Transient

This is part two on recent paintings created from memory.  I decided to write about these two paintings in particular because to me they actually go together as companion pieces.  Though quite different in color and lighting, they have similar compositions and themes.

Last week we took a day trip down to North Carolina to visit family, and to do that we had to pass through Hillsville (appropriately named).  We were dealing with a cool, damp, cloudy, rainy day--not great for traveling.  There were pockets of thick fog where you couldn't see much beyond the bend, and then there were places where the clouds opened up and let just a shaft of light peak through and shine on the newly dressed green hillside.  Alison and I both deeply regretted forgetting the camera (something we often do, and often regret). 

On the ride home we drove back through Hillsville, and again the sky was moving with these monstrous clouds, rain was falling in the far distance, and yet shafts of light were streaming through here and there, piercing this cloud and then that cloud.  And those words of Tolkien again came to my mind as I watched this unfolding transient scene roll before me.

"...In the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach."

"Throw a little Tolkien and Lewis in there and I think you have something."

I don't usually paint from memory, but Alison is encouraging me to do so more and more.  I usually take photos and work from those, and in the old days I would go out and paint on location.  This is the first of two blogs on two paintings worked from memory.

Recently I finished reading The Lord of the Rings...again, and I always find new little nuggets each time I read it through.  Towards the end of the book when Frodo and Sam are in Morder struggling to get to the end of their journey, Sam begins to lose hope, but then he sees something:

"...There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach."

Driving home one night a couple of weeks ago, we were experiencing some dynamic skies with swirling clouds and storms.  As we traveled along a dark country road I looked up, and in a breaking of the clouds there shone a beautiful star.  I kept looking and looking, and that quote from Tolkien came to my mind and I tried to remember the colors, the mood, the lighting--everything in the hopes of trying to recapture that at some point on canvas.

Last week we attended a local wine, food, and art festival, and I set up an easel and decided to work on a painting while we were there.  That scene came to my mind again, and so I jumped right in and worked up a composition and started laying in color.  Was the image exactly what I saw that night?  No, but it definitely portrayed the mood and feel of that evening for me.  

By the end of the day, I had a finished painting, but I didn't know what to call it.  Though originally in my mind it was an evening scene, Alison said it looked more like morning light, and I agreed, so I thought about naming it "Morning Star," but that didn't seem to fit.  "Call it Perelandra," my brother said.  And there it was...and so I did.  If you're not familiar with the name, it is what C. S. Lewis called Venus in the second book of his space trilogy (also the title of said book). 


 

Finished at Last!

Well, here is the "bearded wonder" in all his glory.  Though somewhat difficult to tell in the photo, I darkened the background to get rid of the competing "aura" around the back of the head.  The portrait took 10 sessions to complete, with sessions 1-8 taking approximately 15-30 minutes each.  The ninth session lasted a little over an hour, and that is where most of the fine-tuning took place.  The last session took maybe 15 minutes to add last minute details like moles (sorry Phil), extra hairs, etc. This is an acrylic painting on a 12" x 12" stretched canvas, worked from a photo, and I must say I'm pleased with the results. Below is a detail of the face.

Who is the subject?  Philip Hatter is my older brother, creator of Thistledown Puppets (www.thistledownpuppets.com).  He designs and creates all kinds of beautiful hand-made puppets for people all over the world.  And he has a pretty awesome beard.

Almost Done...

After adding the hair and beard details, the painting is almost finished.  I reworked the background, lightening the area to the left of the head and on the lower right.  The more I looked at it today, as I kept coming back to the painting from time to time, I realized that I made the background a tad too light.  While I want the background to give a definite edge to the back of the head, I don't really want the strong "aural" effect that the painting has in this photo, so tonight I reworked the background (again!) and added a few more details to the shirt and beard.  I will take a photo of it tomorrow if I still like it and basically will call it finished.

Baby Steps

So you can see I'm making slow progress (but progress nonetheless!), working and re-working the skin and background, nudging little highlights and shadows here and there.  Next stop--hair and beard detail...

Blue is the Winner

So after tinkering with the image on the computer, changing background colors back and forth (I played with blue, teal, and brown), I finally decided on the darker blue so that the colors of the face would pop a little more against the background.  I decided to push the color darker than I had originally planned, because I want the eye to go immediately to the face, then meander around the head.  If the color was brighter, there would be somewhat of a competition between the face and the hue behind it--it can be done, but that's not my goal for this piece. 

Portrait of Philip

Ahh, let's step back in front of the ol' art campfire and warm ourselves a bit on this cold winter's night... I've been working on this acrylic portrait of my brother, Philip, slowly working it up here and there and trying to remember to document my progress (I'm really bad at that), which hopefully I will continue to do in future posts through the completion.  Since I'm a little behind, I thought I'd go ahead and share these first five sessions so far.  This first image shows the under painting with the initial sketch of his head.  Next I add some of the highlights to get a better sense of lighting.

With the basic highlights roughed in, I then lay in the darker areas to block in the values before adding any color. 

 Now it's time to start refining the values and working in the reddish orange shadows around the ears, eye, nose, neck, etc. 

 This is the part that I really enjoy--when I get to start adding a little color and refining points, including the eyes, shirt and hair. 

I've been going back and forth on what color to make the background.  The photo that I took has him in front of a grayish wall that lacks any enthusiasm, so I don't think I want to keep that.  I like the look of a dark background to show off the face, but since his shirt is dark, I don't want to make it too heavy looking of a piece.  Plus, I just finished a portrait with a dark background and I would like to work on something with a different look.  Well, something to keep thinking about...

Variations on a Theme, Part Four

So, I really should have titled this one "The Prequel" because here is the original image that inspired the other smaller ones.  All of the paintings in this series are acrylic on board, and this one is approximately 24" x 24", whereas the other paintings based on this one are only 12" x 12".

I was able to go this week and photograph this painting, and I enjoyed looking at it again for several reasons.  First, I used a purple under-painting on this one instead of my preferred reddish orange, and I can't remember exactly the reason for doing that other than just experimenting to see what would happen.  You can see the purple under-painting at the bottom within the grassy area.  Second, I love the little details in this piece like the the small appearance of the road in the distance that picks back up and leads out toward the mountains, the tree in the mid-ground with the shaded trunk and the highlights around it, the blue of the mountains that gives that punch of color the painting needed, and the scumbled highlights over the textured gesso in the distant fields. 

One of the reasons I switched to the smaller composition within the painting was the strong diagonal that cuts the painting in half in the foreground.   True, it is what I saw that day (this was painted on site, though with artistic license in varying the shadow and color in places to accentuate certain aspects of the landscape), but when all was said and done, the diagonal created more tension in the painting than I originally wanted.  So, I zeroed in on the middle portion of the painting, which took the strength away from the tense diagonal and gave the composition a more relaxed feel.  In doing this, the focal point of the blue mountains was taken away from the important "top-third" portion of the composition and the horizon instead was placed in the middle of the painting.  This also contributed to the more casual or restful feel of the composition, but then also required other aspects to be included in the newer paintings to create visual focal points to keep the eye moving through the paintings so they wouldn't become too dull. 

Here is the portion of the painting that inspired the smaller panels.  Looking at it takes me back to that day when it was painted--hot, humid, fighting bees and other pesky flying insects, and working and reworking the foreground and never really being satisfied with it. 

I enjoy both aspects of landscape painting--I enjoy being out in the field, working straight from nature itself, learning and relearning all the little nuances of what I'm seeing and experiencing all around me, but then I also love to take all of that in and then interpret it in different ways in the studio-- as I mentioned in a previous post, to simply create a personal response to my experience with the landscape.

Variations on a Theme, Part Three

If you have ever taken a moonlit stroll when the moon was full and the sky was clear, then you know the feelings that came along with this painting.  Having painted a lighter, more nostalgic version, then a darker, more turbulent version, here I wanted to paint the calm serenity of a night basking in the glow of a full moon, where the landscape is lit up almost like day, and the breeze gently stirs the leaves like secrets being whispered among the dark forms of the trees.  

I love walking at night--the fresh, cool night air waking the senses as the crickets go on with their rhythmic call and response chirping through the fields and the woods, the vastness of the starlit sky overhead stealing the show from the shadowed landscape beneath.  This makes me want to paint more night scenes.

The tree in the upper left corner was used again in this composition to help balance and temper the focus of the moon and the blue of the sky, as well as to aid the eye in moving through the painting.   Here again you can see in the detail the use of the dry brushing to accentuate the linear movements of the gesso drawing underneath the painting.

Variations on a Theme, Part Two

So, as you can see, the basic composition is still there, but with several differences as well.  I wanted a darker, moodier feel to this one, with the storm coming and the threat of rain for the dry fields.  This time I included the tree which was actually there. 

This painting is a good example of how I sometimes allow the under-painting to show through.  The road is basically the under-painting, but you can see it also in the trees and sky and some in the background.  I prefer a nice red/orange earthy tone for the landscapes.

Again there is the movement with the lines in the gesso, giving a windy effect to the darker scene, as shown in the detail. 

Variations on a Theme, Part One

Awhile back, I painted a series of small square panels in acrylic depicting a favorite scene along a road in Floyd County.  The very first painting was actually larger, double in size, but I found that I was really only interested in the center composition, so I took that basic composition and painted several variations both in lighting and color to play around with the possibilities.  Since I don't have the image of the first painting that inspired these smaller ones yet, I thought I'd go ahead and share these and hopefully later I will be able to show that first composition.

Although the first painting was completed on site, these smaller paintings were created in the studio.  Since I had the basic composition in place as the bones of each piece, I decided to paint more from my impressions of having seen this view in various times and lighting--to give more of my response to the memory of the landscape than just a record of the landscape itself.  

Here I was looking for a very warm, nostalgic feel to the scenery.  I call this my happy little painting.  Though it may be difficult to tell from this photo, the surface of the painting is highly textured.   Sometimes I will take charcoal, or sometimes even just a pencil, brush handle, or small stick, and draw in the gesso while it is still wet.  Since I like at least four layers of gesso, I would brush on the first two thinly, then the next two (or more) rather liberally, so as to allow for the ridges and designs to be felt when the gesso dried.  During the actual painting process, I would do quite a bit of layered dry brushing over these ridges to give more of a sense of movement to the landscape, to give more interest to the surface rather than just the image.

This detail shows the texture a little better.  I don't always use this approach, but with a landscape I do enjoy a certain sense of energy to the painting, because when you stand out in a field or near a stream or study a tree, there is always the sense of life surrounding you.  Sometimes I will try to portray this movement through a highly gestural under-painting that shows through in many nooks and crannies in the final piece, sometimes it's through the brushstrokes themselves, sometimes both and then some. Why make dead paintings of living scenes?  Why not try to add or capture some sense of the movement and wonder you feel when you are actually there?  I'm not always successful with this, but hey, it's painting, it's supposed to be fun, creative and playful. 

Paradise Lane

As Summer draws to a close, I wanted to post this painting from several years ago.  The view is looking down Paradise Lane (which is the actual name of the road).  The day was hot, and the rain storm in the distance was rumbling through.  This was painted in my studio instead of out on the site, where the preliminary sketch and under-painting were completed.  During this time in my life there was a transition in my working situation, and at the time things were looking uncertain.  At the same time, I was experiencing a type of personal revival in my heart with the Lord, and where there used to be drought, physically and spiritually, I could hear the "sound of abundance of rain." 

This painting is then, in a sense, a portrayal of that:  dry dusty road, dry bare clay showing through the dry grass of the field.  But the cornflowers in the foreground bring hope, that all is not withered away, that relief is just beyond the bend, where the showers are sweeping over the fields. 

This is acrylic, thinned out and used as watercolor to a degree.  Day by day I would add washes over washes, then scrub sections out, then apply new washes, then layered in the details.  So even the process speaks of water and color applied purposefully and abundantly to a dry surface so that in the end, where once there was a blank white board, now stands a beautiful painting, and an echo of a larger truth.

I gave this painting to my grandfather, who was also my Pastor for many years, who throughout life has helped me in so many ways, and he enjoys it to this day. 

"For I will pour water on him who is thirsty,
And floods on the dry ground..."  Isaiah 44:3

Looking back down the road...

This is another painting from Sandy Flats--at the intersection with Harvestwood.  At the time we were in a drought, and the fields looked golden in the hot summer sun, but what caught my eye were the strips of bright green in the field past the road--a burst of life in a dry land.  The sky was very hazy with it's smokey blue tone, which offset the field so well.  I had parked the ol' red Toyota on the side of the road and set up my easel and worked the composition there, but ended up reworking the colors in the studio to my liking.  Often I will do that--not that the actual scene isn't interesting enough, just that it's fleeting, and I make enough references and notes to myself to recapture in the studio what struck me in the field, and it allows me to play a little more with color but also be true to the overall "feel" of the landscape.

Here again is my fascination with the idea of a path to be taken, a road to be traveled, a journey to be made-- often coming from shadow to light. About a month ago I went back to this part of the road, and it now looks completely different.  Where a bony fence once poked itself out of the earth is now overgrown with vines and bushes, with the fields greener and much heartier than they had been when I first painted them.  Oddly enough, I felt no desire to paint the scene as it is now.

Run of the Mill

A number of years ago Alison and I went around sketching and painting at various scenes--sometimes we were successful with a drawing or two, sometimes we just scouted out locations to try to visit at a later time.  One that we both fell in love with was this old mill on Sandy Flats Rd.  I've made several sketches of it, and a couple of paintings (one in the fog, and the one you see here).  Old buildings like this can be tricky to paint, because if the components are not working together to create an interesting image that invites the viewer to spend some time investigating, it becomes just another boring barn/mill painting.  The eye must keep moving through the painting, with resting points here and there.   This has all the elements of a good ol' summer day:  a dusty gravel road shaded by a nearby tree, hot and hazy air with the sun beating down, a cool lazy stream bubbling by, lush green grass to rest your tired feet in, and an old building rich with character and history.  Good memories. 

Gone Fishin'

This was another commission piece (acrylic) that I worked on for a friend several years ago.  Note the fisherman in the background, casting the line.  My dad is a great fisherman, and oddly enough, he said it was his mother that really taught him (though Granddad was a good fisherman also).  So then there's me--not a fisherman at all.  I do love being out there in the stream, taking it all in.  I even enjoy trying, but somehow I just never got the "fishin' fever."  Most of my experiences of fishing trips ended up (or began with) me falling in the water and scaring the fish away.  But I have to say that the best times that I've spent fishing were with Dad. When he lived in North Carolina, sometimes we would go to a pier at night and fish for awhile, and we would talk about different things in life, and I loved simply being with him, whether I caught any fish or not (I did catch a blowfish one time).  We would also take the boat out from time to time, and again, just sit and catch up.  Sometimes we would catch something, sometimes we wouldn't.  Either way I could sit and listen to Dad for hours. 

I still enjoyed going to the streams while Dad and my brother fished.  It's been awhile, but I have to say it's a special experience to stand out in the middle of the stream and be still while the water glides past you, carrying leaves and other odd bits, revealing here and there little dapples of light, wavering ghostly reflections that dance on the surface as the breeze quietly whispers through the trees overhead. A certain graceful peace settles in your mind in those moments, then you realize there are fish laughing at you under the water, wondering which stone you'll slip on as you make your way back to the bank...I guess my children will have to learn to fish from their Granddaddy, and that's okay with me. 

Narnia

Several years ago I was asked to do a series of small paintings for a party which had a "Narnia" theme.  I was given some specific guidelines in terms of how the images should be arranged, which were slightly different from the way I would have approached them, but you go with what the client wants, right?

Personally, I have always envisioned a plain wardrobe, or perhaps a very low-key wardrobe with slight, mysterious carvings or patterns, not the fully carved, ornate wardrobe that was in the popular movie, similar to the one the client wanted in this painting.  The idea that within a very plain and simple wardrobe lies the extraordinary entrance to another world filled with adventure and danger is very compelling to me, reminding me that what we see on the surface with our eyes often times may not be the whole story.

Mothballs giving way to crunching snow.  These are acrylic washes over paper with gesso, embellished with colored pencil.

Always winter, never Christmas...

I greatly enjoyed working on this project and the party went well--these were used on the invitations.  One day I would like to go back and read again the Chronicles of Narnia and do a series of images from some of the other books.

Board's Creek

There are some paintings that have a certain sentimental quality for me.  One such important painting is Board's Creek--an oil painting of two cows getting ready to cross a creek in front of a gnarly old tree.  There is an interesting background story behind this painting (of which I will spare you the details), in that it was originally supposed to be a commissioned piece, but I ended up doing another one in its place that better fit the desires of the client at the time. And so now this painting rests above my sofa until it finds a better home.  There is an actual Board's Creek, but this is not it--the scene is made up to fit the composition, though the tree is a real tree up on the parkway near Rocky Knob (one of my favorite to draw and paint, as you will see later), and the cows are painted from photos taken awhile back (and slightly reworked to fit the feel of the painting).

The first composition had the cows turning away from the tree (I still may do a painting from this one day).

I ended up reworking the composition to the following...

...and worked up a quick acrylic wash color study...

I wanted a warm evening/morning glow to this painting, with the foreground in shadow, to allow the light to play on the water and the branches of the tree.  Here are some pencil studies of the tree itself--a wonderful, gnarled, twisting tree with large branches that you can just crawl all over.  Many artists and photographers have created images from this tree.  I just love it. 

And so here is the final oil of Board's Creek.  It measures 40"x30" and is on stretched canvas.

This remains as one of the few large oil paintings that I have done in the last ten years--I usually work in acrylic, but Alison and I are wanting to get a new set of oils to start working in them again--it is definitely her favorite and strongest medium. ~Sean

Ol' Blue

This watercolor was done back in college when our dog Blue passed away.  This was the spot where he always loved to rest, usually in the flowers (unfortunately).  Anyhoo, the piece is simply what it is, a portrait without the subject--his dish is still there, the door is still open, and the flowers are a reminder of the vibrancy of life, even in a place that is dingy and somewhat empty.  This is one of my favorite pieces.

Blue had a heart problem, and being so old, there was not much we could do.  He was a good ol' faithful friend, a peculiar dog with peculiar habits, but that only made him more endearing.  When he had to be put down, we wrapped him in one of my old childhood blankets and buried him in my old toy box.  The humor of the night was that it was cold and the ground was hard, so Phil and I were trying to bury him with a lantern swinging on a branch above us while we labored with a shovel and a pick axe.  I'm sure if the neighbors saw us, there may have been some wondering what we were up too--it probably looked shady!

I did, before the end, do a final portrait of ol' Blue.  Here are the sketches:

And here's the final, with a detail of his head--notice his characteristic smile.

Oh, what a day for a hike...

We used to hike all the time when we were younger.  Now just the thought of walking down to the mailbox makes me tired.(I need more exercise).  This is part of the trail up at Rocky Knob--a very nice trail, especially in the fall with the leaves turning colors.  This was a "shake the rust off" piece that I did a couple of years ago, and I love that it is a little less refined than some of my other paintings.

Sketches of Alison

In the next few weeks, I am going to be starting a portrait of my lovely wife, Alison, most likely in acrylic.  Until then, here are a few sketches of her from earlier in our marriage.

Here is my favorite sketch of her.  We were sitting up on Rocky Knob, spending part of the day doing some hiking and drawing.  She thought I was drawing the landscape.  I was drawing something much more interesting and beautiful.

 I think she is sewing something if I remember correctly--or probably making a necklace (it's been awhile).

Ahh, here's the artist at work!  Don't spook her--just move quietly along to the next one...

Not my favorite, but still a very interesting exercise for me, and it has some nice treatments--I always wish I had struggled through to finish this one a little more, but, oh well.

Now here's an interesting one.  Never sleep around someone with a sketchbook and a pencil...