Oil Painting

Most of us have been in this situation before – our painting has finally reached a point of completion, it’s dry and ready to be sent off but you’ve noticed that the surface quality is uneven – there are glossy areas in some parts of the painting and matte areas in others. Also, the darker values of the painting have lost some of their saturation and depth. This is quite common. Oil colors naturally dry to varying surface qualities, as different pigments require different amounts of oil binder. Also, using painting medium is some areas of the painting may exaggerate these variations. Perhaps the painting was done on absorbent, acrylic ground (“gesso”) which pulls oil away from subsequent paint layers. Not to worry…these issues of surface quality and color saturation can easily be remedied through the application of a final picture varnish.

Picture varnishes address two important concerns – one in the short term and the second in the longer term. First, a varnish layer solves those immediate aesthetic concerns outlined above by achieving a uniform surface quality and, in the case of gloss varnishes, increasing the sense of depth in your finished works. Second, the varnish layer protects oil paintings from environmental dirt and dust over the life.

The information below discusses both the issue of choosing the appropriate surface quality for your work and the benefits gained by protecting your work for the long-run.

It’s the easiest way to make your painting look better

As mentioned, it is common for paint layers to dry to different surface qualities. Some pigments used in oil colors require more oil and dry with more gloss, other pigments require less oil and dry matte. During the painting process, it can be beneficial to even out the surface quality to better evaluate the values of the painting and deepen the color saturation. We recommend “oiling out” the surface of the painting with a mixture of Galkyd painting medium and Gamsol for this. As the small amount of painting medium will bond permanently to previous and subsequent layers, this procedure is preferable to using retouch varnish. “Oiling out” has its benefits on a recently completed painting as well, since it not only unifies the surface quality but it reduces the absorbency of paint layers – allowing the subsequent varnish layer to remain on the top-most part of the painting structure.

Whether you “oil out” the painting or not, varnishing is the best way of unifying the dry paint layers with the desired surface quality for your work. But what type of surface is right for the painting? High gloss? Dead matte? Something in between? Finding the appropriate surface quality is a very personal choice. Gloss surfaces beautifully saturate dry paint layers and increase the sense of depth in paintings. Matte surfaces give paint layers a very direct appearance, but can lighten the darkest values of a painting. Historically, representational painters preferred a gloss surface because of the increased sense of depth. Abstract painters adopted matte surfaces to enhance the physicality of paint layers. This, of course, is an over-generalization. What’s most important is that you find the right surface quality for your work.

The other aspect of this is how the environment affects the viewing of the work once the painting is installed. Paintings that have a gloss surface can be difficult to see if they are not lit properly. This can take away from the painted image to the point of being distracting.

What makes for a glossy or matte surface on a painting? Gloss varnishes encourage the reflection of light in a specular, or mirror-like, direction off the surface of the painting. Gloss surfaces deepen values and saturate colors in paintings. Matte varnishes are formulated with matting agents (solids) in the varnish layer, which act to scatter the light at the surface of the painting. Depending on the amount of matting agents in the varnish layer, matte varnishes lighten the darkest values in paintings.

Varnish protects paintings

It is generally recommend that finished paintings are varnished, unless the artist truly dislikes the look. Unvarnished paintings are vulnerable to aging in ways that varnished paintings are not. Very few, if any, private collectors keep their homes at the uncontaminated levels and controlled climates that museums do. There are two important criteria that a quality picture varnish must have – first, the varnish must be water-clear to not change or alter the color scheme of the painting below. Second, the varnish must be easily removable in the future. The top-most layer of any painting will ultimately take on a layer of dust and dirt. Varnishes provide a non-porous layer which prevent dust and dirt from being embedded in the more porous paint layers beneath (see diagram below).

If and when the painting needs to be cleaned, the varnish layer can be easily removed from the painting, along with the dust and dirt that has accumulated on top. In this way, a varnish should be thought of as a discrete, “sacrificial” layer to the rest of the painting.

Contemporary varnishes

Traditional dammar varnish and other natural resins make a durable top layer but yellow and darken over time and become increasingly difficult to remove for purposes of cleaning a painting. In the mid-20th century, acrylic resin varnishes were adopted because of their stability of color. However, these same varnishes changed the look of paintings, leading many conservators back to the use of dammar, despite its tendency to yellow with age.

In the early 1990s, Robert Gamblin collaborated with Rene de la Rie at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC, to bring a contemporary varnish to the studio painter. The research that came out of the National Gallery identified the most stable resin, Regalrez 1094, to be used as a picture varnish. This resin not only beautifully saturates dry paint layers, but is also formulated into a varnish with a very mild solvent – Gamsol. Equally as important, this varnish can be removed with Gamsol, posing very little risk of damaging paint layers below.

Gamvar Picture Varnish has now been available to painters for over two decades.

When to varnish

For most paintings, there is no need to wait 6 to 12 months before varnishing with Gamvar. Gamvar can be applied when the thickest areas of your painting are thoroughly dry and firm to the touch. Gently press your fingernail into the thickest area of paint. If it is firm underneath the surface, then it is ready for varnishing.

To varnish or not to varnish?

Similar to finding the appropriate frame for a painting, applying a varnish is an excellent way of putting a finishing touch on an original work of art. Not only does a final varnish coat unify and saturate color, but it plays an invaluable role in protecting your deeply-valued painting. In short, we recommend varnishing.

Additional references

Product information: Gamvar Gloss, Gamvar Matte, Gamvar Satin

Video demonstrations on varnishing and “oiling out”

Painting is my passion and my muse! If you are like me, then you paint because you feel like you might die of a broken heart if you could not! I love painting and feel very blessed to be able to do what I enjoy. I paint to learn but also to convey my own experiences, those ethereal moments that keep me inspired. In this blog, I am only writing about some aspects of painting, omitting other facets of being an artist. 

Since I paint for myself, it seems like I spend nearly every waking moment considering the practice of art. Beautiful paintings in galleries, museums, books and online inspire me.  Great work begs the question: “What is it about this painting that makes it special?” So exactly what grabs my attention in a painting and holds it for study… yes study? It usually begins with a strong composition, beautiful light, great color harmony and masterful manipulation of edges and brushwork. My appetite for good works has evolved over time, which in turn has influenced my own painting.

I read about art regularly, examining paintings and engaging in self-critique, hoping to find something to add to my toolbox. Some questions I might ask myself include the following: How was this work painted? Why do I think the artist did it this way? How might I apply this idea or technique to my work? Am I analyzing this painting correctly? Is there another way to look at it? Even though a piece I have worked on did not please me, what did I learn? If I painted it again, how might I do it differently? What tips can I add to my knowledge and skills for future paintings? I use the answers to these questions to help me better understand my own work.

Masterful paintings are found everywhere. It is easy to become discouraged if your paintings do not measure up to other artists. Don’t compare your work to them because you can always find someone who paints better, faster and smarter with more skill. Study paintings to try to figure out answers to your own questions.

This makes me a student for life. I am happy about that because it means I will never become bored with painting, doing the same ole thing, the same way. I study paintings I admire to learn important lessons, hoping to advance my practice in plein air and studio work.

Paint from life and your skills will develop more quickly. Observational practice using intuitive intention over time yields personal growth. It seems to me that if you set goals for your art, you can’t help but excel. Using your inspiration, determine what you are hoping to convey with your work. If you can’t get outside, set up a still life. Flood it with light. Then paint it. Paint a section of a room or look out a window and paint what you see. There are endless ways to work from life.

The value range seen in nature and works with great color harmony can be many lessons all by themselves. Try out unfamiliar techniques and applications of paint. Experiment with brushwork and use thicker paint. Focus on color, its emotive properties, temperature and values. Instead of painting using observational local color, paint using wild colors expressively. Remember that depicting form is always about the light.

Paint what excites you and what you are passionate about. Take risks and you will be rewarded. Your style will develop overtime. Read, read, read and practice, practice, practice. Therein lies the key to achieving good works. 

Keep in mind that even the best cameras alter what the human eye sees. Photographs flatten depth perception, change colors, darken darks and often eliminate subtle light values. Sunlight produces colors and atmospheric conditions that are often lost in photos. They depict everything with equally sharp detail. On the other hand, our vision sees in focus only the spot to which we are looking. Everything else in our peripheral vision we see with soft edges. However, photographs are useful to me as a supplement to my outside work and for studio reference. So I encourage artists to get outside to paint. Along the way, I have discovered that plein air painting has helped my studio work more than the other way around.

My advice is to seek out great artists and look to them to learn. But whatever you do or however you do it, the good news is that you are painting. Truthfully, it does not matter why you make paintings. Anything that gets a brush in your hand is a gift.

I heard somewhere if you paint that which gives you joy, you contribute to your own happiness. What’s not to like about that? Do you paint for a commercial market? Do you paint to experiment? Are you painting for recreation and relaxation? It feels good to paint, so when you paint have fun and keep an open mind.

Earlier in my career, a friend who was also a collector of my work would always say to me: “Just keep painting.” So as I continue my journey as a painter, I will continue hearing those words echoing in my head: “Just Keep Painting” and I hope you do too!

I’ve noticed several artists adding portrait and figure painting to their skill set lately. We know there are benefits in challenging ourselves by painting the figure from life. Having practiced painting the figure and portrait at our local art center I’ve been eager to create settings and poses both inside and outside at my home. Working from life is the best way to improve our skills yet it’s often difficult to find someone willing and available to pose -especially during the daylight hours. Thankfully I’ve had live-in models milling around my home -my children! I have experienced both gifts and challenges painting them.

  Familiarizing oneself with one’s subject is essential. In preparing to paint an unfamiliar model we need time to discover the model’s sense of identity and style, passions, achievements, worries and wishes, while with family we already have an understanding and familiarity with these facets. Once the artist has managed to persuade a child or spouse to sit for a portrait, and likely only for a limited time, kindling the sitter’s interest in the design will help everything go more smoothly. The artist can engage the model in some of the decisions; determining a natural position for the pose, incorporating a favorite treasure or symbolic object, and choosing a relevant, appropriate outfit. Although it’s not easy, inviting your model to hold an attitude, thought, or sentiment in mind during the sitting is also helpful -this idea may be more the job of the artist than the muse.  With this dialogue between the artist and muse we can arrive at a pose and setting which propels us to begin.

“You compose because you want to somehow summarize in some permanent form your most basic feelings about being alive, to set down some sort of permanent statement about the way it feels to live now, today.” -Aaron Copland

Not only do I strive to accomplish a dialogue between myself and my muse, I have technical goals as well. Every new work can feel like the first time I’ve painted consciously. Having spent the last couple of years painting the figure indoors and landscape studies out in the open air I have become partial to natural light both on my subject and for my palette and canvas. Natural daylight allows us to identify accurate hues. Perceiving true color allows us to think in terms of shapes and masses, looking for and generalizing sections of color, mixing it as closely as possible and, as though you are assembling a puzzle, placing each piece with pastel, brush or palette knife onto your surface. 

In the last few years I’ve had the good fortune to capture a few of the passing phases of each of my children. Hopefully moving in the direction of narrative portraiture where the model is a subject in his/her own theatrical composition my works are better described as biographical portraits which summarize a happening, a moment, or an attitude in the life of my subject.

A few years ago, before I considered the significance of narrative portraiture I painted my first small portrait in oil of my teenaged daughter sitting on a stone wall in the morning sunlight. I only wanted to capture this lovely girl, whom I adore, bathed in morning sunlight.

I managed to persuade my son to pose for a quick photo shoot, and I painted him in soft pastels. He was wheeling his motorcycle out into the bright sun. I hoped to capture his energy and passion for riding.

Years later I painted my older daughter again when she entered a more guarded phase in her young adulthood and I suggest this by painting her behind the back of the Windsor chair keeping the viewer at a distance.

Practicing in various different media can stretch your boundaries in mark making. Using the broadside of the pastel stick is a bit like using a large flat brush in oil painting. With either medium one has the option to mass in the larger shapes paying close attention to their corresponding colors and values after which one can begin defining the forms.
I painted my youngest in a September field. It was her first year of high school when it occurred to me she will soon be leaving the nest as my older children have.

I’ve painted my youngest twice in the last couple of months. Her incentive to pose? Gas money. My intention here was to suggest her quandary with the many valentines she receives.

Although this figurative painting is not of my own child I have painted this young woman several times while she sat for several artists at a local studio. In this painting I imbued the scene with a mood which didn’t reflect the setting before me, illustrating how much play we have as artists to enhance atmosphere or emotion in our rendering.

Beware of this one thing when painting your own children – they can be painfully honest critics. They may not understand and appreciate an artist’s objective in the practice of painting and they don’t hold back when they see you’ve painted an eyebrow too thin or the nose a little too long. Some family members, however, don’t complain that their noses aren’t right:

Practicing portrait painting from life with our own family members gives us an advantage in capturing the essence of our muse. While it can be challenging to get them to sit we’ll cherish the time painting someone with whom we feel a deep connection. After all, what is a more worthy focus than our clan of kindred spirits? 

“There can be nothing exclusive about substantial art. It comes directly out of the heart of the experience of life and thinking about life and living life.”  -Charles Ives

“Don’t only practice your art, but force your way into its secrets; art deserves that, for it and knowledge can raise man to the Devine.” -Ludwig van Beethoven

When I was learning to paint, living where I do on the shores of the Bay of Fundy, boats of all sorts were a readily available subject. I ended up painting a lot of boats. I have always been drawn to the water and boats were an excuse to paint water. People who know boats will not accept a painting of a boat that looks like she will sink. Over the years, through trial and error, I have learned how to render a boat that looks seaworthy.

Whether elegant sailing vessels or battered fishing craft, boats are a challenging subject. Personally, I find it easier to accurately portray a boat than a building. Mind you, I paint boats far more often than architecture. As a result, boats come more easily to me. It is a matter of practice and familiarity with the subject.

When asked “How can I learn to paint boats like you?” my reply is only-partially tongue in cheek “Paint a lot of boats. Make lots of mistakes, learn from them, eliminate those mistakes from your painting vocabulary and finally what you are left with is the ability to paint a good boat.”

In our house we actually have a term for a poorly rendered boat. We say it is suffering from “Wonky Boat Syndrome” Sometimes it is terminal condition. Most usually a terminally wonky boat is suffering from a fatal error in drawing.

The key to portraying anything correctly is taking the time to look at it closely and to identify the relationships that make it the shape it is. In other words, the key is knowing how to draw. Whether you use a pencil or a brush loaded with juicy oil paint, you need to be able to see the shapes and get them down in front of you.

I learned how to paint in watercolour long before I took up oil paints. In watercolour, pre-drawing is pretty much crucial. In oil painting drawing is still key to rendering a good boat. The blessing with oils is that I can start with a loose representation of the shapes in the approximate right place. As I work I can move them around, correcting as I go. Small adjustments make the difference between a boat that will float and one that would sink.

Here’s how I go about rendering a boat.

I take a good look at the darned thing. I really look at it. I rough in the shape. This next step is the important bit: I look at the boat again and compare it to the shape I just made. I fix the most obvious error and then I compare it again. Fix it again, compare again. Over and over, until I am done. In words this sounds simple. In practice it’s a bit more challenging, especially if the boat is twisting at a mooring.

That is a problem with boats. They move. The tide goes out and suddenly you notice the boat is several feet lower from the top of the wharf than it was before. (Or several meters if you are in my beloved Bay of Fundy.) The wind comes up and shifts the boat from a bow view to a stern view. The skipper comes along, hauls anchor and sails away. Drawing a preliminary sketch in a sketchbook can help, learning to capture shapes quickly can help, too.

I painted this 8″ x 10” portrait of a boat from shore as it waggled back and forth in the harbor, tied to the orange buoy ball. While boats do move while moored, they tend to pass through the same position repeatedly which helps. Luckily this one did not sail away as I was painting it. I did end up having to move the mast over an inch to the right from where I had initially put it. (Can’t do that in watercolor!)

Here are some common reference points that I check as I draw a boat.

I get the big shape right first, paying attention to relationship of the height of the hull to the length of the hull. Is it 3 times as long as it is high? 5 times? Get that correct first. Then I include the cabin, if there is one. Rough it in, paying attention to size relationships again. Is it the same height as the hull? How much of the length of the boat does it extend?

In this painting, the closest boat is approximately 4.5 times as long as the height of the hull at the bow. The front face of the cabin is slightly more than half the height of the hull and is set back from the bow about the same distance as it is tall. The cabin shape ends at about the midpoint from bow to stern. I pay attention to these relationships, and yes, if I am painting outside, I stand there with my brush in my hand and I hold it up and I measure.

Then I start looking at the finer points.

Look closely at the mast, if you are painting a sailboat. In your rendering, does the mast come up from the centerline of the boat (ie does it sit in the middle between the two sides?) It should.

Look at the line of the bow and the stern (that’s the rear). Are they straight up and down? Are they slanted one way or the other? Different boats, different angles. Pay attention. Look closely.

Pay attention to all these little details. Look at what you are painting. Even if you “know” boats, look at the one that is in front of you. Compare what you have drawn to what you are seeing. If something looks wrong, measure. Keep measuring until you find where the problem has crept in.

Is the waterline straight? Boats sit in the water. The water surface is flat. Even though boats are full of curves everywhere, water still follows the laws of gravity. If looking at a boat from the side, the waterline will appear straight and run parallel to the horizon. (It can be broken up by waves, but overall should be straight.) If the boat is at an angle receding away from you this becomes more complicated… Then you have to look closely. Measuring helps. Hold your brush up in front of you and line it up against the waterline of the boat. This shows you the degree of angle if there is one, and if there is any degree of curve. You’ll be surprised how often there is no curve when you thought there was one.

This ship is over 63′ long and pointing almost directly at us. Despite that, her waterline looks relatively flat, because this picture is from just about water level.

Where is the boat in relation to the horizon?

Remember that the horizon line, the true horizon, where the sky meets the water, will always be pretty much at your eye level. This means if you are at the water’s edge, the horizon might be just above or even behind the boat you are rendering. If you are up a hill, or on a high pier, the boat will be further below the horizon line, so much so (depending on how high up you are) that you may not even be able to include the horizon in your picture.

In this next drawing the vantage point is higher than that from the painting above.

(Conversely, where are you in relation to the boat?)

The boats are depicted with a vantage point from the road running above the shore, so they all fall below the horizon.

Placing your boats correctly in relation to the horizon line becomes especially important when you are painting a group of boats. This is to avoid that sub-genre of Wonky Boat Syndrome, the Tiny Boat Illusion. Perspective applies to boats just as much as it does to buildings in a city. If you have two identical boats, one near and one far, they will maintain proportionally the same distance from the horizon line.

Here I’ve drawn in some perspective lines:

Then I added another boat, one that is proportionally out of place.

Do you see that it is actually the same size as the left-most boat?

Finally, here is an illustration showing the relative ship height and the horizon. Those marked in red, you will note that the height of the boat is roughly double the space between the top of the boat and the horizon. The center boat, marked in green, does not match that proportion and hence looks like a tiny boat.

I have given a laundry list of some of the problems I have seen most often in painting boats. I have certainly made all of these mistakes and more. The important thing is to learn from them and move on. That is, after all, what creates experience.

There is plenty written about rendering boats accurately.  For another perspective on how to avoid missized boats, please visit James Gurney’s post on the “Toy Boat Problem”

I’m not a naturally patient person. I tend to want to skip the hard part and get to the results, but learning to make good paintings is a process that takes time. Beginners are often surprised by how difficult drawing and painting actually is. Layers of fluid brush strokes in a fine painting give the impression of easy spontaneity, when in fact, the artist made innumerable, calculated decisions throughout the process.

When I went to art school in the 70s and 80s I was surprised by the lack of instruction in my studio classes. We had critiques and discussions about design concepts, but technical training was curiously absent. This approach was evidently based on the idea that classical instruction would stifle or hinder creative expression.

Compelled to undertake this approach, I abandoned what I’d learned from an excellent high school art teacher, and began slathering pigments onto large canvases, using sweeping gestures and full chroma color. I imagined that somehow the innate qualities within me would find their way onto the canvas. This was great fun at first. The freedom to move the paint around spontaneously was invigorating. It was like being a kid again. Eventually, the newness wore off, and I became bored with my limitations.

After college I got a job at a gallery that exhibited some extraordinary representational paintings – the kind of paintings that had inspired me to become an artist in the first place. Next to these, my work seemed ridiculous. I held to the notion of my professors, that if I just kept painting, my work would naturally develop on its own. This proved to be untrue. I was stuck, lacking the skills to do what I envisioned in my mind, and the resources to obtain those skills. The university had my money and I had very little to show for my investment.

A move and change in circumstances led me to lay aside my brushes for a number of years. When I finally resumed painting, I did so with intention. I approached it with the attitude of a novice working within a set of boundaries. I took some classes and began studying painting at the most fundamental level – learning and practicing each of the basic principles of design until I gained some competency. As I could afford it, I purchased good books and dvd’s by master artists – not just to add them to my library, but to use them as textbooks and teachers. Most of all, I practiced and practiced what I learned and gradually saw my work improve. Rather than stifling my creativity, I found the principles I was learning served to liberate it.

The learning process can be frustrating, but the reward of finally grasping a concept is amazing. It’s like finding the key to a long- locked door. I remember the day I understood how to use color temperature to achieve the illusion of light and form. I was painting a lichen-covered branch. “Eureka!” I thought, “I finally get this!” One door that stayed stubbornly locked for years was in the area of design. No matter how much I had learned about composition, those bits of knowledge were not enough to really crack the code for me. It was earlier this year, in a workshop with John Lasaster, that the pieces finally fell into place and I came away with understanding and tools I could use!

I like the term “artistic journey”. If you look at it as a journey, you’ll keep moving forward and your work will get stronger. If you look at it as a destination, you might put down roots too soon and miss out on all the potential waiting down the road.

I will quote Edgar Payne in
closing:

“When the artist has schooled and disciplined himself to the point where he can respond to natural impulses, the real enjoyment in painting begins.”