Oil Painting

Question: Hey Albert, I watched you demonstrate and I was amazed, are you getting abstract or what?

Well that’s a good question. Sometimes I wonder myself. I always had a good feeling for the design and shapes that make up the composition, I’m not trying to “go abstract,” not at all, I love realism and it’s liveliness!

I do try to paint the feelings I perceive as I hike through the woods, not the woods literally. Also, I find when I pan in on part of a rock face which is out of “context”, unpredictable as a subject, variations of shapes and colors become most prominent. Etc.

When I was 19 at the Art Students League, NYC, and painted portraits, I stood further back in the studio so I couldn’t see the highlights in the eyes but I could see the transition of colors and values from the top of the forehead to the bottom of the chin. I would go after the shapes of the lights and darks and the progression of light as it progressed throughout the entire portrait at the same time as I achieved a likeness.

With that subject everyone knew I was painting a portrait. Not so when panning in on part of a rock face, that could be anything. It is not “predictable” as a portrait is. Therefore it lends itself to being whatever.

Then again when painting mountain streams and trees, two of my favorite subjects, it brings in other questions. I am particularly excited by the energy of the moving water as the water moves forever finding its level. Same with the sense of delicate leaves when painting a group of trees. I have found exacting measuring for these two subjects does not work for me. Well, what does? I prefer to emphasize the moving energy of the water and the sense of flutter for my leaves. I view and paint both of them as rhythms rather than freezing them in time. This may be considered “abstract” or even unfinished?

This painting is about the energy of water, painted primarily by the movements (rhythms) of the water rather than the exactitude of the photo.

This is a one day painting (it is a block in). It is so alive (my opinion) I decided to leave it alone.

After blocking in this oil I painted over the block-in with the rhythms of the leaves and foliage until finished. There is the sense of the abstract in this and other paintings of mine but I consider this as alive and realistic.

Here is a wonderful example of how I established the colors of a painting from top to bottom, starting with the light tan Yellow Ocher mixed with Naples Yellow colors at the top of the rock face to the darker greens at the base of the painting before painting anything else. The delicate waterfalls are painted later mostly as a movement (rhythm).

The send of sunlight was the reason for painting this oil. Here again the leaves are secondary to the whole and was painted as a “rhythm”.

As artists, many of us are shaking our heads and wondering why we haven’t been painting during this time of “lock down” and isolation. 

We thought about it, had the time, but just didn’t have the will or energy to pick up the brush and slosh around those beautiful colors with brush strokes filling the heart with joy. The question is “Why didn’t we paint or feel inspired?”  The answer: We have been in, what I call, the cocoons. 

I have been teaching painting and drawing for 45 years. Through these years, there has been a common thread that runs through all of my adult students, women and men.  Many were artists in their younger years, loving the quiet inward time of pushing the pencil or swinging the brush. Very few artists have been artists their whole adult lives. They come to me, eager to learn to create again or create for the first time. Sometimes the student has taken a few classes in the past, only to fall back and put away the paint for years before picking up the brush again. When this happens, it is very normal. It happens to all artists, hobbyists and professional painters. It is the cycle of the living artist. 

Caterpillars are amazing creatures. They eat their way through life, never knowing there is anything else more wonderful than munching leaves. Then, their lives change and a strange new silk starts wrapping around their bodies. All goes dark and quiet, the caterpillar becomes encased, wrapped in it’s new stage of life. It seems for a while that there will be no more green leaves or sunshine for the little caterpillar. Then, one day the silks drop off of the caterpillar and out steps a new creature, one with wings. One that has the ability to fly quickly, to find new and exciting tastes in flowers.

My mother loved nature. She would point out beautiful colors in the bark of trees. Our family strolls along Lake Michigan with my sisters always resulted in our pockets coming home full of wonderful pebbles we found along the shore. One day she pointed out a beautiful chrysalis dangling from a twig on a tree in our front yard. Over the next 2 weeks we watched this little pod. Then, one day, she called to us to come quickly and see what was happening. The little “cocoon” was opening and a whole new creature was emerging into the sunshine. 

What the heck! Why am I writing about this caterpillar in an OPA Blog??? Well, we have all been through a very shocking, sad, emotional period. This virus has rocked our world. So many, many, many of our artist friends have not been able to paint, me included. We had the time, but not the spirit. We have been stopped in our tracks, stuck in the mud of life…. The threads of life, like the silks of a caterpillar, have tightly wrapped around us.

Through the years, I have talked about this happening to my artists. Over and over, life came, often unexpectedly, and started wrapping the artist tightly in silks. The brushes were forgotten, sometimes for months, sometime for years or decades. 

Nope, this is not a sad blog about wasted time, NO! There is more to the story. Read on….

Meanwhile, back at the chrysalis in our back yard, the butterfly was emerging, my sisters and I were jumping and squealing with joy. Then we fell silent. The poor little creature was not a beautiful delicate butterfly, but a horribly wrinkled tight little quivering mass. I started to cry. “Oh, Mommy, it is suffering!” 

“Just wait”, my mother gently said. So we did. The tiny creature kept shaking, quivering and jerking. I could barely look, I felt so sorry for it. Was it dying? “Wait” she quietly said again. 

So we did. The shaking didn’t stop but edges started to unfold. The wrinkles started expanding. It was pumping blood into it’s tiny new wings. The little masses started to stretch out. Over and over more blood was pumped and pumped. Quiver, quiver, shake, shake, we started to see the possibility of wings happening. We waited and waited. The shaking turned into up and down motions and as if by magic, beautiful wings unfolded and reached high above the creature.

Then it was tired. The wings continued to move but very slowly, resting in the joy of the new motion. Sometimes the wings even stopped moving, pressed together, as if in prayer. Was it, also, amazed and grateful at its transformation?

As artists, we live in 2 worlds, the real world and the world of creation. We live in a life that is full of changes, surprises, disappointments and joys. Over and over again the “Silks” of life wrap around us, unexpectedly, often silently, resulting in our brushes getting dusty. If the silks remain, the easel is put away, the canvas forgotten, the paint allowed to turn hard in their tubes. 

But wait, whatever it is or was in life, which wrapped the silks around you, (maybe you got married, have children, are caring for a relative, start a new job, move to a new location, or you have been sick), there are many reasons preventing you from feeling the joy of creating on canvas. Now, this is the exciting part…While we are in the cocoons, our creative juices are still flowing. They might be used to teach a child, help a mother or father or care for a friend. You might find yourself creating a special meal, or designing a garden, or a new decor for a room, or making a cabinet, or creating a get well card for a friend. Little ways and big ways, you are still the creative creature you have always been. You find yourself drifting into web sites of artists you admire, dead and alive. You look though books of paintings or a beautiful greeting card catches your eye. Your mind has not been stopped from growing as an artist even while the silks of life have engulfed your hands and heart in other matters. 

In time (could be weeks, months, years, or decades), one day, these silks unwind and slide away, even if your circumstances have remained the same. The silks keep falling away. You find yourself signing up for a painting class, or while cleaning out a closet you find your lovable brushes. Maybe a friend tells you about a new color. Something starts the process and the silks start falling away. 

When this happens, do like the little butterfly, start jiggling your wings and pumping blood. 

Pump pump pump! Set an apple under a light, Draw the apple on a small piece of paper or canvas, ( pump-pump-pump), Then, turn it into a tiny painting. Practice brush strokes, ( pump-pump-pump), Paint a single flower, add dramatic light. Throw yourself into the painting class you just signed up for, Purchase videos from your favorite artist watch YouTube painting Videos, Sign up for live Zoom art classes, Pump – Pump  – Pump those wings! 

Yes, when you come out of the confinement of the “Silks of Life” your artistic wings will be wrinkled. At first, your attempts to draw or paint will be frustrating and you might fear you lost your ability or desire to create, but keep pumping those wings. Like the little caterpillar, you will recover from the confinement to discover you are a new creature in art. Your abilities will come back and surpass the former artist in you and become the new and improved artist that can fly to heights unimaginable. 
Pump Pump Pump.

These horrific experiences which we mentally and physically are currently enduring have wrapped all of us into cocoons. Our artist juices have been frozen. The left side of our brains ( where all of the worries happen ) have been terrified and has overridden the creative right side of our brains. We have spent countless hours reconnecting with friends and family, watching the news, reading, waiting and social distancing. Art classes and workshops immediately stopped. Like all of the other scheduled shows throughout the world, OPA’s Show and Exhibition was immediately stopped and rescheduled.

So, how do we get our little cocoon to start falling away? Do it slowly: Thumb through a book of inspiring paintings Find out how many different brush strokes you can make with only one brush See how many colors you can make with just 3 colors Paint another apple with nice light on it and use as many colors as possible. 

Paint your cat Paint your dog 

Paint a series of paintings looking out different windows in your house Open a drawer and pick 3 things and create a mini still life and paint it, pull out 3 different colorful socks and paint a happy abstract of them all piled together 

Be sure to put on music you love with NO WORDS and a calm tempo. ( I recently started painting with earbuds in my ears. Using sound to surround me, my creative side soared.) Seduce your creative side to come out of hiding and when it starts coming out, do not be critical of anything it does. Yes, your wings will be wrinkled. Yes, your attempts might look clumsy and not as you used “to do”. But keep pumping blood into your creative wings. It typically takes some time to get your wings fully extended. Look out! You will soon be soaring higher than ever! 

P.S. These cocoons will come and go often in most people’s lives. Now you know, when the juices stop flowing, your circumstances are recreating you into a new “butterfly”.  You CAN set yourself free and you will be a new artist. I think you get the idea… now go with it. You don’t have to paint the most incredible landscape, still life, figure or portrait. Paint like you are pumping your wings with power. 

Then start flying with your brushes. Life is too short to let the silks in life wrap us up and force us to stop creating. You CAN choose when to let the silks fall off. We are all butterflies! Now get out there and FLY!

Every artist has that defining moment in their life when for whatever reason they feel a need to express themselves, and most have a lingering memory of how it all started. For me, it all began with a lighthouse. 

I have very clear memories of drawing in my childhood. My mother would give me large sheets of paper that she brought home from her workplace and I would sit on the floor in my room and imagine places where I would like to be. Many times I would draw a crude representation of a lighthouse. It was always high up on a cliff, and I would sketch the rocks and crashing surf below. It was a scene I sketched many times in those days and I remember the joy it brought me not only in creating it but also the encouragement I received from my Mom when I showed her.

It’s very interesting to think about and wonder where inspiration comes from. Artists are always asked the question: “What was your inspiration?” or, “Why did you choose to paint this subject?” The answer is not always easy. Countless essays have been written attempting to clarify the source of inspiration and why some people seem to experience it more than others. As artists, we are told many times that we have a “gift.” Hearing that phrase is good for the ego, but hard to define what it exactly means.

So, let’s return to the lighthouse. When I first started painting seriously in my adult years, the recurring theme and subject matter in my work almost always had elements that had to do with the sea. There was something in my subconscious that drew me to bodies of water, coastlines, and most specifically small, colorful boats. I never thought about it much during those beginnings that would define my career, but as I developed my painting techniques and began traveling in search of inspiration, it became quite apparent that these places and things brought joy that couldn’t be defined. Walking around a fishing village, navigating the docks, seeing the scruffy locals bringing in their catch, studying colorful water reflections in the harbor. All those things brought on strong emotions and sense of place. The only way to describe it is that it felt like I was “at home.” 

Perhaps it has to do with my lineage and ancestry. Quite a few years ago, I researched my bloodline from previous generations because I was curious about the name “Swimm” and its origins. Turns out, it came from the British Isles and my ancestors migrated across the North Atlantic to the shores of Canada, eventually establishing themselves along the coast of New England. What’s most interesting is that the men from these previous generations made their living from the sea. They were sailors and fishermen, and that is true of the most recent men in my family. My great grandfather was a fisherman in Nova Scotia, My father was born in Gloucester and was a career sailor, and I had two uncles, a stepbrother and a brother who were all in the Navy.

I myself was unable to join the service because of a medical condition, have never owned a boat, and can count on one hand the number of times in my life that I went fishing! I do believe however, that there has always been some inner voice within me that seeks to show the beauty, color, and texture of maritime subjects. To me, each and every one tells a story.

During my many travels, my goal was to always explore the coastline and fishing villages of places like the Amalfi Coast of Italy, the Greek Isles, and the Caribbean, as well as all the coastal towns in the U.S. where fishing is a major livelihood. All these places brought me a sense of comfort and familiarity, and it’s those emotions that I have always strived to convey in my paintings. Call it my muse or inspiration or whatever else describes the need to express one’s inner light, but I believe each and every artist has these sources that come from within and were gifted to us at a very young age. Study the body of work created by artists from the past as well as contemporary masters, and you almost always find a recurring visual theme or technique that communicates what matters most to them. Inspiring!

Some years ago I went through a period where a recurring element not only kept re-appearing in my paintings but would re-appear in pretty much the same location. It was utterly unconscious – and a bit disturbing – a glitch in the Matrix. It felt like waking up in the movie ‘Ground Hog Day’.

I was not only disturbed by it I was deeply curious about it. The answer as to why it was happening turned out to not be rocket science. I had found something that worked and the brain loves a well-paved highway. It was a safe solution. I could get myself a guaranteed pat on the back – even if it was only me standing back thinking, ‘Hey, that’s not too bad!’

Paralyzed by Applause…

As beings, we are deeply risk-averse. Our default is to seek safety – to repeat the thing that worked. It’s a deep and understandable instinct that we want to avoid failure and criticism and seek the warm nod of approval. I call it being paralyzed by applause. 

Repetition in any form can be either a conscious, powerful choice in service of a concept, or it can become the proverbial ‘highway to the danger zone’. The brilliant explorations of Monet reprising his water lilies or the kind of repetition devoid of risk and exploration that squelches the amazing creative beast prowling inside all of us.

What Scares You?

So, what can you do if you’ve become stuck on ‘rinse and repeat’? If I start defaulting to the safe zone I pose questions. I then work the problem to find an answer. For example…

What scares me? What am I avoiding?
What would happen if I used old furry brushes?
What would happen if I shoveled up the pigment instead of thinning it? What could I try that might communicate the noise and activity in a scene?
What would happen if I painted the painting upside down?
What would happen if only half the figure was in the picture plane?
What would happen if I put the center of interest in…shudder…the CENTER?
Could I make it work?
What would happen if…
And on…

The creative excitement will start seeping back and becomes its own reward.

The Good Fail…

There’s such a thing as a ‘good fail’. I walked into a gallery and saw a truly epic fail on the wall by someone who I know is normally an excellent painter. I’m pretty sure I did the “Huh???” family-dog-head-tip. My curiosity made me pause because I knew this person was normally not only a good painter but a very consistent one. I pretty quickly identified what wasn’t working in the painting and what I suspected was the cause of the fail. The painter had ventured outside of their safe zone and tried something new. They stretched. Granted, they had incorporated concepts they had not yet mastered so the painting was problematic. Though the solution had not worked, what I loved about the painting is that the painter had taken a risk. They had tried! That being said I might encourage painters to hold back from presenting those paintings publicly until the kinks are worked out. However, I suspected interesting new things would be coming down the pike from that painter once they hammered out the problems.

The Monster Mash…

If it has become a habit to circle back to an artistic solution that worked in the past we run the risk of applying it at an inappropriate time. I completely fell into my version of that low budget horror movie. I’d come up with a little formula for painting a specific type of scene that was a sure-fire way to make, not a masterpiece, but a nice little painting. It was confessedly a bit of an ‘arse’ saving move on my part at a plein air event I was nervous about.

Since I was new to the event and the location, I was feeling the pressure to produce. The tricks I’d devised were working famously and I was having that good, “I got this!” feeling going on until I slammed head-on into what was ACTUALLY in front of me the next day. The conditions had changed and literally nothing was the same. I reached into my little ‘Emergency Arse Saving Tricks’ bag and started painting like a banshee. It became clear in short order that my painting was a bit of a Frankenstein sewn together out of random parts. A few of my magic tricks, a couple of sprinkles from my formula, mixed with a few strokes of direct observation, topped off with a dash of panic. What had gone wrong? I’d mixed the past with the present. We must be present when we paint.

Go the Distance…

Many years ago I shared a subway ride with a truly great American painter that I deeply admired. We were quiet and then he turned to me and said. “Lyn, don’t ever stop looking. If you do, your paintings will eventually become cartoons.” He was not referring to ‘looking’ in the sense of slavish copying but looking in the sense of a deep and direct observation that leads to an understanding of the structure, essence, gesture, radiance of the forms around us.

I never forgot that moment and the truth of what he said has become more evident over the years. It has pulled me back from the edge when I have been tempted by the ease of drifting into painting formulas rather than asking myself to go the distance and look to see if there might be a different way to state something. Sometimes the different thing doesn’t turn out to be the better thing. Sometimes it does. Whichever way it goes I have the confidence the final solution was a decision, not a default.

Resistance is not Futile!

I’ll close with a painting that was one of my personal favorites of the year – ‘Coffee…black.’ It was the act of resisting nearly every formula I’d ever concocted or relied on in the past that fueled the intent of the painting. That intent being – paint not the objects but the sounds, smells, movement, atmosphere – the passage of the scene through time. The players themselves were only the supporting actors. I had to step away from the painting and out of the studio repeatedly to resist the urge to refine, to finish, to paint the life out of it.

So, never stop looking. Trust the painting. Trust yourself. And trust that tomorrow you can walk into your studio and it won’t be Groundhog Day!

Early in the fall when life was humming along normally, I had some well-educated and well-connected women tour my studio. One of the women raised her hand to ask a question. She said, “I don’t know much about art, but I would like to know what comes first, inspiration or intention?” I am not one to think quickly on her feet, so I fumbled and mumbled some sort of response. I have been tossing this question around in my head for the last nine months. The reason I find it so important is that each one of us has our own unique way of creating our paintings. Taking a few steps back and analyzing our process might help us in the future when we seem to get stuck or have a block.

This period of time in isolation is nothing new for us. As painters, we beg the universe for uninterrupted time at the easel. Some of us may be getting just that, but finding it difficult to even begin to mix colors because of the graveness of our world situation. Others of us may have spouses and children at home, and time at the easel is impossible. We certainly have more time to pause and think. We may wish we could feel that “ah-ha” moment when a great idea comes to us and we begin to run with it. Our paths to inspiration are as different as we are.

For me, inspiration for new paintings is everywhere. It can be the petals of a flower, peeling open a grapefruit or the chubby cheeks of my granddaughter. One time as I walked through the grocery store, I held in my hand an unusual plum. I was fascinated and “inspired by” the amazing yellow-green color. Then I was “inspired to” use analogous colors and a variety of sizes to create a composition. “Oh Honey” was painted starting with this encounter in the grocery store. It may be an interesting exercise to trace the source of inspiration for our favorite pieces. Then I concluded that very often we are inspired, but not all of the time do we take action. It seems then that inspiration comes first. If we want to take this inspiration further and give it energy, then we direct our intention to this inspiration. Problem solved. 

Not so fast. My friend Malachi Lawrence, who is an aerospace engineer, says intention comes first for him. An engineer may face a baffling problem that he or she intends to solve but all of their best analytical efforts may fail. But sometimes in the middle of the night, the inspiration for the solution comes! For some of us as painters, commissions motivate us. The intention to fulfill the clients needs comes first and then finding inspiration to create a painting comes second. Okay then, so it could go either way.

Then why ask this question after all? Because we all need to learn to tap into our own resources for inspiration. It made me want to dive deeper into how inspiration comes about. Is inspiration a voluntary or involuntary occurrence? I wrote an email to Scott Barry Kaufman, PhD, who is a humanist psychologist, author, researcher and speaker, known for his research on intelligence, creativity, and human potential. He sent me his article called “Why inspiration Matters” from the Harvard Business Review. 

He writes, “Inspiration awakens us to new possibilities by allowing us to transcend our ordinary experiences and limitations.” Kaufman found that “Openness to Experience” often came before inspiration, suggesting that those who are more open to inspiration are more likely to experience it.We have all experienced a higher level of creative thinking for some of our paintings. However, we may find this inspiration is few and far between. We may have a total creative block due to many different circumstances in our lives. This pandemic could be causing major difficulty for some of us. Can we call inspiration in? Dr. Kaufman writes, “Mastery of work, absorption, creativity, perceived competence, self-esteem, and optimism were all consequences of inspiration, suggesting that inspiration facilitates these important psychological resources. Interestingly, work mastery also came before inspiration, suggesting that inspiration is not purely passive, but does favor the prepared mind.” The idea of being more absorbed in our tasks or mastery of work is something we can all strive for as we wait for inspiration. Two quotes from artists I saw recently suggest this.

“Inspiration is for amateurs: the rest of us just show up and get to work.” Chuck Close

“Inspiration exists but it has to find you working.” Pablo Picasso

During the most difficult time in my life, I believe I painted two of my best pieces. During the first half of 2018, my son, Stefan, was facing a very risky open-heart surgery and insurance was not willing to cover it. I spent countless hours researching this surgery to make the decision for him to have it or not, and months haggling with the hospital and the insurance company over benefits. My oldest daughter, Shelby, was struggling through a very difficult pregnancy and was due six weeks after Stefan’s scheduled surgery. During this time I painted “Orange Romance” and entered it into the OPA National. On June 18, Stefan pulled through this miraculous thirteen-hour surgery. As Stefan recovered, I was very consumed with worry for my daughter. With Stefan getting better every day, I painted “Tango in Yellow.” My granddaughter Camilla was born healthy on July 31. As I look back on this time and wonder how I was able to create these paintings, I can only say that it had been preceded by years of work on studying painting and understanding composition. Inspiration might come when you least expect it. One thing I do know is that I love to paint, and this love provided an escape from the harsh realities of life and I do believe they had some divine inspiration. Some higher power was at work and I really can’t explain, but I believe these works lifted me high above and carried me through these difficult times. 

These last few weeks have been unprecedented in our lives. I was living in so much fear and was unable to sleep. Confined to my home and reading too much news, I found myself comforted by the arrival of spring. First to come from the earth were the daffodils. The timing was perfect and very inspirational for me. I did five paintings of varied species that grew right outside my door because there were to be no trips to the florists. Exploring their unique forms and trying to create them in space became my obsession for two weeks. Interestingly they go from light to dark in overall feeling. Creating them gave me escape and eventually hope for what is to come. The botanist Dr. Robin Wall Kimmerer says, “The exchange of love between earth and people calls forth the creative gifts of both. The earth is not indifferent to us, but rather calling for our gifts in return for hers—the reciprocal nature of life and creativity.” I am surely more grateful for these Flowers blooming more than ever before. 

Maybe the situation is different in your studio. A friend of mine, Austin-based artist Will Klemm, tells me, “Occasionally, if I’ve been away from work too long, or have had too long to ruminate on a ‘big idea’ for a series or a show, a kind of painter’s block can set in. If my first two strategies (cleaning up and pouring over) don’t work, I pull out a handful of unresolved or unfinished paintings. Then I work back into them, sometimes just a slight glaze will change everything, sometimes I completely obliterate the original with a palette knife. The point is to get the studio muscles moving again, without striving for any particular outcome.”

I have found that another way to do this would be to delve back into old photos on your computer. Try new cropping or editing and old photos can become new masterpieces. Inspirational ideas can come to us when we are not in the studio. Have you ever had your most brilliant ideas come to you while taking a shower or doing dishes? A quote from Mozart: “When I am traveling in a carriage, or walking after a good meal, or during the night when I cannot sleep: it is on such occasions that ideas flow best and most abundantly.”

Elizabeth Gilbert, author of “Eat, Pray, Love,” writes in her book, “Big Magic,” “I don’t demand a translation of the unknown. I don’t need to understand what it all means, or where ideas are originally conceived, or why creativity plays out as unpredictably as it does. I don’t need to know why we are sometimes to converse freely with inspiration, when at other times we labor hard in solitude and come up with nothing.” She later concludes, “All I know for certain is that this is how I want to spend my life-collaborating to the best of my ability with forces of inspiration that I can neither see nor prove, nor command, nor understand.” When one wonders where inspiration has gone in current work, I like Gilbert’s thought here: “You can believe that you are neither a slave to inspiration nor its master, but something far more interesting-its partner-and that the two of you are working together toward something intriguing and worthwhile.”

Here is my conclusion on the question that was asked of me last fall. If we keep working diligently at the craft of good painting and mastering our skills of composition, color mixing, and creating form on a canvas – if we do our part in the hard work, once in a while the painting transcends to a higher level. And often you may look back and say, “I don’t even remember painting that.” Maybe it was divine inspiration. 

References:

• “Big Magic-Creative Living Beyond Fear” by Elizabeth Gilbert, 2015 
• “Why Inspiration Matters” by Scott Barry Kaufman November 8, 2011 Harvard Business Review