them I was an artist’s assistant; when they asked who I worked for, I said, Dominique Medici. My days were full of admin, tech troubleshooting and customer support — very few hours per week were actually spent painting. As months passed, this problem only became more acute. Fair enough I suppose, making any business thrive is an all-encompassing endeavor. That said, the relentless pace of it all came at a huge cost to my well-being. 

This past spring was the end of a hard-core sprint. I had just finished making three instructional landscape videos to release over the summer months in order to give my students a way to practice while allowing me to take time off. I taught my last class, dropped my partner and kiddo off at the airport, and after returning home, collapsed exhausted on the sofa. I had been feeling unwell for a couple of weeks but was too busy to stop. Now however, I found myself too sick to get up for over a week. 

This was a real wake-up call. It gave me time to reflect, and I realized that even pre-pandemic, everyday was an incessant stream of needs, obligations and events to attend, and Covid just pushed it into an even more extreme mode. I was doing what I loved and grateful for it, but not feeling replenished in my daily activities. As an introvert, I derive a lot of my energy and inspiration from meditation, doing retreats and painting, precisely the things that were put on the back burner when the pandemic had me putting out fires in all other aspects of life. 

I habitually said yes to everything, be it an article or a presentation for an art school. While that was a good strategy at the beginning of my career, I realized that I had been working as a professional artist for many years and needed to start being more selective with what I take on. This meant cutting back on teaching, smaller commissions, events and anything that wasn’t a top priority aligned with my core values. I like being busy, but not if I abandon myself in the process. With that insight, I reestablished my daily meditation, walking, reading and painting practice. The things that ensure that I will able to offer the very best of myself in the years to come. 

“If you are quiet enough, you will hear the flow of the universe. You will feel its rhythm. Go with this flow. Happiness lies ahead. Meditation is key.” – Buddha 

As part of my painting practice, I started painting people I admire. One of them is Dr. Gabor Maté who is internationally renowned for his work on trauma, stress and addiction. In an interview he did with Russell Brand, I was struck by his humanity, wisdom and compassion. The authority and sincerity in his voice spoke to my heart. I painted him as I listened to the interview and it was one of the most effortless and joyful paintings I’ve had the pleasure to paint. 

Incidentally, one of my private students interviewed Dr. Maté for her charity. She shared a photo of my painting with him. To my surprise, a couple of days later I received an email;  Dr. Maté and his wife Rae loved the painting and wanted to acquire it! It was my great pleasure to hand deliver the painting and visit with them for a few hours. The conversation was meaningful and by the time I had left, I felt we were old friends. A couple of days later I was also pleased to learn that the painting won 3rd place in the Portrait Society of America’s members show. 

Perhaps we can’t avoid getting lost and losing sight of ourselves when challenges come, but finding our way back home has a way of distilling and clarifying what is most important, a process that can replenish our inner well. If we want to contribute to others, we first must take care of ourselves. We all know this and yet it is so easy to forget in practice. When we do remember, we are more ourselves; we are healthier and have more to offer. 

The past 2 years were an intense journey filled with hard work and challenges, some of which surprisingly brought me deeper self-connection and alignment with my values. Paradoxically, scaling back on external commitments and focusing on what I loved doing helped to increase my exposure in ways I found deeply meaningful and satisfying. We are not out of the woods yet, for many of us the struggle continues. But my sense of purpose feels clearer and this makes the journey manageable. My hope is to continue supporting my students by offering classes and instructional videos. If my students feel uplifted and inspired along the way, and continue to gain skill and insight, then I am doing something worthwhile with my time. 

There’s no painting like snow painting! Ever tried painting snow? …While also standing in snow? …Outside?

A few years ago, my family and I spent several days in California’s Eastern Sierras. We stayed in the town of June Lake which had snow on the ground when we arrived, and a few more inches fell during our stay. Temperatures were in the 20s (F) so we bundled up the kids (and ourselves) and enjoyed a little white before Christmas.

I managed to paint three small pieces while exploring the beautiful area. And let me be the first to state the obvious — painting in the snow is cooold. Beyond recommending that you dress as warmly as possible, I have a few, quick tips to share that might be of help when painting snow outdoors.

1. Prepare for the extra brightness, especially if the sun is out and reflecting off the snow. Set yourself up in the shade if possible. Lay down a black garbage bag or dark-colored blanket below your easel. It can reduce the brightness that’s blasting up from behind your palette and canvas. 
2. Pay attention to your feet. Waterproof shoes are great. Also, bring along something to insulate your feet from direct contact with the snow as you paint. Try standing on a piece of thick cardboard or plywood. For you coastal-dwellers, a boogie board works great!
3. Pay attention to your hands. Fingerless gloves (perhaps even more than one pair at a time!) will allow you to grip your brushes as usual.
4. Try hand and foot warmers inside your gloves and shoes. They can be great for those extra cold sessions. 
5. Bring your easel inside overnight (or at least your paint and palette). You want to keep your paint warm so it doesn’t get cold and stiff (and lonely) in the car. Stiff paint is tough to use. 

Painting snow outdoors is the best way to study its variety of colors and effects on the landscape. Plus, your friends will think you’re extra tough. So give it a try sometime. Hopefully these tips will make your next snowy painting session a little easier.

–Dan Schultz

Editor’s note:

We thought you may enjoy this bonus advice from Richard Schmid, from his book Richard Schmid Paints Landscapes, Creative Techniques in Oil:

“I have encountered three problems in winter painting. First, because the day is shorter, an early start is important. Second, it is often necessary to work with warm gloves, which can be cumbersome. I usually alternate, working with gloves for the block-in and broad areas, then removing the gloves for detail work. Third, the consistency of oil paint changes in low temperatures, causing the paint to lose its plasticity and rendering it stiff and unworkable. Adding small amounts of turpentine will usually restore the paint’s working qualities. The rule, of course, is to use the least possible turpentine especially in heavy, impasto brushwork. Rather than add too much turpentine, it might be better to substitute a knife for the brush. It is sometimes suggested that alcohol be added to the oil paint in cold weather. To the painter, perhaps; to the paints, never.”

The Pandemic changed everything.

I’m sure this is true for many artists; the prolonged social isolation became a period of self-reflection and soul searching. There was a sense of uncertainty that permeated every aspect of our lives. Yet we still had to produce artwork, even though there seemed to be much more important things to worry about.

Not surprisingly, my creative juices stopped flowing and I hit a wall. Slumps are no strangers to an artist, but this one seemed different, maybe because the whole world was in crisis mode.  Try as I may, I just could not work through it as I normally do. 

I began to question the work I was doing. Soon, I was no longer sure about my choice of subject matter, tools, materials, or process. I’ve always worked hard to gain control of these things, with the firm belief that one must have a command of the language in order to communicate effectively. And painting is a visual language. 

But during this mother of all slumps, I found myself equating control with predictability, and not in a good way. I began to think, maybe I’m playing it too safe; maybe I’m not taking risks with my painting; maybe I’ve become complacent!

Before long, these doubts became truths, and at that point, I felt like I was having an identity crisis. Drastic action was in order. So, to shock myself into a new way of thinking and doing and to tear down my comfort zone, I destroyed about three hundred paintings and thousands of drawings that had accumulated in my studio. It was absolutely terrifying, but ultimately, cathartic. 

What followed was a series of experiments and studies where I deliberately used unfamiliar materials and approaches, essentially denying myself the old way of working.

I started painting with acrylics and mixed media on hard surfaces primed with gesso, other times I used black house paint. I painted on different kinds of paper, plastic, and metal. (Previously, I had always been an oil painter, and my go-to substrate was linen.)  I put away my nice brushes and picked up cheap house painting brushes and putty knives.

I painted tiny pictures, a couple of inches wide, and also much larger works several feet across, both with the intention of doing something unfamiliar and uncomfortable. 

Because I wanted fewer things to think about and to work more intuitively, (as opposed to working methodically and controlling everything) I eliminated color, and only used black and white paint.

I decided that thumbnails and other preparatory studies allowed me too much room for analysis, so I abandoned them. Carefully drawing on my support prior to painting was giving me too much of a safety net, so that had to go as well. 

I did away with all reference photos. I wanted to work spontaneously and freely. I did not want to be hindered by what I saw in photos, so I chose to paint only from memory and imagination.  I wanted to see where it would lead. I really had no idea what to expect, and I guess that was the whole point. This uncertainty and the lack of predictability was such an adventure. 

As expected, it was a huge struggle. Dozens of studies went straight into the trash, but wouldn’t you know it, I found the struggle really exciting! I felt like I was back in school making fresh discoveries.

Eventually this exploration led to a series of larger, monochromatic, urban paintings. I learned to embrace the state of not being in control, of not having an expectation of outcome. It was all about the doing, and the pleasure of the discoveries.

I would gesso (or not) a big sheet of birch plywood and start slapping gobs of black and white paint on it, without any reference or preconceived notion of the result — no preliminary drawing, no thumbnails, no clue. The start of a painting often looked like a bad imitation of a Franz Kline painting.

One of the central blobs would remind me of a figure or a car, and I would start to shape it to make it more recognizable.  From there, a context would emerge, sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly. I would find other shapes and fit them into this visual space. 

During the process of creating a believable environment on my panel, I would make drastic changes on a whim. A building would be demolished, figures moved around, cars would come and go. I made a point to just follow these impulses, especially if it meant destroying perfectly good passages. Why? Because it meant that I’m doing it for the sake of expression, not the end product. Not without trepidation and second thoughts, but I almost always found it very liberating and satisfying.

Many paintings from this series have a very noir feel to them, owing to the fact they’re black and white, and also, probably, because I like hardboiled crime novels and 1950’s jazz. The moody, atmospheric qualities of the works of James Cain and Miles Davis are clear influences. The improvisational nature of jazz is something that resonates with me especially. In fact, these paintings to me, feel very much like jazz improvisation, only using paint, rather than sound. 

One aspect of this process that I find fascinating is the role of narrative. When a painting includes figures, often a narrative develops, whether intended or accidental. In my case, it plays a large role in this series because of the noir influence. I start thinking about the figures in my painting and their story which naturally, plays a role in how they develop. 

Because I don’t have a plan when I begin a new piece, the narrative is hidden from me. I watch it materialize and change as I paint the picture. It’s like reading a book and I am finding out what happens as I turn the page. Even though I am the creator, I’m also a spectator, a reader. I come back to the realization that NOT knowing what happens next is the crux of this series. The mystery and uncertainty keep me engaged, and pushes me to make drastic changes on a whim. If I want to find out what happens next, I have to write it.

To get over my pandemic slump, I had to find ways to disconnect myself from thinking too much, planning too much, and following the rules too much. It allowed me to pursue immediacy, urgency, and intuitive expression.  And because the process is more visceral, I feel I’m closer to touching upon my authentic voice. 

The pandemic is a terrible thing, but if there’s a personal silver lining, it is that I’ve gotten to know myself better, and I’ve always felt that that’s the ultimate purpose of making art.