Oil Painting

In the years Barbara has spent with Michael John Carter, she has mothered their two children, earned a teaching certificate and a Masters Degree in German Literature. She lectured at the University of Louisville, learned to gild frames, did the family bookkeeping, made and repaired Oriental rugs, helped renovate their homes, designed and sewed or knitted their children’s clothing, painted in gouache, ran a business, and let a few of her own dreams wait in order to further their joint goals. She is now pursuing some of her own creative dreams while looking forward to many more projects together as a couple.
Growing up in Europe I was always exposed to art. It was my favorite subject in school and I always drew and painted. When I met my husband John Michael Carter, I was 26 yrs. old. I was impressed with Michael’s ability to draw and paint. I wanted to learn from him. He lived in a beautiful, run-down old building constructed in the late 1800s. His studio was on the second floor. It was once the L&N railroad headquarters. This building had hardwood floors, cast iron fireplaces, vaults and beautiful woodwork. It was totally neglected in those days. The ceilings were so high that the two huge rooms he rented also contained a loft each. In winter heating expenses cost twice the rent. The bathroom sink served also as the kitchen sink. Michael had a pay phone on the wall. The door was always open and in a couple of instances a street person would just walk in, to my horror. Michael knew them by name and told me not to worry. I never had imagined marrying someone who lived like that nor did I know such a lifestyle existed. Michael built everything himself and I soon learned how to fix cracks in walls, hang drywall, sand floors etc. We lived there when we married in 1979 and my father and sister came from Germany for our wedding.
I was substitute teaching and repairing dusty oriental rugs for a rug dealer after a morning’s worth of abuse by students. The University of Louisville offered a three-day seminar on oriental rug-making. I also went back to school to get my teaching certificate to teach German. We both worked till late at night, often past midnight. Michael made his living from shows and portraits. Portraits kept things stable. He made not much money and neither did I. We got by, and with the help of my parents we had the great luck to go travel in Europe for six weeks or more a couple of summers. My dad furnished the car and gas money. We camped and stayed in youth hostels. One trip, we went to the Netherlands, Belgium and northern France. Trips were more important than health insurance! The second time we went to Italy, and southern France. Michael sold the paintings that resulted from the trip, very well.
In 1981, our daughter was born. We had started to exhibit with Talisman Gallery in Bartlesville, Oklahoma for a few years and our financial situation improved a bit. Jody Kirberger, the gallery owner, was solely to credit that we had enough money to buy a house in old Louisville, a neighborhood close to the university that was at best ‘sketchy’ then. This victorian house could have a studio on the third floor where a window could be installed that faced north. Michael was always very picky about natural light for his painting. The house was a complete mess. The plaster wall in the kitchen was falling apart. One night we heard a terrible bang and thought there was a burglar in the house. It was one of the walls in the dining room. The entire wall had fallen down. We renovated the entire house while my daughter and son were little. Michael painted during the day and worked on the house with me till late. At one point, we hired drywallers for the studio because the studio ceiling was so high. Unfortunately, there was gambling and drinking in the back of the liquor store across the street and the drywallers did not make it back after lunch. The rest of the job was up to us. In May of 1983, my husband went to Italy with his father. I was supposed to go, but I was pregnant with my second child and could not fly. There was a terrible storm while he was away. We needed a new roof but were financially not quite ready yet to have it put on. I heard the tap, tap of water. I put buckets under the leaks. The latex paint on the ceiling started to stretch into a downward funnel. It broke and there was water everywhere. In 1988/89 we learned that the city was going to expand the airport to accommodate UPS. One of the runways was going to go over Fourth Street, two streets over from us. There were practice over-flights and the noise was unbelievable. We were told that planes would be outfitted with “hush kits” but the noise we heard told us of things to come. We sold our house and recovered the money we had put in, but nothing for our labor. We lived in that neighborhood for ten years.

In 1991, we bought a huge, run-down house in an area that had started to become popular. The last thing I wanted was to renovate again. We worked on this house for 17 years and now are re-doing parts that need remodeling. Michael started to get better fees for his portraits and won several national prizes. In the back of this property was a dilapidated garage. Landmarks permitted us to tear it down and build a wonderful studio with a huge window up high facing north. Our street, one street over from “restaurant row” is very popular today. It is tree-lined and almost all the buildings are historic.

When we had moved, my mother-in-law pretty much told me that our kids should go to a private school. Since there was one close by we enrolled my daughter and then my son. In addition to renovating the 4,000 square foot house, the private school costs meant all our resources went to those two things and there was little else. When my daughter came home and told me that some girls told her she could not belong to their club I decided to take both kids out. I wanted them to have good self-confidence and feel part of the general student body and not like the poor kids on the block. Michael was always very patient (not I) so it was he who worked with the kids if they needed help with schoolwork. Michael has a great sense of humor and made learning more fun. Since we both worked at home our children were always closely supervised and watched. When they graduated from high school they were both offered a president’s Scholarship to the University of Louisville. My son ended up becoming a doctor and my daughter, after finishing her electrical engineering degree at UL, attended John’s Hopkins. She received her Ph.D. in Biomedical Engineering there.
I learned early on that numbers and bookkeeping weren’t Michael’s ‘thing.’ I started doing that as soon as I saw his system of throwing receipts in a box. I can say today that I am quite proficient at it.
At one point, my husband was asked to paint an important politician. He had an appointment to show the almost-finished portrait to its subject and carried the huge canvas to the man’s downtown office. Upon getting there, Michael found out that the gentleman and his wife had gone to lunch with business friends and forgotten about the appointment or just stood us up. We needed regular cash flow and who knows when the next opportunity would come up to show the painting and get approval so Michael caught up with the group and was asked to show the painting in the restaurant. He was told the mouth was too thin and that the gentleman looked “mean.” The politician’s wife came to Michaels rescue saying, “But that is how you look …” Michael came home humiliated and upset, telling me that the man, his wife, and entourage were coming to the house after they finished lunch. No one came by. We waited and waited. A couple of years later the same person asked Michael to do another portrait. The wife’s designer bought the frame.The portrait was presented to the man at his birthday party by his wife. He called us the next day and demanded, “Who told you to paint that painting?” That is when we started using contracts. Michael took on all sorts of commissions because we had to pay the bills.
One day Michael asked me if I could learn to gild frames with real gold leaf. Good artists had good frames. We bought a few such frames in the 90s, but the price was a killer and often good paintings sat around because we were not able to buy frames for them right away. That hampers cash flow. I bought a VHS tape and started working on metal leaf frames. By 1998 when I stopped teaching I knew how to gild. Michael is a fantastic designer and builder and knew how to carve wood without lessons. He plays with his grandfather’s old tools and electric gadgets. His grandfather was an electrical engineer and Michael spent a lot of time with him in his workshop when he was young. As other artists saw Michael’s frames I was asked if we would make frames for other people. I started making their frames. It became apparent very quickly that I needed help and so I hired a carver and trained a woman to gild. All of the work was done in my home in the basement and in the gilding room upstairs. It was all very expensive.

I followed the advice of a good friend and went to China with her son who was in the furniture business. He took me to a factory where he said the owner was honest. Since my kids were out of the house, we gambled and mortgaged our house to buy frames from there. When I look back now I think we were pretty reckless. Luckily it worked out and a whole new world opened up to me – adventures in China, aggravations, good product, batches that were deficient, difficult customers who pressured me to give them a deal, when I already was the best deal around. Too many aggravations made me decide to sell out and be done at age 61.
In addition to his many artistic talents, Michael loves classical music and knows a lot about the composers and the different movements. He loves history and architecture. Being around Mike never gets boring and I love working on projects together chatting about this or that.
Michael has done well for years now but there are always tight times and it is good to have some savings to go to. He has always come through, but I have been worrying from day one. Living from what your husband creates is very scary. Having to help out changed my life from being an artist to being a business person. Michael never has phases where he is not in the mood to paint or does not produce. He paints all day while I do all the other things that need to be done. I now also look forward to painting a bit and to restoring antique frames I once bought. I want to make another oriental rug and I have some other projects to look forward to. We have been organizing the house and are getting close to starting on a fun project or two together. We have some very old French frames that need restoring. We also have a French screen that needs re-gilding and Mike will paint panels for it.
Living with an artist makes for an interesting life, not an easy one. As we have gotten older we also realize that having to work hard together to make it, made for a better marriage.

To learn more about this author visit www.barbaracarterfineart.com

Several months ago, my husband and I moved from Dallas, TX, to Denver, CO. While we moved primarily for family, I was well aware that this “new life” meant leaving the comfort of my established art network, and seeking out a new community here in Denver.
As a natural introvert, that thought was rather scary.

You see, community doesn’t always come naturally to artists. We are accustomed to spending long hours alone in the studio or field. We screen our phone calls, preferring to answer by email (IF we have energy for it, and on our own time!). We like social media because we can be “friends” from afar, receiving the affirmation we crave without the risk of those friends discovering that *GASP*! We have bad painting days and bad hair days too!
But we all need community, and I mean, the kind where you get together in real life and draw from a model, or visit a museum show together, or grab coffee and talk about Sargent.
I worked really hard to build community in Dallas. When we first moved there I was a 23-year-old newlywed who had little to show for her art except for a few paintings completed during college (which I now cringe at whenever I see them in my computer’s “archived” folder). But my overwhelming desire to be great at painting won out over my fear of rejection. It took a lot of energy and determination to put myself out there and make new friends. I was brand new to the art scene, and incredibly insecure about my work. But I had a tremendous work ethic, and I knew that without a community of fellow artists, my growth would be slow. I also knew that other artists wouldn’t magically come to me… I would have to seek them out, draw them out of the woodwork, get to know them, and earn their respect.
During that time, I felt the need to attend as many workshops as possible with some of the artists I admired most. I made the mistake–after spending only a day or two with some of them–of asking them later if they would be willing to work with me privately, as if I were more special or talented than all the rest. Surely they would pluck me from the masses of clamoring students and take me into their fold! (I never heard back from them.) There was even one person I asked outright if she would mentor me, to which she replied rather awkwardly, “Uh, sure!” I knew in that instant that I had overstepped my bounds before a true connection had been made, and that by using the word “mentor” I had inadvertently stunted the natural development of what could have been a great relationship.

I learned a lot from those workshops, but the truth is, you don’t need a famous artist mentor to help you grow, although some are lucky enough to get that. If our hearts and minds are open, we can learn from our peers, students, fellow workshop attendees, or even casual acquaintances. One of my favorite events to attend each year is an annual portrait conference. Often before the day’s lectures and demos begin, I get up early, grab some coffee, and sit down across from a fellow attendee whom I’ve never met before, and start asking them about their life and art. I’ve learned so much from these “chance” (or not so chance) encounters. Every person I meet has a fascinating story of their own – a beautiful creative journey.
Sometimes the greatest, most influential mentors are the ones we have taken for granted. I went to a small liberal arts college, where I majored in art. That school had one painting professor, Sam Knecht. Not only was he my academic adviser, but he was my mentor and friend, and I learned more from him than just about anyone. I took him for granted because he wasn’t “famous,” but it was silly and immature of me to do so. The things he taught me were invaluable. Later, when I lived in Dallas, I was referred to a life drawing group called “The Society of Figurative Arts,” led by Michael Mentler. I started attending every week, and Michael, who was probably taken aback by this tenacious blonde girl—just had to get used to me being there. He didn’t always formally teach, but he would make little comments in passing—about form, line, proportion, etc.—that somehow sent me leagues forward in my understanding. Another mentor I took for granted: my husband Steve. He is not an artist, but he is a true go-getter who doesn’t waste time second guessing himself. I learned a lot about the business and marketing side of art from him.
As I grew in skill and confidence, I started realizing that community wasn’t just about showing up and learning from others. At some point, it was time to give back. I became the “Texas State Ambassador” for the Portrait Society of America. It was a completely voluntary position that involved hosting demos and get-togethers and relaying information about art related events. I was basically a messenger, but the benefits were huge. I got to know so many of the artists in Texas (which is gigantic state!!), that I felt incredibly connected. It was also a joy to be helping others.

The greatest way I found community was by teaching. I met one of my first students at a workshop we were both taking together, and she asked me, “Do you teach?” I was taken aback, but after allowing a couple months to think it over, I decided to give it a try. I started out by teaching private portrait classes to very small groups (2-4 people) and eventually my classes grew bigger and bigger. Finally I had to switch to teaching workshops because my studio couldn’t handle the number of students who wanted to attend! The woman who originally asked me to teach is now one of my closest friends, and I’ve realized that teaching has broadened my knowledge, sharpened my skills, and allowed me to build relationships with some amazing people I may never have gotten to know otherwise.
So now that I’m in Denver, I’ve been even more proactive than I was when I lived in Dallas. I have attended gallery events, started going to open studios at the Art Students League, and traveled to plein air events just to meet the artists. Only three months after our move, I am finding community, because I was looking for it.
Here are my tips on building community and finding mentors:

• Seek out life drawing or plein air groups to attend, and attend them regularly.
• Attend workshops and conferences; get to know not just the instructor but fellow attendees as well.
• Allow relationships to develop naturally. Don’t push it, especially with artists who are well-known and already have hundreds of other students vying for their attention. Don’t be annoying.
• Learn to ask insightful questions – ones that dig deeper and spark passion in the response. Don’t be that person who just asks, “What color did you use?”
• Ask for honest critiques of your work, and accept criticism graciously.
• Don’t be afraid to ask! (Disclaimer: Many artists make their living by teaching. If you want to learn, be willing to pay them for their time and expertise.)
• Thank someone when they correct you.
• Don’t complain publicly.
• Accept compliments. Don’t put yourself down.
• Be confident even when you don’t feel it.
• Offer ideas.
• Reach out to other artists for studio visits, and allow them to do the same with you.
• Be kind; show empathy for others. Don’t be arrogant.
• Share your knowledge, even when you don’t think you have anything worth sharing.
• Remember that you get as much as you give. This applies not just to your art but to every aspect of your life.

Anna’s Website

You probably already know the following things, which I have slowly picked up over the years, but just in case you missed some, here they are.
When painting, your results will reflect the opposite of the lighting conditions in which you are working. If you are in a bright space or outdoors without shade or an umbrella, your painting will be dark. If you paint indoors under cool artificial light, your painting will look warm in more normal situations. And so on. I believe that generally Old Masters had dimmer studios, perhaps with a small north light window. Then they got light and warmth ‘into’ their paintings. Our eyes are so amazing that they just adapt to all conditions when we work, and we may not consider where we are painting. Heck, painting is hard enough all by itself.
By the way, speaking of Old Masters, how come so few of us contemporary artists (meaning alive – a pet peeve) do representational work that is as good as the work done before there were cameras or even electricity? You got it – they worked from life.*
Because…
It’s not about a particular piece of art – it’s about the process. As I work, it’s not unusual go from thinking that a particular piece is a masterpiece, to thinking it is a disaster. And this seesaw can continue even after it’s done! Have you had the feeling of seeing an older piece and thinking “it’s not half bad”? Or even “I used to be better than I am now”! That hurts! Well after painting a lot for twenty plus years I believe that it’s about the process. Just do the work and let the evaluation take place whenever. Surely we all want to do great work so just lighten up. Just make sure the process is solid.
On a more practical level:
Egberts. Try ’em. They are all I use. They vary widely from soft (Rosemary) to stiff (Silver) to in-between (Robert Simmons and Richeson and many others). Egberts seem to be the number one thing folks take away from my workshops.
And by the way:
Stop cleaning your brushes! My friend Bart Lindstrom was painting in my studio, and at the end of the day I asked if he was going to clean his brushes. He said he just wipes them off after swishing in mineral spirits. What??? All the hours, the soap, the water…
Speaking of brushes, try using a larger brush than you are quite comfortable with.
Speaking of turp, I seem to be using far fewer brushes and a lot less turp and paper towels. The idea is to go from mixture to mixture. Sure, now and then you need to really get a clean brush, and mix a pristine mixture, but more often than not, you will get ‘unity’ by being less neurotic about paint, palette, turp, etc.
Speaking of unity, that’s actually the entire deal with all creative expression. We get so obsessed with craft and all that goes with it (which is good) that we forget what inspired us to be artists in the first place (not so good).
But wait, there’s more:
Freeze your paint. I put my palette in a box in the chest freezer. My wife is not enthralled, but I hardly throw out any paint at all.
Wipe paint off of yourself with oil, not mineral spirits.
Stand on a pad. Save your back! Standing is good because your point of view changes more. Keep your painting vertical and at eye level.
Take breaks! It is unfortunate that as we progress deeper into our work, we can get fatigued and not make good decisions. I always say a painting is just a million decisions. Always OBSERVE, MIX, AND LAY IT DOWN. I define fatigue as thinking that whatever mixture happens to be on your brush is the right one for everything all of a sudden.
Paint a good bit in standard sizes. I used to stretch all kinds of weird sizes. Now I do 11×14, 16×20, 20×24, 24×30, 30×40… you get the idea. I still do non-standard sizes when necessary, and sometimes in the field I’ll do something like paint two 10x24s on a 20×24 to get long narrow compositions. Then I have to cut them down, mount them, and order custom frames. That’s OK, but it’s nice to have a large supply of frames to interchange and help get things out the door and on the wall.
Loose painters want to be tighter, and tight painters want to be looser.
Be grateful for every day you get to make art.
I think that’s it.

*Hey, I’m as guilty as anyone of using the camera for portraits, but I learned working from life, and always try to have at least a weekly session to continue to work from life. All of my still life and landscape is from life, and I aspire do all work from life before I pass on.
Visit Rich Nelson’s website to learn more about this author.
richardchristiannelson.com

The success of American Pharaoh in this year’s Triple Crown recalled some lessons I learned years ago from the artists found around the paddocks at Churchill Downs, Saratoga, and Keeneland. Lessons that proved useful to me later in a wider range of subject matter.
Painting horses and riders, hunters and field dogs––in their environment––is a genre known as “Sporting Art” (as opposed to “Sports Art” which depicts human competition, primarily: football, tennis, NASCAR, NBA, etc). All art genres have fuzzy edges, and so do these two; my point being, due to its subject matter they present the artists with specific problems to solve: how to animate the living––and moving––subject.
First a little history:
Before the advent of split-second photography, even the best efforts of the finest artists fell short when it came to rapid motion; errors made by DaVinci were still being made centuries later by Manet. A speeding animal moved too fast for the human eye to deconstruct. Invariably, a horse at gallop was depicted like a hobby horse: legs flying off in pairs––fore and aft. (Just so we are clear: that’s not how it works).
Enter Eadweard Muybridge, hired by California Governor Leland Stanford in 1872 to settle this question through methodical photographic evidence: “Does a horse, while moving at a trot, ever have all four legs suspended in the air?
To relieve your suspense––it does and they do

Remington did not rely on a particular Muybridge image so much as apply the knowledge he gained from the motion studies. Remington used a Kodak––extensively, for about one year––before coming back to the sketchpad. He later wrote: “The artist must know more than the camera…” He routinely altered anatomy and distorted action to attain a realistic effect of movement. For example, in Remington’s Stampede (above) not only is the action of the horse exaggerated, its rump curls unnaturally low, the rider leans forward (in perfect balance) with his horse, the brim of his hat is snapped back, the fleet gait of the horse juxtaposed against the lumbering, more static, action of the herd. The rain at their backs seems to hurry all the figures forward into the night.
Remington achieves what we all strive for: veracity without an overreliance on minutia. Something I should strive for in my writing.
The “secret” I picked up from the artists working the racetracks was to observe repeated motion––to let that be my starting point. There are patterns and rhythms in the most vigorous motion––“method in the madness” if you will.

By the saddling paddock for instance, you can stand in one spot, and nine times in an afternoon watch grooms bring in their horses from the same direction and “dress” them for the race; nine times the jockeys enter the paddock and go to their respective mounts, where they greet their respective owners and get tossed onto their mounts. They then move off, escorted towards the track (where a completely new pattern plays out.)
The point is: observing the thing repeatedly––like watching waves come onto shore––until you understand it completely and can now begin to appreciate the nuances of action that make one horse/animal/dancer/wave different from another.Sir Alfred Munnings’ many “Racing Start” paintings (there are dozens) are wonderful examples. In one of the most famous of these Munnings employs the device of a clever title, one that invites the viewer to stand beside the artist as the horses are held in check a moment longer.
Below, is one of my efforts that (I think) illustrates motion does not need to be flagrant. Motion is implied by the tension on the lead shank of the middle horse––who is determined to reach some particulate of desire. The horse on the right is attracted by something “off-stage;” the light breeze of an English Spring indicated by the position of the tails and the sky, the handling of the background trees.
Dance is a great opportunity to develop this skill. It is repetitious and (if you learn the choreography) it is predictable. I was led to an appreciation of dance, as subject matter, by a friend of mine––a horsewoman.
Purely as a favor (as I thought of it), I agreed to go down to our local dance studio and watch her teenage daughter prepare for that year’s Nutcracker.
I’ve been painting dance figures ever since. I immediately saw what Degas (who also painted horse racing) had seen…the appealing similarity in movement between horses and young dancers: speed, strength, focus.
I’ve been painting dance figures ever since. I immediately saw what Degas (who also painted horse racing) had seen…the appealing similarity in movement between horses and young dancers: speed, strength, focus.
In painting dancers the challenge comes in not only depicting movement, but that movement occurring under challenging lighting. As with horses, you can’t just aim a camera, take a few (hundred) shots, and head back to your studio. You have to understand what you see to depict it accurately.
In the gloom of the wings––offstage––the dancers bend and stretch, twirl and practice, gossip; they fix their hair, wait for their cue––and do a thousand other things––many interesting moments that are gone in the blink of an eye. But my mind remembers what my camera never seems to, and the fun is to try and recreate that moment on my easel.
Today cameras fit in our shirt pockets and take better photographs than Muybridge ever dreamed. But when it comes to painting motion it still pays to “know more than the camera.”
Click here to visit Booth Malone’s Personal Website.
www.boothmalone.com