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.

Outside in April Finale

After three sessions of 90 minutes to 2 hours the view upstream on the creek is finished. Sometimes you have to simply stop. This was a great learning experience, and so has each outdoor session been. Tomorrow I'll start another outdoor work, maybe here along the creek or maybe over at Gray's Lake, where the parking lots are closed but you can still walk or cycle into the park. Either way, there is always more to see, more to think on and more to learn outdoors.

"Upstream, April Light," oil on panel, 9x12

The great thing about these serial works is the record they make of the subject. That is, if you go back and look at the earlier works this month using this same view, it's obvious how quickly the undergrowth grows and covers the floor of the woods. Monet had the right idea.

Outside in April Three

For nearly the first time this spring we've had warm dry days with few clouds--absolutely perfect spring days. I posted earlier this week that the weather and light led me outside to paint the view upstream on Druid Hill Creek, and I've continued that. I've painted at the same spot along the bank at the same time of day for a couple of days. As you can see in the photo, the honeysuckle is a beautiful light green and the creek runs clear over a rocky bottom. Left to finish is the sandbar and rocks and an overlapping honeysuckle growing on the near bank. If the weather holds, it might be done in a day or so.

Outside in April Too

So many people are keeping themselves away from others that the physical world has actually changed--cleaner air and water, quiet streets and wild creatures coming into cities to name only a few alterations. Many places are locked down and people are unable to go outdoors but here in Iowa the outdoors calls and we respond, most keeping their distance.

The closures of most workplaces and schools, though, means that our parks and trails are actually crowded with people as they seek sun and warmth after another midwestern winter. And that makes it harder to paint outdoors, at least for me, except here along Druid Hill Creek.

Yesterday was a warm sunny day, a relief after a week or more of high temperatures in the 40s. I spent two hours outside on the bank, working on a new view upstream. The sun was brilliant and warm and the honeysuckle has begun its spring explosion of growth. Today will be another two hours or so, basking in the sun and working.

If it goes well, I'll post another interim progress report.

Outside in April

The weather has been cold in flyover land, with highs in the mid-40s at best, and damp these past few days, hampering outdoor painting. So studio work has occupied a lot of the time. Happily, before the weather closed in we had some bright sunny days, mostly warm, that gave time to get outdoors. Warmth and earlier rain has caused honeysuckle undergrowth across the creek to burst into leaf, its sprays and clouds of green already scattered and beginning to hide the bare earth.

This spring one of my resolutions has been to work outside as much as possible, but with pandemic restrictions I have had to limit trips away from the home studio. The view downstream on the creek has been a favorite subject in years past, mostly because it's closer to the studio, but those earlier works were mostly watercolor. My current work is almost all oil or digital, and until now only downstream looked interesting to me. But with the sun streaming down into the honeysuckle I turned the other way for a new view.

This painting is 16x12 on panel, done looking upstream from the creek bank. The honeysuckle and grasses have begun to glow in the warm shady recesses of the woods. It took three sessions of about two hours each. After that the light changed too much. The honeysuckle branches bowed over the opposite creek bank, and in the distance a fallen tree has washed onto the shore.

"Upstream," oil on panel, 2020

I stood on the bank's edge for this one, in a cold wind that made it necessary to go indoors and warm my fingers once in a while. Even wearing good mittens wasn't much help, so every twenty minutes or so I took a few minutes to thaw. During my next to last trip inside, when the painting mostly looked like this, I heard a distinct thud and rushed to the window. Sure enough, my easel had blown over in a gust, but at least it had remained on the bank. When I got outside I found that the painting had been ejected from the easel and flown into the creek, where it was floating downstream. Naturally, I scrambled down the steep bank and retrieved it, almost falling into the water in the process. Luckily I stayed dry, the lightweight panel floated, and there was no damage. Ditto for the Open Box M. I found my brushes, cup, and rag, but the cap to the cup was nowhere to be found. Next time I'll weight down the tripod in the wind.

Pandemic Faces

The covid-19 pandemic continues to devastate the world, taking the elderly and ill disproportionately, invading extended care facilities, overwhelming hospitals and health care workers, shutting down economies and businesses worldwide. As gloomy news continues and many have died, the impulse to draw has been strong. We see faces of people on television and the Internet every day who work on the forefront in hospitals and clinics and essential services like transportation and law enforcement--working on behalf of society--who have died of the illness. Their stories are often so compelling that the urge to draw them in homage and mourning is strong.

These digitalia are an homage to all of those whose work is essential, lifesaving, and the underpinning of civilization.

This is Frank Gabrin, thought to be the first ER physician to die here in the U.S. He lived in New York City where he worked in one of the emergency departments that are still overwhelmed with suffering. Before he died he was forced to work with actively infective patients without sufficient protective equipment but continued despite his own personal danger. He died within two weeks, a true hero.

The digital drawing to the right is of one of the truly brave Italian physicians, his exhaustion and anguish etched on his features. Although available data is still not clear, Italy has definitely suffered at least 150,000 known cases and about 20,000 deaths. The toll on nurses, doctors, and other health care professionals is probably 50 or more by now.

This is Dr. Li Wenliang, the first hero of the pandemic. He is the Chinese ophthalmologist who first reported what he believed to be a new viral illness, and later died of it. Although he reported the problem to colleagues in late December 2019, he was officially silenced by the Chinese government, who said that he was spreading untrue information. He died in February. Had his warning been heeded, many would have lived.

Nurses, who spend hours at the bedside of the sick, find themselves exposed to the coronavirus for longer and longer periods. Many nurses, like the ER doctor above, either have had inadequate protective equipment or have had to wear the same gowns and masks for an entire shift or even for several days. Lisa Ewald, RN, the nurse sketched digitally here died after being symptomatic and unable to be tested. However, her symptoms and exposure make it certain that she died of the virus.

Victims of the pandemic are everywhere, many in the service sectors of this country. The fellow pictured to the right is Jason Hargrove, a bus driver in Detroit, Michigan. Mr. Hargrove became famous because of a post he made on the Internet deriding a woman on his bus who coughed a number of times without covering her face. He pointed out correctly and profanely how an unthinking person could endanger everyone, particularly people like himself who were working on their behalf and to continue feeding their families. Within two weeks of his posting he died of the virus.

Not all victims of the virus have died. In one recent episode, the skipper of the USS Theodore Roosevelt, an American aircraft carrier based in the Pacific, was cashiered by the Acting Secretary of the Navy for sending more and more urgent requests for assistance for his 4000 person crew after the virus infected a number of sailors. Captain Brett Crozier, acting in faith with his crew, contracted the virus himself. At this writing remains alive and in isolation, but his clinical status has not been reported.

A global disaster is almost impossible to actually understand because the sheer enormity and scope is beyond the experience of anyone alive. Drawing these faces has been a way to humanize the shambles of our world. No doubt there are many many more to draw.

Looking Upstream

Most of my paintings of Druid Hill Creek or environs are views downstream. Lately though I've paid more attention to the opposite view, southward. The land rises to the southeast, first with a steep bank and then a hillside, the top of which is at least 30 feet higher. The banks are wooded and often dark, and it's harder to see that direction from the studio windows. Nonetheless, the last couple of weeks I've taken an easel outside and worked on the upstream view.

Hoff, "Upstream, Early April, oil on panel, 9x12

The creek widens and shallows as it bends and heads more northward. There is a sandbar that is uncovered when the water is low, as it is now, and tall trees line the western bank. In the early and mid-mornings, tree shadows cross the stream perpendicularly and the water takeson a yellow to dark appearance. Mornings can seem less focused, somehow.

A Few Weeks Ago

Hoff, "Winter Sun," gouache on panel, 6x8

This particular painting is 6x8 on a gesso panel, done using a kind of gouache. The panel was an old, stained one (notice the pool of transparent dark, upper right) that was in the studio. The gouache base I used was titanium white to which I added staining watercolors to make the colored passages. Normally when painting with gouache you'd use several tubes of separate hues, but this method seems to work in a pinch. This is the view of my studio window in mid-February, around Valentine's Day. Quite a change in six weeks--the grass outside is bright green and the honeysuckle undergrowth is a frothy, yellow-green cloud.

April at Last

Hoff, "Downstream, Early April," oil on panel, 9x12, 2020

Although it is still a little chilly on some mornings, it has been warm enough to paint outdoors several times this past week. I did wear mittens and duck indoors every so often to warm up. Nevertheless, it's clear that spring has arrived for certain. The predictions for the coming ten days are for every day highs to reach the 50s(F). This is the result of about three outdoor mornings while shadows still covered most of the creekbed and made the stones stand out where sunlight raked across. It was took a couple of short indoor sessions to add fine detail. The honeysuckle undergrowth along Druid Hill Creek has burst into very early leaf in the last two days. In fact, there was no greenery at all four days ago when this began, and now there is green everywhere along the stream. In this time of pandemic, this turn of season fills me with hope.

Skyline

March has been a difficult month this year because of the widening pandemic. In many parts of this country people are under "lock down" orders--only allowed out to walk the dog, get groceries, see the doctor, or other essentials. It's not so strict here, and many who are furloughed from work want to get outdoors, shake off the doldrums. I've managed that by working in my gardens, though outdoor painting has been one of the things keeping me occupied.

Hoff, "March Skyline, " oil on panel, 11x14

This is another outdoor work--well, begun outdoors--that started earlier this month but had to be postponed owing to inclement or different weather. It was painted on the spot, only a few steps from the spot where I painted the most recent posting of outdoor work. The thing about painting outdoors is how it forces me to stay accurate in drawing and in color. I actually finished this in the studio in two more two hour sessions because the grass has changed color, the light is different now, and the undergrowth is now showing a hint of green. Too much to finish outdoors.

Despite the emergency, outdoor work will increase weekly as the season warms. 

Outside Again

The season is advancing and we all itch to be outside, regardless. In spite of the current voluntary "social distancing" artists are fortunate if their art is a solitary one--painting doesn't require company. So even though much of the machinery of life has ground nearly to a halt, I managed to get outdoors to paint a few more times earlier this month. The first effort was posted a while back. This one is a view of the Iowa capitol building from the shore of Grey's Lake, not far from the studio. Although you can't see it in the painting, the Raccoon River is just beyond the trees, between the lake and the opposite side, where a new town center shopping district is about to be built over an old industrial site. This view will change soon.

The painting is 9x12 on linen adhered to a lightweight aluminum panel. My panel carrier holds two of this size, so I keep two and put one one the easel. The day I worked on this one the sky and grass were considerably less bright, but the aims here was hope and cheer. The day was cold and clouds hung in the north sky, but the sun was on my back and with no wind it was a pleasant few hours. 

We'll see what the warmer days bring, but so long as we're not legally confined it shouldn't be hard to slip outside and paint.

Everyone stay safe.

Casein 2020

A contest sponsored by Richeson, Casein 2020, is on my mind these days. It's an online competition sponsored by Jack Richeson & Co. Paint via their Richeson School of Art, intended to encourage interest in the medium. There is a $50 fee when you enter--well, when you submit an "intent to enter" form online--but in return you receive a casein kit consisting of about eight or nine tubes of casein paint, a couple of brushes and a couple of decent paper supports. Sounds like a win-win to me. My own kit came just last week. My plan is to make a series of casein paintings to enter whenever entries begin.

Because of the contest, I began reviewing casein works from the last few years and decided to post a few less recent ones.

Hoff, "Spinnaker," casein on bristol, 2016

This is the very first painting I ever did using casein paint. It was actually "milk paint," from Sinopia Pigments. This is on a large piece (22x15) of illustration board, a sufficiently rigid support, and was actually just an experiment. The reference was the cover of a magazine about sailing that was lying about. The paint and its handling impressed me and it wasn't long until I starting doing more of this sort of painting.

There are a number of enjoyable properties of casein, including its handling, but also its opacity. Considering how quickly casein dries, you can paint several layers in a single sitting. The quick drying is a liability too, if you're the kind of painter who likes to mix and mush your colors together; it's dry entirely too fast for that. In my hands at least, casein paintings go better when I manage to make a stroke and leave it alone. Of course that means accurate color mixing before putting down the paint, not afterward.

Hoff, "Fall Visitor," casein on illustration board, 2016

Instead of continuing with the Sinopia milk paint, I soon ordered some Shiva caseins in tubes. The Sinopia milk paint has a thin consistency and is more suited to decorative work. Happily, casein is very permanent once dry and can be used on woodwork, wood projects, even murals.

My second painting with casein (right) was my first using the Shiva line of tubed casein emulsion paint. "Fall Visitor" was painted in November at the height of fall color in our woods across Druid Hill Creek. It is about the same size as the sailboat painting above. One of the great things about casein paint is that it dries to a consistent matte finish that is great when photographed. Another issue with casein (as with gouache and to an extent watercolor) is the shifting of color values when it dries.

Hoff, "Racing," casein on panel, 2017

Casein allows for "chunkier" brushwork, too. In another sailing painting (left) the thicker casein blues and greys were layered over a warmer underpainting in a more pastose way. The support is a hardboard panel, which allows thicker paint application.

Hoff, "Studio Bottles," casein on panel, 2017

One good way for me to work on various painting issues has been to do quick daily studies. I did that using oil paint perhaps a decade or more ago, and a few years later did some small daily sketches using casein as I worked to learn how to use the medium. The sorts of things that interested me in those years were how quickly the paint would dry, how opaque it would be, what the color shift (expected) would be, how to keep the paint useful for long periods, and so on. Those daily studies, which were mostly still life, were small, usually 6x8 or even smaller. In Studio Bottles (right) my interest was in opacity and over painting, and in how quickly each layer dried. It was useful to find that brighter colors still stand out when painted over a darker layer.

Those studies were useful, but now my hope is to spend some time outdoors with casein as well as oil paint over the coming warm months of the year. Applying casein to landscape plein air work should be exciting. I've already used casein a couple of times (see the link below) and am eager to get going.

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The Creek in Casein

Virtual Tours

Leonardo daVinci, "Ginevra de'Benci," oil on panel, 1478 (National Gallery, Washington)

During the pandemic, we're more isolated individually than our species has been for eons. We're stuck indoors or in small groups. In some parts of the country the weather is still keeping many of us indoors. We're cooped up. And even if we weren't many museums and other possible diversions during these times are also padlocked.

Edward Hopper, "New York Movie," oil on canvas, 1939 (MoMA, New York City)

What can a museum rat like me do in these times? Luckily there are vast online resources. If you're interested in art, you can review the collection of many of the best and biggest in the world by searching the Internet. A few museums have only limited parts of the collection online but many include everything. Some offer virtual tours of the museum, allowing you to wander through parts of the collection as if you're actually visiting.

And as a salute to happier times ahead, here's a sidwalk gathering at a microbrewery in Iowa.

Hoff, "Outside the Brewpub," oil on panel, 2018

Chicago Art Institute Collection
The Getty
Metropolitan Museum 360 Project (New York)
Musee d'Orsay Virtual Tour 
National Gallery of Art (Washington)
Rijksmuseum Virtual Tour
Uffizi Gallery Florence
VanGogh Museum 
Virtual Vatican

Emotion in Art

Artists all have different aims. One painter wants to make beautiful, realistic images of fruit in bowls while another paints real yet repellent views of grimy city life. Another artist tries to show feelings in visual metaphor while another is utterly direct and hyper-real. Some artists want their makings to cause the viewer to experience a certain feeling, others to reproduce a feeling of their own. The aims behind art are legion, and they change from time to time for practically any artist. Nonetheless, communicating an emotion or feeling is probably foremost for many.

Edward Hopper, "Night Shadows," etching, 1921

Although he often discounted the contribution of emotion to his work, Edward Hopper seemed to show us the isolation and loneliness in the heart of urban life. Many know his paintings but his earlier etchings are as emotionally evocative. In "Night Shadows," from 1921, he gives the viewer a disquieting angle on a lonely figure, buildings looming overhead. It is the lighting and composition of this image that give us the willies. The strong diagonal shadow makes us uneasy and on guard. The same kind of lone and vulnerable figure would emerge in the alienated film noir heroes of a couple of decades later.

Robert Genn, "First Light on Moose Lake," acrylic, ca 1995

Color is another way emotion is evoked in visual arts, more commonly in film and animation. Certain colors are said to evoke or imitate emotions--red for rage, yellow for envy, green or blue for calm, for example. And if we look at visual art these color rules do seem to hold. Landscapes that contain rolling green country and a blue lake can provide a sense of relaxation and inner peace. In "First Light on Moose Lake," Robert Genn shows us a party setting out at sunrise onto a glassy lake, probably in a wilderness. The serenity of the scene is enhanced by the deep greens and blues playing against the yellows of the coming day.

Hoff, "Risk Factors," oil 2014

Symbols have always been used in art as a way into the viewers' emotions. In the days of the Dutch masters, still life paintings quite commonly contained abundant symbols. As an example, vanitas was a kind of still life intended to remind the viewer of the verse in Ecclesiates, "vanitas vanitatum, omnia vanitas," or in English "vanity of vanities, all is vanity," and no matter what we all return to dust. These vanitas paintings provoked a kind of dread among some at least, and contained symbols of death and evanescence--bubbles, smoke, skulls, and so on. In "Risk Factors," a contemporary vanitas, the skull takes center stage as a symbol of mortality, surrounded by things that can increase one's chances premature death--cigarettes, fats, salt, etc.

Frida Kahlo, "The Broken Column," oil, 1944

Personal experience can provide an emotional core to a visual work that can't be obtained otherwise. An artist can incorporate nearly any emotional experience, though we remember the negative ones more clearly, I suspect. In her symbolist work, "The Broken Column," Frida Kahlo, the great Mexican painter, shows us her own experience of serious physical injury and infirmity. She suffered a dreadful impaling injury when still a young woman that left her with a lifetime of pain, surgery and incapacitation through which she persevered and made her art. In this painting her spinal column is shattered and poorly reconstructed, her body strapped together as indeed it was quite often held together with plaster casts. Her pain and the bleakness of it are clear in the expression on her face. The landscape is broken and split and also evokes the enormous trauma that was her life.

Ilya Repin, "Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan, 1551," oil, 1885

Telling a story has been a sure-fire way to introduce emotion. Story, or narrative, is still one of the foremost reasons to take a photo or draw or paint an image. Narrative in art can be implied or explicit. In religious art, as an example, the narrative may be a shared one, well known to the adherents of a particular faith, and provide the viewer with reinforcement of beliefs or perhaps reassurance in times of strife. In his masterwork, "Ivan the Terrible and His Son" Ilya Repin depicts the moment after the Tsar has delivered a killing blow to the head of his son and heir to the throne. The Tsar shown realizing that he has ended his son's life, the life of his dynasty, and maybe even the life of his nation. It is controversial history even today in Russia. The figure of the dying Tsarevich is surrounded by dark reds, the colors of drying blood, and black, the color of oblivion, adding to the horror. Repin knew how to use color, composition, and shared narrative to strike several emotional blows. All Russians know this painting.

When looking at art, then, it is helpful to me to consider more than the image. The composition, choices of color, lighting, symbols, and detection of narrative are all important ways to understand the painting, and the painter's intentions.

Spring Memories

Although temperatures are warming, and March is the beginning of springtime, it is snowing here on Druid Hill Creek today. The snow began before sunup and has continued through the afternoon, keeping us indoors. The warmth of the season is far enough along that although substantial snowfall seems to be happening, it melts as it settles. But the skies are pewter grey and the landscape a warmer darker grey-brown. The creek flows dark. One longs for spring flowers and yellow foliage, so I went searching in old sketchbooks.

"Spring, the bridge," watercolor and ink, 4x5

In late March two years ago I sketched a bridge and newly leafy trees in a park. Compared with today the scene looks warm and lazy, not wet and drippy.

"Ancient Lilac," watercolor and ink, 5x10

The following month found us in Washington visiting family where I sat under an umbrella in a misty rain and sketched an ancient lilac whose thick twisted braches were covered in moss. The branches were as thick as my arm in some places and seemed to reach into the sky for moisture.

"Druid Hill Creek, Spring," watercolor and ink 5x9

The greening of undergrowth along the creek is the real signal that true spring has arrived. Last year it was early April--about a month from now--before the honeysuckle began to show any green at all, then suddenly, within a day or two the whole of the bushes along the banks simply burst into yellow-green leaves.

There will be warm days and dry days and time to paint more of the landscape. But for today, memories of springtime will have to do.

First of the Season

Although the warming season is early again this year, the advantage is that I've had an opportunity to work outdoors. My first outing was late last month when the weather was considerably more raw with light wind and tempertures in the low 40s. But about a week ago, with bright sunshine and higher temperatures I ventured out to Waterworks Park, not far from my studio. The Raccoon River flows through the park (and is the water supply for Des Moines), offering loop after loop of meandering banks for recreation and for painting.

I stopped and set up on a small turnout right on the bank, giving me an unobstructed view downstream toward one of the river's wanderings. At this time of year the trees show no hint of foliage and the banks are yellow-brown. Nonetheless, there is muted color galore in the woods that line the channel. With no wind and the sun at my back it was a pleasant two hours trying to capture the lazy flow of the water. My relatively new Open Box M continues to be a real pleasure to use. (Thank you Garin Baker.)

The painting went smoothly, and the sound of the water was soothing for the two hours or so I spent there. So here is the first plein air oil painting of the season. "Early March on the Raccoon" is 9x12 on a lightweight panel.

Copying Masters

Peter Paul Rubens, "Battle of Anghiari, after daVinci," 1603

From the time humans have made artworks they've copied others. Apprentices in ateliers of the past always copied work of their masters or masters of previous eras. Rubens copied da Vinci, Degas copied Holbein, and van Gogh copied Millet, and so it goes into our own time. Some worry about copyright and all that when copying artwork. Some think they could even be accused of forgery. But copying for practice or to improve skills or dissect the technique (among other purposes) is an excellent way to study.

Copying others is not a legal problem at all provided that 1) you label it as a copy or clearly state that it is a work "after so and so," rather than your own original work (that's fraud) or 2)you don't claim it is an original, by the other artist (forgery).

Hoff, "Fold Study, Seated Figure, after daVinci" charcoal 2016

My own copying over the years has been worthwhile, and I've used any number of previous artists for role models, from daVinci to Lucian Freud. Seeking to learn I began by copying Velasquez, and Goya (two favorites) before branching out to other "old masters" like Durer and then into other representational work. I've made copies of drawings and paintings both.

Part of the goal in copying, for me anyway, has been to learn how the artist made the image--what movements, what materials, how applied, and so on. On the other hand, sometimes it's the materials themselves that prompt a copy--I often copy graphite and charcoal drawings in metalpoint these days, striving to understand the light touch required.

Hoff, "Hand Study after daVinci," digital 2019

Emulating the master's work aids enormously in understanding. Of course, sometimes real world work can be emulated digitally, when the main interest is composition, or construction of the image, or the like--that is, materials are of less interest. Pressure-sensitive computer tablets are most useful in that context. In copying the drawing of  a hand (left) by daVinci, I wanted to see how to be as feather-light as possible with the digital stylus, which provides a wide range of line weight and darkness depending on how much one presses. The idea was in part learning the limitations of the equipment and in part trying to teach my hands.

Hoff, "Jane Morris, after Rosetti," silverpoint on paper 2020

Metalpoint is a good way to do a similar kind of line work when copying. While many of my metalpoints are originals, I've also copied a few drawings from masters of the past. For example, the study of a female head to the right is a copy of a drawing by the Pre-Raphaelite painter and poet Dante Gabriel Rossetti of Jane Morris, the woman who served as his muse and model. Ms. Morris modeled for Rossetti and in turn became famous in her own right. She was the model for Eliza Doolittle in "Pygmalion," the famous drama by George Bernard Shaw, for example. Her Roman nose, thick mane of red-auburn hair and air of royal detachment have continued her fame. The original is darker than this copy.

For me, copying provides a lot of positives--simple practice, investigation of materials, study of master artists' methods, the (presumptive) thought processes involved, and so on. I don't sell copies, though sometimes a piece inspired by a master but not a strict copy is fair game for sale, with proper attribution.

Favorite Artists 11 - Franz Hals

Favorite artists of mine come from all eras of art, but the Golden Age of Dutch art is probably my favorite, given the mastery of the men and women who made the works. The genre painters were wonderful, and so were the painters who pursued more sophisticated kinds of work. One of those was

"The Gypsy Girl," 1629

Franz Hals (1582-1666). Encountering the works of Hals, my initial reaction was different than if was for Rembrandt--I liked Hals from the first. Hals is a painter more devoted to bright, natural light than Rembrandt, so that his works aren't so dark and brown. Furthermore, Hals painted pictures that you connect with. You feel you know these people, or someone like them. While Hals' work doesn't show the insight into personality and psychology of Rembrandt, he gave us images that have lasted over the centuries.

Franz Hals was born in Antwerp but his parents fled to Haarlem when he was only two. He lived there the rest of his life, even after becoming an enormously successful portrait painter. For that is what Hals was throughout his career, a painter of people. He began selling paintings in 1610 or 1611, and became almost immediately successful, so much so that sitters had to come to Haarlem to be painted; he refused to travel. Eventually he went out of fashion and even became relatively obscure until the middle of the 19th century. He died destitute but had been voted a small pension. Once rediscovered, Hals' work has influenced many painters in the succeeding decades.

"Portrait of a Man," 1660

For me there are several aspects of Hals' work that are most attractive. First and foremost is his masterful brushwork, which seems casual and almost effortless, as if tossed off without a single thought. In reality, though, it is hard work to make a thing look so easy, and it is clear that he worked hard to master his craft.

An example of great brushwork is in "Portrait of a Man" from 1660, now in the Frick Museum in New York. A close examination of the brushwork describing the fabrics show bold strokes of paint, thickly and confidently applied. It is as if Hals is showing the world just how completely he has mastered the craft of painting. This painting was doubtless made as a commissioned work, but somehow over the years the name of the sitter has been lost. Nonetheless, it's clear he was well to do, perhaps even quite wealthy, which was Hals' clientele.

My favorite of all Hals' works are his tronies. A tronie was a painting--a portrait--during the Dutch Golden Age that was intended as a representation of a sort of person--drinkers, tavern denizens, celebrants, and the like. One the most well-known by Hals is "The Gypsy Girl," (above), although whether he gave her that name is unknown. She is presumably a tavern woman, happy and seemingly carefree, possibly with drink, so that she displays ample cleavage, a very immodest thing at the time. She grins coquettishly, her cheeks glow, and her sidelong look is irresistibly sexy. It is one of my favorite paintings.

"Verdonck," 1628

Hals painted quite a few portraits and tronies that carry more than a hint of humor. One of his more amusing portraits is titled "Verdonck," a portrait of a well-known and reputedly very argumentative member of a local religion in Haarlem (right). Known as a difficult person to get along with, he is shown brandishing the jawbone of an ass. It seems doubtful that Hals did this one as a commission, so it almost qualifies as a tronie.

"Peeckelhaerigh," 1629

 Another favorite of mine by Hals is "Peeckehaeringh," a tronie of a drunk in a tavern, showing us his empty tankard. The title is an old Dutch term for pickled herring, or in other words, a drunken man. This seems to be an image of a comic actor but could as easily be a tavern layabout. The painting is famous too for having belonged to another prominent Dutch master, Jan Steen, and appeared in the background of some of Steen's own works. Like other works, the masterful brushwork, innate humor, and excellent draftsmanship are all on view and have made this one of Hals' most famous paintings.

In sum, Franz Hals painted solely portraits, whereas other contemporaries of his did those, genre scenes, landscape and other kinds of works. Hals used much lighter scenes than some others--notably Rembrandt--and a brighter palette. And his mood throughout much of his work was upbeat, besides. But for me it will always be instructive to study how Hals trained himself to make such suave, confident, and descriptive brush strokes. I intend to study him even more.




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Favorite Artists
Favorite Artists 2--Chardin
Favorite Artists 3--Grant Wood
Favorite Artists 4--Diego Velazquez
Favorite Artists 5--Andrew Wyeth
Favorite Artists 6--Wayne Thiebaud 
Favorite Artists 7 - Edward Hopper
Favorite Artists 8- Nicolai Fechin
Favorite Artists 9- Rembrandt 
Favorite Artists 10-Hokusai