Looks like a bunch of paint blobs, huh.
That's because I was being painterly.
I was admonished by
one of my loyal readers for not sharing the art story behind the Silverton painting (click here to see it). There’s always a story behind each piece, because each one is an
adventure in art.
You might remember
I was a little nervous about this painting because the subject matter was
outside my usual repertoire. I wasn’t worried about the background; it was the
rail car that concerned me. However, from the beginning, I had decided to
approach the subject in a loose and painterly manner. I didn’t want the extreme
detail that would make it look like a photo.
See how bumpy the canvas is?
Added to that, I
started with a recycled canvas. I painted over an old piece that sat in the
“maybe” pile for years. It had a lot of paint on it, the subject being a band of exuberant street musicians, so there was a great deal
of texture on the surface, which added to the approach.
There are plenty of
artists who paint trains that are perfect—right down to the number of rivets.
That’s not me and it never will be. As one of my professors in college said,
"If you want it to look like a photo, why not just take a photo?" The
point being that your interpretation and the natural imperfections of the art
process that go into a painting are what make it uniquely your own—and make the
art more interesting too.
Here's an early version of the piece.
But my worries were
unfounded. The rail car nearly painted itself. I mean, I painted it, but it was
not on a conscious level. Often when I paint, it’s akin to meditation. I’m
there, but I’m not there. I’m making color and value and brushstroke decisions,
but it’s more on an unconscious or instinctive level. It’s shapes and color and
texture that are pictured in my head. No words, no solid thoughts that I could
verbalize.
When I am finished
painting for the evening, I rinse my brushes and leave the studio. I rarely
take the time to evaluate my progress. I wait until I return to the studio.
Upon my return, it’s always a little bit of a surprise—"Wow, how’d I do
that?" That thought might be positive—or negative. Then, I determine my
next step and dive back into my painting meditation.
The painting of the
rail car was much like that—completed while in a richly satisfying and relaxing
meditative art state. It was actually the background where I struggled to find
the right value and shade of blue for the deep winter shadows. No color
dreaming my way through that part of the piece. It required focused trial and
error until I stumbled upon just the right color mix and transparency.
Just barely started.
I'm hoping to make some headway on this tonight.
In my new piece, I
return to one of my favorite subjects, water. Specifically, a beautiful stretch
of Wet Beaver Creek. Yes, those early settlers were a randy bunch, weren’t
they?
No comments:
Post a Comment