A Beginning

      Dealing in metaphors can be tricky, sometimes they are cliche, sometimes they are poignant only to yourself and no one else. This one, I think, might have merit so I think I'll give it a shot.

      I'm sittin' here thinking about how life imitates art (not really, but that sounds like something an artist should say), and wondering about how a blank canvas could be metaphor for life. I mean when you think about how successful or unsuccessful a previous work is, you don't really rest on that...you have to begin anew. You've got a new beginning staring you right in the face. Sometimes that can be daunting when you think about what faces you at the start of a new work. That sounds like nonsense, but really, when you begin a painting, from my viewpoint, there are many challenges facing you. And not just those of the technical variety. There's a passion about the process, and that passion, I believe, shows in each and every work of art that an artist produces. Your heart is laid bare on the piece of paper or canvas, open for all to see..and criticize.
      When I start a new piece, I've been thinking about it for quite a while. I've mentally gone through the process of analyzing color choices, value structure, compostion, etc., long before a brush has even been taken to hand. All of my paintings are of places that have significance to me, whether my former home in the Ozarks of southwest Missouri, or the mountainous terrain of northern Montana. There is so much emotion tied up into this stuff that I can be fairly certain of whether or not a painting will be successful, even before I officially "begin"... and what I mean by success has everything to do with the conveyance of that emotion. If I can't communicate emotion, I judge that particular piece harshly and it gathers dust. So having said all that, let me share the beginning of my last painting of the Blackfoot River here in Montana.

      This is the start. This is the humble beginning of most of my paintings, especially when working in oils. It's not a carefully rendered drawing, but it gives me a sense of where I am going, a road map, if you will. A tip for anyone trying to improve their paintings: loosen up. Even though I have a reference photo to work from, the last thing I want to do is exactly copy the photo. The camera does a fine job of doing exact copies. In my estimation, my job as an artist is not to be a recorder of facts, but rather an interpreter of sorts. So, some good advice I can share is to allow yourself freedom to be "random". And don't take that to mean sloppy. Be quick, but also be purposeful.

      Something else I might add, the preliminary aspect of doing art can also be helpful in pursuing your art. For instance, how you choose to lay out your palette can be a sort of warm up to the painting session. Squeezing out that color is putting you in a frame of mind to be artful. I stretch my own canvases, so I use that whole process, from milling the stretcher bars in my shop and applying the gesso, to think about what I want to produce...yeah I know, pretty geeky. It's all just a mental exercise to help you be more thoughtful in approaching the work at hand.

     Now, the next step:

      Again, the idea I want to establish is a loose and free-spirited approach to painting. I spent all of thirty minutes to do this underpainting. Using the preliminary sketch as a baseline, I began to place highly thinned colors with the thought of establishing two things: a basic value structure and composition. I used a size 12 filbert  for laying in this thin "wash". Another tip, when you hold your brush, make sure to not choke up on the brush, keep your hand away from the ferrule (the metal part), hold it at the end. Remember, you paint with brushes, they aren't drawing tools.

      At this point in the process, I have accomplished quite a bit, but it's still early in the game, and so the next progression would be this:

      Here is one hour of work on this piece. I have established the sky, which is utterly important to the final outcome. Even though it wasn't the initial starting point, the sky plays such a crucial role in unifying the painting as a whole, and so I needed to develop it early on. I chose a subtle pink (using cad red deep and white) to create an overall sense of warmth, even though it was quite cold that afternoon. From that point on, I used that cadmium red as a "common color" in almost all of my color mixes.

      So, for anyone taking notes: 1) get the values (the relative lightness or darkness of objects) right early on. You won't even come close if you don't. 2) Make the composition work for you, don't let your photo (if you use one) dictate the placement of elements of the painting, use your artist-eye. To that end, 3) thin your colors to a water-like consistency with mineral spirits (for the purpose of quick dry times) and use broad strokes with bigger brushes. 4) Don't revel in details right now, they absolutely won't help you make a good painting, in fact, they will bog you down...remember to be spontaneous and quick thinking in the early stages.

      So let's end this session, I'll flesh out that "art meets life" metaphor I began with and hopefully turn it into a cogent thought...maybe. Ciao.





      



Another blogger

All right, here goes. My first blog. Do we really need another? I dunno, maybe I need it. I don't really know how to begin, but first some thoughts. The title: the view of an artist, there's the start. I'm going to make this about art...my art, how I approach it, how I do it...what I think about it. I want it to be a teachable time. I've been considering doing classes to share what I do with those who might be interested in furthering their art, and this is going to be the first step in that process.
         Am I qualified? Maybe, maybe not, but I'm going to proceed as though I am. Anyhow, I do have a perspective about it, and I'm going to share that perspective and hope that maybe somebody is interested.
          Who am I? An artist. What does that mean? A lot of different things, but to me it means that I create. I create images... hopefully very emotive images. I also build things, and make music. I love to make things and that makes me an artist. Am I trained? No, I'm not. Am I a professional? I've sold a few paintings, so technically I guess so. No, it boils down to this: I am an artist because I believe that I am. I would paint, whether there is an audience to view it, or not. This is what I do:



           I just finished this painting today. I spent about eleven hours to complete it. I poured my heart and soul into it, I'm passionate about it, I think it turned out great. But if I didn't feel that way about it, if it sucked like nothing else, I would still be an artist, I would still face another blank canvas another time and try something new.

           They say that art is in the eye of the beholder, and that is true. This painting might be a pile of crap to one person and the very vision of heaven to another, that's the way it goes. But I want to convey the idea that what matters to your art is you, not the accolades that others can bestow upon it. I want the freedom to believe this about myself, and I want that for whoever else dares to be an artist. Yeah, being an artist can be daring. I'm trying to make a living doing this, not an easy propostion. I'm scared that I'll fail miserably, but whether this succeeds or not, I do know one thing: I am an artist, and you can't take that away from me.