Painting progression 1. . . ‘Cows’
April 11, 2015
THE DEWDROP VALLEY is a local site and part of a much larger area near Tranquille River and the Tranquille River Gorge. In essence, the Dewdrop is really rocky, hilly, grass-and-tree- covered pasture for cows and cattle during the Spring and Summer months. The Kamloops Thompson Nicola Shuswap Region is no-nonsense cowboy rancher country, complete with serious Rodeos and horse and rider cattle round-ups in the Autumn.
This is the first of recording daily progress towards completing a watercolour depicting a typical scene in The Dewdrop Valley . . . .
ON DISPLAY are a fine collection of tortured brushes. Some are from dollar stores or second hand bargain stores, and as soon as they get into the spare bedroom cum studio they’re cut up with scissors. None of them cost more than $2, and who knows what they’re made of–Moose? Sasquatch hair, perhaps. Each, however, is priceless.
Local Mountains 2
April 9, 2015
THIS COMPLETED PAINTING of the mountains in our Kamloops area was in need of cropping in order to strengthen the composition . . .
THE PAINTING WAS REDUCED IN SIZE down to this as the completed painting .. .
THE CHOPPED OFF parts of cropped work can successfully be made into bookmarks, I’ve found, and then be sold for around $2 ea in our little co-op Gallery (www.kamloopscourthousegallery.ca). Waste not, want not, lol!
Local Mountains
April 8, 2015
A decision has to be made as to whether this painting ‘holds up’, composition-wise. It succeeds in conveying the misty atmospheric conditions of winter in the mountains. But the composition is troubling me.
A FEW LAST COMMENTS about this painting…..there is a decided difference between nature and the art of depicting nature. Mother Nature is not only a hoarder, but not interested in housekeeping nor pruning, encapsulating, or boiling-down. She wants it all, all the time, and enjoys lavishing on us the plentitude of what happens when everything we look at, at any given moment, reproduces at will and overwhelms us with dozens–and even thousands–of itself.
FOR THE LANDSCAPE PAINTER the challenge, always, is to take Nature and make it into Art. It is the very human discipline of paring down, re-arranging, configuring and composing. What separates raw Nature from the art of painting is having a limited space, with only two dimensions, which is ultimately going to end up on a wall inside a human-made space. That restrictiveness requires moving trees and clouds and birds about in order to have a sense of balance or sense of wonder or sense of drama. It means the painter must dare to alter time itself, put limits on colour, and restrict amounts of what is naturally before the painter’s eyes.
MAKING ART is similar to the difference between looking at a field of wheat and sitting down to a loaf of freshly-baked bread. What happens between those two events is the act of altering something to create something else.
THIS PAINTING is not what the photograph of this scene looks like. For many years I struggled with whether I was ‘allowed’ as a painter to do anything other than depict Nature as it presented itself to me. Sitting out on some stoney ground, I would suddenly find myself slavishly working at painting the weeds between cracks of rock, then painting the seed heads on the weeds to look exactly like what my eyes saw, when really I knew the larger purpose of sitting there in the hot sun was not to pay attention to weeds, but to paint the distant mountains above and beyond them. By the time I’d gotten away from doing weeds justice, I was so hot I had to fold up my equipment and go back to the car. And I went home with a painting of weeds between rocks and a big expanse of white paper above them.
THAT DOESN’T HAPPEN ANYMORE. I have learned that I must take what is presented to me and do with it as I wish to do. That is the work of a painter.
A PHOTOGRAPHER has a whole different set of challenges because a lens is very different from a human eye (it can’t do half of what a living, ‘breathing’ eye can do) and from human imagination (once it has seen what is before the eye) . But I have noticed some irony happening between the worlds of photography and painting. In the past, painters often worked very diligently to make a painting ‘look like’ a photograph. These days, with technological photo-shopping manipulation, a photographer seems more or less obsessed with trying to make a photograph look like a painting. I am not convinced either enterprise is worth spending all that amount of time on.
IF A PAINTER WISHES TO BE A PHOTOGRAPHER, then don’t go trying to make a painting into a photograph. Do go and take courses and buy equipment and learn how to take photographs and do the work a photographer must work at in order to eventually become a photographer. And IF A PHOTOGRAPHER WISHES TO BE A PAINTER, then leave the photo-shopping manipulation apps alone and do take courses and buy equipment and learn how to paint paintings and do the work a painter must work at in order to eventually become a painter. They are two distinctly separate and inherently different artforms and–in my flawed way of viewing things–should stay that way.
AND YOU…what’s your view? Tell me how I’m missing things you’ve discovered!
Painting progression 3…. ‘Jamieson Creek Thaw’
April 4, 2015
BECAUSE WATERCOLOUR is such a watery, transparent, delicate medium–one which must always allow the paper it’s laid on top of to breathe through it–one which traditionally doesn’t use white pigment, but relies on the paper to be the white of the painting–BECAUSE of this (and more) the challenge of the watercolour student is to convey an illusion of texture, without the ability to actually build up a surface texture.
WERE WATERCOLOUR PIGMENT applied so thickly as to create an impasto-like texture on the paper beneath, it would lose its luminosity and look pasty, muddy, dull–worse, it would crack. Watercolour pigment only works when the paper beneath dazzles through it and brings life to the pigmentation. In other words, watercolour as a medium is more the business of staining paper than it is a business of building up layers and coats of daubs, stipples, slatherings.
THAT’S WHY CARE is required to not apply so many washes that the luminosity of the paper receeds and eventually provides no life at all. And that’s why the whites of the paper must be thoughtfully reserved and left untouched in key areas–the crests of waves; the moon; snow; clouds; a picket fence–and skill taken to paint AROUND these places to let the paper be the white.
SO….a student of watercolour (me) learns early-on that (s)he will be a student of the medium for life–that mastery is illusive–and failures, many. A good piece is approached very thoughtfully, noting where the paper will be left to serve the function of white (pigment) and painted around. Then the student will also have to gather enough courage to apply exceedingly dark washes in one ‘go’, while maintaining a sense of secure, carefree animation in order to present an immediacy and liveliness in the final piece.
THE DEATHKNELL of a failing, dying work of watercolour is finicky overworking of areas, and a refusal to accept what happened when water joined pigment joined brush joined paper. It is NOT a medium for those who love to micro-manage or be in control.
THE STUDENT OF WATERCOLOUR has to be more a Peter Pan than a child wanting to grow up–loving the thrill of what happens when ‘danger’ is courted, yet having the assurance that daring will win the day. However, that daring and search for adventure–on the surface of a good piece of paper–will only be pulled off if it is backed by enough experience to have a good hunch about what will happen when such-and-such is tried.
ATTEMPTING what remains beyond one’s ability isn’t courting danger–it is ignoring it. Trying to fly without thinking happy thoughts will give a person a broken bone. Within the bounds of representational art–(i.e. wishing to have a tree ‘look like’ a tree)–a painter cannot ‘pull off’ a landscape with lots of shadows if (s)he has yet to study them in some depth. Trying to do a scene which includes far far more than what one yet learned how to interpret is an invitation to frustration and wanting to give up watercolour for say, acrylics (oh, my).
AND SO FOR MYSELF, I know by this time that I must confine my attentions to learning about how corn grows, what it feels like, looks like, behaves like, before I can throw my abandonment into rendering a watercolour of winter corn in January. Not only that, but I must also have studied the qualities of snow–the qualities of what a winter sun does to shadows of corn stalk–the blues, the purples. And only then can a learned abandonment bring about a possible reward.
IT TAKES A LONG TIME to find the right paper, the right brushes, the right working pallet of colours, the right approach and the right subject matter. Knowing what can be done when paper is sopping wet–and what can’t–depends on who made the paper, how thick it is, how textured it is, how stretched it is, how quickly it will dry. Knowing when to wait until the paper is exactly wet or damp or dry enough to throw one’s energies at it, comes (usually) through ruining (many pieces of) good paper.
HERE IS THE LATEST DEVELOPMENT of the subject of Jamieson Creek in a February thaw…..
TOMORROW will (hopefully) provide a photo of the finished piece!
Painting progression 2…. ‘Jamieson Creek Thaw’
April 3, 2015
Painting progression 1…. ‘Jamieson Creek Thaw’
April 2, 2015
JAMIESON CREEK is about a 15 minute drive from our home, along a dirt logging road. The Kamloops, British Columbia, region is a geologist’s dream come true, featuring some of the oldest mountains in Canada. As a student of watercolour, I am fascinated by stone and rock, particularly because it is so challenging as a subject.
This is Jamieson Creek, taken four years ago around February, early March….
And here is my initial drawing of the subject…..
As you can already see, photography is not my gift (which is why I paint, lol)–so forgive the darkness. It was taken, pre-dawn in the spare room which serves as a studio.
Painting progression 5
March 16, 2015
THE FINISHED piece–“Abandoned Schoolhouse, Pritchard”. The rocks needed darkening and definition. Pines were added. Spattering of snow was used to unify the whole and add a feeling of movement.
The Columbias
February 10, 2012
For seven summers I was the cook for The British Columbia Natural History Society. In 1994 I graduated from The Dubruelle French Culinary School in Vancouver, and ran a kitchen at a small residence on the UBC Campus. This left my summers free, and I took on the task of prepping to feed upwards of sixty hikers at elevations upwards to some 3000 m., or approximately 10,000 ft.
It involved cooking and then packing vacuum-sealed , frozen meals in large chests with dry ice before joining the caravan of cars towards the mountain destination of choice. Once at the base, everything–including me–was hauled to the summit in a net-outfitted helicopter, and the business of setting up the huge kitchen and dining tents was begun. Frequently it was snowing up top–though only twenty minutes before I’d been roasting in the July heat–leaving me scrambling to find my parka.
The challenge was to get everything unboxed and laid out in some semblance of order–while ensuring the burners were properly hooked up to giant propane tanks–so that all-important first meal could be served some three hours later. After that, I could do the washing-up and at least semi-relax by first getting my little tent set up and then getting myself organized enough to be able to do breakfast when I awoke at 4 a.m.
By Day Three (of the ten day experience), it felt like I’d lived there my whole life, and could spend my days doing watercolours while the hikers tramped all over the rugged terrain carrying the bagged lunches they packed for themselves after dinner the night before. Once I’d served their breakfast, they’d stroll about with final cups of coffee making sure I overheard their latest Grizzly Bear spotting stories. Then they’d be off, leaving me sitting there all day minding that food all by myself.
Here is a painting from one of those seven summers. And though I can’t be entirely positive, I believe this particular view is from the Eastern British Columbia Mountain Range known simply as The Columbias.
Glaciers in The Columbias
And yes, I did see Grizzlies, but only from a distance.
thank god.
Sunshine Coast
January 11, 2012
Taking the 40 minute ferry from Vancouver one reaches Gibson’s Landing, the beginning of the 85 km. stretch known by British Columbians as The Sunshine Coast. The road leads North towards Alaska, but ends at Powell River–the furthest major city on the coast–and visitors simply have to either turn around and come back, or decide to permanently stay.
This watercolour was painted on location on a section of the Sunshine Coast near the town of Sechelt. The wind was blowing across the Pacific, creating large breakers and bringing in a bank of fog which made it difficult to dry my paper enough to keep going.
"Breakers"
A bit of New York
January 4, 2012
I was raised in Rochester, New York, and then later on the New York / Vermont border. At some point we had occasion to visit the town of Saranac Lake, New York, which hosted the 1980 Winter Olympics and much earlier in its history was one of North America’s best known tuberculosis sanatorium locales. Patients went there to receive plenty of sunshine and fresh air.
Kamloops, British Columbia, my present home, was also chosen as a prime location for a TB sanatorium and it was located just outside the city limits at Tranquille, B. C., beside Kamloops Lake. The air here is dry, without even a hint of humidity in the Summer and bracingly-cold in the Winter.
I loved staying in Saranac Lake that one week in January. The lake itself was completely frozen over, with a fresh layer of snow and a blindingly-bright sun.
'A Frosty Saranac Lake, Saranac Lake, New York, c1989'
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