2007 Blogs
Finishing the Demonstration Painting
Underpainting with a Single Hue
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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)
August 17, 2007
Have you ever noticed you sometimes you run into an idea again and again?
I’ve been experiencing that with regard to the golden section, or golden ratio. I’d certainly heard of the concept a number of times in the course of my art education. But a couple of years ago I wrote about artist Sydney McGinley (The Pastel Journal, December, 2005, page 28), who very carefully uses the theory in her compositions. I loved her work and found the ideas fascinating.
Over the ensuing months, I played around with the measurements, and used the golden section sometimes in working out compositions. I found the mathematics involved were often a little more trouble than I wanted to take or had time for. My shortcut has been to divide a rectangle into thirds in both directions, and then to place focal points on the intersections formed by the lines. While it’s not quite exactly the golden section, it’s a quick and easy method of locating a focal point off center and in a pleasing position. It seems to work even when the rectangle is not in the proper proportion of 1:1.618.
The Tire Swing, 16x20 pastel, by Maggie Price.
Dividing the rectangle (which is not itself into proportions fitting the golden ratio) into thirds gives a guideline for placement of focal points or significant elements. I deliberately placed the large tree group on a line and the junction of water and flowers on an intersection.)
This rectangle is in proportion to the golden ratio. The small square is the location of the focal point using the golden ratio. The red lines show where the lines dividing the rectangle into thirds intersect. It’s not far off!
At the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C., I saw a painting which reminded me of the use of the golden ratio, and then found a book on the subject. (See below, Learning from the Masters.) I spent the next few evenings reading the book and thinking about how I could use the theory.
Then at the Cincinnati Art Museum, my husband found a new book on the works of Maxfield Parrish, an artist he’s admired since childhood (Maxfield Parrish and the American Imagists, by Laurence S. Cutler, Judy Goffman Cutler and the National Museum of American Illustration). According to the authors, Parrish usually employed the golden ratio in his compositions.
Arriving home after a month’s absence, I sorted through my piles of mail and publications. I took a break to read the September issue of The Artist’s Magazine, which contains an article by Butch Krieger on the golden ratio. It’s a great article.
Too many coincidences to ignore—I think maybe I'll explore this theory a little more in my next few compositions.
August 10, 2007
In early August I taught a one-day class for editorial staffers of The Pastel Journal, Artist’s Magazine and North Light Books. It was a great day, and I was impressed by the knowledge and abilities of the participants. See Anne Hevener’s blog at http://blog.pasteljournal.com/Not+Your+Typical+Monday+At+The+Office.aspx for a look at the class from the participants’ viewpoint.
While in Cincinnati I found time to visit their wonderful art museum. It was a treat to see the impressive collection there, including a wonderful painting by Sorolla, and to explore the Cincinnati Wing, with works by artists including Frank Duvenek, John Henry Twachtman, Robert Blum, Elizabeth Nourse and many others.
A few days later, in Kansas City, Missouri, we visited the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, primarily to see the Impressionist exhibition “Manet to Matisse,” a selection of works from the private collection of Marion and Henry Bloch. Though small in number, the paintings are outstanding in quality, and some have not been exhibited since 1886.
Among the works were three lovely pastels. The Beach, by Eugéne Boudin, was painted about 1865. It is a small painting, and the placard noted that the medium of pastel was “well suited to recording the rapidly changing atmospheric effects.” A work by Edgar Degas was painted about 1879—Dancer Making Points, in pastel and gouache on paper mounted on board. The strokes of pastel are fresh and vibrant. The last pastel in the collection was by Renoir, titled The Flowered Hat, and completed around 1890-95. Like the others, the pigment remains luminous and vivid, though all these works have been hanging in private homes, not climate- and light-controlled museums.
The Nelson Museum has been part of my life since childhood; my first exposure to the paintings of the masters was on a fourth-grade field trip. The Bloch exhibition is being shown to the public in part to celebrate the opening of the new wing, which I confess I strongly dislike when viewing the buildings from the street, but which is attractive from within. Because I grew up with this museum, I tend to take changes rather personally and am slow to approve them. But I quite approved of this exhibition!
A visit to the new museum store resulted in the purchase of the book on the Manet to Matisse exhibition, and the hefty volume titled The Unknown Monet: Pastels and Drawings. Despite its equally hefty price-tag, once I’d leafed through this book I felt I had to have it for further study. Monet’s pastels are exquisite and inspirational; I learn something each time I look at them.
The finishing touch was seeing my own book in the museum store. After a lifetime of visiting the museum, my own work was—in published form, at any rate—included within its walls.
July 26, 2007
I am in Washington, D.C, having just completed a workshop in Marshfield Hills, Massachusetts, and having a few days before the beginning of the next class in State College, Pennsylvania.
It is exciting to be able to spend hours each day in the wonderful art museums here. It's been quite a few years since I've seen them, and exhibits change, new paintings are added, and seeing those I've seen before is like visiting old friends.
While it's always wonderful to see those paintings I'm familiar with and have long loved, the discovery of new works is exciting. Yesterday at the National Portrait Gallery I found a gorgeous gem of a painting by an artist with whose work I was not familiar. The artist is H. Siddons Mowbray, and his jewel of a painting caught my attention from across the gallery. At first glance, it is a simple subject: two women reclining, gazing towards the bottom right corner of the painting. The glowing reds of the closer figure's gown drew me across the room.
Then I studied the painting more carefully, admiring the artist's use of rectangles dividing the space, and noted how certain elements were placed on lines defining the Golden Section. The rectangles were balanced by the use of ovals in the foreground—the oval table, the bowl upon it, the oval of the fan and of the mandolin, and even of the shape of the turtles, the objects of the attention of the figures.
The more I studied this painting, the more I saw beneath its surface beauty to the artist's careful composition, which of course enhanced the beauty of the painting. I found a reproduction of the work, titled Idle Hours, at http://www.oceansbridge.com/ art/customer/product.php?productid=48213&cat=4219&page=1&maincat= The%20Gilded%20Age
At the National Gallery of Art today, an exhibit of drawings and sketches included a work by Federico Barocci, done in 1568, in what the card description called "the relatively new medium of pastel, pigment mixed with binder and made into sticks." The fresh and lovely colors spoke to me from across the centuries.
Also in that gallery were a group of paintings in a room with low light. The sign at the entrance said the low light was "to protect the fragile works of art" But they were not pastel; they were oil on cardboard on wood, and were painted by Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec in 1892. While pigments may not fade quickly, the surface on which a painting is made may deteriorate quite soon.
At the end of the day I indulged in another passion, which is visiting bookstores in art museums. Having spent some time thinking about the Mowbray painting and the artist's use of the Golden Section, I was thrilled to find a book on the subject. It's called The Golden Ratio, by Mario Livio (Broadway Books, New York) and just the few paragraphs I've read so far are fascinating.
And then, walking down the aisle in the bookstore, I spotted my own book prominently displayed, cover facing out, on the shelf there in the National Gallery of Art. It was a golden moment of delight and astonishment at the end of a perfect day.
June 20, 2007
On Saturday mornings, when I’m home in New Mexico, I like to go to the grower’s market to buy fresh vegetables. This last Saturday, I got up early—the best deals are always gone by 8 a.m.—to drive to the market.
When I went out to pick up the paper at 6:00, I was captivated by the light that had just broken over the northern end of the mountains. It lit the bottom and northern edges of some lovely, fluffy little clouds. I stood for a moment studying the way the line of light from the low angle of the rising sun highlighted their pinky-gray hue with yellow.
By the time I headed down the road forty-five minutes later, those colors were gone, and the brilliant blue of the daytime sky began to show itself. The angle of light had changed, now striking the sides of half a dozen hot air balloons beginning their Saturday morning flight.
The road towards the grower’s market travels through suburban farms. The speed limit is 25 mph, which is a wonderful thing for an artist, since it allows time to study the way the light crosses a field, how it illuminates the back of a prancing horse, how the mountains are flat blue shapes against the sky, and how the early reflections in irrigation ditches become a thing of extraordinary beauty.
At the market, I kept ogling the buckets of flowers, and bought fresh chard in part because of the lovely pattern of red against green, knowing also that it would taste as good as it looked. At another booth, I joined two shoppers to admire a tender head of radicchio, its soft purple and greens more subtle than the grocery-store variety, and I agreed with the grower that it was a shame to force it into a plastic bag. I admired the pale greens of fennel fronds, the rich aromatic green of young basil, and the bumpy red raspberries. I cautioned myself, as usual, against buying things just for beauty, remembering they must be eaten before that beauty fades.
Driving home, I thought how rich is the world of an artist, who sees not just things but color and contrast and value and shape, and finds painting subjects at every bend of the road. Once you see the world with an artist’s eye, you have to wonder how others survive with their flat surface view, missing millions of complexities and the incredible beauty in every facet of our ordinary, daily lives.
June 19, 2007
I love beginning my pastel paintings with an underpainting of pastel washed with turpenoid, but sometimes I like to skip that stage and work on a single-color surface.
I’ve been more excited about this approach since the new Richeson Premium Pastel Surface became available a few months ago. I’m particularly fond of the terra cotta (though I love the other colors as well), and especially like to use it when my subject is predominantly green. The texture allows practically infinite layering of pastels, though allowing some of the surface color to show is a nice way to create harmony in the painting.
On the weekends, my husband, artist Bill Canright (www.BillCanright.com) and I go hiking, usually in the nearby Sandia Mountains. It’s mostly for exercise, but I carry my camera in case I see potential painting subjects.
On the southern crest trail a few days ago, this lovely bend in the trail caught my eye.
Back home, I decided on a small format, 9x12, and the terra cotta Richeson surface. I did a minimal sketch with a yellow NuPastel, then moved quickly into the subject.
I like the way bits of the surface color shows through here and there, the interplay of red against green bringing life to what could have been a boring study. The texture of the path is enhanced by allowing the reds to show through, and the finished painting accurately reflects my experience of the reality.
Finishing the Demonstration Painting
June 13, 2007
I taught several sessions at the IAPS convention, the final one being a demonstration painting and discussion of techniques. Because of the amount of discussion and questions, I did not complete the painting, but promised to do so after the convention and post the result.
The first photograph is the painting as it was at the end of the class session. I began on an 18x24 piece of the new Richeson pastel surface on Gatorboard, using the white surface rather than a color because I planned to do an underpainting.
After a very minimal sketch of the major lines of the composition using extra soft vine charcoal, I blocked in large shapes in brilliant color. This is my favorite underpainting method. I choose colors that were stronger and brighter than what I saw in the photograph, knowing it’s always easier to mute a strong color than to strengthen or brighten a dull one. For the foliage areas, I laid in complements—reds, purple and oranges. After the initial block-in, I brushed each color shape with a flat synthetic brush dipped in Turpenoid, being careful to avoid runs or blending. I dried the surface with a hair dryer, then proceeded to work towards more realistic color. You can see the underpainting showing through in the muddy banks and the reflections.
The next photograph shows the completed painting. I made a significant change to the reflection, deciding that although my photograph showed the two larger trees on the right reflecting in the water, they created shapes that were less pleasing than simply reflecting the bank. I like the way the sunlit bank on the left reflects in the water, and felt the reflection on the right needed to balance it. As I developed the banks, they became a little redder rather than orange, so I changed the colors of the reflections to match them. I added shadows and some foliage on the banks, and strengthened the shapes of the trees in the middle ground.
At some point in every painting, I think it’s important to set aside your photo and finish the painting based on what it needs, rather than trying to copy or match the photograph. As I worked to finish this one, it developed a little differently than I might have originally anticipated, but I am pleased with the result.
June 11, 2007
The IAPS convention was, as always, educational, exciting and fun. One of my favorite events is always the Paintaround, and I was happy to be invited to participate in 2007. (See the previous blog, Getting Ready for IAPS.)
When all five artists were in position at their easels, each with a selection or set of pastels and a photograph for a subject, the crowd helped with the countdown to start. With only ten minutes to block in a subject on the Ampersand Pastelbord, I began quickly laying down color. I took the painting as far as I possibly could, frantically adding a few more strokes as the countdown to “Rotate” approached.
Then I moved to Richard McDaniel’s landscape subject, which was based on a combination of two different photos. Meanwhile, Carole Katchen spent ten minutes developing my painting.
One of the challenges of the Paintaround is that none of the participating artists knows what subjects the others will bring, so upon approaching each new easel there’s a moment of surprise, followed by a quick analysis of the stage of completion.
On the command to “Rotate!” I moved to Jimmy Wright’s expressionistic sunflower subject, and Duane Wakeham worked on my marsh scene.
Then, as Jimmy Wright developed my painting further, I moved to Duane Wakeham’s landscape painting, working on reflections and defining the land masses.
On the next move, I went to Carole Katchen’s lively figurative piece, and since it was nearing completion, worked on details and clarification of figures, tables and chairs. Meanwhile, Richard McDaniel was putting near-finishing touches on my painting.
Finally, for the last ten minutes each of us returned to our own beginning painting, and took a few seconds to comprehend the changes it had gone through since we left it. Working quickly, we each re-established our interpretation of the subject, incorporating revisions made by others and putting on the finishing details before the countdown to "Stop!"
The final pieces were each signed by all five artists, and auctioned off during the Saturday night banquet. The money went to the IAPS educational fund, and gave each new owner an unusual and unique piece of art created by five artists.
June 4th, 2007
Unless you wear gloves, working in pastel can be a dirty business. I can’t stand the feel of gloves, and choose instead to protect my hands with a barrier cream. There are a number of barrier creams on the market, some made specifically for artists.
My personal favorite is Gloves in a Bottle (you can find out where to order it at www.glovesinabottle.com). An application lasts longer than some other brands, has no odor and seems to keep my hands cleaner.
But when I work in pastel all day for several days in a row, my hands get dry in spite of the barrier cream, probably from the repeated hand-washing. And no matter how carefully I apply the cream, after a while I have green fingernails and colorful cuticles.
The solution I’ve found is to use baby oil on my pastel-coated hands before I wash them. I rub it in thoroughly, working it around and under the fingernails. Then I wash my hands with warm water and soap. The baby oil comes off easily, and over the course of several days it seems my hands stay cleaner and are not as dry.
June 1, 2007
Understanding values—the relative darkness or lightness of a color—is a crucial element of good paintings. Organizing your pastels by value will help you see values more clearly, both in the pastel set and in photographs or nature.
If you organize your pastels by hue, such as reds in one area, blues in another, and so on, you will tend to think color before value. But if you organize your pastels by value, your selection process is different. When you need a medium light value, for example, you’ll reach for that value section and then make a color decision.
The most common value charts show 10 value steps, with value 10 being a pure white, progressing in steps to value 1, a pure black. If you have 10 sections in your pastel storage box or trays, you may use a 10-step system. However, I think six values are sufficient to clarify your selection process.
Create six divisions in your pastel box: the darkest dark, medium-dark and lightest dark, and the darkest light, medium-light and lightest light. Within each division, arrange your pastels by temperature, from cool colors on the left, for example, to warm colors on the right. Color temperature-the relative warm or cool of a hue-is second in importance only to value.
Here is a simple system for identifying values. Take a piece of good quality white drawing or pastel paper, and pick out six pastels that you think will best represent the six value steps outlined above. Make a swatch of each on the paper, so that each color touches the next. Squint at the result. If you can see a division between each, you have a separation of values. If they tend to blur together, then they are too close to the same value.
Continue to select values until you identify a progression of six distinct values. These will be the base values for rearranging your pastels. At this point you may want to use a separate piece of paper for each value. Make a swatch of the base value on each. As you pick up each stick to sort into the new arrangement, test it next to the base values. If the new color swatch and the base value appear to blend together when you squint at them, then you have the same value. If they separate, that color belongs in a different value group.
Using a six-value system means you have to make some compromises. The eye can perceive many more than six values, but it’s impractical to arrange your pastels with too many divisions. So you will have to make decisions, such as to whether a particular stick belongs more in the medium-dark category rather than the darkest dark.
This may seem like a lot of work, but the decision-making becomes easier as you gain confidence in identifying values at a glance. Maintaining the system over time will become second nature, and you’ll quickly spot a pastel out of its value section. As you learn to automatically reach for the right value and temperature as you work, your paintings will have stronger value structures with less effort.
May 6, 2007
Have you ever noticed how many artists are either great cooks or gardeners, or both? Think about Monet’s garden, which is like a painting on a larger scale. I’ve met lots of artists who both grow flowers and paint them.
The connection with food is also interesting. We buy fresh fruits or vegetables, and then may paint them instead of—or before—eating them. I remember an artist who was featured in The Pastel Journal some years ago who did paintings of soup compositions. She piled all the ingredients for a soup around the gleaming soup pot and painted it.
When I was writing my book, I painted the same pear about twenty times as an illustration of surfaces. I used the same pastels for each painting, so that the surfaces could be easily compared. I didn’t want to paint or eat pears for a while afterwards.
Last fall, the workshop I taught in Júzcar, Spain at the Hotel Bandolero was special in part because of the fantastic food prepared by Chef Ivan Sastre. I knew before we arrived that he’d trained in London as a Cordon Bleu chef, but was surprised when I looked at the signature of a lovely pastel painting on the wall to find it was his. We persuaded him to leave the kitchen one day and accompany us on a painting trip, and enjoyed his painting and his company. We hope to get to do that again this coming October when we go back for two more workshops.
At the farewell dinner the night before our departure, Chef Ivan combined his love of art and his creativity in the kitchen with a special dessert which he presented to me. The palette and the brush handles are chocolate, the brush tips are white chocolate, and the “paints” are sorbets and syrups. It was as delicious as it was beautiful.
Underpainting with a Single Hue
May 6, 2007
If you’ve taken one of my workshops, you may recall that I usually begin a pastel painting with an underpainting. I apply pastel lightly to the surface (white Wallis Sanded Paper), then use a brush and Turpenoid to go over each area of color, being careful not to blend or muddy the colors. After that dries, I begin using realistic color.
My favorite underpainting technique is the one I call “brilliant color” — underpainting with large blocks of color, choosing hues that are brighter, more intense, and sometimes darker than what I see in my reference photograph.
However, I’ve also become quite interested in working with five or six values of a single hue. I choose that color based on my analysis of the photograph, and select either: the dominant color in the subject; the complement of the dominant color; the color of the light; or the complement of the color of the light.
Underpainting with several values of the same hue gives me a nice value study—a road map for the painting to follow. Like all underpainting methods, it also gives me a chance to check my composition and value structure before I’ve applied too much pastel. Correcting an error at this early stage is preferable to discovering it later!
Here’s an example of a recent painting begun this way.
Step 1: I chose several values of lavender because I felt it would help emphasize the cool yellow light, and play nicely against the green of the foliage. In the first step, I applied the pastel lightly to the surface.
Step 2: Next, I brushed each color area with Turpenoid. I dip my brush (an inexpensive, flat, synthetic brush, fairly large) in the turp, touch it to the paper towel I hold in my hand, then stroke over the pastel. Then I wipe the excess pigment off on the paper towel, and repeat the process until all the surface is covered. I try to avoid runs, and if the pigment starts to feel “pasty” I lift the excess off with the brush.
Then I step back and study my composition. I look for changes that need to be made, and if I see anything I want to revise, I do it immediately. I don’t turp it again, but proceed to paint the subject in more realistic colors, allowing bits of the underpainting to show through here and there. The resulting colors are far more lively and exciting than if I had omitted the underpainting and gone directly to the final step. (At Donatella’s Villa, 11×17, pastel © Maggie Price)
April 28, 2007
It’s almost time for the Seventh Biennial convention of the International Association of Pastel Societies. It’s in Albuquerque this year, which is close to where I live, and that makes some things easier for me, particularly the two-day pre-convention outdoor class I’ll teach in the foothills of the Sandia Mountains.
I’ve attended every one of the conventions. It’s a wonderful event, a chance to meet lots of other pastel artists and talk about our favorite subject. Over the years, I’ve made friends with people I may see only at the conventions, so it’s like a reunion now. I often joke that I’d go just for the shopping in the trade show, where there are great bargains and wonderful supplies.
One of the events at the convention, which this year will be on Thursday, May 10, is the Paint-around. Five of the artists who will be demonstrating or speaking at the convention set up easels in a circle. They all bring painting subjects and their pastels. When the time starts, each spends 10 minutes beginning a painting with their own subject and supplies. Then the bell rings and each moves to the next easel for 10 minutes, and so on, finishing back at his or her own painting for the last 10 minutes. The crowd gathers around and cheers them on, cameras flash often, and the 10 minutes at each painting—where you must analyze the subject, determine the next steps, and work fast—go by amazingly quickly. At the end, all five artists sign all the paintings, and they are auctioned off with the proceeds going to the Education Fund.
I was one of the artists invited to “paint-around” at the last convention, and am participating again this year. I don’t know who the other artists will be, or what subjects they may choose to paint. It will be interesting and fun, though, no doubt about that!
The other exciting thing for me this year will be the release of my book at the convention. I’ll be doing my first book signings there. And I’m teaching two sessions during the convention itself, so I’ll be busy. But not too busy to meet with friends and have fun!
If you’ve never been to one of these conventions, you might consider planning now for the next one, which will be in May 2009 in Albuquerque, New Mexico.