Oil Painting

Throughout my adult life, creating and art has always been a comfort. When I was 10 days overdue with my first child I sat, huge and frustrated, and finished drawings as a means to keep my center. During the weeks and months of the 2008/09 recession, worrying over the state of our finances and future, I went into the studio and created portraits. As my extended family went through heartbreak and loss, I would stay up late into the night and just be – In my studio and looking at color. My pallet, with its brightly hued rainbow, was the same beautiful thing even when we said goodbye to those we loved. As I have grieved losses of many different kinds, I have used the process of creation as a way to process and to break from the here and now. 

There is something involved, and so comforting, about creating a beloved work of art. Whether it will be for a client, collector, friend or for yourself, that creation will endure, years from now. The problems and worries of today will all have faded to the background, and that portrait, still life, or landscape will still remain. That painting will be beautiful and comforting for those who enjoy it in the moment, whatever that moment may hold. 

During this time of uncertainty and Covid-19, staying home with my children, husband, and my work, I have been so grateful for the time I have in my studio. I’m lucky to be able to work from a home studio, simplifying the idea of staying put to keep ourselves and others around us well. As I juggle homeschooling for the first time, keeping our home running, and getting along with my husband and children as we spend more time together than ever before, my studio is a sanctuary. As such, I am guarding that sanctuary as best I can. In there, painting and color are a salve on the pains and worries of this moment. 

The portraits I create will exist long past this season and that thought takes me out of this time. It takes me to places I have yet to imagine, and I think that is what most of our art is for. It is a letter of a particular kind, a message for the future, speaking of what is and what is hoped for. Today the oil paint on our canvas is wet and asking us what is left to be done, and there will be a tomorrow when that painting is complete and enjoyed in the time that is next. Art reminds us that we humans and this planet are more beautiful than ugly, more kind than evil, and more colorful than dull. Enjoy painting for yourself and others and let’s all be grateful to be able to share this colorful beauty called oil painting. 

@artistlizlindstrom on Instagram 

As the world seems to spin out of control outside of our studios, this may be a good time to revisit the ONE thing that truly enables you to stay engaged as a life-long artist: satisfaction from, and a love for, the PROCESS.

Wanting to become a ‘great’ artist is the norm for someone new to art, but with experience, what compels you to STAY an Artist? I have been an artist at my core since I was a little kid, spread out on the living room floor sketching on scrap paper, and with the global turmoil and its likely sobering effect on the Art Market, this is a good time to refocus on the one thing that will help you stay on track.

I’ll start with an excerpt from an early oil, “Self-Thoughtrait,” where I incorporated an essay of my thoughts on ‘Art’. Though written about 20 years ago, it still offers a glimpse into what excites me: 

“The blank canvas offers absolute creative freedom. Within its two-dimensional surface, it provides the same opportunity afforded past artists, from Leonardo to Picasso, Memling to Warhol, and beyond.  Each new surface sparkles with wonderful opportunity and incredible challenge.  

Today, alone in my studio, I choose to reflect upon this opportunity.

My dual relationship with each canvas begins with an emotional and physical exploration…the current culmination of my thoughts, feelings, experience, practice, and desire. I’m free to create an intimate painting of quiet beauty, or a bold and involved expression of spirit and persuasion.  The quality and depth of this personal and passionate process is infinitely variable, and I derive satisfaction and–when lucky–intense joy through the creative dance and budding conversation that takes place between canvas, paint, brush and artist. 

Once complete, the piece becomes an individual, left to stand alone…and the second half of the artistic process requires a viewer to complete the connection.”

Too often, we correlate the ‘success’ of our work with the ‘second half’, where others are in control, and though there is usually plenty of healthy feedback, we also find silly ways to be disappointed. Let me share a recent experience where the ‘process’ was joyful and rewarding, while the ‘sharing’ could have been just another source of discouragement:

A couple of years ago, upon our arrival for an extended stay in Santa Fe, my wife and I came upon a beautiful concert being held in the City’s famous plaza. The atmosphere and the music were fabulous, and watching the performance over the crowd left an impression powerful enough that I knew I would explore it in a painting. 

About a year later, with the memory still strong in my soul, I created a portrait of that evening. I placed the canvas on my easel above eye level to recreate that sense of looking over the crowd and as I painted I could feel the atmosphere, hear the music, and alone in my studio I was able to sense and celebrate that wonderful experience. 

Once the painting was complete, I felt it had lasting strength, so I decided to enter it into an important National show. To my delight, it was accepted and I shipped it off, knowing I would happen to be in the city where the show was taking place and I’d be able to attend the opening.

On the night of the opening, I entered the beautiful venue and as is often the case, the show was hung salon-style in order to exhibit as many pieces as possible on the available wall space. When I finally spotted my piece, I saw it was hung at knee level, which in the case of this particular painting was devastating to me…lost was that above-the-crowd ethereal atmosphere. If the connection and impact were lost for me, I knew the judge would never sense it and potential buyers would drift past. I immediately understood this painting would languish and it was destined to come home. 

Thankfully, the disappointment was short-lived because I still treasured the experience of my personal artistic process. My time in the studio with this piece still fed my soul, and I knew I would have more opportunities to grow and create.

With the impact of our current pandemic on the economy, and knowing the importance of the health of the stock market on the people who are able to purchase art, there will likely be a slowdown in sales (and more mac & cheese) over the next months and years. Rather than allowing this to lead to disappointment, lean into the importance of the Artistic Process and let IT feed your soul. Get in to the studio and get back to the creative dance and conversation that take place between canvas, paint, brush and artist. Your artistic life will be better for it.

For a bit more insight into the creative process, take a look at my earlier blog post, where I talk about the “two keys“ to progressing as an artist. 

You can follow my work on Instagram @billsuys.
My best to you as we walk this path together — yet socially distanced!

“Do I have what it takes?”

This was the last question posed to me by an earnest young man at my last landscape workshop. It is frequently asked, and not just at the beginning of a career. Success as an artist is a changing, elusive target. I gave the young painter a thin, gentle response, something like: “Yes, I believe so, but know that it takes so much more than talent and interest to be a full time artist. Only YOU know if you are dogged enough and willing to commit to do the work.”

Looking back, I think I could have answered better. It tugged at me that there is a larger conversation here worth exploring.

First, I would like to draw a distinction between two of the most common career questions I get asked: “Do I have what it takes?” and “How do I get there?”. They are two separate queries. The latter deals with technical and practical considerations, such as who to study with, how to find one’s voice, how to get work out there, and how to make ends meet in the meantime. These have been subjects of countless great articles and blogs. But there is something so heartfelt and intriguing about the first question, “Do I have what it takes?”.  It deserves a thoughtful answer. I have enjoyed delving into this philosophical rabbit hole, trying to narrow down the attributes needed from an armload to just a few. I share three of them here.

1) Internal Locus of Evaluation 

Carl Rogers, one of the pioneers in values-based education, taught that self-evaluation has primarily either an internal or external locus. Locus ’ is Latin for ‘place’, so the term describes the place from which we make value judgments.

● External Locus of evaluation = How much we trust and value how others view us.

● Internal Locus of evaluation = How much we trust and value the view we have of ourselves.

I have seen too many beautiful creative spirits utterly crushed under the absence of outside affirmation. Becoming aware of this internal/external dynamic can help us identify and manage what is going on in our artistic psyches. Cultivating a strong internal  locus of evaluation can help us to move from bare emotional survival to empowerment!

About the External Locus:  I must say that it is healthy to have an awareness of how much and in what ways we are valued within the artistic community. We want to be respected by our peers. We want our paintings to sell. We want accolades and awards. That is fine and good. But all that needs to be put into perspective! Problems like discouragement, despair, fear, and immobility can arise when outside influences become the dominant means by which we value ourselves and our work.

Let me be clear that I understand how easy it is to succumb to this negativity given the nature of our business. Every time we submit our inner souls–oops, I mean our paintings–to the scrutiny of competition judges, the buying public, and our fellow artists, we need to steel ourselves against possible rejection.

About the Internal Locus:  With a healthy internal locus of evaluation we take ownership of our own values, process, experience, growth, and terms of success. Our creations need to be a product of what we value, not of what others have come to expect of us.

Having a powerful internal locus of evaluation keeps us resilient enough to weather the storms. It is a deliberate choice to value and trust our vision. Like every virtue, it is a decision, then a practice that becomes spiritual muscle memory, and a renewable resource that helps us move through a creative life. The rewards for cultivating this trait will be serenity, independence, tenacity, self-initiated learning, and growth.

2) Unbridled Optimism

I always told myself, in the midst of my failures (of which there were countless) that if I kept working, there would eventually be room at the proverbial top. I wasn’t even certain where or what the top  was. I just knew I needed to keep studying nature, seeking out the right mentors— living and dead, and just do the work!

Optimism is a vital quality that comes hand in hand with the gift of the muse. We need to have faith that if we dedicate our lives to creating, we can trust that creation to support us. I had to constantly recontextualize my failed efforts as stepping stones. Recognize that no time is truly wasted, that you bring all of your experiences to the easel. I tell my students “one less crappy painting you have to do!”

From a practical standpoint, this requires the artist to curate both their focus and the way they narrate their ongoing artistic journey. I am reminded of my then six-year-old daughter on her first trip to the inclement Quetico Boundary Waters exclaiming brightly, “Well… We’re cold, and we’re wet, and we’re tired… But at least we’re not hungry!” Just as we design our work to highlight that which inspires us to create, we must internally highlight the joys and successes that inspire us to keep working. The rewards for cultivating this trait will be courage, resilience, perspective, and an abundance of gratitude.

3) Attitude of Love

I say this in recognition that this will mean different things to different artists, but for those of us who believe that art is a language, I would like to make a case for holding an attitude of love.

Love is a choice. It is reciprocity, being open and vulnerable to receiving and to giving. Each day, each hour, we decide what we look upon. We pay attention to what moves us. Our love of light, love of beauty, love of nature, love for people, love of color vibrations, love of form, these are precious. To choose to perceive love requires discipline, but it will help to bring a wholeness of message to our body of work.

Simply put, love is a wellspring. A higher love emerges from the personal love we feel for our subject. It flows through us and permeates our work. And as our technical skills and clarity grow, we communicate more efficiently. We begin to share not only what we are looking at, but who we are as lovers of this world. We share ourselves when we share what we love. It comes around full circle when our love is communicated to and received by others, now and in the future. The rewards for cultivating this trait will be authenticity, purpose, a personal relationship with all of our work, and an endless source of inspiration.

So, earnest young artist out there, if you’re reading this, here is my better answer. Happy Painting!

I think that as artists, one of the primary goals of a successful painting, whether spoken or unspoken, is that we hope to evoke an emotional response from the viewers of our paintings.  We want that untrained eye to approach one of our pieces, and smile.  In fact, it is my hope that the buyers of my paintings will smile each and every time they look at their new piece of artwork.  I actually say that in my ‘thank you’ notes to them.

We have all heard and perhaps even taught about the 5-7 key elements of a good painting: line, form, texture, value, pattern and color.  But if you look up what makes up the key elements of design, you will find that one of them is Movement.  I will suggest that when movement is one of the elements in your painting, it will evoke a greater emotional response from the viewer, than when that element is not present.

Most still life’s do not have movement as one of their elements.  Perhaps Tibor Nagy would be the exception to that statement.  Most portraits likewise do not possess movement in them.  In fact, many landscapes, while successful in inviting the viewer in, do not possess movement. 

I am not suggesting that all paintings need to have movement in them to be successful; I am simply saying that when the element of movement is present, the emotional response is greater.  The viewer can smell the salty air, feel the wind or hear the waves crashing onto the shore.

In U.S.33 (also known as Defender) you can feel the power of the wind driving that beautiful sailboat forward.

In Taking Flight, you feel lucky to get that instantaneous snapshot of the duck lifting off the water’s surface

In Beached, you understand that the little rowboat was lucky to be pulled ashore before the wind kicked up and the waves grew too large to handle.

Roger Dale Brown OPAM taught me that “you don’t need to fill in every little detail, because the mind will fill in the blanks”.  I totally subscribe to that line of thinking and further believe that the mind will do likewise when movement is present.

Happy painting!

I received an email from my blog a while back asking a couple of questions about how Berthe Morisot painted. I thought my reply might be interesting to a wider readership, so here it is…

On Feb 25, 2019, at 11:36AM, Malcolm wrote: 

Mr. Kitts,

I received your email this morning about the micro and macrocosm of your painting brushwork and enjoyed the video. Very nice surfaces!

This evening I will purchase, and watch, your ‘Sargent’ video and hopefully that video will answer a question that I have about gestural brushwork.

But in case it does not I am also sending you this email to ask: in the attached image of the Berthe Morisot painting the brush work is very loose and superimposed over other brushwork, what medium (if any) would she have mixed with her oils to achieve those flowing strokes? They are fluid and almost translucent in areas.

And here was my reply…

Hello Malcom. Thank you for your kind words and email. For the record, the video you referred to is a 2018 demonstration of Sorolla’s methods, not Sargent. But I have just release a 17-hour demonstration of Sargent’s techniques a few weeks ago. So perhaps one or the other, or both, will be of interest to you…

But to return your original question: I have always loved the work of Berthe Morisot and feel her influence has long been underrated as one of the original French Impressionists. But I don’t consider myself an authority on her or her work. However, I do feel I can make a few educated guesses based upon what I know about the materials and methods used by Berthe and her brethren. But before I begin, it is important to appreciate few artists worked in the same way with the same materials over their entire career and I believe Berthe was no different. So what follows should be considered a quick generalization about our two paintings and not a scholarly summary of Morisot’s technique.

First, I have attached a different painting than the one you shared. It was probably painted close to the time of your Morisot. But with mine, you can zoom into the image to see more detail, which reveals a lot about her brush work. And please note, the observations I share refer to my image, not yours…

1. In general, Berthe painted on a tightly woven linen support. The ground or ‘primer’ would have likely been a mixture of lead oil and a calcium carbonate, or a chalk to aid in the adhesion of the paint layers. This was a common support used by French Impressionists and it is still a lovely surface to paint on today. So why not try it out yourself? If you like Berthe’s work, the support you paint on will often dictate the character of your brush work. 

2. I would guess her ground was somewhat absorptive and Berthe often stained it with a pigmented earth color such as burnt umber. (see the enlargements found in this post.) A thin wash would have been applied and allowed to dry before a painting was started. I say dry because I do not see any softening or diffusion in the lower layers of the painting. Diffusion would indicate Berthe painted into a wet surface, or a wet imprimatura, and we don’t see that here.

3. The colors she used contributed to the character of her brush work. Berthe used a (largely) opaque pigmented palette that was common to most of the original French Impressionists. (She married Eugène Manet, Édouard’s younger brother, and it was she who convinced Édouard to begin painting outside. She also introduced Édouard to her circle of young Impressionists, who received him as a champion of their cause.)

Berthe’s palette primarily consisted of cadmium yellows and reds, and I’d guess from this painting, prussian and colbalt blue, plus possibly an ultramarine blue, a viridian or emerald green, and a few earth colors such as umber, ochre, and sienna. For an impressionist, Berthe favored more neutral color mixes and she painted with a lead white, and there does not seem to be much use of black since it was considered an anathema to the theories of Impressionism. There may be more colors in this painting but confirming what they are would require some sophisticated lab analysis. For the most part, the lead white dictated the character of Berthe’s strokes. Lead white’s thixotropic properties create this kind of stick, drag, grab, and pull, and it tends to imbue such qualities into any other color it is combined with.

4. Consider how the paint is applied. The surface strongly suggest this painting was executed rapidly with paint being applied thinly at the outset. Later strokes were built up and applied more thickly, with more body, and with each pull retaining its own integrity. You do not find much blending between strokes or colors and there is little to no softening of edges. I don’t find any slumping in the thicker strokes so Berthe probably didn’t incorporate much, if any oil or medium beyond whatever was already in the paint. I don’t know if she, like many of her compatriots, purchased her paint from Sennelier in Paris. But if so, her colors would have been ground in safflower, not linseed oil, which behaves differently under the pressure of a brush. Applying paint straight from the tube with minimal alteration was a common practice among the French Impressionists because they valued expediency when painting from life, and color intensity above all else. Thus they did not like to overmix their color. They also preferred their finished work to have a matte surface because they felt glossy surfaces and pre-mixed color diminished the optical (partitive) effects they pursued over all else. Berthe often left small flecks of pure color in her strokes to excite the eye, with the flecks at times being analogous to the base hue, and sometimes the flecks being a complement or near-complementary hue. So as a card-carrying inside member of the French Impressionists, Berthe was likely to have been working straight from the tube, wet-into-wet, and pushing color into, or on top of color. If you look closely at the child’s lacy collar you will find Berthe ‘double-loading’ her brush – where she picks up two colors before she dragged the hair across the canvas – an entirely new and exciting way to paint that became central to the Impressionists’ aesthetic. 

5. In addition, from the marks we see, Berthe preferred using a stiff brush. Likely consisting of hog hair; and even more likely, a combination of short flats with worn down or flayed hair. (So failing to clean your brushes may have an up-side, yes? Ha!) You can see traces of her distressed brushes pressed into the thicker striated impasto strokes. She also applied flicks and touches of color with a round brush on occasion, reserving them for fine details such as the eyes and eyebrows. But please note: Berthe doesn’t use a small round to paint a large shape, nor does she render ’detail’ with a lot of repetitive strokes. Big areas are indicated with expressive gutsy pulls with a fully loaded brush. 

6. And finally, look at the directionality of her strokes. What you and I would call the gesture of the mark. She often pulled her strokes in alignment of a shape. Yet she also turned the direction of her strokes to follow the shifting surface planes to imply a sense of form. (Look at the shoulders of both figures.) Other times she pulled her strokes flatly aligned with the picture plane. (Look at the cheek of the nanny’s face.) Sometimes, some of Berthe’s strokes are short and appear to be laid down randomly, a technique reserved for areas of lesser importance. Sometime her strokes start off going in one direction but then arbitrarily whip around in another. All of this activity contributes to the energy you feel when you look at her work. Her unique brushwork is a crazy, layered, mark-making technique, yet her subjects and narrative still hold together. Why? (hint: Value Relationships…) French Impressionists used such loose and expressive brushwork to convey a sense of light, movement, vibrancy, and a  joie de vivre– with Berthe being one of the more wilder members of the club. In fact, in my opinion, Berthe was farther out there on the edge than all of her better-known male counterparts and yes, she deserves far more credit for being there.

So based on this painting and the others I spent time in front of in the Musée Marmottan Monet in Paris last August, I don’t think Berthe used much medium at all, beyond the possibility of a little solvent at the start with the one possible exception being the isolated blue scribbles which define the nanny’s left wrist cuff. That blue paint looks as though it was thinned down with a solvent and added after the fact on top of dry paint. A corrective move, perhaps.

And in your opinion would that painting be completed in one sitting or over many days? 

This painting was probably largely completed alla prima, or within a single session. A few passages may have been re-worked or re-touched during a second pass. But given the way the surface looks, any revisions would have been minimal. There is no sign Berthe was working into what the Parisian Academics called a ‘couch’ – meaning, painting into an ‘oiled out’ area with fresh paint – which is how many artists in the late 19th century often made their multi-session paintings look like they were one-shot wonders.

Malcom, I hope you found this information helpful as you continue your studies. Be sure to keep looking at as many originals as you can find but don’t forget to paint from life as well. Why? Well, here is a quote to remember:

“Real painters understand with a brush in their hand…”

   –   Berthe Morisot