Burdell at Dusk

I am captivated by Mount Burdell, the small mountain in Novato at the northernmost point of Marin County. I hike there, sketch from a distance, and have painted it many times. In a way, it is my version of Monet's Rouen Cathedral or Cezanne's Mount Ste. Victoire. With the ever changing light, there are always new colors that spring up in my mind. Recently when watching a setting sun, I imagined how the various colors that make up sun light and shade, when expanded into their own "patches", could become powerful shapes on their own.

When I originally sketched the view, I included the Buck Institute, a dramatic modern architecture on the side of the barren hill. A friend suggested that I include my original sketches in posts to show how the final paintings veer from the sketches. As you can see from the thumbnail to the right, I eliminated the Buck building (not that I didn't like the bright white glint of the setting sun off the triangular facade, that will come in another painting), and emphasized the color possibilities in light and shadow.

You can also see how the perspective has changed: flattened and slightly raised on the vertical. As is often the case in my work, both the original sketch and the finished piece each have unique qualities.

Lower Colorado

As with many of my paintings, this began as a casual observation. I was in an airport waiting area and glanced at a series of geographical photographs of the Southern California area, particularly the Colorado River. One caught my eye and I began to sketch it as an aerial view. Back in the studio I did a series of larger, looser sketches in pen and pencil, overlaying tissue layers with "corrections". Actually, "adjustments". From there, the painting evolved.

I liked the serpentine curve of the river as it cut through the hills, and developed a palette that highlighted the coolness of the water against the warmth of the land at dusk. There is a subtle repeat of the "s-curve" of the river in the highlights and shadows of the hills.

The inverted apostrophe (or "yang shape") that forms the highlight of the isthmus in the center is totally unintentional, but maybe subliminal. I have spent a great deal of time in graphic arts studying typography, always fascinated by the loops and whorls of letter forms. As I look back, many aspects of my training and experience are surfacing in my recent paintings: strong graphic shapes, bold, delineated colors, and here, with Lower Colorado, typographic elements as well, with the "S" and "apostrophe" references.

One note: the title carries a minor coincidence. I had originally titled Lower Colorado while sketching, and a few weeks later I saw a show in Southern California of Richard Diebenkorn's Ocean Park series. Lo and behold, one of his early paintings was titled the Lower Colorado. Diebenkorn has always been a favorite, this is my homage.

At Last.

The Etta James song is the perfect title for this post. For a variety of reasons, it has taken months to complete this painting, Lower Spokane. This was originally sketched in Spokane, WA in May of last year, when the torrential runoff from the winter snow melt had the Lower Spokane river raging through town. It was a dreary, overcast day: the water, sky, and surrounding hills all seeming to blend together into a monotone of gray.

Needless to say, I had to do something about that, and the colors and patterns started to unfold. The more I painted, the more I added (and subtracted, with the "washing out" technique), until I finally reached a point where I was happy with the overall surface and energy, hoping to capture the raging water culminating in the billowing foam and spray in the foreground.

I've had a lifelong love of Japanese prints, how perspective is raised, and subsequently "flattened": one of the hallmarks of modern two-dimensional art. There is ample evidence of that influence in this painting. Now, it is time to move on to the next one.

Start, stop, start again, finally finish.

This painting took a little longer than originally anticipated. The actual painting time was not that long, but the image shown is not the original. In the first attempt, the blue "lakes" area was masked out with fluid so that I could wash in the greens in a flowing, smooth motion. Good idea, but the execution, or specifically, the masks, failed. They leaked and no amount of "washing out" could save the painting. So I started over, and this version is actually stronger than the first one.

This is an image that I came upon while driving through Coeur d'Alene, Idaho on the way back from Missoula, MT. Lake Coeur d'Alene is beautiful, and I imagined the lake at sunset, with the water itself in shadow. I started with a basic exercise in warm vs. cool, but to counter the color theory that warm colors advance and cool colors recede, I placed the warm in the background so that would come forward, and cool in the foreground for the opposite, to create some visual tension. All in all, I am always interested in creating an overall unified surface that is flat ( no overall perception of depth of field) yet energized.

The motion and flow of the colors are quite satisfying, and I can't wait to get started on something new, influenced by my recent trip to Maui. The natural beauty of Hawaii, while stimulating, is quite a challenge.

The Gate

One weekday afternoon several weeks ago, during a particularly slow bus ride home, I gazed out the window at the swirling wind and fog: a typical summer afternoon in San Francisco. Just beneath the Golden Gate Bridge, a lone sailboat was fighting wind and waves toward The Gate. The boat was inundated by the wind and waves and I made a mental note to sketch out the scene when I got home.

I originally jotted this down in my sketchbook in pen and ink, but soon realized that in order to capture the swirling motion of the sky and sea, I would need to work larger to achieve a fuller, freer drawing stroke. I also wanted to take a very grey, monochrome day and pump in some color. The palette is a basic split complementary of blue-violet, blue-green, and orange, with tints and shades of each color providing the swirling texture. Plus some additional colors to liven things up.

I purposely chose to paint on 140# Fabriano Rough, rather than my favorite Arches Rough, as the Fabriano is slightly thicker and holds up to more rubbing out of highlights. In the end, I didn't do as much rubbing as originally anticipated. In several areas you can see the pocked surface of this highly textured paper. I used a rubber cement mask for the sail and boat hull, and even though I put the cement down full strength, it broke down in a couple of areas under repeated washes, naturally on the sail portion that I intended to leave unpainted. Ah, the unexpected wonders or watercolor.

Sources

The actual painting time of the most recent image took less than a week, as all the elements fell together fairly easily. But various components were pulled together from a variety of sources, over several months.

This was originally sketched back in early June after I returned from a trip to Montana. The gentle "S" curve in the foreground was a pattern that I glimpsed out of the corner of my eye while driving from Missoula to Spokane, somewhere near the Idaho border. A fire road or trail cut its way through the side of the mountain, gently dipping out of sight with each rolling hill. The red roof shapes are taken from a hospital near where I live. After seeing them several times on my bus ride to work, I decided to incorporate them somehow. The "church" facade was taken from an image I saw of a Greek church nestled into the hill side. The foreground hills and colors are heavily rooted in the hills of Northern Marin. Otherwise the colors are a combination of complementary and split complementary, with a hefty dose of "making it up as I go along".

The next one will mark a return to the fronds of recent paintings, this time with the addition of a little abstraction and less literal interpretation. Stay tuned.

Let. It. Be.

One of the most important and influential things I learned in college was from Jim Storey, the head of the SFSU Design department. While teaching my class in Drawing and Visual Thinking, he said "if there is only one thing you take away from this class, it is to learn to put the pencil down 5 minutes before you think you are done." I've cherished that advice all my life, and while, in hindsight, I realize I haven't always followed it, I replay those words as if they were spoken yesterday. This painting is a case in point.

I actually began this painting before the one posted below, but for various reasons, just couldn't seem to bring it to completion. The colors and values evolved as each was applied, as the layers were built, and finally, in the last two sessions, it started to come together. I'm pleased with the rhythm of the design, very much like the rich color saturation, and at one point the other day, set it on the easel, sat back, and Jim Storey's words came to mind: now is the time to stop. Any more fiddling and it would be ruined.

I am also pleased with the direction this latest set of watercolors has taken. I have several sketches from a recent trip that hopefully will continue to explore this "imagined, fantasy landscape".

A Morning Vista

I was taking an early Sunday morning walk several weeks ago when I noticed the early sun illuminating the fog-draped hills north of my house. I dashed back to the studio to sketch out my interpretation of the long shadows arcing across the hills and the row of houses along the road in the distance.

At the time, I was very excited about the sketch and couldn't wait to put it on paper. I am pleased with how the fog dips over the peak of Mt. Burdell, the subtle green against the light lavender/grey of the sky, as well as the small spots of color that I used to interpret the houses.

As I stepped back, I also saw these bits of color as sailboats on distant bay. I really enjoy elements of a painting that can be perceived differently by several viewers. A friend was looking at an older painting (Almost Full, below), and he interpreted the edge of some breaking waves as a whale's tail. Very rewarding when others see things in a painting that I had not imagined.

Note: My original sketch had the cast shadows of several large trees washing over the foreground at the left. I decided to omit them as busy and distracting. I'm still undecided whether to go back and add them in.

Re-thinking and re-directing

A couple of weeks ago, while working on a sketch for the painting posted directly below, I started working with just outlines and bold shapes, as a way of taking a fresh look at the subject. At the time, I thought "why not just paint the sketch?" One of the feelings I have had in the last couple of months is that I have been doing too much painting, with too much unnecessary fiddling around.

I re-thought my entire work process, ditched the use of photo references, and worked solely from sketches to produce a bolder look that is graphically-stronger, featuring more saturated, spontaneous color. I am pleased that, although this painting went through several preparatory sketch revisions, the final has the carefree quality of an impromptu sketch.

One of my goals for this Spring was to get to a place, in a new medium, where I was eager to be painting again: a feeling of "I can't wait to get back to the drawing board". This re-direction is satisfying because it sets aside many work habits that had been plaguing not only my recent work, but perhaps my output for quite some time. I've also had my fill of agave for the time being, and a new painting is in the works.

A Third Try and a Different Approach

I set out to tackle the Agave subject and be less static than the last one, let the color "flow" more, and see what might develop. I worked almost exclusively "wet-on-wet", where the paper is moistened either with water or a thin wash of color, and then stronger, less diluted colors are washed on and allowed to flow together.

Certain areas were painted purposely less defined and softer than my last attempt. I think this painting establishes lights and darks well, and I am pleased that "happy accidents" of color flowing together (the foxing edges can be seen in the close-up) urged me to keep moving and exploring this new (at least for me) technique.

I stuck to the classic "warm colors advance, cool colors recede" axiom, and in that respect, I am pleased with this step. For my next installment in this series, I would like to soften up areas of the painting, pull out edges in certain places, but not let the overall piece be so "in focus".

A new sheet of paper has been taped to the board for the next adventure.

Let's Try This One Again

I decided to revisit the agave image with a slightly different approach. I tightened up the composition a bit, and scaled back the palette. This is still not what I am looking for, but it is moving in the right direction. Ideally, what I am after is a series of color "blobs" that are intricate and unresolved at close viewing, yet come together at a distance for a recognizable subject.

In the case of Watercolor and Me, this comes down to using bigger brushes, with less focus on detail, color accuracy. More about the stroke and the paint. That said, there are areas of this version that are satisfying, with the veiled layers of color interacting up close, and the contrast balance is good. The "whites" are actually not white paper, but veiled with a light, warm wash to reflect the tone of the afternoon.

OK, enough of this one, on to the next.

Production Notes: This is painted on 140 lb. Fabriano Artistico Rough, the first time I have used this paper. I have been a die-hard fan of Arches drawing papers, but for watercolor, the Fabriano is slightly heavier, less prone to ripple after a heavy coat of paint, which I favor, and it dries faster, allowing less "downtime". I'll never abandon Arches BFK for drawing, but for watercolor...

Restart.

After 35 years I have decided to revisit painting. In particular, watercolor. The reasons are many-fold, but fundamentally it has to do with trying to get out of a rut, stop repeating many of my old work, and restart my direction.

Watercolor is challenging, and I have much to re-learn from years ago, but I am exhilarated to be on a new path, and however bumpy it may be, am looking forward to the ride.

I recently moved and where I now live boasts an abundance of succulents, agave in particular. It seemed fitting to choose one of these as my subject. Also, while I haven't abandoned figure work, or for that matter, some of the abstractions that I had been working on the past summer, I needed to have some constants in place when exploring a new medium. A neutral subject, grabbed from a snapshot, and free for exploration.

I will revisit this scene in the next version, with a simplified composition, more extended palette, and hopefully more satisfying results.

Almost Full.

I have a "half-full cup" feeling about this drawing. On the one hand, I am pleased with the way there is a semi-abstract, gestural quality to the finished piece: you know that it depicts rushing water, but the cropping and aspect ratio keep it from being recognizable as a specific vista. On the other hand, what is on paper does not match what was in my mind's eye as I was creating the drawing. I have decided to not be overly concerned with this, and continue to let the drawings "flow" and evolve, letting the marks fall as they may. OK, maybe "three-quarters full".

This drawing is a touch different from previous works in that it is multimedia. I started in the usual manner of blocking in areas of color in pastel, but then added some sprayed watercolor to increase the depth of color. There is also some fain line work added in in pen and ink, followed by heavier areas of pastel, and the highlights are pulled out using the eraser. Some of the fine squiggly highlights were achieved using an eraser stub clamped in the bit of a 1/4" drill.

The Beginning and The End.

This drawing marks a beginning of a new series that I hope to complete this summer: my first series of land-inspired "scapes". I do not want to brand them "landscapes" because they are not derived directly from visons or images of the the land or sea, but rather, are based on impressions of land, sea, and human events that intersect. I want to avoid the "horizontal view of the nice barn by the tree" type of thing and create a image that evokes an emotion derived from a place or event, and subject-free.

The recent horrible and damaging events of the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico provoked me to thinking about creating images that are triggered by events in, by, and on nature, both man-made, as well as part of the natural process of the planet evolving.

POSTSCRIPT: Tentatively titled Hubbel, this was inspired by a photo taken by the Hubbel Telescope: facinating that space can be colorful and complex. This drawing took a while to reach conclusion. It is not that I had trouble with certain areas, it just, well, took longer to reach an end than I anticipated. I am not sure the reason for this, or if this is actually an "issue". Nevertheless, it is good to get this one off the easel and on to the next.

Necessity is the Mother

A while back, I needed to protect a lower area of a drawing when heavily scrubbing in black chalk on the upper area. I work in pastel, standing up, the paper mounted on a large easel, and one of the by-products of pastel is fine dust. Combined with gravity, this can be especially problematic as the dust tends to settle down on the lower portions. Dark color, black chalk in particular, is hard to remove without smearing already-drawn sections. I used paper to mask off and protect these lower sections of that drawing and when I removed the paper was struck by how the tone differed in the areas I had just drawn.

I decided to work in the use of some masking in my most recent drawing. While still abstract in the sense that I wasn't working from a subject, or preconceived plan, I noticed how it was looping back to a more recognizable shapes and forms of my figure drawings. For the time being, I am not sure what to make of this and will just let it be.

Is Horizontal Necessarily Landscape?

Long before the computer print settings of Portrait and Landscape, for vertical and horizontal respectively, modern art grappled with whether or not the orientation of an image carries a particular connotation. It is for this very reason that I often chose to work in the square format: preconceived connotation, if any, is eliminated. There will be those who look at this drawing and swear that I have done a landscape drawing, by the very nature of its horizontal aspect, as well as components that could be interpreted as earth, water, or sky.

When I began this drawing, nothing could have been farther from my mind. I was working in my current method of letting one stroke and color lead to the next. Additionally, I wanted to employ a technique that I had used in many of my figure drawings of scrubbing out the highlights with the eraser, and erasing areas so that only the barest hint of color stained the paper. Only when I finally stepped back and surveyed the result did it dawn on me that I may have drawn a landscape. For the record, it is titled Sunday Morning.

Finding the Edges

This drawing was a joy to complete, with each area coming together effortlessly. The inspiration for the palette came from the color of the water surrounding Hawaii, and in particular, Kailua Beach. I am pleased with how I found the edges of each shape, in hindsight perhaps too much so.

It was recently mentioned that I appear to be going somewhere with this series, but have not completely arrived. I sense this as well: what I am striving for is how those edges blend into and emerge from the overall color field, creating a constant, vibrating rhythm.

First One, Then The Other

I used the first drawing shown in the previous post as a catalyst for this second one in the left panel. I positioned a second sheet to the left of the first, and started off again, one color leading to another, one shape after another. In this drawing, I wanted the black to be less of a "background" and more of an active, integral foreground component. Whereas I cannot completely agree with Renoir's statement that "black is the queen of all color", I wanted to work toward balancing black against the others. I am not completely pleased with how the black works here, it is still lingering "behind" and may use a more monochrome palette in future drawings until the balance of foreground and background is to my liking. Nonetheless, I am quite pleased with working abstractly, as the pure joy of drawing colors and shapes, unweighted by the pressure of an representational image, is exhilarating.

Something Different

"Make a mark, do something to it, do something else to it."

--Jasper Johns

Or something along those lines. As mentioned in previous posts, I have been wrestling with a couple of different approaches, trying to work through keeping drawing from stagnating. After the last multi-panel drawing, I stepped back and decided to give figure drawing a break for awhile. I want to concentrate on the act of drawing itself, without being encumbered with a subject. Frequently I find myself concentrating on getting the figure/subject just right, rather than enjoying drawing.

The right panel of two, built of one stroke of color after another, just letting the drawing evolve on the page.

A Look at the Whole: Final Thoughts

After the last row was completed, I taped all nine sections up on my studio wall, and stood back to view the final for the first time as a whole. I must say I was quite struck by the scale. I knew how big the final was going to be (each panel is 20" wide), but until I saw them all in place up on the wall, the drawing didn't have a "wholeness" or sense of space.


Some other thoughts that come to mind: does the individual tiling effect add or subtract from the whole? Other than the drawing experience of working incrementally, focused on individual sections and not concentrating on the overall, is this sectional drawing method any better? And does it matter? One thing I can say is that it is a very valuable tool for me, allowing me to intently concentrate on process rather than product, and if that is the sole by-product of this exercise, then it has been valuable.