Winter Still Life

When the weather closes in here in flyover land, many of us hunker down in our studios and work on something besides outdoor landscapes. One of my fascinations for years has been how light bends and shimmers as it passes through glass and liquids, reflects off a surface or submerges into shadows. Still life is a particularly good way to look at those things, so when winter takes hold, work moves indoors.

During the past month or so much of my studio time has been devoted to still life paintings from setups. I use a still life stage that can be draped and set up in whatever way you want. These two paintings are oil on panel, both 9x12. 

Hoff, "Olive Jar and Squeeze Bottle," oil on panel, 9x12

Sometimes still life paintings are put together with an agenda--that is, there is a point to be made. For example the vanitas format that was popular in the 16h century incorporates various objects that are intended to produce reflections on mortality and evanescence when viewed--bubbles, skulls, smoke, etc. But some still life is just a selection of objects arranged in a certain way, as Giorgio Morandi, the Italian painter of the 20th century did. These were for practice and contain no hidden narrative or metaphor.

For the first (above) I put a jar of olives and a plastic squeeze bottle on a blue cloth, and lighted them from the right. The glass reflected light while the plastic bottle diffused it so there were varying opportunities to study the light as it passed through and how the fluid inside was highlighted. Although the objects are hardly traditional, the study was productive for me.

Hoff, "Pellegrino Bottle," oil on panel, 9x12

The second still life, like the first, was an arrangement of objects on a cloth, this time a bright red one. The tall green bottle was interesting because green is the complement of red, causing the bottle to stand out. The silver cup and lemon were actually inventions--that is they did not exist, only the bottle and cloth were in the setup. The light came from the same direction and about the same angle though. In this one the hardest part was establishing the solidity and transparency of the bottle against the cloth. I did that by varying values, edges, and color mixes as the painting progressed. In the end it feels like a success.

So winter is a busy time for a painter, too. But until the weather warms, it's the studio for me.

A Year on Druid Hill Creek

Organizing files from the past year or so, it occurred to me that there are quite a few watercolor sketches of Druid Hill Creek from each season, although spring and summer predominate. Since it's icy, snowy, cold, and generally dreary now in northern flyover land, it was therapeutic to see more cheerful yellows and greens, if only on watercolor paper. As you might expect, a number of watercolors were done from the same or similar viewpoint of the scene around the studio. One of my favorites is looking downstream (North) along Druid Hill Creek. The creek empties into the Raccoon River, which in turn joins the Des Moines River a couple of miles farther on. The Des Moines is a tributary of the Mississippi River, joining the great water where Iowa, Missouri, and Illinois meet at the corner of our state. A connection to the great waters of the world.

"Spring on Druid Hill Creek"

This view of our creek is what I see from one of the studio windows. The creek runs due north here for perhaps a quarter mile, bounded by scrub trees and honeysuckle undergrowth. Last spring, as the honeysuckle was bursting into leaf I did this 6x8 watercolor while standing at that window. The advancing season made beautiful light in the new growth and on the surface of the water.

"Late, Lush Summer"

The foliage along a creek becomes lush and thick by late summer. When I painted the view again in September (above) the undergrowth was bushy and almost impenetrable, overshadowing the creek banks and engulfing the trees. The deep blue summer sky reflected of the surface with a kind of shimmering effect that was a real delight to watch and attempt to capture in paint. 

"Early Snow, November 11"

Less than two months later, in early November, came an early and wet snowfall. The late warmth this year had kept the honeysuckle in leaf until the snow covered the foliage. Afterward it melted quickly leaving the still green leaves hanging limp. The sky stayed dark the creek even more so and ended the warm weather. From then until now, two more months farther along the calendar, the weather has been mostly very cold with periodic snowfall.

During the last few days, snow has been falling like flour from a sifter--granular flakes so fine you almost miss them unless you look closely against a dark background. The snowy air had meant that these days have been grey and unfocused, not so cold as before but cold enough to encourage the snow and warm enough to make it heavy and wet the way it often is in springtime. But this is only January, and we have a long way to go until then.

"Snow Day on Druid Hill Creek"

The final watercolor of this seasonal set is the same view looking northward yesterday. Days of snowfall have covered the banks and fogged the distant trees. Lumps of thick heavy snow cover honeysuckle and other growth. The creekbed is filled with several inches of snow over the frozen surface, and the undergrowth that shows is only stems and sticks. The trees along the banks are skeletal, and bare, dormant as the world makes its turn around the sun. 

Doing a series paintings of the same subject in sequence is fascinating, as many others have shown in the past couple of centuries.

Metalpoint

Drawing with metal is an ancient method of making marks. In Roman times, lead rods were used to write letters and keep records. In the Medieval period, lead and silver and other metals were used to write and to draw. Today, metalpoint drawing--usually with silver--is undergoing something of a rebirth. Silverpoint, in particular is being used more and more for drawing and for multimedia art.

Leonardo daVinci, "Warrior in a Helmet," silverpoint,ca. 1475

In my practice, metalpoint drawings have had a place for more than a decade. Because silver marks are darker and cooler I prefer silver to goldpoint, although gold makes beautiful, warm strokes. Silver marks age to a mellow color as the silver oxidizes, which appeals to me more. As is the case with other media, some of my past work was copying masters like daVinci and others. One of the attractions of the medium is the fine and delicate linework that can result. In daVinci's profile of a warrior in a helmet you can see the extremely fine lines and subtle hatching that have attracted artists for centuries.

Hoff, "Study of Tree Roots after Constable," silverpoint

Lately my metalpoint drawings have been landscapes, a subject that isn't common for the medium. Some, like the study of a tree were done to study the work of a particular artist (John Constable, right), or as personal exercises. The fine lines of silver seem well-suited to the sinuous grain of wood and offer opportunities to study line weight and thickness, methods of shading and hatching and other techniques. Constable's drawing was made in pencil in the 1830s.

Hoff, "Tree Out Back," silverpoint

Some of my landscapes were done on the spot, rather like doing plein air painting. The drawing at left was done after a big snowstorm which left the landscape very nearly monochromatic. I tried in this particular drawing to use variations in edges to set the scene, with the two trees in the foreground being in sharper focus.

Hoff, "Rosebud," silverpoint

Besides landscape I've also done quite a few still life drawings in silverpoint, in particular floral studies. Flowers and flower buds, especially rosebuds, offer great opportunities for the silverpoint artist owing to the delicacy of the petals and leaves. And while metalpoint is monochromatic, the absence of color seems to matter very little. Instead I find myself marveling at the structure of these evanescent beauties.

The medium of metalpoint forces deliberate and careful drawing, mostly owing to the difficulty with effacing any metal marks. Many sources claim that silverpoint is not erasable, but in actuality that depends on the heaviness of the marks and the support surface. If the support is solid and the priming thick enough you can erase metalpoint with very fine grit sandpaper, applied with a very light touch. Regardless, the best results are obtained without such maneuvers.






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Exotic Pets

The dreadful news that cheetahs from Africa are being poached and captured to serve as exotic pets for the internationally wealthy is the motive behind posting today. The cheetah is dwindling in numbers although not yet listed as endangered. These undeniably beautiful animals are being crowded out of habitat, poached and hunted, and captured to become rich peoples' pets. Shame on humanity.

This digital painting was done with a Wacom tablet and Sketchbook.

Painful Portraits

Edvard Munch, "The Sick Child," oil on canvas, 1885

Many family portraits are done for practice, as I mentioned in the previous post. Young artists from Degas to Dali did portraits of family when they were young aspiring artists. Of course, many were and are made not as formal portraits the way commissions are, but more as personal views of the individuals depicted. Such portraits seek something innate of the individual to suggest or depict. Many are celebratory. Some portraits, though, are made to work through feelings or ideas. Edvard Munch painted his beloved older sister when she was mortally ill with tuberculosis, for example. Some are grieving posthumous portraits like Claude Monet did ("Camille on her Deathbed"). Whatever the family circumstance, these are difficult paintings to see.

In my own archives are two family portraits that are painful but provide good examples of  work. They were done as meditations on each of the two family members, as ways of exploring feelings and triggering memories. Each of these remains in my own private collection. One is a sort of premonition and the other is posthumous. The first is an oil portrait of one of my brothers, who now has significant pulmonary disease. This portrait, painted from sketches and personal references, was done years before his disease progressed but after its ravages had already begun. He is pale and grey-pink--he had begun to fade away before our eyes, even then. Today he looks more like this portrait than ever and he lives on constant oxygen.

Hoff, "Portrait of the Artist's Brother," oil on panel, 12x16

The second portrait is actually a drawing rather than a painting. So far in my own practice I've only made a single posthumous work, the silverpoint drawing posted below. Although it is titled "The Dying Woman" and not called a portrait, the drawing is based on sketches of my mother's final weeks of suffering from metastatic lung cancer.

Hoff, "The Dying Woman," silverpoint, 8x6

Common to each of these, the cause of disease was cigarette smoking.

Portraits of Family

Durer (attrib), "The Artist's Father at 70,"oil on panel, 1497

Painters have always made images of their family members. We have examples of family portraits and family likenesses dating to at least the time of Albrecht Durer and certainly examples abound from before that. Many painters resorted to family members for sitters as a convenience, no others being available, perhaps. Some, like Lucian Freud, painted numerous family members.

Hoff, "Portrait of Kerry," digital

In my own case, family portraits have been an interesting part of my work. Over the years I've made portraits of family as gifts, as experiments, as personal studies, and sometimes as memories. A few weeks ago one of my brothers died suddenly, and during the first days afterward my initial instinct was to produce a drawing--a digitalium made on an iPad--based part in memory and part in a couple of reference photos. He was nearly seventy, usually in good humor and smiling, with a little gleam in his eye. This portrait is a memorial, and as such idealizes the subject somewhat because I wanted to show his general good humor and slightly cynical take on the world. This drawing, done only a few days after my brother's passing, may serve as fuel for an oil portrait. Time will tell. 

Hoff, "Portrait of Bill," oil on canvas.

Other portraits of my family date to several years ago, and all were done in oil paint using standard methods. In almost all cases, these images show family members and were gifted. One of my favorites is this portrait of my mother's husband, from about a decade ago. This oil on canvas was a gift to my mother and Bill not long after their late-life marriage. It is a relatively large work at 20x16, the largest portrait of this format in my portfolio.

Hoff, "Portrait of C.B." oil on panel.

A number of years earlier came this posthumous portrait of my sister, based on a high-school graduation photograph. Like the portrait of Bill, this one was a gift to her widower, and dates to more than a decade ago.

Neither of these would be acceptable as commissioned portraits, and instead represent either my personal vision of the individual or were done as mementos of a remembered life. Although artists of the past did family members from life sittings (certainly they did so before the mid-19th century), none of mine was done from life but instead from reference materials. Perhaps life sittings ought to be next.

White Rhino

Another in my endangered species series is "Rosie the Rhino," a sketch of a Northern white rhinoceros altered to show sadness at the impending demise of her species. It fascinates me how very tiny additions can provide substantial emotional content. The Northern white rhinoceros is down to two remaining females while the Southern white rhino is the most numerous of all rhinos.

Refractions and Reflections

Hoff, "Morning Light," oil on panel, 6x8, 2010

Still life in the studio during the colder months gives the chance to practice--in my work these last few days and weeks I've begun to re-explore an old interest--light, glass, and water.

Studying the way light is reflected and refracted by glass and water and what that alteration of light does to various objects is an endlessly engaging pursuit. Part of my previous sketch series of Windowsill Works involved in studying just that (right). The way light changes from morning to afternoon is particularly fascinating.

Hoff, "Two Bottles," oil on panel, 6x8

So here are a couple of small oil paintings done in a similar format to that long-ago series. These are part of increasing work in tangible materials rather than pixels. While digital drawing, and to a lesser extent, painting, provide great opportunities for quick and simple practice, there is simply nothing like working with real materials. These paintings in oil were done on small supports with a generally short time limit. The short time limit is to promote simplification, simple strokes, and an attitude of "place a stroke and leave it alone," which in turn promotes more calculating observation and mark-making. In these I've explored composition, trying to make brush strokes simple and varying edges to emphasize areas of interest. "Two Bottles," was the first of these re-examinations. I softened and blended edges, especially in the background, to make the green bottle stand out. Likewise the golden bottle has few hard edges.

Hoff, "Two Bottles Too," oil on panel, 6x8

Sometimes it's reflections that strike my interest, as in the windowsill painting of two bottles, one in shadow and one in bright light (below). In this painting, it was important to me to study the way light was reflected from various contrasting surfaces in the green bottle. The bottle on the left was in a beam of sunshine, and glowed brightly in contrast to the green one. Here again one of the goals was to work on edges.

Hoff, "Water Bottle," oil on panel, 6x8

One more bottle in this series is another translucent plastic water bottle (below). In this case my main effort was an accurate study of the water within, and how it reflected and bent the sunbeam streaming onto my studio table from the left. The drawing was less important than the light, but again edges were an important part of this work. In this case, too, I painted into a couch, an ultra-thin layer of linseed oil, which alters how paint handles.

As January proceeds, I'm hoping to do at least one small painting every day, although I'm already a bit behind. More to come.

Fearful Symmetry

Hoff, "Burning Bright," digital painting

The days are lengthening, more light and more warmth are coming and despite the cold we can feel the turn of the seasons edging forward. And the calendar shifts once more. It is the time of New Year for refocusing and reassessing, for squaring shoulders and redoubled determination. "Onward," in other words.

For me, this year will mean more painting in the real world while continuing to learn and make more digital works. The first digital work of this infant new year is this painting of an Amur tiger, the world's largest cat (males average more than 400 lb.). Formerly called the Siberian tiger, these animals are nearing extinction, sadly, with only a few hundred remaining individuals. These are utterly awesome creatures, beautiful and deadly.
One of my goals for this year is to do a series of digital paintings highlighting the beauty and tragedy of the dwindling animal world.