Pencil vs. Pixels

Although I've done scores of digital drawings over the last couple of years my output of drawing traditional form--ink, graphite, charcoal, etc.--has been much smaller. It's true that I've done a dozen or more small metalpoint drawings, but not much in the other media. You might think that skills in graphite or charcoal would get rusty but it doesn't really work that way.

Hoff, "Dad," digital drawing, 2019

Drawing with graphite is a bit like drawing digitally, without some of the manipulations. That is, when you draw with a computer you can then pick up pieces, even big chunks of the result and move them around until the drawing is correct. With graphite or ink, though, the artist has to make his marks correct the first time. That's not to say of course that it always happens like that, but accuracy is the constant goal. If you can get each piece of a drawing right the first time it is easier to move on and get the next part right in graphite. On the other hand, practice is always useful and seeing mistakes and fixing them is the goal of all practice. Still, drawing with traditional media require deeper concentration, in my opinion.

Lately graphite has again caught my interest. In the past year or two when I've drawn studies for possible paintings digital work has been foremost. Again it's because the form is so easy to use, easy to change and correct, and so on. But having a pencil and kneaded eraser in hand, drawing on good quality toned paper, and the need for deep concentration have lured me back. Gradually, without thinking about it very much I've done a number of graphite works. Here are two head studies, both graphite on toned paper highlighted with white chalk. 

Hoff, "Head of a Young Woman," graphite & chalk on paper, 2020

Hoff, "Louise B," graphite & chalk on paper, 2020

An American Hero

These past weeks of anti-racist turmoil after yet another african american man was killed in police custody. The frustration, rage and fervent cries for justice boiled over. There has been much talk about lives that matter. Here is one of the people whose life mattered greatly. A man whose contribution to our shared history is particularly important these days. Frederick Douglass is known by name to many but his entire life history is less known even though it's the stuff of drama.

Hoff, "Frederick Douglass 1856," digital

Frederick Douglass was a true American hero. Born about 1818 into slavery, in Maryland, he managed to escape to Pennsylvania in 1838 after years of beatings, feeling as if he had fled a lion's den, as he said later. He did not know his likely white father and barely remembered his mixed-race mother from whom he was taken in early childhood. He was taught some rudiments of reading by a white mistress, and later taught himself to read by various means. The slave masters of the time feared literacy because, they reasoned, a slave who could read would be more likely to try to escape. Clearly, they were right.

A few years after escaping he wrote the story of his life Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave, which sold enormously, made him famous, and earned him enough money to buy freedom from his former owner in Maryland. He became famous in Europe and the United States well before the American Civil War. His story was so compelling that he was in wide demand as an erudite and entertaining lecturer and a fiery abolitionist. Moreover, throughout his long life he was an advocate for the rights of women and a devout believer in what he called the "Christianity of the Christ" as opposed to the Christianity of America at that time.

On July 5, 1852 Mr. Douglass delivered a short speech that deserves to be heard as much as Abraham Lincoln's address at Gettysburg ten years afterward. The talk became known as "What to the Slave is the Fourth of July?" Considering the ferment of the times, the talk of secession and conflict, it is an astonishing and chastening speech. In it he says, "This Fourth July is yours, not mine. You may rejoice, I must mourn. To drag a man in fetters into the grand illuminated temple of liberty, and call upon him to join you in joyous anthems, were inhuman mockery and sacrilegious irony."

He also says, "The feeling of the nation must be quickened; the conscience of the nation must be roused; the propriety of the nation must be startled; the hypocrisy of the nation must be exposed; and the crimes against God and man must be proclaimed and denounced."

Those words again ring true.

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In the video below, James Earl Jones reads the entire speech. It is still well worth a listen.

Independence Day

Hoff, "Uncle Sam 2020," digital drawing

As another Independence Day approaches, we've seen one of our national symbols, Uncle Sam, quite a lot. This is an updating of an old digital drawing I did some years ago. Today, Sam looks more angry and unhappy than in years past.

Pandemic Faces Again

As of this writing the covid-19 pandemic continues to rage worldwide. Brazil has become a hot spot, but the United States continues to have the most cases. The rate of infection seems to be increasing, too. The country has partly "reopened" only to pause or reclose certain activities. The faces of the pandemic are becoming legion.

"Intensive Care Nurse"

Emergency and critical care professionals in hospitals around the world are exhausted, stretched, dying, and as the status quo continues, less noticed. Nurses and other care givers in particular continue to give their "last full measure of devotion." Their selflessness and heroism in the face of exhaustion and death will be remembered always.

"Dr. Fauci"

Dr. Anthony Fauci is a renowned physician/scientist whose work in epidemiology and pandemics is well-known worldwide. His steady demeanor, factual and reasoned thought and prudent advice have been a calming factor for many during these months of fear and lockdown.

"I Blow God's Wind"

According to news feeds, a televangelist named Kenneth Copeland attempted to banish the coronavirus by "blowing the wind of God" on it. Remarkable to hear of a preacher who admits to blowing wind. He probably solicited donations afterward.

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Previously in this series:
Pandemic Faces
More Pandemic Faces 

Copies for Study

It's traditional to copy the work of masters of the past. From van Gogh's copies of Millet to Rubens' copies of Leonardo, it is a traditional way to study and learn. Ethical artists of course don't represent a copy as their own work nor try to sell it as an original by the copied master. Nonetheless, the best way to understand the work of another is to copy. You must study carefully and minutely, understand the decisions made by the other painter. In this way you assimilate his or her methods, and more importantly, internalize something of their thought process.

One of my heroes is J.C. Leyendecker, the great illustrator. He lived through two World Wars and painted many American heroes. These are copies I made of a couple of his best.

Hoff, "Patton, after JCL" oil on panel, 2010

Over the years I've made a number of copies of Mr. Leyendecker's work, from kids eating soup to pilgrims to military heroes, trying to understand him. It's clear from studying his paintings that first and foremost he was a magnificent draftsman. That man could draw anything and do it with panache. Further, he was a master of bold but yet somehow understated brushwork. I copied his portrait of General George Patton (above) in an effort to understand how he managed to make that leather jacket look so vibrant. Leyendecker understood value, color temperature, and hue remarkably well and made clever juxtapositions that I could only approximate. He makes the viewer see the smoothness and shine of the leather, its deep bulky folds showing how thick and warm it must have been. You feel as if you could reach out and run your fingers over those rounded folds.

"George Washington, after JCL," oil on panel, 2007

Another Leyendecker copy that I particularly like is a profile of George Washington. The original was a magazine cover illustration. In this copy I put red and white striped wallpaper behind the painting of the painting of Washington. This one was a lot of fun. Mr. Leyendecker was a master of reflected light, as best seen on the underside of Washington's wig, where the gold of his epaulets is reflected. As he did with the rendering of Patton's leather jacket, he makes you believe in the gold buttons, creamy lapels and collar and snowy white linen cravat. And the expression of gravitas is something he did wonderfully. I learned a great deal from this copy.

If you're a painter and want to extend your knowledge, try copying a work that you truly admire. The benefits are worth the time.

Discovered Casein

Casein is a wonderful, ancient paint. Basically the paint is emusified milk protein in a binder that has been used since before the time of King Tut. Casein is opaque, durable, and from a renewable source. But casein doesn't get used nearly so much as its list of advantages might suggest. For one thing, it dries like lightning and for another the color shifts somewhat when it does. Nonetheless, back in the heyday of illustration casein was commonly used. Today it has been replaced with acrylic and with computers.

"The Front Garden," casein on paper, 2017

A few years back I did a lot of casein studies to learn to handle the medium and to experiment. A few of the studies became full-fledged paintings, and some disappeared. By now all of these had been filed appropriately, I thought. But in rummaging through several computer files I found a few forgotten works like the one posted. This is a casein study from nearly three years ago that I did outdoors, unlike the majority of that series of work. And I did this one on watercolor paper instead of a more rigid support. It's a view of our front garden with a big bed of black-eyed susans in full flower and lilies in bud in the background. I started with a wash of earth red, then painted the garden bed and lawn over that, adding a few details here and there in pencil or ink, and leaving the red background to serve as distant woods. This particular study hasn't seen the light of a computer screen since it was photographed.

It was good to find a few of these as reminders. Casein is worth the effort. I'm going to add some more work in that medium as I go along.

Portraits from the Past

Of all of the genres in art, portraiture was traditionally considered one of the most important. The artists of the past provided images that became family treasures--without photography it was the only way to remember what someone looked like. Of course, skills varied widely and the ends of portrait painting weren't always remembrance. For example, many were executed for the purposes of public display, as the Romans did to propagandize their emperors. Furthermore, portraits have generally only been made of people (or organizations and governments) who could afford them, people with sufficient wealth and power. Formal portraits of common folk were made less often.

Although achieving a good representation of a person's features is most important in our culture, it hasn't always been so. In ancient times the image of a person was idealized and was not necessarily an exact likeness. (The emperor busts mentioned are a good example.) My goal in making these is to produce an image that's not only a good likeness but also provides insight into the individual, as the best portraitists have managed in the past.

For many years I've done portraits of family and friends, sometimes from life but also from reference photos, a practice that's common among painters because these days (well, until the pandemic anyway) people have less time to spend sitting still for artists. Some insist that using a camera is "cheating" but virtually all portrait painters today use photo references in addition to life sittings, and I'm no exception. Older works can be instructive because they trigger memories and provide a timeline of my art experiences, so it's useful to review them once in a while.

Portrait of David, oil, 2007

This is David, a dear friend who was kind enough to sit a number of times for a life portrait. Like other works of this period, it was intended primarily as practice. I do this kind of portraiture using friends and family as models and repay their patience by making them a present of the painting. David was a great subject and sat six or seven times for a couple of hours each. Most of this was completed from life, but I did use a few photos to assist with details. Because he's such an interesting conversationalist, the time flew by and this one was finished quickly. 

Linda, oil, 2007

The portrait to the left is one of the earliest in this series. Linda sat around the same time as David. She was a wonderful subject, willing to sit for still for fairly long periods. We worked on this one together for perhaps two months before it reached completion, but even so, some of the work was finished from photos. She was delighted with her portrait, and her husband equally so, which was payment enough.

Terry Branstad, oil, 2008

A final piece from those years is a portrait sketch which was done as a preliminary study for a large formal work. The subject  is Hon. Terry Branstad who was president of Des Moines University at the time. The commissioned work is in the collection of the University and hangs in the Library. At the time Mr. Branstad was not only university president but also a former long-time governor of Iowa. Shortly after I finished this he was again elected governor, serving six more years before being named Ambassador to China. This color sketch was completed alla prima in one sitting and is currently in the ambassador's personal collection.

Portraiture is a challenge but a fascinating one. As time goes by perhaps I'll do another series.

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Related Posts:

Portraits of Family

Painful Portraits 

Along the Raccoon

The past couple of weeks have been alternately rainy or very warm, but a few days ago was a perfect day with sunny skies, a light breeze and pleasant warmth. A friend and I set up along the Raccoon River not far from my home studio in early morning while the light still slanted pleasantly into the river. The river winds lazily through Waterworks Park and joins the Des Moines River only a few miles farther on. It's often muddy, sometimes thickly so, but lately the water hasn't carried so much Iowa topsoil as it does after a heavy rain. The trees along the river are in full foliage, some the dark green of summer and some still spring-green. The current eddies lazily and here and there a Canada goose swims along.

This is the study that resulted. Most days it takes about two hours for the light to change enough to confuse my eyes and make the painting tougher, so unless I have two supports that's the end of outdoor work. The morning light washed over from my left, reflecting on the water, throwing shadows under distant trees along the bank.

I toned an 8x10 panel with raw sienna thinned to a transparent wash. Measuring carefully I laid out the major shapes first then blocked in the largest masses of color, working to establish the right values and hues. Rendering water is difficult for me, so I spent quite a lot of time on the river and the opposite bank. Because of the changing light I stopped with the final painting still showing unfinished places such as the upper right corner, where branches and leaves are yet to be delineated.

"Along the Raccoon," oil on panel, 8x10

This 8x10 oil on panel may serve as a reference for a larger studio work in the future, as can many of these plein air works. Even without further development, the experience of painting a work outdoors is still exhilarating. You're facing the subject and dealing with it on a fairly fast but manageable timeline. Decisions must be made and worked out as you go. The image can look utterly hopeless and then somehow snap into shape. That was what happened with this one, "Along the Racoon."
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Related:
Waterworks Park
Waterworks Park Again

Favorite Artists 12 - Vincent

In past entries about favorite artists my appreciation for their work was simple to explain, but when it comes to the work of Vincent van Gogh (1853-1890), it's tougher. Still, Vincent van Gogh

Vincent, "Self Portrait, 1887

is a favorite artist of mine despite his shortcomings. Anyone who has seen public or social media knows who Vincent was and also knows that he was spectacularly unsuccessful at anything much during his lifetime. The story goes that he sold no paintings (some do say he sold a single work, but even that is inaccurate) and that he was not only commercially unsuccessful but also socially outcast, an odd kid who grew up to be a strange man.

The real Vincent seems to have been considerably more complicated though, as can be easily seen when reading his letters to his brother Theo and others. For one thing, Vincent had considerable intellect. Although not university-educated, he spoke Dutch, French, and English and could read German. He was an informed and discriminating collector of Japanese woodblock prints, which had been introduced to Europe a bit earlier. He was an avid reader in all four languages. Although he was a strong and odd personality and didn't fit into his native Dutch protestant culture he wasn't a social outcast, particularly after he arrived in Paris in 1886 to live with Theo.

Before arriving in Paris to live, he had lived there briefly ten years earlier before being fired from an art dealer. After that initial failure he had knocked about, working in England and Rotterdam, living in Amsterdam to study for seminary (he failed), then as a lay preacher in Belgium where he nearly died. At length he had decided to become a painter and had studied sporadically alone and with others.

Vincent, "The Potato Eaters," 1885

Henri Toulouse Lautrec, "Van Gogh in Sun," pastel, 1887

Now he settled into the bohemian artist milieu of Montmarte, living with his brother. In the great metropolis there was activity and ferment and experimentation in art. New ideas in painting had gained a foothold and the Impressionist movement was afoot. Until then, Vincent had painted in dark colors--a very muted and bleak palette--and though he had had lessons and practiced fanatically his draftsmanship can only be called uncertain ("The Potato Eaters," above). These early amateur and student level works are poor at best and show how hard he had struggled to learn. Paris was different. Paris was color and life and movement in contrast to the dull life of the Dutch countryside. Here Vincent assimilated many influences in a brief two years, including Impressionism, Japonisme, pointillism, and the poster work of Toulouse Lautrec.

In Paris Vincent studied, painted, and drew. And he met other artists like Lautrec, Paul Gauguin, Emil Benard, and Georges Seurat. In the exciting city he visited museums, studios of other artists, and spent time with many at various watering holes discussing art and the world. He absorbed the ideas and brighter palette of the Impressionist and Post-impressionists sometimes imitating works he saw. Eventually, after what amounted to a two-year saturation in the new art he left for the south of France.

Vincent had become agitated in Paris and felt unable to work because of the bustle, excitement, and fervor he found in the city. Also known as a "difficult" man, opinionated and passionate, his letters also suggest a near-manic excitement. He longed for the countryside and peace. And so he moved to Arles, a small town on the Rhone River in Provence. To him this was an exotic place--warm, flooded with yellow light, populated by a different kind of French who spoke a different dialect, cooked differently and lived differently too. He reveled in the beauty of the countryside, the colors, and again, the light. He began to paint furiously, quickly, more loosely and with even brighter color.

Vincent, "Sunflowers, First Version," 1888

Besides his need for peace, Vincent wrote to his brother that he wanted to establish a "Studio of the South" that would attract many of his colleagues from Paris and elsewhere. He begged Gauguin to come, among others, hoping to establish a real colony. Eventually, Gauguin came and stayed about two months. It was just at the time Gauguin came that Vincent painted his famous Sunflowers. Although not strictly true, it is almost as if, with this series of paintings yellow became Vincent's signature color. He and Gauguin painted together and lived in the same small house. Gauguin was as opinionated as Vincent and inevitably it seems the two argued, sometimes bitterly. Gauguin decided to leave in late December, and Vincent went to pieces. He and Gauguin had a confrontation and afterward Vincent cut off a portion of his right ear with a razor. He carefully wrapped it in paper and took it to a nearby brothel and gave it to a favorite prostitute. Gauguin fled and never saw him again. Recuperating physically but suffering cruelly from hallucinations and delusions he was hospitalized in Arles and then committed himself voluntarily to an asylum in San Remy, a town about twenty miles away.

During his time in the asylum he painted copies and interpretations of other painters. But he also produced what is considered by many as his signature masterpiece, "The Starry Night," with its mysterious swirling clouds and rippling stars. Perhaps even more than the sunflowers, this is Vincent van Gogh. While in the asylum he produced well over 100 paintings and many drawings working almost tirelessly when not confused, delirious or delusional. His actual illness has never been conclusively proven, but he could have had tertiary syphilis, complex epilepsy, poisoning with absinthe and/or other agents, or perhaps severe bipolar disorder. Whatever his pathology Vincent was without question suffering from serious mental illness.

Vincent, "The Starry Night," 1889

Probably the biggest tragedy of Vincent's life was that recognition came too late. While he was still a patient at the San Remy asylum, his work was reviewed favorably in the press, and not long afterward he was one of the exhibitors in a show in Brussels, where he was praised by no less than Claude Monet, a co-exhibitor. Also, one of the exhibited works sold at the show. Furthermore, ten of his paintings were accepted to the annual Salon of Independents in March 1890. Vincent knew of these successes in letters from his brother. Theo had married and in January 1890 his wife delivered a son, whom they named after him. Vincent was so excited he painted an almond branch in flower as gift for his new nephew.

Vincent, "Almond Blossom," 1890

The painting, "Almond Blossom," (right) is a favorite of mine. In it Vincent has faithfully yet emotionally delineated a branch of an almond tree in full flower. The branches are painted against a light blue sky, the blossoms symbolizing new life to Vincent. There are echoes of Japanese prints as well as photographic cropping and simplification. And there is an abstract pattern to the branches, intentional or otherwise that leads the eye inexorably heavenward. It is a delight to the eye and the mind. (The new nephew, incidentally, grew up and founded the Van Gogh Museum.)

In May 1890 Vincent moved from San Remy to Auvers-sur-Oise, a far northern suburb of Paris. He was to be treated by a Dr. Gachet (a homeopathic doctor) who had treated other artists he knew. Vincent thought Gachet was more sick than he but regardless, met him for consultations. After two and a half months Vincent shot himself and died the next day. He was said to have been despondent over his lack of artistic success, a claim that has always seemed odd to me given that his work was actually gaining acceptance. Of course, Vincent continued to drink alcohol and probably absinthe, and to work feverishly for long periods. Whatever his reasons it appears virtually certain that he committed suicide in July, 1890.

It wasn't Vincent's suicide that propelled him to fame. It was his sister-in-law, Jo, Theo's wife. Theo was devastated by Vincent's death, though he had a chance to talk with him and perhaps comfort him in his last hours. Less than a year later, Theo died too, he of syphilis, and is buried next to Vincent. His widow Jo grasped that Vincent's story was a compelling one and his work--his late work at least--compelling and even sometimes exciting. In the 1890s, his reputation began to rise with a few small shows, then larger international shows including The Armory Show in New York in 1913. Jo edited hundreds of Vincent's Letters to Theo and published them in an initial edition at about the same time to acclaim. (These letters are a real treasure and show the reader an unvarnished and real Vincent van Gogh. I recommend them highly.) By the First World War, then, Vincent was famous as few artists have ever been or will be. He is first-name famous, which would probably have bemused him no end.

A final personal word about Vincent. He was a genius painter and a terrible draftsman. A great deal of his work looks (and was) hurried and poorly realized. He painted nudes (a couple of truly dreadful examples are in The Barnes Foundation) that should have been burned on completion. His early work is clearly unschooled and undisciplined. Even in his apex years some of his paintings are work that he might have destroyed if he were in his right senses. And yet. And yet much of his late work simply sings, speaks to people far and wide, resonates in their memory. It is still often uncertain in certain ways yet overflowing with humanity and emotion. And that makes him one of my favorites.

A few more favorites from Vincent's most exciting and productive years, 1888-1889:

Wheatfields and Cypresses, 1889

Le Arlesienne, 188

Terrace of the Night Cafe, 1888

Vincent's Bedroom, 1888

Self Portrait, 1889

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In This Series:
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
Favorite Artists 11-Franz Hals

Working in Watercolor

Painting outdoors has a rather tony French name, plein air. Most people connect that term with oil painting, but actually painting outdoors involves using virtually any kind of paint. Probably the most commonly-used outdoors has been watercolor. Certainly that's true for me. Watercolor is easy to transport, simple to set up and put away, gives the artist a record and information for later, and is quick and satisfying (mostly).

For the last several years watercolor has been my go-to paint outdoors, but I've also used gouache and casein outdoors. Each of the latter two dries so fast that it's a bit more difficult to use them, but they're also water-based, a real advantage. Oil painting outdoors means the painter not only is using a kind of paint that dries slowly, he also has to use a solvent like turpentine. I do own a French easel--a kind of paintbox with legs and an easel top--but it's heavy and bulky and therefore hard to carry around. In the end, it was watercolor for me for a long long while.

Back in 1999 we took an exploring trip to Rome, spending time in the ancient ruins and museums and revelling in the city and culture and food. Most trips we make I keep a journal, and in '99 was the first time I also did ink sketches and watercolors in the margins. A few full pages of that trip journal were devoted to a single ink and watercolor, like "Umbrella Pine" (left). We had gone to the Forum and spent time surveying the various sites of Roman history first, then hiked up the Palatine Hill where the heat of the Mediterranean day was eased by a cool breeze. It was easy to see why the elites of Rome built their houses and palaces there. At the time we went there was little to visit on the Palatine, so we sat and cooled off and I made the ink and watercolor painting in my journal.

"Schefflera Sunset," watercolor postcard ca. 2002

Another thing I enjoy on trips is painting and mailing postcards, like the one to the right. You can buy pads of watercolor paper in standard postcard sizes, which fit neatly in a pocket. I often carry a block of these and make watercolor sketches to mail home to family and friends. It's a great way to keep working and thinking even while vacationing or traveling for business. This particular postcard dates to twenty years or so ago, the original long since mailed and gone. It's one of the large-leaf umbrella plants I saw on a visit somewhere. The sun behind the leaves gave them a kind of corona that I wanted to capture.

"Taco Loco," ink and watercolor on paper, 5x9

My outdoor work in watercolor has been everything from gardens to vehicles to people. Not far from the Better Homes Test Garden I mentioned in another post is the Des Moines Sculpture Garden, where food trucks sometimes park. One of my particular favorites has been Taco Loco, whose dishes are yummy. One day at lunch I sat on a bench not far and sketched the truck. When the owner saw me he sent his wife over with a cold drink. Lovely folks.

"Color on Waterbury," 18x5

I am part of a sketch club that goes out together to draw and paint every Saturday afternoon (or did, until the pandemic arrived). The work to the right is a double page spread in one of my sketchbooks, the subject chosen for the bright fall colors. It was an early November day when we set out, and this step-wise view of brilliant foliage in bright slanting light drew my eye. Some of these watercolor sketches stand on their own and others are useful mostly as preliminary studies for eventual oil paintings.

The simplicity and ease of use of watercolor make it a real favorite. Anyone who wants to start working outdoors ought to give it a try.

Garden Paintings

One of the abiding subjects for painters has been gardens. From Roman times up until our own era painters have made images of gardens--public gardens, private ones, and imaginary ones. In our own time, the painter who has a garden nearby for subject matter is truly in luck.

Detail, Garden Fresco, Villa of Livia

The only Roman paintings available today are frescoes since wood and cloth (today's painting supports) will have decayed and disappeared. Nonetheless, fresco was very popular during the Roman period and numerous excellent examples exist, many of which were intended to imitate gardens. Some of the best examples have been found in the Villa of Livia, north of Rome, one of the domiciles of the wife of Augustus Caesar. The Garden Room is completely encircled by a fresco (detail, right) representing a garden in full bloom.

Gardens as subject matter were probably useful partly in religious artwork owing to the story of Eden, among other sources. The great Hieronymus Bosch (1450-1516) painted one of the most enduring scenes in his Garden of Earthly Delights, which even today seems to elude explanation. It is actually a tryptich, chock-full of obscure symbols. It hangs in the Prado in Madrid.

Diego Velazquez, "Facade, Grotto at the Villa Medici," oil, ~1630

During the two centuries or so after Bosch, there were plenty of artists making landscape paintings--Claude Lorrain for example in France--but gardens weren't generally subjects for easel painting. An occasional exception is sometimes interesting. Although Velazquez, the great Spanish painter, is known primarily as a portrait and figurative artist, his "Grotto at the Villa Medici, Rome," painted in 1630 (and presumably on the spot) is a great example of the kind of work that would follow centuries later. It is nearly monochromatic and to my eye even has a resemblance to the palette of Andrew Wyeth. Velazquez subject was the facade of the garden loggia (still there) in the Villa Medici in Rome. It foresees works more than two hundred years later. 
In the 18th and 19th centuries, as art horizons expanded to include personal and private works after centuries of religious and organizational patronage, subject matter expanded too. Landscapes, gardens, the sea, common people, and more began to occupy the creative minds of Europe and elsewhere. Gardens appear in the art of the 18th century and early 19th but are generally the stages for human endeavors. But by the late 19th century (maybe as pigments became brighter and more portable), formal and informal gardens moved to the foreground. These two paintings by the same artist, Claude Monet, show what happened. The first, "Women in the Garden," was painted in 1866 when he was quite young, and the second, "The Artist's Garden at Giverney" was finished more than thirty years later. In the second work you can see hints of what was coming from Matisse, Picasso, and others in only a few short years.

Women in the Garden, oil, 1866

The Artist's Garden at Giverney, oil, 1900

Claude Monet is probably the paradigm of the artist-gardener. His oeuvre is full of gardens as subjects from his youth to the celebrated water lilies.

Gardens are part of my own work, mostly outdoors. A few years ago one of my habits was to sketch outdoors in watercolor, and occasionally I did so in a wonderful spot downtown, the Better Homes and Gardens Test Garden. My own garden at home has continued to be a source of inspiration though, as you can see in the second watercolor below. The first is a sunny corner of the test garden where bright annuals and perennials are clustered along the winding pathway. The bench in the background is a pleasant spot to take in the shady corner where I sat to do this 7x9 sketch.

The sketch at the bottom is about 5x9 in one of my sketchbooks. After a rain I went out and sketched the lilies and black-eyed susans along the edge of one of the beds in the front garden. The lilies grow nearly six feet tall and make blazes of orange against the dark green foliage of the woods beyond.

Waterworks Park Again

Although the country is said to be opening, return toward normal activity seems very slow. The covid-19 infection rate is still rising in a significant number of places in this country and worldwide as the virus continues to spread. It is still my personal policy to continue distancing, and seems to be the plan for a majority of the population. So when I paint outdoors it is still close to home.

On the Raccoon River

Yesterday was one of the warmest, sunniest and most enjoyable mornings I've spent painting outdoors. The size of Waterworks Park, less than a mile away, allows nearly infinite painting opportunities. The Raccoon River is running at normal levels as it winds through the bottoms. This time I set up at the very edge of the stream, next to a public boat ramp. Very few people ever use the ramp, especially during the week, so it was peaceful and cool next to the running water.

The panel on my easel was small enough to cover and bring near finishing in the two hours or so before the sunlight changed.

It was good to be outdoors and working with my colleague Chuck Thompson, another plein air enthusiast. We will probably do it again in a few days.

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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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.