Newburgh Harbor

This painting is from on the spot studies of a dredge that was hauled ashore on the Hudson River in Newburgh Harbor, about sixty miles north of New York City. We were in a workshop there, but before painting the view downriver I did a few graphite sketches of this dredge. A few weeks afterward was this studio piece.

Newburgh Dredge," oil on panel

For me, industrial an un-lovely subject matter can be a departure point because there is often beauty in unexpected places.

The Problem of Cezanne

Many who make art, whether drawing or painting or sculpture, owe something to Paul Cezanne (1839-1906}, the great French painter of the late 19th century. Scholarship in the history of art suggest that it was his work, more than most, that broke the traditions of representative and realistic art. Writers as diverse as Ernest Hemingway and Emil Zola explored his importance. Painters like Picasso and Henri Matisse (who famously said Cezanne was "the father of us all") were profoundly influenced by him. His work hangs in major museums worldwide. And yet I don't like his work. 

Paul Cezanne

That's right, I don't care for the majority of Paul Cezanne's oeuvre. His early works were dreadful both in execution and content, involving themes of abduction, murder, and rape. Although he attended life drawing groups and had some minimal instruction, he really had no formal training. Refused entry to the Ecole des Beaux Arts in Paris, he went his own way, in much the same way as Vincent van Gogh. And it shows. Neither of these two giants in the history of art drew figures fluently or even accurately (see "The Card Players,"or "The Bather," below, for example), and Mr. Cezanne in particular had difficulty with traditional perspective. Mr. Cezanne's sense of color always seems a bit off, too, particularly his greens which to my eye are bilious or acid. 

Nevertheless, the unlikely Paul Cezanne has been a profound influence. It may be argued that his breaking of traditional perspective, off-key color choices and the rest were intentional, but the counter argument is his lack of formal training. Regardless, the influence of his work is undeniable. 

The Card Players, 1894

The Bather, 1885

Modern Olympia, 1870

Why such work was and is influential has little to do with its attractiveness. Works by Claude Monet, now revered, were called ugly during his lifetime, but as understanding of his aims in painting them became apparent they were hailed. The thing is, Mr. Monet knew what he was doing while Paul Cezanne may not have done. In fact, his wife said, after his death, "Cezanne didn't know what he was doing." Of course she may have meant that he didn't know what his work was doing in the world of art, but that seems unlikely. Nevertheless, the works have been widely praised. Writers discuss his search for form, his breaking of perspective, his vigorous brush, and more. A number of movements in art--Cubism, Fauvism for two examples--owe a great deal to his work. Even so, to my eyes his work is hardly attractive and certainly not beautiful. The colors are odd the figures inaccurate, the perspective often skewed. And yet. 

And yet Mr. Cezanne undoubtedly influenced the work of many who came after. His skewed and broken perspective gave life to Cubism. His colors and planes opened a path to Fauvism and the work of Henri Matisse. And from there his ideas in paint echo through the decades.

Apples, 1878

Pyramid of Skulls, 1901

Nonetheless, Mr. Cezanne's work is not pretty, not like much of Impressionism. Instead the work demands that you stop and study. Perhaps he did in fact know what he was doing and his lack of training meant he didn't have to absorb and then unlearn any of the classicist training of many of his peers. Or maybe his lack of training made for distorted figures, different and more odd brushwork, unusual colors and the lot. Regardless, all that remains is the work--arresting, un-pretty, highly influential. So who cares if he knew what he was doing or not.

Rare Gouache

Gouache is a medium that isn't used very much. Back in the day, gouache was the go-to medium for illustrators because it is water soluble, dries matte and therefore photographs well, and is not expensive. Gouache paintings are typically made on a fairly firm paper support like poster board or Bristol. The paint is much like transparent watercolor but has added ingredients that render it opaque. Like watercolor, gouache is re-activated by water. That is, the paint can be lifted, smeared, or otherwise altered if exposed to wetting. I've a few tubes of gouache but it isn't a medium I've done much with in recent years. Still, gouache is a lovely kind of paint.

Untitled, gouache on paper, 6x8

While tidying files and paintings I discovered a gouache from a few years back. The subject is a view from my studio window, painted while standing at the windowsill. The support was already smudged and dotted with paint here and there but I sketched the subject rapidly with full-bodied juicy strokes, using a limited palette. It was one of those bright sunny days that often follow mid-winter snowstorms, lighting the tree trunks golden and throwing dark blue shadows. 

Perhaps gouache deserves another look. 

Winter

The winter season has finally settled in. Three days back we had almost fifteen inches of snow here along Druid Hill Creek, followed by some deep cold. Seems likely to me that the weather won't shift dramatically again until some time next month. We did have a brief thaw after the really frigid weather that started the month, but the deep snows came, inevitably. 

This first watercolor of the year is from a couple of weeks or so ago, after our first big snowstorm. The fun of this particular painting was in the limited palette and slanting shadows over the snowed-in creek. This view from my home studio window is one I've painted many times.

Sketching at the Concert

It's been a couple of years since we've attended a concert in person. Back in the days when we managed several a year one of my favorite things was to sketch. Most of the time that meant drawing with a ballpoint or technical pen on whatever paper came to hand--most commonly the program we were given. The musicians are generally immobile except when playing, offering fine opportunities for figure sketches and head and shoulders too.

The seats we typically occupy at symphony concerts are a little closer to the violins and violas so I've had more opportunities to sketch those musicians. Here's one of the back row violinists, heavyset and very energetic. As is the case with most classical music ensembles, the musicians wear formal clothing, black dresses and pant suits for ladies.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

The second violinist. sketched here, always wears her long hair pulled back on the sides, no doubt to keep it out of the way. She has a graceful way of tossing her head in time to the most emphatic pieces, her face nearly always a joyful mask as she attacks the piece being performed. She's probably my favorite player.

The cellist in this drawing occupies the first chair, close to the edge of the stage. 

Although sketching during concerts is great fun, you have to take care not to disturb your fellow audience members, and with the house light dimmed it's not always easy to capture what you want. But during warmups, between pieces, and at the close are great times to scribble down an idea or two. I highly recommend it. 
 

A Dream of Spring

Here is a small landscape study in oil, 9x12 on panel. Although it's bitterly cold in Iowa and the snow from over a week ago is still covering the ground, a painter can go anywhere he likes in his imagination. This is a cascading spring adding its artesian water to a small creek. The fun in this one was in looking deeply into the darker passages then translating that seeing into paint. 

"Cascade," oil on panel, 9x12, available

Colors in the Snow

Untitled, oil on panel, 3x5

One of the things about snow is that it actually isn't white. That is, the snow crystals are white, certainly, but the snow surface generally reflects the colors around it, whether in sun or in shadow. Our eyes and minds tell us that the snow is white, but painters need to know better.

These small oil sketches were all done in winter but at different times and in different weather conditions. In each the snowy ground has a much different color and appearance. In the first, the view is generally northwest as sunset is casting a red to pink glow over a blanketing snowfall. The tiny size of the support allowed me to do a very rapid impression of the spruces and trees from my studio window. 

In the second sketch there is much less snow, barely enough to begin covering ochre-colored grasses that covered the slope beyond Druid Hill Creek. The fallen tree has been a motif for several years, since it suddenly fell one night..

The final sketch in the series shows cris-crossing dark blue shadows against yellow to pale ochre snow. The whole thrust of that particular sketch was the colors on the snow, which still reads as white to the viewing eye.

Untitled, oil on panel, 8x10

Untitled, oil on panel, 6x8

 

The More Things Change

Every year I spend some time reviewing past work and blog posts, mostly because it's hard to remember exactly what I was doing yesterday, with last month being utterly fuzzy. A year ago is out of the question. This time I took a look back over several Januarys. There was a lot to catch up on. 

"Fallen," casein on panel, 2017

Nearly every January in past years has included notice of the weather--usually snowy, often quite cold. Sometimes the landscape outside my Druid Hill studio was simply a subject of opportunity as I tried various mediums or techniques. At the end of 2016 I was investigating casein, for example, so in January 2017 I made a landscape of the woods across the creek using casein paint and posted it. The subject was a fallen tree on the far slope that had caught my eye. The painting has a generally warm tone because December had been almost snow-less, which I lamented about in the body of the post.

"Winter Light," oil on panel, 2018

But in January of the following year, a couple of weeks later, we had had plenty of the white stuff. and I had reverted to my favorite medium, oil paint. I did a landscape of a house farther up that slope opposite the Druid Hill Studio, but by then the snow was almost a foot deep. From the warmth of the studio window you could see how the early morning sun set the tops of bare trees aglow. One of my favorite works.

A mixed media painting (acrylic, gouache and watercolor--above) a year later shows the creek dark as coffee under overcast skies. The water is actually frozen, with a blue hazy surface. The cold, snowy weather was once again the norm. 

"Winter Storm," wc on paper 2020

In 2020, just before the pandemic, I posted a retrospective of that January and once again mention a "snowy and cold") month that drove me indoors. A lot of that month's works were watercolors, including a small work (above) done during a particularly "white" snowstorm.

"January," wc on paper 2022

Finally, here's a very recent watercolor sketch (above) on the coldest day of the year so far. The snow is now about 5 inches deep and with clear skies the temperature plummeted overnight. Brrrrr.

 

Reviewing one's work once in a while seems to me ought to be a routine for most who make things, especially because it's useful as a memory but also because it might just trigger new work.