Revising a Plein Air Painting

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*Never AI, always human. Any errors are my own.*

Here's how I revised a recent plein air painting in the studio! https://mchesleyjohnson.substack.com/p/revising-a-plein-air-painting

Scotland: Kilt Rock, 36x12 Oil

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Kilt Rock, 36x12 Oil
Read on for details! Also, it's available.

This winter, I'm working on some large paintings of Scotland.  (These are for my upcoming book, which will be part of my Through a Painter's Brush series.)  "Kilt Rock" was a fun one to paint, as I wanted to turn a broad, 1:3 format on its head to enhance the somewhat unsettling feeling of the sheer, 180-foot plummet of Mealt Falls, a sea cliff waterfall on the Isle of Skye.  Kilt Rock is the name of the cliff behind the falls.

Here are some progress shots with some explanatory text.  Click on images for bigger versions.

I first made a 1/2-scale design sketch in vine charcoal on newsprint.  You'll note this image is sideways—but that's how I sketched it!  Working with this 90-degree shift helped me see the simple shapes in the abstraction, rather than thinking of shapes as "cliff," "waterfall," and so on.

When I took my reference photos, the day was overcast with a cool light.  I wanted to keep that cool-light effect, so I started off by toning my 36x12 cradled panel with quinacridone magenta.  I also outlined my shapes and blocked in the rocky cliffs with the same.

Moving to viridian and phthalo emerald, I blocked in the grassy areas.  At this point, the magenta was looking rather lurid, so I toned it down by scumbling on some viridian.  Taking a clean brush dampened with Gamsol, I removed paint where I wanted to reshape the waterfall.  I also lightened some of the values elsewhere by scrubbing down these areas with a paper towel.  (No, I don't use Viva—just whatever's cheap and comes in a "select-a-size" version.)

Now I was ready to tone down the color, so I pulled out my set of Portland Greys.  Every mixture from this point on had some grey added to it.  Again, I kept "cool light" in mind as I mixed and painted. By the way, you'll note that, on the horizon, a wedge of land has sneaked in.  This wasn't in my original design.  It has become an unfortunate habit, no doubt picked up while painting countless seascapes with boring, empty horizon lines, that I seem to want something there.  In the final version, I removed it, and I think the painting is the better for it. See the image at the top of the post for the finished version.

Here are the colors I used in this painting:  titanitum-zinc white, cadmium yellow light, naphthol scarlet, alizarin crimson, quinacridone magenta, cerulean blue hue, viridian, phthalo emerald, Portland grey (all three values.)  All colors and mediums are by Gamblin; I used Galkyd Gel at every step so each layer would be dry by the next day.  Brushes used are Rosemary sable flats, except for the initial block-in, when I used cheap synthetic flats to scrub in the color.

What Do Plein Air Painters Do in the Winter?

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Ready, set -- go!
A 36x12 toned for a painting of Scotland.
Why violet?  It'll go well with all that green.

What do plein air painters do in the winter?  Well, if it's not too cold and not too snowy, I go out.  You've probably seen some of my snow sketches and paintings over the years.  But what if the weather is worse?  Then I retreat to the studio.

These past couple of weeks, we've had cold mornings (18°F or lower) and snow.  (Should I mention that the snow turns to mud here?) Sure, I've painted in worse.  But honestly, the only thing I get out of bad-weather painting is bragging rights.  I've realized it does nothing to advance my skills as as painter.  These days, I'd rather take a photograph.

For me, winter weather is the time for a studio project.  As you may have read, I'm planning a month-long trip to Scotland next fall.  One of my goals for that trip is to gather enough reference material for a book on Scotland as part of my Through a Painter's Brush series.  

As of this moment, I have enough material from previous trips to forge ahead on a few large studio paintings for the book.  (By the way, if you'd like to support my trip and get a small painting and/or the book, you can get details here.)  

Going through my photographs, video clips and plein air sketches helps me relive the moment and re-creates the excitement I felt while traveling.  (I'll share some photos of my past Scottish travels below.)  I've already got the first canvas toned and on the easel, so I'm ready to go.  I'll be posting all the work on my Instagram account, so stay tuned!  

In Scotland, I've painted through
sun, showers and...

...even sheep.

Bog Meditations, Part 4

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"Sunny Bog: Bog Meditation 2"
12x24 oil/panel
Available

After completing my foggy bog painting, I needed to make one more of the bog, but this time with strong sunshine.  The bog looks completely different under a bright sun.  Also, the tree needed more attention.  It possesses a beautiful, graceful quality that stamps it as a unique individual.  How could one not feel obligated to show that characteristic?

For the tree's trunk and branches, I referred to a pencil drawing from the field.  After transferring this drawing to my panel with pastel pencil--toned first with transparent color to mark warm and cool areas--I then traced over the pastel lines with a small brush and paint.  My goal was to maintain a fairly accurate representation of the rhythm of the branches.

For the rest of the painting, I worked with mostly out-of-the-tube colors.  (Gamblin's Nickel Titanate Yellow, a bright, cheery color, was perfect for the grasses in the middle ground.)  For distant colors, I greyed them down with a little Portland Grey Light; for the darkest darks, Dioxazine Purple mixed with Viridian.

Here are some detail photos:

Bog Meditations, Part 3

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Bog Meditation 1
8x24 oil/canvas (gallery-wrap)
$2000 - Available here

This past week, I completed the first of my final bog paintings.  "Bog Meditation 1" was a pleasure to create.  I first propped up all the reference material on an easel—pencil sketches, gouache studies, a photo or two, plus notan studies—and decided to go with a 1:3 format and a foggy day scene.

Next, I pulled out an 8x24 stretched canvas (gallery-wrap) that I'd toned previously with Gamblin's Transparent Earth Red.  The tone would serve not only to help unify the painting but also to add a subtle "pop" of warm color to all the cool colors I planned to use.  I sorted through my collection of Gamblin paints looking specifically for cools such as cadmium green, viridian and cerulean blue.  I also chose quinacridone magenta; although it's a red, it's a cool red.  But I also wanted a few warmer notes for contrast, so I added Portland Grey Deep, a neutral grey that looks warm against all the cool colors, and Napthol Red.

You'll note that I put the tree right in the middle.  Yes, I know I broke a rule, but I wanted this kind of strong emphasis.  The viewer needed to see the tree first and only then the supporting landscape.  The danger, of course, is that the painting could become too evenly balanced.  To avoid this, I made some of the branches swoop and curve. I also played with the patterning of the trees in the distant fog, keeping intervals uneven and shapes different.

Next, I plan to do a 1:2 sunny scene of the same.  In the meantime, here are some detail shots.

Bog Meditations, Part 2

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1:3 Notan, Value Study for my Bog Painting

I'm continuing to work on my bog painting project.  (You can read my previous post about it here) After last week's foray into the field for photos, color sketches and some pencil drawings, my next step was to create a series of design explorations or notan studies.

For this, I used watercolor, sticking to just one color (red) so I could focus on value shapes.  Not sure of what size I'd finally end up using, but knowing I wanted to stick with a landscape format, I pencilled in 4"x8" (1:2) and 3"x9" (1:3) rectangles on 300-lb cold-press paper.  I laid down tape around each of these so I could have a nice, crisp border, enabling me to see the design better.  I used a Chinese calligraphy brush so I could get expressive strokes.  (Maybe not the best choice, as I found it held more water than I needed, and I was constantly squeezing out water before dipping it into color.)  Here's what I came up with, besides the one at the top of this post:

Next, even though I'd made some field studies, I felt I didn't have a good grip on the forms of some of the trees I wanted to include.  So, back to the bog I went.  I took more photos plus made a pencil study:

Finally, I had enough material for the next step, which was to explore color.  Using the same format and size as the notan studies, I used gouache to explore some color options.  (For this, I decided the 300-lb paper was too pricey for just quick sketches, so I opted to use cheaper 150-lb paper instead.)  For the final painting, I am thinking about a foggy day, but I wanted to include a sunny option as well, just in case I change my mind.  Here's what I did:

So now I have lots of material to refer to when I start the actual painting.  Will I go back to the bog for more reference material?  Undoubtedly!  The bog is a beautiful place.  But it's also generally empty of other humans.  Few people visiting the park go there, preferring the beaches or rocky cliff trails with ocean overlooks.  The bog has become my quiet place.  Yet it's not just a visual treasure—it's a full sensory experience, complete with boggy smells, bird song and a moist breeze.  Even if I don't take pictures (it's hard not to, though) I'll certainly saunter and enjoy the moment.

Bog Meditations

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One of Campobello Island's bogs.  Can I paint this to my satisfaction?

Well, let's start with some sketching...

...and move on to some color...
(5x8 gouache)

For many years while living on Campobello Island, I focussed on the shore:  rocks, water, islands, fishing boats, views both distant and close.  After all, isn't this what one comes to an island for?

But Campobello has more than that—it has bogs.  A bog sits away from the shore, often behind a barrier beach and its companion brackish pond.  Sometimes, the bog occupies a spot that was once a kettle pond, a watery depression in the earth left behind by a chunk of melting glacial ice.  Over time, bog plants take root.  As time passes, decaying vegetation builds up and compresses into peat—a process that takes thousand of years. 

In this deepening richness, many species enjoy a slow existence:  dwarf versions of trees like black spruce and tamarack; sphagnum moss and reindeer moss (actually a lichen); plus baked apple berry, cotton grass, rhodora, leatherleaf and bog laurel.  And because the bogs have carnivorous plants like sundew and pitcher plants, I'm sure there are some tiny animals living there, too, although I haven't seen them.  There are birds a-plenty.

Bog laurel

Tamarack

Rhodora

Leatherleaf in bloom

This season, I'm finding myself turning away from the shore and inward to the bogs.  (Perhaps mirroring the psychological turning inward that I seem to be undergoing this year.)  As I saunter on the boardwalk that the more-accessible bogs have, I often linger to look.  A visual artist, I am easily seduced by texture and color—both of which the bogs serve up in spades.  The bog is a wild tapestry, tightly woven out of the thinnest of threads, and my eye wants to pick apart this dense fabric to enjoy every inch.

Seeing this beauty is one thing; painting it is another.  My enjoyment of the seeing is so great that I'm afraid I will fail in the painting.  At this point, I am engaging only in making quick gouache sketches for color notes and pencil studies of the dwarf trees.  Will I go beyond this to something more ambitious?  I'm not sure yet.

Two 5x8 gouache sketches for color notes

AI and the Painter: Should I Worry? Part 1

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"A Day at the Beach"
Image generated by Midjourney AI
 & Michael Chesley Johnson

I can hear you asking:  "Hey, I'm a plein painter, so what does AI have to do with me?"  Although there's been a lot of buzz lately about how AI threatens to replace commercial artists, for the plein air painter, it can be yet another very useful tool in your paint box—especially if you like to return to the studio to create more finished work based on your outdoor sketches.

For some of you, "AI" may be nothing more than a set of letters that occasionally surfaces in your newsfeed.  But AI—or Artificial Intelligence, a simulation of human intelligence by a computer—is ubiquitous.  You've used it when calling your bank to check your account balance and when asking Alexa to spin up your play list.

But it's not just about speech recognition and responding to prompts.  AI's increasingly worming its way into the foundation of everything, from feeding you personalized ads on Instagram to writing copy for lazy bloggers and lots, lots more.  Every day, they're finding new uses for AI—including image generation.

So how does an AI create art?  First, some examples.  One of the more popular platforms for image generation is Midjourney.   Here's a sampling from its Community Showcase:

How does it work?  The user sends either a text prompt or an image (or a combination of the two) to the AI.  The AI, which is constantly analyzing and cataloging images from the Internet, looks to find images that best fit the parameters.   From them, it synthesizes a new image by copying-and-pasting bits and pieces.  Just how close this comes to the desired result depends on the dataset the AI uses, the sophistication of its language model, and how specific the user is in his description of what he wants.

By the way, besides the fear of being replaced by a computer, another concern of commercial artists is the way the AI gathers its dataset.  It takes pre-existing images—many of which were created by these artists and copyrighted—and uses them without payment or attribution.  The good news is, there are people working to address this.  (But is the image the AI generates truly "art"?  The jury is still out on that.)  

Midjourney is just one of several image generation platforms out there, but I chose to focus on it for my research because it seems to generate higher-quality images and gives many options for tweaking how the images are generated. 

When I started playing with all this,  I was immediately impressed.  Here are some samples.

Image generated by Midjourney’s AI based
on my photograph below

Photo above image is based on

Image generated by Midjourney’s AI based on my
lighthouse photo below plus a text prompt I gave

Photograph of a plein air painting
I made of a lighthouse

For the boat, the AI created a series of variations, and I picked the one I liked best which I share here.  I like the color choices and even the odd way the water seems to lap right up to the road. (Where’d the road come from? It wasn’t in my original photo! This process is full of serendipity.)

For the lighthouse painting, I gave the following text prompt to the AI: “painting of lighthouse in style of Edward Hopper crashing waves rocks” plus my own painting of a lighthouse. Again, the AI gave me variations, and I picked my favorite. I like the drama of it, and even that little figure walking on the beach. (And it wasn’t in my painting, nor did I give that in my prompt.) 

So, how can all this be useful to the plein air painter? I'll share some ideas with you in a future post.  In the meantime, if you'd like to learn more about the issues surrounding AI image generation, here's a playlist I put together of relevant videos. If you'd like to learn more about how AI image generation works, here's another playlist.

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By the way!  Just a reminder about my book.  Beautiful Landscape Painting Outdoors: Mastering Plein Air is the perfect gift for your beginning painter friends -- and the advanced painter will enjoy it, too.  And hey, it would also make a nice gift for yourself! You can get it at Amazon.  (While you're waiting for your copy to arrive, you might like to watch the video interviews I made with several of the artists.)

And don't forget my May workshop at Bluebird Studios in Santa Fe.  Santa Fe is an awesome place to hold a plein air painting workshop -- great scenery, but also lots of extracurricular activities like galleries and museums!  Details here.

Last but not least, my 50% Studio Sale on Southwest paintings continues through December 24th.  Check out the artwork here.

Plein Air Purist—Or Plein Air Snob?

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I made these three 6x8 oil studies in the field
in preparation for creating a large studio painting.
Scroll down to the bottom of this post to see the 
finished painting.

I admit, the lure of plein air painting is powerful.  The smells, the sounds and, of course, the sights, draw us landscape painters like pheromones do a moth.  I'd rather be painting outdoors than in the studio any day.

The moth may enjoy the momentary effects of a pheromone for its own sake, but ultimately, the pheromone has a higher reason for being:  the perpetuation of the species.  What about plein air painting?  I enjoy the moment—a two-hour tussle with the landscape that lights up all the pleasure centers of my brain—but is there something more?

Some painters seem to think not.  For them, plein air painting is an end in itself.  If they can't paint outdoors, they don't paint. It's all about the sex and not about begetting the next generation.  That is, it's all about the momentary satisfaction of “capturing the moment” but not about taking the art to a higher level.

I don't have a problem with this.  We all have different goals.  But what I do have a problem with is the swagger and brag of some of these plein air purists.  They become plein air snobs.  I want to pull them aside and say, “You know, if you spent some time in the studio addressing the issues that are difficult or impossible to deal with in the field, you'd be a better painter.” But they won't want to hear it.  

I said I prefer to paint outdoors, and this is true.  But I do value my studio time:  Outdoors, we can only receive and respond; in the studio, we can also reflect and refine.  Under the steady, unfailing light of my studio—a benefit you don't get in the field—and with the assortment of tools I have stored there, I can work out design and color issues and fine-tune these to better fit the idea behind my painting.  

It's easy to get addicted to painting on-location, especially if you make it easy on yourself by having  lightweight goals.  Constant work within a certain set of restrictions—such as limiting your painting practice exclusively to the outdoors—will only help you reach the limits possible within those restrictions, but no further.  For that, you need to move into the studio, where everything is possible.

By the way, do collectors care if a painting was done en plein air?  Not really.  They just want a good painting.  They may enjoy the story behind a painting—perhaps you had to fend off wild wolverines while perched precariously on a cliff overlooking your scene—but that won't sell the painting if it's not good.  

"Waterfall" 36x36 oil/canvas
You can read the full story about this painting in my 
book, Outdoor Study to Studio, available
from Amazon here.

Art by Committee?

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"Lake Ice" 12x36 oil/panel
Available Here

“Art by committee” has never worked for me.  I dislike getting other people too involved in my creative decisions.  Of course, that doesn't mean I won't ask for advice at a critical point.  If I'm uncertain, I may seek out one of the master artists I know.  And in workshops, if a demonstration is veering into the ditch, I'll ask my students for input.  But as the artist, I feel that, ultimately, all decisions are mine.

But once in awhile, I like to ask a larger audience, one that includes people who might say: “I don't know much about art, but I know what I like.”  I'm interested to see what appeals to people who aren't artists but who like art, especially if I feel I have multiple options for a problem, and each option seems an equally worthy solution.  Sure, I could toss a coin—but I think that asking a larger audience can give me valuable insight.

Not far from my studio, there's a ridge that overlooks the lake.  I like to hike up to it for the view.  One morning this winter, I went out when the sun was still quite low in the sky.  Shadowy blues covered the snowy ridge, but the ice-covered lake and a distant ridge glowed with an incandescent, warm light.  I instantly knew I had to paint the scene—but how best to evoke the feeling I had felt on that ridge?

The easiest part of the answer was color harmony—dominant cool blues and greens with a punch of hot red-orange.  Nothing else would work.  The harder part was design.  Design sets the stage for color, and I needed to address that first.  How could I give the viewer a sense of scale and the feeling of being up high?

In the studio, I always take my time exploring design options.  This time was no different.  I put a big sheet of newsprint up on the easel and began sketching out some ideas in vine charcoal.  These explorations gave me some exciting possibilities—but I didn't believe any one rose above the others.  I felt each could make a good painting, yet I couldn't decide.  The only thing I could decide on was a long format, a 12x36 (1:3 aspect ratio.)  So, I put the question to my followers on Facebook and Instagram and asked them to vote:

Design "A" got many votes and seemed to appeal to people without question.

Design "B" got a few more votes than “A."   However, the tree in the bottom left was a problem for some.  It obstructed their visual journey into the distance.  Because of this, one person remarked that, if the distant view of the lake was my subject, “A” would be the right choice; but if I wanted to keep the viewer in the foreground cliff area, then “B” was the right choice.  (The lone tree and the foreground cliff together serve as a fence for the eye.)

Design "C" got the least number of votes.  But here, the subject was clearly the foreground or middle ground.

My personal choice was “B,” the result of which you can see at the top of this post.  Although I understood what people were saying about the tree on the left, I was looking at the design in a larger version—4x12—than what most were seeing on their computer screens.  At that size, the tree was less significant and, in my mind, wasn't an obstacle.  For me, it served to keep the viewer's eye from wandering out the bottom left corner and also helped with the feeling of the viewer being high up.

Once I scaled up my 4x12 design to my 12x36 cradled panel, the tree became even less of an obstacle.  Lightening the tree a bit in the painting and darkening the ice behind it reduced the contrast slightly, which further reduced the tree's prominence.  The eye could now follow the little accents of light in the shadows out to the ice and beyond, settling finally on the distant cliff.  I also chose to tone down the “incandescence” of that cliff, allowing the viewer to enjoy the closer cliff a little longer.

After painting “B,” I decided to tackle a version of the view without the tree.  I wanted to emphasize the lake this time, so rather than trying for a long format and including much of the foreground cliff, I narrowed the view, going with a 14x18 (7:9 aspect ratio) and leaving out the tree. I think it works well, too.  

"Lake Ice 2" 14x18 oil/canvas
Available Here

Input from my larger audience helped with making sure in “B” that the left-corner tree was “tweaked” to serve my purpose correctly, and it also encouraged me to try a version of “A.”  Without that input, I would forever be second-guessing myself on this project.