Every Painting is a Journey

Every painting is a journey for the artist and the viewer. Never the same journey though.

As I was working on this painting I was dealing with the imminent death of my dear friend Yolanda. The painting didn't start out to be about Yolanda. In fact the painting was started as a demo piece for my Monday night painting students at the Y. I was initially drawn to the imagery. The play of light and shadows across the empty bench, surrounded by Fall blossoms begged to be painted. And the fact that I would need to subdue the overly busy background in the photograph would provide me with some really good teaching points.

So I began the painting with one intent and ended with something entirely different. As I painted I found my mind wandering often to Yolanda, to her family and the pain they were going through. But I thought often too of all of the good times I had shared with Yolanda. We were involved in a number of art organizations and spent numerous hours involved in planning events and solving problems. And after we were done with all of the "art issues", we always talked about our families and especially the kids. Great memories, usually accompanied by a good cup of coffee or a nice glass of wine, depending on the time of day.

I realized at one point as I blended colors, working wet on wet on my canvas that I was painting away my anger at the loss of my friend. I was painting from the heart. Later, I urged my students to do the same "don't be so concerned with getting a color just right, just paint!" And of course I immediately realized that painting from the heart doesn't usually happen in an Intro to Painting class. I hoped they would store that thought away for future reference.

I had nearly completed the painting, when I thought of one thing that I wanted to add; something to let the viewer know that there had been someone in the picture earlier and had perhaps just stepped away. On the bench I painted a copy of The Healing Muse. For many years Yolanda and I had been strong supporters of this literary and visual journal from Upstate Medical. We had both contributed artwork and Yolanda had also written an eloquent piece about her struggle with cancer. It seemed fitting that the Muse be part of the painting.

The piece was finished in time for the Central New York Branch of the National League of American Pen Women show. And although I felt that Yolanda was the inspiration behind the piece, I mentioned it to no one, preferring to keep that thought to myself.

We hung the show and had a wonderful reception the next evening. At the reception I noticed a gentleman looking intently at the painting, and I wondered if he could sense the emotions I felt as I painted. I remember thinking "gosh I hope not! I would like him to see a peaceful garden, not the emotional turmoil of an artist coming to terms with a friend's illness and death." I later learned that he had purchased the painting as a surprise for his wife; an anniversary gift. So evidently he saw the peaceful garden.

Every painting is a journey for the artist and the viewer. Never the same journey though.

Back to Pencil, Back to Basics

This post is meant for my Monday night Learn to Draw class at the Y. At our last class, (which seems like ages ago, due to the Memorial Day Holiday), I brought in a partially completed drawing based on a still life which I had set up in my home studio. I had chosen a few objects specifically for their color, or should I say, lack of color. The two eggs and the plate are both white, but each has a different value (comparative lightness or darkness of color). The spoon, salt shaker and hour glass were all chosen for their reflective qualities.

Those of you who attended the last class might remember that I had shown a series of thumbnail sketches which I used in helping me to determine the best composition. I had made about 3 sketches and chosen the one which I felt worked best: a close-up view of the eggs, spoon and plate. The salt shaker and hourglass have been cropped.

I had also had a partially visible "rule of thirds" grid on the paper to help me with my composition. The grid was also used in my thumbnail sketches. I completed the drawing this week and would like to share some thoughts and observations with you.

In working with very light colored or white objects we often leave them without color/shading. But when several of the objects in the composition are white, we need to decide how to treat the white areas. When we work in graphite we translate color into various shades of gray and black and white. We decide on how dark or light a shade of gray might be by comparing the values of colors to each other. Even colors that are the same, like identical reds, will have variations due to how the light might be hitting it.

So, in a still life which contains a few white objects we need to look at the value of the color. Usually one is slightly darker than the other. In this case the plate was a bit darker and due to the way the light was hitting it a nice shadow had cast itself over the surface. The rim of the plate was catching the light, so that remained an untouched surface or pure white, which was the color of the paper. The eggs have a very soft shadow on them created by smudging the pencil shading and picking out highlights with the kneaded eraser. The shadow on the eggs reinforces the illusion of volume. The pencil strokes used to create the shadow on the eggs were curved, which reinforces the shape of the eggs.

The still life is sitting on a place mat which I have elected to treat in a more abstract way, as a contrast to the realism of the rest of the composition. The place mat has a floral pattern which emphasizes stylized flowers. I left the flowers white, with just a bit of stylized detail. The white of the flowers echoes the white in the eggs and in the highlights on the metallic objects. The spoon is a hard metal object, so the reflections are made with hard solid lines. It is quite a bit darker than the eggs in value, so it is nearly black in some areas.

The salt shaker is very old and in need of some TLC. It does not have much of a luster, so the reflections are softer and more diffused.

The hourglass is plastic, so not quite as reflective as glass would be. Smudging the shading and using the kneaded eraser to pick out highlights created the illusion of a reflective object.

After I had finished shading and detailing the picture, I checked to see which areas might need to be a bit lighter or darker and adjusted them accordingly. I darkened the grains of sand in the hourglass to balance the darkness of the spoon. I also darkened the shadow at the bottom of the salt shaker and in a few places on the place mat like under the plate to distribute the very dark values around the composition. If there was only one area with a very dark value, then our eyes would go directly to it and not move around the composition.

And when I was done with the picture, I ate the eggs...of course.

 

"Adirondack Still Life"

From the "Time Stands Still" show, Petit Library

"Adirondack Still Life" is the only painting in this show done in pastels, and the only painting based on Adirondack imagery. The inspiration was Boy Scout Camp Sabattis, located near Long Lake, NY. The painting was based on a photo taken by my husband when he spent a few days at BS Camp with one of our sons. But, the colors are all mine! I loved working with the dark purples blues and reds in the shadows. This is still one of my favorite paintings.

 

Memories

One of my memories from youth is of a little boat trip that I took with my dad and my brother. My Dad always had an old boat motor tucked into the corner of our garage. It was an old black Evinrude; I have no idea what the horsepower was and it doesn't matter, because the motor never really went anywhere.

My dad had inherited the motor from his dad, who probably had a buddy with a boat. (hey, I've got a boat, you've got a motor, let's go fishin') Well, my dad didn't have a buddy with a boat, so the motor basically sat in a corner of the garage gathering dust.

One year we rented a camp on Tully Lake. As luck would have it, the camp came with a rowboat, but no motor. So my dad brought the motor to camp for the week, attached it to the boat and after several attempts to start it (accompanied by streams of colorful words that I shouldn't use here....) the boat started. We made a couple of trips around the lake and then decided to explore a little. There was another very small lake accessible by a very narrow, weedy channel which we were dying to get a look at.

The channel was rather shallow and my dad had to pull the motor up out of the water so it wouldn't get caught in the weeds. We floated through and took a quick look, not much to see, so we turned around to head back to camp. Now the fun begins. We had floated easily through the channel on our way in, but seemed to have much more trouble on our way out. I guess there must have been a small current working against us.

Aside from the channel being weedy and narrow, there was also a bridge of some sort spanning over it. The bridge was very low, adding to the overall claustrophobic feel. We couldn't rely on the motor, the water was much too shallow and weedy. So my dad planned to use the oars to paddle us through, which would have been a great idea if the channel hadn't been so narrow. The oars in the extended position for rowing were much wider than the channel, so my dad decided that he would stand up and use the oars to pole us through. Well, that would have been a good idea if the bridge had been about 2 feet higher. There wasn't enough room for my dad to stand up, but plenty of room for a 9 year old and a 5 year old, so...you guessed it, my brother and I stood up, and poled us through the channel, all of us laughing like crazy over our big adventure!

This painting brings me back to that day so long ago. The red cushions on the seat are based on the old boat cushions we used. A few years ago, I found the old cushions in the basement of my parents' house. They were really old and smelled musty, but I brought the cushions up to my camp, I guess just for a sense of continuity.

"Wooded Cove"

This was one of the first paintings done from the lake. Down in the narrows, we have several places where boats lie gracefully at rest, waiting for their next trip to that oh so secret spot, where all the big fish hide. Each time I paddle through with my kayak the boats are sitting in a slightly different arrangement, so they must be giving the fish a run for their money...or maybe vice-versa. I loved painting this scene on the large canvas. The area is very wooded, so the surrounding water is as green as the landscape. I underpainted in warm reds, letting quite a bit of the underpainting show through to add a dynamic quality to the overall piece. The scene is tranquil, but the colors are vibrant.

"On the Grass Lake Overlook Trail"

This is the third painting I have done from this vantage point. The text below is taken from a previous post describing the inspiration for the painting Grass Lake Still Life, a painting that I sold several months ago. Since the subject matter and vantage point are the same, I thought I would just revisit those words. While hiking along one of the Indian River Lakes Conservancy Trails, I came upon an absolutely beautiful, and totally unknown to me, view of Grass Lake. I think the scene took me by surprise. I usually photograph and/or paint the lake from the vantage point of my kayak or canoe, or from our dock. My husband and I have explored the various little bays and fingers of the lake, the islands, and the shallow weedy areas at the very end of the lake where the loons nest... at least as far back as we were able to kayak. But exploring the lake from the trails above, and at the end of November when so much of the vegetation has died gives one a whole new perspective on the lake. The stillness was extraordinary. The leaves were gone, the summer wildlife had fled to warmer climates or burrowed into warm winter nests. The scene before me seemed to be of a peaceful wilderness, getting ready for its winter nap. I later created this watercolor based on the photos I had taken that day and the memory of the peaceful stillness.

"Heading for the River"

"Heading for the River" was the subject of a tutorial which I used with my acrylic painting students this past winter. Often I begin a painting in class to demonstrate a specific technique, and then bring the painting home to my studio. Often during the course of the week I finish the painting so that when I see my students again, the painting has been completed. Unfortunately, when I do this the students miss several of the steps along the way. Creating a step-by-step tutorial helps the students see the changes that take place as a painting evolves. The tutorial ended up being about 12 pages long, with lots of photos interspersed throughout. I printed the pages and mounted the whole tutorial on a display board. I also emailed a pdf of the tutorial to each student so that they can refer to it when needed. This painting is based on a photo taken in October, late in the afternoon near the St. Lawrence River. I was intrigued by the shapes created by the clouds in the sky and shadows on the land.