Oil Painting

Paint From Life or Photos?

William Schneider · Aug 27, 2012 · 12 Comments

"Alone In Warsaw" by William Schneider OPA — “Alone In Warsaw” by William Schneider OPA

Especially since the advent of good, inexpensive digital cameras, the debate about whether to use photo references has become almost sectarian. Purists admonish us to paint “only from life.” Yet the instructional art magazines regularly feature artists whose methods start and end with a photo reference. Certain subjects (squirmy kids, transient light effects, horses in motion etc.) almost demand photographs. Even great masters like Fechin and Zorn clearly used photo references for some of their paintings.
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).

"Platinum" by William Schneider — “Platinum” by William Schneider

Even the shapes may not be accurate. If you photograph a person six feet away, you will probably get an image of a normal-size face but legs and feet that appear tiny. In other words, the foreshortening distorts the proportions. So, if we work exclusively from photos, we become extremely proficient at painting subjects that don’t look real. We don’t even notice the errors.
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.

"The Mercenary" by William Schneider OPA — “The Mercenary” by William Schneider OPA

It’s a little more challenging to find place to paint the live model but a little digging will yield results. Local colleges or art centers may sponsor open studios. I paint with a number of groups in my area. In fact, I started hosting a group in my studio. We all chip in to pay the model. If you can’t find a group, start one. Finding models is relatively easy. Most people are flattered if you ask them to sit for you. There are even model websites.
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!

Uber Umbers and Other Colors from the Earth

Margret Short · Jul 16, 2012 · 3 Comments

"Cleopatras Garden" by Margret Short OPA — **Cleopatra’s Garden** 28×22 oil Margret E. Short

Throughout the ages since the very first scrawls were made in caves and tribal hunting events were recorded on walls, people have been using colors made of ochres, umbers, madders, bugs, mummies, minerals, shells, iron oxides, and plants. These pigments decorated sheets of papyrus, vellum, paper, faces, bodies, fabrics, clothing, tools, leather, weapons, walls, ceilings, and stones far and near.
People perhaps just hacked a chunk off the cave wall and started noodling, or charred a bone from last night’s dinner, or took a stick from the fire and began to make marks. The earth itself for thousands of centuries has created a harmonious palette of archival and readily available colors to create some of the most beautiful and enduring art in the world.

"Metamorphosis" by Margret Short OPA — **Metamorphosis** 12×12 oil Margret E. Short

Today, artists around the world are still using many of those same pigments as used in the past. Thanks to specialty companies, we know more about the composition, archival quality, rarity, cost, permanence, transparency, opacity, toxicity, saturation, drying times, and source of these pigments — issues which are enormously important to artists.
This topic has become a passion for me over the recent years, and I have experimented with most of the available historical pigments in one way or another, creating several in-depth projects that involve both artistic and cultural research. The most profound characteristics discovered are that these pigments are splendid to work with and endlessly beautiful.

"Feluccas on the Nile" by Margret Short OPA — **Feluccas on the Nile** 7×5 oil on silver leaf Margret E. Short

Mother Nature herself has done the palette preparation work for me, as the natural subtle muted quality is all ready to go. Time has aged the ochres into dazzling arrays of warm and cool yellows that, when placed side by side, are instantly pleasing to the senses. The umbers work in the same way and come in stunning varieties of light, medium, and very dark, depending on the source. Lapis Lazuli, azurite, malachite, and ivory black comprise my list of favorites. Technically not an earth color, but manufactured by the ancient Egyptians, Egyptian blue frit is a clear crisp color used to decorate the dizzying riches of the Pharaohs.

Natural cinnabar, my favorite red mineral pigment, formed eons ago by a perfect marriage of mercury and sulfur is mined in Spain, Russia and the west coast of the US, including Oregon where I live. You can see the beauty in the muted hue, which is not garish at all.
To my eye, the modern cadmiums are so highly saturated they overpower my canvas and are difficult to handle on the palette. I find this true also of other modern colors such as phthalo greens and blues. Occasionally, when my mad-scientist self gets restless, I break out of this mold and experiment with some of the modern azo, turquoise, and quinacridones, but I usually will spend time muting or graying them down in some way.

"Secret Life of Iris" by Margret Short OPA (detail-cinnabar, madder, white) — **Secret Life of Iris** 30×30 – Detail (cinnabar, madder, flake white)

Contrary to common knowledge, making hand-made paints is relatively easy once safety precautions are in place. All you need is a mask, a little oil, pigment, a grinding slab, and a muller. The dry pigment powder is mostly ready to go and just involves mixing in the oil to make sure all of the pigment disperses with the oil.

"Nefertitis Garland" Margret Short OPA (detail - Egyptian green frit) — **Nefertiti’s Garden** 12×5 (detail) (Egyptian green frit) Margret E. Short

Another common misconception is the natural pigments are too toxic to handle carefully. Actually, there are only a few that have warnings and with caution, those can be handled too. I always use a respirator and gloves while wearing a smock, and most importantly, I grind the paint in an area with no breeze such as a fan or blowing furnace vent.

"The Golden Age" by Margret Short OPA — **The Golden Age** 12×12 oil Margret E. Short

Rather than using orpiment, which is problematic and toxic, I use chrome yellow at the suggestion of Eric Hebborn, the infamous art forger. (He implemented this ploy when repainting over old canvases that he intended to sell as fakes). You can see chrome yellow mixed with cinnabar here on the tangerines in The Golden Age. The range of colors is amazing when using just a few earth colors. Rembrandt had about 20 in his repertoire.
It really is a process of elimination. I use just the colors that are safe after they are encased in oil and toss out the fugitive (many of the plant-based colors) or toxic colors. I use caution and strict hygiene habits while painting. Most importantly, the mere fact of having a few select colors on my palette to deal with allows easy and quick decision color mixtures.
More and more interest in hand-ground paints made from natural pigments is surfacing lately. I invite you to choose a few colors, (even if you do not grind the paint yourself, purchase the ready-made), and experiment. Do some studies and see the difference in the surface quality of your canvas. Make that connection between you the painter, the aesthetic of your art, and your materials. The results just might be profoundly gratifying.

Practicing Art

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

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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:

The Price of Success

Kathy Anderson · Apr 9, 2012 · 8 Comments

"Red Roses And Wedgewood" by Kathy Anderson OPA — "Red Roses And Wedgewood"
by Kathy Anderson OPA

We all define success differently but I think there is one common element that tells us that we have achieved something, and at the same time can easily becomes a burden that starts to interfere with our art. To define it in one word, it is “recognition”. How do we get there, how do we stay there, and how do we manage the demands that it brings?
First, there’s no getting around the fact that hard work, the strong desire to learn and grow, and the discipline to stick with it, is where it starts. We study and struggle to constantly improve our work because lasting success will only come through producing the very best work that we can and never accepting our last work as our best.
But that is rarely quite enough. When the work is good enough to demand attention, we still have to find ways to have it seen by galleries, collectors, show organizers and all of those who will provide the “recognition” that we seek.
To be sure, there are “overnight successes” but for most of us it requires that we strive for visibility among the clutter. It means that we enter major shows and competitions, attend openings and shows to meet our peers, collectors, and gallery owners, advertise as much as we can afford, seek out higher quality representation, and hopefully we slowly become a presence (at some level) in the art world.
If it all works, at some point in our professional progression there is a subtle change. We gradually stop ASKING to be accepted and start BEING ASKED to participate. Whether it is in the form of invitations to be represented by galleries, or invitations to be a guest artist somewhere, or requests for donations to benefit shows and auctions, gradually the emphasis shifts. In short, it is the recognition that we all seek but it places demands on us that we may be hard pressed to meet.
Let’s take a look at some of these steps and talk a little about what each of them requires but first remember the fundamentals that brought you to your current level and will propel you to the next:
Present only your best work.
We know when a painting is less than we are capable of. If you look at your painting and say “it’s good enough”, chances are that it’s not. Don’t let it out of your studio until you are really satisfied with it. This becomes especially difficult when you are faced with a deadline or when the painting is going into a lesser venue of some sort. Having more demand than supply is a nice place for an artist to be but it can become a trap. If you don’t have time to present your best effort, you are over-committed. You are better off forgoing an opportunity than wasting it with work that might damage your reputation.
Always be professional.
Galleries and show organizers are constantly frustrated by artists who fail to make deadlines or who in a hundred little ways make their job more difficult. Doing your part extends beyond providing the artwork. Fill out entry or consignment forms completely and on time. Provide publicity images or information when asked. Drop off or ship paintings on time. Provide quality framing that will allow them to present your work in the best light.
All of this takes time away from the easel but if you are easy to do business with, you will be remembered and invited back.
Spend your time wisely.
Seek out the major shows and competitions and enter whenever you can. The magazines cover many of the major events and help spread the reputation of the winners at no cost to you. Just being juried into many of these shows provides you with great resume material and the galleries and many collectors do read your resume. While the big national and regional shows are generally quite eclectic, many shows and competitions tend to have a bias to certain styles and subjects. The internet makes it easy to see past winners and help you decide where to best spend your efforts and entry fees.

Then what?

OK, your work is outstanding and you are easy to work with, you have achieved some level of recognition from your peers, from collectors, and from galleries. Now you can relax and paint! This is when you gradually find that as your reputation spreads as a result of all of your hard work, everyone wants you to work harder.
Your galleries want more work and always want you in all of their open and invitational shows, you receive solicitations from other galleries either to represent you or to invite you to participate in shows, you are solicited for a wide variety of benefit shows or auctions and you are asked to demo and teach. You know that, as in all the arts, the public is fickle and if you are going to remain successful you need to remain visible but you can’t possibly meet all of the demands for your work. What do you do?
First, you have to start to prioritize. While the attention is flattering, you need to decide what opportunities are good for your career and not just good for the one soliciting you. Watch for the shows and competitions that will provide you with the maximum exposure and devote your efforts to them. When you produce a painting that you think is outstanding or in which you have achieved something new, put it aside and wait for the right place to enter or exhibit it. Learn to get the most return for your efforts.
You may need to refuse a lot of “opportunities” but for me, I really try to answer any emails or phone calls I receive. This goes along with what I said earlier about professionalism. It only takes a minute to provide a polite refusal to an email request but it sets you apart from all of those who simply delete the email. At any given level, the art world is a much smaller community than you imagine and building a reputation as polite and professional even when turning something down is worth the effort.
Yet another growing demand is less on your time than on your finances. Even as your reputation expands, you need to regularly remind the art world that you are still there. In the very upper reaches of the market where there are always collectors waiting to snatch up your next painting this may not apply but for most of us struggling to reach that level, advertising is important. The results of advertising are often subtle and hard to gauge but my experience tells me that there are real benefits. I have had galleries tell me that collectors have bought one of my paintings over the phone based only on seeing it in an ad. More recently, my phone number was published in a magazine feature with photos of several of my paintings and I received multiple, direct inquiries about my work and invitations to participate in several shows. Advertising is not cheap but do whatever you can. Often there are special advertising sections associated with the major national and regional shows which offer discounted rates. Ask your galleries to share costs with you. They are going to spend on advertising anyway, why not with you?
Don’t neglect your growth. With growing demands on your production and time, it’s tempting to hide in your studio. If your work is going to keep improving you need to be exposed to the thoughts, ideas, techniques, and critiques of your fellow artists. Seek out opportunities to study with or just paint and spend time with artists you admire. There is always more to learn. You should be supporting your galleries anyway by attending openings and meeting their clients and it is a great way to meet your fellow artists and to develop both personal and professional relationships.
One more thing about being asked to donate work for various charities. We as artists are so fortunate to be able to create something of value that can actually raise money for something worthwhile. It’s so great to be able to give back in this way, but once again we really have to be realistic about what we can do .I think the worst thing is to give “any old painting” that you might think is “not what I do anymore, not so good, etc”, because once again, —it’s out there with your name and reflects on you. So better to gracefully decline if you can’t give something really beautiful.
In summary, the key is to learn to invest your time wisely. With hard work and a little luck, the demands on you will grow proportionately with your success and you need to identify the things that will further your career. Be aware that many “opportunities” are really opportunities for others to benefit by selling your work or by having you associated with their particular endeavor. Some will be good for you and some will be causes you want to support but remember that what we all really have to sell is our time and keep it’s value in mind as you make those decisions.

Oil Painting

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