2020 Annus Horribilis

Outside the studio window, snow is falling hard and the ground is white. Days and nights are dark and cold, and the end of the year is almost at hand. Reflections on the year behind us and the one ahead are usual here in the dregs of the year. 

The first few months of 2020 were deceptive and calm here on Druid Hill Creek. January through March (and the onset of pandemic) kept me busy with metalpoint drawing, watercolors of the creek, and digital paintings of endangered species. Two of the endangered species paintings went on to be exhibited in a virtual show benefiting a great ape sanctuary. 

 

"Red Wolf," digital painting

Winter on Druid Hill Creek, silverpoint, 2020

By March, as the pandemic swept into the United States from Asia and Europe, as the numbers of infected and ill patients began to overwhelm hospitals and health workers in New York and the east, my digital work began to deal with events. A series of drawings of people in the pandemic, particularly nurses and physicians, was the result. At the time we hadn't begun to see the emergency that faces the nation now, but it was horrible enough to cause lockdowns, mask mandates, and more that we have dealt with over the ensuing nine months or so. My own response was to keep working but at a distance from others. Starting that month began a long series of plein air oil paintings devoted to nearby landscapes. In the spring summer and fall months much of my time was spent painting at Gray's Lake Park and along the Raccoon River. Eventually these works formed the core of a virtual exhibition A Season in the Sun, of plein air works (which is still running). 

Although the watchword since the beginning of the pandemic has been isolation or social distancing, on a few occasions I did manage a sketching excursion or two in autumn with the Saturday Sketch Group, but mostly 2020 was an exceptionally solitary year for this painter.

"Along the Raccoon," oil on panel, June 2020

 

"The Point at Gray's Lake," oil on panel, October 2020

Besides oil paintings, I also did watercolors outdoors, both with the Sketch Group and solo.

"Downstream," watercolor

2020 truly has been a horrible year. More people have died in this pandemic than most of us can even comprehend. The world is suffering terribly but with vaccinations, increased personal responsibility (wear your masks, folks), and vigilance it will pass.

Next year, if the pandemic eases (fingers crossed), my plan is to spend more time with other painters and with people in general. 

Holiday

The holiday comes, with much less to celebrate. This Christmas is certainly less merry, given that more than 300,000 Americans have died so far, intensive care beds are full and the world's society and economy are in tatters. But even in these dark times, light is on its way, vaccinations are beginning, and there is hope for the nation.

In spite of everything, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Good Kwanzaa, and enjoy Solstice. Whatever holiday you and yours celebrate, be happy and be safe. Wear your masks. 

 

Here Comes the Sun

Years ago, a friend of mine used to proclaim joy as the days grew longer after December 21. Her take on winter was that it was a necessary adjustment that allowed us to embrace the returning light. Without the darkness the lightening days wouldn't be nearly so delicious. George Harrison even wrote a song about it, Here Comes the Sun. The story is that he wrote the song in spring but in my mind it's a celebration of the turning season at solstice. 

In honor of the returning of sunshine, here's a summer watercolor from a couple of years ago. It's a pathway along the bank of Gray's Lake, a park near my home studio.

"The Path at Gray's Lake," watercolor, 5x10

 

So happy holidays and happy solstice. Here Comes the Sun.

The Sky is Blue

There is song from the 1950s that begins with the words, "The sun is out, the sky is blue.." Set to an upbeat, cheery tune, that phrase is a perfect summary of how it feels when sunlight breaks through in winter. After a spell of cold, grey, snowy days there have been some beautifully sunny ones. Druid Hill Creek has remained open and unfrozen, even after the deluge of wet snow and low temperatures in the teens, draped in the now-frozen snow that fell a few days back. 

Now that the skies have cleared the heavy snow that clung to branches and twigs is thawing a bit. The morning light across the creek sets up beautiful, abstract shapes and colors in the woods along both banks that I wanted to capture in watercolors. 

Hoff, "Downstream on Druid Hill Creek," watercolor, 8x10

This particular painting was begun my usual way, with a light graphite underdrawing. After that I laid in big pale washes of a mixed blue for the distant sky and shadows and an array of mixed warmer washes. These watercolors are the QoR brand, which carry a higher pigment load than traditional watercolors owing to their synthetic vehicle. Using these colors and a good pointed brush, you can lay in very thin lines that show well because of the higher pigment. I eliminated two or three trees in the foreground to concentrate more on the mid-range and distant scene.

Snowy Days

Heavy Snow on Druid Hill Creek (photo)

The latest cold snap here in flyover land settled on us a few days ago and has refused to leave. The day before the cold weather the temperatures here in Iowa reached 60, but the next day it was thirty degrees colder and a cold wet snow fell with a whump. This was the kind of wet, sticky stuff that is heavy and causes heart attacks in the unwary shovelers, every time. Since then the daily highs have barely reached the high 20s and the snow has lingered, encrusting trees and twigs. And until yesterday the cloud cover was heavy and the light limited (left).

The weather got me thinking about painting winter scenes. Snow is white--we all know that--but taking time to really study the snow reveals the presence of many colors, both subtle and obvious. The colors in snow depend deeply on time of day, cloud cover or lack of it, the colors of surrounding objects, and more. It's enough to discourage a beginning painter. Like so much in realist art, repeated intense study can help.

Hoff, "Up North," watercolor, 9x12

Here is an example of a snow scene in watercolor that contains no white at all. This particular painting is a studio work done on heavy cold-press paper. My first step in most watercolors is a more or less detailed pencil drawing. You can use graphite or colored pencils but water soluble pencil is a great way to begin. After that I usually put down broad washes of color, often faintly coloring the whole support. As you can see in the painting above, the background wash was a warm yellow-brown. Over that I added the foliage shapes with a darker mix and painted the lamposts, figures, and walls with an even darker mix, doing it in several steps. The yellow of the lamps and sky were added in the late stages. In some of my watercolors I use ink as a way to show shapes and transitions, but in this case the image is all watercolor. 

This winter I'll be doing a lot more snowy scenes, I suspect.

Help Endangered Species

 

Hoff, "Burning Bright," digital painting

In past editions of this blog I've posted digital images of endangered species, including the Amur tiger (above), a big cat whose population likely comprises fewer than a thousand. In most cases, the shrinking numbers of animals like orangutans, among thousands of other species, is because of loss of habitat. Humans destroy, occupy, pollute or otherwise alter the ecology in such a way that endangered species can't survive. 

I am honored to participate in Endangered Art4Apes a virtual fine art and photography show spotlighting endangered species. Two of my digital paintings are included in their efforts to assist a great ape sanctuary in Florida, The Center for Great Apes. The art show has previously been gallery-based with an additional online presence during its history but this year it has gone entirely virtual. Clicking the first link above takes you to a state of the art 3-D set of galleries that display winners, highly commended works, and so on. I am happy to have two pieces in the show.

Most everything on the site is for sale. Purchase one of these giclee prints via the show and the Center receives one-third of the proceeds. In the spirit of the dreadful climate and species emergency, I will donate the remainder to selected non-profits also working to save the inhabitants of our planet.

Hoff, "Watchful," digital

Alternatively, you can purchase individual prints or signed sets of four through my website. They make a great holiday gift, you're supporting a creative endeavor, and helping preserve the earth. Pretty good deal. 

The online show ends December 31 so take some time to browse through the online galleries before the holidays, and find a work you'll enjoy.

--- 

Related posts:

Vanishing from North America

Jeopardized 

Distance is Difficult

For many, I suspect, the need to keep away from others outside one's own bubble has been difficult. We are social animals, after all, and Zoom is useful but insufficient. The same goes for open studio events. Although my studio building is holding evening and weekend events during the pandemic, crowds are reportedly sparse. Owing to personal and relational risk I've kept my own studio closed. 

Originally I had planned to hold an exhibition of the past year's outdoor works plus some other new pieces along with a public opening--wine, cheese and all that. But the pandemic has prevented that sort of gallery show. Instead you can see the paintings on my website. The link is here.

Below are two of the nearly twenty new works on display. 

Hoff, "Early Fall at Gray's Lake," oil on panel, 9x12

 

"November on the Point," oil on panel, 9x12

Worldwide Pain

The coronavirus pandemic is out of control in much of the world. The numbers are stupefying, so large their emotional impact is more muted than you might expect--about 65 million infections and about a million and a half deaths. The United States is reporting more than 180,000 new cases daily. 

Hoff, "Despair," digital

This global emergency can be overcome if we as human beings come together regardless of any and all differences. If we come together.

Let it Snow

When December comes it's time to switch to winter mode--a lot of in-studio work, mostly. That means working up paintings from the sketches collected over the last several months but also means time to sit quietly indoors and really look at a subject. One of the best practices for me is still life. Unlike plein air paintings, still life is a chance to utterly control what one does, from subject to setup to lighting and so on. And still life can contain emotional content, implied narrative, and explore light, color, key, values and so on. 

Hoff, "Vanitas," oil on canvas, 20x16

In the vanitas work above I was exploring a number of ideas. For one thing, the pyramidal composition is generally thought to be a positive one since the sweep of vision goes heavenward. For another, it was interesting to employ a three-primary color scheme. Vanitas paintings are generally intended to warn the viewer of universal mortality and warn against excess pride. Early vanitas works, painted three or four hundred years ago, are also often quite dark. The high key of this one is because of a strong light source from the upper right, an intentional effect to emphasize the skull. Another goal of this work was to study the anatomy of the human skull and reproduce it with anatomic accuracy. 

Vanitas works are only a small subset of still life in general. Some still life contains enormous numbers of objects, either to imply narrative or perhaps simply as a way to study disparate objects. In my own case I sometimes set up only one or two items. The painting below is an example.

Hoff, "Transparent and Translucent," oil on panel, 12x9

The bottles in Transparent and Translucent were chosen for shape but also because their materials--transparent glass and translucent plastic--are different problems for the painter. And although there is an orange lid and a touch of red in the pimento olive stuffings the dominant color scheme of blue-green was interesting too. 

In contrast, my interest in the objects below was the contrast between the red drapery background and the Pellegrino bottle. I had a small silver cup in the studio and plopped it down in front of the bottle to study the reflective metal. The lemon was an afterthought--I didn't have one but wanted the round shape as a contrast, so the lemon is an invention that wasn't in the setup. Part of the intent in this work, too, was to be as loose as possible while being accurate.

Hoff, "Pellegrino and Silver," oil on panel, 12x9

So bring on the ice and snow. I'll be snug in the studio.

Resurrected

Once in a while it's useful to rummage around in old file folders on the computer because sometimes you find things. This week in an effort to streamline files and remove duplicates, rework various file and folder names and generally clean up my records I ran across a painting that was sold many years ago, of which I've no longer any record. "NYC Spring" was (I think) 12x9 and definitely painted on a panel. It was sold but the buyer information and other particulars have somehow disappeared.

Hoff, "NYC Spring," oil on panel, ca. 2010

This particular painting is part of a series of New York scenes I've done over the years. New York has always attracted me but it was only in adulthood that I've been able to visit frequently. A visit to Manhattan is a chance to sketch, people-watch, visit selected museums and galleries, check in at my art club (Salmagundi) in Greenwich Village, take in a show perhaps, have a great dinner, and breathe the life of the metropolis. Sometimes the sketches lead to more but sometimes the results are from memory. This painting is a fantasy of the city from some of those memories, a view from the subway stairs. As sometimes happens this particular picture came together almost without effort and sold at the first offering. Luckily I had one image of the painting but somehow the other records have been lost.

Virtual Paint Out

These days, social distancing is causing many public events to cancel or go virtual, so summer plein air painting events were cancelled or rescheduled, painters' conventions and workshops rescheduled, and so on. As an example, The National Oil and Acrylic Painters Society (NOAPS) holds several exhibitions of member work annually and this year have moved online. This year, NOAPS is holding a Virtual Plein Air competition--a "paint out"--for members in conjunction with the Best of America Show (now open on the website). I had forgotten about it until a notice arrived in my inbox on Friday.

A paint out is an outdoor event. But the paint out in this context is painting a plein air scene selected from a group of photos on the website and submitting the work plus a couple of progress pix to show process. Given that there was no entry fee, it was a simple decision to enter. 

Hoff, "Inlet," oil on panel, 8x10

There were perhaps twenty different reference photos posted on the online competition page, from which entrants could choose one only. This is my entry, "Inlet." I chose the subject because of the sky and water of course. It's a watery scene near St. Augustine in Florida. Using a mid-valued toned panel I laid out the basic shapes then blocked in colors, corrected the drawing, and added detail. The whole thing took perhaps ninety minutes. When I was finished I scratched my initials in the wet paint, a tradition of plein air painting indicating the work was done outdoors.

Favorite Artists 14 - Thomas Eakins

Thomas Eakins, "Self Portrait," oil, ca.1902

Despite the preponderance of Europeans, there are quite a few American painters whose work I've enjoyed and admired. Among them is Thomas Eakins (1844-1916). 

Thomas Eakins grew up in Philadelphia but studied not only at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts but also in Europe at the Ecole des Beaux Arts during the mid-1860s. He also spent time in Spain studying Ribera, Velazquez and other masters. His father, a master calligrapher, probably also influenced his dedication to precision and accurate drawing. Regardless of his influences he became deeply interested in truth in painting, in realism. Although he was exposed to the French Academy tradition and even to early impressionistic works he preferred careful attention to form and mass in his paintings.

"Max Schmitt in a Single Scull," oil, 1871

After his years in Europe Mr. Eakins returned to Philadelphia in 1870 and spent the majority of his life painting and teaching there. One of my favorite paintings came in 1871, Max Schmitt in a Single Scull. Mr. Eakins and Mr. Schmitt were friends from high school. The painting shows the two of them on the Schuylkill River in the city, Mr. Eakins in the more distant boat. In this single work we can see his devotion to precise drawing, careful composition, and true coloring. He painted about a dozen works about rowing, including both oil and watercolor pieces but didn't return to the subject. Instead he painted quite a lot of indoor scenes and portraits during those beginning years. 

Still looking for recognition, he decided to paint a major work for the Centennial Exposition, which was to take place in Philadelphia in 1876. He had studied anatomy at Jefferson Medical College while at the Pennsylvania Academy and was familiar with the renowned surgeon and teacher Samuel Gross, who was quite famous. The painting was certainly ambitious, its size alone speaking loudly of the painter's intent at 96 by 78 inches. 

"The Gross Clinic," oil, 1875

In the painting, Dr. Gross, natty in his frock coat, stands in the skylit cockpit of the operating theater at Jefferson Medical, in mid-operation. He is holding a scalpel in his bare right hand (surgical gloves had yet to be invented), and has turned to speak to students in the gallery. An assistant administers ether, a common anesthetic. The painting is imposing; Dr. Gross and the others are nearly life-size. A woman cowers (the patient's mother?) in the background. Although it was rejected for the art exhibition, it was exhibited at the Centennial Exposition but in an Army Post Hospital display. For many it was a sensation and a revelation. Surgery was not commonly seen, and the scene was considered too terrible for those with delicate nerves. The Evening Telegraph commented at the time that there was "...nothing so fine in the American section of the Art Department of the Exhibition, and it is a great pity that the squeamishness of the Selecting Committee compelled the artist to find a place for it in the United States Hospital building. It is rumored that the blood on Dr. Gross' fingers made some of the members of the committee sick..." Regardless, The Gross Clinic was purchased and hung in Jefferson Medical College and later elsewhere in the university. Today it's considered by some the finest American painting of the 19th century. In my opinion, it's certainly in the top ten. If Mr. Eakins hadn't painted another work he would be secure in the history of art.

"The Swimming Hole," oil, 1885

In 1876 he began teaching at the Pennsylvania Academy as a volunteer, moving to a full-time position in 1878 and becoming director in 1882. It was his academic career that was nearly his undoing. For one thing, Mr. Eakins was not a fan of the atelier tradition which dictated beginning drawing from plaster casts and then proceed (slowly) through drawing to eventual painting. He threw that sequence out the window, instituted painting very early, and advocated use of photographs (photography was then very new). And worse, he insisted that the nude figure--male and female--was the basis for all truth in art. There were questions of propriety when female students were exposed to male nudity. In any event, he was forced to resign in 1886. Although he was devastated by the events at the Pennsylvania Academy he continued to teach privately and at a number of other schools.

In his maturity Mr. Eakins spent a great deal of time on photography, including the sort of sequential images made by Edweard Muybridge, and portraits. In his portrait work, he sought the kind of insight in character that today's more contemporary painters also want. He had no interest in the kind of flattering portrait many patrons desired and so was never a commercial success. Surprisingly, he sold little more than two dozen paintings in his lifetime despite his undeniable talent, work ethic, and intelligence.

A post about Thomas Eakins would not be complete without his later masterpiece, The Agnew Clinic, another favorite of mine. 

"The Agnew Clinic," oil, 1889

The Agnew Clinic was commissioned by the senior class of the University of Pennsylvania Medical School. The class had wanted a simple portrait of their favorite professor of surgery, Dr. Hayes Agnew, who was retiring. Mr. Eakins not only painted Dr. Agnew but included every member of the senior class as they watched a mastectomy. Painted a scant fourteen years after The Gross Clinic, the Agnew scene is equally shocking--mastectomy was mysterious and mutilating. Moreover, though, much had changed. Unlike Dr. Gross, Dr. Agnew is both wearing a surgical gown and surgical gloves, though not masked, those having not been introduced. His assistant, performing a portion of the procesure is gowned, but has rolled up the sleeves, exposing his bare forearm, and is not gloved. A female nurse (a first) is in attendance. Although it hasn't the raw power of the Gross painting, The Agnew Clinic remains a potent painting and a valuable document of the advance of medical knowledge.

Thomas Eakins was something of an outcast in art circles during the last thirty years of his life. Neither was he a commercial success. Nonetheless his indisputable mastery of realism became a model for a number of those who followed in the twentieth century--notably George Bellows and the Ashcan School. He remains one of my favorites.

Grieving the Quarter Million

Although the official death toll from the coronavirus pandemic is still a few thousand below 250,000, the reality in the United States is that at least a quarter of a million people have died of the illness. The sheer size of the number is beyond the realization of most people--it is more than died in this nation's wars, about eight times the number who died in the September 11 attacks. It is almost five times the number who are killed in auto accidents daily. It is an enormous, inconceivable number. 

We grieve for them all. 

Hoff, "Homage to PRP," oil on panel, 20x16

(The painting above is a modification of a Blue Period work by Pablo Picasso.)

A Summer Memory

Des Moines has its own Chinese pavilion in the Robert D. Ray Asian Gardens, situated on the Des Moines River not far from the Botanical Center. It's an imposing, open pavilion in the traditional Chinese style, built as a memorial to the vision and moral leadership. The gardens are a peaceful spot on the river bank across from downtown. 

Over the past couple of years I've spent time painting in the Ray Gardens, mostly the pavilion. For me the resonant colors and surrounding gardens provide any number of potential subjects for painting. The work below, "Landmark," came about because of my fascination with the roofline of the pavilion juxtaposed against the similar shapes of foliage and clouds. Although this is a work of realism, the abstract elements were particularly exciting to juxtapose. This is a studio work that grew out of several sketching sessions on-site last summer.

Hoff, "Landmark," oil on panel, 9x12

Golden Bough

Here in Iowa the weather has finally turned to wet, cold and grey. For the moment at least there won't be much outdoor painting. So instead work is moving indoors with larger landscapes in the offing and a new cityscape or two already in the works. 

In our country most people live in cities and towns yet artists still paint pastoral landscapes with ponds and trees and animals. For me, a city boy, the streets and buildings are more interesting. You can pose angular and rectangular against the more unruly natural world--trees on a street for example. Cityscapes can be explorations of differing shapes, round and straight, angled and curved, and so on.

Hoff, "East Locust Street, Autumn (study)," oil on panel, 12x9

The golden leaves of street trees caught my eye last month, their glow enhanced by the blueness of the sky and the darker pavement and buildings. The street was busy with cars, but the most interesting part of the scene was branches and leaves against the severely rectilinear human constructions. The city is Des Moines Iowa, which has bridges between buildings (called skywalks) that make downtown more pleasant in the cold months. This study will be the basis for a larger work now that the weather is beginning to close in.

New in November

The weather has been a bit wonky the last few weeks. In early October the warm weather got everyone talking about Indian summer. But a true Indian summer follow a frost. We certainly had that--two measurable snowfalls in two weeks--but these past few days have been sunny and warm. The warm weather has given me some time outdoors here at the very end of the warm months. It won't be long until the ground is hard as iron and the sky takes on an iron color. 

Hoff, "North Shore, Early November," oil on panel, 9x12

Right now the days are warm and sunny and the painting is good. I've taken advantage of the fine weather to paint outside almost every day. The mornings can be a trifle nippy but by mid morning the sun warms and a light breeze is actually welcome. During the work week the park isn't very busy and I seldom have watchers.

This is the north shore of Gray's Lake, a couple of miles from my home studio, a tree that I've painted a couple of times already last summer and fall. The cold snap and bad weather stripped most of the trees a week or two ago and the remaining foliage has mostly lost its bright colors. Still, the light filtering through the branches and the dark trunks against sere foliage is an interesting subject. This is about two hours work on the spot. The tree has lost most of its leaves and so have the distant trees beyond the pedestrian path. 

It has taken about a year, but these days my biggest urge is to head outside. Lets savor these final beautiful days.

Endangered Online

 News came a few days ago that my digital paintings of the "American Red Wolf" and the "Western Meadowlark" (both posted here early this year) placed in the "Highly Commended" category of a new international exhibition, Endangered: Art4Apes, online now and until the end of the year. The exhibition is in support of The Center for Great Apes, a nonprofit that provides a permanent sanctuary for chimpanzees and orangutans retired or rescued from various roles. The intent of the exhibition is to draw international attention to the near-extinction of many species, not just great apes. Owing to the pandemic, the exhibition is completely online this year, featuring paintings, photography, digital work and drawings of endangered and threatened species. 

Hoff: "Watchful," digital

Earlier in the year I posted digital paintings here and on Daily Digitalia devoted to various members of the great apes, particularly bonobos and orangutans (like "Watchful," above). But before long other endangered species caught my eye too, like the Ring-tail Lemur (below), and the koalas in Australia, and before long the list got longer and longer.

The majority of works in the exhibition are for sale and a percent of the proceeds will go to the ape sanctuary. So please, take a look at the exhibition and if something strikes your fancy, consider a purchase.

Hoff, "Ring-tail Lemur," digital

For those of you interested in my other digital paintings, you can buy them singly or in sets of four on my website. Half of the proceeds from sales online will go to support organizations devoted to halting species extinction. And thank you in advance.

Portrait Artist of the Year

A week or so ago while searching online I ran across an enjoyable art series that some readers of the blog might enjoy. The program is a competition called Portrait Artist of the Year, from the U.K. So far as I know it hasn't been broadcast here in the states, but has been available online. In any event, the program has been through at least six previous series which are viewable on YouTube and are well worth the time. 

The premise is a competition among painters to determine who can produce the best portrait from life in four hours while being watched and filmed. The format is rather like many talent reality shows on television. A group of artists are chosen from a pool of applicants online, based on a painted (or drawn) self-portrait. Each segment spotlights nine artists who are tasked with making a portrait of a celebrity. There is a panel of artist-judges who circulate during the filming, interviewing the artists and showing them working. When the time is up, the celebrity has an opportunity to see their portraits for the first time and choose one to take home. The judges line up all nine portraits, choose three finalists and then make a big reveal of the winner. Each week's winner is part of the finals; the eventual Portrait Artist of the Year wins a high-paying commission. An individual episode is about fifty minutes long.

For a painter, the program is an unusual chance to see a number of other artists at work through an entire painting. Here you have a chance to see how a particular painter starts a portrait and goes through whatever steps needed to complete it. Although they aren't emphasized, materials and medium are easy to discern. Most of the artists use oil paint but a few are acrylic or watercolor painters. Techniques are very interesting too--everything from brushwork to edge control to draftsmanship are on full display.  

A week or so ago while searching online I ran across an enjoyable art series that some readers of the blog might enjoy. The program is a competition called Portrait Artist of the Year, from the U.K. So far as I know it hasn't been broadcast here in the states, but has been available online. In any event, the program has been through at least six previous series which are viewable on YouTube and are well worth the time. 

Portrait Artist of the Year

 

A Summer Series

Although snow and winter have been on my mind lately, I've had memories of summer to melt their icy grip. One of the things that most visual artists have to do is document their work photographically and I'm no exception. The body of outdoor paintings since last spring isn't completely photographed yet, and summer paintings are a big part. The series began back in early spring, but much of it was in the summer months. Painting in series has interested me for years, mostly because of the example of Claude Monet. Anyone who has read this blog will probably remember media-specific watercolors series as well as seasonal series that have been posted earlier. 

Here are a handful of plein air oil paintings, all done at Gray's Lake, less than a mile away. The recurring subject in these four is a spot along the north shore of the lake (it's actually an old quarry) with a point of land jutting into the center of the body of water. These were all done on the spot on 9x12 panels.

Hoff, "July 2020"

July was the first time I painted the copse of trees along the point. At that time everything around the lake was green and lush, and unlike moving bodies of water the lake surface was mostly flat. This work was the result of nearly four hours spent on the shore during two sessions. The composition interested me because of how the tree trunks are silhouetted by the far reaches of the lake. 

Hoff, "August 2020"

From that first painting came a number of of others. This one was in August, but I shifted my attention to a footbridge across the lake, beyond the point. The lake is set in park land that has a number of amenities that include a circumferential  pedestrian/cycling path with a bridge along the south shore. At night there are colored lights that reflect beautifully. The bridge disappears into the trees beyond the point, so here my intent was to again show depth. There are eight or nine levels of depth, front to back, in this particular painting, so it felt like a success to me.

"Early September 2020"

In September, as summer began to wane, there were subtle changes in the foliage of the south side of the lake. The color change was quite subtle at first, a change from dark green to lighter yellow-greens along the tops of some of the trees. The undergrowth had a few touches of yellow, too. The scene is essentially the same view as in August, but modified to include a longer span of trees. The bridge shows up again; the distant building is probably a mile and a half in the distance. The lake was smooth and unruffled once again, and here I included a small stretch of the north shore beach.

"Late September, 2020"

The final painting in this summer sample of plein air work was finished near the end of September, probably ten days after the first September work. Showing essentially the same view, more tightly focused. The point still figures in the composition, mostly as a way to capture depth in the painting. There are eight levels of depth discernible here, including sky.

In November I'll mount a complete retrospective of this year's plein air work, as a virtual exhibition on my website.

 

 

Winter

It's only October but here in the upper Midwest we've already had a fairly significant snow. A few days back Des Moines received about two inches officially, although one of the northern suburbs got an eye-popping nine inches of new snow. Happily, it was very brief and the snow vanished very quickly. Nonetheless, the white stuff got me thinking about winter. 

A lot of artists have painted winter--snow can be a very challenging subject, and so can bare trees and ground. Most artists who have painted winter scenes probably did so in the warmth of the studio. That's not to say artists in the past didn't work outside even in the worst weather, but it seems unlikely that very many paintings were completed, bare canvas to signature, en plein air. One who did work in snow is Claude Monet, who worked the streets and countryside before 1870. One my favorites is "The Magpie," painted in 1868. In this fairly large work Monet has shown one of the ways to depict snow using value and color temperature. The magpie is perched on a wooden gate in a wattle fence topped with a thick snowfall. The sun washes the snow in the distance behind the magpie with a warm yellow-white light. The snow on the fence top is a value step darker and a cooler pale dull violet. Throughout the work the value range is kept fairly narrow and the snow layers and shape differentiated by color temperatures. For me, this is a brilliant work.

Claude Monet, "The Magpie," 1868

Hoff, "Winter Study," oil, 5x7 2018

Although I've yet to paint anything outdoors in winter, that's not to say I've ignored the season. Instead whatever winter subjects I've done are based on personal reference photos, observation and memory, and other sources. Once in a while, before I began plein air work I managed a quick sketch of a snowy view from the studio (right) where I experimented with the same idea as Mr. Monet.

Hoff, "Winter Walk," oil on canvas, 20x24

One winter cityscape from years ago remained in our home collection for quite a while and employed a similar stratagem in colors. The sky has begun to clear after a snowfall has covered the street and sidewalks at least several inches deep.

This year I may try to complete some winter paintings outdoors. At least that's my current plan, but with any luck at all, perhaps a few more sunny and warmer days will intervene.

Machines in Memories

Vintage automobiles from the early and middle of the last century have intrigued me since I was learning to drive them almost 60 years ago. If you've read this blog you've seen posts about my love for old cars. Although the mechanical side of things doesn't interest me much, the look and feel of those beautiful machines has kept me drawing them. I went back and pulled up a few digitalia of favorites.

Hoff, "1950 DeSoto," digital

In those days, the late 1950s and early 60s, just before the Mustang and muscle cars and sports cars and all that, I learned to drive in a 1950 DeSoto sedan (above). It had a very early version of automatic transmissions called fluid drive, a very confusing way to shift gears. DeSotos were mid- to upper range cars, solid and smooth and tank-like. And it had a separate visor just like the drawing above. Ours was Navy blue with white sidewalls. 

Hoff, "'58 VW," digital

Another cherished memory is a late '50s Volkswagen Beetle (although they weren't called that much). Unlike later models there were two small, matching rear windows. The engine was in the rear, one of the few cars built that way with weight over the drive wheels, so the VW would travel more easily on slippery pavement. Mine, like many, had virtually no heat in winter and of course air conditioned cars were rare. Nonetheless, I remember it like a teenage crush.

Hoff, "1950 Ford F-1," digital

Ol pickup trucks are wonderful, particularly those like my 1950 Ford (above). That one was a metallic emerald green with an oak bed, chrome wheels, and a souped-up engine. I actually saw it on a car lot, stopped and bought it. Because it was so old it was exempt from many safety regulations, notably seat belts. It had stiff, mechanical steering and old-style brakes. Although I loved it, in the end, with no place to store it in winter (you don't think I'd drive that on ice?) I traded it in. But I would love to have it yet.                                                                                                                                                         

More Indian Summer

Warm sunny weather has continued to the time of this writing. The skies have been sparkling, clear to partly cloudy for the most part. By now, since the equinox, sunlight slants more, slicing through the bright yellows and orange-reds of almost all trees and shrubs. Black walnuts stay green longer, and of course so do conifers, dotting the otherwise bright swathes of color along Gray's Lake. 

"North Shore, Autumn," oil on panel, 9x12

I spent two days a couple of weeks ago painting "North Shore, Autumn" standing almost on the same spot on the shore as I when painting not long ago. The big tree in the foreground is bright yellow with flashing highlights, the unmown grasses alongshore have become golden brown, and the distant trees are now a molten yellow-gold in places. The light has changed in two weeks so that it looks a bit yellow, too. Although we all know that cold weather and the rest are coming, we can bask in these few days of gold. 

It's been a privilege to spend time studying these things.

Watercolor in Fall

 Fall is a great time to be a watercolorist. The brilliance of the trees and shrubs is breathtaking when the light slants through. And although capturing the actual brilliance is beyond paint, for physical reasons, a watercolorist has a great chance to imitate the real world. 

Last Saturday I spent some time in a park on the east side of Des Moines, sketching the fall colors. The park is usually a quiet place to paint but the pandemic has chased a lot of people outdoors. There were several families picnicking, their children playing and shouting. Nonetheless it was a beautiful afternoon, sunny and warm. I sat on the ground and sketched with ink and watercolor."Grandview Park, Fall," is 8x10 in one of my watercolor sketchbooks. 

"Grandview Park, Fall," watercolor and ink

Indian Summer

The past couple of weeks have amounted to a spell of Indian Summer in Iowa. We've had mostly sun and warm temperatures, breezes but not many fro the north. It has been perfect for the plein air painter and I've managed to spend a lot of time painting at Gray's Lake, a couple of miles from my home studio. 

 The trees around the park and on the lakefront are still the dark green of deep summer but the intensity is fading. Here and there ancients with trunks five feet across are changing. A couple of weeks back the very earliest of autumn colors began to peep through, but now there are bright yellows, butter yellows, bright reds, dull reds, and rusts. And because there has been abundant rainfall not long ago, most of the leaves are still in place. 

"North Shore, Gray's Lake," oil on panel

It took two sessions of two hours each to finish "North Shore" because the light changes so quickly. This big survivor stands tall on the north side of the lake and seems firmly rooted, unlike its neighbor. The autumn light streaming across the scene left to right made the yellowing foliage more striking. 

True Indian Summer is said to follow a frost, but we've yet to have an overnight low below 38 degrees, so if our luck holds, this may only be the first of more warm weeks. Fingers crossed.

Artemisia Gentileschi

Artemisia Gentileschi, "Susannah and the Elders," 1610

A new exhibition of works by one of my favorite painters just opened in London. The painter, Artemisia Gentileschi (1593-1656), lived and worked in her native Italy during the first half of the 17th century. She was trained by her father Orazio, successful painter in Rome. Orazio Gentileschi doubtless knew the work of Caravaggio, as revealed in his own paintings, a style he passed to his daughter. He boasted of her ability while she was still very young, and that shows in her earliest known work, "Susannah and the Elders," wherein a young woman is spied upon by two dirty old men. The subject is a Bible story that has been used many times, but Ms. Gentileschi was startlingly only seventeen when she painted her version. Despite her youth, the expression she gives Susannah is masterly. I would love to attend just to see this work.

 She went on to a very successful career as a painter, but for some, it is her story that makes her art compelling, a different but analogous way to reactions to van Gogh or perhaps Frida Kahlo. The year after she painted Susannah, Artemisia was raped by two men, one of whom was working with her father. Orazio Gentileschi demanded that he marry her, but the man refused and was charged and convicted of her violation. However, it was only after Artemisia had been subjected to physical torture to ascertain her truthfulness. (We know all of this from court records.)

"Judith Beheading Holofernes," 1614-18

In any event, following the trial she married and moved to Florence, where she produced some of her more . She stayed in Florence for more than a decade, and produced some of her most dramatic works. Included in this exhibition are two versions she did of the story of Judith and Holofernes, another Bible tale wherein Judith is able to behead a drunken Assyrian general. Many artists have depicted the beheading scene, from Caravaggio to Rembrandt. The story would naturally attract a woman who had suffered as Ms. Gentileschi had, and she makes the most of the chance (above). In her version, Judith has seized a sword to behead the general, her jaw set and her brow determined. A maidservant helps. Viewing the image through the prism of her life, it seems to me you see her rage and need for revenge. 

"Cleopatra," ca 1634

Although she was very successful in Florence (she was first woman inducted into the prestigious Accademia di Arte del Disegno) she and her husband returned to Rome in 1620. She worked hard there but eventually moved to Naples a decade later, where she lived for most of the remainder of her life, with side excursions to Venice and London. In Venice her work became more colorful as she absorbed the works of masters like Titian. In London she worked with her father, who was court painter to the English king. She may have fulfilled some of his commissions there but had returned to Naples before the start of the English civil war in 1642.

She specialized in strong female subjects from myth and the Bible, portraits, and figures. A good example of her late work is "Cleopatra," dating from her Naples years. In her figurative works of that time, the tenebrism of caravaggism is less apparent, but her use of color is masterful. 

Her known output is so small--fewer than sixty paintings in all--and because this exhibition is the first of her work in years, how I wish I could see it.  

A Season in the Sun

These past weeks painting outdoors have been eye-opening. Until a little over a year ago my plein air work was almost all watercolor. But last year I made a tentative start with oil painting outdoors. It isn't as easy as it sounds, mostly because of equipment. I have a French easel, which is basically a wooden box with collapsible legs that you can fill with supplies and brushes and carry outside. It's bulky and heavy and using it was discouraging. In the end I bought an Open Box M easel that combines with a tripod. You load the easel (inside the box) first--it doesn't accommodate tubes--and so it's lighter and more portable. Since the weather began to clear in very early springtime, I've made it a point to paint outdoors. Below is the first plein air painting of this year, done very early in March when the Raccoon River was ice-free but before a speck of green peeped out.

"The Raccoon River," oil on panel

Most of my work has been on 9x12 panels. Stretched canvas is too troublesome and it's hard to get much done on larger sizes except with multiple trips to the same spot. And the panels are light and easy to transport, even when wet. 

It wasn't long before I moved closer to my home studio, mostly because of convenience (it's closer), and began painting from various spots around Gray's Lake. The lake features bike/hike trails, picnic tables, playground equipment, and a beach. The trees surround the water are ancient, some with girths more than six feet. The capitol of Iowa is distantly visible from the lake, too. I painted the capitol dome from lakeside in mid-March (below) before the weather or trees had changed much.

"The View from Gray's Lake," oil on panel

Although I spent time on the river, much of my work during the late summer was at the lake. The trees provide welcome shade, cool breezes come off the water, and it's easier to distance oneself there than at many spots. 

"The Point," oil on panel

By late summer I had painted at a number of locations in the area, but kept coming back to the lake for sustenance. One of my favorite views is from the north side where a point of land juts almost to the center of the lake, making it bi-lobed. Across the trees in the distance you can see an apartment building, and along the lake shore is a pedestrian bridge, built for walkers, who show up almost regardless of the weather. I like the view above so well I've done a series of paintings using nearly the same spot. In part I did these because now, as autumn advances, there is a constantly changing view. A look at one of the series (below) shows how fast the colors are changing now. The Point was done in the third week of August.

"The Point, Autumn," oil on panel

As you can see in The Point, Autumn, the near rank of trees, just beyond the walking bridge had begun to change when I painted it in mid-September, about three weeks after the first one. It's instructive and deeply pleasurable to spend time outdoors, studying deeply and living in the now. 

Some time this fall or winter I plan a private show of the season's output.