Framing with Linen Liners

April 3, 2008

I’ve just been finishing up the framing for the exhibition of paintings from the Spain workshop last fall. The paintings are to be delivered in two days for the show opening the following day. As usual, I’m right on the deadline.

Whenever I mention in a workshop that I do my own framing, there are dozens of questions. As anyone who’s paid to have a pastel painting framed knows, it’s expensive. Doing the framing yourself cuts the cost considerably, and gives you total control.

I’m fortunate that my husband and partner, artist Bill Canright, helps with the process. He builds the frames, which is a big part of the cost, for all of our paintings. For some years, we’ve usually framed our paintings with mats; I cut the mats and put everything together.

Some of the paintings we wanted to include in this upcoming show are large—one is 18x24 and there are two 16x20—and we felt they would be better presented with linen liners rather than mats. The paintings were done on Richeson’s Gatorfoam board, so there was no need to worry about hinging paper to a backing board. I wanted the glass and the painting behind the liner, so there would be no chance of pastel dust falling on the liner, and the painting needed to space ¼" away from the glass as usual.

I searched on-line and found a company that sells linen liners at a reasonable cost, and ordered them. It is probably possible to make the liners yourself, but that would involve working with linen fabric, and fabric and I don’t get along well.

Once the liners arrived, Bill made the frames, making sure the inner dimension of the frame would fit the outer dimension of the liner. I ordered the glass (Conservation Clear), and purchased plastic spacers (Framespace) from a local frame supply shop. With all the components in place, I started the assembly.

First, I rubbed the edges of the glass with a whetstone to dull the sharp edges. Then, wearing my glass gloves, I affixed the plastic spacers to the edges of the glass. The spacers are a sort of “S” shape, and the groove fits snugly over the glass. With the glass flat on my work counter, spacers facing up, I carefully laid the painting onto the lips of the spacers, which held it ¼” away from the glass. Then, in order to keep everything tight and in place, I wrapped all the edges with a plastic-like, acid-free framer’s tape (Framers Tape II). In the first photo, you can see the “sandwich” of glass, spacer and painting before it was wrapped with tape. I made sure only about 1/8” of tape wrapped over the front, since that would be hidden by the liner.

Then I put the assembled “sandwich” face-down into the liner. It stuck up a little bit out of the well of the liner, and I wanted to make sure it would stay in place, so I fastened it down with offset clips on all four sides.

The rabbet (depth of the frame from front to back) of the moulding we use for our frames is nearly 1”, so there was still some space to deal with. I placed strips of fome-core on either side of the offset clips, each with a strip of double-sided tape applied to its top surface, all around the outer edges of the liner. This would provide a sturdy support for the final sheet of fome-core, and would keep it from bending over the offset clips. I marked on the frame moulding where the clips were.

Finally, I placed the sheet of fome-core backing, and using my point-pusher, inserted the points all around to hold it in place, making sure not to put a point over any of the offset clips. The sticky-side-up strips of fome-core stuck to the fome-core backing sheet, and could not move once the points were affixed. I covered the entire back with paper, wired the frame for hanging, stuck on “bumpers” and my business card, and it was ready to go.

Once I got all the quirks figured out, framing the next few paintings was faster than when using mats. The cost of the liner is somewhat offset by using a smaller piece of glass, and of course not purchasing matboard. Without the addition of a 3” mat on all sides, the frame is also a little smaller. I’m very pleased with the look of the framed painting. The painting shown here is Cliffs at Ronda, 16x20. (For more information on framing, including a section on framing with double mats not previously printed, see my e-book, available here.)

 

Pushing the Boundaries of the Comfort Zone

February 8, 2008

Working on the painting of the flamenco dancer recently (see previous blog), I enjoyed painting the fabric of the dancer’s shawl and dress. So I decided to push even farther out of my comfortable landscape painter’s range of subjects, and paint a grouping of rugs and fabric.

I noticed this storefront in Marbella, Spain, on one of our day trips last fall, and was intrigued by the patterns of the colors of the rugs and linens. Even more interesting was the way the shadow of another building fell across the buildings and the fabrics, changing their colors and creating a pattern of its own.

Because I needed to create some fairly fine lines and definition, I decided to try this subject on a surface that’s new to me, the Rtistx pastel surface. It worked well, though I discovered I could not put on as many layers as I’m used to when working on the Wallis or Richeson surfaces.

The painting is called Rug Sale, 11x14, and it will be included in the exhibition of work from the Spain trip. But I still needed two more paintings for the show.

I decided to try another somewhat-different subject. One of the things I love when exploring the Genal Valley in Spain is the vastness of the landscape and the views of the white villages. Usually, when approaching a landscape subject, I force myself to “zoom in” rather than painting the broad vista.

But I thought it might be fun to allow myself, just this once, the big picture. I loved the unfolding layers of land, cliffs and valleys approaching the village, and the groupings of the yellowish chestnut trees and the grayer, bluer olives. And I wanted to include the distant mountains behind the village in order to further explain the vastness of this area.

The challenge was to keep the white buildings—or at lest a couple of them—as the focal point while also including all these other elements. I created a suggestion of a path leading up to the village from the foreground land mass to help direct the viewer’s eye through the painting. I think it worked, though the painting is still sitting on a shelf for study for another week or two before I commit to a frame.

Approaching Cartajima is 18x24, painted on Richeson Premium Pastel Surface on gatorfoam. I chose the terra cotta color to complement the greens of the trees, and it worked to imply the reddish dirt of the ground where the pastel did not entirely cover the surface. I also liked the way tiny bits of red warmed up the mountains—the only areas where I totally covered the red were in the sky and clouds.

It’s been fun exploring other subjects and approaches, and it will be interesting to see how my next landscape painting comes out.

 

Paintings from Spain Workshop

January 29, 2008

It’s always fun when a group of people who know each other take a workshop together.

In October of 2007, our first of two back-to-back workshops in Spain included a group from Amarillo, Texas, many of whom are members of the Amarillo Art Association. Most of them had traveled together on painting trips at least one or two previous years, and each year, after they returned to Amarillo, organized an exhibition of paintings from the trip.

The exhibition of the work from the Spain trip will be in Amarillo at the Panhandle Art Center in April. An opening reception on Sunday, April 6, from 2-4:00, will feature Spanish food, photos and decorations reminiscent of the trip. All of the painters from the group have been working to finalize up to four paintings each, and it’s been a fun journey through memories, from selecting the subjects to the actual painting.

It’s hard to separate out the highlights of the trip, since every day in Júzcar and every visit to another of the white villages was special in its own way. (See the photo page.) I’m finishing up a landscape piece of the cliffs outside the village of Ronda. I’ve painted the famous bridge several times, but have always been intrigued by the cliffs surrounding the bridge. (El Tajo, 8x11, plein air pastel by Maggie Price)

But I think it’s good to try something totally different occasionally, whether it’s working on a different surface or painting a subject outside my comfort zone. During the workshop, we went to Ronda one evening to watch a flamenco performance. It was a wonderful experience, very authentic traditional dancers, and the costumes were beautiful. They allowed photography, and when I went back through my photos of the dancers, it was a moment of preparation that intrigued me most.

There were a number of challenges in this painting. The placement of the main figure was a consideration—did I really want her in the middle? In the end, I decided that since the contrast of lightest light and darkest dark—the lit edge of the shawl—was off-center, this placement would work. Another challenge was the figures of the guitar player and the spectator, both emerging from the dark background. The spectator on the right is barely visible, but important in the composition. In both cases, I laid in the very dark background color and brushed it with turpenoid, and after it dried brought the lighter values out of the surrounding dark. Finally, the fabric and fringe on the main figure was challenging to a landscape painter, but since the costume, more than the figure itself, is the subject, it had to be right. I’m finally happy with this piece, which I’m calling Ready for the Dance. It’s 11x14, painted on Richeson’s gatorfoam surface (terra cotta color).

We have another trip to Spain scheduled for May. Because most of the area has yet to be discovered by tourism, I plan to keep going back as long as it remains unspoiled (and the most inexpensive foreign workshop I’ve ever done!). In May, the wildflowers will be blooming all over the mountains, and we’re adding a day trip to Granada to visit the Alhambra, and hope to paint in the gardens. There’s still space in the group if you want to join us, and create your own paintings and memories of an unusual and beautiful place.

 

The Struggle to Paint

January 12, 2008

I love painting. I’ve been painting most of my life, and it’s a wonderful thing.

But there are days when I can barely drag myself to the easel. I’ll clean the kitchen, run errands, do the laundry—anything to delay going in the studio.

The worst thing is starting a new painting, even when I’m excited about the subject and feel it’s likely I can do something with it.

What is it about the blank board or paper that’s so intimidating? Every artist I know has experienced that intimidation at some point. It’s one reason I usually begin with an underpainting—it gets color on the surface fast, and gets me started.

There are tricks I play on myself to get into the studio. I tell myself I’ll just do the initial sketch. Then, maybe I’ll just do the underpainting. If it goes well, then, well, maybe I’ll just block in some color here and there. And then maybe I’ll just work on the focal point.

Each step requires a mental push. Sometimes I’ve scheduled an entire day for painting, but don’t feel able to start, and this process gets me going. Somewhere along the way, I get excited about the subject and hours pass. Those are the good days.

On other days, even if the painting in progress is going well and I’m having fun, I get to a point where I’m stalled. Maybe I’ve finished the most exciting part and what’s left looks tedious. Maybe I’ve left the hard part for last and am afraid I’ll ruin the painting if I continue. But I’m obviously not going to frame an unfinished piece, so eventually I must push on.

Deadlines are a wonderful motivation. Give me a deadline for an article that requires a painting to illustrate it, a chapter in a book that needs four paintings, an upcoming show—then I’ll wait til the last possible minute to start, but I’ll get it done on time.

Today, I’m writing this blog instead of painting. The painting on the easel is 75% done, it’s going well, and I’m in front of the computer. But now that I’ve reached my word limit, I’m going back to the studio. Really.

 

Painting in the Studio

December 12, 2007

Over the two months of the trip to Europe and the workshops in Scotland, Italy and Spain, I painted outdoors again and again. I ended up with over 40 plein-air paintings, of varying degrees of completion, and with an even greater understanding of painting the landscape. I also painted quite a lot of architectural subjects, which I find unavoidable in Europe, and which I used to enjoy much less than I do now.

Coming home was just a matter of unpacking and repacking to go Honolulu to teach a workshop, home again, then to Raleigh, North Carolina for the last workshop of the season.

Home for the winter now means some time for studio painting. I love painting outdoors, but working in the studio allows the luxury of time—time to get the drawing right, time to think about the composition more, time to enjoy the painting without the pressure of changing light, biting bugs and chattering bystanders. This first large painting done in the studio since my return home, The First Kiss of Fall, 16x20, was definitely influenced by the on-location work done in Italy, but reflects the advantages of studio time.

In addition to hundreds of photographs and dozens of paintings, I came home with three extra sets of the Unison pastels selected for the Scotland workshop. This lovely assortment, not available anywhere else, contains colors that would suit any landscape, and can be ordered here on my website while quantities last.

While I’m looking forward to painting in the studio for a few months, I’ve also booked a couple of new workshops for 2008—a plein-air class in Boulder, Colorado in August, and a combination plein-air and indoor class in Charlotte, North Carolina for November. Check the workshops page for more information.

 

Painting in Southern Spain

October 8, 2007

Our first workshop session in the village of Juzcar (www.juzcar.com) in the Genal Valley of southern Spain has begun. We have a total of 15 artists and companions, and we fill the small, lovely Hotel Bandolero (www.hotelbandolero.com) where we’re based. Day trips to other white villages and to a couple of larger cities are giving us lots of opportunities to paint.

My favorite subjects are in and around Juzcar itself. It is a village almost untouched by tourists. There are no stores for shopping, and only the one hotel. The villagers are curious about us but very friendly, and often stop to talk to us while we’re painting.

One afternoon some of us went up the hill to paint the view of the next village, Cartajima, which is about 5 km away. There were fast moving clouds and fast-changing light, so it was a challenging subject, but as always, enjoyable.

 

On a rainy day we painted indoors, setting up still lifes or finding them already around in the hotel, or looking out windows. The building next door proved a good subject for Alojamientes Rurales, by Bill Canright (shown at left).

 

In addition to the blogs posted to this site during this long workshop trip, I’m posting to the blog page at www.pasteljournal.com —check it out for more images and paintings from Spain.

 

Expectations

October 2, 2007

It seems obvious that when traveling in other countries, one should not expect things to be the same as they are at home. I try not to have expectations or anticipate what anything will be like, but still find myself doing so.

Food has always been an area where expectations can be a problem. In Scotland, I’ve ordered dishes with names that led me to think I was getting something I knew, only to find a totally unfamiliar item placed before me. It’s generally good anyway, so I’ve tried to just order things that sound good and not think I know what they’ll be.

In Italy, expectations are even more often unfulfilled, as the descriptions are naturally in Italian and translations often loose or erroneous. This is compounded by a tendency, particularly in restaurants, for the waiter or cook to give you not what you ordered but what they think you should have, or to substitute without consulting you. For example, in one restaurant, the menu indicated that you should choose the type of sauce and the type of pasta you wished it to be served on. I ordered, and the waiter told me that type of sauce would be served on a different kind of pasta than I had indicated. It was fine, but I did wonder why they offered a choice if it was going to be overruled.

Another night, I ordered a dessert of a torte topped with fresh strawberries. When it was served, it was topped with peaches. I thought they’d brought the wrong thing, but the waiter said, “The time of the strawberry is finished. It is now the time of the peach.” My expectation of strawberries, based on the menu, was unfulfilled, but the peach was delicious.

On our last painting day, we went back to paint at Piazza Garibaldi. We’d painted there one other day, and I had painted there during the previous Cortona workshop. I thought I’d paint a similar view as before, and try to do a better job painting the buildings. View from Piazza Garibaldi 2005 (shown at left)

 

But when we set up, the valley was still heavily fogged. I changed the orientation of my composition slightly, and ended up with an unexpectedly wonderful subject of the distant fields in fog contrasting with the strong values of the foreground. Valley Fog 2007 (shown at left)

 

We’re now in Spain, and the first workshop group arrives tomorrow. I’m trying not to have expectations, but I do believe we’ll have a wonderful time.

 

Painting in Cortona

September 24, 2007

Our workshop in Cortona, Italy is well under way. We’ve been enjoying painting almost every day, taking a break one day to go to Firenze for some sightseeing, shopping in Italian art supply stores, and visiting the Uffizi museum. In addition to lots of painting, we’ve been enjoying a wonderful sampling of the local cuisine.

My favorite subject is the landscape, but in Europe I often find myself painting architectural subjects. The old buildings here have such flavor and character, and are so much more interesting to paint than much of what we have at home. I like to paint rooftops, corners of buildings, yet often find myself tackling more complex subjects such as old churches.

I try to remember when painting on location to concentrate mainly on is getting a good representation of color and value, and making some compositional decisions. Back home, I’ll be able to take my field studies and photographic reference and create a new painting, paying more attention to accurate drawing and perspective. With the pressures of changing light, not to mention the steady stream of tourists and locals stopping to discuss the painting—and often offer advice—I don’t feel I have enough time for really accurate drawing. Still, I do try to get as much as possible in the hour and a half I allow myself for a piece before the light has changed too much to continue.

These two pieces are two different churches, painted several days apart. The first is of an old, currently unused building; the second was painted on a Sunday morning to the accompaniment of ringing bells.

Both were huge challenges given the time constraints, and I’m not satisfied with the drawing in either painting, though I feel the color and values are fairly good.

It was more fun to paint the old rooftop at Il Refugio, a local venue for workshops and cooking classes where we spent a day painting. I was particularly happy with the distant fields in this piece. Only a few more days—and a few more paintings here—before we head to Spain!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Painting in the Highlands

September 19, 2007

Scotland is one of my favorite places in the world, and the village of Blair Atholl, site of the workshop sponsored by Jack Richeson & Co., was a perfect place to stay and to paint.

It’s always a challenge painting plein air, and no matter how well you think you’ve prepared, there are unexpected situations. I’d monitored the weather in the Highlands for weeks before departing, but it was colder in actuality that I expected. I was happy to have my painting gloves (cotton garden gloves with the fingertips cut off on the right-hand glove) but had to purchase a warmer jacket to withstand the chill.

In spite of the temperature and the occasional spit of rain, we all produced quite a lot of work. My favorite paintings from the week spanned a range of subjects, some quite unusual. I always love the chance to paint water, and the stream at Blair Castle included not only rushing water but also underwater rocks (see my blog on The Pastel Journal web site for a description of the technique I used for this painting).

At Blair Castle I found an unusual subject at the old St.Bride’s Kirk—a medieval graveyard. I don’t usually think of graveyards as a painting subject, but this was a pleasant place, and the light rimming the stones was so beautiful I could not resist it, nor could several other painters.

 

Halfway through the painting, we were visited by some very curious Highland cows, who worked their way into a small enclosure where they could watch us. In the distance from the other side of the church was Blair Castle, another subject for another day.

 

Leaving the Highlands was difficult, but I know I’ll go back again. Next we go to Italy —watch this site for another blog coming soon.

 

 

A Highland Odyssey

September 5, 2007

We are in Blair Atholl, a lovely small village in the southern Highlands in the center of Scotland. Our workshop group has painted in the village, on the grounds of Glamis Castle (home of the Queen Mother), in the village of Kenmore, and in a wild valley known as the Sma’ Glen.

The first day or two of plein-air painting in a new location is generally a warm-up stage. It takes a while to become accustomed to the light, the colors of the landscape, and to get comfortable with setting up your equipment quickly. In spite of that, there have already been great paintings from this group.

I’ve enjoyed painting the stone bridges and clear streams, and have pushed myself to paint a few buildings or portions of buildings. But my favorite painting so far is this close-up view of the heather. It’s the first time I’ve been in Scotland when the heather was in full bloom, and it is spectacular. After painting it on a distant hill, I decided to do a quick close-up study so I’d have a record of the color.

 

In the village of Kenmore, I did a demonstration out on a small dock jutting into the River Tay. My usual audience of interested students was augmented by a large contingent of quacking ducks, a more vocal group of spectators than I’m used to!

 

We’re past the halfway point of the workshop and while I hate to think of leaving, we have more wonderful painting sites still on the agenda, so I’m trying to live and paint in the present and enjoy every moment.

In addition to blogs on this site, I’m posting occasionally to the blog page of The Pastel Journal’s site, so check that out as well. (www.pasteljournal.com)