Winter Watercolor - Groundhog Day

One of the things that's easy to do from a snow-bound studio is stand at the window and splash down some watercolors. A little over two weeks ago we had an epic snowstorm--not like the one in the northeast US a few days ago, but close. Afterward I painted the view downstream on Druid Hill Creek from a north studio window and posted it here. 

Although we haven't had another comparable snowfall, I wondered what we might have in store before winter begins to shuffle offstage. One of last year's sketchbooks was useful to review. Last year almost to the day, the creek looked a lot like it did after the big snowfall. When it isn't frozen solid the creek flows dark as coffee and the banks are pillowed in several inches of snow. The bare trees make a tangle against the pale colors of winter. I looked ahead to mid-February of last year to see what the world might look like in ten days or so.

Late January, 2020, Druid Hill Creek, watercolor on paper

February 15, 2020, watercolor on paper

Late February, 2020, watercolor on paper

I suspect the groundhog saw his shadow. Anyway it seems to me that the best we can hope for is bright sun and cold days through the rest of this month, before the sun gets warm in March. That is, six more weeks of winter.

More on Mentors

A couple of weeks ago I posted a small appreciation of a couple of friends and mentors from years back, so naturally that got me thinking about other teachers and friends who have made a difference in my work. There are so many it's been my privilege to study and work with, from Richard Tuttle, my first real teacher, who taught airbrush over sixty years ago, to Frank Covino, a fine painter who taught me classical oil techniques decades back, to many more. Art has meant continuous learning. I'm grateful to all of them for their knowledge, patience, and friendship. 

One of them is Garin Baker.

Garin Baker, "A Buck Twenty a Bushel," oil on canvas, 2013

Here's a link to a podcast by Eric Rhoads, interviewing Garin, a truly gifted painter and great friend. We first met over a decade ago when Garin hosted a workshop for Max Ginsburg at his studio in upstate New York. Max lives and works in New York City, so it was a country getaway for him. I had purchased his Retrospective, a stunning and beautiful overview of Max's half century as a painter. I was lucky to attend, get to know Max, and to meet Garin Baker and his wife Clara. We've kept in touch over the years, and since then Garin produced a half dozen or more thoughtful and effective murals in the US and Europe, won Grand Prize at Plein Air Easton, and become an instructor at the Art Students League. He is a great artist whose roots in classic traditions and practices underpins his insightful work. And he works incredibly fast.

Here's a recent video of Garin making a master copy of a famous portrait by Ilya Repin:

Garin's classes are online right now but the Art Students League is planning reopening soon.

November Stillness

One of the uses of outdoor painting is development of reference material for studio paintings. Using sketches done at Gray's Lake, a park not far from my home studio, I painted "November Stillness" during the past couple of weeks. The sketches are a uniform 9x12, or about half its size, so there is considerably more room in this piece to study the fall and filtering the autumn light through changing foliage. The grasses are yellow-gold along the shore of the unruffled lake. 

"November Morning," oil on canvas, 18x24

A hard wind had blown through leaving the air still, the trees mostly stripped of leaves, and the surface of the lake smooth as a mirror on the day that I sketched on the bank. The air was crisp and the sun warmed my face while I painted. It was the last day of a season of delightful painting.

Sea Study

Though disadvantaged by distance from the sea, the ceaseless ocean has always fascinated me. Personal experiences aside, through paintings of the masters, movies, photography, and more, images of the ocean in its various moods have been in my head for a long while. These last weeks, in addition to regular studio work and a new landscape series, I've done a few more marine studies. 

"Wave Study," oil on canvas

This particular oil study was done after a teaching series by E. John Robinson, but heavily altered for my own purposes. It was valuable for a number of reasons. For one thing, the palette is limited, yet the sense of distance, color, and variety is striking. The colors were ivory black, raw umber, burnt sienna, cerulean blue, ultramarine blue, and white. The foreground, showing a tide pool with rocky bottom, is not in the original--it was added as a study. Mr. Robinson lived and worked on the Oregon coast, which I've not visited, but I think the work captures the sense of the region. 

Winter Blizzard

A few days back a winter storm came howling down from western Canada, bringing heavy snow and wind blasts up to 50 mph. That storm came a week or so after an enormous, ten inch snow, dropping another five or six inches. No way I was going outside, but I did manage a few sketches and watercolors from the warmth of the studio. 

"After the Big Snow," watercolor on paper, 10x8

This particular work was done with a new kind of watercolor paints called QoR, which carry more pigment that traditional watercolors, so the darks are deeper and the lights pop.

Another Pandemic Face

Over the past year I've posted sketches and drawings of people affected by the pandemic--anguished nurses, victims of the virus, and others. During these past (and alas, future) dark months it has been dreadful that so many refuse to even attempt to stop the spread of a disease that has now killed 400,000 in this country and over 2 million worldwide. It has been clear since the beginning that shielding the mouth and nose inhibits microdroplets carrying the infection from spreading. 

If you have been diligent in wearing a mask and maintaining appropriate social distance, thank you from the bottom of my heart. If you have not, out of a misguided belief that masks do not work (they do), or that they interfere with breathing (they do not), or out of from a misplaced belief that not doing so is an assertion of "personal freedom," shame on you! You are contributing to the death toll, whether you believe it or not. 

This digital self portrait is a tiny hint of how I actually feel. For the love of your fellow man, I implore you: Wear Your Masks!

Musings About Mentors

Rob Howard, Self portrait ca.1975

The other day while I was toning a canvas, a decades-old comment from one of my teachers came to mind. He was showing how he went about the task, leaving paint streaky as he drew his big brush across the canvas. Some people want a flawless, featureless tone, but "streaks were good enough for Rubens," he said, because the lighter streaks added brilliance and interest, even when painted over. Good advice that I've followed ever since. The teacher was Roberts Howard, who taught many, including me.

As the painting progressed, other voices from other times kept coming up. Words from mentors, teachers, and even famous masters come back as I work, so that once in a while I silently thank them. 

William Whitaker, "Primary Trio," oil on canvas

Bill Whitaker was another friend and mentor. He taught individually, in workshops, and at BYU. His work spanned everything from still life to Western art to exquisite portraiture. After several years of workshops and personal talks with Bill, I built a collection of his aphorisms, each worth more every time I recall it:

• "Go slowly." Spend the majority of your time looking, not painting. Study the subject twice as long as you use your brush. One of my worst habits is to neglect to study my subject fully, which leads to dithering brush strokes and muddy colors.
  
• "When in doubt, use a bigger brush." This particular piece of advice isn't original to Bill, but he  repeated it incessantly. John Sargent was supposed to have said "Start with a broom...and end with a needle," meaning use big brushes first and leave the small ones for last. Your brush strokes will be more active and vigorous.
  
• "Violate your edges," may be the most valuable of these because it comes to mind during virtually every painting I make, regardless of medium. Bill used to add, "You'll be glad you did." When done carefully, violating edges means softness in the painting. It's another bad habit to paint up but not into an edge in a painting, giving the work a completely different and less realistic look. 

There are many such moments for most artists, I suspect. And when they come, we give our mentors a silent, heartfelt nod of thanks.

Animation Infuencer

One of the great things about the Internet is the accessibility of information. Without the vast online resources available today it's pretty certain that a wide education about painting and painters would have been considerably more difficult, no to say impossible. These days it is a rare month when rummagng around online fails to turn up an artist I'd never heard of. That's the case with an astonishing German artist and cartoonist of the 19th-20th centuries whose influence is still being felt. 

Heinrich Kley, "Self Portrait"

Heinrich Kley (1863-1945) trained academically in Germany and for quite a few years made a living as a painter and illustrator there. In his spare time he filled sketchbooks with pen and ink drawings for his own and his wife's amusement. By 1908 he had painted murals for public spaces and completed many industrial scene for Krupp, the steelworks. But it was his cartoons,which began appearing in periodicals of the time, that are the foundation of his reputation. The cartoons, original, wry, sometimes grotesque, sometimes vaguely erotic, were a sensation. Before long two books containing hundreds of his sketches were published (still available now in a Dover edition). One of the innovative aspects of the sketches was anthropomorphized animals--crocodiles dancing, singing turtles, elephants ice skating like humans, and much more. Mr. Kley was literally able to draw nearly anything, and did.

Today many artists who draw in ink use technical pens or fountain pens, but in those days artists used a traditional pen with a flexible steel nib that had to be recharged with ink quite often. You did that by dipping the nib into an inkwell or bottle. The beauty of a flexible dip pen is the variability in line width and darkness that can be achieved, something not easily done with today's tech pens. Mr. Kley was such an accomplished draftsman with dip pens that he was very quickly hailed as a master.

Although Mr. Kley did well for a few years after his wide recognition, the World War and then the death of his wife reduced his output, and his fame faded in the 1930s, his work had a profound influence on none other than Walt Disney, who had come into possession of several of his sketchbooks and dozens of drawings. The now-classic Disney animated feature "Fantasia" in particular owes enormously to them.

Although Mr. Kley did well for a few years after his wide recognition, the World War and then the death of his wife reduced his output, and his fame faded in the 1930s, his work had a profound influence on none other than Walt Disney, who had come into possession of several of his sketchbooks and dozens of drawings. The now-classic Disney animated feature "Fantasia" in particular owes enormously to them (see clip below). Furthermore, I think his work was a likely influence on Dr. Seuss, who may have patterned at least one of his villains after a Kley drawing--"Herr Schoolmaster," above.

There are several books about Heinrich Kley that have become available in the past decade or two (easily gotten on Amazon) and are well worth the time. 

Quiet Flows the Stream

There has been snow on the ground here in Des Moines for perhaps ten days, and the temperatures have been mostly cold. For me, bare black trees, cold black creek water and deep grey skies are bearable because there are happy memories of summer painting and beautiful days. The quiet serenity along a river bank is soothing to the soul.

Here is a studio work from late 2020, casein on bristol. I did this from outdoor studies done on the spot and from photo references. Although much of my work time during the summer was outdoors, I also managed this one in the studio. Casein is a lovely paint to work with once you get used to it's really rapid drying. Casein is milk protein, so it's a water-soluble paint, but once it dries it's pretty much permanent. You can't really activate it again.  

"Rocky Racoon," casein on bristol, 2020

Seascapes

Although my studio is in the upper Midwest, the sea has been an artistic challenge to me, probably because of its mystery and unceasing motion, its wide moods and wider range of color. Unlike fortunate painters who've had the chance to study the sea, my horizon has been more limited. Still, marine painting attracts me, and it's pleasant to look at something beside snow this time of year.

Over the centuries, marine painting, or seascapes, have always been popular and remain so today. As is often the case when you go searching online, unknown facts and people pop up. As I was thinking about this blog post and searching, Ivan Aivazovsky (1817-1900) popped up. A Russian-Armenian painter, he was born Hovhannes Aivazian in Crimea and received a formal art education in St. Petersburg. In his day Mr. Aivazovsky was prolific, well-known and exhibited widely. By the time of his death he had produced thousands of works from portraits to landscape to many marine works. His work is highly romantic and more brightly colored than the realism of his day, and it eventually became unfashionable. Nevertheless his best works are still vigorous and engaging. 

Ivan Aivazovsky, "Rainbow," 1873

In "Rainbow," he shows us a ship foundered onshore during a violent storm. The crew has abandoned ship and is struggling to safety amid wind-whipped waves. The sun has broken through, making the sky into a rainbow (you can see it faintly at extreme left). The idea, composition, colors and narrative make this an admirable and utterly compelling work.

An American master of seascapes is Winslow Homer, a favorite of many and a particular favorite of my own. Mr. Homer was largely self-taught, although he did work for a lithographer for a short time in his youth. From that small start he made a career as an illustrator, then as a painter. His illustrations include beautifully executed pen and ink drawings during the Civil War.

Winslow Homer, "The Gulf Stream," 1899

It is interesting to compare Homer's masterpiece with "Rainbow." Each shows a vessel after a storm, the crew helpless before the heaving sea. Mr. Homer's paint handling is dense and thick, the ocean and waves mostly dark and forbidding. But unlike the escaping boats in Mr. Aivazovsky's work, this solitary fisherman seems trapped by a trough of deep and dangerous ocean, unseen by a very distant sail. Each painter, though, renders the water with consummate skill.

Hoff, "Passing the Light," oil on panel

My forays into marine painting have been few though the future probably holds more plein air work near the sea. Water is a formidable challenge. Above is one of my few seascapes, showing a sailboat on its way out of port. I did this one on a medium-grey support and played two differing blues against one another. The setting could be any place, but is actually an inland sea, Lake Michigan beyond the Chicago River. 

Hoff, "Wave study," oil on panel 2020

The last of these is a wave study done in oil on panel during early winter. This is a study of waves, done after a teaching study by another artist. There is a warm-toned failure of a painting under the study, some of which you can see here and there as dark passages. The palette here was an unusual one for me, including manganese blue, a color I had never tried. It was a challenge to model the wave and foam shapes and imply underlying earth and rock. 

Water in general and the ocean in particular are fascinating subjects. More to come.

Happier New Year

Winter may be settling onto the land but Father Time knows that the outlook is brighter ahead as the days grow longer. Warmest thanks for you who may read this. A happy, safe, and prosperous 2021.

2020 Annus Horribilis

Outside the studio window, snow is falling hard and the ground is white. Days and nights are dark and cold, and the end of the year is almost at hand. Reflections on the year behind us and the one ahead are usual here in the dregs of the year. 

The first few months of 2020 were deceptive and calm here on Druid Hill Creek. January through March (and the onset of pandemic) kept me busy with metalpoint drawing, watercolors of the creek, and digital paintings of endangered species. Two of the endangered species paintings went on to be exhibited in a virtual show benefiting a great ape sanctuary. 

 

"Red Wolf," digital painting

Winter on Druid Hill Creek, silverpoint, 2020

By March, as the pandemic swept into the United States from Asia and Europe, as the numbers of infected and ill patients began to overwhelm hospitals and health workers in New York and the east, my digital work began to deal with events. A series of drawings of people in the pandemic, particularly nurses and physicians, was the result. At the time we hadn't begun to see the emergency that faces the nation now, but it was horrible enough to cause lockdowns, mask mandates, and more that we have dealt with over the ensuing nine months or so. My own response was to keep working but at a distance from others. Starting that month began a long series of plein air oil paintings devoted to nearby landscapes. In the spring summer and fall months much of my time was spent painting at Gray's Lake Park and along the Raccoon River. Eventually these works formed the core of a virtual exhibition A Season in the Sun, of plein air works (which is still running). 

Although the watchword since the beginning of the pandemic has been isolation or social distancing, on a few occasions I did manage a sketching excursion or two in autumn with the Saturday Sketch Group, but mostly 2020 was an exceptionally solitary year for this painter.

"Along the Raccoon," oil on panel, June 2020

 

"The Point at Gray's Lake," oil on panel, October 2020

Besides oil paintings, I also did watercolors outdoors, both with the Sketch Group and solo.

"Downstream," watercolor

2020 truly has been a horrible year. More people have died in this pandemic than most of us can even comprehend. The world is suffering terribly but with vaccinations, increased personal responsibility (wear your masks, folks), and vigilance it will pass.

Next year, if the pandemic eases (fingers crossed), my plan is to spend more time with other painters and with people in general. 

Holiday

The holiday comes, with much less to celebrate. This Christmas is certainly less merry, given that more than 300,000 Americans have died so far, intensive care beds are full and the world's society and economy are in tatters. But even in these dark times, light is on its way, vaccinations are beginning, and there is hope for the nation.

In spite of everything, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Good Kwanzaa, and enjoy Solstice. Whatever holiday you and yours celebrate, be happy and be safe. Wear your masks. 

 

Here Comes the Sun

Years ago, a friend of mine used to proclaim joy as the days grew longer after December 21. Her take on winter was that it was a necessary adjustment that allowed us to embrace the returning light. Without the darkness the lightening days wouldn't be nearly so delicious. George Harrison even wrote a song about it, Here Comes the Sun. The story is that he wrote the song in spring but in my mind it's a celebration of the turning season at solstice. 

In honor of the returning of sunshine, here's a summer watercolor from a couple of years ago. It's a pathway along the bank of Gray's Lake, a park near my home studio.

"The Path at Gray's Lake," watercolor, 5x10

 

So happy holidays and happy solstice. Here Comes the Sun.

The Sky is Blue

There is song from the 1950s that begins with the words, "The sun is out, the sky is blue.." Set to an upbeat, cheery tune, that phrase is a perfect summary of how it feels when sunlight breaks through in winter. After a spell of cold, grey, snowy days there have been some beautifully sunny ones. Druid Hill Creek has remained open and unfrozen, even after the deluge of wet snow and low temperatures in the teens, draped in the now-frozen snow that fell a few days back. 

Now that the skies have cleared the heavy snow that clung to branches and twigs is thawing a bit. The morning light across the creek sets up beautiful, abstract shapes and colors in the woods along both banks that I wanted to capture in watercolors. 

Hoff, "Downstream on Druid Hill Creek," watercolor, 8x10

This particular painting was begun my usual way, with a light graphite underdrawing. After that I laid in big pale washes of a mixed blue for the distant sky and shadows and an array of mixed warmer washes. These watercolors are the QoR brand, which carry a higher pigment load than traditional watercolors owing to their synthetic vehicle. Using these colors and a good pointed brush, you can lay in very thin lines that show well because of the higher pigment. I eliminated two or three trees in the foreground to concentrate more on the mid-range and distant scene.

Snowy Days

Heavy Snow on Druid Hill Creek (photo)

The latest cold snap here in flyover land settled on us a few days ago and has refused to leave. The day before the cold weather the temperatures here in Iowa reached 60, but the next day it was thirty degrees colder and a cold wet snow fell with a whump. This was the kind of wet, sticky stuff that is heavy and causes heart attacks in the unwary shovelers, every time. Since then the daily highs have barely reached the high 20s and the snow has lingered, encrusting trees and twigs. And until yesterday the cloud cover was heavy and the light limited (left).

The weather got me thinking about painting winter scenes. Snow is white--we all know that--but taking time to really study the snow reveals the presence of many colors, both subtle and obvious. The colors in snow depend deeply on time of day, cloud cover or lack of it, the colors of surrounding objects, and more. It's enough to discourage a beginning painter. Like so much in realist art, repeated intense study can help.

Hoff, "Up North," watercolor, 9x12

Here is an example of a snow scene in watercolor that contains no white at all. This particular painting is a studio work done on heavy cold-press paper. My first step in most watercolors is a more or less detailed pencil drawing. You can use graphite or colored pencils but water soluble pencil is a great way to begin. After that I usually put down broad washes of color, often faintly coloring the whole support. As you can see in the painting above, the background wash was a warm yellow-brown. Over that I added the foliage shapes with a darker mix and painted the lamposts, figures, and walls with an even darker mix, doing it in several steps. The yellow of the lamps and sky were added in the late stages. In some of my watercolors I use ink as a way to show shapes and transitions, but in this case the image is all watercolor. 

This winter I'll be doing a lot more snowy scenes, I suspect.

Help Endangered Species

 

Hoff, "Burning Bright," digital painting

In past editions of this blog I've posted digital images of endangered species, including the Amur tiger (above), a big cat whose population likely comprises fewer than a thousand. In most cases, the shrinking numbers of animals like orangutans, among thousands of other species, is because of loss of habitat. Humans destroy, occupy, pollute or otherwise alter the ecology in such a way that endangered species can't survive. 

I am honored to participate in Endangered Art4Apes a virtual fine art and photography show spotlighting endangered species. Two of my digital paintings are included in their efforts to assist a great ape sanctuary in Florida, The Center for Great Apes. The art show has previously been gallery-based with an additional online presence during its history but this year it has gone entirely virtual. Clicking the first link above takes you to a state of the art 3-D set of galleries that display winners, highly commended works, and so on. I am happy to have two pieces in the show.

Most everything on the site is for sale. Purchase one of these giclee prints via the show and the Center receives one-third of the proceeds. In the spirit of the dreadful climate and species emergency, I will donate the remainder to selected non-profits also working to save the inhabitants of our planet.

Hoff, "Watchful," digital

Alternatively, you can purchase individual prints or signed sets of four through my website. They make a great holiday gift, you're supporting a creative endeavor, and helping preserve the earth. Pretty good deal. 

The online show ends December 31 so take some time to browse through the online galleries before the holidays, and find a work you'll enjoy.

--- 

Related posts:

Vanishing from North America

Jeopardized 

Distance is Difficult

For many, I suspect, the need to keep away from others outside one's own bubble has been difficult. We are social animals, after all, and Zoom is useful but insufficient. The same goes for open studio events. Although my studio building is holding evening and weekend events during the pandemic, crowds are reportedly sparse. Owing to personal and relational risk I've kept my own studio closed. 

Originally I had planned to hold an exhibition of the past year's outdoor works plus some other new pieces along with a public opening--wine, cheese and all that. But the pandemic has prevented that sort of gallery show. Instead you can see the paintings on my website. The link is here.

Below are two of the nearly twenty new works on display. 

Hoff, "Early Fall at Gray's Lake," oil on panel, 9x12

 

"November on the Point," oil on panel, 9x12

Worldwide Pain

The coronavirus pandemic is out of control in much of the world. The numbers are stupefying, so large their emotional impact is more muted than you might expect--about 65 million infections and about a million and a half deaths. The United States is reporting more than 180,000 new cases daily. 

Hoff, "Despair," digital

This global emergency can be overcome if we as human beings come together regardless of any and all differences. If we come together.

Let it Snow

When December comes it's time to switch to winter mode--a lot of in-studio work, mostly. That means working up paintings from the sketches collected over the last several months but also means time to sit quietly indoors and really look at a subject. One of the best practices for me is still life. Unlike plein air paintings, still life is a chance to utterly control what one does, from subject to setup to lighting and so on. And still life can contain emotional content, implied narrative, and explore light, color, key, values and so on. 

Hoff, "Vanitas," oil on canvas, 20x16

In the vanitas work above I was exploring a number of ideas. For one thing, the pyramidal composition is generally thought to be a positive one since the sweep of vision goes heavenward. For another, it was interesting to employ a three-primary color scheme. Vanitas paintings are generally intended to warn the viewer of universal mortality and warn against excess pride. Early vanitas works, painted three or four hundred years ago, are also often quite dark. The high key of this one is because of a strong light source from the upper right, an intentional effect to emphasize the skull. Another goal of this work was to study the anatomy of the human skull and reproduce it with anatomic accuracy. 

Vanitas works are only a small subset of still life in general. Some still life contains enormous numbers of objects, either to imply narrative or perhaps simply as a way to study disparate objects. In my own case I sometimes set up only one or two items. The painting below is an example.

Hoff, "Transparent and Translucent," oil on panel, 12x9

The bottles in Transparent and Translucent were chosen for shape but also because their materials--transparent glass and translucent plastic--are different problems for the painter. And although there is an orange lid and a touch of red in the pimento olive stuffings the dominant color scheme of blue-green was interesting too. 

In contrast, my interest in the objects below was the contrast between the red drapery background and the Pellegrino bottle. I had a small silver cup in the studio and plopped it down in front of the bottle to study the reflective metal. The lemon was an afterthought--I didn't have one but wanted the round shape as a contrast, so the lemon is an invention that wasn't in the setup. Part of the intent in this work, too, was to be as loose as possible while being accurate.

Hoff, "Pellegrino and Silver," oil on panel, 12x9

So bring on the ice and snow. I'll be snug in the studio.

Resurrected

Once in a while it's useful to rummage around in old file folders on the computer because sometimes you find things. This week in an effort to streamline files and remove duplicates, rework various file and folder names and generally clean up my records I ran across a painting that was sold many years ago, of which I've no longer any record. "NYC Spring" was (I think) 12x9 and definitely painted on a panel. It was sold but the buyer information and other particulars have somehow disappeared.

Hoff, "NYC Spring," oil on panel, ca. 2010

This particular painting is part of a series of New York scenes I've done over the years. New York has always attracted me but it was only in adulthood that I've been able to visit frequently. A visit to Manhattan is a chance to sketch, people-watch, visit selected museums and galleries, check in at my art club (Salmagundi) in Greenwich Village, take in a show perhaps, have a great dinner, and breathe the life of the metropolis. Sometimes the sketches lead to more but sometimes the results are from memory. This painting is a fantasy of the city from some of those memories, a view from the subway stairs. As sometimes happens this particular picture came together almost without effort and sold at the first offering. Luckily I had one image of the painting but somehow the other records have been lost.

Virtual Paint Out

These days, social distancing is causing many public events to cancel or go virtual, so summer plein air painting events were cancelled or rescheduled, painters' conventions and workshops rescheduled, and so on. As an example, The National Oil and Acrylic Painters Society (NOAPS) holds several exhibitions of member work annually and this year have moved online. This year, NOAPS is holding a Virtual Plein Air competition--a "paint out"--for members in conjunction with the Best of America Show (now open on the website). I had forgotten about it until a notice arrived in my inbox on Friday.

A paint out is an outdoor event. But the paint out in this context is painting a plein air scene selected from a group of photos on the website and submitting the work plus a couple of progress pix to show process. Given that there was no entry fee, it was a simple decision to enter. 

Hoff, "Inlet," oil on panel, 8x10

There were perhaps twenty different reference photos posted on the online competition page, from which entrants could choose one only. This is my entry, "Inlet." I chose the subject because of the sky and water of course. It's a watery scene near St. Augustine in Florida. Using a mid-valued toned panel I laid out the basic shapes then blocked in colors, corrected the drawing, and added detail. The whole thing took perhaps ninety minutes. When I was finished I scratched my initials in the wet paint, a tradition of plein air painting indicating the work was done outdoors.

Favorite Artists 14 - Thomas Eakins

Thomas Eakins, "Self Portrait," oil, ca.1902

Despite the preponderance of Europeans, there are quite a few American painters whose work I've enjoyed and admired. Among them is Thomas Eakins (1844-1916). 

Thomas Eakins grew up in Philadelphia but studied not only at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts but also in Europe at the Ecole des Beaux Arts during the mid-1860s. He also spent time in Spain studying Ribera, Velazquez and other masters. His father, a master calligrapher, probably also influenced his dedication to precision and accurate drawing. Regardless of his influences he became deeply interested in truth in painting, in realism. Although he was exposed to the French Academy tradition and even to early impressionistic works he preferred careful attention to form and mass in his paintings.

"Max Schmitt in a Single Scull," oil, 1871

After his years in Europe Mr. Eakins returned to Philadelphia in 1870 and spent the majority of his life painting and teaching there. One of my favorite paintings came in 1871, Max Schmitt in a Single Scull. Mr. Eakins and Mr. Schmitt were friends from high school. The painting shows the two of them on the Schuylkill River in the city, Mr. Eakins in the more distant boat. In this single work we can see his devotion to precise drawing, careful composition, and true coloring. He painted about a dozen works about rowing, including both oil and watercolor pieces but didn't return to the subject. Instead he painted quite a lot of indoor scenes and portraits during those beginning years. 

Still looking for recognition, he decided to paint a major work for the Centennial Exposition, which was to take place in Philadelphia in 1876. He had studied anatomy at Jefferson Medical College while at the Pennsylvania Academy and was familiar with the renowned surgeon and teacher Samuel Gross, who was quite famous. The painting was certainly ambitious, its size alone speaking loudly of the painter's intent at 96 by 78 inches. 

"The Gross Clinic," oil, 1875

In the painting, Dr. Gross, natty in his frock coat, stands in the skylit cockpit of the operating theater at Jefferson Medical, in mid-operation. He is holding a scalpel in his bare right hand (surgical gloves had yet to be invented), and has turned to speak to students in the gallery. An assistant administers ether, a common anesthetic. The painting is imposing; Dr. Gross and the others are nearly life-size. A woman cowers (the patient's mother?) in the background. Although it was rejected for the art exhibition, it was exhibited at the Centennial Exposition but in an Army Post Hospital display. For many it was a sensation and a revelation. Surgery was not commonly seen, and the scene was considered too terrible for those with delicate nerves. The Evening Telegraph commented at the time that there was "...nothing so fine in the American section of the Art Department of the Exhibition, and it is a great pity that the squeamishness of the Selecting Committee compelled the artist to find a place for it in the United States Hospital building. It is rumored that the blood on Dr. Gross' fingers made some of the members of the committee sick..." Regardless, The Gross Clinic was purchased and hung in Jefferson Medical College and later elsewhere in the university. Today it's considered by some the finest American painting of the 19th century. In my opinion, it's certainly in the top ten. If Mr. Eakins hadn't painted another work he would be secure in the history of art.

"The Swimming Hole," oil, 1885

In 1876 he began teaching at the Pennsylvania Academy as a volunteer, moving to a full-time position in 1878 and becoming director in 1882. It was his academic career that was nearly his undoing. For one thing, Mr. Eakins was not a fan of the atelier tradition which dictated beginning drawing from plaster casts and then proceed (slowly) through drawing to eventual painting. He threw that sequence out the window, instituted painting very early, and advocated use of photographs (photography was then very new). And worse, he insisted that the nude figure--male and female--was the basis for all truth in art. There were questions of propriety when female students were exposed to male nudity. In any event, he was forced to resign in 1886. Although he was devastated by the events at the Pennsylvania Academy he continued to teach privately and at a number of other schools.

In his maturity Mr. Eakins spent a great deal of time on photography, including the sort of sequential images made by Edweard Muybridge, and portraits. In his portrait work, he sought the kind of insight in character that today's more contemporary painters also want. He had no interest in the kind of flattering portrait many patrons desired and so was never a commercial success. Surprisingly, he sold little more than two dozen paintings in his lifetime despite his undeniable talent, work ethic, and intelligence.

A post about Thomas Eakins would not be complete without his later masterpiece, The Agnew Clinic, another favorite of mine. 

"The Agnew Clinic," oil, 1889

The Agnew Clinic was commissioned by the senior class of the University of Pennsylvania Medical School. The class had wanted a simple portrait of their favorite professor of surgery, Dr. Hayes Agnew, who was retiring. Mr. Eakins not only painted Dr. Agnew but included every member of the senior class as they watched a mastectomy. Painted a scant fourteen years after The Gross Clinic, the Agnew scene is equally shocking--mastectomy was mysterious and mutilating. Moreover, though, much had changed. Unlike Dr. Gross, Dr. Agnew is both wearing a surgical gown and surgical gloves, though not masked, those having not been introduced. His assistant, performing a portion of the procesure is gowned, but has rolled up the sleeves, exposing his bare forearm, and is not gloved. A female nurse (a first) is in attendance. Although it hasn't the raw power of the Gross painting, The Agnew Clinic remains a potent painting and a valuable document of the advance of medical knowledge.

Thomas Eakins was something of an outcast in art circles during the last thirty years of his life. Neither was he a commercial success. Nonetheless his indisputable mastery of realism became a model for a number of those who followed in the twentieth century--notably George Bellows and the Ashcan School. He remains one of my favorites.

Grieving the Quarter Million

Although the official death toll from the coronavirus pandemic is still a few thousand below 250,000, the reality in the United States is that at least a quarter of a million people have died of the illness. The sheer size of the number is beyond the realization of most people--it is more than died in this nation's wars, about eight times the number who died in the September 11 attacks. It is almost five times the number who are killed in auto accidents daily. It is an enormous, inconceivable number. 

We grieve for them all. 

Hoff, "Homage to PRP," oil on panel, 20x16

(The painting above is a modification of a Blue Period work by Pablo Picasso.)

A Summer Memory

Des Moines has its own Chinese pavilion in the Robert D. Ray Asian Gardens, situated on the Des Moines River not far from the Botanical Center. It's an imposing, open pavilion in the traditional Chinese style, built as a memorial to the vision and moral leadership. The gardens are a peaceful spot on the river bank across from downtown. 

Over the past couple of years I've spent time painting in the Ray Gardens, mostly the pavilion. For me the resonant colors and surrounding gardens provide any number of potential subjects for painting. The work below, "Landmark," came about because of my fascination with the roofline of the pavilion juxtaposed against the similar shapes of foliage and clouds. Although this is a work of realism, the abstract elements were particularly exciting to juxtapose. This is a studio work that grew out of several sketching sessions on-site last summer.

Hoff, "Landmark," oil on panel, 9x12

Golden Bough

Here in Iowa the weather has finally turned to wet, cold and grey. For the moment at least there won't be much outdoor painting. So instead work is moving indoors with larger landscapes in the offing and a new cityscape or two already in the works. 

In our country most people live in cities and towns yet artists still paint pastoral landscapes with ponds and trees and animals. For me, a city boy, the streets and buildings are more interesting. You can pose angular and rectangular against the more unruly natural world--trees on a street for example. Cityscapes can be explorations of differing shapes, round and straight, angled and curved, and so on.

Hoff, "East Locust Street, Autumn (study)," oil on panel, 12x9

The golden leaves of street trees caught my eye last month, their glow enhanced by the blueness of the sky and the darker pavement and buildings. The street was busy with cars, but the most interesting part of the scene was branches and leaves against the severely rectilinear human constructions. The city is Des Moines Iowa, which has bridges between buildings (called skywalks) that make downtown more pleasant in the cold months. This study will be the basis for a larger work now that the weather is beginning to close in.

New in November

The weather has been a bit wonky the last few weeks. In early October the warm weather got everyone talking about Indian summer. But a true Indian summer follow a frost. We certainly had that--two measurable snowfalls in two weeks--but these past few days have been sunny and warm. The warm weather has given me some time outdoors here at the very end of the warm months. It won't be long until the ground is hard as iron and the sky takes on an iron color. 

Hoff, "North Shore, Early November," oil on panel, 9x12

Right now the days are warm and sunny and the painting is good. I've taken advantage of the fine weather to paint outside almost every day. The mornings can be a trifle nippy but by mid morning the sun warms and a light breeze is actually welcome. During the work week the park isn't very busy and I seldom have watchers.

This is the north shore of Gray's Lake, a couple of miles from my home studio, a tree that I've painted a couple of times already last summer and fall. The cold snap and bad weather stripped most of the trees a week or two ago and the remaining foliage has mostly lost its bright colors. Still, the light filtering through the branches and the dark trunks against sere foliage is an interesting subject. This is about two hours work on the spot. The tree has lost most of its leaves and so have the distant trees beyond the pedestrian path. 

It has taken about a year, but these days my biggest urge is to head outside. Lets savor these final beautiful days.

Endangered Online

 News came a few days ago that my digital paintings of the "American Red Wolf" and the "Western Meadowlark" (both posted here early this year) placed in the "Highly Commended" category of a new international exhibition, Endangered: Art4Apes, online now and until the end of the year. The exhibition is in support of The Center for Great Apes, a nonprofit that provides a permanent sanctuary for chimpanzees and orangutans retired or rescued from various roles. The intent of the exhibition is to draw international attention to the near-extinction of many species, not just great apes. Owing to the pandemic, the exhibition is completely online this year, featuring paintings, photography, digital work and drawings of endangered and threatened species. 

Hoff: "Watchful," digital

Earlier in the year I posted digital paintings here and on Daily Digitalia devoted to various members of the great apes, particularly bonobos and orangutans (like "Watchful," above). But before long other endangered species caught my eye too, like the Ring-tail Lemur (below), and the koalas in Australia, and before long the list got longer and longer.

The majority of works in the exhibition are for sale and a percent of the proceeds will go to the ape sanctuary. So please, take a look at the exhibition and if something strikes your fancy, consider a purchase.

Hoff, "Ring-tail Lemur," digital

For those of you interested in my other digital paintings, you can buy them singly or in sets of four on my website. Half of the proceeds from sales online will go to support organizations devoted to halting species extinction. And thank you in advance.