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Think Snow: 6 Painting Lessons from the Ski Trails

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There’s not much I love doing more than painting, but cross-country skiing comes close. There are many beautiful days in the winter when I‘m torn between either painting or skiing, wishing for more hours of daylight to get them both in. Even when I’m not at the easel, my mind inevitably wanders to painting as I ski on the picturesque trails. As I was gliding through beautiful landscapes and planning my next set of snow paintings last week, I thought about the parallels between skiing and painting. Here are some lessons learned from the ski trails that can be applied to painting:

1. Learn from a pro:

My husband and I first attempted skate skiing when we moved to Alaska. Determined to learn on our own, we headed out to the trails and strapped on our skis….only to spend the entire day with frustrating (and often comical) results. A weekend ski clinic did wonders as we were taught the basics by an expert who truly understood all the elements of good technique.

As with skiing, you can save yourself a lot of time and effort in art by finding a good instructor who can walk you through the basics of painting, taking some of the mystery out of the craft. Yes, an artist can be self-taught, but most times the process takes a lot longer and good input from competent professionals will speed you on your way to making your own art without stumbling over technical problems at the beginning.

“Winter’s Release”
by Kathleen Dunphy
24″ x 18″

2. Don’t expect to be good if you don’t do it a lot:

The long Alaskan winters allowed me lots of time to ski. Here in the radically shorter winters of California, I’m skiing a fraction of the amount that I used to. Consequently, I can’t expect to win any races or to see great improvement in my technique.  

As with skiing, don’t expect to get better at painting if you don’t work at it on a consistent basis. Practice really does make perfect, and getting into the habit of painting nearly every day will help you to see gains more quickly.

3. Those who make it look easy have put in their time

Every now and then when I’m out plein air painting, a passer-by will comment, “You make it look so easy!” (I always have to resist the impulse to reply, “Well I certainly fooled you, didn’t I?”) As I’ve said many times before, I don’t think painting is easy; I think painting is really hard, but aspects of it have gotten easier over years of repetition and practice. I’ve been guilty of watching elite skiers fly past me and feeling a pang of jealousy at the apparent ease with which they ski, but I know that they’ve put in countless hours of practice to get that good.

Painting takes enormous patience and perseverance and nothing happens overnight. It helps to realize that, just like an athlete, you have to been in for the long haul in order to develop your skills and gain competency

4. It’s not the falling down, it’s the getting up that matters

Let’s face it: no matter how good we get, at some point every skier falls and every painter fails. The old skiing adage, “if you’re not falling down, you’re not learning anything,” applies to painting as well. In order to grow, we have to push ourselves to do things that that are risky and learn from our mistakes. I could just ski the flat trails or paint easy subject matter, but where would that get me? I’d be a mediocre skier and a ho-hum painter.

Although there have been many times of frustration when I’ve wanted to unhook my skis and storm off the trails or chuck my painting into the woods and head home, I’ve learned that I have to channel that negative energy into something positive in order to grow. Much like an athlete analyzes videos of his/her performance to look for ways to improve, take those paintings that didn’t hit the mark back to the studio and give them a detailed critique to learn from your errors. Remember that it’s never a failure if you’ve had a brush in your hand and have been painting with full concentration and intent. If you try, you either succeed or you learn. Challenging yourself to the literal hills of skiing and the metaphorical hills of art will force you to conquer new techniques and overcome fears, making you better at your craft overall.

5. Fear will get you nowhere, but overconfidence will make you fall on your face

We’ve all seen the skier stuck at the top of a hill, frozen with fear of the downslope ahead. Staring at a blank canvas can elicit that same kind of paralysis. The worry of making a mistake can be overwhelming, but you’ve got to start somewhere. Take a deep breath and make that first mark. Remember that errors can always be corrected and that the only thing worse than bringing home a bad painting is not doing a painting at all.  But don’t get so overconfident that you’re like that skier who flies down the mountain without a care in the world, only to do an “Agony of Defeat” crash into the snow. Be sure to carefully think out your approach to the painting.

Anyone who has ever taken one of my workshops knows that I’m fanatical about thumbnails: they are the roadmap to the painting that makes everything else easier. Just a few minutes of sketches and planning can save you from falling flat on your face.

 6. No matter what happens, it’s a great day out there

No matter how many times I’ve fallen or how lousy my painting turns out, at the end of a day outside I always take a moment to look around and be grateful for the opportunity to spend some time outdoors. A day in nature is a gift not to be taken for granted. A positive attitude goes a long way in all endeavors, especially painting, so take the time to be thankful for what you have already accomplished and to think of productive and positive ways to improve yourself.

Click here for tips on painting snow in my blog post, “Snow Day”

What it Means to be an Artist

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Bike Touring by Jacqueline Chanda

When I started this journey of being an artist, I didn’t realize how many different kinds of artists or artist markets exist.  I am not talking about styles of art, realism verse abstractionism or folk verses traditional.  I mean artists who focus on local/regional content only, those who are driven by social/political issues, those who seek to be nationally or internationally connected, those who produce work only for its aesthetic beauty, those who are driven by cultural/ethnic content, those who seek out new and innovative approaches and cutting-edge techniques, those who just want to paint whatever comes their way, etc.   I struggle, as most artists do, with identifying what, which market I want to be a part of. So I ask myself the question what kind of artist do I want to be and what unique contribution can I make to the field?
Do I want to be a portrait painter, a landscape artist, or an equine painter, consistently producing the same kind of artwork, using the same media in the same style?  As I looked closer at art history, I realized that famous and not so famous artists did not stick to one subject matter, one style or one media.  Pablo Picasso, for example, painted all kinds of subject matters, worked with clay, created etchings, made sculptures, and produced drawings.  According to The Art Story.org “Picasso had an eclectic attitude to style, and although, at any one time, his work was usually characterized by a single dominant approach, he often moved interchangeably between different styles – sometimes even in the same artwork.”  Yet consistency is supposed to be the hallmark of an artist work.
Three Mints by Jacqueline Chanda 12″x16″

If we continue with the example of Picasso, we see that over a lifetime he was anything but consistent. He was, however, consistent during certain time periods. Thus we can identify his Rose or his analytical cubism period. However, none of these periods lasted very long, some for two years, others for 10 years. I once read that consistency in artwork is based on six elements; style, palette, subject matter, theme, medium, and presentation, and while you needn’t have all six elements in your work to be consistent your work should exhibit at least three or four of these elements. Perhaps the answer is consistency in a particular body of work and not consistency over a lifetime. Will consistency help you develop a unique contribution to the field?
Inspiration on Mount Lemmon
by Jacqueline Chanda

How exclusive can one be when there are thousands of artists out there striving to be ‘unique’? In Picasso’s case, it was his contribution of seeing form in a different way, cubism. He was influenced by a number of sources, other artists and cultures. And he worked to step away from many of the academic conventions of his time.   So even though he was an excellent draftsman and could render in a classical manner, he chose to see things differently. So ‘unique contribution’ is important if your interest is in transforming the field, turning it on its ears. But what if you just want to paint, what could be your unique contribution? Could it be theoretical exploration, a new way of visualizing an idea or notion, a different way of developing a composition, etc.? While these are all interesting concepts, they take lots of time to explore, develop and perfect. Wasn’t it Chuck Close who refused to exhibit his work until he had perfected his technique?  But what can an artist do especially if s/he has to eat, make money to buy supplies, support their art habit? Do you ‘go with the flow’ and create work that is trendy so it can sell? Or do you take the time no matter what to explore, to do work that connects the past and feeds the future, to produce work that is truly unique? Which are you?
“7.5” by Jacqueline Chanda

So now I come back to the questions at hand, what kind of artist do I want to be and what unique contribution can I make to the field?   Even though I have selected oil painting as my major medium and figurative art as my content, I enjoy painting birds, horses, still life arrangements, which might include fruit, shoes, candies, bowls, etc., landscapes, and whatever I find appealing.  I feel that the skills I use in painting people are applicable to painting landscapes.  I might have to work a little harder at landscape painting, but the principles are the same.  And what I learn from painting landscapes, especially plein air landscapes, I apply to my figurative work.
As for consistency, I personally find it hard to stay with just one subject matter for consistency sake.  So I focus on creating series or bodies of work that allow me to explore different elements of ideas or related subject matter. One series may focus on a particular subject matter and a special palette while another might focus on composition and a theme. What remains most consistent is my medium, oil painting, my style, loose brush strokes, and my theme, people.   As an artist who started her journey late in life, I am not sure I have the time to explore the notions of a truly unique contribution to the field of painting because as I said before it takes lots of time to explore, experiment, and just play. Therefore, I have determined, that my unique contribution, while not earth changing, is really about my voice and vision. The scenes I select to paint, my personal vision of what is important in a scene, my unique voice of expressing my subject matter, the internal logic I use in developing my compositions.   Do these choices come naturally? No, not necessarily, I am always looking at what other artists past and present have and are doing, how they manned brushstrokes, the color palettes they use, the compositional arrangements they select. I use what I learn from them sparingly, because creativity is, “knowing how to hide your sources.” While this might not change the face of painting within the next century, it is what I enjoy doing. How about you?

Some Thoughts About Using Photography

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This year I was asked what my thoughts are about painting from photographs and if this is a practice I use.
There is much I can write about, and I will start with……. Yes, I paint from photographs.
But the painting does not look like the photograph,  yet, there is no painting without the photograph. So what’s happening?
I think the photographs touch something inside of me,  which awakens and inspires me…
Usually, when painting from a photo or my monitor, it is in the studio and with oils. I set up the image(s) the night before, then sleep on it, and I’m ready to start the next morning.


I would like to say more about myself and photography:
I started studying painting when I was 20 at the Art Students League with the late Frank Mason.
Back then the rage in New York City was Abstract Expressionism. Realism was considered dead by the intelligent ones. You were actually considered stupid to want to paint realistically, “don’t you realize it has already been done?” At that time painting realistically was limited and very different from today.
Among us young artists who wanted to paint realistically, we had a false notion which I swallowed completely …. “if you work from a photo you were an illustrator (God forbid), and if you worked from real life you were considered a fine artist, yay!”
For my first 20 years of painting which was in the studio and out on location, I never considered using a photo.
When I returned from Europe I started using black and white photography as I got involved painting Mexican and Guatemalan marketplaces. That was during an eight-month visit to San Miguel de Allende and afterward.
 
Woodstock, NY (1970-1983)
A few years later I moved to Woodstock. The landscape and the Catskill mountains were breath-taking. Painting on location and exclusively with pastel. Of course, the light would change and be different from when I began, I found I could have painted both light conditions. While taking a short break and viewing other mouth-watering subjects to paint, I felt as if I was a child in a candy store. This caused inner anxiety.
To satisfy my anxiety I started taking slides of subjects I would have painted if I wasn’t already involved. The weather in Woodstock could get nasty. Since taking only slides of something I would have painted if not already committed to a  painting… I found myself in my studio viewing these slides, reliving them, they excited and they inspired me, and I found myself starting to paint from them.
Much to my chagrin, the paintings were beautiful.
This caused a lot of confusion and guilt within me which I struggled with for a good many years till finally getting over it. I now use photography for landscape and find it as a great help for painting my oils in the studio, and my workshop demos.

Live Preppy

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Preppy was a term tossed around a few decades ago. It referred to the behavior of someone who went to a preparatory school.  Or, it could refer to a logo-laden dress code.  The word and the style fell from favor, but I’ve always liked the sound and decided that it could be re-defined and re-cycled for better use.  All of us have heard the honored motto, “Be Prepared”.  As artists, we must always make an effort to be so.  But my new definition means a bit more. I would like for you to consider not just, being prepared, but also living in a state of preparedness.  Living preppy.
Here are a few ways an artist can live a preppy life.
Live in a constant state of awareness.
Collect information, file visual data.  You never know when some wonderful visual experience might happen to you.  Be ready.  Be aware that ideas are all around you.  Write them down if you don’t have time for a sketch.  You may be unhappily surprised if you don’t get into this practice.  You’ll have a wonderful idea, see a great motif and believe that you’ll surely remember.  But there is so much data attacking all the time that you may not remember.  Carrying a small sketchbook, or even a little notebook is such a great habit.  I wrote a note last week, “long deep blue morning shadows from tree line silhouetting foreground interest”.  That doesn’t sound like much, but it was just the jolt I needed to remember the idea and return to the location at the right time of day.
Stay prepared by keeping your skills sharp.

Tuesday’s Twos, Permanent markers on Bristol paper. Two-minute gesture drawings.  These improve my observation skills and make all my drawings more lyrical.  Look for the gesture in everything.  It’s there.

This seems obvious especially if you are just beginning your artist’s journey.  You are at that part of the learning curve where you must practice every skill such as drawing particularly, but also value study, color mixing, and even perspective.  But as we advance, we get to a comfort zone, trust in our skill set and stop working to advance.  So, you’ll stay just where you are.  Drawing improves because you seek to improve it.  And even the most gifted artist will tell you that they wish they drew better.  Make practice of your skills a part of your life.  Those tedious color charts are invaluable.  Drawing either on your own, or with a group is one of the best things you can do to advance your art.  And draw just for the sake of drawing.  You will gain such amazing memory, both mental and physical.  Your hand will want to do just the right thing.  But it takes some dedication and commitment to keep those skills moving up the ladder.
Your drawing practice doesn’t need to be limited to life drawing. There may be no life group near you. So start a group.  Get some artists together and commit to draw on a regular schedule.  You could draw each other. You could have a day when you all bring a favorite object.  You could go out and have “celebrate tree day.”  Just draw.
Prepare before you begin.  Solve problems before they exist.
Get into the habit of exploring an idea, a composition before you begin a painting.  This can assume many forms and one or several may work for you.  These will probably be different for each artist.  There are a couple of things I do that help me get closer to success.
When I’m painting, especially en plein air, I always begin with a drawing.  It is nothing formal, not even meant to be a good drawing.  That’s not my purpose.  I’m moving the pencil around, working it out.  I’m studying the few basic values, thinking visually.  I write on the drawings, make any note that might help. I start the process in the middle of the page and draw out from there, leaving myself plenty of room to change the cropping of the image.  At this point, I don’t know the format, whether it will be a square, rectangle, perhaps a long format.  That hasn’t been determined.  I need to spend a little time with the subject and let that dictate the ratio.  This also slows me down and that is a good thing.  I notice that I have more failures when I jump in too soon.  And I have noticed this in so many artists.  We love to get right into the wonderful paint and may find out at an unfortunate later time that the composition is just not quite there.  That is no fun and it is so difficult to try to change it in the middle.  Why not begin with success?  Then you can truly enjoy the painting process with less worry because you’ve nailed the composition.  And since you’ve been practicing your drawing, no worries about getting it in correctly.  I do these sketches inside as well.
Painting one of Santa Fe’s blue doors. Photo courtesy of Paulette Alsworth.

To the left is a typical set-up for me.  I always keep these composition drawings close-by as I go through the painting process.  A little bungee cord keeps it from falling into the palette.  I learned that detail the hard way.
I also love doing tiny color sketches.  I may be preparing to attack a new subject or I may be searching for a fresh idea on a subject I’ve done often. Either way, I find it so helpful to take time to do some of these tiny studies.  I mark off scraps of canvas, or even paper to the scale that I’m thinking about.  I keep these around the studio so I can grab one that will work for a 4:5 ratio or a 3:4 ratio.  And then, I may ignore that altogether and just go for a new ratio that suits the subject. These sketches are done very quickly, no detail, no fuss, just the big ideas.  They often look more like abstract paintings than the subject I’m about to tackle. But that’s the point.  If an idea works in the abstract, it works in every way.  And because they are so quickly done, I tend to explore ideas more thoroughly.  I do these on a separate day than I’m planning to start the painting. That way, I don’t rush to decide on the composition.  I live with it a while, study it.  There is such joy and freedom in this type of preparation.
A page of composition ideas with roosters
by Joe Anna Arnett

So whether it is pencil sketches, tiny color abstractions, value compositions with markers, being prepared will not only save you from some problematic compositions, but it will advance your journey at a much more rapid pace.  That’s right.  That’s what I said.  Taking the time up front, being prepared will get you to the goal more quickly and with greater success.
The page of composition ideas shown on the right was done in oil on ordinary brown paper, brushed with shellac.  I taped off the rectangles in a 4:5 ratio for a later 12” x 16” canvas.  The sketches are only about 4” wide. Use a big brush and leave the details out.  Several of these will result in paintings later on.  This type of exercise, done on a cheap, non-permanent surface, is so liberating.  You’ll find that ideas begin to flow.
“Lunch Hunt” by Joe Anna Arnett
Oil on mounted linen –  12” x 16”  
One of the little sketches developed further.

Think about it when you wake in the morning.  What can I do to live preppy today?  Take a sketchbook on my walk?  Make notes of interesting ideas?  Take time to keep my skills at performance level?  Make preparatory drawings and studies?  Think it out.  Prepare and then go for it with great gusto knowing that you are prepared for success.
Nice going, Preppy!
 
 
 
 
 

On Craft and Art

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“Vintage Soy and Tea Rose” by Brian Cote

Today we live in the midst of a revolution of art the likes of which the world has never seen. Through the overabundance of art instruction and marketing via social media and the internet, great masses of student artists have emerged. Masses of artists created by multitudes of texts, online tutorials and workshops generated to suit the personality of and pocketbook of every enthusiast across the globe.
What has emerged is a condition of academia whereby the burgeoning artist unwittingly believes that there is a magical system of method that will mold them into a master artist. Yet the bulk of students remain students and never advance beyond craft. Although these artists may have completed numerous workshops and tutorials, they struggle to create a meaningful expression because they lack the ability to see with their heart. They have listened closely and diligently followed each process step-by-step but they have not learned to feel and experience their surroundings in order to imbue their work worth a singular personal expression. Without this quality, their art remains craft and exudes only a dry deadness and the viewer is not compelled to become a part of the artist’s world.
Art is not just what you want to paint, it is also and more importantly, what you want to say. The artist must utilize the basic foundations of art as a platform for their emotional response to a landscape, a still life or a portrait. Academia is not a means to an end, but a tool with which the student may sow the seed of opportunity to blossom into greatness.
All too often I witness students copying this or that artist and jumping from technique to technique and workshop to workshop as if they are collecting trading cards. They purchase all the latest easels, brushes and boutique paints advertised by their favorite artists. But all the while they are overlooking the point of the lessons. They never internalize their training and fail to make the processes a part of their individuality; consequently never moving beyond craft.
“In the Shadow of Summer” by Brian Cote

Great works of art are enduring because the artist has been uncompromising in their approach to express themselves fully through the language of art. They have put their blood, sweat, and soul into their work to the point where the art itself is indistinguishable from who they are and what they want to say. This kind of art speaks to us on a deep, intimate level because it speaks to us from the heart.
I propose that from the beginning of their academic training, students be coached and encouraged to pour out their heart upon the canvas. That with every step of their foundation they learn to experience the beauty that surrounds them in a way that expresses their particular perspective and personality. In this way I believe the student may not arrive at a stand-still or dead-end upon the completion of their training, but that they arrive at the beginning of art. They arrive at a place where they may create an enduring work of art which emanates the glow of their passion for life and their passion for art.