I was reminded of the old golf joke — “Hit the ball, drag Harry” today as I tried to walk Theodore.  You wouldn’t think that a 22 pound terrier could successfully resist walking on a lead but he did, all four legs stiffly leaving drag tracks down the driveway.  When that didn’t work, he just lay down.


Not that I really blame him.  It is France 1915 on our tiny street.  The house vibrates from 7 to 7 from the huge front-end loaders, the gravel trucks and the trenching machine which occupy our territory.   I suppose the watermains might be as old as that war and they frankly do need replacement but  poor Theodore, a dog who is afraid of cardboard boxes, is rigid with terror.


So I wasn’t surprised when, in the studio later he tried to scale my legs to get to the safety of my lap.  I’m into the final glazes of the two paintings which I have been posting and,  tempting as is the thought of sitting,  I’m a stand up painter.  Like most painters, I use my whole arm  frequently - sometimes to scrub, sometimes to lay down a line, sometimes to glaze.    


Scared or not, Theodore will have to settle for the floor at my feet where, no doubt, I will do a header or two.  Plus ca change….

(I had a modest epiphany the other day.  Tasked recently with contemplating my artistic method and intent, I realized that my subject matter appears hugely variable, ranging from still life to large landscape to portraiture.  Certainly palette, brushwork, underpainting, glazing and recurring subject matter are common elements.....yet there's more to it.

Only when I was waiting in the car and watching hordes of people and vehicles pass did the penny drop. There was absolutely nothing that made me want to paint.   And I realized that the unifying focus for my work is that of a quiet state.   Life is made up of shining still moments even if these moments are irregularly strung together.  My monkey brain is at peace in this elevated state;  in gratitude I want to honour it with my brush in the hope that my painting will recreate that quiet state in the viewer.

Years ago, somebody somewhere (haven't a clue) simplified humanity into two groups:  the stimuli enhansers and the stimuli suppressors.  My beloved belongs to the first group.  It is not uncommon for him to turn on the radio in every room he enters.  That they are tuned differently is unimportant.  Because people like me are chronically OVER-stimulated, we are always trying to reduce stimuli.  I follow him from room to room, turning the radio off.  We get our exercise this way.

So don't you be expecting a crowd scene, a street with cars, or a fair.  If my paintings came with an audio tape, you might hear quiet waves, wind in the trees, or breathing.  But not heavy breathing.  (I think I once received an obscene phone call.  However, because it was in another language, I didn't recognize the words and so patiently, in my very best French, apologized and asked if the caller would mind repeating what he said.  We went back and forth a few times until he hung up rather abruptly, in my opinion.)

But I digress.   Getting back to the issue at hand, hypnotic beauty is my drug of choice.  And, boy, it is everywhere.

 

Thirty Rock had a great early episode about Jack and Kenneth.  Jack, the boss who knows everything, brags that he always wins at poker because of his ability to spot the “tell” — the gesture which betrays someone's hand.  Ironically Kenneth can beat him because, of course, he completely lacks deception and the signs which reveal it.

As a sometime portraitist, I am on the hunt for a different kind of “tell”  — the look that hints at that person’s essence.  You rarely find these in a studio photograph, although exceptional photographers like Yousuf Karsh and Tony Hauser come to mind.  Perhaps it is because we are most ourselves when doing what we love.  Neither Rachel nor Leslie, the two musicians, were thinking about anything but the music.

The "Tell" need not be a facial expression.  My “Reading the River” series created itself.  I began to notice that simply being on a river was sufficient for many to show themselves.   Here are three with a common element -- the presence of a fishing rod, a directional bias in the posture,  and the complete absence of photo-shyness.  

Sometimes colour blooms in the most amazing places.  “Rapunzel” is a case in point.   Because we were seated inside and the December sun was setting, at first I registered nothing but the stunning coif.  Only later  did I find the exquisite shadows on her neck and face. This is where the glaze oil method shines.  Those multi-coloured skin tones emerged as a natural outcome of the transparent primaries in the underpainting and needed no further development.  And what began as a painting of great hair became an exploration of the fabulous warm/cool spectrum of shadowed skin.

Often there is even less light to work with.  That can work too as in “Ethereal.”  Leslie’s pale skin and hair glow, almost encircling the warm siennas of her precious Odoardi.  In the same way Rachel and her cello become one, signalling from the darkness as lines and pools of reflected light.  “Pensive” too relies on few areas of bright light — the side of Jon’s nose, the edge of his lips, the crease of his smile. 

As viewers, our imaginations supply what is missing, like a pilot landing at midnight.

Are you thinking in words or images these days?  Words are deserting me, a telltale sign.   In fact, I can tell that a portrait is brewing whenever I start concentrating on faces instead of the conversation.  Now staring is just fine when, and only when, that face is on a screen.  But we were all raised not to do it in public.  If you catch me doing it, don’t worry.  I promise not to follow you home in a darkened car.  All I’m doing is working out your colours.  Preferably in daylight.

Do you remember the fad of the eighties about “having your colours done”?  I do, if only because I got saddled with a pastel palette.  Always having had strong colour preferences, the experience of having them assigned ticked me off and I have made a point of avoiding these colours since.

Yet it does start me thinking about the colours we already possess.  Not the obvious two:  eye and hair colour, though both can tweaked, as my ancient green contact lenses could attest.  I’m thinking more about the colours below and above the skin surface and the shadow.  They are the real deal.

Let’s start with the obvious, such as strong skin colour.  Jon is a case in point.  I played with that classic Scots high colour in ”Jon - detail” (in Portraiture) by setting him in strong evening sun which bleached part of his face and deepened his cheek.  To a lesser degree, “The Private Joke” (glaze oil on panel) also employs contrasts of light and shadow to emphasize his ruddy colouring.  Both portraits depended on strong daylight to set up the pose and utilize his distinctive hues.

But we live in Canada, don’t we!!  Few of us boast that lovely deep tone, even in summer.  For heaven's sake, most of us are fish-belly white from November to April.  Here is where I count on setting my subject next to a sunny window.  Side light is a huge help in defining features and creating warmth.    With that boost,  the subtle palette of “De” becomes a play between rosy skin and green eyes.  On the other side of that glass it was minus 25.  Daylight rules again!  Use it when you find it.

Next post:  More on finding colour.