The Pastel Blog

Pastel: The Self in Contemporary Self-Portraits

2008-09-11T12:20:00Z

Several established contemporary artists have approached the subject of self-portraiture in different ways, depicting who they are or who they wish to be at various times in their lives.

by Ephraim Rubenstein

Self-Portrait, Matisse Print
by Mary Beth McKenzie, 1991, oil, 32 x 26.
Collection The Metropolitan Museum
of Art, New York, New York.

Mary Beth McKenzie stands facing the mirror, open and simply, with an intriguing mixture of both questioning and stating something about herself. She projects a feeling of long-suffering familiarity, mixed with enough doubt for a few questions about herself to intrude. She employs a familiar self-portrait trope—situating herself in front of a reproduction of a work she admires. In this case, it is Matisse’s The Studio, Quai St. Michel, Paris. The Matisse painting is a sort of self-portrait minus the self, the artist having gotten up and momentarily left the studio. But the model has not moved. She still holds the pose, and Matisse’s chair and drawing, like a faithful dog, await his imminent return—but not before McKenzie has slipped in and insinuated herself into Matisse’s place in this image of the artist at work in his studio.

McKenzie has done more than become a part of Matisse’s painting, however. The French master’s painting has become a part of her. Matisse’s lyrical image has been internalized, digested, and rearranged by McKenzie, but this time on her own terms. Like thought bubbles in a graphic novel, the elements of Matisse’s world seem to come out of McKenzie’s head. The diagonal of the window ledge shoots out of her forehead, while the nude model practically spills out of her ear. Also, with tremendous pictorial intelligence, McKenzie has related every tone in her painting to those in the Matisse. The overall grayness—so reminiscent of winter in Paris—is punctuated by the ochres on the shadow side of her face, which McKenzie has taken from the drapery and chairs, while the pinkish red under her eye is likewise borrowed from the cloth under the model.

McKenzie—like Rembrandt and Käthe Kollwitz before her, and like Harvey Dinnerstein and Sigmund Abeles today—has painted herself continuously throughout her career. This body of work constitutes a moving chronicle of her artistic and personal development, recounting her personal transformations and archiving the course of her life from her beginnings as an artist until the present moment.

Self-Portrait
by Ephraim Rubenstein, 1970s,
oil on linen, 24 x 20.
Collection Amelia and
Madeleine Rubenstein.

This continual return to self-portraiture represents an unusual commitment to the endeavor, however. The self-portraits of most artists seem to congregate either around their youth or their old age, or in Shakespeare’s words, their entrances and their exits. Most typically, artists who are interested in self-portraiture will have a burst of activity when they are young. This often represents a fledgling attempt to figure out who they are—or more important, who they wish themselves to be. For entrances, none were more romantic than Courbet’s or Fantin-Latour’s images that exude the desire to be the rapturous heroes of their dreams. I recall vividly that when I painted my Self-Portrait, I had just seen a Goya exhibition, and I remember thinking that being a young Spanish nobleman suited me much better than being a handball-playing kid from Brooklyn. David Kassan, alternatively, takes on an eerily egoless persona in his early self-portrait. Eyes averted, with darkened bags underneath giving a feeling of fatigued distress, he purposely avoids projecting himself actively to the viewer at all. In fact, it seems as if he could back out of the painting completely, he probably would. But however they construe themselves, young people are notorious for the amount of time which they spend in front of mirrors. So self-portraiture, for many artists, is a way of assuming identities, of trying out roles to play, with each man in his time playing many parts.

Some artists will explore the other end of life, however, examining what has become of them, a somewhat stunned account of what life has thrown their way. Sigmund Abeles confronts us hauntingly in his Portrait of a Parasomniac, ensnared in the wires and the prisonlike nets of the modern medical world. Abeles must surely wonder if he can be the same man who looked out at us so handsomely and powerfully as in his self portrait Measuring-Up [not shown]. Burton Silverman similarly survived a medical nightmare—in his case, a heart attack—and he portrays himself as such in his self portrait, Survivor. But unlike Abeles, Silverman is well on the other side of the disaster. With brushes and camera in hand, Silverman is now back to work, but forever changed. His shirt is portentously off, a reminder that surgeons had to cut into his bare chest to keep him alive, and that shirtlessness can never have the same meaning for him.

Portrait of a Parasomniac
by Sigmund Abeles, 2007,
pastel on paper, 31 x 41.
Collection the artist.

For Silverman, the medical episode is merely the background; what is really important is that he is back at work. And being at work is one of the most important ways in which artists envision themselves. For most artists, our work is at the core of who we feel ourselves to be. As one instructor at the Art Students League of New York put it, “I have two kinds of pants: the kind that has paint on them, and the kind that is going to get paint on them.” We live to work, and seeing ourselves at work is how we most clearly envision ourselves. What would possibly be more telling, in investigating who we are, than depicting ourselves at the easel?

In Winter 2006, Ellen Eagle is at work, red chalk in hand, caught in that split second between looking and recording. She is depicting the moment of graphic response—a crucial moment for the painter. Eagle has captured the instant between when we see what we are looking for and when we make the move to record it. It is that moment when we hold an observation in our minds for just long enough so that we can turn our impression of light into a passage of colored chalk.

With her Greeklike white dress, so simple in its folds that it reads like an ancient robe, and her dark hair replete with rich curls and ringlets twirling down the side of her face, Eagle reveals herself to be a goddess about to strike. She is Diana at the hunt, her right hand holding her colored arrows. She is in the process of capturing her prey, only this time, it is you, the sitter.

Self-Portrait—Day’s End
by Joe Peller, 2003, oil on linen,
72 x 44. Private collection.

Joseph Peller is at work as well, but he is not so much about to strike as he is surveying what he has done. Self-Portrait—Day’s End is a telling title. He looks with intense scrutiny but also with obvious pleasure at what he has accomplished. The athlete/warrior’s headband speaks of the work, of sweat and labor, of the many hours spent on his feet. And while Eagle uses arrows, Peller wields swords. But Peller’s is a highly civilized battle. He has planted himself firmly in the midst of his studio, a space filled with gorgeous north light and with other paintings and sculptures, rewards of other fruitful days’ work.

Having other artists’ paintings around us is one way we can refer to our artistic lineage. By including in the background of our paintings the work of artists whom we admire, we not only express our gratitude toward these masters but also stake a claim for our own aspirations and ambitions. Anthony Panzera heightens this notion of art-historical reference by actually inserting himself directly into an earlier pictorial idea. In his Self-Portrait as Medusa, Panzera pays homage to Caravaggio by substituting his own face for this most famous of the Gorgon sisters.

If Eagle is a goddess about to strike, then Panzera is the one who has been savagely smote. For the “crime” of having been raped in her sacred temple, Athena rendered the beautiful Medusa hideous. Where luxuriant dark curls once framed her face, Athena caused writhing venomous snakes to sprout. She made her features horrid, half melting, sore ridden, so much so that no one could look at Medusa without turning to stone. It was only when Perseus cut off Medusa’s head and presented it to Athena that the goddess’ wrath was assuaged. This is the moment into which Panzera has insinuated his own tragic face. Head dangling from Perseus’ mighty grasp, the flesh peels away from his skull while the horrid but elegant snakes continue to wriggle out in fulfillment of their cruel destiny.

Panzera’s Gorgon is an extremely dramatic way of referring to one’s own artistic lineage. In his 1994 Self-Portrait, Costa Vavagiakis makes an equally personal reference to his aesthetic and cultural roots, but in a more subtle manner. Vavagiakis’ lifelong interest in portraiture led him early on to the Faiyum mummy portraits—the funerary art of the Greek immigrants living in Rome in the first century. He sensed immediately, as do most viewers, their uncanny paradoxical qualities: the combination of sophistication with naïve awkwardness, a formal intensity with an unassuming casualness, and an eerie lifelike quality coupled with pronounced stylization. These ancient faces stop you in your tracks because you saw someone who looked exactly like that, even though they have been dead for 2,000 years.

These paradoxical qualities appealed enormously to Vavagiakis, and in an attempt to unite his own personal history with the larger history of art, he made himself the subject of his own mummy portrait. Even though Vavagiakis’ portrait is painted in oil, he made the build-up of his brush strokes look like the Faiyum encaustic. With his face pushed forward right up to the picture plane and his features similarly accentuated in an entreaty to the viewer to stop for a moment and converse, what could be a more poignant meditation on death and the eternal life than the one art bestows upon us?

Nocturnal Reflections
by Harvey Dinnerstein, 2008, oil,
24 x 42. Courtesy Frey Norris Gallery,
San Francisco, California.

The contemplation of death becomes increasingly pressing as we get older, as we prepare for our own exits. Harvey Dinnerstein’s Nocturnal Reflections contains both literal reflections—his own shadowy image compressed in one of those metal cylindrical columns one sees about the city in subway stations and office lobbies—and also a reflection upon the brevity of life, as seen by one of the city’s most sensitive travelers. And a traveler he is indeed—outdoors, en route in one of the many anonymous way stations of the city, with yellow traffic markings to indicate his movement. The painting is a meditation on The Journey, on the man who is about to become that reflection in the column, that flash of light that is so compressed that it feels as if it is about to get squeezed out of the painting and slip away into the darkness.

Dinnerstein has paused somewhere on his journey to look at us. His eyes are astounding—red, swollen, pink in the sockets, with full bags underneath outlined by heavy creases. His eyes are eyes that have seen a great deal. His very presence seems to ask a question. What is he about to say, this mysterious nocturnal traveler, in his coat, on the road?

Artist and writer Ephraim Rubenstein is an instructor at the Art Students League of New York and the National Academy of Design School, both in New York City.


Self-Portrait by Costa Vavagiakis, 1994, oil, 10 x 8. Collection New-York Historical Society, New York, New York.	Self-Portrait, Life Masks by Mary Beth McKenzie, 1990, oil, 19 x 28. Collection National Academy of Design, New York, New York.	Self Portrait at 30 by David Jon Kassan, 2007, oil on panel, 35 x 25. Private collection.


Survivor by Burton Silverman, 2004, oil, 56 x 40. Collection Columbus Museum, Columbus, Georgia.	Self-Portrait as Medusa by Anthony Panzera, 1980, graphite on blue paper, 17 x 20. Collection the artist.	Winter 2006 by Ellen Eagle, 2006, pastel on pumice board, 171/4 x 165/8. Courtesy Forum Gallery, New York, New York.	Self-Portrait in My Coat by Ephraim Rubenstein, 1998, oil on linen, 38 x 28. Collection the artist.

Pastel: International Association of Pastel Societies Announces Award Winners

2008-09-11T12:19:00Z

Painting Projects
by Sharon Will, pastel, 12 x 16.

The International Association of Pastel Societies (IAPS) recently held their 11th Annual Juried Exhibition at the Butler Institute of American Art, in Youngstown, Ohio, and award winners were selected by jurors Duane Wakeham and Urania Christy Tarbet. Among the artists receiving awards were Sharon Will, who won the Prix de Pastel for Painting Projects; Richard Lundgren, who won the Gold Award for his painting Reed Crescent; Claudia Seymour, who won the Silver Award for Mandarins & Morning Glories; and J. Kay Gordon, who won the Bronze Award for The Blue Motorcycle.

The IAPS represents a collection of pastel societies united in a common cause: to demonstrate the validity and quality of fine art in pastel around the world. Membership is limited to qualified pastel societies and annual competitions and exhibitions are open to the members of IAPS member societies.

For more information on the IAPS, visit www.pastelinternational.com.


Mandarins & Morning Glories by Claudia Seymour, pastel, 18½ x 13.	Blue Motorcycle by J. Kay Gordon, pastel, 17½ x 23¼.	Reed Crescent by Richard Lundgren, pastel, 12 x 18.

Pastel: Colleen Howe's Pastel Landscapes

2008-09-11T12:18:00Z

View an online exclusive gallery of more work by July/August American Artist 2008 featured artist Colleen Howe.


The Cowboy 2007, pastel, 14 x 18. All artwork this gallery collection the artist.	Cassis Boat Reflections 2007, pastel, 18 x 24.	Horses at Dawn 2007, pastel, 18 x 36.


Creek Bed 2007, pastel, 28 x 22.	Sunset Glow 2007, pastel, 16 x 24.	St. Remy Fountain 2007, pastel, 18 x 24.

Read the feature article on Howe.

Pastel: Janet Monafo: Pastel Still Lifes and Figures

2008-09-11T12:16:00Z

Janet Monafo once tossed objects onto her studio floor in an attempt to paint a more random arrangement with pastels. “I really wanted to accept whatever happened, but in the end I couldn’t resist my need to carefully organize the shapes and patterns,” she confesses. “I had to admit my inability to deny my natural tendencies and personal standards.”

by M. Stephen Doherty

Silver Cluster
2007, pastel, 50 x 38. Private collection.

Massachusetts artist Janet Monafo says she is not very good at explaining her painting process, but the truth is she is forthright, clear, and profound when she talks about the creation of her still life and figure paintings. It’s just that intuition and experience play such important roles in her creative process that it is inconceivable for her to think she responds in a predictable, methodical way. That is, she is more apt to say her decisions are based on what feels right at the time rather than on calculations about relative value, color temperature, or compositional principles.

Determining exactly what is right for each situation can be a lengthy, complicated process for the artist. “Sometimes I start with some specific objects that lead to a series of paintings that focus on ideas or symbols represented by objects such as eggs, gold forms, skulls, or other objects; and other times I pursue an idea that interested me in the past,” she explains. “In either case, I go through a long and difficult process of putting shapes and colors together, adding more things, taking objects away, reformatting the composition, looking at the arrangement from different vantage points, making graphite studies, and starting the process over again before I’m ready to paint.

“Every painting is the result of a completely different set of motivations and perceptions, yet there are commonalities that reflect my personality,” Monafo says. “For example, the still lifes are almost always complex arrangements containing a major or primary still life and one or more secondary still lifes within the same painting. That is, some things are arranged on top of a table while others appear on the floor or a lower shelf; and my vantage point is frequently from above the setup. If you compare one of my paintings to a still life by Giorgio Morandi or Francisco Zurbaran, for example, you will quickly see how differently I approach still life. I love what other artists have done with simple, straight-on views of fruit and vessels, but my interest in still life painting is very different.”

Porcelain Pile
2003, pastel, 38 x 50. Private collection.

There is always one salient reason why Monafo begins organizing elements of a still life, one that is either a specific idea she can explain or a feeling that pulls her toward one assemblage of shapes, colors, and textures. “It seldom has to do with the function of the vase, utensil, or bowl,” she explains. “It’s more apt to be about the relationship of the colors and textures of the objects as well as of their scale and shape. I make a number of graphite sketches of what’s in front of me at about one-third the size of the intended painting as a way of evaluating whether or not the two-dimensional representation has the potential to capture the three-dimensional sense of the elements. Next, I make full-scale drawings so I can look critically at the shapes within the composition, the relative scale of the objects, and the implied movement of the forms.

“Once I’m satisfied with a plan for a painting, I use grid lines to redraw the outlines of the forms from the full-scale drawing to a piece of toned paper, and I begin working very directly with pastels,” Monafo describes, pointing out that for most pictures she uses sheets of heavy, white Stonehenge paper; whereas anything larger than 38" x 50" is created on sheets of heavy Lanaquarelle watercolor paper coated with Golden pastel ground. “I immediately indicate the local color rather than underpaint complements or block in a grisaille of values,” the artist says. “I need to see some evidence of the entire picture on the paper before I concentrate on any one element. I don’t use hard pastels to make those initial indications because I prefer to only work with soft pastels, being mindful of the color key. That is, the intensity and relative value of the colors.”

Brass Pile
2003, pastel, 38 x 50. Collection the artist.

Monafo challenged herself to break from this method of painting structured still lifes in pastel. She tossed collections of the porcelain vessels, silver teapots, and brass vases onto neutral grounds with the idea of painting the random patterns that resulted. The method would be similar to the way John Cage composed music out of accidental markings on pieces of paper lined with upper and lower staffs. But unlike Cage, Monafo simply couldn’t accept the randomness or lack of organization that resulted. “No matter how I tried, I wasn’t able to relate to what I saw as chaotic and without visual appeal,” she confesses. “I immediately started moving things around, looking at them from the left and the right, raising and lowering my vantage point, and turning the vessels in one direction or another. The finished paintings look considerably different from my more intentionally constructed still lifes, but they still represent my process and point of view. I should have known from the beginning that it was hopeless to think I could respond in any other way.”
Monafo does expand the range of her expressions when she paints self-portraits or incorporates figures in her paintings. “I’ve done self-portraits throughout my career for many of the same reasons artists have been creating them for centuries,” she comments. “I’m always available, I don’t expect to be paid, and the artist doesn’t have to flatter me in the way she paints my image. It’s also interesting to look back on the paintings and remember what was going on in my life and my art, and to immediately recall the feelings that motivated the pose, lighting, and dress.”

The Red Drop Leaf
2000, pastel, 74 x 51. Private collection.

A recent set of large paintings of Adam and Eve gave Monafo the opportunity to comment on timeless issues as well as contemporary values. “I was struck by and very interested in the beauty and grace of the human form as depicted in a painting of Adam and Eve by Albrecht Dürer [1471–1528],” the artist explains. “I thought about paying homage to the artist and revisiting the theme by adapting the figures in a diptych of Adam and Eve, contemporizing the story of mankind’s original sin by suggesting the prevalence of greed in the culture today. The gold fabric, golden apple, and brass vessels represent the material possessions that continue to tempt people, while the skulls remind us of the transience of life. The branch of leaves that extends from one painting to the other suggests the tree of knowledge of good and evil; and the corked bottles of wine, lilies, cattails, and serpents are some of the traditional iconography associated with biblical stories.”

Monafo’s pastel paintings have earned her wide recognition and respect from collectors, curators, and artists. She was elected to the Pastel Society of America’s Hall of Fame in 2002, and her paintings have been included in major gallery and museum exhibitions, including “Object Project,” organized by The Evansville Museum of Arts, History, and Science, in Indiana, that was featured in the October 2007 issue of American Artist.

Eve and the Golden Delicious
2002, pastel, 77 x 51. Collection the artist.

About the Artist
Janet Monafo currently teaches drawing in the continuing education department of the Massachusetts College of Art and Design, in Boston. She has received numerous awards and recognitions for her pastel paintings, including election to the Pastel Society of America’s Hall of Fame and grants from the National Endowment for the Arts, the Adolph and Esther Gottlieb Foundation, and the New England Foundation for the Arts. Her paintings have been included in exhibitions organized by the National Academy of Design and the American Academy and Institute of Arts and Letters, both in New York City; the National Portrait Gallery, in Washington, DC; and the Delaware Art Museum, in Wilmington.

M. Stephen Doherty is the editor-in-chief and publisher of American Artist.

To read more features like this, subscribe to American Artist today!

Pastel: Masters

2008-09-11T12:10:00Z

Artists looking to work with pastel can learn valuable techniques and tips by studying artists who first explored the medium and discovered the possibilities the medium offers.

by Naomi Ekperigin

Although the work of oil painters and draftsmen is well known and thoroughly documented, the history of pastel has not been as well recorded. “The medium was initially used as a study for larger works, and not intended for the completion of an idea,” notes artist Kim Casebeer. “Not until recently are we seeing pastel accepted as a worthy medium in and of itself.” Although pastels are not as popular as oil paintings, the nature of the medium makes it an excellent choice for those who favor portability. Pastel painting requires little set up, there is no need for solvents, and there are no brushes to clean. For this reason, many plein air painters work in pastel, and many portraitists of the 19th century worked in pastel to facilitate a speedy execution.


Six Friends at Dieppe by Edgar Degas, 1885, pastel, 45¼ x 28. Collection the Museum of Art, Rhode Island School of Design, Providence, Rhode Island.	La Toilette (Woman Combing Her Hair) by Edgar Degas, ca. 1886, pastel on cardboard, 21 x 20½. Collection the Hermitage Museum, St. Petersburg, Russsia.

Edgar Degas

Hilaire-Germain-Edgar Degas (1834-1917) was a French painter, sculptor, printmaker and draftsman associated with the Impressionist movement. Although he is regarded as one of the movement’s founders, he rejected the label and preferred to be thought of as a realist. Unlike Impressionist painters, he was not as interested in the play of light across forms, and did not favor the Impressionist tendency for painting en plein air. However, his subject matter was distinctly Impressionist, and his friendship with notable Impressionists such as Mary Cassatt and Edouard Manet closely linked him to the movement.

The pure hues of pastel, along with its direct application, made it the perfect medium for Impressionists artists who sought to work quickly and capture the essence of their subjects. Degas is considered the artist most responsible for the transformation of pastel into a major medium. When he began working in pastel they were primarily used for portraits, and often as precursors to complete oil paintings. Degas, however, created a large body of finished pastel paintings from which many artists have learned. “The Old Master pastelist that immediately comes to mind is Edgar Degas,” says artist Liz Haywood-Sullivan, who was deeply influenced by his work as a student. “His mark-making conveys a sense of motion and intentionality, but what fascinates me most about his work are his dynamic compositions and unusual viewing angles. One of my favorites is Six Friends at Dieppe. The painting is essentially a group portrait, but the dynamics of the composition create a tension and intrigue that makes the viewer wonder what is truly going on. The poses aren’t static, and the visible strokes of pastel almost set the painting into motion.”

Degas worked in pastel throughout his career and in 1880 it became his primary medium. The artist often combined pastel with other media such as watercolor, oil, and monotype, creating rich surfaces with a variety of paint qualities applied in complex layers. “Studying the various ways he applied pastels is especially educational,” says artist Alan Flattmann, who was inducted into Pastel Society of America Hall of Fame in 2006. “He sometimes blended to achieve delicate effects, but mostly he applied pastels in pure strokes of broken color by hatching and overlapping broad painterly stokes. He used fixatives extensively to build up layers of pastels and was also not afraid to experiment with combining pastel with other media to create unique effects.”


Mother and Child Against a Green Background (Maternity) by Mary Cassatt, 1897, pastel on beige paper mounted on canvas, 22 x 18. Collection Musée d'Orsay, Paris, France.	Sleepy Baby by Mary Cassat, ca. 1910, pastel, 25½ x 20½. Collection Dallas Museum of Art, Dallas, Texas.

Mary Cassatt

Mary Cassatt (1844-1926) is known as one of the most influential artists of 20th-century American art. A prolific painter and printmaker, Cassatt was born in Pittsburgh and began her studies at the Pennsylvania Academy of Art. In 1865 she settled in Paris, where she took up private studies with such artists as Jean-Léon Gérôme and Thomas Couture and became part of the Impressionist movement. She became close friends with Edgar Degas, who inspired her to begin working in pastels. Cassatt adopted many of his techniques and soon began to produce a high volume of work in the medium.

Cassatt earned her living as a figure painter and portraitist, and painting portraits in pastel provided her with a source of steady income while living in Paris. For many artists at this time, pastel was the preferred choice for portrait work--especially for portraits of children--because they could be manipulated with greater speed and ease, had no odor, and allowed for frequent interruptions. In the 1880s, she began to take family life as her primary subject and created a series of pastels of children with their caretakers. In addition to evoking emotion and sharing her own views on mother-child relationships, in these pastel paintings Cassatt displayed an innovative technique that present-day artists can learn from. “I think that Mary Cassatt is a great artist to study for her magnificent use of pastel strokes,” says Flattmann. “It is especially interesting to see how she could weave bold linear pastel strokes throughout her figures and portraits and still create solid, convincing, and sensitive forms.” This can be seen in Mother and Child Against a Green Background (Maternity), in which the strokes give the scene a sense of vitality and motion, as well as connect the background with the mother and child.


Self-Portrait by William Merritt Chase, ca. 1884, pastel, 17¼ x 13½. Collection the National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC.	End of the Season by William Merritt Chase, 1885, pastel, 13¼ x 17¾. Collection Mount Holyoke College Art Museum, South Hadley, Massachussetts.

William Merritt Chase

American painter William Merritt Chase (1849-1916) worked in a variety of media, including oil, pastel, watercolor, and etching. However, it is his oil portraits for which he is best known. His sitters ranged from members of his own family to the most important men and women of his day. Trained at the National Academy of Design, in New York City, and at Munich's Royal Academy, in Germany, Chase began working in pastel in the late 1870s, just as the Munich style in which he was trained began to fall out of favor. The artist’s work in pastel was likely prompted by his exploration of plein air painting as he toured various parts of Europe. The portability of pastel, as well as the richness of the color and speed with which colors could be applied, made it perfect for working outdoors and capturing the light that Impressionist artists enjoyed so much.

In 1882 he founded the Society of American Painters in Pastel, which included such artists as John Henry Twachtman, Childe Hassam, and Robert Reid. The Society only lasted eight years and held four exhibitions, but it drew attention to pastel and helped it gain respect as a medium. Flattmann notes in his book The Art of Pastel Painting (Pelican Publishing, Gretna, Louisiana) that Chase was one of the most influential American pastelists. “He used pastel with a freshness and vitality rivaling that of any European master,” Flattmann says. “Some of his pastels were very large, up to six feet high, and done on canvas. Like Degas, he often wet his pastel and worked over his pieces with brushes.” Pastel artists can learn much from Chase, who combined draftsmanly and painterly qualities to varying degrees in his pastel paintings. In some pieces, his hand as a draftsman is emphasized, with visible strokes that call the viewer’s attention. This can be seen in his Self-Portrait, where the highlights in his face are not subtly blended; instead, each stroke is brought to the fore. Chase’s work evolved over time, and he experimented with the medium, working with a limited palette, and employing various techniques. An analysis of Chase’s pastel paintings shows all the possibilities the medium offered not only in the 19th century but also today.

Jean-Baptiste Siméon Chardin (1699 – 1779)


Self-Portrait With Spectacles by Jean-Siméon Chardin, 1771, pastel, 18 x 15. Collection the Louvre, Paris, France.	Self-Portrait With Eyeshade by Jean-Siméon Chardin 1775, pastel, 18 x 15. Collection the Louvre, Paris, France.

Jean-Baptiste-Siméon Chardin (1699 – 1779) was a master oil painter who worked in the traditional realist manner and took still lifes as his predominant subject matter. Largely self-taught, he was strongly influenced by 17th-century Low Country masters, and like them he devoted himself to simple subjects and common themes. Chardin's work had little in common with the Rococo painting that dominated French art in the 18th century, and the artist’s reputation enjoyed greater success after his death. At a time when history painting was considered the highest of public art, Chardin's simple paintings of common household items, along with his uncanny ability to portray children's innocence in an unsentimental manner still garnered the artist an appreciative audience in his time, and account for his timeless appeal.

Toward the end of his career, Chardin began working in pastels, exploring subject matter beyond the still life. The artist took up the medium as his eyesight was beginning to fail, which may account for his application of color in visible strokes as opposed to blending them. He used blocky, simple forms perfectly organized in space, and his palette consisted primarily of earth tones. He was a master of textures, shapes, and the soft diffusion of light. In Self -Portrait With Spectacles, his use of pinks and blues on the head and jacket demonstrate his willingness to play with color and use it to create an intriguing mood. The use of broad strokes, which shows the artist's hand at work, marks an end to the smooth blending favored by traditional pastelists, and showed later artists what directions they could go in with the medium.

Jean François Millet


Watering Horses, Sunset by Jean-François Millet, 1866, pastel and black Conte crayon on wove paper, 15 x 19. Collection the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Massachusetts.	Shepherdess and Her Flock by Jean-François Millet, 1862, black chalk and pastel, 14 5/16 x 18 11/16. Collection J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles, California.

Born to a family of farmers, French painter Jean-François Millet (1814-1875) was most interested in painting the daily life of the peasantry. His early work consisted of portraits and pastoral scenes, but it is the painting The Gleaners for which he is best known. The painting depicts two women picking leftovers of the harvest, stooping low to collect so little. Picking up what was left of the harvest was regarded as one of the lowest jobs in society, yet Millet offered these women as the heroic focus of the picture; light illuminates the women's shoulders as they carry out their work. While he was criticized for presenting socialist leanings in his work, his paintings appeared in the Paris Salon year after year.

As his popularity grew in the 1860s Millet steadily received commissions, and in 1865 a patron began commissioning pastels. From 1865-1869 he painted almost exclusively in pastel for a collection that would eventually include 90 works. With this collection Millett explored the possibilities and limits of the medium. “He was one of the first to really draw with the medium and use broken strokes of color, rather than blending the colors extensively the way many early pastelists did,” says Flattmann. Many of his later pictures are landscapes, with the human figure entirely absent. As he grew older, the artist preferred simpler, more direct processes such as using graphite or pastel, over painting. Instead of the heavy, dark coloring of many of his paintings of peasant life, Millet often let the tinted paper show through and used his color sparingly in his pastels, bringing his draftsmanship to the fore.

The artist’s subject matter can inspire artists today who may be drawn to subjects that are deemed controversial or uninteresting. The use of pastel as a drawing tool, and the strokes of color evident in much of his pastel work not only brings greater attention to his subject matter but also shows that an artist has many options when working in pastel.

Naomi Ekperigin is the editorial assistant for American Artist.

Pastel: Step by Step: Drawing With A Powdered Pastel 'Wash'

2008-09-11T11:10:00Z

A noted artist and instructor demonstrates how he lays down a wash, then adds darks and lifts out lights to reveal an expressive drawing.

by Robert T. Barrett

In the process of developing my ability to see values correctly, I became aware that very few things in reality are white or close to white in value. Thus, toning the drawing surface with a “wash” of pastel reduces its value to something more neutral or natural. The halftones and highlights can then be “lifted out” of the wash, and darker darks can be added on top of the wash. I find that working with broad tones is also more expressive, and the process of lifting out tone helps me think more in terms of shape than line. This way of thinking is a bit closer to painting and allows me to establish a full-value drawing very efficiently.


Step 1 Using Nupastel pastels on Strathmore 400 series paper, I began with an initial lay-in, or gesture drawing. In this step, I tried to get the placement and energy established for what would follow. I was also careful to get the general proportions correct.	Step 2 I added a little more detail and some sense of value next. I continued to look at relationships and the way the big shapes related to one another.	Step 3 With powdered pastel, I then covered the initial gesture drawing with a “wash” or tone. This tone is very transitory and can easily be altered or adjusted. I tried to keep the energy of the initial drawing—maybe enhancing it a bit with some directional strokes.	Step 4 Next, I added a little more tone and a few more strokes of pastel to enhance the sense of movement.

Step 5 I began to lift out the lighter values with a kneaded eraser in this step. The kneaded eraser is a great tool that can be adjusted to various shapes and points. By applying different degrees of pressure, I can lift out more or less of the pastel, creating various shades of value.	Step 6 At this point, I continued developing the drawing by adding more detail and more attention to edges. By rubbing and blending the pastel with a stump, my finger, or a paper towel, I created soft edges.	Step 7 The drawing was nearing completion, with smaller and smaller shapes receiving attention. Note that I tried to keep the whole drawing moving along simultaneously, not allowing any one part to be completed at the expense of the rest. If I had decided to stop at this point, there would have been a consistency within the individual parts and the drawing as a whole.	Step 8 The completed drawing. My hope in every case is that the final drawing will carry with it the initial energy established in the gesture drawing, as well as a sense of form, texture, and value. In the Studio 2006, pastel on paper, 22 x 28. Collection the artist.

Like what you read? Become a Drawing subscriber today!

Pastel: Denise LaRue Mahlke: Art as a Calling

2008-09-11T09:08:00Z

Denise LaRue Mahlke believes that being an artist is a calling that involves preserving, celebrating, and sharing in God’s creation. That’s one of the reasons she challenges herself to strive for excellence as a pastel painter and a teacher.

by M. Stephen Doherty

Morning Peace
2006, pastel, 12 x 15.
All artwork this article
private collection unless
otherwise indicated.

Denise LaRue Mahlke believes that being an artist is a calling that involves preserving, celebrating, and sharing in God’s creation. That’s one of the reasons she challenges herself to strive for excellence as a pastel painter and a teacher.

I sincerely believe that being an artist is my God-given job and that I need to honor and glorify God in every painting I create and every class I teach,” says Texas artist Denise LaRue Mahlke. It’s clear from talking to the artist and viewing her paintings that her mission to serve God is a source of motivation and direction, and that the spiritual message implied in her paintings is subtle but clear. Titles such as Morning Promise and Morning Peace suggest a state of mind rather than a scriptural reference; and the absence of asphalt roads, buildings, automobiles, or people allows Mahlke to focus completely on the wonder of nature.

Mahlke’s sense of having a calling challenges her to sharpen her skills, understanding, and dedication. “I have a responsibility to put forth my best efforts, and I remind myself there is always more to learn,” she says. “I’ve been blessed to study with some outstanding artists and to have the opportunity to share what I’ve learned with others.”

Morning Promise
2007, pastel, 12 x 18.

Mahlke showed a very early interest in drawing, which her parents supported. By the age of 10, she was attending painting classes at a local community center. In high school, she gravitated back to drawing and largely monochromatic images. Mahlke’s ultimate move to pastel makes sense—it mixed her love of color with her familiarity with drawing. “I was more comfortable with a pencil in hand than a brush, so when I discovered pastels, it felt very natural to me, like an extension of what I already loved to do,” she says. “Looking back, I think the years of working in black and white helped me when I finally did return to color. But even after I felt secure enough to introduce color, I was more comfortable working in my home with pastels rather than oils. It was later that I began working outdoors with both pastels and oil paints.”

Like many people whose time is limited because of family and professional obligations, Mahlke relied on the occasional three- or five-day workshop to expand the knowledge she gained from reading books and magazines. “I was fortunate that the Fredericksburg Artists’ School was within a reasonable driving distance from my home in Georgetown, Texas,” she explains. “I was able to study with some outstanding nationally known artists, such as Bob Rohm, Lorenzo Chavez, and Matt Smith. Later I won a scholarship to study at the Scottsdale Artists’ School, where I participated in workshops with Ned Mueller and T. Allen Lawson.”

Morning Visitors
2007, pastel, 20 x 16.

Mahlke made a decision about 10 years ago to focus on landscape painting, especially in the region near her home and in the Hill Country west of Austin. “I love painting the landscape in a lot of different parts of the country—Colorado, Maine, New Mexico, and Utah—but my favorite place to paint is the area of Texas where I live,” she explains. “I am drawn to the quiet side of the landscape and gravitate to more tonal or intimate scenes in all location, but I love the subtle, grayed tones found in the Texas landscape.” Mahlke keeps two boxes of pastels, small sheets of sanded paper taped to Gatorboard, and her French easel ready so she can paint outside whenever possible. The smaller box is filled with hard pastels she uses for the initial block-in of shapes; and the larger box is packed with softer pastels manufactured by Unison, Winsor & Newton, Terry Ludwig, Schmincke, and Rembrandt.

“I usually do several quick compositional sketches in graphite or charcoal to figure out what I want to include in the scene, where to place the horizon line, and how I will arrange the values; and then I select the sketch that seems to offer the best plan,” Malhke says. “Along with these small thumbnail sketches, I include my thoughts on the scene—what the weather is like, how I’m feeling at the time, the overall effect of the light. These written notes help clarify my vision for the painting and play an important role later in the studio. Then I try to capture my first impression of the location—the center of interest and overall composition that best captures my feeling about being at a particular location—in a quick reference study on small surfaces ranging from 6" x 8" to 9" x 12". As I begin blocking in the major shapes with hard pastel, I try to maintain a sense of immediacy and freshness. I limit myself to no more than an hour and a half on-site, and I strive for correct values and pleasantly arranged shapes of color.”

Moonrise
2006, pastel, 11¾ x 11¾.

Back in her studio, Mahlke sets up her easel so she can easily see her thumbnail sketches, the color study, her handwritten notes, and digital reference photos displayed on her computer monitor. She takes some time to evaluate these resources and consider how she might change or rearrange elements in her studio painting. With more time to develop the images in this controlled environment, the artist can start with an underpainting by dissolving the first layers of pastel with mineral spirits, or by applying watercolor washes in complementary colors. When this underpainting is dry, Mahlke tackles the darks with hard pastel sticks, working her way toward medium values and finally lights in softer pastels. “I don’t necessarily work from hard pastels to soft on every painting I do,” she comments. “Sometimes, if the value and color is right but the stick happens to be a very soft pastel, I will apply it early on in a work, but I will use a very light touch so as not to fill the tooth of the paper too quickly.” Mahlke says if the underpainting is done well, sometimes all she needs to do is develop the focal point or center of interest, with the underpainting showing through in the rest of the piece. Other paintings may get 10 to 12 layers of pastel. “I like to drag a bristle brush through areas of my work to indicate more texture, or use the side of my little finger to soften an edge or blend a portion of the sky,” she adds.

The artist continues to develop an understanding of her color sense by studying art books and attending workshops. “I took a workshop with John Pototschnik in 2007, and he really helped me with selecting and mixing colors,” Mahlke says. “He worked with several different palettes of colors and always achieved the kind of clarity and clean color I wanted in my own work. He encouraged students to make color charts and practice using a number of different color combinations to achieve specific visual effects. All of that was very helpful to me.

Storm Light
2006, pastel, 16 x 12.

“I also took a 10-day workshop in Maine with T. Allen Lawson, and he helped me understand the usefulness of working in different value ranges—high key, low contrast, and the like,” the artist continues. “Tim is so articulate, and he challenges students to consider new approaches to content, design, and color. I’ve remained in touch with him, and he is very generous in looking at my new paintings and offering suggestions.”

The advice Mahlke received about compositional schemes persuaded her to consider different formats for her paintings other than the standard 9" x 12", 11" x 14", and 18" x 24". For example, her painting Moonrise uses a square format, and Summer Storm is one of several the artist painted in which the width is twice the height. “There’s nothing wrong with working on standard-size pieces of paper or canvases, but sometimes it’s worth considering whether a landscape might be more interesting as a vertical rather than a horizontal, or if it were painted within a square or an elongated format,” the artist says.

Mahlke tries to spend as much time as possible painting directly from nature and believes this is where we learn to see the value, color, and subtle nuances of nature that are not always expressed in photos. “You can then apply what you’ve discovered by observing nature, and use the photos as more of a jumping off point in creating a work and not slavishly copy them,” she says. “I really enjoy painting outdoors in the company of other artists, and I’ve joined a couple of plein air-painting groups and hooked up with friends who share my enthusiasm for outdoor painting,” she explains. “I don’t mind working by myself, but I like sharing the experience with other artists and getting their comments about my work. That’s why I joined a group that meets once a month for fellowship, an exchange of information and ideas, and critiques of one another’s latest work.”

Twilight
2007, pastel, 9 x 12.

Although Mahlke has focused primarily on pastels, she has been studying oil painting and hopes to become equally skilled in handling that medium. “I’m attracted to the physical appearance of bold strokes of juicy oil color,” she says, “and as my skills and confidence level increase, I will exhibit more of them.” Her goal is to include a number of oil paintings along with her pastels in her upcoming two-person show at Whistle Pik Galleries, in Fredericksburg, Texas, this fall.

About the Artist
Denise LaRue Mahlke is a board member and former president of the Central Texas Pastel Society, and a member of Plein Air Austin and the Rocky Mountain Plein Air Painters. Her paintings have been exhibited in competitions sponsored by the Greenhouse Gallery’s Salon International 2008, the Maynard Dixon Country Invitational Fine Art Show and Sale, The Pastel Journal, and Gilcrease the Museum of the Americas, in Tulsa. She is represented by Whistle Pik Galleries, in Fredericksburg, Texas, and Bingham Gallery in Mount Carmel, Utah. Mahlke teaches at the Fredericksburg Artists’ School, in Fredericksburg, Texas, and at the Art Center of Williamson County, in Round Rock, Texas. For more information on the artist, visit her website at www.dlaruemahlke.com.

M. Stephen Doherty is the editor-in-chief and publisher of American Artist.

Like what you read? Subscribe to American Artist today!

Pastel: Roger Ambrosier: Atmospheric, Pastel Landscapes

2008-08-11T12:05:00Z

In the March 2008 of American Artist, pastelist Roger Ambrosier created atmospheric landscapes that stressed the essence and mood of a scene. We present more of his landscapes in this online exclusive gallery.


First Light 2006, pastel, 8 x 10. All artwork this gallery collection the artist unless otherwise indicated.	July 2006, pastel, 11 x 14.	River Journey 2007, pastel, 12 x 18.


Trinity 2005, pastel, 8 x 10.	Vista Morning 2006, pastel, 9 x 11.	Wyoming Valley 2005, pastel, 8 x 9. Private collection.

Like these paintings? Subscribe to American Artist today!

Pastel: Critique: "The Old Man"

2008-08-11T12:02:00Z

Modulate contrast to keep the attention on the focal point.

by Dawn Whitelaw

The Old Man
Pastel, 23 x 17.

The artist has done an excellent job with this pastel portrait—the drawing and the use of color are quite effective. My only suggestion would be to lower the contrast on the ear. This adjustment would help draw more attention to the lighter part of the head. The artist may also want to consider increasing the difference in the value between the shadow and light on the hair—this change would give the head more dimension.

About the Critic
Dawn Whitelaw studies painting with Scott Christensen, Cedric Egeli, Jim Pollard, and Everett Raymond Kinstler. In 2002, she received the Award of Excellence and the Best of Show award in an international art competition sponsored by the Portrait Society of America, and she has exhibited her portrait, landscape, and still-life paintings in juried shows organized by the Cumberland Society of Painters, the American Academy of Women Artists, and the Phoenix Historical Museum.

Would you like one of your paintings critiqued? Email it to us!

One of the most useful aspects of painting workshops is the personalized critiques offered by knowledgeable instructors. Now you can get this advantage anytime through American Artist Critiques.

Careful readers of our quarterly publication, Workshop, have noticed that many of that magazine's in-depth articles feature critiques of paintings. Through our new online service, you can get commentary and suggestions on your new work by simply e-mailing a high-resolution scan to: critique@myamericanartist.com.

We'll select the most instructional from the received submissions and send it to an expert artist for advice. Each week, we'll post another critiqued painting or drawing on our website.

Please send scanned images as JPEGs no larger than 2mb with with the title of the artwork, year, medium, and dimensions. Limit: 3 submissions per person every 90 days. We will not notify those selected for critiquing, nor will we notify those not selected. Submission of artwork to the e-mail address critique@myamericanartist.com constitutes permission to reproduce your painting or drawing, online or in print, in conjunction with this service.

Tap into the experience and knowledge of our featured artists today. Submit your artwork to: critique@myamericanartist.com.

Pastel: Sam Goodsell: Sticking With the Figure

2008-08-11T08:55:00Z

In 1994 New York City pastelist Sam Goodsell returned to the art world after nine years away, determined to fully explore the challenging and rewarding genre of figure painting. His dedication is paying off.

To read more features like this, subscribe to American Artist today!

by Bob Bahr

Connie
2007, pastel, 60 x 34.
All artwork this article
collection the artist unless
otherwise indicated.

Sam Goodsell’s manner is soft-spoken and gentle, but he harbors a sizable ambition. One could talk to him for a solid hour and not hear of it, but the idea is there, in everything he says, in each discussion about another aspect of his pastel portraits. Goodsell doggedly pursues a seemingly endless goal, one that is only made apparent when you consider two statements he made about 48 hours apart. “I always paint people, I love painting people,” Goodsell told American Artist one morning. A couple of days later he avowed, “I think drawing the human figure is one of the hardest things to do on earth.”

It may very well be. Accurately and empathetically depicting a human body is a multidimensional problem. In addition to the technical skill with art materials one must have in order to create the piece, an artist must nail down the correct proportions of the figure with extreme accuracy. Even the smallest error will be apparent to a five-year-old—knowledge of the human body is innate.

Also, the figure is arguably the most emotional element an artist can put into a painting. All eyes will go to the person in the painting, and viewers will project themselves into the model’s viewpoint. Slight subtleties in the rendering and coloring of the face will consciously and subconsciously be decoded or interpreted by the viewer. And, ironically, because the human figure is so familiar, a fresh approach is almost mandatory if one wishes to produce an arresting image.

Past and Present
2006, pastel, 60 x 40.

Goodsell’s career in art has been marked with the kind of determination it takes to tackle such a challenge. When his older sister was a teenager, she would come home from Parsons The New School for Design, in New York City, with large figurative paintings, which would fascinate the then 10-year-old Sam. “Being around her and all her art supplies made so much possible—I was always drawing,” recalls Goodsell. “It started so early for me. I really liked what my sister was doing and I wanted to do the same thing.”

His sister went on to become a fashion designer; Sam was accepted into Manhattan’s High School of Art and Design, a commercial arts school in Midtown, where Goodsell received what he considers “serious art training.” The tastes of the time were strongly opposed to figurative work, so upon graduation in the early 1980s, his options for the study of such traditional art were extremely limited. The young artist turned to the Art Students League of New York, opting to take a few classes at the League rather than attend college.

It was here that he truly fell under the spell of the figure. At the urging of his teachers, Goodsell focused on capturing the essence of the sitter rather than simply the likeness. “I had painting and drawing instructors who encouraged us not to get hooked on anatomy and have that be all that we see,” he says. “My instructor Dan Gheno often says the challenge is to draw the individual, to get who they are into the picture.” This important distinction is still a part of the artist’s approach—Goodsell says all of his successful paintings capture the essence, but not all necessarily capture the likeness. “Sometimes I grab a part of their likeness but it doesn’t totally look like the person, yet I got the feeling of that person, which I think makes up for it. The more you paint, the easier capturing the essence comes. Of course, you can’t just say, ‘OK, I’m going to get the essence now.’ I may get pretty far along and still be searching, still be in the search mode on a painting. And then it comes.”

Preacher
2004, pastel, 60 x 40.

Before he could settle into his current career, Goodsell had to suffer an interruption. In 1985, financial demands forced him to take a job—temporarily, he thought. “But then a few months of working outside of the art world became a few years, then a few years became several years, until I said, ‘Enough of this!’” he recalls. “I realized I was good at what I do, and I decided to return to the art scene.” But he had spent nine years away from painting. Goodsell felt like he was starting from scratch.

He renewed old connections and trained out-of-practice art muscles, attending sketch classes at Spring Studio, in SoHo “to get a handle on things again.” His favorite teacher at High School of Art and Design, Irwin Greenberg, had recommended that he study with Harvey Dinnerstein at the Art Students League. Goodsell had worked in oil under Dinnerstein’s instruction in his first go-round in the art world; in 1994 he asked his old teacher if he could resume study under him. “Harvey was very encouraging, and I began attending his classes again,” remembers Goodsell. This decision helped shape his choice of medium—Goodsell admires Dinnerstein’s oil paintings, but the teacher’s pastel work absolutely dazzles him. “I had been fascinated with pastel since high school, but I hadn’t had the chance to work with it because I was so involved with oil,” Goodsell explains. “But I liked and was impressed with what my classmates were doing with pastel. Then I learned from Harvey how to use pastels at the League. It’s such a fascinating medium. There’s no handle, no brush—nothing between the color and your fingertips. It’s like an extension of your hand. And I love the vibrancy of the color.”

Lost in Thought
2003, pastel, 60 x 40

He embraced the medium fully in 1997, and over the last 10 years established a working process that’s a synthesis of equal parts traditional methods and individual preference. Goodsell works on museum board that he prepares using a homemade ground consisting of gesso, fine pumice powder, and acrylic paint. Often this ground is mixed to a rich midtone of Venetian red and black; alternatively, Goodsell applies a blue-gray ground. The choice of color is often suggested by the skin tone of the model.

Goodsell says the switch from oil paint to pastel did not happen fast or come easy, but handling the materials now is second nature. Early on, he would use fixative on specific areas of his work in the middle of the process to restore some tooth to an area, but the artist says this is rarely necessary now that he has greater control over his tools. Goodsell reports that he never applies fixative when a pastel painting is finished because he dislikes how it “kills the color.”

The composition for a Goodsell piece begins as a sketch on 25"-x-19" Canson paper using Winsor & Newton vine charcoal. Next, he draws the subject in charcoal on the prepared museum board. The artist applies the pastels according to color and value—not in order of hard to soft, as many pastelists do. Goodsell is not loyal to any particular brand of pastel. “I tear the labels off and just paint what I see,” he says. The backgrounds in the artist’s paintings are often highly textured, and he builds them up along the way as he is working on the figure. His pieces are generally based on three-week poses.

Threshold
2005, pastel, 40 x 30.

The phrase “art for art’s sake” has taken on numerous connotations since it first began circulating in France in the early 1800s, and in one way it describes the fervent production of the group of figurative artists who currently haunt the Art Students League. Goodsell, a member of this paint-spattered tribe, is a magnified example of their aesthetic, which fosters a mindset and lifestyle marked by a curiosity and empathy about other humans, a strong interest in continually honing one’s craft, and dedication to drawing from life. The above values trump the insistence on creature comforts most Americans exhibit and, accordingly, Goodsell lives frugally in the South Bronx, where he was born. He would prefer to hire models to pose in his home studio but, mostly, he draws from the models who pose at the Art Students League every morning for three hours. This may not be ideal, but one would never know it from the zeal Goodsell expresses regarding these shared sessions. “It’s so difficult these days to be a working artist in the city,” he remarks. “It’s hard to make a living and have the time and money to maintain your art skills in New York. I know a lot of friends who are very good painters but they had to give up art because they started a family and had to more consistently make money. They had to stop painting.

Solace
2006, pastel, 40 x 32. Private collection.

“I have been fortunate to keep going all these years,” Goodsell continues. “It’s a tough situation; the cost of living is a lot higher here than it used to be. But I feel like there is always a way.” As he says this, Goodsell points to an image on his laptop. “This one here I just sold, and it’s going to pay the rent this month,” he remarks offhandedly. In the past year, the artist has won three major awards, including the Pastel Society of America’s Herman Margulies Award for Excellence and Connecticut Pastel Society’s Art Spirit Foundation Dianne B. Bernhard Award. Goodsell’s goals seem very much in reach.

Bob Bahr is the managing editor of American Artist.

About the Artist
Sam Goodsell was born in the Bronx, New York, where he still resides. He studied at the Art Students League of New York, in Manhattan, where he still participates in daily figure-drawing and painting classes. The artist was included in Maggie Price’s book Painting With Pastels: Easy Techniques to Master the Medium (North Light Books, Cincinnati, Ohio), Goodsell is the recipient of numerous awards and honors, including the Best of Show award at the Pastel Journal’s 5th Annual Pastel 100 Competition in 2003 and the 2004 Edward G. McDowell Travel Grant, given by the Art Students League to allow artists to study in Europe. Contact the artist at samgoodsell@yahoo.com.

To read more features like this, subscribe to American Artist today!

Pastel: Sam Goodsell's Pastel Figures

2008-06-06T11:50:00Z

In this online exclusive gallery, view more pastel figures by American Artist April 2008 featured artist Sam Goodsell.


Inner Dance-Jessica 2007, pastel, 54¾ x 43¼. All artwork this gallery collection the artist unless otherwise indicated.	Knowledge is Power 2002, pastel, 40 x 30. Collection Lila Gold.	Reflections of Autumn 2005, pastel, 33 x 40.


Traveler 2007, pastel, 72 x 40. Private collection.	Andrea 2007, pastel, 72 x 40. Private collection.	Summer Stroll 2004, pastel, 60 x 32.


Cruisin 2002, pastel, 54 x 36.	Messenger 2004, pastel, 68 x 34.	Julieanne 2006, pastel, 60 x 32.


Leticia 2006, pastel, 60 x 32.	Rebecca 2004, pastel, 60 x 32.	Waiting 2005, pastel, 54 x 28½.


Lilian 2006, pastel, 60 x 25½.	Hangin 2006, pastel, 50 x 26.

To view more paintings like this, subscribe to American Artist today!

Pastel: William Schneider: Painting the Mouth

2008-06-06T11:47:00Z

Painting the expressiveness of a person’s mouth helps establish his or her likeness, personality, and vitality in a portrait, yet many artists have difficulty representing that facial feature. Here’s how I teach students to paint a mouth in either oil or pastel.

To read more features like this, subscribe to American Artist today!

by William A. Schneider

Ezra
2007, pastel, 17 x 12. Private collection.

The mouth is the second most expressive feature on the human face after the eyes, but artists find it to be one of the most challenging features to represent accurately and uniquely. They often revert to the symbol learned in childhood of an outlined oval divided in the middle, with two rounded lumps on top. Artists fall into the trap of painting what they know rather than what they actually observe.

In my workshops and classes, I offer separate demonstrations of how I paint the eyes and mouth. I want to help students avoid preconceived images and, instead, to paint with the same freshness and animation they use in capturing other aspects of a model’s personality. I start by listing six tips for painting a mouth (see sidebar) and showing how those can be applied to painting either with oil or pastel.

Before I offer those demonstrations of how to paint specific features such as the mouth, eyes, or hands, I establish a context for the discussion by first painting the entire human head. I want students to understand that I have a modified alla prima method, meaning that I work wet-in-wet on each section of a painting but may not cover the entire canvas in one sitting. If I’m not satisfied with a section after working on it for several hours, I remove the paint or pastel and start over rather than trying to make adjustments another day. My goal is to record what I observe during one session, not to re-evaluate things days later.

The second reason for painting an entire head is that it helps to keep in mind the way light reveals the structure of the human form when we start to consider details. (There is a physical, topographical reason why the upper lip is usually in shadow and the lower lip catches the light and casts a shadow.) A third reason is that I need to talk about the four critical aspects of painting in the order of their importance: The first is drawing, then relative value, followed by color temperature, and edges. The success of any painting—whether it is a full figure or a pair of hands—hinges on those four elements.

Budding Artist
2007, oil, 9 x 12. Private collection.

I start the demonstration by using vine charcoal to find the position of the mouth. I don’t draw an outline. Rather, I just identify the bottom of the lower lip, the center point between the lips, and the placement of the corners of the mouth. I describe the mouth as a sculpted object made of rounded, angled forms of varying size. I point out that those shapes ultimately depend on a person’s age, gender, and ethnicity. Then I mention I will be “drawing” the mouth, by which I mean that I will actually be working the brush or stick of pastel around the forms and not filling in lines that mark the edges of those forms. I remind students that the mouth is a fluid and expressive part of the human face, so it is best to strive for a soft understatement rather than a sharply defined representation.

For the purposes of this article, I documented a painting demonstration in pastel because that dry medium made it easier to show the basic concepts. My demonstrations are usually done from life because that is always preferable, but my classes include instruction in working from photographs because most professional portrait painters (especially those who paint children) find it necessary to use a combination of photographs and sketches done from life. When working from life, the model’s expression changes constantly. Over a two- or three-hour session the mouth will sag into a relaxed position that is almost a frown. The artist needs to pick one image and return to it, remembering that the expression is largely defined by the position of the corners of the mouth.

Reflection
2007, pastel, 16 x 11. Private collection.

One advantage to working from life is the opportunity to evaluate color relationships that are specific to the model and the lighting on his or her face. Photographs are not as helpful in identifying the best palette for painting the face of a young child, rugged man, or makeup-enhanced woman; nor are they very good at capturing nuances of color temperatures. Many artists make quick watercolor, pastel, or oil sketches of their portrait subjects so they have observed references with which to judge the color distortions in their photographs.

However one judges the color relationships, it is important to maintain a consistency in the range of pastels or oils an artist uses. Anders Zorn tended to blend flesh colors dominated by ochres, John Singer Sargent was more apt to use blacks and grays, and Henry Hensche pushed the intensity of warm and cool pigments. Those approaches worked because the artists were consistent in the way they judged relative values and temperatures, and in the way they modeled the forms.

In my experience, it is easier to paint models posing under a cool north light that creates warm shadows. White is usually used to lighten colors, and since it is the coolest color on the palette the resulting tints become cooler as they get lighter. However, under a warm light source, objects will get lighter and also become warmer. This is more challenging since one has to mix in small amounts of cadmium yellow or transparent oxide red to warm the white. It’s easy to overdo and create an unrealistic color.

The Beauty of Youth
2007, oil, 14 x 11. Collection the artist.

The directness of pastel allows artists to layer one color on top of another to achieve the right balance of value and temperature. When working with oils, however, painters have to consider the ways in which the texture of the brush hairs and the addition of solvents or mediums will affect the composition. For example, I usually start oil paintings using bristle brushes and paint thinned with odorless mineral spirits; and later I switch to smaller, softer Royal & Langnickel brushes and add a small amount of oil medium. As a final touch, I might use a palette knife to apply thick highlights.

Six Tips for Painting the Mouth

1. The mouth is in constant motion, so a painting of it must have soft edges or it will appear too stiff and seem inappropriate for the rest of the painted face.

2. It’s better to understate the mouth rather than overstate it. Suggestion goes further than careful delineation.

3. There is a sequence of lit and shadowed planes that describe the topography of the mouth. Under most situations, the light hits the top of the upper lip and casts a shadow beneath the top lip; whereas light touches the upper plane of the lower lip and causes a cast shadow beneath it. If you simplify the values of that sequence, the mouth will read correctly.

4. Structurally, you can conceive of one ball (the fleshy center part of the upper lip) resting on two below it (the two lobes of the lower lip). See the diagram.

5. The deep darks in the mouth are almost always warm, regardless of the temperature of the light.

6. Highlights on the bottom lip have a definite shape and color and are usually cool, even under warm light.

Ultimately, one of the biggest advantages to trying this exercise is that it helps in understanding how to capture fleeting gestures that convey a sense of a model’s personality. Whether an artist is painting a mouth, hands, eyes, or hair, it is better to develop the soft look of shapes rather than the harsh outlines of individual features.

About the Artist

William A. Schneider studied art at the University of Illinois, in Chicago, but pursued careers in music and finance before returning to fine art in 1990. He honed his skills at the American Academy of Art, in Chicago, and participated in workshops with Dan Gerhartz, Scott Burdick, Harley Brown, Scott Christensen, Huihan Liu, David A. Leffel, and Richard Schmid. He is a signature member of Oil Painters of America, American Plains Artists, the National Oil and Acrylic Painters’ Society, and the Pastel Society of America. He is also a member of The Plein Air Painters of Chicago, the Palette & Chisel Academy of Fine Arts, and the Portrait Society of America. His oil and pastel paintings have been featured in numerous juried shows, art magazines, and books; and they have received awards in major art competitions. The artist maintains a studio in Crystal Lake, Illinois. For more information on Schneider, visit his website at www.schneiderart.com.


Bethany Dancing 2004, pastel, 16 x 12. Courtesy Lee Youngman Galleries, Calistoga, California.	Steadfast 2007, pastel, 15 x 16. Collection the artist.	Springtime 2007, oil, 40 x 26. Courtesy The Weatherburn Gallery, Naples, Florida.

To read more features like this, subscribe to American Artist today!

Pastel: Patricia A. Hannaway: Drawing What the Model is Doing

2008-05-07T11:03:00Z

Californian Patricia A. Hannaway stresses that the best drawings of living things honor the action line and gesture, suggesting their movements in the recent past, present, and future. This dynamic, cinematic approach makes sense for someone who has made a name for herself as a successful animator.

Like what you read? Subscribe to Drawing today!

by Bob Bahr

Attitude
2006, pastel on toned paper,
21 x 12. All artwork this article
collection the artist.

When Patricia A. Hannaway sees some of the more dynamic paintings by Tintoretto, she sees the work of an animator. “You’d swear a Tintoretto painting moved when you weren’t looking directly at it,” she exclaims. “The figures are in transition from one movement to the next; they are bursting with energy! I am drawn to that energy.”

Hannaway is biased in a way—she is best known for her work in the field of animation. The California-based artist was the senior character animator for the character of Gollum in The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, and she also worked on the animated films Shrek and Antz. She cut her teeth in the animation department at Walt Disney Feature Animation, where she worked on Mulan. Her fine-art endeavors have earned her recognition as well; she is represented by Kathleen Avery Fine Art, in Palo Alto, California. But when Hannaway sees some of the academic drawings being created by contemporary realist artists, she is dismayed. “Filling in the external contour, termed an ‘envelope,’ is not the way many of the Old Masters drew at all,” she asserts. “The envelope stiffens the drawing—that is why a lot of academic drawings can be staid and still. They are just models on a stand. They don’t breathe or move. But life is in continuous movement.”

Start With the Action Line

Hannaway strongly believes that the best way to start a drawing is by first laying down the action line—a line that shows the shape, force, and direction of the figure’s movement. “The action line is not the external contour,” she says. “You must make a conceptual leap and consider what the action is.” Draw the shape of the movement, not the thing, says the artist. She advocates keeping your pen or pencil on the surface while sketching and draw from your shoulder, not your hand. Lifting the point off the paper breaks your train of thought and causes you to lose your place, and Hannaway says it all needs to go down on the page in one flow. “Once you get better at depicting the action line, you will find that it serves as a sort of hanger, and all the details just hang off it,” she explains. “The perspective will be in it, everything. It’s amazing.”

CLICK TO ENLARGE.

For this article, the artist drew the action line for three stages of a baseball pitcher throwing a ball. In the sketch on the far left, the pitcher is winding up to throw, and Hannaway started at the pitcher’s right foot, where she felt the action begins, and drew the action line up through the leg, through the back, and into the coiled arm. “The energy is coming up from the feet and the tension coils up in that wound arm,” she asserts. The next two sketches show action lines indicating the force leaving the body through the throwing hand. The gesture is exaggerated, but Hannaway would rein it in later as she developed the drawing.

The sketch at right illustrates how action lines show not only direction but also force. Note how a line bowing upward along the figure’s back suggests a relatively small force, while the line of the back bowing outward implies a strong push.

“By starting with the action line and staying in that frame of mind, you stay in search mode,” says Hannaway. “If you are focused on contour, you will find that you’re thinking about the need to make one part or another look a certain way—you will find yourself relating the pieces instead of relating the idea. The idea is the action, and this is what needs to be communicated.”

Male Figure Study
2007, pastel on toned paper,
18 x 11.

The artist’s schooling was rooted in the traditional. She majored in art history at Smith College, in Northampton, Massachusetts, and earned an M.F.A. from the New York Academy of Art. But a second M.F.A., this one in computer animation, earned at the School of Visual Arts, in New York City, pointed toward her present career, and when Hannaway went to work for Disney, she felt like she was crossing some kind of line into commercial illustration. Hannaway now feels the move was quite the opposite. “I can render anything, I can make anything look like a photograph, but I found that to be a dead end,” she says. “I have been surprised to find a feeling of connection with the Old Masters through animation.” She began noticing the prominent action line in drawings by Michelangelo and Rubens. She saw how Kollwitz and Degas built their drawings on the larger gesture of the figure. She noted the swinging hammers, rearing horses, and vigorous wrestling depicted in Leonardo’s notebooks and the fleeting moments captured in the work of Velázquez. And she marveled at the dynamism in Tiepolo’s subjects. “His figures twist and turn and are greatly exaggerated, but somehow they still work in his paintings,” says Hannaway. “You will probably never see anyone turning or torquing as much as some of his figures—if you tried it, you would probably break your back. But who cares?”

Study for Tempest
2006, charcoal and chalk on toned paper,
24 x 18.

The point isn’t the exaggeration. It’s how the action line, the gesture, is used to advance the larger compositional idea. “Sometimes I distort the forms of the body to accent the action line,” she says. “Whatever makes the drawing work and read properly on paper, that’s what I try to achieve. I don’t copy what I see; I push the pose, using the model as a reference.” Hannaway stresses that an artist can always tone it down if the action line is too extreme. “But always go to the extreme, then pull it back,” she advises. “It’s very difficult to make a deadened pose more dynamic. I make the action line more extreme than it is in real life so that when I render on top of it, there’s some movement left over.”

Figures that are engaged in dramatic movements are not the only ones with an action line. Any body that has weight has an action line. In a standing figure, the action line describes how the weight is handled by the body: which leg is bearing most if it, which hip is canted, which shoulder responds by slightly dipping, how the spine is curving—even how the head is held by the neck. “On a standing pose, the force of the action is the weight going down into the floor,” says Hannaway. Determining where the weight, compression, or extension is in a pose gives direction to such a drawing and determines the center of interest.

Strike!
2005, charcoal on cream paper, 24 x 18.

The artist has some simple advice for draftsmen who want to learn how to quickly and accurately put down the action line: Go to the zoo and draw monkeys. They will force you to simply capture the way they move—they won’t stand still enough for careful rendering. “You can’t capture their contours,” says the artist. “But you can capture the action line and, consequently, the essence of the monkey. Watch the weight transfer, the typical actions, how it sits. Learn the character of the animal. See how it hangs and swoops, how the tension works in its body. You can’t worry about the fly in its ear or other details.” Hannaway stresses the action line to the point that she’s willing to sacrifice anatomical correctness, and she cites Goya as a convincing example of this concept, in particular the highly effective drawings of his The Disasters of War series. “Nobody cares that the anatomy of an arm or shoulder may not be right in one of them,” explains the artist. “The way the arm is drawn serves the powerful idea behind the design of the drawing.” It may feel hard to ignore technique in most cases, but Hannaway serves a different master. She is in relentless pursuit of “the idea,” and that idea is expressed more in the action lines of figures in her pieces than in their surface information. Her art is about things happening, events occurring or about to occur. She likens it to filmmaking—except a painter is limited to just one frame. This artist values the kinesthetic over the merely accurate.


Away 2006, pastel and chalk on toned paper, 20 x 10.	Victory! 2007, charcoal on cream paper, 24 x 18.

In fact, the essence of Hannaway’s approach is encapsulated in a motto her mentor, Jim Smyth, put forth: “Draw what the model is doing, not what it looks like.” She explains that this way of thinking promotes a dialogue between the artist and the model, which enables the artist to capture the larger relationships and “feel” the pose in her own body as she draws. “My thought process as I’m drawing is, The model is sort of doing this, and kind of doing that—I become engaged with what the model is doing and mentally take the pose myself, feeling the movement in my own body. This is transferred to the page via an energized line; the drawing proceeds from an inward feeling outward. In contrast, when the focus is on what the model looks like, this dialogue shuts down. Suddenly the drawing becomes all about the surface details and sketching an external contour. It progresses to ‘filling in’ a contour instead of ‘feeling out’ the larger relationships and weight. Nothing kills a drawing faster than that thought process! I only render what enhances the gesture.” Pointedly, Hannaway mentions that the word animate comes from the Latin animatus—“to give life to.”

If striking the delicate balance between a strong action line and an inappropriately exaggerated one is a difficult task, Hannaway’s aversion to tightly rendered drawings brings up an even more difficult one: Knowing how much detail is enough—knowing when to stop. “Animation drawing—and to my mind, great fine-art drawings in general—favor only capturing what is essential to a character or form as opposed to rendering the surface qualities of a form,” the artist explains. “A good drawing works from the inside out, from the general to the specific.” She summed it up by simply saying that more detail does not result in greater truth or accuracy. “The intellectual discernment of what to emphasize is the great delight of doing an engaging and animated drawing,” Hannaway explains. “A drawing stressing movement is more truthful than a photograph that freezes a figure in an instant of time. Great artists aim to capture the essence of the model, and that is what animators go for.”


The Dancers 2006, charcoal on cream paper, 18 x 24.	The Three Graces 2006, charcoal and chalk on toned paper, 26 x 21.

She fondly recalls how Disney arranged for a giant lizard to visit their offices when the animators needed to study the animal’s movement to create a character, and how the artists would spend a day drawing a live falcon in preparation for a particular scene with that bird in it. “Drawing is like breathing at Disney,” says Hannaway. “The people there don’t even think about it, it’s so natural and they are so good at it. So instead of drawing what you see, you draw to understand something.” It’s not that drawing isn’t important; Hannaway still draws from life at least 10 hours a week, and her idea of a good day is sketching the customers in a café for hours. But the drawing is not about displaying or justifying a technique or creating a photographic likeness. It is to build up a bank of mental images; to observe and learn about her environment, physics, and humanity; and to internalize the most important elements of poses and forms so she can make them serve her purposes. “Design in a composition is always the priority—I will sacrifice everything for the design,” says the artist. “Then, based on the design, I pull out things I want to emphasize. It is selection, and it has very little to do with painting what I see. The design is determined by the idea, and the idea is what I wish to convey.”

Tenderness
2007, pastel on toned paper, 21 x 13.

Recently, that has meant large-scale thematic figurative paintings. Hannaway executes many charcoal and gouache studies in preparation for a painting, then she paints small oil studies to work out the lighting for the piece and to clarify composition. Current events and contemporary human behavior constitute the subject matter. “I think it is important for artists to be the conscience of their times,” she says. “It’s good to learn about the materials and skills from past centuries, but art should be of our world. I’m searching for meaning in the human condition.”

About the Artist

Patricia A. Hannaway earned an M.F.A. in computer animation from the School of Visual Arts, and an M.F.A. in figure painting and drawing from the New York Academy of Art, both in New York City. She was a senior character animator for the film trilogy The Lord of the Rings and her other credits include work on the films Mulan, Shrek, and Antz. The artist has taught drawing and animation at Stanford University, in Palo Alto, California. She was the recipient of an Andy Warhol Foundation Scholarship. Hannaway is represented by Kathleen Avery Fine Art, in Palo Alto, California. For more information on the artist, visit her website at www.patriciaahannaway.com.

Like what you read? Subscribe to Drawing today!

Pastel: William Schneider's Oils and Pastels

2008-05-07T08:05:00Z

In the May 2008 issue of American Artist, William Schneider discussed how he teaches students to paint a mouth in either oil or pastel. We offer more examples of his work in this online exclusive gallery.


After the Fiesta 2008, pastel, 16 x 20. All artwork this gallery private collection unless otherwise indicated.	Evening Chore 2007, oil, 26 x 40. Collection the artist.	Opening Night 2006, oil, 11 x14.


Path From the Lake 2007, pastel, 20 x 12.	Red Headband 2006, oil, 16 x 10.	Sunbath 2006, oil, 20 x 16.


The Flower Girl 2006, oil, 16 x 20.

Read the feature article by Schneider.

To view more paintings like this, subscribe to American Artist today!

Pastel: GALLERY: Richard McKinley's Oil and Pastel Landscapes

2008-04-07T10:58:00Z

In the January 2007 issue of American Artist, we discuss how Richard McKinley guides a picture through a "dance," during which his medium exerts as much influence over the performance as he does. We present more of his oil and pastel landscapes in this online exclusive gallery.


A Place of Reflection 2006, oil, 20 x 16. All artwork this gallery private collection unless otherwise indicated.	Peterson's View 2000, oil, 12 x 16.	Snow Shadows 2006, oil, 11 x 14.


A Distant Glow 2007, pastel, 14 x 12.	Arrival of Spring 2007, pastel, 10 x 14. Courtesy Mockingbird Gallery, Bend, Oregon.	Deschutes Trail 2007, pastel, 12 x 12.


Rim Light 2007, pastel and watercolor, 12 x 18.	Saffron Crowns 2007, pastel, 16 x 20.	Silver Light 2005, pastel, 20 x 20.

Watch a video of McKinley developing a watercolor underpainting into a completed pastel painting.

Like the artwork you see? Subscribe to American Artist today!