Attachment and the Importance of Failure

Winter's Designs 12 x 9

   When you make your living as an artist, it is easy to get attached to the final product in your painting.  When a painting does not succeed, it feels like the day has been unproductive.  I want every painting to be a painting that I am proud of, and, as I have written before, sometimes you have to allow yourself to make a bad painting in the process of coming up with something good .  Being too attached to the results can actually hinder you.

I started out the day today wiping out a few hours of work.  But I am trying to look at it as a good day because I tried to paint something that scared me.  I tried painting something that was out of my comfort zone.  And I learned something from it.  And one of these days, I am going to master the things that I failed at today. 

It is important to me to try and tackle new subjects and new ideas. Failure can be and indication of growth. It isn't the easiest thng to face, but it is better than making "safe" paintings. There is nothing worse than being stagnant with your work. 

So its back to the easel for me. A new day and the freedom to fail if that's what it takes.

Try again. Fail again. Fail better. --Samuel Beckett

P.S. I tried to tackle the painting posted here about 8 months ago and failed.  I tried it again this week and I feel pretty good about this attempt!

The Illusion of Speed

Brush in Sunlight oil 12 x 9

The subject of speed has come up recently in regard to my painting so I thought I would discuss it here.  I love loose paintings. I love accurate, loose paintings. My goal is to create something with obvious brushwork that is applied thoughtfully and with intention. You may prefer something more detailed with hundreds of hours poured into the surface detailing.  Neither one is better than the other--again, it is a matter of preference.

Richard Schmidt writes in his book Alla Prima," Looseness should describe how a painting looks, not how it is done".  In other words, to create something that has confident control takes training.  It does not mean that the painting was done in a couple of hours. It means that the person who created it has practiced for hundreds and hundreds of hours to produce the illusion of speed. And I am still practicing this! Some paintings are finished quickly--on the days where the paint flows easily.  Most are labored over far longer than they may appear.  The paintings that appear labored are burned.  The paintings that appear to have been made quickly on the first try are framed and hung on the wall.

On Borrowing and Stealing

Under the Canopy oil 12 x 16

There is little or nothing new in the world. What matters is the new and different position in which an artist finds herself seeing and considering the things of so-called nature and the works that have preceded and interested her. — Giorgio Morandi

I think it is important to be looking at art--all the time.  Look at art from the past and look at contemporary art and figure out what it is that attracts you to a certain piece.  Is it color, or technique?  Is it subject or design? Would you hang it on your walls? What can you borrow from the work? Be a sponge and soak in what the artist does well. If you are a collector, you will probably notice that certain styles appeal to you time and again.

Throughout the history of art, there are countless examples of how one artistic movement borrows from another. What is important is how those influences are extracted and molded to what satisfied the artists that followed.  If you have influences (and you should), ask yourself how you can make those ideas your own. How can you put a new twist on an old idea? How can you learn from the past and explore some of your own thoughts at the same time?

Plein Air vs. Studio Work

Afternoon on the Blue oil 9 x 12 SOLD

We had a late Spring this year, but I have been spending more time outdoors painting plein air pieces recently.  It is good to get out!  The immediacy of the outdoor experience can't be matched. When I do get out to paint, I get hooked on being outside.  There are challenges like the wind and the bugs, but the light is more true and the colors more vivid. It is an important tool for me.

I spend more time in the studio than I used to.  Winters are long and deep here and I have learned that I am more productive leaving the plein air work to the other seasons.  I do enjoy applying some of the knowledge gleaned from being outside to my studio pieces.  I also find I can slow down with the studio work and control my technique a bit more inside.  I think both approaches complement each other and each serves a very different purpose for me.

I painted this piece on the banks of the Blue River on the cusp of Spring.

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!

Postcards

Painting Detail

I read somewhere (I can't remember quite where right now) that in painting, one should be happy if any part of the painting goes well. Quite often I find that if I am struggling with a piece, somewhere in the painting there is a little postcard size section that really sings. A little 4 x 6 that works in terms of color and brushwork and composition.  It is piecing a bunch of postcards together that is the difficult part.  Sometimes it can be hard to let go of a painting that has a passage like this and wipe it out, though I suppose it is enough that that little postcard happened in the first place.

When I used to teach watercolor techniques, I recommended actually saving that little piece and using it as a postcard to send to a friend. It is more challenging to do so if you are working on board, but I suppose one could do the same.  Or photograph it and stick it in the recesses of your files. The best thing to do is to try to replicate it in another attempt.

I liked this small section of a recent painting because of the brushwork and subtle color ideas and I am going to try and capture the feel of the successful parts in another painting.

Small Works

Apple Branch Study oil 8 x 6



I recently had a request for some small works.  I don't usually work smaller than 8 x 10, but it was fun to sit down and paint a few 6 x 8s--I think it allowed me to let go of the results a bit since there was less time and material invested.  I cut a bunch of boards and painted several to choose from.  It also allowed me to really simplify shape and brushwork.

A friend owns an orchard on the Western Slope of Colorado and we visited during harvesting time while there were apples to be picked and cider to be made. I made several paintings from the trip, watching the sunrise on the mesa. The landscape is different there--it has a high desert feel--it is warmer and drier than the mountains and there are several orchards and vineyards in the area.  We have been invited back this Spring when the trees are in bloom and I am really looking forward to it!

Colorado Governor's Invitational Show

The Golden Hour oil 9 x 12

I am very excited to be participating in this year's Colorado Governor's Invitational Show which opens April 23rd at the Loveland Museum in Colorado.  There is a ticketed opening on Saturday from 5:30-9:30 which benefits the local Rotary Club and the show runs through the month of May.

I have been working for most of the winter to compile four paintings for the show.  If you are in the area, stop by the museum if you have the time--the show presents a cross-section of Colorado's contemporary artists and should be worth the visit!

I always worry a little about my choices for shows like these. The pieces are not juried first. The artists are chosen based on their previous body of work and so there is some pressure to perform. It does keep me focused though! I was captured by the abstract nature of winter and the late day color that happens right before the sun goes down in the painting posted here. It is easy to overlook the beauty of a snow covered landscape.

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

The Making of Magic



Tracks by the River oil 16 x 12



 Working at art was different--I could do it, then I couldn't do it.  This cycle repeated itself again and again.  Sometimes I spent as much time trying to work as I did working.  I talked to friends--"maybe you're not inspired now," they often said. "Screw being inspired, I don't want to be inspired, I just want to be able to work." So in the making of magic, there is no magic in doing it.--William Accorsi

In painting, there are days that everything flows easily. Those are few and far between, but when they happen, I am extremely grateful.   More often, every brushstroke is hard work and struggle and a whole lot of concentration and I really have to earn a painting for the day.  Sometimes I will wipe out or sand down a whole day's work.

People often ask me how long it takes to make a painting.  There is no answer for that.  Some flow easily and some take days or weeks. I make many more paintings than I actually show.

Picasso said each painting had taken his whole life. The process really isn't magic.  It is a lifetime of hard earned skill and hours in the studio.  I had a beginning student once, who after the first day in class announced, "Now I know why paintings are so expensive!" It is certainly a lot more work than one might think.

The public enjoys the magic part.  The artist knows that if we can make the process seem like magic, then we have really done our job.

The painting I posted above was on of those magic moments where everything just works.

The Creative Drive

Spring Line Study oil 9 x 12

I can't imagine a life where I didn't use my hands to create something. I paint because I am driven to paint. It is difficult to explain the creative drive to anyone who doesn't wake up in the morning excited about what they may make that day. When I was an illustrator, I remember thinking that I couldn't make work without a set deadline or a specific assignment.  What would I choose to paint everyday?  There were too many choices and too many risks. I didn't have the vision to just paint. Who would pay me?

There were gaps of time between illustration assignments and I started to yearn to paint what I wanted to paint everyday. It was difficult to sort out what was important to me at first, but after a trip to Taos to make monoprints, I started to have more clarity about what I wanted to create. And I began to work. Ideas flooded my head. I was in tune with my environment. I wanted to paint it--loosely and with a focus on shape and brushwork. I got cranky if I couldn't get in the studio and work. I didn't need an assignment to motivate me anymore. I had found my creative drive.

What motivates you to paint? Is it your creative drive or something else?

Staying Humble

Snow Remnants oil 14 x 18



Most of my students are quick to point out what is wrong with their paintings during group critiques.  Often they overlook what is good about their painting to point out the bad.  I tell them to celebrate the parts of their paintings that work, but I am quick to say that I would worry more about them if they thought their paintings were perfect. It would mean that they see no room for improvement and there is always room to improve. The best painters are constantly pushing to be better. Sometimes that means making a "bad" painting, not a "perfect" one.

Good paintings take years of dedication and skill. I am humbled by what I do every time I sit down to paint. My hope is that twenty or thirty years from now, I am still striving to make a better painting than the last one.

I think it is important to separate yourself from your ego, to see your mistakes, to celebrate the small victories, to accept praise when it is given, to be open to criticism and to grow and push beyond what you could do yesterday.

Breaking Rules



Richard Diebenkorn oil  Interior with View of the Ocean

 There are lists of rules about what makes a good painting.  And, in general, they should be followed.  However, there are paintings that break these rules and still succeed as paintings. Every year I give my students an assignment which allows them to break the common rules. Place your subject or horizon line in the middle of the canvas. Use an even number of objects in your still life. Use paint straight out of the tube. Use black.  It can be a challenge of its own.

I've used Richard Diebenkorn as an example.  He divides his painting in half with the large window on the right.  But he balances it with the shape of the window on the left.  He also places his subject, the chairs, smack in the middle of the painting. He uses a local color there to catch the viewers eye. He does use an uneven number of chairs. He then structures several yellow triangles to add movement and activity to the bottom half of the painting. Notice how he uses complements. I'm guessing there is some black paint out of the tube in there as well, but I could be wrong. The painting works, but it breaks a number of rules.

Salt Brush in Morning Light oil 16 x 20

Here is a recent painting of mine.  I've placed my subject in the center of the page, but balanced it with the shapes at the top of the painting. There are two rooftops that provide structure to an otherwise organic subject. I was interested in the way the light on the bushes led the eye through the painting and I have emphasized that by letting it occupy the mid-point of the painting.

Just Start



Renewal oil 12 x 12

 As I am new to blogging, I have a list of ideas that I would like to write about at some point.  I sat down to write today and reviewed the list and realized none of the ideas were really speaking to me, not one stood out as a good place to start writing.  I had even forgotten what I was thinking about when I wrote some of the ideas down.

The same thing happens to me sometimes at the start of my painting day.  I have limitless materials that I have been thinking about painting and not one of them speaks to me. Or all of them do and I freeze up choosing which one to start with.  Or I've forgotten why I even pulled a photograph to begin with.  As a result, I lose my focus and begin to procrastinate--usually this means running through my photo files for hours on end.

So, the only thing to do is START.  Start painting something. Start writing something. Show up. Usually the rest works itself out. I have found that soon after I have started, an unconscious process kicks in and suddenly I am only wrapped up in what I am doing that moment.  The act of creation is good that way.

I started this painting this morning in honor of Spring.

Productivity

Mountain Stream oil 16 x 12

"There seem to be times of reception and times of creation and it is perhaps difficult not to confuse the two." -Margaret Wise Brown

This week has been a bit of a wash when it comes to work.  Life sometimes gets in the way (this week the dog was at the vet and we had to deal with the neighbor's broken pipes flooding our house) and productivity goes out the window.  I get a bit flustered when I don't have much to show for my time in any given day, but I have to remind myself that as a painter, I am always taking in ideas. 

On my daily walk with the dog, it is hard not to notice the early morning light, or the color on the mountains, or the way the willows dip to touch the river along the way. Sometimes ideas will come when I'm driving, or cooking dinner, or watching a movie. I'll take those collected thoughts back to the studio.  It is important to have your eyes open and to be receptive, and though it doesn't seem like I'm working when I'm noticing the world, that time is just as important as time spent in the studio.

Handwriting

Late Day Glow 20 x 30

I've been working on the way I apply my paint lately.  My paintings tend to be hard-edged and I would like to have more variety in my brushwork and edges.  As I have been toiling away at it, trying different surfaces and paint applications, I have come to realize that my brushstrokes are bound to have a certain feel to them.  My hand innately moves a certain way. It is like handwriting--unique and individual, and something that is very hard to change. At the same time, it identifies the maker whether it is as a signature or a brushstroke.  So I am trying to bend to the inevitable--my brushwork is uniquely mine.  I am trying embrace the look of my paintings instead of fighting them.  Though wouldn't it be nice to handle paint like Sargent, or Schmidt, or Blumenschein?