A PAINTER'S PROGRESS

The Mind, Body, Spirit Workshop, April 23rd and 24th was a wonderful success. Two students came from Oregon, one from Florida and several from various parts of California including Tuolumne. The workshop was based in part on the book: The Tao of Watercolor by Jeanne Carbonetti, a longtime favorite of mind. At left you can see several students at work...I mean at play! We focused on allowing the fluid medium of watercolor what it does best: flow.

 

Many students tell me they want to get "loose", to move away from tight detailed work. A common misconception is that painting loose means painting fast, or that it requires a certain deft flip of the wrist, that once learned, will result in loose painterly work. I tell them painting loose is not a technique, it's a state of mind. In the workshop we focused on using both the right and left brain to synthesize play and work, and to reach for a place that encompasses both and transcends both: the single purpose to know oneself in the present moment. That is our spirit. 

 

When our focus is to know ourselves, then our intention is to become better painters, not to make great or saleable paintings. Getting in touch with our true spirit allows us to paint with a deliberateness. We wait for the inner voice to guide us to the next stroke; we do not mindlessly paw the paper in an attempt to fix or perfect. This is especially important when working with the medium of watercolor. It is helpful, before beginning to paint, to get oneself into the space of the painter's world, a symbolic space, and move away from the real space of practical existence. It is a singular endeavor, a process that allows you to work (and play) from the heart. 

 

 

We had a great group for the March 25, 26 & 27th 3-day non-objective Abstract Workshop. This was not a workshop where we threw in everything but the kitchen sink and called it an "abstract". We did not throw buckets of paint onto a large canvas and have the audacity to call it a work of art! On the contrary, we studied before we painted. We analyzed what makes a good shape: longer than it is tall or taller than it is wide; diagonal thrust; interlocking; incidents at its edges. 

 

We explored the 8 principles of design: Alternation, Balance, Contrast/Conflict, Dominance, Gradation, Harmony, Repetition/Variation, and Unity. We then applied these principles to the 7 artistic elements—an artist's raw tools:  Line, Direction, Color, Shape, Size, Texture and Value. In a non-objective abstraction, an artist has only these principles and elements to use to create a piece. These are the fundamentals. 

 

I believe that knowledge of the fundamentals is essential to successful artistic self-expression. As Edgar Whitney said, "You can ignore these 13 principles and elements, but they will not ignore you". To try to "sing one's song" without a solid foundation in the basics, is a recipe for weak meandering paintings that will not hold together as strong works of art. A thorough knowledge the fundamentals allows for effortless expression in any art form. 

 

I studied jazz piano for quite a few years. My goal was to be able to express myself through improvisation. I would not have been able to do that without first studying music theory and learning chord progressions, voicings, upper structures, scales and all the rest. Until these fundamentals became second nature, I could not express myself in a way that truly captured what I wanted to say in a free and confident way. It's the same with painting. It is true that one has to know the rules before one can break them.

 

There was a lot to think about while creating the paintings, but the workshop was not all hard work. After applying the fundamentals to design our paintings, we used bits of collage and crayon to enhance the work and add detail. We were more than painters; we became designers, shape makers and symbol collectors! The students loved the workshop. Below are a few of the students' finished pieces:

 

 

               

 

 

           

 

 

                                                

 

 

 

 

 

The creative process was alive and well here at Bodega Barn last weekend during my Gouache and Watercolor Workshop. The process I was teaching, a unique way of using watercolor, matte medium and gouache, was born of panic last year when a painting I was working on began to head south...fast. I've written about this in an earlier blog, but will recap it here. The painting was due to be delivered to the gallery in a day and a half. There was no time to begin another, besides, it was an odd size for which I had the perfect frame. Watercolor is not a forgiving medium. As I began to scrub out my mistakes and try to bring the piece back to life, it only got worse. Since necessity is the mother of invention, I decided to turn to invention to save it, resulting in a unique look and a new process that I could then teach to my students.

 

During the process I was terrified it would not work, that I would be humiliated beyond belief at not being able to deliver. Plagued by self-doubt, self-pity and a nagging voice telling me I'd never be able to pull it off, I lumbered on. At first my brush strokes were all wrong. I tried something else. It was a little better, but not great. I tried yet another idea. Little by little, the way one crosses a rushing creek one rock at a time, I began to see progress. The painting began telling me what it needed next. Slowly at first, like an engine gathering speed, I fell in with the rhythm of the piece. One stroke, then another. What emerged on the paper was light years from my initial vision. I began to feel that little glimmer in my belly—it might work after all! Gone was the terror, the doubt, the voices. It was a painting, a good painting!

 

Creating a painting, like writing or composing music, is an evolutionary  process that often—almost always—runs the full gamut of stages and emotions. The beginning stage is exciting, filled with hope and a new vision. The middle portion is often where doubt and discouragement begin to set in. I observe this time and again, not only with my students, but also with myself as well. It's as if a painting goes through the same growing process as we humans do:  delightful babyhood, difficult adolescence, and finally rebirth and self-actualization. During the workshop I observed the students themselves and their paintings travel through a number of incarnations. They kept at it, mostly because of a desire to make their paintings work, and partly because they were in a workshop, and there was no choice! That's one of the benefits of the workshop environment. One is encouraged to keep at it, to pull it off, instead of giving up and going off to do the laundry. Below are some photos from the workshop. One participant is missing from the photo:

 

                     

Last Saturday I gave a workshop for the Point Reyes National Seashore Field Seminar Program. The title of the workshop was Gouache and Watercolor: a perfect marriage. This workshop was about process. My goal for the day was to impart to my students a process I came upon quite by accident. Well, not exactly accident; more like desperation. If necessity if the mother of invention, then desperation is the mother of innovation. At least it was this time for me.

 

Last winter I was preparing for an exhibit and was nearing the deadline. The central piece was to be a large watercolor for which I had stretched heavy paper on stretcher bars to fit exactly the odd-sized large frame I planned to use. The painting began to go south. As you know, there is only so much one can do to retrieve a waterolor that has lost its freshness. As I continued to paint, the piece continued its downward trajectory. I began to panic, as I had only one more day to complete it and I could not start over. I liked my basic drawing, composition and concept, but there was no saving this watercolor—at least not by adding more watercolor. I was desperate. I tried something.

 

I applied matte medium over the entire thing. Matte medium acts as a transparent seal. When it dries, the watercolor painting underneath can no longer be manipulated, either by lifting or bleeding through. It is permanent. One can paint on top of it, but what's underneath stays. By doing this, it ensured that my basic composition and drawing remained intact. I could paint on top of the matte medium, but could also rub back down to the original painting if I needed to retrieve the drawing structure. I decided to use opaque gouache to paint on top so that I could more easily cover any mistakes. Not having had much experience with gouache, I was apprehensive at first. Gradually an entirely new surface began to emerge, while still keeping the integrity of the piece underneath. A depth and richness appeared. My desperation turned into excitement. I liked what was happening. As a final flourish, I added some India ink, a few lines here and there to emphasize the structure and add punch. 

 

When the piece dried the new surface cried out NOT to be matted under glass. It had a weight unlike a traditional transparent watercolor. Again, I tried something new. I glued the paper to a foam core base to create a solid backing. Then I waxed surface of the painting! I took some wax medium and rubbed it over the entire piece. (The wax, when dry, creates a hard surface and protects like varnish does, impervious to water, dirt or dust.) The wax created yet another surface dimension, a soft unifying element. The piece looked elegant in its gold frame. Here is a picture of that piece:

"Waiting"

This is the process the students learned in the workshop last Saturday. They first painted with watercolor on paper. Then they appied matte medium over the painting and let it dry, after which they proceeded to paint using opaque gouache, lifting back to the original when necessary. At first it felt awkward to most of the students, as they were unfamiliar with gouache. Gradually vibrant paintings began to emerge! After a few ink lines, the pieces were glued to foam core backing and finally waxed. The paintings were fabulous! The students were delighted with the process. 

 

There is an inherent pleasure we humans take in process—the process of painting a picture, of composing a song, of building a dwelling. It is the process we love. The product is satisfying momentarily, but as soon as it is ready to live in the world, our thoughts return to process, to beginning another creation. Our process sometimes involves many steps, like this watercolor/gouache procedure. Sometimes it is merely the act of applying paint to canvas. Whatever it is for you, know that that's where the sweet spot lies.