Thereâs a difference between painting fast and phoning it in.
Main Street, Owls Head, 16X20, oil on gessoboard, $1,623 unframed |
The hiker makes constant adjustments to his course, although he does most of them automatically. When sailing, the helmsman trims frequently to follow changes in the wind. On a zip line, a person makes one decision (to jump) and then hangs on for dear life. As our speed increases, our control decreases.
Thatâs as true for painting as anything else in modern life. Itâs one reason why so much modern art has been about expression of a single idea or feeling, rather than craft. Itâs a true representation, in tangible form, of the chaotic speed at which we hurtle through life.
Apple Blossom Time, 9×12, oil on canvasboard, $696 unframed |
If thatâs your schtick, thereâs not much a traditional painting teacher can offer you. Weâre no substitute for the creative genius that will motivate you to vomit pigment onto a canvas. What we teach is rather shopworn: a process by which you can transfer ideas onto canvas, using technique thatâs more than a thousand years old. Itâs not for the easily-bored, because it takes time to master. And even when itâs mastered, it takes time to execute properly.
That doesnât mean that good paintings are necessarily slow paintings (or vice versa). âHow can you finish a painting that fast?â is a question every plein air painter has heard many times. Weâve learned an efficient way of approaching the problem. If we deviate too far from it we get bogged down in the process of painting, at the expense of our personal vision.
Autumn blues, 12X16, oil on canvasboard, $1449 framed |
When my advanced watercolor students have finished a long project, Iâll sometimes tell them, âNow, paint it again in ten minutes.â Theyâre often surprised that the second, fast painting is better than the one they spent so much time on. But that second painting didnât take them ten minutesâit took them that plus all the time they spent on the first one. Itâs just a second iteration of the same work.
Thereâs a difference between painting fast and phoning it in. Itâs a difference of intention. I was dissing a well-known artist with an avid collector at a reception last week. âHis new work has becomeâŚâ He paused, unable to think of how to finish his sentence.
âA schtick?â I suggested.
His eyes widened. âI own one of his paintings from the â90s,â he protested, âand itâs really good.â
âThatâs because he wasnât copying himself yet,â I said.
Fallow field, 12X16, oil on canvasboard, $1449 framed |
It happens to many excellent paintersâthey figure out a motif that sells, and produce a lot of it, and then suddenly, itâs âwhat they do.â Theyâre no longer engaged on a deep level; theyâre phoning it in, either out of laziness or fear of losing their audience.
Galleries donât help, because they want painters to produce shows that are unified and coherent. Thereâs visual impact to twenty almost-identical paintings, especially if they lean heavily on graphic design. But thatâs only true in the showroom; take one home and it loses that impact. Then it must stand or fall on its own merit.
That doesnât mean that we artists donât have one finger raised to the wind of painting fashion. Obviously we do, or we would still be painting like Mannerists. But within our time and place, we have great scope for personal creativity, exploration, and deep thinking. The artists with long-term staying power are those who never forget that.