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| Late Snow, 12x26 oil/panel - Available What's the narrative in this landscape painting? |
I love to read. I usually have two books going at once: fiction before bed, and non-fiction upon waking. Right now, I'm reading the first volume of Rick Atkinson's trilogy about the Revolutionary War, The British Are Coming, and Naomi Novik's fantasy, Uprooted. Both of these tell engaging stories—that is, narratives.
We find narratives in the other arts, too, especially in painting. Illustration art, for example, dramatizes a particular scene in a text, making the moment more vivid for the reader. Portraiture often tells a story, too, though it is sometimes more subtle. More subtle yet is the narrative in a still life, which one sometimes hears described as a “dialogue” between objects. (Sometimes the narrative is so subtle that it requires a clever title to get the point across.) But what about landscape painting? Can a pure landscape contain a narrative?
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| Illustration October by William Clarke Rice, 1903. Smithsonian Institution The story thus far: October presents the bounty of the harvest to a woman who is, perhaps, his lover. (Just see how he gazes at her!) |
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| Portrait Portrait of Elliot Coues by J. Edward Barclay, 1898. Smithsonian Institution. Besides being an ornithologist who wrote a definitive book on North American birds (pictured at his right elbow), Coues also was a surgeon and spiritualist. The tiny skull on his desk and the book tell a little about his life story. Spiritualism was a big thing back then. |
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| Still Life Luncheon Still Life by John F. Francis, c. 1860. Smithsonian Institution. A feast of fruit, nuts and wine for—whom? Perhaps for some hikers coming in from the wild landscape in the distance? |
I've heard landscape painters use the term in describing their work, as in "the rock and tree create a narrative"—though they rarely go on to say what that narrative is. Unlike in a history painting, where the story is explicit, the story in a landscape is implicit. The viewer must play Sherlock Holmes and deduce the story from the evidence presented. A boulder suspended in a foamy cataract might imply that a rushing torrent of snowmelt wrestled the boulder from farther upstream, and the boulder now hangs, waiting for what comes next. A twisted tree, sitting atop an exposed knoll, might imply a backstory of decades spent enduring wind and weather. A drumlin, slouched upon a wide, flat field, might imply the mile-thick glacier that crept across the landscape 20,000 years ago and whatever story that followed the glacier's retreat.
Some landscape painters, though, talk more about how the abstract elements in a landscape create a narrative. For example, how a large patch of yellow at the center of interest creates a narrative with another, smaller patch of yellow elsewhere. Or, how a large rectangular shape creates a narrative with a scattering of small, circular shapes. Here, the story is a good deal harder to figure out—and, I think, you might be able to make up just about any story with any given set of abstract elements.
Honestly, stories involving such abstract elements are, to me, the hardest to follow and don't have much stature when talking about representational painting. More important, I think, is how these abstract elements work to create a good design.
In landscape painting, narrative is often in the eye of the beholder. I have a dear friend who is always seeing personalities and stories in my paintings. (And of course, once I'm told what's there, I can't stop seeing it, too.)
How do you define narrative in a landscape painting?
By the way, the deal of $500 off of Plein Air Live continues until March 28. Check out the details or register here. I hope to see you there!
