Still Distancing

Today marks ten weeks since the pandemic officially struck here in flyover land. Since then most of the work I've done has been in the very near area around our creek and the near neighborhood, including Waterworks Park and Gray's Lake. And although governments from the federal to local are working to "open" society again, we're still staying home.

"Across the Creek," oil on panel, 8x10

This particular oil on panel was done in April and is the view from the window over my work table at home. This was the work of about two hours the third week of the month. The undergrowth is greening up, but the trees' canopy has yet to leaf out. The sky that day was a spring blue and the air was warm.

Waterworks Park

The Raccoon River is less than a mile away from my studio, its course snaking through a low-lying area that has become a 1500 acre park, being too low for businesses or dwellings. The city draw its water supply from the river so the park is Waterworks Park. Much of the park is covered with old, giant trees, so given how close it is to my home studio I've spent considerable time on the river bank during the pandemic lock down.

Unfortunately, for the past several days we've either had rain or clouds--not the most conducive weather for painting outdoors. So much of my time has been devoted to non-artistic work in the studio like cleaning, sorting, and the like. But I've also had time to work on a studio landscape based on one of my previous outdoor sketches.

"Raccoon Bend, Early May," oil on panel, 9x12

Outdoor painting isn't always about making a saleable painting. It is also about recording information, adding to the painter's visual library, or as one of my teachers used to say, "confronting nature." So even if a painter doesn't make a painting for display when working outdoors, he can widen his appreciation of the subject. An example is "Raccoon Bend, Early May," which had multiple purposes. The most basic was simply to take time to actually paint outdoors. Another purpose was to see the subject clearly and record what it actually looks like.

"Bend in the River," oil on panel, 20x16

When the weather didn't cooperate these last days I started on the landscape below, using the outdoor sketch posted here plus a reference photo. Unlike the outdoor painting, I widened the view. I also punched the colors, added cloud cover (from a different oil sketch) and shadows. While the plein air sketch is an accurate rendering of the colors and far bank, it's obvious that this painting is partly imaginary too.

A Look Back

Keeping a photo record of past works provides a way to review ideas and thoughts and also to assess changes in the work as it progresses. Depending on content, old paintings and sketches are a great way to revisit past events and seasons. Written journals are fine, but pictures are better, in my opinion. Sometimes a subject comes to mind that produced interesting work. 

Pieter Claesz, "Vanitas," oil, 1630

For years an interest of mine has been the vanitas paintings of the Dutch Golden Age, for example this incredibly detailed and finished work by Pieter Claesz. This and other vanitas works most commonly feature a human skull prominently as a symbol of mortality plus other similar symbols--clocks, bubbles, snuffed candles and the like. These works were intended to remind the viewer that life is fleeting as is written in a biblical verse: "Vanitas vanitatum. Omnia vanitas," or "Vanity of vanities. All is vanity."

Hoff, "Skull," graphite on paper 8x10, 2001

Although the idea of mortality might be considered morbid, it's certainly a reality. My own thoughts on the vanitas genre have led me to sketch and paint the subject in several different ways and mediums. For example, this graphite drawing of a skull was done long ago as a preliminary study for a vanitas project that didn't reach completion. In this particular drawing my main interest was in rendering the anatomic structures accurately.

Eventually I made study in oil of a skull, and for fun I put a baseball cap on top. The grinning skull and backward cap seem to complement each other somehow, so after pondering the idea of vanitas images as warnings of mortality it seemed natural to make a vanitas that alluded to the risk factors for the number one killer in the United States: heart attack.

The risk factors for the underlying arterial disease responsible for heart attack include smoking, diabetes, excess cholesterol in the blood and high blood pressure, among others. So the final vanitas (above) had to include symbols or mentions of those conditions. In the end that meant salt (high blood pressure) a donut (diabetes), a cigarette package, and a stick of butter (high cholesterol). The reversed cap can be read as a foolish or cavalier attitude toward risk.

More Pandemic Faces

A month ago I posted several digital drawings of people who were in the news about the Covid-19 pandemic. The spread of the virus continues and is actually increasing in many countries. There has been controversy and anger over required social distancing and closure of all kinds of businesses in this country, from restaurants to barber shops. There has been a lot of difficulty for the majority of us.

"Dr. Maldonado"

One of the groups that has suffered most is health care professionals. Dr. Andres Maldonado was one of those front-line physicians in an Emergency Department in New York. He contracted corona-virus pneumonia but survived. The drawing above was done from his smartphone selfie, and shows him in the hospital, recovering. Many nurses and others have had similar (and often more severe, or fatal) experiences.

"Angry Michigan Protester"

Others who haven't caught the virus have suffered in other ways. Many businesses have been shuttered and employees laid off. For those living from one paycheck to another the result has been devastating. Unemployment now is hovering around twenty percent, and many are understandably upset, anxious, depressed, and angry. Demonstrators have protested angrily, as did the man in the drawing above.

"RIP John Prine"

It is important to remember the many who have died of the virus. In our country at the time of this writing nearly 90,000 have died. One of those was John Prine (above), a consummate songwriter and troubadour whose music made millions of people happy during the past fifty years. Although he survived cancer he died of the coronavirus last month.

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Pandemic Faces

Still in the Neighborhood

Although at the time this is published almost all of the United States have begun to "reopen", meaning drop imposed limits on public gatherings and establishments, my plan remains to stay very close to Druid Hill Creek and the very near environs. That can sometimes mean painting or drawing the same subject or view, as I've done with views upstream, downstream, and across the creek from the studio.

The weather--cold and rainy--hasn't cooperated all that much these past few days, but I did manage a watercolor of the view from the studio window. It's hardly the first time I've painted this view (or drawn it for that matter), but the view is familiar and convenient. I laid this one out in graphite and ink before adding color, but didn't let the ink lines distract from using different methods of rendering foliage. Although many of the very fine lines in the painting are ink, the very fine tip on my brush allowed me to paint much fine detail, especially tree bark and undergrowth. This is 9x7 in one of my sketchbooks.

I'm certain to use this view again.
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Related
Painting in the Neighborhood

Non-Digital Drawings

Not all of my drawing practice is digital, even though every day brings a digital drawing or two. No, I draw with graphite and with metalpoint, and sometimes with charcoal. Over the past few days my thoughts have turned to traditional media, and here are a couple of the results.

"Silver Spring," silverpoint, 2020

"Silver Spring" is silverpoint on a gesso panel. These little panels are part of a lot of several dozen that I bought when a producer quit business. This one is 5x7. The gesso takes metalpoint very nicely, so that you can draw with even the lightest pressure. In this case, the lightest marks were made by simply allowing the stylus to rest on the support without any pressure. The resultant image seems more mysterious and evanescent, to my eye.

Although many of my digitalia these last few months have been done in a format very much like the chiaroscuro method, there haven't been that many comparable drawings in traditional media--graphite and charcoal. Those I've used mostly for layout or rough sketching. But the discipline required for traditional drawing in three values is important to reinforce so this portrait drawing of the famous artist Louise Bourgeois was great practice. 

"Louise," graphite and chalk on paper, 2020

Ms. Bourgeois lived into her 90s and died in 2010. She was a major force in art during the 20th century, and today is probably best known for her series of enormous spiders. (One is in the Sculpture Garden here in Des Moines.) She was born in Paris, studied at the Sorbonne and Ecole des Beaux Artes and eventually moved to the United States in the late 1930s. This drawing is from a reference photo made when she was in her 90s.

The Latest on Druid Hill Creek

"Downstream, Early May," oil on panel, 2020

The spring weather has been wonderful in Iowa, for the most part. We've had plentiful rain that has sped the greening of the garden and grass as well as undergrowth and now the canopy overhead. The creek is starting to disappear under the cascading honeysuckle while the shadows grow in the woods. This is another view downstream in early May, a 9x12 oil on panel. The creek looks as dark as coffee when you have the sun at your back, but the trees still reflect faintly and rocks show up here and there, just under the surface. The sun filters into the treetops and shadows thicken in the undergrowth. This took two sessions of about two hours each, the sun at my back and the breeze pleasant.

This painting uses a standard approach--a sketchy underdrawing in raw umber, followed by masses of darks, then lights, then details, using a basic palette.

The View Downstream

In the post about painting in the neighborhood I showed several paintings of the view upstream on Druid Hill Creek. But it is the view downstream that has occupied me more. That's because the view is actually the view from a north window of the studio. Since I've started doing more oil painting outdoors I've done a number of paintings of that view to go along with a myriad of watercolors I did in the past, using the same theme.

This is the basic view of Druid Hill Creek, bare of leaves in the winter. There are actually more trees on the west bank and the trees on the right are enormous but I omitted them to emphasize the creek. It runs due north for about a half mile, then bends into the trees. This 2018 watercolor was done in a 5x9 sketchbook I keep in the studio. February is entirely too cold for outdoor painting, in my books.

"Downstream," oil on panel, 2019

When the undergrowth and trees go into leaf the view downstream gradually disappears--the foliage droops and mostly covers it. Last May I went outside to the creek bank and painted the 9x12 oil posted above. Instead of a broad view, though, I wanted to study the rocks and water. The creek was running briskly over the sand and rock bottom. It disappeared under overhanging branches less than thirty yards away.

"Downstream, Early April,' oil on panel, 2020

Early last month was the first opportunity this year to go out an paint on the creek bank. Because of the pandemic, of course, it was one of the few places I could go without worry. Unlike the earlier view, there was almost no grass or foliage and the creek was low and sluggish, exposing more of the bottom. Nonetheless, the light was better, the temperatures were warmer, and it was a delight just to be outdoors.

Painting the Neighborhood

Claude Monet, "The Highway Bridge at Argenteuil," 1876

Some painters are well-known for their habit of painting whatever area they lived in. Claude Monet painted in Argenteuil, a far suburb of Paris in the 1870s, and made some his most memorable paintings as he was exploring his concepts of light and color. While living there he painted a number of the works that later became the backbone of Impressionism. One of my favorites is The Highway Bridge at Argenteuil (above), from 1876. Monet painted this standing on the bank of the Seine, just across the river from the village. A sailboat club had its headquarters along the bank to the left, with a few of the boats moored nearby. Here Monet has painted the water in bits of color reflecting sky, banks, sails, and hulls placing the only red at the vanishing point. He painted views of a number of bridges, streets, the river, and other neighborhood places and all the while built his vocabulary of painting. He moved on to other sites and other opportunities, the most famous being Giverny.

Andrew Wyeth, "First Snow (study for Groundhog Day", 1959

Andrew Wyeth did something similar, but unlike Mr. Monet, he painted his two environments in Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania, and Cushing, Maine throughout his life. Unlike his predecessor, Mr. Wyeth founded no movement and remained a maverick during his lifetime, when the art world had turned to abstraction, installation, and other artwork rather than his more realistic paintings. And he painted in egg tempera, a decidedly unfashionable medium, too. Mr. Wyeth used to hike the woods and fields near Chadds Ford, painting and sketching the neighborhood. Many of his watercolors were made on the spot in the fields. He has been quoted simply: "I paint my life." To a fan of his work, a visit to the town is almost like coming home.

Upstream

Hoff, "Upstream #1," oil on panel, October 2019

The current pandemic has caused most of us to spend much more time at home or nearby than at our studios or in public. For me that's meant doing a lot of oil painting outdoors along our creek, where there are no crowds and no coronavirus. You might think that circumscribed location means less to paint, but that hasn't been a problem. Unlike many neighborhoods, I have a creek out back.

One of the benefits of painting outdoors is simply the chance to be out of the house. These spring days with warming temperatures and brighter, warmer light have been therapeutic as well as inspiring.  I've concentrated on a single view of Druid Hill Creek over the past few weeks, looking upstream on the creek. It has been instructive to study the trees, the creek, the streambed, and all sorts of things alongside. Last fall the foliage was dense and the banks overgrown with grasses (above).

Hoff, "Upstream, Early Spring," oil on panel, March 2020

In early spring the were hints of green against the sere, brown and grey ground. The rocks along bankside were even dull and the trees were grey-black in the weak sunshine. I painted the upstream view one morning when the temperatures were only in the forties, taking every opportunity to run indoors and warm up before going out and tackling it again. The result is nearly monochromatic and abstract.

Hoff, "Upstream, Spring Light," oil on panel, April 2020

As the weather became more hospitable and grasses and honeysuckle undergrowth leafed out it was easier to work outdoors. In the most recent upstream view, the opportunities for color exploration and compositional ideas were considerably more varied, and it took nearly six hours to complete (above). It's fortunate that this view is just out the studio door, so as the season progresses my home base will likely continue to be the neighborhood, even if the pandemic winds down and we can mingle again.

Stay safe.