Thursday, August 22, 2019

Painting in Public Places and the Dangers Thereof

A Quiet Painting Spot
("Kindred Spirits" by Asher Durand, depicting Thomas Cole and William Cullen Bryant))

A reader writes:  "I am shy about painting outside such as at the public park because of people stopping and asking questions on what I am doing. How do you remain focused when you have an audience?"

When I teach workshops, many of my students are beginners at plein air painting.  They are happiest when we go to some remote, godforsaken yet beautiful corner of the world where no one will find them.  Sensitive to their need to focus, I take them to quiet places where an audience is unlikely.  Sometimes, though, we do get a few visitors.  When this happens, I  intercept them, politely let them know we are having a class, and then, usually, they leave.

When I'm painting alone, though, it's a different matter.   I, too, prefer to paint in a quiet spot, but sometimes I can't, such as at a plein air painting event, where it is expected for artists to be available.  (The idea is both to educate the public and also engage them for the sales event.)  When this happens, I try to keep the chat on-topic.  That is, I talk about my process and what my brush is doing at that moment.  I may stop and hand them a business card - I always carry them - and give an invitation to visit my website and gallery; if it's a painting event, I invite them to the exhibition and sale.  Most folks are polite and will watch a little longer but then wander off.

But sometimes you get the Talker.  This person is legendary among plein air painters.  I'll tolerate this for a few minutes, but I have no problem saying, "I'm sorry, but I have to get back to work."  Being blunt is important, since Talkers are so narcissistic they don't read body language or understand the subtle hints.

There are times, especially when I am painting for myself, when I don't want an encounter.  In this case, I'll find that remote, godforsaken spot of incredible beauty.   But even though the chance of an encounter is small, it still can happen.  To prevent this, here are a few tips:
  • Paint off the trail where you can't be seen (if you're on public land, make sure off-trail hiking is permitted)
  • Back yourself into a corner so you are difficult to approach
  • Scatter your gear around your easel in such a way as to create an obstacle
  • Take along a non-painting friend who is happy to hang out with you (quietly) and who can "run interference"
Some painters suggest listening to music and simply ignoring people, but I find that I like hearing if someone approaches.  I don't want to be surprised.

Oh, I could tell you stories - but I'll wait until you have that brush loaded and ready to go.

Saturday, August 17, 2019

Summer Painting Retreat Report

Perched 14x11 Oil - Available

From the trail, edged with beach rose and meadowsweet, I enjoyed a broad vista of miles of ocean, dappled with sun diamonds.  The swells broke so  gently against the dark rocks that they created just a whisper of white foam.  Although my thirteen painters had strung themselves out over several hundred yards, all the way from the candy-striped West Quoddy lighthouse to the dizzyingly-tall cliffs of Gulliver's Hole, I didn't mind the walk as I visited each of them in turn. 

This was my second time offering the Lubec painting retreat, with participants coming from—it's a long list—Quebec, Vermont, New Jersey, Georgia, Texas, Florida, Colorado, Michigan, Pennsylvania and, yes, even Maine.

Base camp for our forays into the field was the beautifully-renovated and well-appointed West Quoddy Station, a restored US Coast Guard campus.  Perched right at the water's edge on Quoddy Head, a narrow arm of land thrust out into the cold waters of the Grand Manan Channel, it offered us views of Campobello Island and the Lubec Channel.  What's more, because it is only a half-mile from Quoddy Head State Park, it gave us quick access to the West Quoddy Lighthouse, an historic icon and the park's jewel.  From the lighthouse, trails led us to cliffs with views of Grand Manan Island and the Wolf Islands, and when the tide was right, crashing waves cascaded over knife-sharp rocks at the base of the cliffs, kicking spray high into the air.

During the week, we painted not just at Quoddy Head but also in the fishing village of Lubec.  Although the sardine industry is long-gone, some of the historic structures of that time—a smokehouse, skinning shed and others—remain.  Fishing boats, moored in the harbor but swinging with the tides and wind, challenged us, and views of Pope's Folly, Treat Island and Dudley Island gave us more stable subjects to paint.  We also traveled across the border to Campobello Island in Canada, where we drove dusty carriage roads to spectacular views within the Roosevelt-Campobello International Park.  A group dinner on the island with a view of the sunset and a scallop dragger toiling in the bay deepened our friendships as fellow artists.

Each morning during our week, I moderated a critique session—a show-and-tell—in which we talked about the previous day's work, painting by painting. This is always one of the most valuable and anticipated events during my retreats.  Although it's important to enjoy a relaxing week of painting, feedback from others helps us to gain an understanding of where we might go next in our craft.  This understanding will help us in our next period of artistic growth, which will happen some time after we have checked out of our hotel rooms, headed home and returned to our own studios.  I encourage retreat participants to add observations to my own, and I always learn something, as well.

I have already scheduled another painting retreat for next year.  The dates are August 9-14, 2020.  I do give preference to past students for the workshop.  If you haven't taken one with me yet but are interested in the retreat, I encourage you to take a workshop with me so you can join me in this adventure.  Please visit www.PleinAirPaintingMaine.com, www.PaintTheSouthwest.com or my main web site, www.MChesleyJohnson.com, for more information.

In the meantime, I offer a few photos and images of some of my paintings from the week.

August Light 9x12 - Available

Swell 9x12 Oil - Available

View to Ragged Point 9x12 Pastel - Available

View to Campobello 9x12 Oil - Available









What's a painting day without Gamblin Artists Colors?



Yes, this is me - photo by Trina Stephenson

Wednesday, August 14, 2019

When is a Painting Finished?

Tree 12x9 Oil
Is this painting finished?  Yes, because it met my goal.
The intention was to paint a tree demonstration on a rainy
day for my students, and that is exactly what I did.

How do you know when a painting is finished?  This is a question students often ask me.  To be honest, even painters who've been working at the craft all their lives still ask themselves this question.  The standard answer is:  When you've accomplished your goal (or achieved your vision), the painting is finished.

That doesn't help us much, as quite often, especially for beginners, the goal or vision is ill-defined at the start.  Sometimes it becomes clearer as you get further into the painting.  But sometimes not.

In my workshops, I teach about capturing the moment.  For me, the moment has much to do with the quality of light in a scene.  To take it further, it has to do with establishing an accurate relationship of the color temperature between light and shadow.   I can establish this early on in a painting, though - quite often right at the end of the block-in and adjustment stages.  (If you've taken one of my workshops, you'll have heard me speak of making your "best guess" in the block-in and then going on to adjusting that "best guess" in the next phase.)

At the end of this adjustment phase, I may stop, if I wish.  Or keep on going.  Basically, at this point  I have a very simplified - yet hopefully very accurate - representation of the scene.  If I want to take it beyond this, I will be moving from the simplified toward the more detailed, like this:


Where a painter stops on this line is completely up to him.  It's a personal choice, usually defined by one's comfort level with the agony of creating detail and the point at which one gets totally bored with the process.

An example of someone working at the more simplified end is Wolf Kahn; at the more detailed end, we have Rackstraw Downes.  You can pick your spot anywhere between them.  My own zone is somewhere along the middle.

Wolf Kahn · "Heavy Haze of a Hot Summer's Day."
1979. Oil, 27.50 x 37.5 inches.

Rackstraw Downes, “Under an Off-Ramp from the George Washington Bridge”
2011. Oil, 26 x 56 inches


Monday, August 12, 2019

Choosing the Right Dimensions for your Painting

Some Common Painting Sizes and Their Proportions
(Please excuse the hand-crafted artisanal chart; I realized that neither my Photoshop nor Excel skills are good enough to create the chart through software.  Sometimes the low-tech way is more efficient.)

As a plein air painter with an always-ready-to-go painting kit, I sometimes get locked into a particular size for my paintings.  Usually, I keep my kit packed with 9x12s.    But this isn't necessarily the best dimensions for a landscape.  It's great if I want to get a quick sketch or color reference but often, some other size might make for a stronger design.

For a broad landscape, such as ocean vistas, deserts or canyons, a panoramic format will do a better job of conveying the breadth.  These landscapes are packed with horizontal elements, and  emphasizing the horizontal will enhance the feeling of "being there."  A double square (12x24) or even a triple square (6x18) can be much more appropriate than the 9x12 or the more squarish 8x10.

If I'm in a landscape that doesn't offer a vista, such as densely-wooded interior Maine where you have to fight the trees for a view, I look for a closer, more intimate scene such as a cluster of dead snags gathered at the edge of a swamp.  In this, verticals and horizontals seem to have equal weight, just as they do in a square.  Choosing a squarish format will help you convey the same sense of intimacy (or perhaps claustrophobia.)  But I do think a square is the most difficult format because you are already at a disadvantage at having all the sides boringly equal.   Still, you can get some very exciting results with the square.

Moving beyond the square, there is the vertical.  Just as a more horizontal format conveys breadth, the vertical conveys height.  Anytime I want to show the magnificence of a tree or the depth of a canyon, I aim for the vertical.   Looking down into the landscape - as with a canyon - can be dizzying, though.  Looking up, I feel a little more sure of my footing.

When I have a choice, I will make several thumbnail sketches and try out different possibilities.  Why get trapped in the same old 9x12?  Of course, I don't always have anything other than the 9x12 with me.  But I do always have a roll of masking tape, and I'll take a piece of tape and mark off a more appropriate section.  I may, for example, mark off part of the 9x12 to give myself a slightly broader 6x9 or even a much broader 6x12.

Once I'm done painting, I have cut down both pastel paper (with scissors) and painting panels (with a utility knife) to get the dimensions that best fit my idea.  To be sure, you may end up with a custom framing job, but you are more likely to recoup your expenses, since the best fit will be more attractive to your buyer.

At the top of this post is a chart.  I thought it would be interesting to show the more commonly-used dimensions and their width-to-height ratio in a graph.  This will give you a better idea of where they sit with respect to the square.  I have calculated out the ratio by dividing width by height; that is, a 9x12 is 12/9 or 1.33.

Below are a few of the different dimensions I use regularly.

SQUARE: Duck Pond Fog, 6x6 oil/panel

DOUBLE-SQUARE: End of the Road, 12x24 oil/panel

TRIPLE-SQUARE: Head Island, 6x18, oil/canvas

VERTICAL: Water Street, 12x9, oil/panel

Friday, August 9, 2019

Master Class: Color Palettes and Color Gamut

Left: "Mitten Ridge Reds" 12x16 oil/canvas.  Made with the three-color palette consisting of burnt sienna,
yellow ochre and Prussian blue. Right: Color gamut of my three-color palette used in the  painting.


Much basic knowledge is given to children at an early age.  I don't remember when I first learned about the three primaries—red, yellow and blue—so it must have been a very long time ago indeed.  The concept, as we all know, is that you can mix any color you see with these three colors (plus white.)

Or so the theory goes.  Once I started seriously getting into color-mixing with my first painting course, I learned the limitations of red, yellow and blue and of pigments in general.  For example, if I didn't have the right red and blue, I couldn't mix an intense violet.  I'd be better off buying the intense violet I needed, like quinacridone violet.

One might think that maybe one should just buy all the exact colors needed.  Pastelists usually end up doing this, and as a pastelist myself, I've done the same, but I will add that it is an expensive addiction.  Some painters of liquid media do this, too.   Unfortunately, acquiring a virtual candy store of color can lead to color chaos, especially if the artist doesn't understand color harmony or how to properly adjust color mixtures.  I would argue that much of the truly garish, carnival-like work we see in "contemporary art" galleries today is not the result of artistic vision but from a lack of fundamental color-mixing skills.

By the way, this essay isn't just for painters of liquid media.  It does apply to pastel painters, too.  Although pastel painters won't necessarily be mixing colors as much, they can still plot out color options as noted below.

An easy path to color harmony is to use a limited palette.   The fewer the colors, the less trouble you'll get into.  A one-color palette, as boring as it may be, is the safest.  A two-color palette is safe, too.  Having just one warm color and one cool color is enough to create an effect of brilliant sunshine.  In fact, years ago, when color printing was in its infancy, illustrators did stunning work  with just orange (warm) and black (cool.)  Stepping to a three-color palette gives you a broader range, but it still is relatively safe.  Beyond that, though, and you really need to know how to handle color.

I've used a limited oil for some time.  My "go-to" palette consists of seven colors, plus white.  Basically, it's a split-primary palette with a warm and a cool version of each of the primaries, plus one more:  Hansa yellow light, Hansa yellow deep, napthol scarlet, permanent alizarin crimson, ultramarine blue, cerulean blue and -- here is the addition-- sap green.  I'm thinking of ditching the sap green.  More about that later.

But that's not the only palette I use.  I often simplify my life by returning to a three-color palette.  Mine consists of burnt sienna, yellow ochre and Prussian blue.  (See the illustration at the top of this post.)  The two earth colors are already naturally muted, and the Prussian blue, though a strong color, greys down nicely with burnt sienna and yellow ochre, yielding some beautiful neutrals.

Really, though, you can pick any three versions of the primaries you wish.  Anders Zorn (Swedish, 1860-1920) is reputed to have used a variation on this, but without any blue.  The "Zorn palette," as it is called, consists of vermilion, yellow ochre and ivory black.  The black functions as a blue.  Putting warm colors beside it, especially blue's complement, orange, will make the black seem even bluer.

But a limited palette can't do everything.  It restricts the gamut (or range) of possible color mixtures.  Understanding the gamut of your palette is important.  It'll keep you from being frustrated when you can't mix a certain hue.  It'll also give you an idea of what colors you can mix.

Lately, I have been plotting my color choices against a color wheel to help see the gamut of possible mixtures.  I won't go into the mechanics of a color wheel here, but the idea is simple.  If you plot your colors on the wheel and connect them with lines, the resulting polygon contains all the possible color mixtures.  (And how do I know where to plot my colors?  Check out this color wheel from HandPrint.com.)

Let me show you how this works.  Let's start with a very simple palette, the three-color palette.

Three-color palette:  Prussian blue, burnt sienna, yellow ochre.
This is my favorite three-color palette.  It consists of mostly earth pigments, which create beautifully muted, harmonious mixtures. You'll note what a narrow wedge of possibilities this represents. Weighted toward yellow and orange, this palette doesn't allow for a proper violet mixture, or for many greens, either.



"Zorn" palette: Ivory black, vermilion, yellow ochre.
Now here is the "Zorn Palette," which contains just earth pigments and also creates beautiful muted tones.  Covering just a little more area than my three-color palette, it's heavily weighted toward red and orange. Green is a possibility, but it's a very greyed-down green. Violets? Nope.


Three-color palette of mineral colors:  ultramarine blue, cadmium red, cadmium yellow.
This three-color palette, which uses richer mineral pigments rather than dull earth pigments, offers a larger wedge of possibilities and is weighted to blues, violets, red and orange. But it's weak in the greens. More intense color mixtures are possible with this one.



A split-primary palette: ultramarine blue, phthalo green, hansa yellow light, hansa yellow deep, cadmium red, permanent alizarin crimson.
This is the split-primary palette I used up until recently.  This offers many more possibilities—and more trouble!—than the three-color palettes. High-chroma mixtures are possible. It's weighted toward the yellow, orange and red. Yet although violets and greens are possible, but they won't have much variety and will be somewhat dull. Instead of two blues, I have just one; I replaced the second blue with phthalo green.  This opens up more possibilities for greens more than a palette with just two blues. 



My "go-to" split-primary palette of today:  ultramarine blue, cerulean blue, sap green, hansa yellow light, hansa yellow deep, naphthol scarlet, permanent alizarin crimson.
Here's what I'm using today.  I gave up the phthalo green and replaced it with sap green.  Why?  Phthalo was such a strong color I just got tired of it; it was like eating garlic in every meal.  Sap green, being duller with a low tinting strength, is easier to digest.  I also added cerulean blue.  Why?  I had been using the phthalo green to create a cerulean blue, and I need that color for both the Maritimes and the Southwest.  You'll note that this palette offers fewer green possibilities than my earlier palette.

Another observation: sap green sits on the line connecting cerulean blue and Hansa yellow light. This tells me I can mix sap green with these two colors and dispense with tubed sap green.  But sap green is a convenient color to have, so maybe I'll keep it.



A more-balanced split-primary palette:  ultramarine blue, cobalt teal, permanent green light, hansa yellow light, naphthol scarlet, cobalt violet.
And finally, here's a more balanced palette.  While writing this blog post, I looked at the HandPrint color wheel and tried to pick out six pigments that would give me the most balanced gamut.  There were several choices for my six pigments, so this is just one configuration.  The palette I've chosen is slightly weak in the violets and a little strong in the reds.  But overall,  it offers many possibilities of less-intense to more-intense mixtures for each of the six color families.

So here's your winter project, and mine.  While waiting for the snow to stop falling and for pleasant outdoor painting weather to return, reconfigure your palette so it yields the largest gamut and the most color possibilities—and at the same time, practice with it so mixing becomes a joyful, intuitive process.

Tuesday, August 6, 2019

Summer Workshop Wrap-Up

Summertime Painting at Its Best

For the past two weeks, I've been helping students wrestle the vast maritime landscape into small canvases—with success!  I showed them how to crop a scene, parse out value relationships, make what I call the "best guess" at color, and then adjust it all to a beautiful finish.  Plus, I got to do it all under sunny blue skies with a fair breeze.  Well, actually, we did have a few days of fog that sat right at the water's edge, but that's all part of the Downeast experience.  Life doesn't get better than this.

I now base my plein air painting workshops at a beautifully-restored US Coast Guard campus, West Quoddy Station.  We have a spacious classroom for lectures and critiques, but here's the best part:  the campus is only a half-mile from Quoddy Head State Park.  The park offers the painter rugged cliffs, crashing surf and a big tidal range (28 feet) that exposes a seabed filled with interesting rocks and colorful seaweed.  I love painting here.

I'm offering these Maine workshops only twice a summer now.  (Some have asked if I'm retiring.  No, I'm just "refocusing.")  And for my past students and experienced painters, I offer a weeklong painting retreat, also based at the Coast Guard campus.  I'm already getting reservations for 2020, so if you are interested, please sign up soon, as I only take a handful of students for each workshop.  You can find full details and also sign up at www.PleinAirPaintingMaine.com  I hope to see some of you next summer.

In the meantime, I thought I'd share some of my demonstrations and photos from the workshops.

Sunny Day Cliffs - 9x12 oil - Available

Fog at the Point - 9x12 oil - Available

Into the Fog - 9x12 Oil - Available

Lowering - 9x12 Pastel - Available

Off Quoddy Head - 9x12 Oil - Available

Ragged Point - 6x9 Oil - Available

Tide's Out - 9x12 Oil - Available



My "En Plein Air Pro" pastel setup.  Camera lens makes
angle look a little wonky, but everything is level!

Harebells blooming at Liberty Point
in the Roosevelt-Campobello International Park


Saturday, August 3, 2019

Two Plein Air Painting Workshops in Spectacular Places

A Grand Canyon Sunrise


As many of you know, Grand Canyon is special to me.  I've painted there many, many times, both on my own and as an invited artist at the annual Celebration of Art.  But the Canyon is always in danger.  It is constantly hammered by commercial interests that want to develop it in some way.  (Teddy Roosevelt said, "Leave it as it is. You cannot improve on it. The ages have been at work on it, and man can only mar it.")  This plein air workshop is part of my ongoing effort to serve as a "steward of the land," and my hope, as I share with you some of my favorite spots, is to raise awareness of the Canyon's beauty.

Time is running out to sign up for this workshop.  I hope you'll join me.

October 23-26, 2019:  Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona

I can't speak enough about the sweeping beauty of Grand Canyon.  From the South Rim, where the workshop is based, you can see stunning vistas of the pastel-colored cliffs of the distant North Rim.  In the morning, as the sun rises, or in the evening, as it sets, the pastel colors give way to a deeper, richer palette.   Buttes and cliffs cast violet shadows across the pink and yellow cliff walls.  The Colorado River peeks out here and there along the bottom, a mile below.  Ravens play overhead, and the occasional condor soars alone over the deeper canyon where thermals help lift it ever higher.  Last year at the workshop, we were treated to a rare sight:  desert bighorn sheep, feeding and napping on a cliff a hundred feet below.

A lot of painters are intimidated by the grandeur of this place.  To be sure, standing on the edge, looking north across ten miles of canyon with ten times that distance stretching out east and west, makes a painter ask:  "Where do I even start?"  After having painted there myself countless times, I've learned how to deal with it to my satisfaction and pleasure, and I will share my approach in this workshop.  Also, as part of the Grand Canyon Conservancy's annual "Celebration of Art" invitiational, I've hunted out and discovered many spots where we can get away from the crowds and have these stunning views all to ourselves.  I'd love to share them with you.

This workshop is very special in that it is authorized by the National Park Service and is sponsored by the Grand Canyon Conservancy's Field Institute.  We'll have access to spots the public can't drive to without a special permit, and better yet, we'll be transported by van to these locations.  The workshop fee also includes free camping at the Canyon, if you like to camp.  If you're not a camper, you have plenty of other lodging options, all the way from the world-class El Tovar hotel to more modest hotels and also private cabins, all right on the rim.

I am honored that this organization has selected me to teach this all-level plein air painting workshop.  I hope you'll join me.  You can find full details at https://www.grandcanyon.org/photography-art-yoga/plein-air-painting-2019/

Here's a little video of the last workshop.  (Can't see the video?  See it on YouTube here - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MVysOOlEEmY )



November 5-8, 2019:  Sedona, Arizona

Another place special to me is Sedona.  As with Grand Canyon, I've painted there countless times, both privately and also as part of the annual Sedona Plein Air Festival.  Plus, I lived there for ten years!

My favorite time for painting the Southwest is fall.  Not just because the weather is cooler, but because the fall color can be spectacular, especially when seen against Sedona's stunning red rocks.  Having lived and painted in Sedona for ten years, and having participated in the annual Sedona Plein Air Festival invitational for nine years, I know every rock and crevice intimately within 20 miles.

If you've not been to Sedona before, you'll be overwhelmed by the beauty of its natural areas.  Trails wind through juniper and manzanita, with every turn revealing an unexpected vista.  Creeks slide with a whisper beneath smooth-skinned sycamores and rugged cottonwoods.  Although we won't be hiking more than a hundred feet or so from the parking lot, you'll see much that will inspire you.

In this workshop, I'll share my love of the landscape with you as we explore the area's vistas, canyons and creeks—and I'll also share my method for "capturing the moment" quickly and efficiently but without sacrificing mood or magic.  Each day goes from 9 to 1.  After a lecture and critique session in the studio, we'll head to one of my favorite spots where I'll demonstrate, followed by painting time for you.  As always, when our session ends, you can keep on painting—I'll gladly critique what you do the next day—or you can go exploring with friends and family or just on your own.  This all-level plein air painting workshop is a great introduction to painting the Southwest landscape.

There is plenty of lodging in Sedona.  Our studio also offers lodging to students, but the number of spots is very limited, so I urge you to sign up early.  You can find full details at http://paintthesouthwest.com/sched_reg.html

Here's a little video of some of the workshops I've taught there.  (Can't see the video?  See it on YouTube here - https://youtu.be/dqKzX0EfNYw )



Wednesday, July 31, 2019

This Month's Most Popular Posts

I thought I'd start a regular "column" here in my blog.  I'm calling it "This Month's Most Popular Posts."  On the last day of the month, I'll list the top five posts--just in case you missed something.  (And of course, this means I have to write at least five posts a month!)

Here are this month's favorites.

Master Class:  How to Determine the Color of a Light Source
Most people find this hard, so here's how I make it easy.

My New Summer Studio
Every painter needs a barn studio.  Here's mine.

Why I Paint: Communion
We paint for many reasons.  Here's one of mine.

Painting the Moon: Astronaut Alan Bean
Alan Bean was the first artist to visit the moon.

Grey and the Colorblind Painter
I'm colorblind -- yes, really!