Oil Painting

The doorway to defining your own artistic, expressive voice lies within yourself, and your own intuition. Intuition is “immediate understanding,” the direct apprehension of something without the conscious use of reasoning.
We’ve all asked, “How can I make my art more remarkable? How can I make it more creative, personal, and expressive? How can I keep from overworking it in my journey to make it right?” Here’s the point of this article, right up front: JUST DO IT! Sure, it’s oversimplified, and is borrowed from the sports industry. A workshop instructor wouldn’t get very far with students by pronouncing this at the outset, then not backing it up, or demonstrating how to “just do it.” At university, my own art education was based on the principles of Abstract Expressionism as the faculty taught them, and summed up by “do what you feel.” Even then I was asking, “Don’t I want to know more to be more?”
Knowing involves our reasoning powers, and the type and volume of information that we already know. But to apply only our knowledge in creating an artwork is to miss the opportunity to enjoy the process of discovery relating to events that happen along the way. Planning first, then constantly second-guessing whether one has chosen wisely during creation, can rob the artistic experience of enjoyment, impede or even block the flow of feeling, obliterate the goal to express what is most meaningful about the chosen subject, and doom a piece to an oily, overworked grave.

Picture yourself at a painting demonstration, or viewing other artists’ work on Facebook or Instagram. What are you looking for, or hoping for? The author and art critic Jed Perl has an insight into that psychology: “What an artist makes of painting is not so much a matter of freely choosing among a variety of options, as it is a matter of making the most of a few intuitions that are absolutely one’s own. Every time a painter paints, we want to see what those intuitions are.”
Fact is, we need both our intellect and our intuition throughout life, and in the creation of anything that might be termed artistic: for example, in dance, cooking, building, sculpture, and certainly painting. Intuition is the sister of reason and the mother of innovation. Even a man whose foremost abilities lay in dealing with numbers, did so creatively: Albert Einstein observed, “The intuitive mind is a sacred gift, and the rational mind is a faithful servant. We have created a society that honors the servant and has forgotten the gift.”
Dan Beck, a contemporary painter, carries this idea into art-creation: “Painting is a balancing act between opposite ideas—direct observation and instinct, control and spontaneity, even between the literal and symbolic.” Fritz Scholder, another artist, adds “You must walk the tightrope between Accident and Discipline. Accident by itself…so what? Discipline by itself is boring. By walking that tightrope and putting down something on a canvas coming from your guts, you have a chance of making marks that will live longer than you.” A noted plein air painter, Debra Huse, sums it all up with a workshop mantra, “Put it down and leave it alone.”
Fear is the foe of the creative process. Practice and repeated, focused work is its friend. How then, can I as an artist personally banish self-doubt, and create work that is more creative, more remarkable, more “me?”

Number One: I would do so much work that many decisions would become automatic. I would “know” what to do simply because I had done it so many times before. At that point, I begin to “feel” the process unfolding rather than think about it, analyze it, and/or break it down moment-by-moment. I would take risks…and I would draw and paint from life as much as possible. As John Burton advises, “Don’t be afraid to draw anything!” There may be some things to be afraid of in life, but painting isn’t one of them.
Number Two: I would trust in my instincts, based on the experience of practice. I would begin to rely on my own intuitions for direction, rather than worrying about what X or Y Famous Artist might do. After all, an artist’s goal in singing, acting, playing an instrument or painting is to do it in such a way that it is remarkable because it is unique, expressive and emotional. The sum of those intuitive decisions— which rely upon one’s God-given unique and personal characteristics—points one in the direction of a personal style, an expressive way of communicating, and most of all, an exciting way of working. Producing results becomes more fluid, more dynamic, and less time-consuming. Wouldn’t it be fantastic if every painting of yours seemed like it was painting itself?

Number Three: Of course, it’s not that easy. Just because someone throws paint at a canvas doesn’t make the result beautiful, meaningful, or even expressive. An artist needs to have an idea about what he/she is doing, or there is no significance. Salvador Dali achieved a high place in the roll call of Surrealism by combining elements that had previously not been seen in paintings. Picasso wondered what a three-dimensional object would look like if you could simultaneously see its multiple sides. James Whistler imagined how he could best communicate the essence of a thing by not fully describing it. Landscape paintings can inspire ideas about beauty and wonder–and our place in the universe–that are more intuitive than they are intellectual. As the poet Paul Bouret offered, “Ideas are to literature what light is to painting.” Ideas are not only generated in the mind, but in the deeper part of ourselves, the spirit.
Good design—great design—is a combination of intelligence and intuition, both before and during the creative process. But rather than continually interrogating yourself with “How do I know if what I am doing is right?,” try checking yourself with “Does this feel right to me?”
Then Just Do It.

Drawing under a little bit of pressure is one of my favorite things. Get the gesture fast because that person is going to leave or move! It is a skill that enhances studio work greatly! However, here is something I’ve noticed over years of drawing in airports, coffee shops, restaurants, etc. People have stopped paying attention. I have been busted drawing someone many times in the past and it usually results in the end of that sketch because the person gets uncomfortable or leaves. This doesn’t happen much anymore because people have stopped looking around. The average person has stopped being an observer. They immediately look at their phone, iPad, computer, book, and the almost obsolete newspaper as soon as they sit down. They rarely notice me anymore so I get long drawing times on many of them. Excellent practice!
I have a recommendation for artists even if they are not drawing. Avoid burying yourself in a distraction. Open your eyes. Sit and observe! People are wonderful and you will see the most beautiful gestures and facial expressions that you will never see if you are staring at your phone.
And besides, staring down at your phone gives you a double chin. Remember that because even if you don’t notice it, I’m drawing your double chin while you sit in the airport!

When faced with a disaster, what would you save? Who hasn’t considered this classic rhetorical question? What would you rescue as you ran out the door in an emergency?  Obviously the people and pets. But then it gets harder, and personal.  The computer? Financial paperwork? Family heirlooms? Photo albums?
At the end of September, the question became real for me.  
My husband Jack and I live on a boat about half the year.  Having spent the summer aboard in Maine, we planned to take ‘Seadragon’ south for the fall and winter. Delayed by hurricanes Irma, Jose, and Maria, we were anxious to get underway and decided to do an overnight run from Portland to Provincetown.  Fully fueled, we left about 5pm, a bit before sunset.  As we approached the Cape Elizabeth lighthouse, I heard a soft ‘pop’ and a change in the engine sound.  After checking with my husband at the helm, I headed for the engine room below deck.  The porthole viewing window into the engine room was full of smoke and dripping from what I guessed was our fire suppressor.  I didn’t open the door.
Running back up to the flybridge with the bad news, we began doing the things you hope you never have to.  Jack shut down the engines and called a mayday to the Coast Guard, letting them know we might be abandoning ship.  I got our life jackets and ‘ditch kit’, which holds some survival gear.  We deployed the life raft. Then: are we ready? What else might we need? What was I not willing to lose? I grabbed our wallets – ID and a credit card would be nice if we were going to be ashore without a home, clothes or food.  Still time? Glancing around I rejected clothes, medicine, and souvenirs. Those could all be replaced.  Then I remembered – my Painting! The one I had ready to ship to OPA’s Eastern Exhibition in a couple of weeks! No question, that had to be the one thing I would grab. And there was time – barely.  
As I stood on the deck, painting tucked under my arm, ready to jump, I was so sad to be leaving our boat, perhaps forever.  Rescuing the painting eased that sense of loss and I knew I had made the right choice for me, on that day.  Another time maybe it will be different.  Of course, I’m actually hoping there won’t be a next time.
What happened next?  Well, as I stood there, the Coast Guard arrived, my heroes!  We had a scary transfer, jumping from our deck to theirs – but we all made it.  Me, my husband, and the painting.  The Coast Guard guys wondered what on earth they were protecting, ‘Must be really valuable’ they said.  Yes. To me, it was.
And the rest of the story: The Portland fire boat arrived and our boat didn’t sink – it was towed back to the docks.  We lost our life raft, had damages to repair, and weren’t real sure when we would get underway again.  But we were fine, got to celebrate a warm welcome back to shore by wonderful people, and I still had a painting to show.  It’s called “Potions” – but I’m thinking “Lucky Charm” might be its subtitle.

There were many lessons tucked into that day,  from the Boy Scouts “Be Prepared”, to the philosophical  “it could have been worse”.  But the one I want to share is that while possessions have little value in a life-threatening situation, the work that we do as artists is more than an end product.  It is a representation of how we spend our time, how we see the world, and what we want to share with the world.  Our work is important, and worth saving.
We are so fortunate to have had only a close call. Our boat didn’t sink, and our situation pales in comparison to the stories of thousands of people who lost everything to the recent hurricanes and the west coast fires. For each of these families the question of what to save was real, and many didn’t even get the chance to answer the question. My heart goes out to all those who’ve lost their homes.

The “zone,” the moment when the artistic vision is met with complete engagement of all the senses: physical, mental and emotional. The moment when an artist is completely absorbed in concentration, there is a loss of self-consciousness, a transformation of time and effortless rhythm of action. We have all experienced that wonderful moment when time stands still and the project at hand takes on a life of its own. The trick lies in how do we create a habit of entering the “zone.”
I loved watching the Golden State Warriors during the NBA basketball finals last June. Here we witnessed that exciting zone where players after hours upon hours of practice make a 3 point shot look effortless and even miraculous. The grace with which Stephen Curry releases a ball while blinded by his opponent and still makes the shot inspires me. Can I develop my visual memory to that same degree? Will my effortless brush stokes convey that subtle glance or capture that elusive gesture?
 
 
 
“Develop your visual memory. Draw everything you have drawn from the model from memory as well. Realize that a drawing is not a copy. It is a construction…A Drawing is an invention.”
~Robert Henri from The Art Spirit.
Through my work at the San Benito County Arts Council, I have had the opportunity to practice and teach a new technique in muscle memory. In one of the workshops we have two dancers from the San Benito Dance Academy model for us. I run through a series of quick one minute poses and build up to 20 minute poses over the course of 2 hours. All these small exercises are intended to build and develop visual memory.
The goal: Create muscle memory connecting eye, arm and brain to rapidly represent what is before the artist. Ultimately the goal is to be able to recreate the pose from memory when the model is not available. In my experience working from a live model that moves in a variety of poses throughout the workshop increases the number of poses recorded in muscle memory. The repeated one and two minute drawing exercises of head, shoulder, torso, hips, legs and arms applied in multiple gestures allows for a fluid library of poses to be committed to memory. This library of poses will be a tremendous resource to draw from in the future. As the artist commits to a disciplined schedule of quick gestural painted or charcoal studies, he or she will discover a rapid path to the artistic “zone,” where the memory will answer the aesthetic questions that cannot be answered by photo reference or the model who has been sitting for several hours.

I’m taking a class from the New York Academy of Art called Master Copying Class at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Could anyone be a better teacher than a great master, despite, of course, being long dead? Fortunately, I also have a great living teacher, João Brandão, to help me interpret what I am looking at. Copying a painting at the Louvre or any great museum, a tradition going back many centuries, is how most of the great masters learned to paint. The Met’s Copyist program was founded in 1872, two years after the Met first opened, the program has provided countless artists the opportunity to copy the great works that fill the museum’s numerous galleries.
I’m so excited to take this class–in fact, so excited that I am 45 minutes early! Walking up the museum steps today (which I have done many times) felt strangely different. I really think this is going to be a great class. I loved copying the Romney painting at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, which I did without the benefit of a class. My friend Dr. Hal Shanis and I just decided we wanted to do it. We really didn’t know the ins and outs of what we were supposed to do, but had a terrific time doing the paintings and figuring everything out. This is much more formal and feels more like it might be like the high bureaucracy of the Louvre though I don’t think there are any interviews or other hurdles. In fact, the painting schedule is already set.

The first day the class met with NYAA teacher João Brandão in the Uris Center for Education in a conference room near the copier office at the Met. We talked about the rules of the Met and the schedule. (The Met has strict guidelines for copying not only out of fear of forgeries, which would exclude large and popular paintings, but also for such practical reasons as the traffic in the gallery where the painting is located. For all the guidelines see www.metmuseum.org.) We then took a guided tour of the Thomas J. Watson Research Library, which has one of the most comprehensive collection of books and periodicals on the history of art in the world. The rest of the day was spent combing through paintings that were on the approved list from the curators from the different galleries of the Met. Below are some of the paintings I was hoping to paint but, unfortunately, were either not on the approved gallery list or were not approved by the curator. Sooo frustrating!
 
 

I forgot to mention the best day of our non-painting days. It was to visit the Met’s Drawing and Prints Department. This is where we met brilliant Laurie Murphey, the Met’s education person in charge of the copyists. (Copyists are the students, like us, who copy a master painting.) Our class, of only 4, was shown 4 or 5 drawings at a time, from Leonardo da Vinci to Rembrandt. These original master sketches were pulled out of boxes and put on desk easels in front of us. We each picked one and started sketching. What an off-the-charts fabulous exercise, which the other schools also had an opportunity to do on different days!
To find out more about my experience at the Met, follow me on my blog!