The Oil Painting Blog

Insane: They've Never Seen Contemporary American Paintings Before!

Patricia Watwood — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 17:44:00 GMT


Venus Awakes by Patricia Watwood, 2011, oil on canvas, 38 x 34.	Karen in White by Paul McCormack, oil on canvas, 40 x 29.	Enigma (Self-Portrait) by David Leffel, 2009, oil on canvas, 52 x 34.

On Sunday, January 22^nd, the ACOPAL group will celebrate it's first museum show of American and Chinese realism at the Butler Institute of American Art in Youngstown, Ohio. Many of my favorite artists and fellow oil painters have work in this show: Nelson Shanks, Jacob Collins, Max Ginsberg, Tony Ryder, and Burt Silverman, to name a few of my heroes. This is the second group ACOPAL exhibit, following the very successful introduction of ACOPAL at the National Arts Club in May 2011.

The next ACOPAL venture will be the presentation of American realism at the Beijing World Art Museum, opening toward the end of this year in September 2012. The exhibit will feature over 100 paintings, and be the first survey of contemporary American realism in China. After the opening in Beijing, the exhibit—a contemporary oil painting gallery of sorts—will tour five major cities in China, including Shanghai and Guangzhou. The Chinese audience is enthusiastic about realism and traditional oil painting, and this exhibit will reach many thousands, many of whom have not seen contemporary American paintings in person ever before.

That's thrilling, isn't it? My painting, Venus Awakes, which I just completed will be included in the Butler exhibit. The painting is an allegory about the rediscovery of the classical nude. Venus and the apple are meta-symbols representing the classical western tradition in art. They are surrounded by the broken remnants of technology and culture, but remain undamaged. The bird wakes Venus from her slumber, and represents my rejection of "trash as conceptual social commentary as art." Flecks of gold in the mire indicate that the labor of gleaning value from the wreckage is not in vain.

Contemporary American realism continues to grow, define itself, and find new audiences all over the world. If you are in the Ohio area, please spread the word about the wonderful show at the Butler. If you are not, but still want to experience what is sure to be an amazing show, you can purchase a catalog of the show at the ACOPAL website.

--Patricia

How I Built an Art Network in My Hometown

Patricia Watwood — Tue, 13 Dec 2011 04:45:00 GMT


The Honorable Clarence Harmon, Mayor of St. Louis by Patricia Watwood, oil on canvas, 24 x 18, oval, 2002. Collection of St. Louis City Hall.

Someone recently asked me what I did to get recognized and become part of the art scene in my hometown of St. Louis, and how those connections led to my having a solo exhibit at Saint Louis University Museum of Art. When I lived in St. Louis I wasn't part of the art community. In fact, I was not involved in fine art at all during that time of my life. (I was actually involved in theatre in high school and college).

I left St. Louis right after high school and have been based in New York for the past 15 years. It was only about five years ago that I started to realize that St. Louis could be a wonderful "second base" to balance out my New York art community. (Plus it would allow me to combine work trips with visits to Gramma's house with my kids!)

It all started with a few portrait painting commissions. My mother worked with the former mayor on education policy and when the time for his official portrait came, she suggested, "I know a talented portrait artist you could consider—and she's a native of St. Louis!" (Thanks, Mom!) I submitted a portfolio and subsequently won the commission. Building on that success, I did two commissions for Saint Louis University.

This experience with portraiture taught me that business is built on two priceless intangibles: word of mouth and personal relationships. So, being in the right place at the right time and developing one-on-one connections whenever I went back to St. Louis or corresponded with interested individuals over the phone or email was the key. It's a slow process, but I found that this kind of networking is the most common way to receive new painting commissions.


	Dr. Kenneth R. Smith, Jr. by Patricia Watwood, 2010, oil on canvas, 40 x 40. Collection of Saint Louis University.

In St. Louis, I cultivated my reputation as the "painter from New York" to stand out from the other portrait artists in the community. This allowed me to become better known in St. Louis, both for portraiture and for my studio paintings.

Then two years ago, I decided to have a showcase in St. Louis and do an event to draw people in and get the word out about my paintings. I sent out invitations to my family's extended network of friends, and anyone else we knew in the community with an interest in art. I then converted my mom's living room into an art gallery, bribed my mom to bake a bunch of delicious cakes, and we hosted a party.


Dr. Patricia Monteleone, Dean, by Patricia Watwood, 2008, oil on canvas, 40 x 30. Collection of Saint Louis University Medical School.

I put together a slideshow presentation about the process of commissioning a portrait, and set that up to play on loop in a corner of the "gallery." I also gave a short talk about my art background, the New York art community I'm involved with, and the importance of portraiture.

Two key things developed from this event. One is that I made a good contact with the Director of the Sheldon Art Gallery (a museum), who attended the party. Second, the executive assistant to the President of Saint Louis University came to see the showcase, and she recommended my work to the director at the Saint Louis University Museum of Art.

Father Biondi, the President of the University, is a devoted supporter of the arts with a strong interest in figurative work, and has built an exciting collection for the University. And, happily, they eventually invited me to have an exhibit at the museum. The Museum was pleased to present an artist with St. Louis roots, and to bring the world of contemporary realist painting to the St. Louis audience.

So work to develop key relationships in your circle of art, and over time this can lead to new opportunities. And remember that friends and family can be your greatest allies in spreading the word about your work. And if your mom's an awesome baker—put her to work!

--Patricia

P.S. Have you had similar experiences building your own artistic network? What strategies have you used? Leave a comment and let us know.

Video Lesson on Using Photos for Studio Landscape Paintings

Mitchell Albala — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 04:19:00 GMT


Upper Ridge at Dusk, 2011, oil on panel, 18 x 18.		Mt. Shuksan in Sunlight, 2010, oil on panel, 12 x 12.

At my April 2011 exhibition at Lisa Harris Gallery, I gave an hour-long presentation on my "In Sunlight" series. This was a special opportunity for artists and laypersons to get a "studio perspective" on my creative process for landscape paintings executed in the studio. One of the key lessons is the proper use of photographic reference. Paintings should never look like the photograph, but only be used as a launching point. I alter the original reference, severely cropping and inventing color combinations. I also discussed how I synthesize compositions into a few simplified shapes, handle paint texture to augment spatial illusion, and work with color strategies.

The painting series experiments with alternative ways to capture the illusion of natural light. In many paintings (discussed in Video 2), I almost completely abandon traditional value relationships in favor of saturated colors, modulated primarily with subtle hue and temperature differences. You can read more about the development of this series in three posts at my blog, Essential Concepts of Landscape Painting, and see the whole series of paintings at my portfolio site.

Video 1 covers the paintings Snow Rivers in Half Light and Pinnacle Peak, Last Light.

Video 2 covers the quartet of brilliant "yellow" paintings for which the series is named.

Video 3 covers the paintings Upper Ridge in Snow, Upper Ridge at Dusk, and White Space.

Video 4 covers the paintings December Peak and Ascent, followed by a Q&A session.

--Mitchell

Mitchell Albala is the author of Landscape Painting: Essential Concepts and Techniques for Plein Air and Studio Practice (Watson-Guptill, 2009). Find him on Facebook and YouTube.

Painter's Magic 8 Ball--All Your Burning Questions Answered

Austin R. Williams — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 19:03:00 GMT


Winter Radiance by Claudia Seymour, 2005, pastel, 15 x 11. What sort of fixative, if any, should pastel artists apply to finished works? "Used properly and sparingly, fixative is a godsend," says artist Claudia Seymour. Our experts agree—but they also offer words of caution about using the right materials in a safe environment.

Have a question about painting? Get it answered in the pages of American Artist.

Have you ever wondered whether a specific combination of mediums will work well with a certain type of paint? Not sure about the best way to frame or present your artwork? Need advice on repairing a damaged piece?

Every month, American Artist features a Technical Q+A column, in which our art experts suggest solutions to problems like these. And we want to answer your questions!

Group of Trees by Gilles-Francois-Joseph Closson, oil on paper mounted to canvas, 14 3/4 x 19 1/8.

Mounting paper to canvas used to be a common method painters would use to increase the price at which they could sell their works. But doing this without damaging the work can be difficult.

Post your painting queries, questions, stumpers, and riddles below in the comments section, and we'll submit them to be answered in a future issue of the magazine.

We are going to address as many of them as we can, so feel free to ask technical questions about any part of your artistic process, in any media.

--Austin

How I Restored Freshness to My Work

dmaidman — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 04:32:00 GMT

We've been discussing shocking your system to keep your art practice from falling into routines. Another excellent means of accomplishing shock is to switch media.

By and large, I work in two media: graphite and white pencil on toned paper, and oil paint on canvas.

Piera by Daniel Maidman, oil on canvas, 28 x 22, 2008.

I've worked pretty hard on both of these techniques for some years now, and I've gotten better at each. But I've also gotten used to how these media behave. I can anticipate some of what they do, and I find myself slipping into thoughtless mark-making. Instead of depicting what I observe, I render what I know.

Switching media cleans the table. You have to discover the properties of a new medium, and in turn, struggle with how to translate your observations into an image. This process of translation is the struggle of a fledgling artist. Conquering it is a sign of advancing mastery. But conquering it is not necessarily beneficial. It is good to struggle with the translation: it maintains thoughtfulness, and intensity of observation, and vitality of work.

I completed a project, not long ago, of depicting my model, Piera, in as many media as I could think of. Each week, I switched media. I was glad to trade proficiency for surprise. Here are some of the images I made of her.

Right to left: charcoal, watercolor, ballpoint pen, pencil and cutout paper.

This process restored a great deal of freshness to my work. As in the case of varying mark-making we discussed previously, the freshness didn't occur in the work on this project alone. It bled back into my other work as new possibilities occurred to me, as in the work below.

Self-Portrait as Hockney by Daniel Maidman,
oil on canvas, 48 x 36 , 2011.

3 Things I've Got to Have to Keep Going

Patricia Watwood — Tue, 29 Nov 2011 04:57:00 GMT


My family and I at my opening. Cute bunch, right?		The show included works from the past ten years of my career.

I know it's been a while since I've written. Let's see--the last time was just when I got back from my summer vacation. And now it's....November?!? My, how time flies.

Well, I've been a bit busy. I'm happy to tell you that the project that has been consuming all of my working hours, and much of my personal time, is now on view. My oil painting art is the subject of a solo museum exhibition, Myths and Individuals, at the Saint Louis University Museum of Art. The show opened on October 21, 2011 and will be on view in St. Louis until December 23rd. The show will then travel to The Forbes Galleries in New York City from February 17 - April 23, 2012. There are thirty oil paintings in the show, both portraits and figures, spanning the past 10 years of my career.


	The catalog cover for the show.

Now that the dust has settled after the opening, I am looking around for all the other balls I have dropped in the past few months. So, I thought I'd write a post that muses on the crucial work-life balance and the ever-elusive goal of being a successful parent and a successful oil painting artist. Can I have it all? Do it all? Simply, no. I can't. At least, not all at the same time. And here's my point--it all takes time and lots of it--and usually a lot more than you think. For everyone striving to balance family and personal life and growth with career, we must learn certain wisdoms along the journey. Lessons that I've been reminded of recently.

First, patience: One of the skills that needs to be mastered is the ability to pace yourself, deal with short term issues, but all the while maintaining your focus on long term goals and the big picture. We all have to deal with the small stuff--but keep your eye on the prize, no matter what. I have a note pinned to my studio wall that says "Don't quit!" It's the mantra of an artist juggling all the things that can fill our lives.

Next, a friend mine reminded me to "celebrate small victories." The plans and dreams you have may take a bit longer to achieve, so celebrate small victories to mark the way along the road to larger accomplishments. Pat yourself on the back, raise a glass with friends, and take a moment to say "good job" to yourself.

Last, gratitude: Have you told your friend, partner, kids, parents, siblings, or close friends how glad you are that they support you and love you? Take a moment and send them an email. Go ahead. (Ok, now you're back, keep reading.) Even in the middle of a serious uphill slog, gratitude can be found all around if you remember to look for it. It will give you the energy and peace to keep pushing through.

So remember, artists--be patient, reward yourself for small accomplishments, say "thank you," and DON'T QUIT!

~Patricia

He Was Rejected Over and Over

johnandann@theartistsroad — Tue, 25 Oct 2011 03:33:00 GMT

Camille au métier by Claude Monet, 1875, oil painting.

"My rejection at the Salon brought an end to my hesitation [to settle in Paris] since after this failure I can no longer claim to cope... alas, that fatal rejection has virtually taken the bread out of my mouth." - Claude Monet

It is hard to imagine today that Monet faced tremendous resistance to his work during the early years of his working life. Of course, he was expressing an entirely new form of oil painting, so he might have expected "blowback" from the French art establishment until Impressionism was ultimately accepted. At that time in France, becoming accepted by the formal art establishment at the annual Salon exhibitions meant the difference between professional success and failure, eating or starving.

During the first two decades of his career, Monet had no consistent outlet for his oil paintings. Fortunately for all of us, Monet eventually gained a strong ally in the Paris dealer Paul Durand-Ruel. Durand-Ruel supported him by purchasing paintings outright while trying to attract buyers for his revolutionary work from the newly affluent bourgeoisie. This long road to acceptance took many years to travel, but still Monet persisted, never wavering from his commitment to his art in the face of slow or no sales. The official art culture was not welcoming to what he was devoting his life to doing. That message is an all-too-common experience for many artists working today.

We understand that a certain amount of discouragement is inevitable in the process of artistic maturation. In some ways it serves a good purpose, for if we are committed to this life, we will continue to work at it, improving all the time. Competition can be viewed the same way. Playing tennis with a better player makes us play harder. The problem for artists is that the very sensitivity that fuels our creativity can cause us to take these disappointments very hard. Rejections can begin to feel like a general negative consensus on our abilities, our visions or our passions, which seem to invalidate our efforts before we can even get them out there.

Galleries are inundated with materials from artists seeking representation, and some of them do not have enough staff-time to cope with the mountain of submissions, or they may be full, or not able to sell what we do, or simply uninterested. If you are truly an artistic pioneer as Monet was, you probably will need to find a guardian angel with the vision and commitment of a Durand-Ruel.

For most of us, there can be a million reasons for why we sometimes don't fit in. We have all gotten the rejection letters that usually begin something like, "Thank you for your interest in our gallery, but..." I once got a letter from a well-known gallery in Scottsdale that stated, "Your work is very fine and definitely belongs in Scottsdale, just not here!" That gave me a good laugh. Rejection is just part of the life we lead, and the sooner we are able to see it as just that, and no more, the sooner we can accept rejection and get back to painting.

One of our favorite quotes on the subject came from our friend Robert Genn: "It is necessary to put yourself out for rejection, and accept that you will be rejected." On the other side of the coin, Robert Wade said, "Constant acceptance breeds complacency and mediocrity. Rejection breeds determination and ultimate success."

Here's wishing you all ultimate success!

For more perspectives on art, along with step-by-step demonstrations and interviews with well-known artists, be sure to join us on The Artist's Road.

--Ann & John

Are We Wired for Beauty?

johnandann@theartistsroad — Tue, 18 Oct 2011 03:13:00 GMT

Flamenco by Ann Trusty, oil painting, 48 x 60.

The science community is busy investigating the mechanisms and processes by which people are able to perceive the world around them and make visual sense of it. There are many basic questions still to be answered. For example, a six-year-old possesses the mundane ability to distinguish things that are out-of-place at a glance-something the most powerful computers can't do. How does the brain interpret a vast amount of seemingly unrelated visual stimuli and cohere a picture of the world from it? Is it just in the immense amount of neuronal (yep, it's a word) connections or their interrelated connectivity, the sum of all individual specialized functions adding up to a greater whole?

Current research points to the possibility that the latter is the case. Simply wiring up an immense network of computers won't do the job. It is how the information gathering and processing parts relate to each other and at the same time to the whole system that gives us our unique ability to be sentient. No computer can do this now nor likely will be able to in the near future. Scientists are pursuing a parallel track of visual investigations to those that many artists are. Science wants to understand the general mechanism of human perception, while artists are more interested in expressing the essence of those perceptions about the world. More often than not, artists are inspired to express beauty in their work.

A child is also able to perceive beauty, something that may never be possible with a computer brain. After all, what is beauty? Would it ever be possible to take a massive poll and have a supercomputer distill the data down to a definition of beauty with which everyone would agree? If we could define it then would it, like Art, cease to be?

Glories by Ann Trusty, oil painting, 30 x 40.

Each one of us has a slightly different, personal "beauty register," yet, generally speaking, people are able to recognize an artist's personal expression of beauty in art, and be moved by it. But try to describe a beautiful painting, event, piece of music or sunset with language, and the magic is easily lost in a laundry list of individual parts.

Apparently, the use of language must itself be beautiful to communicate beauty effectively. Poetry and some exceptionally inspired and sensitively written prose are able to achieve that quality. So it would seem that the perception of beauty is created by the interrelationship of all the parts of something, be it a painting, dance, concerto, or poem, to each other, as well as to the whole. In order to create a beautiful work of art, the organizational structure of all the parts must be as beautiful as the work itself.

This so precisely mimics the structure and organization of the brain that we must conclude that we are wired for beauty. Why? What survival advantage does this give us? Would sentience eventually lead to despair without it? Why do we need to make art? Leave a comment-we'd love to hear your comments.

To read more in-depth articles, please join us on The Artist's Road.

--Ann & John

His Painting Palette Was the Size of a Piano Top

johnandann@theartistsroad — Tue, 11 Oct 2011 03:58:00 GMT

Under the Awning by Joaquin Sorolla, oil painting, 1910.

"There is nothing truer than truth. All the mistakes committed by great artists are due to their having separated themselves from truth, believing that their imagination is stronger...There is nothing stronger than nature. With nature in front of us we can do everything well." - Joaquin Sorolla

Upon the opening of the 1906 Paris exhibition of Sorolla's work, Camille Mauclair wrote, "Artists of France, I beg you to visit this exhibition, where you will learn all the lessons of plein air, line, color, impasto, and originality."

Last month, John received the catalog, The Painter: Joaquin Sorolla by Edmund Peel as a birthday present. It is from the 1989 exhibition of Sorolla's work and it has left us both, once again, in awe of the talent, energy, and mastery of this great artist. John was fortunate enough to see the exhibition when it was in New York at the IBM Gallery, and to see in person the large canvases, many painted entirely outdoors—it changed his vision of what painting could be, forever.

It is refreshing again to see Sorolla's bold use of vibrant color. Although he began with earth colors and a darker "Old Masters" palette in his portrait paintings, it seems to have been the pull to paint his subjects outdoors, in sunlight, that transformed his palette to the brighter, more vibrant colors for which he became known.


Sewing the Sail by Joaquin Sorolla, oil painting, 1896.

A major influence on the young Sorolla was the painter Jules Bastien-LePage, who championed the rural life of France in his pictures. Sorolla, likewise, loved to paint the working people of Spain, especially the fishermen. He loved to paint white fabrics in the intense Spanish sun. White sails, white dresses, white beaches were all painted lovingly and exuberantly, and he made brilliant use of cool violets and blues to set off the shadows, all painted with decisive, calligraphic strokes. His masterwork, Sewing the Sail is a prime example of this.

He was also remarkable for his prodigious and ambitious workload. He exhorted his students to produce not one study for a studio work but ten! He had no qualms about working life-size outdoors, where he rigged up great swaths of fabric on frames to shade his work and provide the right lighting for his models. When one model would tire, he had a replacement step in so that the work could continue. Historians record that Sorolla worked 6 to 9 hours a day and kept a covered bed in his studio in order to sleep close to his work and be able to begin painting quickly without disturbing the rest of the household.


My Wife and Daughters in the Garden by Joaquin Sorolla, oil painting, 1910.		Valencian Fisherwomen by Joaquin Sorolla, oil painting, 1915.

It is said that in the studio he sometimes used a palette the size of a grand piano lid and brushes three feet long to allow him to stand back from his large paintings. He would paint with quick, decisive short strokes until the finish, when he would secretly knit the loose assemblage of colorful strokes into a masterwork with a careful application of middle-greys, that he said, "are worth lots of money."

If you ever get the opportunity to see this master's work first-hand, we heartily recommend it. It may provide a lifetime of inspiration.

Join us on The Artist's Road for more inspiring in-depth articles.

--Ann & John

Want a Portfolio-Ready Painting?

robz — Thu, 15 Sep 2011 03:51:00 GMT

Cast drawing and painting is a tried and true method of learning how to draw in a classical manner. It forces a student to acquire new perceptual and conceptual skills in order to complete the given task at hand. Normally, the process takes several months of slow, carefully measured steps. The results are usually pretty striking and satisfactory.

But my question to you is, what if you don't have a few months? What if you have less that two months to get together a portfolio for college?

At Teaching Studios, we help students who are working under a tight deadline to get several pieces together for a portfolio, for college or otherwise. With paintings and drawings that are of high quality despite being produced in a short amount of time.

One of them, we call Rapid Fire Cast Painting. Here's a step-by-step breakdown to illustrate the concept that was done by one of our Brooklyn-based students. The lesson took six hours. Others take less, some take longer. I'd welcome the chance to answer any questions about the demo and our Portfolio Development / Classical Drawing and Painting Program. Let me know what you think,

Rob
info@teachingstudios.com

Student Exercise: One Day Rapid Fire Cast Painting

The block-in stage. The cast is simply divided into linear shapes,
using vine charcoal directly on canvas. Shadows and light
shapes carry equal weight.

An acrylic wash of earth red is applied.

Four value stage. The student then mixes up a four value scale
of dark, transition, light and highlight. Then the student applies
those values where present on the cast.

Eight value stage. Further refining the painting, the student mixes up
four more intermediary values and applies them between the four values
already present. This results in smoother, more sophisticated
transitions and a great fundamentals piece for a painting portfolio.

Painting Darks That Are Too Dark to See

dmaidman — Thu, 25 Aug 2011 03:11:00 GMT


Nicole at Mille Fleurs 3, acrylic painting on canvas, 48 x 30, 2010.		In the Afternoon Light, acrylic painting on canvas, 48 x 30, 2011.

Contrast is the difference between light and dark values. The human eye is able to see clearly across a contrast ratio of about 15,000 to 1 (the brightest area 15,000 times brighter than the darkest area). Paintings, by contrast, have a maximum contrast ratio said to be at most 100 to 1.

This presents a problem for painters—how to achieve the impression of natural contrasts without being able to show them directly. This problem is most urgent for painters who depict scenes lit by direct sunlight, where the brightest highlights and the darkest shadows share a composition. There is no perfect solution to this problem, but painters who invest in contrast expend a great deal of thought and effort in understanding visual cues that are interpreted unconsciously as contrast.

Victoria Selbach, a New York painter, makes lush paintings of nudes lit by sunlight. To present convincing contrasts in her acrylic paintings, she uses two related painting techniques.

In Nicole at Mille Fleurs 3, most of the figure is in direct sunlight. Selbach paints a full range of values in the lit areas, and lets the cast shadows drop to black. The eye would naturally be able to see detail in the cast shadows, but by painting them black, Victoria subliminally tells the brain, "this region is too dark to see." The brain then identifies these shadows as about 15,000 times darker than the highlights, heightening the implied contrast with the lit areas, which are nowhere near 15,000 times brighter than the blacks.

In her painting In the Afternoon Light, Ms. Selbach uses her other contrast-enhancing technique. Most of the figure is in shadow. So if Selbach had followed her "shadows = black" rule, the composition wouldn't have worked. Instead, she renders a large range of values in the shadows, and lets the lights go to white. Again, she gives the brain a strong cue for a full 15,000 to 1 contrast ratio, helping to work around the contrast limits of acrylic paint.

Notice that in the first painting, the technique gives a sense of warm, rich light and burnt shadow. In the second painting, there is a sense of cool, glowing shadows and diffuse, washing fields of light.

Selbach focuses on techniques for conveying extremely high contrast, because sunlight and shadows shown in natural light are her inspirations. She has mastered the contrast techniques described here, but many others exist. The key to discovering your personal preferences is to think about how you see what you see. Feel free to share your own tips and observations in the comments.

--Daniel

Abandon and Control: Robert Liberace's Contradiction in Oil Painting?

judith St. Ledger - Roty — Thu, 11 Aug 2011 12:57:00 GMT

Oil painting demonstration by Robert Liberace.

To listen to Robert Liberace talk during one of his demonstrations, sometimes, fleetingly, it sounds to me like there is an occasional contradiction. The most recent example I can point to is when he talked during his most recent demo about drawing and painting with both "abandon and control." Well, how do I do that? But when I watch him paint, I begin to understand at least how he does that. (I'm a long way from figuring out how to effectively do it myself!)

This oil painting was done in class at the Art League in Alexandria, Virginia (developed further since my last blog), and is a good example of that abandon and control, as is his demonstration in his DVD, The Figure Sketch in Oil.

His first marks with oil on canvas amount to a thin, very fluid line. From my perspective, his gesture is fluid, loose, and yet powerful. From there he adds shadow. Even with the addition of the first pass of shadows, the painted sketch still seems to me to be really fluid, full of motion. Rob seemed to be shaping the form, taking care to pay attention to the width of the light, the width of the shadow, and still, critically, maintaining that initial dynamic gesture even with his straight lines.

In my own paintings, at this point I find that I have to really focus to maintain the oil painting techniques that give me that gesture—the one that made me want to paint that pose in the first place. Rob says that you may want to start over if you find yourself at that point and repeatedly stresses the importance of maintaining the strength of the gesture throughout.

As the shadow shapes take form, the concept of both abandon and control make more sense for me. In the demo, Rob carefully, but quickly, shaped the shadows, both form and cast shadows. Both the bones and muscles began to appear, especially the scapula and vertebral column. The control was initially represented by the care he put into laying in the shadows. (Jon deMartin, an instructor of mine at Studio Incamminati reminds readers in a recent Drawing magazine article that it is critical to keep a clear distinction between light and shadow, and that halftones are part of the light, not part of the shadow.)

When adding color, Rob added the "most obvious color with the largest presence," applying it sometimes with hatching strokes and sometimes blocks of color. He used the half tones to note the plane changes, and turn the individual forms.

He did all that maintaining his initial gesture. Truly using both abandon and control!

--Judith

Finishing My Oil Painting, Leaves of Grass

Patricia Watwood — Tue, 02 Aug 2011 17:55:00 GMT

Notice the chalk lines drawn over the figure to assess and check the proportion and length of her limbs.

I have finally finished my oil painting, Leaves of Grass, which I have blogged about previously. In all, the painting probably took nearly 2 months of time. In an earlier post, I shared the drawing and small study I made in preparation. I transferred the drawing, worked up the underpainting by copying my study, added narrative details from several different sources, and then went back to working from life with my model, Leah.

But before I finished I had a few steps left: After the first wash of color is on the canvas, I continued in "underpainting" mode with the model, truing up the drawing and reassessing the form and structures. I sometimes use a bit of chalk or pastel and draw construction lines or correction marks on top of the dry paint. This is a great tip on how to "edit" your drawing. Using simple lines in red or white pastel, I note the skeletal landmarks (and their symmetrical partners on the other side of the body), the lengths of the parts of the body, and the axis of the gesture and major forms.

The finished version of Leaves of Grass.

By notating the simple construction lines, you can reveal errors in proportion and parallelism and make corrections. The chalk lines can either be completely wiped off using water or solvent, or you can just incorporate the powder into the oil paint when you work back into it. The correction lines will sit on top of the canvas, like a transparent layer, which is useful in helping you analyze and consider changes without getting bogged down.

--Patricia

Oil Painting Odyssey: Making Pandora

Patricia Watwood — Wed, 06 Jul 2011 18:45:00 GMT


Pandora by Patricia Watwood, oil on canvas.

I've had it in my head to make a "Pandora" oil painting for a while now. In the myth, Pandora is overcome with curiosity (well, who wouldn't be??) and she opens the proverbial box and releases all the horrors of the world. Oops.

I guess it is on my radar now because the world seems to be full of doomsday scenarios these days. There's terrorism, environmental disaster, global warming, severe weather, earthquakes, nuclear disasters.... and forecasts of the literal end of the world. My sense is that there is a general level of anxiety in our culture that arises out of a deep seated suspicion that our current course is not sustainable—and that the house will fall on our heads, maybe sometime soon.

The imagery on my canvas arises out of that stew of anxiety and dread. There is a specific reference to September 11. Look carefully for the airplane in the distance. New York is my home, so like all New Yorkers, I remember vividly where I was (on the subway), and what happened that whole fateful day. I was 9 months pregnant, and the feeling of vulnerability and horror was amplified by hormones and maternal instinct. With the whole world, we are left with a gnawing hole and the question, "Why, why, why?"

No simple painting could begin to explain the incredibly complex reasons for terrorism. But, in a way, it starts with questions and comparisons—How does my way of life (religion, culture, worldview) compare to that culture over there? Curiosity, Pandora's natural inclination, leads to clash of civilizations and ideologies. Sometimes we meet the foreign with delight and excitement; sometimes we meet it with abhorrence and fear.

The only thing left in the box is hope. (Isn't it interesting that most people don't know this part of the story---I think it is key!!) The bird in the painting, an Eastern Bluebird, was nearing extinction, but has been resurging in recent years. Because of their beauty and cheerful song, bluebirds have come to symbolize happiness, love and renewed hope, and are often thought of as harbingers of spring. So, this is the important lesson of the story for me. No matter how dire, how untenable, how impossible the situation at hand may seem, there is always hope, which gives us strength and guidance to keep going.

I find narrative so crucial in my own oil painting art, which is why I will be teaching a two day workshop in Long Island, NY on creating meaning and symbolism in figure paintings from July 22-23. Join me if you can! I'd love to paint with you!

--Patricia

Painting Portraits with Personality, Mood, and Character

dmaidman — Tue, 28 Jun 2011 18:32:00 GMT


Portrait of Ginevra di Benci by Leonardo da Vinci, 1474-1476, oil painting on wood, 16.5 x 14.5.

I've described the most important technical parts of my study of Da Vinci: line and anatomy. When I began to study how to paint, I opted not to follow his methods, so I haven't got anything to share with you about the famous sfumato, admirable though it is.

Let me explain something about how I learn about art; a quirk, perhaps, of being self-taught. I usually don't read books by or about my subject. I've read snippets of Da Vinci's notebooks, but haven't made anything like a complete study of them. I am only sketchily aware of his biography and his role in Western art. I like to learn by looking at things, and I think I've been served well so far by this practice, even if I have woeful gaps in my knowledge.

One of the most important things I learned from Da Vinci was in line with this practice of looking at things. It was simply this: his figures and portraits have so much soul. I have spent hours in the National Gallery in silent conversation with his bewitching Ginevra di Benci.


	Madonna of the Rocks (detail) by Leonardo da Vinci, 1483-1486, oil painting, 78.3 x 48.

How long can you talk to a painting? It's a good question. I think it has to do with how much personality is present in the painting itself. Ginevra is multi-sided. She looks as if she has a personality, and moods, and thoughts. She appears complex and self-possessed. She serves a role in no story but her own, and she's not entirely interested in telling you what her story is. So my approach to this picture is a pilgrimage to her; it is not hers to me. This is a picture, but it is not a show.

Da Vinci's portrait paintings brim with substance and presence. Consider the angel Gabriel in the Louvre version of the Madonna of the Rocks (yes, that's the one Dan Brown thinks is spooky). This Gabriel is a trouble-maker. The lower lids of his eyes are clenched with fun, and his mouth is breaking into a smile. The eyes are looking at something specific that isn't in the painting. You, observing the painting, have caught part of an ongoing story, and the character of the participants is evident, but the story remains mysterious. There's something threatening about that smile, about the knowledge the angel has, which you do not have and cannot get. Again, we see a full, self-willed character, inviting us to sink into extended inquiry during our encounter with the painting.

What I learned from these studies is that for the pictures of people that I want to do, line, form, color, and light are not enough. They are the servants, not the master. They are what depicts, not what is depicted. What is depicted is the human presence. The success of the drawing or painting is to be measured in relation to the human presence, not the elements of visual design.


Young Mother by Daniel Maidman, 2011, oil on canvas, 30 x 24.

I finished this painting just recently. The model's name is Piera. My paintings of Piera look a little Da Vinci-ish from the get-go because Piera herself looks a little Da Vinci-ish. In this painting, I wanted as much as possible to eliminate everything but Piera, the person. There are no clever ideas, no exciting bits of design. Just Piera.

I've been working with Piera for close to three years. If you're interested as I am in the humanity of your sitter, I believe it is important to work with models for a long time, to develop a textured sense of who they are. Piera had her first child a year ago, and she is very happy and very tired. All those things went into this painting, but they don't necessarily come back out of it. You might not know her story or anything about her. Would she still be interesting? Would you still stand a while with the painting because you want to get to know her better?

I don't know, but I'm trying.

--Daniel