A Little More Sorrow and Reproductions

I managed to get a good scan of my picture Sorrow.  After I shared that one on Instagram, I got the idea for this post.  Below left is from the scanner and it approximates how the picture looks indoors in artificial light.  Below right is the image I posted before taken outdoors with a camera that approximates how it looks outdoors in natural light.  And you do observe a change in the artwork throughout the day indoors inasmuch as the changing light outside affects the light inside.  Both reproductions are accurate depending on the lighting.

Indoors the colors are darker and deeper.  Note the cherry red of the clouds.   But you lose some of the subtleties of detail and color, as well as the luminous glow of the glazes.  (Because this is a scanner image, you can also make out a few more blemishes like underdrawing showing through and a few specks of dust -- and these are things common to art history.  It is often you see underdrawings remaining visible in museum paintings (Pre-Raphaelite works are notorious for this), and dust pops up in a masterwork every now and then (I could swear I saw dust in Church's Twilight Short Arbiter 'Twixt Day and Night in person at the Newark Museum)).

The outdoor image captures the glow of the glazes making everything brighter, with subtle details of chiaroscuro and gradations being rendered more visible.  Note how the blueness of the darks in the clouds is brought out.  But the brightness shifts the color, which makes more of the color under the glazes more visible, which is not necessarily bad.  (And you have to contend with glare and perspective issues in camera reproductions, though you often get a better understanding of the brushwork).So now you are thinking I'm just bad at reproducing my artwork.  I have a reason for showing you this!  Artworks produced with traditional techniques vary in appearance in different lighting throughout the day, and when viewed from different vantage points.  This is why you can look up the same museum masterwork on image sharing websites and find a thousand different reproductions of the same work.  You can look at the same artwork professionally photographed in different art history books, and unless both books used the same photograph you will see two different reproductions.  

Artworks painted with layers and glazes and other traditional techniques indeed change in appearance with the circumstances of viewing.  They are not static.  And I'm not the only artist to realize this.  Some people do not trouble themselves with anything beyond composition in art -- nothing matters to them but the image itself, and thus they are happy to sacrifice technique and other subtleties of art-making for the sake of getting a good image that can easily be reproduced.  Hence they switch from oils to easier media to wield, or they give up on making physical art and go digital.  Other people just avoid traditional glazing and do everything direct with overbearing mixes containing lots of opaque white, which makes things photograph better.  And all that's fine for those artists who are into that, and they are not any the lesser for it.  Such methods are certainly more expedient for the purposes of illustration.  

But I'm not that type of artist.  I want my paintings to have more charm and depth than just basic image.  I make an effort to give my paintings better qualities than your typical inspirational poster wall decoration.  My art's higher than that.  I endeavor to produce an artwork that cannot be taken-in entirely with a single glance.  Rather I seek to produce art that shall invite examination for years to come.  And I daresay this what the masters sought before me.  Of course, circumstances don't always permit us to live up to our standards all the time.  But I think I've lived up to mine this time, at least.

Seven Presidents

Seven Presidents

Oil on paper mounted on panel, 9 x 12, Summer 2015.

This was a hazy late afternoon.  I had a limited amount of time and only spent about an hour.  Comparing it to the actual ocean, I thought it was horrible while painting it.  After the waters calmed at sunset and it no longer looked like my sketch, then I felt better about it.  An artist just can’t compete with the works of the Great Artist.  Although taking a step back usually helps. 

I think the brushwork is artistic.  To me, the best sort of realism is one where it is united to technique.  I’ve got some palette knife work in, as well as some sgraffito with a stylus.  And I did wind up using a limited palette, though I did not set out to do so.  I think there’s only about five colors in this one.  It was painted with the Ridner medium.  

I think this is the last ocean picture I have to post for a while.  

The Price of Experimentation

The Price of Experimentation

This is one of the works I did when I was experimenting on finding a good priming for sketches.  I was just playing around with techniques for painting water, and with the Ridner medium, and I think I was looking at Church's Niagara while doing this.  I learned a lot, but there was a latent issue with the priming.  Apparently the oil I applied over the sealing coat was absorbed unevenly, and now has yellowed in an uneven blotchiness that is apparent in the light part of the sky.  If I recall, that sealer was some species of acrylic white, probably one with a lot of chalk in it.  Most artists would never use such a paint for a sealer anyway, so don’t be afraid of the more customary acrylic gessoes – this does not happen with them.  

Morning

Morning

Oil on canvas panel, 8 x 10, December 2015.

I had a little extra paint from a long session on another painting, so I spontaneously made this with the leftovers.  I was planning on defining things a little more with another coat, but I think the brushiness helps soften things to create a dreamlike quality befitting the subject.  As always, I aim for textured calligraphy with my brushwork. 

Ocean

Ocean

Oil on paper mounted on panel, 9 x 12, 2015.

I’ve been studying the sea for years and I think I’m finally having some success in depicting it.  I never like just doing direct painting.  I like the old aesthetic of the HRS and Ruskin that transparent water should be painted with transparent paint (although I think both parties ended up compromising that standard by settling instead for the depiction of reflections as the suggestion of transparency).  In my works I like to unite realism to some technique fitting for the depiction of the object in question.  Well, this one’s a secret technique I’m not willing to share, but I will tell you this is all alla prima (except the brown band was added later), and I believe Church had a similar technique for painting moving water.  It gave me all the transparency and brushwork I wanted. 

This painting was the first I did with the priming I settled upon for oil sketches: acrylic molding paste.  Before this I tried a number of other primings for making paper suitable to receive oil.  I discerned from a number of clues that HRS sketches were primed with lead white oil paint (the big question every student of the HRS is asking is if they or the colormen sealed their paper first – they probably did if the oil didn’t rot the paper – and what they used for that nobody seems to know).  Today lead white is too expensive and you need to seal the paper first, and I wanted something that could be done in one coat.  The qualities of an oil priming I needed were an unabsorbent (or mostly unabsorbent) surface, smoothness (lots of effects in Church’s sketches can be explained by the smoothness of the ground), and receptivity to pencil drawing.  So I tried animal glue primings, which did work a little in smoothness and pencil receptivity, but were too absorbent and badly warped the paper even if it was a thick paperboard.  An oil paint priming over that worked well, but that was too much work and the paper was still warped.  Various formulations of acrylic gesso were tried, and they also sealed the paper with a smooth surface receptive to pencil, but were always too absorbent unless they received an additional oil paint coat.  A priming of one of those cheap, low-quality craft (“plaid”) acrylics you get at Walmart was so absorbent that a thick coat of pure oil was literally sucked into it before my eyes so no oil could be seen or felt on the surface five minutes after application!  Then I was pretty happy with a mix of acrylic gloss and matte mediums.  The matte I found too absorbent on its own (it was usable with an oil-out but not without one), and the gloss could not be drawn on at all and overlying oil paint had delamination issues.  Mixed together, you had something good for smoothness and lack of absorbency, though pencil drawing was difficult.  When I tried the molding paste, it turned out to be perfect for my purposes.  It is mostly unabsorbent as it is made with marble dust instead of chalk like acrylic gesso or matte medium.  It easily takes drawing, is smooth, unabsorbent enough, is flexible, and easy to apply with one thick coat being sufficient.  I think it’s a perfect, easy substitute for an oil priming on paper.

So why do I even use the paper?  It’s lightweight and easier to store (easier to bring more along at an outing) than a canvas panel.  The biggest advantage is the smoothness you don’t get otherwise.  With that said, canvas panels also work, though they’re usually too absorbent and rough textured to make me happy. 

So, for anyone looking for a good, HRS-style, oil sketching ground, know that they historically used an oil paint priming, and today’s acrylic molding pastes (acrylic binder + marble dust) are a good substitute.

Tropical Fantasy

Tropical Fantasy

Oil on panel, 5 x 7, December 2014.

I had an experimental plein air session in the cold while it was snowing today, so I post this unrelated picture to help me warm up.  I remember painting this in one quick session on Christmas Eve while watching Miracle on 34^th Street.  I really wanted to stick it to the winter!  A lot of people think the winter is the most wonderful season, and that is fine for them; there is nothing wrong with that, it is beautiful even in my opinion, but winter only ever brought torment for me and mine.  Here in NJ, the powers that be have this delusion that man has conquered nature, so when the roads are dangerous, they don’t care, and all our obligations still remain without mercy.  It has been said that fire is the devil’s only friend – but having lived in NJ all my life, I say it seems like he is rather fond of ice.

I now have an unhealthily strong desire to be in a warmer climate and dream of the day I may relocate south.  Years of studying Frederic Church’s works entitles me to make a tropical picture every now and then at least.  I tried to cut loose in the brushwork in the flora, and I think I have succeeded.  Getting realistic, or at least satisfactory leaf-work has a lot to do with restraint and knowing when to stop.  It’s really a calligraphic art in itself. 

Doesn’t it just make you feel warm?

Sorrow

Sorrow

Oil on panel, March 2015, A. De Monte.

This is the third time I painted this subject.  My father is a writer and he completed both a serious history in addition to an historic fiction on a little-known, but important Revolutionary War hero.  This is a subject from the historic fiction.  I will say no more because my father is very protective about his work until he gets it published, and rightfully so.  But divorced from the context, you still get the emotional impact of my picture. 

Anyway, my first attempt at the subject was a Prismacolor pencil drawing I did in high school that legitimately took people’s breath away.  That one was my father’s favorite (I am afraid I can’t show it to you until we get published).  And since I thought it was the best and most important of all my illustrations, I attempted it again in the more permanent medium of oil paint.  The second attempt had better technique, but it had lost something.  The picture you see here is my third attempt and my favorite.  I utilized some romantic pictorial devices to strengthen the emotional power of the image. 

So you see a woman in her wedding dress about to throw herself off the cliffs and into the sea.  The associations and contexts you can read into this are endless.  The earth has become a hell, and the clouds swirl downwards and foretell of her imminent movement.  There is one patch of clear sky that seems like a faint hope, but even that is a noxious yellow.  The angry sea smashes itself into the cruel, jagged rocks at the bottom. 

The clouds burn downwards like the despairing feelings in the hearts of the afflicted.  “All the days of the afflicted are evil.” And I’ve been there.  As someone prone to occasional depression (aren't most artists?), I think I have succeeded in depicting these things.  I make an effort to not share pain in artworks – I prefer to build up rather than break down – but I don’t feel too sad looking at this one.  There’s a difference between a meditative sorrow and outright despair.  “Sorrow is better than laughter: for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better.” I always feel better after seeing an artwork with romantic sorrow or romantic loneliness in it.  I hope this work makes my viewers feel better.

On a lighter note, I’ll also share some information on my technique.  This was painted with Groves’ Roberson’s Medium.  I recommend it for anyone open to using resin mediums – at least give it a try so you see what all the hype about megilp mediums is about.  See all the texture manipulation that I got with ease.  I got visibly different effects in the trees, clouds, rocks, sky, waves, and foam all without a struggle.  Megilp mediums really are wonderful for brushwork.  Even so, the J. P. Ridner medium I have spoken about before is a great substitute for megilp and comes close to equaling it, though it is a bit more unpleasant under the brush for its stiffness.  Both were around in the days of the HRS and I shall tell you at a later date how to tell the difference between the two (they are very similar in effects).  Megilp mediums are vilified today, but with only a few layers like I have here, you should not have to fear ill effects.  The brazen examples of megilp misuse, Joshua Reynolds and J. M. W. Turner, did other things that could better explain the deformity of their works today.  Reynolds employed draperymen who used different mediums from him, which caused problems when they overlapped each other, and Turner switched between copal and megilp within the same painting.  Actually, both of them experimented far worse than this and committed many other technical sins.  By the next generation, our few American treatises on technique were imploring artists to learn from their mistakes and use the same medium throughout the same work. 

I’m really happy with the clouds.  I painted them by first laying down a pure layer of French ultramarine into which I worked cadmium orange.  After that was dry, it got two glazes of quinacridone red.  I gained some insights as to how Church painted Twilight in the Wilderness by doing this.  With techniques like these, the physical artworks have properties that just cannot be seen completely in reproductions.  Though it is small, I had to resort to my camera as my scanner just could not handle the color in this work. 

May you never feel like this painting.  And if you do, may this painting make you feel better.  

Autumn Ocean

Autumn Ocean

Oil on canvas panel, 2015, A. De Monte

I have a feeling this is a painting that people won’t “get.” That’s what I get for being a realist who feels more comfortable working from memory than from photographs.  Well, Thomas Cole preferred to paint his oil sketches from memory (preferring pencil for on-site sketching) as he wanted to forget lesser details and have the features with the greater emotional impact left strong upon his mind: “Have you not found, I have, that I never succeed in painting scenes, however beautiful, immediately on returning from them.  I must wait for Time to draw a veil over the common details, the unessential parts, which shall leave the great features, whether the beautiful or the sublime, dominant in the mind.”       But my painting here is a finished work and not a sketch, although it is small and experimental in terms of technique.  I would love to do things more officially as the HRS did with many preparatory sketches and studies and finished paintings in a larger format, but, alas, time and circumstances don’t permit. 

Whatever, I like this one anyway.  What I was going for was to capture an effect of light I noticed upon the water in autumn.  The sea becomes a steely grey and the waves become opaque, with one side with a strong glare, and the other with a metallic opacity.  If you can see in my reproduction, I make an effort to have artistic brushwork.  I know my impasto isn’t as steep as what you see in Modern art, but neither was the impasto of the HRS.  Many art historians who must have never seen HRS paintings up close (or perhaps they unjustly judge the historic works with modern eyes) claim they used “invisible brushstrokes,” and nothing could have been further from the truth.  There was an aesthetic back then that dictated the brushstrokes, in their direction and texture (as well as the paint’s transparency or opacity), should resemble the objects depicted – and Cole was striving for this before Ruskin’s Modern Painters came out.  Cole actually faulted Turner because his rocks were not painted with as much “solidity” (opacity) as they had in nature.  So you can see that our American painters had their own opinions and were not servile derivatives of the British school as some of the earliest modern writers on the HRS would have us believe.  There was certainly respect and influence for the British school by HRS painters, though it must be understood the HRS had independent beliefs.  Church took that brushwork aesthetic to heights no other painter did, and that is one of the reasons he is my favorite.  But now I’m off on a tangent…

So how did I go about this painting?  In a nutshell, I first used sgraffito techniques to do the initial modelling on the waves.  While that was wet, and also in a refining session after it was dry, I placed bold, singular strokes of pure lead white for the gloss on the waves.  After that dried, I did the same on the other side of the waves with a shadow color which was applied thinner than the white.  With me it’s not so much an economy of brushstrokes (I will have as many brushstrokes as necessary to get the job done) as it is textured calligraphy.  That is what Church did.  In most Church paintings, one leaf is one brushstroke, applied as thick or thin as befits the depiction of that species. 

I think it came out pretty.  This is a good picture to zone-out on, whether you picture yourself within it or get lost in its abstract elements.  At least, that’s what I do with it.  I will always maintain that there is much greater potential for abstraction in realism than there is in any other school of art-making.  There is far more abstraction in nature than in “independent” human invention.  Really, I take no issue with abstraction when it takes no issue with me.  But I can never be reconciled to Modernism’s art-for-art’s-sake (is art a god? art would do well to remember just who its master is – art shall do my bidding!).  

So, I have written you a long and disjointed post that wanders far from the issue at hand.  But what I want my readers to take away is this:  there are many more things at play in realistic art than just a realistic depiction of the subject, and that goes for both contemporary and historic art in representational styles.  We too have got artistic dialogues going, concern for old and new techniques, applications for abstraction, attempts to channel and influence emotion, and a desire to make something meaningful, among many other things.  The potential for realism is far, far, far from exhausted.