Henry Ward Ranger was one of the leaders of Tonalist painting. Ranger said that “Tonality to us means just one thing and but one thing. If you were to give it an arbitrary definition you might say, harmonious modulations of colour.” Others might say that you see the landscape through coloured atmosphere or mist to get an evenness of tone. The Tonalists focused on (or perhaps preferred) an overall gray tone, blue evening and night scenes were particularly prevalent. The French Impressionists laid down colour against each other to gain a vibrancy without making any attempt to blend them. American Tonalists usually mixed colors after applying them on the canvas – working to gain a harmonious paint surface rich with a variety of edges. As noted by Dr. Lisa Peters of Spanierman Gallery: “Although the Tonalist movement was established essentially as a reaction against impressionism – in the perception that it was overly scientific and a foreign import – many American artists felt free to combine aspects of the two styles.”
So, the Tonalist artists were concerned primarily with creating a “poetic vision” – suggesting in pure landscape the feelings of reverie and nostalgia. They generally did plein air sketches or studies and then painted larger studio versions – often these larger painting might be “from memory” (the studies having been discarded).
Birge Harrison and Arthur Hoeber both were tonalist related. Harrison wrote a book “Landscape Painting” (published in 1909) taught at the Art Students League in New York City and the League’s summer program at Woodstock where he perpetuated his own “moonlight and mist” atheistic. A good example of Harrison’s work is his nocturnal painting of Fifth Avenue in New York. His student and friend, John Fabian Carlson continued his focus at Woodstock and his book on landscape painting has been widely used by student artists. The concept of being reserved in the use of color is not only a concept of tonalism. Sir Winston Churchill, in his book, Painting as a Pastime, is very clear on the benefits of maintaining a strong reserve of color.
Oil Painting
Lighting the Way
I feel very privileged to have been invited to share some of my thoughts on the artist’s life with such an incredibly accomplished group. I attended the OPA National show in Evergreen, Colorado, in June and was treated to one exceptional image after another. You guys are good!
Twelve years ago, I had to choose whether to make my living as a writer focusing on art, or put in my 10,000 hours to become a professional artist. I went with the writing and founded my communications business because I had already put in decades to hone those skills. I missed making art, but the business took all my time and energy until last year when I promised myself another year would not go by without a brush in my hand. I have a long way to go to measure up to the craftsmanship I see exhibited by OPA members year after year, but I find I am living a life in art and it’s exactly where I want to be.
As an arts writer with an academic and experiential background in art history, I learn something from every interview, every research project, and I am constantly studying, observing, and refining my knowledge. I know you are too. Here is what I believe: Our imaginations are shaped by our lives’ events and our art squeezes through those vast or narrow halls to bloom in the sunlight. So it has always been and shall be forevermore. The more we experience and imagine, the more vision we bring to our art. The more we develop our skills, the closer we come to truly expressing our visions.
In this post, I want to talk specifically about the importance of light and shadow in our art and to hear from you about how they function in your own work. Light and shadow are dependent upon one another—they are two sides of the same coin and one cannot reach its full potential without the other. There is no depth, no perspective, no dimensionality, no translation of subject matter without both light and shadow.
Shadow, or darks, are the alter ego of light. Darks define and shape, highlight, and push lighter subject matter into being. These two comrades echo one another to reveal subtleties and nuances that would otherwise not be possible. Shadow and darkness form the essential support system for light and allow our viewers to more deeply understand and access our subject matter. As author Terry Tempest Williams once remarked, “A shadow is never created in darkness. It is born of light.” I find this statement a wonderful metaphor for how artists can look at light and shadow in their work.
Think about what it’s like to be out and about painting on a summer’s night. The stars are brightest against that dark, velvety sky. Our senses are on high alert—we smell the earth releasing moisture into the air as temperatures drop, we enjoy a sense of heightened possibility, and shapes that look ordinary in daylight morph into mysterious, unfamiliar forms. In the studio, a scene that might otherwise be mundane becomes striking and dramatic when accentuated by deep shadow.
But our shadows must be more than just dark, negative spaces on the canvas. They must have a strong character of their own. We are called upon to look closely, deeply into every dark region of the scene before us—to seek out their rich subtlety and translate that to our canvases. Have you ever asked yourself why the most exciting things in life can be those invisible forces that we sense but do not see clearly? It’s because those areas, without rigid boundaries, allow for possibility, for things that go “bump” in the night. They enhance a painting’s narrative quality.
Pablo Casals, the cellist, once remarked that in music the notes not played are as important as the ones that are played. These are the grace notes, the silent beats of space between audible tones of sound. In art, shadow is the grace note, the essential, less prominent element that allows the attention-grabbing central subject matter to take the spotlight. It frames, supports, and defines the star performer.
I’d love to hear your thoughts and experiences with how light and shadow work for you. Have you experimented with lighting to create different moods or atmosphere in a work? Have you painted a scene where shadows dominate—or do you think that’s possible? Is there a point in a painting where you look closely at your shadows to see if they are playing their strongest support role? Do they add to your paintings’ narrative quality? Let’s shed some light on the subject!
Keep It Simple! Using a Limited Palette
When I first started painting, I’d walk into art supply stores and spend hours looking at all the different pigments and brands of oil paints available, and drool over all those luscious colors: aureolin yellow, cinnabar green, quinocradone rose (just the names alone made me buy them). I’d load up my basket with dozens of tubes of paint and head home thinking that at last I had found the color that would make me a better painter. Age and experience are wonderful teachers, and I finally came to the conclusion that no special pigment would be the key to my success. In fact, the more choices I had on my palette, the gaudier and less-realistic my paintings looked.
In 2003, I had the good fortune to study with Scott Christensen, who at the time was using a very limited palette that he had his students use in his workshops. At first, I was baffled: how could I get a true yellow ochre using only 3 primaries and a couple of grays? How could I get a wide variety of greens when there were no green tube pigments on my palette? But after sticking with this limited palette for a while and experimenting with these colors, I came to see that I could mix just about every color in nature using only 6 tubes of paint. Using this palette also helped me to see and understand color temperature better by simplifying my choices: if the color needed to be warmer, I added yellow; for cooler, I added blue. And I found that the colors I was mixing were so much closer to the reality I was seeing than when I used a broader palette. When there are 20 choices on the palette, I find it’s much easier to just say “oh, that’s close enough” and dip into a color straight out of the tube , but when I have to mix my colors from the primaries, I get a more accurate representation of my subject matter. Of course, there are certain local colors that I can’t duplicate exactly with this palette, especially if I’m painting man-made objects. But I can always get the correct value and the correct temperature, and when those are right, the color reads correctly.
For example, the color of the water at Lake Tahoe is an incredibly intense blue-green. I may not be able to get that exact local color, but I can mix the right temperature and value, then surround that color with more muted grays and the color of the water will feel more intense and believable.
Over time, I experimented with adding and subtracting pigments from my palette and settled on the selection of paints that I’ve been using since about 2005. This is the palette that I use for all of my paintings, both plein air and in the studio:
Titanium White (any brand)
Cadmium Yellow Lemon (Utrecht)
Permanent Red Medium (Rembrandt)
Ultramarine Blue (any brand)
Naples Yellow Deep (Rembrandt)
Cold Gray (Rembrandt)
(Please note that the brands of the paints are very important as colors vary widely between manufacturers)
Although I use a limited palette for my paintings, I always start out by mixing puddles of several colors before I start the actual painting. Doing this accomplishes two things: it helps me to slow down and analyze the color before I dive headlong into painting, and it allows me to have an expanded choice of colors when I begin to paint. I always mix the secondary colors (orange, green, and violet) regardless of what I’m painting, and the rest of the puddles of color are close approximations to what I’m seeing in the subject matter. Pre-mixing takes some time at the beginning of the painting, but it really saves time once I start to paint: I already have so many colors figured out and can concentrate on the subtle shifts in temperature and value that I’m seeing. Also, I don’t break the rhythm of painting to drop my brush, get out my palette knife and mix new color.
Here’s a shot of my palette before I start a painting:
And here’s the finished painting from that palette:
There are certainly countless artists out there who use extensive palettes and get beautiful results, and my selection of pigments is just one way to approach painting. But if you have never used a limited palette, give this a try- you might be surprised with the results and be able to bypass all those rows of paint next time you’re in the art store.
Some Thoughts On Plein Air And Photos
Take Monet’s large water lily murals for example. There are photos showing these paintings being executed in his studio at Giverny. There are also photos in existence which he took of the water lily pond, and since the pond isn’t visible from the studio it’s likely that he used them as reference for the murals.
The American Impressionist, Theodore Robinson, left photos with grid marks on them which are used in transferring more accurately the photo to the canvas, and also left paintings which are almost exact replicas of the photos.
And in some of Corot’s later work figures appear which could only have been arrived at through the use of photographic reference. For instance, there is a horse and rider which appears in more than one of his later paintings. It is a small figure, but it is photographically accurate, even though the horse is in motion and could only have been in that pose for a fraction of a second. And we know both from his sketches and from his own admission that he could not capture such details in so limited a time working from the subject.
So, well-known artists have worked from different types of sources, but which is best?
Working directly from the subject out-of-doors is called “plein air”. It is good practice, especially for beginners, because it forces you to work rapidly under less than favorable conditions, and this brings your instincts into play and causes you to learn more rapidly and to paint more spontaneously. It has the disadvantage of lighting which is always changing, bugs in your paint and comments from curious passersby. Most artists who paint this way solve the first problem by taking a photo early on which they later use in the studio to make corrections and apply finishing touches.
If you do want to use photos, here are some pointers: Use only your own photos. Photography is an art form and the photos you take represent your personal knowledge concerning what makes a good picture. Never use published professional photos. These were not your ideas, and in some places there are laws against their use. Don’t slavishly copy the photo. All good artists develop their own ideas about color, composition, etc., which they impose on the subject.
Paint From Life or Photos?
There are a host of good reasons to use photos:
- They’re convenient
- The light doesn’t change
- You can blow up small details
- You can be comfortable
- There are no bugs, wind, interrupting strangers etc.
- The model doesn’t move or get tired
There’s only one really good reason to work from life – it will make us much better artists.
Over time, we representational artists become skilled at rendering what we see. The problem is that even high-quality digital photos lie to us. Think of the four elements of a realistic painting: shapes (drawing or proportion), values, color temperature relationships, and edges. Three of the four are always wrong in a photo… and sometimes it’s all four.
The two or three darkest values turn into black and the lightest values become white (photographers call it “blowing out” the lights). The color temperature relationships are limited by the dyes used to make the prints or the phosphors in our computer screens. Also, the camera sees edges as equally sharp (not at all like the human eye which focuses on a sharp area in the center of our visual field surrounded by fuzzy shapes on the periphery).
When I critique portfolios at various art events I often see paintings where the shadows are black, the lights are white, all the edges are hard, and the light and the darks are the same temperature. I ask the artist, “you work mostly from photos, don’t you?” I often get the astonished reply, “how did you know?”
The pros work primarily from life: For one, it’s much easier to develop good edge control. Also, our sensitivity to nuance of color and temperature improves exponentially. We just can’t see those nuances in photos… I know; I’ve tried! Working from life, we learn to see the elusive, sparkling color in half tones. Our shadows start to have a sense of light and air in them instead of being dense, opaque blobs.
So, if you’ve decided to go the extra mile, how do you break free of the photo? The still life is easy. Just set it up and start painting. Likewise, there’s little excuse for trying to paint a landscape from a photo. If you’re nervous about going out alone, find a painting buddy or group. There are Plein Air groups in most areas now. OPA sponsors paint outs all over the country. Seek, and ye shall find.
Once we start to see the benefits in our work, we want more. The little bit of extra effort to paint from life, pays off tenfold.
Happy painting!