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Oil Painting

Practicing Art

Ms. Jane Barton · Jun 4, 2012 · 8 Comments

"Saturday Wash" by Jane Barton
"Saturday Wash" by Jane Barton
It has always struck me as odd that physicians “practice” medicine. Aren’t they ever done? Of course not–doctors are required to learn new things–they must keep up with the latest science and treatments. With this in mind, I decided to begin or rather, renew, my own art “practice”. My office is my studio, my tools are the obvious ones, and I have begun to write myself prescriptions for regular check ups, (value studies, 1x/day), continuing education (workshops, 1x/year or as needed, constant study in my library and on the internet), and booster shots (at museums and every week with my art friends). You get the idea.
It all began last fall as I was planning a trip with some artist friends to Italy to paint where Edgar Payne captured those marvelous orange-sailed boats in the early 20th century. I was really nervous. I live in the desert. I don’t know a halyard from a square knot and I knew I’d better start “practicing” painting boats. Two months before the trip, at the OPA conference in Idaho, I went to a demo by Ned Mueller and he advised us to get up every morning and, even before that first cup of coffee, head into the studio and paint a small study for exactly 15 minutes. No more, no less. So, I did just that, except I had my coffee in hand, for 64 days before my trip to Italy. Most of the 64 little paintings were done in black and white to help me with the values, but it also helped me to became familiar with the perspective and beautiful curves of the boat and the sails. It helped me so much that I still do it. Ok, sometimes I miss a morning, but it’s become such a habit that I actually feel guilty when I don’t do it. What do I paint now that I’m back on solid sand? Anything I want to paint. It’s just practice, after all. Although I can tell you that those little, 15 minute studies have grown up to become some of my best paintings. Besides being a great way to warm up my painting muscles (both physical and mental) this is a practice that really pays off.
Jane Barton - Boatmaker Value Study
Jane Barton - Boatmaker Value Study
All of this brings me to the point of this blog. As artists we never stop learning, but sometimes it feels like we’re just treading water, going nowhere fast. I tell my students not to throw away their old, rejected paintings, but to date them and keep them for comparison to newer paintings. Sometimes we don’t feel like we’ve made any progress until we can actually see what we were doing 3 months ago. Then we see some movement, however small, that’s enough to encourage us to keep going. This year, I decided to make a conscious effort to take my work to a new level and started to think about how to do that. The 15 minute sketches were the beginning, but I found a few other ways to work on this that I’d like to share with you.
1. I made an effort to find an art “support group.”
I remembered reading Art and Fear, Observations on the Perils (and Rewards) of Artmaking, by David Bayles and Ted Orland which describes a study about those artists with/without support groups. They studied art students for 20 years and discovered that the ones who had connected with other artists were more likely to still be making art. This connection was more important than talent in the long run.
I think that a good support group, with artists who you trust, is like a marriage that works: when you’re “up” you help them, when you’re down, they help you. Not often in the same place at the same time, but it works. Now I meet with artists at coffee or in one of our studios at least once and usually twice a week. We share show information, frame suppliers, etc., congratulate each other or commiserate and talk about anything that we’re thinking about art-wise over coffee for about 2 hours. We artists, like writers, lead very solitary lives, so this is an incredible way to leave the studio and still feel like we’re “working” and, of course, learning.
2. I rediscovered the joys of getting back to basics
I took a workshop with Skip Whitcomb and he had us working with an extremely limited value palette–white, black and one grey very close to either the white or the grey. Wow. Talk about challenging you to simplify!
Then I did some new color charts with a four color palette I was interested in trying. These exercises really helped me to find new ways of saying what I wanted to say with the paint and reminded me to just enjoy the process of painting, without always having a specific painting or show deadline in mind.
3. I remembered the importance of making mistakes–it’s how we learn.
“You make good work by (among other things) making lots of work that isn’t very good and gradually weeding out the parts that aren’t good, the parts that aren’t yours.” Art & Fear, p26
4. I set some new goals for myself–at least two paintings a week, good or bad!
"The Boatmaker" by Jane Barton
"The Boatmaker" by Jane Barton
5. I went back to my art library.
I revisited old “friends”: some books are more dog eared than others–you know which are your favorites. I also made myself reach for the books that I’d never really spent any time with–I wanted to try new ideas on for size, taking the lessons of other artists and trying them for myself
6. I started to thumb through my old workshop notes.
I wondered, “Why do I keep writing down the same things?” I paid to attention to that and decided to work on those areas. In some cases when I revisited the lessons, lightbulbs went off! I was in a better place to understand some of the ideas now and actually put them to use in my work.
The short version of this is: keep practicing and find artist friends, even if they’re only in blogs! And, as my friend (and fellow artist) Joan Larue always says, “keep your brushes wet!” I’m reminded of the old joke, “How do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice, practice, practice!” Just substitute “How do you get to the Metropolitan Museum of Art” and you’ll get my point.
Thanks so much for listening and please let me know how it goes for you!

How deep is your space?

Charles Movalli OPAM · May 28, 2012 · 8 Comments

At one of my always stimulating dinners with my late friend Zyg Jankowski, he said to me that the first decision a painter has to make about his work is a spacial one: how “deep” do you want to make the picture? John Carlson felt that every foot into nature counted; Ed Whiney had no interest in such realistic depth and recommended a student plan the composition on-site but walk around a corner to paint it. Over the years, I’ve been schizophrenic about the question. Under Emile Gruppe’s tutelage, I naturally followed Carlson’s path. Later, I experimented with a flatter approach , one which, carried to an extreme, can make the subject disappear in a series of flat planes.

Charles Movalli OPAM - Figure 1
Charles Movalli OPAM - Figure 1
I rather enjoyed the broken, lively look of such surfaces. but felt that, after awhile, my pictures all began to look alike. They lacked mood. Now moderns like Hans Hoffmann despised the idea of mood; in fact, he called it a “swindle”– an easy way to make a pictorial statement at the cost of the more important and thoughtful thing: composition. My flat pictures, on the other hand, were all composition. I wandered back to a more “realistic” approach under the influence of artists like Sargent–who has undergone a publishing boom in the last twenty years–Sorolla, and the slew of recently discovered Russians.
Charles Movalli OPAM - Figure 2
Charles Movalli OPAM - Figure 2
I also encountered a Timkov at the old Fleisher Museum which astonished me, since it had both mood and a selective flatness in its approach. Indeed, all the artists I’ve mentioned knew when to go flat and when to add modeling. Gruppe, for example, would make fun of still-lifes whose pots and bottles were so roundly-modeled that you got “dizzy” looking at them. I also had an important lesson from him early in my career. I’d done a rocky hillside with trees against the sky and bushes in the foreground. He came along with a big brush, eliminated a distracting silhouette by pushing the trees out of the top of the frame and mushed the foreground bushes into insignificance. He then drew a few dark lines in the rocks, emphasizing their structure.
Charles Movalli OPAM - Figure 3
Charles Movalli OPAM - Figure 3
Done! That night, I jotted down his criticism: “In full light, you saw only the masses–as the sun went down, you saw the details and put them all in.” Of course, it took a while for this lesson to sink in! Sargent’s famous Lake Louise painting consists of similar flat smudges, and huge, dark-and-light compositional planes, all set off by a minimum of modeling in the foreground water. Such magic is possible when you give up any attempt to copy a subject photographically and instead focus on the large, simple masses that give the scene its visual interest . Once these planes are defined, very little modeling is need to bring “realism” to the subject. That’s why I don’t feel that the time I spent on my “flat period” was wasted: on the contrary, it made me even more aware of the importance of simple planes. It taught me how to summarize what I saw, how to make a precis of it–after which, I could put in as much “detail” as I wanted. In short, by adding very little, I could see how much I could get away. When entering a museum, I’m always anxious to see how this sort of slight-of-hand is practiced by the Masters. Not their manual skill, you understand; not, for example, how well they’ve painted the wings of a fly on a flower. But rather, how they’ve summarized that flower, reduced it to a few basic planes — and then brought it all to life by an edge or two and a few subtle shifts in value.
Note: for a further discussion of these points, check out YouTube:

My Method and Attitude Toward Art

Ms. Patsy Ledbetter · May 21, 2012 · 4 Comments

"Colorado 2011" by Patsy Ledbetter OPA
"Colorado 2011" by Patsy Ledbetter OPA
It has been said that art is subjective to the viewer. I certainly agree with that statement. I can look at a work of art and be astounded by the way it speaks to me. Someone else may just glance at the same piece of work and not be affected at all. I have decided to not worry about what others think of my work or the subject matter I choose to paint, but paint only to please myself.
I was once with a publishing company in New York. As with most illustrative work, I was told what to paint. I didn’t enjoy that part of my career. I finally gave it up.
I love painting landscapes, still life, and portraits. I usually have several paintings going at one time so I can go from one painting that’s too wet to continue, then pick up another painting that’s dry and continue painting on it. The second painting may be an entirely different subject matter so I’m always doing something different. Working this way helps keep me in a fresh state of mind.
I have my own studio apart from the house and am found there almost every day. I get such a sense of peace when surrounded by my art materials, my books and the smell of oil paint. If I’m not in a mood to paint, I get in the mood when I open the door. The outside world disappears. The light comes through the windows and doors and creates a warm glow on the knotty pine floor and I’m in my world. I have a CD player that keeps me company with Audio books checked out from the local libraries. My two faithful companions, Buddy-the Pomeranian mix, and Daisy-the Besinju, are always outside the door keeping watch.
My method of painting is done in layers. I start with a rough mono-chromatic under painting, keeping the paint thin and loose by adding turpentine to the paint. Being thin, it dries fast. I can then start adding thin layers of color. (I’m not a fast painter.) I am constantly correcting the painting as it progresses so I keep the paint thin until I get close to finishing it. I can then add thicker paint as needed.
"Faye's Painting" by Patsy Ledbetter OPA
"Faye's Painting" by Patsy Ledbetter OPA
I sometimes feel like I’m doing the opposite of sculpting. There’s the front, the sides and back of each object or person represented, but instead of chipping away or building with clay, I’m building the objects with paint.
In addition to painting as often as I can, I teach an all day Oil Painting Class once a month. Teaching is a great learning tool  for me. I have to keep my skills honed in order to convey technique and theory to my students.
Life sometimes interrupts my painting time, but I don’t resent it. I love my family and friends and being constantly secluded in my studio would not be healthy for me and my spirit would suffer. Life first, art second.

Preserving My Dreams

Wanda Choate · May 7, 2012 · 2 Comments

Brooke Shields - Woman's Head StudyOla!  What a great idea, and how much I enjoy and grow and am empowered by reading the thoughts, musings, and experiences of these real and great painters.
Reading Alan Wolton’s post (once I drove from Nashville to an obscure barn way outside of Chicago to see this extraordinary collection of his water lilies)what a great blessing to see inside his mind a little about layering in those transparent washes, and then to preserve them – discipline.  This struck a chord in me (finally?).
About the same time I was going through Architectural Digest – and there was this painting on a bedroom wall (Brooke Shields) of a woman’s head study, all in black, and white, basically a beautiful value study.  She wasn’t framed, looked half finished and is exquisite.

"Music Man" by Wanda Choate OPA
"Music Man" by Wanda Choate OPA
I had the privilege last January of going to the Prado and Sorolla’s home.  Go, hitch hike if you have to.  What struck me about Sorolla’s things was; First. The great, unfinished, quality of his work.  It looked like over and over, unless it was a formal portrait, that he would get about 2/3’s done and go onto the next one.  Good enough.  Next.  Also, he has hundreds of those tiny paintings, 5 x 7 or smaller done with 7 or 12 thick brush strokes.  Next…Nothing was too precious.  He stayed inspired.  He painted gorgeous fruit garlands and portraits of his daughters “on the walls” for himself.  He painted for joy.  Please, Dear Lord, let this be my process shifting.  Anyhow, this was where I was when I began “Music Man”.  Ah, to be as Sorolla, and still be on that great plane of hope, magic, inspiration, the great challenge to capture something so elusive – when I finish a painting as when I began.
I think that the key for me, the only hope is in being present, moment by moment, choice by choice, focus, discipline. To decide truthfully as I see it. What is my darkest dark, my lightest light, and focus; remain focused on the goal of preserving that value scale.

“A man is what he thinks about all day long.”   – Emerson

Frank Loyd Wright has inscribed on the beams of his studio, “What a man does, he has”.

“For as he thinketh in his heart, so is he”.  –  Proverbs 23:7

What I’m thinking about when I’m painting is what I’m going to create.
This discipline, sustained focus for me, is the key to producing not only work I love but a life I want to live.
I’ve worked out with a trainer (I must be forced) for most of the last 7 years.  I want to be strong, but mainly I go for the discipline.  I know that if while doing the plank, or attempting push-ups, if I ALLOW myself the luxury of a negative thought I will drop.  My strength truly drops 30% because of what I’m thinking.  So, whether it’s dieting, exercising, being kind to our mates and small animals, not eating that bowl of cereal at 11p.m, or holding onto that brilliant, childlike elusive transparent under-painting…
I’ve got to stay focused and hold onto the reality of what I think about, I bring about.

Self Improvement

William Schneider · Apr 30, 2012 · 1 Comment

"A Man of Sorrow" by William Schneider OPA
"A Man of Sorrow" by William Schneider OPA
As artists, we need to ask ourselves “What is my goal?”
Is art just a pleasant hobby? Or, is the goal is to become the best artists we can be? If so, how?
Think of the game of golf. The high handicapper plays round after round… with little improvement; the touring pro practices in order to elevate his game. Tiger Woods is renowned for playing 18 holes in a tournament and then going straight to the practice range to fine tune.
The best artists set aside time for self-improvement. Practice doesn’t make perfect… “perfect practice makes perfect.” Or as my friend Dan Gerhartz says, “Attack your weakness.” Isolate the problem area and work on it. In other words, set up a self-study program. Here are some things you can do:
Drawing (proportion or shape)

  • Copy heads from the makeup ads in Seventeen or Alluremagazines. HINT:
      measure

    the proportions on the reference and use the same relative proportions on your drawing.

  • Get the Bargue / Gerome book, Drawing Course (Dover Press carries it). Copy the drawings. These are the plates used to prepare students for the French Academy des Beaux Artes.
  • Join a sketch group in your area.

"Jealous Circle" by William Schneider OPA
"Jealous Circle" by William Schneider OPA

Values

  • Make some full-value drawings of a plaster cast using one light source. (Squint to simplify the values.)
  • Paint a monochromatic head study (use terra rosa and wipe out the lights with a rag…you may need to use some mineral spirits on a q-tip to get the highlights)
  • De-saturate an image of a Sargent or Zorn painting and copy it in raw umber and white in five values.

Color

  • Make color charts. Richard Schmid describes how to do them in his book, Alla Prima (NOTE: You can’t just look at them; you have to actually make them yourself to get any benefit.)
  • Google “Henry Hensche”. Find a description of his training exercises and do them. The more you do these exercise, the more sensitive your color perception will become.

"The Old Radical" by William Schneider OPA
"The Old Radical" by William Schneider OPA

Edge control

  • Squint, squint squint!!! Identify the sharpest edge on your subject (while squinting) and compare all other edges to it. If you can’t see a clear edge when you squint, don’t put one in your painting.
  • Copy a head by Fechin.

Design / Composition

  • Find a copy of Creative Illustration by Andrew Loomis and study the sections on composition (Google him; there’s a site where you can download the book.)
  • Buy Edgar Payne’s Composition of Outdoor Painting. Copy the “design stems”
  • I have released a DVD called Composition Secrets of the Masters that includes a number of exercises. It is available at www.lilipubs.com

"Russian Oligarch" by William Schneider OPA
"Russian Oligarch" by William Schneider OPA
We live in a marvelous time. DVD’s and workshops allow us to study with today’s masters. You can even get a complete art education online (check out the online programs available at the Academy of Art University in San Francisco). The Internet also provides access to the great art of the world.  Or we can scan an image from a book and blow it up in Photoshop so that we can copy paintings…without traveling to museums in Paris, Madrid or New York and applying for permission. I copy a masterwork at least once a month! (I have an inexpensive HP printer-scanner-copier that will generate images of surprising clarity. HINT: when scanning, set the program to “de-screen”. This will remove the halftone circles used in the printing process.)
One final thought: paint as much as you can from life (even though many of the above exercises rely on photos.) The camera lies! In a photo, values, edges, and color temperature are always wrong and half the time the proportions are off as well. In other words at least 3 of the 4 elements of representational painting are wrong in a photo reference. Read what your favorite artists have to say on the subject; the pros work mostly from life, amateurs often work mostly from photos.
Good luck and happy painting!

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