More Drawing Practice

A while ago I wrote that drawing practice is fundamental to the work of artists. The importance of drawing was known as far back as Greek Antiquity, if Pliny the Elder, writing several hundred years later was right. "Never a day without a line," (nulla dies sine linea) was how he quoted Apelles, the most famous painter of Antiquity. Leonardo recommended always carrying a sketchbook, as does probably every art teacher today. Drawing is so important to me that I could never paint without drawing. Drawing is in some ways a manner of thought, a nonverbal process of ideas coalescing into images or maybe into patterns of values or colors. From there, ideas begin to grow, take shape. Most of the time my drawings are images of something real and tangible that I've seen--whether it's a person or a vase or a city street--and it's important to show the viewer exactly what I see.

You could say that drawings of that kind should be very accurate and certainly for realistic representation that's true. But drawings are commonly exaggerated into cartoons or caricatures. Some artists distort figures or faces to make a point or to reinforce emotion. So I'm not saying that all drawing should be rigidly representative and be absolutely realist. On the other hand, being able to draw a face, or figure, or an object, giving it not only a recognizable appearance but also providing the illusion of weight and the appearance of occupying three dimensions is an exceptionally useful set of skills.

Most mornings I begin studio work with a few graphite drawings, usually on toned paper. Sometimes while surfing the net for morning news I pause a story or a video and sketch one of the faces or some of the figures in the story. But more often I draw from memory or from other materials, or life. Lately, I've been drawing both in the mornings as my warm up and later in the day as a learning tool. Off and on I've been copying drawings by the great Al Dorne as well as others that were published in the Famous Artists School course from the mid-20th century. Here are a couple of pages from my sketchbook.

After Dorne, Two Figues

Seven Heads

These heads were drawn using principles in the text of the FAS course. I copied these drawings from the book, about the same size as they were printed. The seated man in the top drawing was originally one of a series of studies Al Dorne did in the 1950s in preparation for an illustration. What I've done as I've gone through the Famous Artists School book is review the text, sometimes in detail, sometimes not, and then copy as many of the drawings as I can. As one way to continue drawing and potentially hone my skills, it's been exceptionally useful.


Drawing Practice

What, Exactly, Is Impressionism?

Impressionism, as an art movement, is probably pre-eminent through much of the world. Impressionist art is often bright, cheerful, realistic, and easily understood. The viewpoint on the world is one of wide-eyed wonder at the variety of life and light. Surprising that these paintings were initially derided as crude, unfinished, or worse because for a century they've had wide appeal that seems to be steadily increasing.

One indicator of the the pre-eminence of Impressionism is how it's marketed these days. Museums hold exhibitions of Impressionism seemingly at the drop of a hat, comparing one painter of the group to another, or focusing on a location where they painted or lived, or perhaps holding an entire one-person "block buster" show. Incidentally, those shows invariably come with a gift shop selling everything from catalog books to image-laden coffee cups. We love the images. Impressionism is box office; we continue to love the pictures. Another measure of the movement's vitality is how many contemporary representational painters market their work as impressionist. And no mistake, many of them actually do paint like the original masters of the form. The movement is very much alive and well.

The popularity of Impressionism has resulted in confusion on the part of the the public about how representational works made in other traditions fit in. Impressionism is so popular and well-known that other representational art as well much of the avant garde of the same era has been neglected, like the work of Bouguereau, vilified by critics, the way traditional academic painting has been, or simply lumped together with Impressionism. That's been the case for contemporary realism as well, from artists whose specialties are craggy mountains to others who paint city streets, or the ocean or the beach. Even when the works in discussion are clearly of a different school or movement, such as having a more academic (i.e. "finished") look, or employing false colors, some continue to be labelled as impressionist.

My own paintings are sometimes called impressionist. Yet a much of my current work depends on layering--glazing and scumbling--besides direct techniques, commonly using darker colors or underpaintings. Sometimes my images are more finished, but often not as much as other realist works. Glazing and scumbling means working in layers, although as mentioned in a previous post I sometimes work as the impressionists did--alla prima or premier coup. Impressionists painted directly, for the most part, didn't use dark colors much, and discarded black. They were interested in landscape and figures and the effects of light from the sun. They weren't interested making shadowy works like those painted by earlier masters, especially their most immediate predecessors, whose palettes were considerably darker. In my paintings I'm interested in nocturnal but lighted figures, street scenes and rainy days. I like to study how light is refracted and reflected and bounces around in glass containers. I enjoy studying shapes and how they look in slanting light. Some of my work is false-colored, and doesn't show the actuality of the world, even if the paintings themselves are realistic. And none of that is Impressionism at all. For example, a fairly recent painting of mine is "Midtown Food Carts" (below) which has areas of flat, false color, particularly in the background and in large sections of the food carts. It's bright and realistic but it's not Impressionism. It could be called post-impressionist I suppose, but I prefer to call my work contemporary realism. And contemporary realism is not Impressionism.

Gary Hoff, "Midtown Food Carts," 2013

So then what exactly is "Impressionism," and for that matter who were those painters? Impressionism has come to encompass a number of ideas, seems to me. Here they are, so far as I can determine.

• representation of light in paint, especially outdoor light
• use of full-bodied paint, laid down in generally visible strokes of various weights and widths
• direct painting, rather than glazing in layers
• outdoor ("plein-air") painting to capture fleeting moments of light
• focus on everyday subjects--landscape and figures--rather than history painting or portraiture
• elimination of black from the palette

Doubtless someone will make a case for other characteristics of these artists' work, and I certainly make no claim of expertise. Still, there are other features of impressionist work that are often mentioned. One commonly cited concept is the idea of visual color mixing. That is, placing two pure colors--say, a blue and a yellow--side by side to produce a retinal image of a mixture of the two--green in this example. Certainly that was the effect of some of their efforts, but if that was an actual intent of the artists at the beginning of the movement it isn't clear to me. It's true that post-impressionist works relied on that phenomenon, particularly pointillism.  For another example, some have pointed to the new and brighter pigments available to Monet and his colleagues, which made higher key paintings possible. You could say that new pigments were the most important advance leading to Impressionism but that could be argued, given that not all Impressionist paintings are high key. Even the work that led to the name for the movement is mostly a series of beautifully muted (see below) greys. Technology certainly facilitated the process of outdoor painting, though, particularly in the form of metal paint tubes.

Claude Monet, "Impression, Sunrise," 1872

Who were the Impressionists? The paradigmatic member is Claude Monet. He was the leading painter of the movement, so much so that it was his work "Impression, soleil levant" or "Impression, Sunrise,"  that actually provided the movement it's name. He exhibited the painting, a view of  the harbor at Le Havre, his hometown, in the original group exhibition in 1874 that included his work and that of several of his colleagues, most of whom had received scant attention from the art world of the day. That famous show included works by Degas, Renoir, Morisot, Pissarro, Sisley, and a number of others. Because the manner of painting was so different, sketchier, seemingly unfinished at times, it prompted jeering and scathing criticism in the Paris news papers. One journalist whose enormous distaste for the painting made his criticism particularly intense inadvertently provided the name for the movement by his ironic use of the term. Impressionism it was, and so it has remained.. Over the next dozen years or so, with many additions and subtractions, this group of artists exhibited together as the nucleus of the movement.

Surprisingly many artists have been called impressionist, over the decades, although none were truly part of the Impressionist movement. Edouard Manet for example knew Monet and the others--even painted with them--yet he painted in a considerably more finished style and was already well-known before Impressionism. People today call van Gogh an Impressionist, and he was indeed influenced by them, but his style is his own--direct, forceful, graphic, even manic toward the end--but  he's really a Post-impressionist, as is Cezanne, although he was briefly part of the group. Gustave Caillebotte (famous for his huge painting of a rainy street, below) has also been lumped with the Impressionists, but his work, while contemporaneous with theirs is dissimilar in many ways, considerably more urban, angular, and tonal.

Gustave Caillebotte,"Paris Street, Rainy Day," 1877

Georges Seurat, who came along at bit closer to the end of the 19th century and is justly famous, was also influenced by Impressionism, but his work is pointillist (or reductionist) and he again is best called Post-impressionist.

Georges Seurat, "A Sunday on La Grande Jatte," 1884

Alfred Sisley, "The Seine at Bougival," 1872

On the other hand, the purest works of Impressionism--those most similar to Monet's original statement--are probably those of Alfred Sisley, who was actually English but lived in France. His works closely resemble those of Monet, particularly during the 1870s. But in truth, Pissarro, Cassat, Morisot, and Renoir all worked in a clearly similar style to Monet for a long while, although each diverged at various career points. The more I consider it, the more it seems to me that the truth is that Impressionism is in general a synonym for "Monet."


Again, not all representational art is impressionist either in subject or in execution. Here are a few contemporary realists, none impressionists.

The works of Wayne Thiebaud, for example, often feature common objects, and he uses full-bodied strokes, and a lot of color. But in no way can you call them impressionist.

Wayne Thiebaud, "Pies, Pies, Pies," 1961

In some people's book, Thiebaud's work is Pop Art, as suggested by his early "Pies, Pies, Pies," below, as well as others of gumball machines, cakes, and various Pop Art objects. But his oeuvre has gone way past that.

You might think that a realist of the 20th century like Thomas Hart Benton wouldn't be considered Impressionist, either. Although he used a relatively bright palette and painted figures and landscapes among his other motifs, Benton painted in broader areas of color and tended to a style of somewhat exaggerated and repetitive figures and shapes. His "Poker Night," in the collection of the Whitney Museum of American Art, shows how he distorted and simplified shapes, used repetitive angles and forms, as well as rather severe perspective to achieve the effects he wanted. But obviously, again, not Impressionist. (This is actually a painting of the cast of the Tennessee Williams play, "A Streetcar Named Desire." Notice Karl Malden and Marlon Brando, two of the original cast members.)

Thomas Hart Benton, "Poker Night," 1947

The point, of course remains that not all realism is Impressionism. In fact, some art historians have argued that the movement ("Impressionism") was really a short-lived burst of work by about a half-dozen mostly French painters in the 1870s and 1880s. It's true that there were others in other places working in similar ways, though none exactly fits the particularities of Impressionism. Also, by the mid-1890s other ideas and movements had supplanted Impressionism and almost no one in Europe besides Monet continued to paint in that way after 1900. There was of course the later movement of American Impressionists (Childe Hassam, Twachtman) of which another called California or West Coast Impressionism was a minor echo.

In the end, it must be difficult for 21st century realists to have their work called Impressionism. That is, unless that's the effect and image they were aiming for.

Here are a few sites dealing with the subject:
Wikipedia on Impressionism 
Impressionism and Modernity

Brushes Part 2 - Shapes and Uses

This is Part 2 of a series of posts on brushes used for oil painting.

For a beginner, the idea that a specific brush shape can facilitate art-making is hard to grasp. At least it was for me--I came to the concept much later than many. It's an interesting and useful piece of information that takes a while to learn but knowing brush shapes and purposes should become second nature after a time. And having that information helps in making effective and useful paint strokes. When I began painting, all I knew was the kind of brushes you see in the hands of artists in cartoons--those small, soft, pointed brushes with long handles. That shape is called a "round," named for obvious reasons, but it's hardly the only brush shape an artist needs to understand.

Brush size is another topic that took me a long time to grasp. Most beginners simply paint with one size brush, usually small. Even if the shape is right, though, most people don't use a big enough brush. When it comes to what size is best it's as simple as the old saying that one should begin a painting with a broom and finish with a needle (attributed to Delacroix). That is, it makes no sense try to paint large acreages of canvas using a small soft brush. By the same standard, you can't drop a catchlight into an eye with a square 4 inch paintbrush. For me it has been important to push myself to use the largest brush that I can for the size of my canvas. That way I'm forced to be less picky and more blocky, more shape-oriented when beginning, refining as the size of the shapes decreases and as edges refine. At some point of course, one has to use even smaller brushes to facilitate detail, but that too depends on the kind of stroke, thickness of paint, and other considerations.

So here is a bit about sizes and shapes of brushes.

Sizes
Brushes are made in sizes ranging from less than 1/16 inch to several inches in breadth. There are probably even people who make brushes with a single hair for very very fine work. Brushes are sold in a numerical sequences by size, but it's hard to figure out just what those numbers mean. For most purposes, brushes about 3/4 inch to 1 inch across have been most useful to me. In the line of bristle brushes I've used that translates into #8, 10, and #12 brushes (by the number on the handle) which roughly translates to 1/2, 3/4, and one inch, but those may vary by manufacturer. I generally paint smaller than 20 by 24 inches, but if I were painting larger works I'd obviously need larger brushes, certainly at the beginning. I don't know what brush numbers mean in different regions of the world although they're always ascending--larger size bigger number. Furthermore, there is no standard for brush sizes and numbers that I know of. So the best I can do is provide measurements. Check those against the manufacturer's listings. It's best to look in art supply stores, so you can actually handle the brushes. It's tougher to check sizes against online images. 

Shapes
The commonest shapes that artists use are flats, brights, and rounds. These shapes are produced using any number of natural and synthetic fibers. Anybody interested should look at Brushes Part 1 for details. Certainly the fiber type can influence the shape chosen. For example, bristle brushes are more often sold in flat and brights shapes.
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Flat and Brights 

Brush Shapes, from Turner

These shapes are likely the two most commonly used by most painters. They are generally flattened with a rectangular shape and square tips. Brights are about half the length of the flat shape, but some flats are quite long and some brights are shorter. In general, flats allow for unctuous, flowing strokes. The brights shape allows more control of shorter and more deliberate strokes as well as thicker paint. While some of my teachers have said that brights are better for darker colors, I've not found that to be useful personally. Instead it seems more reasonable to decide the kind of stroke one is going to be laying down. Painting darker passages often requires a scrubby stroke, which the brights shape allows better than a flat. Flat and brights shapes also allow for sharper edges when using thicker paint and allow one to place lines and long thin strokes with ease. When buying these shapes in bristle brushes be certain to check the tips to see if they have been trimmed--if so, toss the brush back in the bin because without flags they won't be as useful.

So to summarize, for scrubby strokes, the brights shape offers more control, as it does for short, choppy strokes and brights also allow for use of thicker paint. The flat shape allows long, sinuous stroking with medium to liquid paint. 

Filbert
These brushes are flattened similarly to those above but the tips are rounded (shapes shown in far right of the chart on the right). They come in various shapes from short to extra long. (The extra long filbert shape is sometimes called an "egbert" but I don't know why.) Filberts can be used to lay in a painting because the round contour allows you to turn the brush sideways to draw thin lines or turn it ninety degrees and lay in long, wide strokes. A filbert can help put in long curving strokes such as shadows on rounded surfaces. These shapes are often found not only in bristle brushes but also in the softer natural fiber and synthetic fiber types as well.

Fan
This shape is used infrequently, in my experience (middle, top row of chart) but was originally intended to blend oil paint on the support surface. Fan brushes can be gotten in bristles or other fibers of all kinds. Today their use seems to be in decline, but many painters still swear by them for blending.

Round
This shape is made by cupping a tuft of fibers, whether bristle, sable, or artificial, so that there is a round shape and a pointed tip. Brushes with this shape were commonly used for centuries, but often tied or fixed in other ways to a handle or even a big quill, whereas today they are glued inside a metal ferrule. Round brushes, particularly when made of softer fibers, allow for a variety of strokes, particularly when using thinner paint such as watercolor. These brushes often hold a great deal of paint. Variations on rounds can be made with longer hairs and/or more pointed tips.
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For me, brushes remain a continuing education. Although I'm now using mostly synthetics, natural hair brushes are still a part of my studio practice. Mostly I use synthetics because they're easier to clean, more forgiving if you forget them for a day or so, and maintain their shape longer. More on that in the next installment, Brush Care and Maintenance.

Favorite Art Books, Part 2

The Student's Guide to Painting by Jack Faragasso
This book has been out of print for many years but if you can find a copy (Amazon lists it used sometimes) it can provide a path through the formal planning and execution of oil paintings. Faragasso has been an instructor at the Art Students League for nearly half a century and continues to teach there even now, this book dates to the 1970s. So far as I know it's been out of print since at least the 1980s.

In his intro to the book, Faragasso notes that it is "based largely on the teachings of my instructor, the late Frank Reilly." The general ideas that Faragasso (and Reilly) espouse is that creativity comes after craft and that to learn to paint you have to learn each small step thoroughly before racing ahead to make a picture. Faragsso takes you through the steps he believes are critical to learn in the order that he and Reilly believed they should be mastered. He begins not with drawing or materials, but with color.

The initial chapter on color is very useful, particularly the color images showing how sunlight affects chroma and value. The basic discussion of hue, chroma, and value is based in the color ideas taught by Reilly. Faragasso also takes the student through the mixing of color and how to make neutral greys. In the short but very informative chapters that follow Faragasso takes you through value patterns, lighting, shade, and more before arriving at the entire palette of colors. In the chapter named The Palette he takes you through comparisons of masters' palettes, particularly Holbein, and then the "Reilly palette" and shows a color print of a variety of standard human complexions. In the following chapter, he covers mixing of color tones. Succeeding chapters deal with how to begin, continue and finish oil paintings. He covers both figurative work and portraiture, showing how to lay in the painting and mass the various colors and values.

For me, this was a no nonsense work that added a lot to my working knowledge as I began to be more serious about the craft of painting, and in particular about color.
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Faragasso is still painting and teaching. His website is linked below.

http://www.faragassoart.com/

 Fun With a Pencil by Andrew Loomis
While many hail the author's justly famous Creative Illustration, this little book is still my favorite by Loomis. This book is easily accessible for anyone from a diligent 10 year old to an adult who wants to learn to draw a little. The original was published in 1939 and subsequently reprinted numerous times. There is a current edition (available on Amazon) that dates from the early part of this century, perhaps based on the old Loomis editions, but I don't know if the contents are the same, although the covers are identical. I have the 1944 edition, and suggest you try to get one of the early printings too, if you can.

Fun With a Pencil, p. 12 (detail)

This book is wonderfully simple and builds on the basics. Loomis starts with the circle and adds to that, building cartoon heads, then realistic heads. He moves on to expression and poses, then how to put the head on a body, how the figure is constructed and how it moves in space, and then on to more advanced material like clothing, shoes, and how to put figures together in space. Whew. A lot in less than 100 pages. The third part is even more compressed, yet full of useful diagrams showing how to place a figure in perspective, how to build realistic drawings of interiors, and considerably more. Although it is a beginner's book it's one you can use yourself or with younger students. I still noodle around with my copy once in a while to reinforce ideas and techniques.

Fun With a Pencil, p. 12 (detail)

The other Loomis classic, Creative Illustration, is certainly worth the time, but in my opinion, this one is more widely useful, considerably more basic, and I recommend it highly.

Favorite Art Books Part 1

Happy New Year

Leyendecker study for New Year Baby 1915

Happy New Year 2016!

There is a tradition in illustration wherein a small baby--the New Year--is depicted to show us something of either the year just passing or the year to come. In any number of those images the baby is welcomed (usually) by the wizened Old Year. Typically the new baby is full of all the things we see in babies--smooth and pink skin, freshness and hope, unspoiled optimism, and a kind of joy that plays well against the wise and tired visage of the old old man. 

Perhaps the best-known illustrator of New Year's babies was Joseph Christian Leyendecker, who was active in the first half of the 20th century. J.C Leyendecker was born in 1874 in Germany though his family came to the United States when he was about 8 years old. He grew up in Chicago and first studied art at the Art Institute and later the Academie Julian in Paris. By the time he was in his mid-twenties, Leyendecker was back in the States and established in as a successful illustrator, first in Chicago and later in New York. His cover illustrations for magazines like the Saturday Evening Post assured him of a handsome income for half a century, and an enviable artistic reputation. Besides his personal success, Leyendecker inevitably became the hero of quite a few younger painters, notably Norman Rockwell, who considered Leyendecker a true master. 

Leyendecker painted hundreds of covers for the Post in particular as well as quite a number of indelible advertising images such as the Arrow Shirt Man. 

Leyendecker died on July 25, 1951 in New Rochelle.

Leyendecker's New Years Babies 

Ho Ho Ho

And Merry Christmas to us, each and every one! In this era of conflict, let us all remember our shared humanity and our common goodness.

This is Thomas Nast's 1881 Santa Claus, published in Harpers Weekly. Nast, a political cartoonist and satirist, is considered the inventor of our contemporary old St. Nick, although credit goes to several others as well (Clement Moore wrote "A Visit from St. Nicholas" in the 1820s). Nast was born in Germany in 1840 but came to the United States as a child. He was reportedly an indifferent student though his artistic talent was evident early in life. He was taught by individual artists and at the National Academy of Design (founded by Samuel F.B. Morse and Thomas Cole, among others).

Merry Old Santa Claus, Harper's Weekly, January 1, 1881

During his career, Nast was mostly a political commentator whose cartoons were featured prominently in Harpers Weekly and other periodicals of the day. He became famous during the Civil War but is still best remembered for his campaigns against Tammany Hall, Boss Tweed and the Democratic machine of the day. Nast not only invented much of our image of Santa, he also invented or expanded on some of our well-known political cartoon symbols--notably the Republican elephant.

Nast produced numerous woodcuts and drawings of Santa Claus, and it is his renderings of the jolly old elf that produced our modern images of Santa. Clement Moore's poem "A Night Before Christmas," was obviously known to Nast and probably assisted in his imagings of St. Nick as well.

There are numerous other Nast images of Santa Claus that you can easily find on the Internet.

So Merry Christmas to all and a happy and prosperous New Year.

Wikipedia entry for Thomas Nast
Brief Bio of Thomas Nast

Archibald Motley

During a recent visit to the new Whitney Museum in lower Manhattan, I had the chance to see the show titled Archibald Motley, Jazz Age Modernist. Although I admit to never having heard of this artist before seeing the show, all I can say is I'm happy I know him now. This is a show of real interest and power. Motley was the real deal.

Motley was one of the important visual artists of the Harlem Renaissance, in spite of the fact that he never lived there. He was a lifelong Chicagoan who did his best observing and his best work in that city. Nevertheless, Motley was the first black artist to have a one man show in Manhattan, which he believed prejudiced New York black artists against him ever after. True or not, it's clear from the show at the Whitney that Archibald Motley is a memorable artist whether based in New York or elsewhere. He was very talented.

Archibald Motley "Self Portrait" ~1920

Archibald Motley would probably have been called "creole" in his day since he was of mixed race and was born in New Orleans in 1891. His family moved to Chicago when he was very young. He grew up in a south Chicago neighborhood that was mostly Italian, where he attended mostly white schools and lived in a mixed neighborhood. From a very young age he was recognized as being gifted in art. He once spoke of how he spent most of his time in class drawing in the empty margins of his textbooks. Classically trained at the Chicago Art Institute School, he later studied in Europe. As his self portrait above shows, he was a talented painter whose gods were the masters of the European tradition. But he was also fascinated by the black experience in all sorts of settings--pool rooms, churches, barbecues--any place people of color gathered. As a youth he spent time in black poolrooms and dance clubs as well as churches and other large gatherings of blacks. And that's what he painted for much of his career.

Archibald Motley "Saturday Night" 1935

The pictures we saw in the Whitney show were fascinating. The early work is included in the first few spaces, clearly showing his schooling in figure, portraiture, and composition. From there you move into areas full of his "jazz age" paintings. These are the works that really have something to say. There are pictures of black church events, barbecues, nightclubs, pool rooms, and even the bustling street life of Chicago's black south side. And he makes them speak to us in many ways. First, he distills the emotion of the environment, the action and bustle, so much so you can sometimes hear jazz wafting just behind the images. Motley's work is deceptively primitive and sometimes seems to rely on caricature and stereotype, perhaps more than we find comfortable today, but even when the faces echo minstrel blackface the pictures are very thoughtful--carefully composed and colored, conveying a constellation of emotion. The stereotyping is deliberate. Motley was, after all, classically trained.

In one example, the painting above, "Saturday Night," painted in his prime, Motley shows us people in a jazz club, moving and dancing with what appears to be joy. The dancer is shaking her breasts in time to the music. But there are somber counterpoints to the joyful-looking dancer. Just to the left of her sit two downcast men with their faces turned away. The barman behind them simply looks bored. And only one person we see is apparently smiling, in the distance by the bandstand. The two waiters set at right angles, the man downing his martini, whose motion is given to us by the dancer's arm, and the piano keyboard in the distant background take us on zig-zagging happy-dance journey into the depths of the barroom while subtly evoking the dancing itself. The nearly monocolor palette sets the tone of a garish, loud nightclub with significant patches of darkness here and there, as is usual in such establishments. Overall, Motely evokes the real, red-blooded life of a black club of his day. It's a major achievement on several levels.The other works in this show bear similar levels of meaning and and will reward the viewer more than once.

If you're in the New York area, do yourself a favor and go to this exhibition.

Motley at the Whitney

Brushes Part 1

This is the first in a short series about artists brushes. These pieces are in regard to brushes used for oil painting. Acrylic and watercolor brushes are different and being used with water media means the care is different as well.

For a serious painter, choosing brushes can be vexing. When I began to paint, I mostly used brushes that were made of animal hairs--hog bristles and others. There are quite a few different kinds, including true sable hair (from an Asian marten), "red sable" (from the kolinsky, or Siberian weasel and other red-haired animals), fitch (an animal related to ferrets), mongoose, even squirrel and camel. Artificial hair brushes were available then but were relatively expensive in comparison. In the subsequent decades, synthetic fibers have become a significant part of the artist's tool kit as well. Synthetic brushes have been produced from nylon, polyester, acrylic and other compounds, and today they are often less expensive than natural hair. Over the years, my experience is that information about brushes for artists has been spotty, contradictory, and therefore confusing. This post is intended to set down what I know about how to choose, use, and maintain brushes and to discover the most accurate information available.

Hog bristle brushes

Artist brushes may be manufactured by machine or by hand. Several companies employ master brushmakers who make their top-of-the-line brushes by hand, using a process called cupping (or stacking, which is slightly different). Depending on the intended final size and shape of the brush, a metal cup is selected that will hold a tuft of hair or fiber. The fibers are placed in the cup, tapped into place, and then transferred to the ferrule which will hold them and glued together from inside. When dry, the hair and ferrule assembly is matched to a handle, with or without glue to strengthen the bond, and then the ferrule is crimped to the handle.

Natural fiber brushes are still the most favored kind by many painters. In general, oil painters use hog bristle brushes and red sable brushes; watercolorists may use true sable brushes (expensive) red sable (less money), mongoose, or squirrel for their soft yet springy action. Acrylic painters are probably best served by synthetic brushes, although I have personally used natural hog bristle brushes with acrylic paint without difficulty.

Natural Brushes
Hog bristle brushes are naturally quite stiff and resilient--new brushes spring back into shape nicely after being deformed--and are used mostly for oil painting. Hog bristles are naturally colored but are bleached white when used in brushes. These are best quality when their tips are "flagged," meaning they have naturally split ends that help the brush to hold more paint, so one of the critical steps in evaluating hog brushes is to check to see if the tips are split (use a magnifying glass); if they are trimmed square across the ends, as some cheap brands may be, the quality is considered poor. These brushes require significant care to maintain their spring and cleanliness.

Sable brushes, as noted above, are derived from true sables and other, usually related animals. They are prized because these natural hairs taper from a thicker center to a fine point, which makes it possible for them to hold more paint and release it easily and with control. Red sable brushes, which are common, are not made from sable hairs but from red animal hairs of various kinds of related animals, particularly weasels. Note that the best red sables are actually from a species known as a kolinsky, or Asian weasel. Even so, it's also important to know that if you see a brush listed as "red sable" it isn't likely to be from kolinskys because many other kinds of red hair might be used. Brushes advertised as kolinsky are likely to be genuine though, and also likely to cost more.

Mongoose brushes are made from hair obtained in India and Europe, predominantly. Mongoose hair is soft and has good paint holding and releasing qualities and is less expensive than sable, kolinsky, or red sable for brushes. They can be good substitutes for the more expensive brushes you might encounter.

Badger brushes are most often used by oil painters to blend passages of paint. The hairs are tapered, like other natural filaments, but the fatter part of the shaft is near the tip rather than in the central part so these brushes look bushier than others. I've used badger blenders for a long while and find them very useful as one softens and blends various strokes. Synthetic badger brushes are sometimes sold but are reportedly inferior to the natural ones (I have never used them). These can also substituted for sables, but don't receive much use that way.

Synthetic brushes
Nylon or polyamide fibers were the original synthetics, as you'd imagine, since nylon was among the first polymers developed. Nylon fibers were produced in the mid-20th century in diameters comparable to hog bristles, but had no taper nor flagging. Eventually tapering fibers were developed, as well as finer diameters, which led to nylon being used for artist brushes. Nylon remains a favorite synthetic and is sold under many names. Nylon fibers can be made very thin (and therefore soft) or very thick and stiff to imitate bristles. They're sold for all sorts of uses besides art, as well.

Today synthetic brushes are also made from a number of materials besides nylon. In some cases it's not clear to me what the actual fiber may be, even if the name evokes nylon. At least one company markets a fiber named Interlon (Aquatec ) but that name is also claimed by another company (Silver Brush) for their own Ruby Satin line, which their materials says is a new fiber.

Taklon is a polyester fiber originally developed by DuPont but now owned by Toray, a Japanese company. Taklon is widely used by a number of companies to produce good quality artist brushes. Taklon fibers are reportedly smooth and reasonably resilient, but said to be somewhat less sturdy than others. Taklon brushes are often substituted for red sables, and are available in standard shapes. 

Golden Taklon

Some companies list "Toray fibers" in their synthetic brushes. I suspect that these are probably very like Taklon. Like Taklon, Toray fibers seem to come in white or gold colors. For example, Escoda in Barcelona promotes White Toray and Gold Toray and says they are "...one of the softest [fibers] and typically used in watercolor," which sounds a lot like Taklon to me. Toray manufactures other fibers, including nylon and acrylic types, but I can't seem to find any actual polymer names. Proprietary fiber names abound though. Silver Brush, for example, mentions Mightlon, Bristlon, and Interlon as new fibers developed for them, but do not name the polymer involved. The final three letters might suggest nylon, but my hunch is they're a different polymer or maybe the same molecule with different wrinkles--sizes, split ends, etc.

A lot of painters don't pay all that much attention to brushes and alternatively there are those who refuse to let anyone touch their brushes. Certainly, top end brushes are expensive and require care in use and cleaning to get the most out of one's investment. But top quality brushes will perform better by holding more paint, releasing paint with more control and finesse, and retain their desirable qualities--stiffness, softness, etc.--longer. The problem is to get what one pays for. For me, the best course has been to try brushes from various companies, after taking time to look into what others I've respected have to say. Below are a few companies that have excellent reputations among professionals.

Next:
Brush shapes and their uses.

Trekell
Silver Brush
Escoda Brushes

Alla prima, or premier coup?

Terminology in painting has been confusing to many--me included. Learning to paint for me meant studying various sources diligently to learn various ways to manipulate oil paint. At first, as I suppose it is for most, painting for my teenage self meant producing a picture directly, in one go, wet-into-wet. For an untutored beginner it made sense and was the only way I could imagine to do it anyway. Direct painting continues to be one of the most important ways of picture-making, in contrast with indirect painting, which rely on glazing in multiple layers.

The plein air movement, painting outdoors, has gained momentum in recent years and is almost always direct painting. Many masters of the medium painted directly. Two particular favorites of mine, Hals and Velazquez were direct painters who made their brushwork sing. I've posted a couple of examples below.

I learned the term "alla prima" ("first attempt" in Italian) to mean doing a painting in one session, one go. So it is a direct method, meaning using paint without glazing, seems to me. Direct painting and "alla prima" aren't quite synonymous, though That is, direct painting can take place over more than one session, which is what Velazquez seems to have done, and so did Hals. On the other hand, there are portraits by Hals that are said to have been painted all in one go, wet-into-wet, which is what "alla prima" meant to me.

Juan Pareja by Velazquez, 1650

One particularly good book about Velazquez methods, by the way, is "Velazquez. The Technique of Genius" by Brown and Garrido (Yale University Press).

So direct painting in several sessions may or may not be painting into a wet layer since drying depends on the pigment, vehicle, and any medium being used as well as local conditions. And alla prima implies only one session of work. Nevertheless, the distinction is clear, I think.

Then there are other terms that can be confusing and interrelate with direct painting, wet-into-wet painting, and alla prima painting. The phrase "premier coup," has been said by many to mean a single session of painting (the term is French, and also means first attempt). One notable painter of the past, John Sargent, was said to hover with his brush at arm's length then rush the easel and place a stroke of paint just so, leaving it alone thereafter, which certainly sounds as if he did what I think the term ought to mean. He put down a stroke of paint only after considerable thought, placed it precisely, and generally left it alone, especially in the final stage of a portrait. Of course, that description belies Sargent's well-known penchant for scraping and repainting, sometimes dozens of times on the same picture. So the question arises, is premier coup really a synonym for alla prima? They are defined as the same thing when translated to English.

Jasper Schade by Franz Hals 1645

Premier coup ought to mean the same thing that alla prima does, but to me it's the first touch of the brush. If you see it that way, then premier coup means the "put down a stroke and leave it alone" school of painting, in contrast to working one color into another (wet-in-wet) on the painting surface, which might lead to muddiness or worse.

Also confusing is that direct painting could be alla prima or not and alla prima might be premier coup or not. The idea that wet-into-wet is somehow synonymous with any of the above, isn't strictly true, either. The centuries-old technique of painting into a lubricating medium applied to the support, underdrawn or underpainted, or what Monet called "painting into the soup," is by definition wet-into-wet. That technique is actually glazing, adding more or less transparent layers over an often contrasting underpainting that has been allowed to dry thoroughly.

So to sum up for my own purposes, I use the terms mentioned as follows:

• direct painting - painting without glazing, sometimes in more than one session
• alla prima - painting in a single session, which requires wet-in-wet techniques
• premier coup - putting down one brush stroke and then leaving it alone 
• wet-in-wet - application of wet paint to a wet underlayer, whether paint or medium

Without a clear understanding of terminology, seems to me, we're all at sea.

---

Here are a couple of my own small works. Each of these was painted alla prima using a premier coup technique. That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.

"Jimmy B" (study) 2015, 8x10

"Hockney" 2015, 6x8

Favorite Art Books Part 1

Everyone has favorite art books. Their favorite might be one of the tried and true classics, like Harold Speed's "Practice and Science of Drawing" for example. Or maybe George Bridgman's equally famous and favored "Complete Guide to Drawing from Life." Some are fans of the materials and methods books like the classic by Mayer, or the one by Eastlake. The range of books dealing with art, artists, art materials, art techniques, art exhibitions, art collaborations, and art festivals is beyond imaging. Still, there are books that have deservedly become virtually indispensable, either for the information contained within or for the images, or best, both.

I plan on uploading comments and images about favorite books here, on an occasional basis. So as a start, here are few favorites of my own, in no particular order. These are chosen for the teaching they provided me. The books listed below are from my own library shelves, mostly well-used, but a few (I have to admit) only used a time or two. Along with some information about the book itself I'll tell you why it's important to me.

Ways With Watercolor by Ted Kautzky
Originally published in 1949, this is a book that encompasses much of how to paint in watercolor. As you'd imagine, some parts (materials, brushes) are dated and of only historical interest. But Kautzky, a master of the medium, takes you through pigments, limited palette studies that begin with only two colors and progress to more, along with step by step ways to paint buildings, trees, streets, and the like. Although his style is a bit antiquated, this book has much to teach today's painters.The first edition went through about ten printings, and there is a very useful second edition that dates to 1963, shortly after Kautzky's death. Highly recommended.

Village Scene by Ted Kautzky ca. 1945 (from Ways With Watercolor)

Drawing the Head & Figure, How to Draw Animals, and Drawing Scenery: landscapes and seascapes, all by Jack Hamm
Although not famous, Jack Hamm was a very busy artist, illustrator and teacher in the 20th century (d. 1996). These books are fundamental drawing books that show the reader easily understood ways to construct believable drawings. Published in the mid-20th century, each book provides specific information. For example the book on animals shows clearly how certain animals differ structurally and how to draw many different species. There are incredibly detailed drawings demonstrating animal movements, markings, features, and a lot more. Each of the three books has probably a thousand drawings with accompanying text. Still in print, you can get all three for about $30 on Amazon. Highly recommended.

page from Drawing the Head & Figure by Jack Hamm

 
Drawing Realistic Textures in Pencil by J.D. Hillberry (1999)
J.D. is an amazing pencil artist whom I met online years ago. His book is chock-full of wonderful drawings plus great techniques for making simple graphite drawings special with texture. One of his specialties (which I admit I enjoy a lot) is trompe l'oeil, with shallow depth and much detail. His sections on materials and methods are very useful, and the included stepwise demonstrations provide even a professional with much to think on and emulate. This book is still in print and available widely. Highly recommended.

Drawing Realistic Textures in Pencil (Detail of cover)

Thumbbox Exhibition

Every year in early winter the Salmagundi Club holds its traditional Thumbbox Exhibition and Sale, a show of members' paintings measuring less than 108 square inches (about 9x12 inches) and sculptures less than 12 inches tall. The show itself has been a tradition for many years, attracting visitors and buyers to the club. This year's show runs from November 23 to New Years Day.

This year I've entered these three oil paintings. Each measures 6x8 and was done in oil. The first is a shiny coffee creamer I've had around for ages that just caught the light in a way I found arresting and interesting to paint. The ground I was using then had a lovely ochre tone and was pretty porous and absorbed oil and medium in equal amounts. It was fun putting cooler tones on top and judging the effects. The reflections help to give the sense of form and smooth surfaces.

"Shine," oil on paper mounted on board, 2011

The second is a painting done this week of the very last rose from my garden. I'm not usually much of a painter of floral subjects, though I do enjoy landscapes and streetscapes. Mostly, doing paintings of flowers has seemed to me like a waste--why not just look at photos or videos or just go outdoors? But as the cold months have begun to threaten here in the Midwest, gardens are going brown and dormant. Nevertheless, last week I discovered that my landscape rose in the front garden had one last, fat bud. I brought it in, gave it some warmth and light, and was rewarded with the last rose of summer. Here it is, almost faded.

"One Last Rose," oil on panel, 2015

And last, certainly not least, the final painting I sent to Salmagundi for the show is a quirky little still life I did around the same time as the one of the coffee creamer. Same ground, same interest in making cooler darks come forward. This is my studio tabletop, a tube of cobalt blue and an eraser and scissors. I cover my work surface with tan butcher paper which inevitably becomes marked by this or that pigment. This is pretty much how it looked one morning.

"Studio Tabletop," oil on paper mounted on board, 2011

The Thumbbox Exhibition has been a favorite of mine for several years, so off these went (via emailed entry) to the club for the jury's consideration. We'll see what they have to say.

Salmagundi Club Wikipedia entry

1939 History of Salmagundi Club (pdf)

Computer Art Programs

Computer art programs have become important, and not just to professional artists. Digital drawing is a useful way to improve artistic skills, even for beginners. Computer art programs have significant advantages, not the least of which is convenience and (my favorite) no cleanup. No brush washing, preserving or disposing of paint, rags, used paper or canvas. However, on the negative side of the ledger many will add that learning computer programs is too hard, or the programs are too expensive. Or they may feel that using a computer to make images puts the artist to far away from the art--the tool is too intrusive--and besides, some artists really love having dirty hands and paint-spattered jeans. And of course, artists who have established useful and solid methods and know their materials inside and out don't want to change, saying "if it ain't broke..."

Nevertheless, I'd like to gently suggest giving digital art-making a try.

My experience is probably like that of many others. For a long time, although I owned Photoshop, digital art was something I had no interest in or time for. It occurred to me that perhaps the computer expertise needed was mostly beyond me, so the program languished. But a few years ago, a program called Art Rage changed my mind about digital drawing and painting. I saw a demonstration of the program by an oil painter who had only used it a short time. Unlike the more expensive and impressively digital Photoshop, Art Rage emulated what an artist does with graphite or paint, and seemed to be quicker to learn. You can pick a "brush" with defined properties that allow the artist to make a display mark very similar to

Portrait of Woody 2014 "graphite" drawing done in Art Rage

a mark made with graphite or charcoal or watercolor or oil paint. You can blend strokes and colors, just like real paint or charcoal. And importantly, Art Rage and other digital programs let you work in layers. In this portrait of Woody Guthrie, done from a photograph, you can see how well Art Rage simulates the look of graphite pencils.

There are newer digital art programs that are immediately available by download from the various online providers for all of operating systems (you can get Art Rage online too), although some are specific to one platform or another. Even better, you can get started with a free app or program and advance to the more expensive ones if or when you feel the need. Even the expensive programs like the Photoshop line from Adobe and its companion program Illustrator can be gotten quickly online. Today those and similar professional programs from other companies (Sketchbook, from Autodesk for example) are still relatively expensive but the cost is spread over time. You can download Photoshop online and pay about $20 per month while you use it and participate in Adobe's Creative Cloud. You will pay almost $250 per year so if you use it for a couple of years, well, you've paid a great deal.

Beginning in digital art making can be very inexpensive, though. In fact several very good entry level digital art programs can be downloaded for free. If you have a smartphone (who doesn't?) you can download a free program now called Brushes Redux from iTunes. David Hockney famously used the original Brushes app for quite a lot of the digital images he has been exhibiting, if the press is accurate. Today there are thousands using the program and uploading their images online. Besides being free, it's fairly simple to learn because you can just draw the image with a finger on the screen of your smartphone or iPad. The pictures you can produce on a telephone screen with such a blunt tool as a fingertip are necessarily rather rudimentary, of course, but with the larger tablet screens and the use of various kinds of styluses the pictures can be striking. There are other programs that are free or sell for a nominal charge online that can provide very good images, excellent convenience, and aren't that hard to learn.

Another iPhone and iPad app is Art Studio, again available from the iTunes store. This program is significantly more sophisticated than Brushes Redux. It sells for $4.99. Like Art Rage, Art Studio emulates the experience of painting or drawing. You can make it produce images similar to graphite, ink, or charcoal drawing. Or you can "paint" like watercolor or like oils.

Imaginary Character 2014 done with Art Studio

There is an additional add-on that you can buy from within the app, a Brush Pack that supplies more varied "brushes," but it's not necessary if you just want to try it out. The painting to the right was done in several layers using Art Studio while checking out how different brushes laid down color.

And finally, follow the link below to see uploads of Brushes-based images from all over.


Artworks created using Brushes

Publicity

Being mentioned in a piece in Forbes online a while back got me thinking about publicity. It was Lee Marvin who said something like, "I don't care what you write about me, just spell my name right." The implication of course is that there is no bad publicity. Well, perhaps. Marvin was in the midst of his famous "palimony" suit brought by an ex-lover who wanted alimony. In his case, he seems to have been right because nothing detrimental to his movie career ever happened. On the other hand, regular people--like me--want to be recognized favorably. Notoriety isn't for me.

So as I began thinking of other public mentions of my artwork, I remembered that I've been interviewed for newspaper and television in the past few years. The Des Moines Register has run a couple of articles about my work and a local television station broadcast an interview conducted in my studio in 2012.

"Rene Descartes (after Hals)" 2012

At the time I was doing a copy of a portrait of Rene Descartes, the famous natural philosopher, painted originally by Franz Hals in the 17th century, and the camera caught me at it. I do these kinds of copies to study the technique of the masters. Hals is a particular favorite of mine for his bravura brushwork. Of all of the Dutch masters of the 17th century, he's my all-time favorite. In particular, I enjoy his "tronies" or paintings of heads of various "types" of people, from his smirking gypsy girl to all of those tipsy revelers with ruddy cheeks and noses. 

So here is the link to that interview, conducted by long-time newscaster Mollie Cooney of KCCI television. Mollie and I met at ArtfestMidwest here in Des Moines a couple of years back and she asked to do the interview.

In the Artists Studio with Gary Hoff

Society of Illustrators

One of the great places to visit in New York is the Society of Illustrators. The Society was founded over a century ago to promote the "art of illustration" as they put it, and to hold exhibitions. And they've done so for the entire history of the organization. Further, the Society has always had renowned artists as members. During its early history, the club counted Howard Pyle, Maxfield Parish, N.C. Wyeth, Charles Dana Gibson, Frederic Remington, James Montgomery Flagg as attendee at monthly dinners. And our old friend Mark Twain (a founder of The Players) figures in some of those early events at the Society as well.

"Dover Coach," Norman Rockwell, 1935

An interesting side note is that during  World War I years, Society members worked with the government to produce original poster designs, one of which was the famous James M. Flagg recruiting poster of Uncle Sam. Several members also received commissions and were sent to France to sketch the war.

Today its venerable club building on 63rd houses the Museum of American Illustration, society offices, a wonderful dining facility and gallery spaces.

A few years ago we visited the Society for lunch. The Salmagundi Club and the Society are reciprocal organizations that welcome one another's visits, so Pat and I and our friend Beth Kurtz dropped in for lunch. What a treat! The food was good but the art was better. The dining room is known as the Hall of Fame Gallery and has quite a few pieces by the well-known and famous selected from the Society's permanent collection. Norman Rockwell's Christmas painting, "The Dover Coach," has pride of place over the bar in the dining room, but there are works by many others in the halls and stairwells. After a sumptuous lunch, we spent an delightful hour studying as many of them as we could.

Society of Illustrators

Forbes Magazine online

A few weeks ago I received an email from Jason Borbet, a contributor to Forbes. He had been in my booth at the Uptown Art Fair in Minneapolis last summer and asked if he could include me in a piece showcasing contemporary artists on the Forbes online site. Jason is an artist himself as well as a writer, and has published several showcases of contemporary artists (about 70 artists so far) in the recent past.He regularly conducts interviews with artists as well, as you'll see if you follow the link below.


http://www.forbes.com/sites/borbet/

Besides his Forbes connection, Jason has a blog and gallery (linked below) where he shows and sells his own work. His latest is his take on Jeff Bridges' character of The Dude from the Coen brothers' hilarious cult classic "The Big Lebowski."





http://www.borbay.com/

Thanks, Jason.

What is it worth?

The question of the worth of things--more properly, value-- recurs again and again in our culture. In the world of art collecting, the prices paid for works by famous artists have spiraled into the outer stratosphere, far above other perceived value.

By other perceived value I mean aesthetic value, mostly. Does the picture or sculpture provide the viewer with something besides an experience of beauty, or prettiness. Does the piece provoke thoughts of something new or new thoughts about something we've already been through? Does the work rouse admiration in us for its virtuosity of form or for its evocation of moment or emotion? Is there a story we see in the work? Does it provide us with fertile ground for our own narrative inventions? Is the image challenging or commonplace? And on and on. It might be said that some works transcend financial value. The Mona Lisa.

"When Will You Marry Me?" Paul Gauguin

On the other hand, in all other pursuits the price of a thing for sale is set by how much someone will pay. The value of the object is simply the market price. Forget aesthetics. Value is set by the dollar amount somebody will pay. In the last few years, quite paintings have sold for truly enormous sums--over $100 million. One by Gauguin called "When Will You Marry Me?" (original title Tahitian) sold a few months ago for $300 million, for example, eclipsing the record of $250 million set by the sale of Cezanne's 1893 "Card Players," to the Qatari family.

Both of these paintings are undeniably interesting works, and the Gauguin at least is attractive and pleasing. The Gauguin, unlike a lot of his work, has real depth of composition and expression while using relatively flat fields of color. It has real aesthetic value. The Cezanne is hardly his best work. A cursory look at this painting shows Cezanne's shortcomings as a draftsman very clearly (look at the arms). And no matter what his apologists say about his genius, his palette is drab enough to make us wonder if he was chronically depressed. There is a sort of helplessness in the card players, and a gut-deep feeling of unhappiness comes out of the work. In that sense, Cezanne succeeds if arousing such thoughts was his purpose. Nonetheless it is clumsy, dark, poorly composed and altogether forgettable.

Obviously neither of these pictures is worth what was paid. There are many other works, obscure and famous, that have more human content. Certainly there are thousands that are more visually arresting, better drawn or painted, or simply provide the viewer with a more transcendent experience. And neither of these is ground-breaking, neither is startling, neither makes us want more, in all honesty. The purchasers bought the painter's names and their historical and critical reputations regardless of what the image actually contains. They purchased an investment, regardless of how the acquisition was described. And stay tuned, of course, because auctions and private sales continue to push art prices beyond the stratosphere, where there is only vacuum.

"Card Players," 1893 Paul Cezanne

The Ten Most Expensive Paintings in the World

Most Expensive Paintings--Wikipedia