In my opinion, the best art looks effortless, as if the strokes of paint had flowed effortlessly from the brush, resulting in a wonderful, "simple" creation. Sometimes that actually happens, as if the artist had been touched by a magic wand and given a gift. I live for those days!

 

More times than not, however, it is a more complicated process. Often, many hours of contemplation and visualizing, sketching, and seeking sources for accuracy must take place before ever putting brush to canvas. If done correctly, the result should be pleasing to the eye, flowing nicely from one point to another without apparent hesitation, creating a "simple" beauty.

 

To my eye, less pleasing art is created when it looks labored or contrived. If the viewer thinks, "Wow, that must have taken a long time and it certainly looks hard to do. What skill!"...then I, at least, am not a happy artist. I want the viewer to feel the same joy as I felt when I have really enjoyed the process of creating the painting.

 

Summary: It can be hard to make it look easy.

I just read a quotation attributed to Columbian artist Fernando Botero, now living in New York, who is famous for his very "well-rounded" figures, particularly of women: "When you start a painting, it is somewhat outside you. At the conclusion, you seem to move inside the painting." Although our styles are very different, that quotation speaks to me. As common procedure, I can imagine Botero plots out the mechanics of his painting, where the figure will stand, what activity will take place, what color scheme would be appropriate , and so forth . He would start drawing, or laying in colors as he normally does, and the painting would be "somewhat outside" of  him, as he put it. However, at some point he would begin to feel almost "inside" the painting, maybe even adjusting his original plan as he becomes more and more a part of it. Maybe he tests various colors to suit  his new understanding, or removes some parts of what he has begun, trying a slightly different pose as he now is experiencing it. Botero paints figures, but landscape painters go through a similar process - moving vegetation to more appropriate spots, darkening  shadows, and so forth, as they begin to feel themselves in that setting.

 

I just finished an oil painting of "a woman riding a horse down a hill in a snowstorm." The words in quotation marks were what I envisioned this painting to be "about". I first planned  the scene, plotting the size and shape and subdued colors. In other words, my painting was still "somewhat outside me," as Botero has described the process. I was intellectualizing the painting, careful to render an accurate horse and rider, chosing colors that were appropriate to the dullness of a darkening snowy day, and so forth. Having experienced many snowstorms as a child growing up in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, I eventually began to sense the feeling of cold air and  wet snow on my face, my skin remembering how it would tingle with the cold. As Botero might have put it, I "moved into the painting." I could feel that the rider's upper legs would get the brunt of the snow's chill settling on thin denim jeans,even though this rider's legs were partially protected by wooly "chinks", or short chaps. I knew that  farther back behind the horse and rider, the sky would be darker and colder, with snowflakes beginning to obscure those evergreens in the distance, a thickening veil of obscurity between the trees and the rider. The snow would appear less dense on the rider, as the viewer sees her from a closer vantage point, with fewer intervening flakes than those veiling the trees in the distance. I have been in such a setting and everything felt right.

 

The more one can "move inside the painting," as Botero stated, the more fulfilling will be the effort, and the truer will be the result. 

 

Today I paint exclusively with oils, but it wasn't always that way. I began by painting portraits in pastels, and I enjoyed that. I don't remember why I initially chose pastels, probably mistakenly thinking it would be an easier medium. However, one fateful day, while on a tour of the moot  courtroom at the University of Arizona Law School, I spotted a wall containing small portraits of all the United States Supreme Court Justices to that date - lined up, framed 14 x 11 inch paintings of jurists in black (almost exclusively men), going back many years. My guide, the head of the law school, groaned as he pointed out the portrait of a young Justice William Rehnquist, who had by this time become the Chief Justice of the United States of America. He lamented the fact that the portrait depicted a younger Justice Rehnquist with long sideburns nearly reaching his chin, a la the 1970's, and not reflecting the gravity of his present status. Smelling an opportunity, I foolheartedly volunteered to paint an updated version of the Chief Justice, if they would obtain an official photograph of the gentleman as a reference, and I would do it for free (anticipating further commissions down the line, which did transpire).

 

Only sticking point: the hanging portraits were all done in oils, and I had never painted in oils.  Not even once. Small detail. Not easily deterred in those days, I bought the most promising "how to paint with oils" books that I could find in the local art store, read them quickly, bought the oil paints recommended, and brushes, canvas, etc., and plowed ahead. You will have to remember that there was no internet at that time for me to refer to, so my speedy sources for information were limited. Besides, I wanted to complete this painted quickly so that maybe I would be hired for other - paid - commissions. I had confidence in my ability to render a good likeness, so all I had to do was learn how to use a brand new medium. That's all! I believe this is called "chutzpah".

 

Bottom line, I got the job done, it was a reasonably good portrait - at least as good as most of those already on the wall and not bad for a first effort with oils . Months later, I was introduced to the Chief Justice when he attended a University function. The painting was displayed on an easel in the reception area, and I chatted with "Chief" (which is, apparently, what a chief supreme court justice is called in informal situations, once the long formal title had been used in introductions). Another person came up to us and, to my utter dismay, asked him what he thought of the portrait of him that I had painted ... with me standing right there! Can you imagine a more tactless question? Bless his heart, Chief Justice Rehnquist - brilliant man that he was - did not miss a beat. He graciously replied with a smile, "I think the portrait is wonderful, particularly considering the subject." What a fabulous response, and what a lovely gentleman he was, and how lucky I was to have had a chance to meet him...and paint his portrait.

 

That was my first experience painting with oil paints, and I have stuck with and enjoyed that medium ever since, although I rarely paint portraits nowadays. Luckily, youth and  ignorance had allowed me to throw caution to the winds and take a chance. And I learned that sometimes you just have to jump in and "give it a shot"  if you want to succeed in any business, including art!

 

*gold

 

 

 

 

Artists inwardly groan when people say something like: "It must be lovely just painting every day...so calming and relaxing." In this scenario I picture an artist painting daintily with a long-handled brush (for elegance), wearing an unsullied and attractive artist smock, and perhaps a beret, gracefully dabbing precious touches of paint on the canvas, sipping a bit of wine for added inspiration. Classical music plays softly in the background, and one breaks often for tea and crumpets. Right.

 

More accurate is the concept of painting as problem-solving and answering questions: What do I need to paint first - what needs to be where? What IS that deadline, anyway? What size canvas should I use, what shape, what color theme, light or dark color key (practical side items: do I have enough oil paint, do I need to stretch or cut a canvas, how much time to I have in the studio today, and how much paint should I mix up, where is my tube of cadmium red, is yesterday's work dry enough to paint on?) If this is a commission: will this blue match her sofa? This is  a joke among artists, of course, but people often do have preconceived ideas about what they want. One of my personal favorites is, "Make me look younger, please." Even non-commissioned work has its stresses: will the gallery like this, will anyone want to buy it, did I order a frame yet? How did that blob of cadmium red get on the floor, and who walked through it? Where is the white cat, anyway?

 

More typically, instead of smocks and berets, I wear cutoff jeans, oil-smeared tee shirts, old golf socks, and rubber gloves. My beverage of choice is diet cola, I listen to a radio news network rather than classical music (I know, I am weird), and my brushstrokes are not dainty, but energetic swoops of juicy color. Winston the cat saunters by wearing a bright streak of red.

 

But there must be something mystical in painting, or why do we do it? Something draws an artist to create - heaven knows, we could probably make more money doing something much more prosaic. Something makes us go to our studio every day to make art, subjecting our fragile egos to comments and sometimes rejection, waiting for a kind word here and there. And a sale...here and there. I love it!

As the old saying goes, "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet." Certainly true. But I suggest that naming a man-made work of art should take into account your purpose for giving the work a title.

 

There seem to be differing positions on naming or "titling" works of art. Some artists take the simple route, and pick the obvious descriptive title: "Aspens in Fall", "Garden Flowers", "Little Girl in Green", and so forth, which is fine as far as it goes. It certainly is a no-surprises, user-friendly approach, and the prospective viewer probably has a good idea of what he is about to see. Kind of like naming a white rose "White Rose" instead of  "Peace Rose."

 

Then there are the artists that take the minimalist approach to the titles they assign to a piece of work. For example I read that Jackson Pollock (famous contemporary artist of the 1940's) in the earlier part of his career gave his paintings semi-descriptive titles...probably more descriptive than his work actually was. His paintings are recognized by their size, their interesting spatters and drizzles of paint as it landed on a huge canvas, and their hefty price tags. Later in his career he titled one of his paintings "Lavender Mist, No.1". After that, he decided to just number the paintings as he created them, No.2, No.3, etc, skipping any descriptive wording altogether. By that time, however, he was so famous that he did not need to lure viewers into considering his work.

  

 

For the rest of us mere artistic mortals, I suggest that we might want to consider taking time to create titles for our work that catch the eye of the viewer and make him/her want to find out what it is all about. For example, in my painting "A Blue Note", the title could be interpreted in at least three ways: obviously the young lady is reading a note written on blue paper; also, judging by the expression on her face and the glass of wine on the table, one could guess that the content of the letter is not humorous; and finally, the whole scene has a slightly somber or "blue" mood to it.

 

So, don't just call a rose "A Red Flower That Smells Good", or a painting "Painting number 5". Make viewers curious and get them involved and maybe  they will contemplate your work a little longer than a quick glance..

 

Olive trees growing in Saint Remy

Just returned from a lovely cruise down the Rhone River, through Burgundy and Provence. As advertised, the wine was wonderful (so I was told), the historic sites were fascinating, and floating down the river was peaceful and soothing. Took many pictures!

But the part of the trip that most affected me was the visit to Saint Remy, home to Vincent Van Gogh, in relative good health, and in near insanity. First of all, to artists reading this, the light in Saint Remy was fabulous - bright but not harsh...glowing, almost. The tour guide said she was told that the sunlight bouncing off an abundance of limestone in the soil causes the almost mystical, fairytale, beautiful illumination all around. Not sure if that is the case, but the result was magnificent.

Secondly, we were able to walk through the streets and the vineyards, and into the olive groves, and past the mission arches and hyacinths that were the everyday surroundings for Van Gogh with his troubled soul. The sicker he got, the more prolific he became, painting this scenery over and over, although only one of his paintings sold during his short lifetime. The olive trees in the photo above grew behind the sanitarium operated by the sisters of the mission, and he painted them over and over. To quote Van Gogh,"To paint nature, one must live in it a long time." And you will see that his painting of these olive trees was not meant to exactly depict the olive trees he saw, but the frenzied emotion they inspired in him. This is the kind of art that holds the most interest for me - not necessarily photographically accurate (although that is quite a feat to accomplish), but reflecting the scene as it strikes the artist emotionally, in a way that will translate to the viewer.

Incidentally, we were also told that the reason so many of this artist's paintings near the end of his life had so much of the color yellow in them is because the doctors were giving him digitalis as a treatment, which made what he saw look yellow. They really didn't know if this medicine would help him, but they had tried everything else, I guess. For him it must have been like painting while wearing yellowish sunglasses.

I found it moving to see the scenes nearly exactly as they were seen through the eyes of this artist so many years ago. Just not so yellow.

In my last blog I featured a little painting called "Rock Band". MY painting method got me out of the creative dry spell I had been in -  thick, fast, and loose and not much attention paid to details. In fact, I literally "painted what I saw" without much regard to what each shape and color was. I am telling the truth when I tell you that, until I was halfway finished with the painting, I did not identify the guy at the keyboard in the center of the painting as my own son John!

This is not a bad thing. As many agree, a bad painting habit can be to get overly caught up in details without letting the painting do the deciding, and letting the creative side of the brain take over. And, here is another example: my original purpose for writing today's blog was to extol the virtues of painting a series on a single subject, or of a single style or atmosphere. And, actually, I do think that this is a fine idea - to thoroughly explore whatever it is that has caught your attention as a creative person. After viewing "Rock Band" last week, several people asked me if was going to paint more works in my "new style", which they said they loved - loose, liquid and swooshy. And I will, and the attached painting "Cowboy on Bourbon Street" is the first of a series I am calling "Night Lights". Two or three more paintings will probably be in this series, and I am tweaking my materials or methods or subject matter each time. It's a learning experience for me and very enjoyable.

But my secondary purpose for this blog has turned out to be an encouragement to artists to allow themselves to veer off the path most traveled (by them) and to experiment with letting their "fingers do the walking" to see what happens. It might be a happy surprise!

I was just going to say that I "worked hard" in getting myself out of a dry spell, but that is almost the opposite of what I did - I actually worked around it. My studio never looked neater than now, I have lists of things to do and people to contact and upcoming shows and blogs to write, and on and on. These are things that needed doing, but tended to get shoved aside for the greater pleasure of slapping paint on a canvas. Can't tell you how many times I have heard women artists say they wished they had a wife to do all of the above, as many male artists have. Maybe that is a good thing after all.

After a couple of days of puttering, (and one has to be careful not to get carried away in that mode and get stuck there) I got a small canvas and a favorite easy subject and painted. And, hurrah, it felt good and the painting wasn't half bad. Started a second canvas from a photo of a rock band - "Dead Western Plains" (don't ask, I don't know) sent to me by my son several months ago. Good time to try it, I thought. Had...a...blast!!

Going to keep that attitude. Yes, making good art is work, as we all know. But if you don't love your work, it will look like it.

I felt like Van Gogh all last week - not the style or his type of talent, just the despair. Well, really just crankiness. For the life of me, I just couldn't paint anything! Canvases were flying off my easel ... and ultimately turned toward the wall, trashed, or scrubbed squeaky clean with turps. 

Took a break for several days, tweaked my website at www.mungerart.com, signed up for Open Studio Tour in November (surely I will be on track by then), cleaned my studio and stacked bad stuff in the corner to be gessoed over when the temperature drops in AZ and I can do it outside. Also, a funny thing: I found some not-so-old paintings that were kinda hidden in the closet, and I found that I liked them! Going to hang those puppies up! Feeling better, taking a deep breath (as all the politicians say), pulling out a glistening fresh, medium sized canvas, selecting subject matter that always makes me happy...maybe a Flamenco dancer...and I am going to have some fun in the studio today. Maybe I can post the results in a future blog! Soon.

May my muse return...Please? 

Just finished a new painting, displayed with this blog entry. I am continuing with my efforts to loosen my brushstrokes, experiment with colors, and resist the temptation to fiddle too much (my natural tendency as an ex-portrait painter), while still enjoying the process. In a previous blog I opined that we may as well enjoy our efforts at painting just now, since most of us are not enjoying the process of raking in money in this time of consumer frugality.  Don't they understand that art is a necessity!!

Contrasts: warm vs cool (colors); light vs dark; loose realism (figure) vs abstract (suggested forest greenery in the backgroup, just blocked in as abstract shapes).

So little time, so much to discover. Play on.

This phrase is attributed to Proverbs, and we artistic types, including myself, could stand to live by that one!

Why is it a truism that one negative comment (or even only slightly less than positive than the comment expected and desired) about something we have created can just set us down hard on our rumps for days? Creating even more negativity, of course. And much less energy to create, especially in these tough times for artists.

However, one sweet confirmation of what we are doing lifts us up on a cloud of happiness and creativity that needs to be nurtured and coddled, because it is so fragile. (Thanks for the kind words from dear friend and wonderful artist, Sandra VanderWall, www.sandravanderwall.com).

Since I am sure that this applies to more than just the artistic types, I vow to verbalize more often the many positive feelings I have about the actions, words, creations of others. Light the candle and pass it on!