Working Large



The Pond-Late Spring oil 30 x 30

I have been focusing on painting some larger paintings for an upcoming show this summer. I readily admit I am more comfortable painting small than producing large works.  I used to illustrate books, and the work had to be fairly portable and had to be no larger than a drum scanner.  So it was a leap to start working big.

I realized recently that I do get a lot more attached to the results in a big painting which really doesn't make a lot of sense.  I edit a large portion of my smaller paintings, so why do I have such a hard time doing the same to the larger ones?  For one, they take more time and more materials.  I feel like I should have the idea pretty well figured out before I start a big panel. The failure just feels bigger.

What I am finding is that though most painters work up a small study and use it for a larger painting, if I am stuck in the work on a large painting, working up a small study at that point helps to resolve any problems I am having.  I can try out a different shape or a new color without spending lots of time or actually ruining the larger work. Since I find I am more reluctant to gesso out the larger works than I am a small study, I feel like I can burn the smaller piece if I need to.

Sometimes, the smaller piece is the one that makes it out of the studio, but I am finding that this process can help me succeed with the larger work. And a few of those are making it out the door too!

Put Something of Yourself In

Autumn Collection oil 18 x 14 SOLD

You paint the way you are made. And the viewer, looking at your pictures, is interested because he senses your mind and your emotions at work --Emile Gruppe

One way to improve upon using reference photos in the studio is to put something of yourself in.  Show your viewer how you think--how you see the world. Merely replicating the photograph pixel for pixel doesn't say anything.  Can you change the compostition to tell a story?  Can you change the palette?  Can you capture a shape with one brushstroke?  Can you express in paint why you picked the photograph in the first place? Are you thinking about what you are trying to express or are you blindly copying?  Are you trying to make something whimsical?  Political? Thought-provoking? What makes the painting uniquely yours?

When I look at art, I want to see something of the artist's personality there.  I want to see how the artist thinks--even if I don't entirely understand the message. I am not interested if the painting "looks real".  I want to see an interpretation of the artist's world. So go out there and make something that tells a story about you.

Intention and The Art of Flexibility



Pond Lyric oil 11 x 14

In painting you never do what you set out to do.  Something else happens.  If it always turns out right you are probably doing something wrong.--Ken Kewley

It is very rare that a painting turns out exactly as I had intended or envisioned from the start.  Elements of painting have a life of their own and what I had pictured putting down somehow turns into something else. Hopefully, with a bit of luck and skill, what does end up on the page is worthy of a frame or teaches me something that I can control better in my next attempt.

 Yesterday I made a painting that, with some distance, has a rather bothersome circular pattern that overtakes the subject. I didn't see it at first and I will have to fix it--not what I had envisioned, but hopefully something that can be resolved and maybe enhanced or even made into the main idea of the painting.

I think the intuitive part of painting allows for more flexibility and less attachment to results.  If a shape doesn't turn out just as I had imagined, I try to let it lead me.  Sometimes it can be exciting and sometimes disastrous or disappointing. (There is always that burn pile)!!!  I find that I need the same flexibility in my teaching.  Class planning can be restrictive when a group exceeds your expectations or when they need more work with a certain topic.

 So as much as I try to produce a painting that comes close to my original vision,  I try to stay open to changes that might come up along the way. There. A lesson in bending.

Pivotal People



Cattails in April oil 10 x 8

 I recently watched a video of a talk given by the artist Bo Barlett and was struck by his artistic journey.  Every time he thought about closing the door on painting, someone would show up and lead him back to a life in paint. He was very fortunate that one of those people was Andrew Wyeth.  He was invited to work with the family to produce a film and that led him back to painting.  Since Wyeth's death, he says he has been even more motivated to do the best paintings he possibly can.

When I look back at my winding path in the arts, there have been several pivotal people that have shown up at the right time. There are memorable people who tapped me on the shoulder and reminded me to stay on course when I thought I wouldn't be able to make a living in the arts. People who opened doors for me and provided opportunity when I needed it, oftentimes immediately after a run-in with someone who did everything in their power to discourage me.

In fact, every time I tried to head in a different direction where I thought I should pursue something more stable, roadblocks appeared, and someone would show up and whisper, "hey you, remember painting?" Nothing but a career in art has made sense to me and I am lucky that there have been positive influences and pivotal people who make me want to work harder every day.

Your Own History

Early Winter oil 18 x 36

Robert Genn has a recent post about getting rid of your old or inferior works.  His advice was to destroy the bad work instead of selling it at a discounted price. Good advice. However, I would add to this by saying give the pieces at least six months before you burn them.

I turn many of my boards over and paint on the other side, gessoing the first attempt (now on the back) out. I keep about 60-70% of what I paint. So while I largely agree with making a "burn pile", the post did make me squirm a little bit.

I ask my students to keep what they have made--even if they hate what they have done at the moment.  It shows progress which can be otherwise difficult to see--like how much your own child has grown. At the very least, photograph the piece and keep the photo in the recesses of your files. No one needs to look at it except for you. Remind yourself of how much you have grown. If you must burn it or paint over it at this point, do.

Many of my better paintings started out in the burn pile.  Something in them made me come back and rework what I didn't like.  If I had destroyed them immediately, they wouldn't have made it on the wall. Furthermore, the more distance I gave them--some sat for six months, the more potential I saw in them.  The time lapse let me separate myself from the initial frustration. The painting posted here was saved from just that fate.

So, save your work for awhile before you destroy it. It shows your own history, your growth, and can end in some pretty good work.

Risk



Slivers of Light oil 12 x 12

Risk is an inherent part of the creative life.  The decision to make one's paintings available to the public is one that invites judgement and criticism. Opinions are offered, good or bad.

Every time I make a painting, I am exposing a part of myself that is deeply personal even if I am "just making landscapes".  They are a part of me. They reflect how I see the world. They show my struggle, my questions and observations about my surroundings, and they occasionally show my triumphs too. I try to keep that in mind when looking at other people's art.  What were they risking? 

A painting without risk is lifeless, made for viewers who expect something pretty. Try starting a painting that scares you, whether it be a new subject or a never-tried color or technique. It takes courage to venture into the unfamiliar and to invite failure or criticism. The risk is always worth it.

"Only those who risk going too far can possibly find out how far they can go."-T.S. Eliot

Emerging

                                      

                                      

                                  

I've been thinking about the word "emerging" lately.  The dictionary defines it as "1. to rise up or come forth into view; 2. to come into existence; 3. to become known or evident."  Ironically, the entry is right below a picture of  a cow embryo illustrating another entry all together, but rather relevant as well! To me, the word conjures something that is fragile, but also has strength.

I am an emerging artist. In fact, I have been emerging for quite some time now.  I began my art career in the children's book business and through the hand of fate, am now quite happily making paintings for galleries. I have been painting (or illustrating in oils) for over 20 years.  Making my living as a fine artist was an abrupt U-turn and I had to start my learning process all over again. I did it most of it by the seat of my pants (there were times where it definitely showed).  I am just now beginning to understand the process of painting better, but I still have a long, long way to go. An art career is definitely something that is earned. Perhaps I will always be emerging.

I made the images above in an artist's journaling class a few years ago.  My theme for the journal was emerging....

Small Victories

Rushing Stream oil 36 x 18

 It is taking me longer to finish paintings these days which may sound like a bad thing, but I actually look at it as a small victory.  It means I am able to push past where I used to. I have a new set of skills. I used to be afraid of working past a certain point with my work--afraid that I would "ruin" the piece by messing with it some more.  Now, I am able to look at what I have done and I can spend another session on the work without muddying it. I can improve on it without losing the original start and the fresh feel. As I gain more experience, there are no longer big leaps, but these small victories which show growth and that is always a good thing!