Let’s start with that wise mantra: location, location, location.
My studio is bombing that test as I write this on a lovely sunny day.
Had I been around in the 1920’s when our house was being built, I would rotated the foundation half a turn. Well, aren’t we precious, you are thinking, but hear me out. Remember that business about Parisian ateliers with northern exposures? As a young reader, I always wondered what was so desirable about north light, which is cold and blue-ish. I decided that north garretts must have been the cheapest and didn't think about it for half a century.
Turns out that it’s not so much about wanting north light. Instead, it's all about avoiding south light.
By now you’re guessing that my studio windows are of the southerly persuasion. All seven of them. Oh yes. The result? A veritable deluge of full-spectrum daylight. So now you are wondering why I would turn my nose up at great light. Start by imagining a big area covered with fresh oil paint; you can do this in the basement -- the only important stipulations are that you use oil so this undercoat is shiny. Immediately set the canvas in front of a strong full-spectrum bulb. Take a brush with another oil colour and begin painting. What happens is that all you will see are the brushstrokes reflecting back. The availability of colour vision has sailed.
This situation reigns from November to April in my studio unless I am blessed by an overcast day.
Ironically, the reason I love oil paints above all others, like acrylic or gouache, is that same exquisite slowness to dry.* I can work it for hours almost like finger-paint because it begs to be blended. And I must admit that May to October make it easy: once the canopy opens the room is shielded from direct light. But when once again the leaves drop, I wait for cloud cover. Christmas is the worst, of course, when the sun’s arc is lowest and reflected glare blinds me.
So today I will find something else to do. As the promise of spring whispers, I have begun to hear the siren call of my other passion: the garden. The native seeds that I collected last year need to be started and surely some will survive this year!
*Speaking of which, the way a finished oil painting dries is worth mentioning. It may have an ugly duckling stage when the finish is a bit patchy in terms of shine. However, practise patience. In about a year, it will have settled into a velvety glow. Worth the wait.
My studio is bombing that test as I write this on a lovely sunny day.
Had I been around in the 1920’s when our house was being built, I would rotated the foundation half a turn. Well, aren’t we precious, you are thinking, but hear me out. Remember that business about Parisian ateliers with northern exposures? As a young reader, I always wondered what was so desirable about north light, which is cold and blue-ish. I decided that north garretts must have been the cheapest and didn't think about it for half a century.
Turns out that it’s not so much about wanting north light. Instead, it's all about avoiding south light.
By now you’re guessing that my studio windows are of the southerly persuasion. All seven of them. Oh yes. The result? A veritable deluge of full-spectrum daylight. So now you are wondering why I would turn my nose up at great light. Start by imagining a big area covered with fresh oil paint; you can do this in the basement -- the only important stipulations are that you use oil so this undercoat is shiny. Immediately set the canvas in front of a strong full-spectrum bulb. Take a brush with another oil colour and begin painting. What happens is that all you will see are the brushstrokes reflecting back. The availability of colour vision has sailed.
This situation reigns from November to April in my studio unless I am blessed by an overcast day.
Ironically, the reason I love oil paints above all others, like acrylic or gouache, is that same exquisite slowness to dry.* I can work it for hours almost like finger-paint because it begs to be blended. And I must admit that May to October make it easy: once the canopy opens the room is shielded from direct light. But when once again the leaves drop, I wait for cloud cover. Christmas is the worst, of course, when the sun’s arc is lowest and reflected glare blinds me.
So today I will find something else to do. As the promise of spring whispers, I have begun to hear the siren call of my other passion: the garden. The native seeds that I collected last year need to be started and surely some will survive this year!
*Speaking of which, the way a finished oil painting dries is worth mentioning. It may have an ugly duckling stage when the finish is a bit patchy in terms of shine. However, practise patience. In about a year, it will have settled into a velvety glow. Worth the wait.
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