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Hungering for meaning in art

arte conceptual :-), Angula Berria, size unknown and date unknown, licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.

I’m still pondering Charge of Flowerdew’s Squadron, 1918, by Sir Alfred Munnings, about which I wrote on Monday. I’m usually focused on the terrified horses, but I realized that the figure in the foreground is Lt. Gordon Flowerdew himself. He was just 33 when he was mortally wounded at the Battle of Moreuil Wood, urging his ‘boys’ on until he expired. The Canadian Cavalry Brigade suffered disproportionately in a war that had nothing to do with them, but for which so many of their young men and women volunteered. Whatever his intentions, Munnings painted a powerful polemic against the sheer wastefulness of war. I fight back tears every time I study it.

Fast forward to the our own times, when young climate activists vandalize museum masterpieces and throw charcoal into the Trevi Fountain. Some people think these kids are earnest and well-meaning; the majority think they’re spoiled brats.

The Grave Digger’s Death, watercolor and gouache, 29 ½ x 21 ¾, 1895-1900, Carlos Schwabe, courtesy the Louvre.

I’d say they’re acting out the single-minded narcissism of youth on a convenient public stage. On a much smaller scale, I did that myself 45 years ago.

In my late teens, I protested the building of a coal-fired electrical plant, including cooking up an almost-completely spurious historic-preservation argument. Of course, I had no impact whatsoever.

I’ve watched the plant go through its entire life-cycle (it closed in 2020 as part of our push away from coal). It created jobs and generated millions in tax dollars, so that the small local school could be updated into the 20th century. It was built with state-of-the-art-scrubbers. I had no hesitation living for 21 years downwind of its plume.

Today I happily admit that my youthful self was dead wrong. Young people have heart and a profound need to make their mark in the world. However, they’re not noted for their ability to see nuance, which is why we don’t generally put them in charge of policy decisions.

Vandals at the gate

Just Stop Oil are performance artists themselves. However, their performances are rich in meaning, which is a step up from much art made in the last century.

What is meaning? Traditionally there were different layers of information in artwork, including intellectual and emotional content, style and technique. Together, these formed meaning.

A photograph of Marcel Duchamp’s urinal by Alfred Stieglitz, entitled Fountain and dated 1917. The original work and Stieglitz’ negative are now both lost. Courtesy NPR

Intentionally meaningless art (Dada) can be traced back to the early 20th century, as a response to the senseless violence and destruction of WW1. The philosophical ideas of existentialism influenced art at the same time. Symbolism may, at first glance, seem drenched in meaning, but it’s really all about archetypes.

Marcel Duchamp turned everyday objects into art (‘readymades‘) simply by putting them in galleries. Changing their location changed their status. There’s a direct line between his urinal (1917) and Maurizio Cattelan‘s banana taped to a wall (2019). What’s sad is that there wasn’t a single advancement of that once-startling idea in the intervening century.

With the exception of outliers like Just Stop Oil, conceptual and performance artists further promote the idea that art is meaningless. Give Yoko Ono credit here-not only did she contribute to the breakup of the most famous musical ensemble of the 1960s, she was also a major conceptual artist. Rarely has one individual had such a destructive impact.

Grand opening of the first Dada exhibition: International Dada Fair, Berlin, 5 June 1920. Since the effigy hanging from the ceiling is a German officer with a pig’s head, this can hardly be called meaningless, but it was a precursor of what was to come. Courtesy University of Iowa Libraries

Let’s reclaim meaning

Of course, most of us could never really leave meaning behind; it’s hardwired into the human brain. However, if we were at all au fete during the past century, we were a little ashamed of that. The Wyeth clan stand out as artists who bucked that trend.

But if a painting doesn’t say something, what good is it? This weekend I realized there’s a hunger for meaning and depth in painting when my class on narrative painting sold out almost immediately. I’ll let you know how it goes.

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Our war dead

Charge of Flowerdew’s Squadron, 1918, Sir Alfred Munnings, courtesy Canadian War Museum

It’s estimated that some eight million horses, mules and donkeys died in WW1. As horrific as that is, it’s dwarfed by the human death toll: 9 to 11 million military personnel and 6 to 13 million civilians.

Sir Alfred Munnings served in a horse depot on the Western Front. There he painted a portrait of General Jack Seely astride his horse Warrior. It was done live in the field, and both artist and models came under fire. Thank God that most plein air painters experience nothing of this sort of violence.

Major-General the Right Hon. JEB Seely on Warrior, 1918, Sir Alfred Munnings, courtesy Canadian War Museum

Seely and Warrior participated in one of the last great cavalry charges in modern warfare, during the Battle of Moreuil Wood. Both survived, as commanding officers so often do. Charge of Flowerdew’s Squadron is a scene from that engagement. Canadian Lieutenant Gordon Flowerdew is shown leading a charge against two machine gun lines. Flowerdew was fatally wounded. Though the German advance was checked, a quarter of the men and half of the horses were lost.

In 1918, cameras weren’t fast enough to capture this action; today a photographer wouldn’t be allowed this close. Likewise, plein air painting is incapable of documenting a scene like this. The action is too fast. More importantly, this painting required a thoughtful distillation of experience and emotion. That comes with time.

The Third of May 1808, 1814, Francisco Goya, courtesy Museo del Prado

It took a painter like Munnings, with his up-close experience of cavalry and horses, war and death, to process and paint the unimaginable. That’s why Francisco Goya’s The Third of May 1808 is so gut-wrenching; he experienced the horrors of war and then went back to his studio to distill it into a canvas of incredible bleakness.

Prudence Heward (a Canadian who should be better known) was one of many artists who dropped their brushes and went to the aid of Britain. A.Y. Jackson, Lawren Harris and Fred Varley came from Canada; Arthur Streeton from Australia. Of course, many British artists served as well, including Stanley Spencer, David Bomberg and, of course, Alfred Munnings. And American poet Joyce Kilmer was killed at the Second Battle of the Marne.

Some of these artists were attached as war illustrators (as Winslow Homer had done in our own Civil War). Some just picked up a gun and joined up. Their calling in art was subservient to their calling as human beings.

The Resurrection of the Soldiers, 1929, Sir Stanley Spencer, courtesy Sandham Memorial Chapel

WW1 was the last of a particularly heinous kind of war, the kind where rulers used their citizenry in an elaborate game of chess, with dismal outcomes for both the dead and the survivors.

“When I left the Slade and went back to Cookham, I entered a kind of earthly paradise. Everything seemed fresh and to belong to the morning. My ideas were beginning to unfold in fine order when along comes the war and smashes everything,” Sir Stanley Spencer wrote. “The war changed me. I no longer have that assurance and feeling of security I had before.” He went on to make a fine hash of his life, something that today we might understand as the result of PTSD.

Travoys Arriving with Wounded at a Dressing-Station at Smol, Macedonia, September 1916, Sir Stanley Spencer, courtesy Imperial War Museum

Spencer was asked to paint the interior walls of Sandham Memorial Chapel, a memorial to Lieutenant Henry Willoughby Sandham and the “forgotten dead” of the First World War. In all his war art, Spencer concentrated on the soldier’s everyday experiences, pointedly eschewing any sense of grandeur.  R. H. Wilenski is widely quoted as saying that “every one of the thousand memories recorded had been driven into the artist’s consciousness like a sharp-pointed nail.” But these are the nails of the Cross, the nails of a transformative suffering, not the nails of normal human experience.

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Don’t take it to heart, or so they say

In Control (Grace and her Unicorn), 24X30, $3,478 framed, oil on canvas, includes shipping in continental United States.

One of my friends, a professional artist, was working out a problem in a plein air painting when a car slowed down. He’s used to the attention of bystanders, which can sometimes take weird forms. But even he was surprised when, after a long pause, the driver said, “I’m not trying to be mean, but I could paint that in ten minutes.”

People can say the stupidest, cruelest things without even realizing it. Twenty years ago, I had an art opening where nothing sold. Someone who really should have known better said, “You gave it the old college try but maybe it’s time to get a real job.”

The Wave, 9X12, oil on archival canvasboard, $869, includes shipping in continental US.

That’s not to say that people can’t have opinions. For the uninformed, art generally comes down to, “I don’t know anything about art, but I know what I like.” There’s nothing wrong with that; it’s as valid a judgment as that of the most self-important art historian.

But sometimes people forget that they’re talking to fellow human beings. Or about human beings, in the case of the sotto voce ‘witticisms’ when they think you can’t hear. It would be nice if they were, well, nicer.

It’s easy to step back from unfounded criticism when it happens in forums like classes, art groups and workshops-you can just take a temporary or permanent break. It’s more difficult to deal with unsolicited criticism. It has a way of blind-siding you.

There’s something to be said for keeping an open mind. Even hostile feedback can provide valuable insights. It’s just that the hurt takes so long to recede that it can take years for us to appreciate the nugget of truth underlying the snarkiness.

Ravening Wolves, oil on canvas, 24X30, $3,478.00 framed, includes shipping in continental US.

Every person we come across in life approaches us with their own preferences, hurts, defenses and biases. Often the harshest critics of art are the ones who know the least. When I was young, my list of ‘painters I don’t like’ was far longer than it is now. The more I know, the more I appreciate other approaches.

The first time I had a work reviewed in a newspaper, it received an awful panning. “Immature color palette” and “I don’t know why it is in this show” were the two general ideas. I called my friend Toby and wept on her shoulder. Now I realize the reviewer had an ax to grind (long story). That’s every bit as baseless as the uninformed insult, and far more damaging.

Experts say that we should see criticism as an opportunity for growth, a spur to improve. I’m 64 years old and I’m not quite mature enough yet.

The Logging Truck, 16X20, oil on canvas, $2029 framed, includes shipping in the continental US.

Instead, I’ve learned to lean on my friends when I’ve had a knock-out blow. There are a few of them who are perfectly willing to lie to me. They’ll tell me that the juror who didn’t pick me was an idiot, even when he obviously wasn’t. It may not be true, but it helps me survive to fight another day.

If your posse isn’t made up of loyal, supportive people like that, get yourself a new posse. Most of us can find ways to beat ourselves up without any help from others. Knowing you’re loved and valued is the greatest defense against those slings and arrows.

In the end, it’s your vision, your path, and your pace. What someone else thinks really doesn’t matter. I just keep telling myself that; sooner or later I’ll believe it’s true.

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Stuck? 12 ways to reignite your painting progress

Possum, 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, $435 includes shipping in continental US.

“I’m not making any progress,” a reader lamented to me about her painting class. “It’s like I’m watching people zoom past me in their muscle cars while I’m potting along in my Kia Rio.”

Feeling stuck happens to all of us at some point. Here are 12 practical suggestions to reignite your learning.

Tin Foil Hat, 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, $435 includes shipping in continental US.

Stop comparing yourself to others. Different people bring different intelligences to painting. That’s what makes artwork so fascinating. Moreover, we all have periods when we excel, and periods when we flounder. Think of the Homecoming Queens who fade into obscurity or the billionaires who started as high-school dropouts.

Expand your learning opportunities. That doesn’t necessarily mean taking more classes. Reading, videos, and painting groups are great ways to absorb more ideas painlessly. A student told me recently that Alla Prima by Richard Schmid is now available for free online. Since it’s roughly $300 at Amazon, that’s an opportunity to read a classic no starving artist can afford to buy.

Practice regularly. Consistency is key when it comes to improving any skill, including painting. Set aside dedicated time to work, and make painting a habit. You’ll fall into the groove more easily if it’s more familiar.

Start with the basics. Sometimes, going back to fundamentals will help you overcome a plateau. Focus on drawing, value, color, and composition.

Study other artists. I love ambling around galleries and museums, but looking at work online is the next best thing. Modern imaging is so sophisticated that you may learn more about the artists’ brushwork and technique online than from the ‘safe’ distance in the physical place. Applying critical analysis to masterworks will help you better understand the painting.

Hiking, 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, $435 includes shipping in continental US.

Break out of your rut. I know I’ve said that working will net you more than shopping, but some experimentation with new techniques and materials can reignite your creativity. You also might find new approaches that resonate with you.

Take a workshop. The great advantage of a workshop is that it’s immersive. You stop worrying about everyday life. You make new friends who are as passionate about painting as you are. There’s time for a deep dive into new ideas, techniques, and you may come away with a whole new perspective on painting.

Apply critical analysis to your own work. I teach this skill a few times a year, because self-critique is the greatest skill an artist can possess. It separates you from your emotional response to you can see, objectively, what needs to be strengthened.

Dish of Butter, 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, $435 includes shipping in continental US.

Break down complex subjects. How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time. If you’re tackling complex ideas or compositions, break them down into smaller, manageable parts. That stops you from being overwhelmed. I’ll be teaching this process in my next online class, High, Wide and Handsome, which starts on June 12.

Seek constructive feedback. Share your work with trusted peers or insightful non-painters. Different perspectives can provide fresh insights and help you identify areas for growth.

Embrace your errors. The most successful artists I know aren’t fazed by failures. They analyze them, set them aside, and move on. Painting is just one long series of goofs and meandering byways. By focusing on the process, rather than the results, you make room for brilliant discovery.

Be patient. If it’s worth doing, it will take time and effort. Stay motivated, set realistic goals, and celebrate small victories along the way.

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Monday Morning Art School: the number one problem with your painting

Seafoam, 9X12, oil on archival canvasboard, $869 framed includes shipping in continental US

On Monday, I posted Let’s Paint Some Duds! After about the hundredth person told me they have no trouble whatsoever painting duds, I realized my hook was lousy. It tapped into fear of failure instead of challenging people to be more questing and adventuresome.

I’ve had many emerging artists tell me that half or more of their paintings are duds. That’s shocking; it’s way too high a failure rate, especially when it comes in the learning phase. For that matter, there are other painters who fail just as often but don’t even realize it. (And far be it from me to wreck their happy illusions.)

Duds are a particular problem in plein air painting, so much so that my pal Brad Marshall coined a term for the process of making them: flailing around.

Cypresses and Sunlight, 11X14, Carol L. Douglas, $1087 includes shipping in continental US

Why so many?

I also get frequent emails and texts that read, “I’m stuck! What’s going wrong here?” That’s why I periodically teach an online critique class; you’ll advance more quickly when you can answer that question for yourself.

But the answer almost always comes down to bad composition. Either the darks are not organized, or the focal points are not clear, or there’s not a clear and compelling armature. Figuring that out in advance, with a value drawing or notan, saves tons of time and effort.

Composition organizes the design elements of a painting. It provides structure and balance, guides the viewer’s eye, and determines where a painting falls on the all-important scale of harmony-to-tension. Composition controls the visual appeal of a painting, but it also controls its emotional power.

Stone Wall, Salt Marshes, 14×18, $1594 framed includes shipping in continental US

A weak composition is still a composition.

The same student who kvetches about flailing and failing often resists the idea of studying formal composition. “I want to be spontaneous and natural,” he will say. Well, composition, like puberty, is going to happen whether you take a hand in guiding it or not.

Weak compositions impede the very message that the supposedly-spontaneous artist wants to convey. Conversely, strong compositions guide viewers through the content. By strategically placing focal points, controlling movement, and using visual cues, you influence not just what your viewers see, but what they think and feel. And isn’t that the point of communication?

Then there’s the question of balance and emphasis. Just as the cannonades in Tchaikovsky‘s 1812 Overture are carefully placed to emphasize the point of Russia’s victory over the French, your focal points must fall in sweet spots. They must be reinforced with contrast and line. When it works flawlessly, we see a painting that is beautiful individual, and stylish-without overburdening our minds too much about how it happened.

Ketch and Schooner, 8X10 in a solid silver leaf frame, includes shipping in the continental US

How do I learn to be a better composer?

I’ve written extensively on this blog on the subject of composition, which of course you can access for free. Above all, there’s my cardinal rule of painting: don’t be boring. I can’t restate that often enough.

If you really want to give up flailing and failing, I invite you to also take my online course, The Correct Composition, which I just released on Friday. Give yourself a lot of time to do the exercises and take the quizzes; you’ll get far more out of it than you will by just skimming the videos.

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More art supplies won’t make you a better painter

Breaking storm, 48X30, oil on canvas, $5,579 framed includes shipping in the continental US.

I had an entertaining text exchange with an emerging painter yesterday. “We spend too much money on better paper, fancy brushes, and teaching videos,” he mused. “We think we can buy our way into good results. But it all comes down to spending time painting. One must actually apply paint to paper to understand the lessons, to get them into one’s head.”

A few moments passed and he added, “Of course, that’s very dangerous if you’re painting with other people with all the same bad habits as you.”

Therein lies the conundrum. Yes, you need to paint — lots, fast and furious — to improve. But you also need to understand the fundamentals, and it helps to have good materials. It’s like playing the piano. Both practice and instruction are critical, but you’ll enjoy it a lot more if your piano holds a tune.

Bunker Hill overlook, watercolor on Yupo, approx. 24X36, $3985 framed includes shipping in continental US.

I have two sets of watercolor brushes. The first are high-end, large brushes that I use for ‘important’ work. The others are mid-range Princeton Neptunes. These days, most of my watercolor painting is pootling around in my sketchbook, so of course I grab the Neptunes. It figures that I’ve gotten better with them than with my fancier brushes.

I once told my Zoom class that one could paint in oils with a stick, and that my ratty, half-hardened brushes proved it. Instead of taking that lesson to heart, they bought me new brushes (which moves me every time I think of it). While it’s quite possible to paint in oils with a stick, or even a palette knife, it is lovelier to paint with my treasured new brushes.

Palomino Blackwing pencils are going around my students like COVID right now. “Are you made of money?” I ask them, tongue in cheek. I’d order them too if my business partner didn’t have a death grip on our checkbook. Sometimes it’s just fun to have lovely things.

Wreck of the SS Ethie, oil on canvas, 18X24, $2318 framed includes shipping in continental US.

More fun, I’m afraid, than buckling down and doing the hard slog. But, of course, the hard slog pays off in ways that shopping never can.

Last month I introduced The Value Drawing, an interactive class that discusses how to make an effective value drawing. Today I’m introducing The Correct Composition, an even weightier tome. The Perfect Palette came out earlier this year.

Laura and I have been releasing them as we finish them, with the idea that we’d market them as a set when the whole Seven Protocols for Successful Oil Painters is finished. Today I realized that was unfair to my followers. If you buy the whole series at one time, you’re going to rush through it, whereas if you have it episode by episode, you’ll take the time to do the exercises and quizzes, and above all, “actually apply paint to paper to understand the lessons, to get them into one’s head,” as my correspondent wrote.

Sunset Sail, oil on linen, 14X18, $1594 includes shipping in continental US.

The Value Drawing is closely related to The Correct Composition, so if you haven’t done that one, you might want to do them both now. Meanwhile, I’ll continue to work on the next step, which is The Essential Grisaille.

To put it in perspective, one of these classes is the discount price of a 9/12 Arches Watercolor block. The three I have done so far total the same amount as an 18/24 Arches Watercolor block. I’d never dis the value of a fancy new watercolor block; I adore them. However, I know that knowledge will improve your painting far faster than better paper, or brushes, or even those luscious pencils.

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Let’s paint some duds!

In Control (Grace and her Unicorn), 24X30, $3,478, oil on canvas includes shipping in continental US.

My husband can’t listen to the original cut of Jackie Wilson’s (Your Love Keeps Lifting Me) Higher and Higher without pointing out that the guitar is out of tune. Still, it went to #1 on the Billboard R&B charts in 1967, and it’s one of Rolling Stone‘s The 500 Greatest Songs of All Time.

There are works of art that confound in the same way. Nobody can doubt the genius of Michelangelo, but his women could be strangely muscle-bound. His Moses is a work of immense sensitivity and insight, but he has horns. (That was an iconographic convention of the time, based on a translation error.)

Édouard Manet is one of history’s greatest painters, but his Fishing and The Kearsarge at Boulogne are both (technically) duds.

Ravening Wolves, oil on canvas, 24X30, $3,478.00 framed, includes shipping in continental US.

The rut that once was a groove

Duds happen when you push the limits of your skill and ideas. They’re unlikely when you stay comfortably in your rut.

In Fishing, Manet was quoting Peter Paul Rubens. That early painting may have failed but Manet is the same artist who later gave us Le Déjeuner sur l’herbe, Olympia, and three versions of Execution of Emperor Maximilian, all of which rest on the same idea. Manet had the insight and skill to paint intellectually provocative subjects at the same time as he helped to advance the painterly development of Impressionism.

Manet pushed boundaries of technique, subject matter and artistic norms. To do that meant ignoring the pernicious voice of group norming, and ignoring the possibility of failure.

The Late Bus, 8X6, oil on canvasboard, $435 framed, includes shipping in continental US.

The risk

Of course, not conforming has its risks. Ralph Albert Blakelock was a celebrated painter of his day. He often mixed bitumen and varnish for rich depth of color in his thick, uneven paint. That has proved to be a conservation disaster, so when we look at his paintings today, we aren’t seeing what he laid down. In most of them tonalism has been replaced by something grubby and dark. And that’s why he’s fundamentally unknown today.

But done intelligently, non-conformity can result in innovative breakthroughs and the development of new artistic styles, techniques, and forms. It can break down our preconceived notions of what we’re doing.

Best Buds, 11X14, oil on canvasboard, $1087 framed includes shipping in continental US.

This applies to us, too

The plein air movement has reached its maturity. It is the greatest art movement of our time, but it’s also set limits in terms of finish, the time we spend on paintings, and style. I love plein air better than any other form of painting, but those limits are becoming clearer to me.

What will its evolution and growth look like? Am I willing to paint duds to paint something new? Do I even have the smarts to figure out what that ‘new’ will look like? Am I willing to experience the rejection and discomfort that comes from pushing limits? I don’t know, but it seems to me that growth demands it.

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Monday Morning Art School: five fast things you can do to improve your painting

Spring Greens, 8X10, oil on canvasboard, $522 unframed includes shipping in continental US.

Ditch the convenience greens

Sap green is a convenience mix, made of Indian (dairylide) yellow and phthalo or Prussian blue. Hookers Green is even more complex, using nickel azo yellow, indanthrone blue, and quinacridone magenta to get that deep, dull solid green tone.

Premixed colors suck the life out of your paintings, because they make dull mixtures. Instead, learn to use paired primaries. In particular, learn to mix greens. That’s the only way to avoid boredom in the ‘wall of green’ that the northeast is about to enter.

I explain this more fully in my online video class, The Perfect Palette.

Spring Allee, 14X18, oil on canvas, $1594 framed includes shipping within continental US

Clean your brushes

Oil painting is more forgiving of dirty brushes than watercolor, but they both need clean brushes, both within the process and after.

In watercolor, that means rinsing them in cool water until it runs clean, and then wiping down the excess water and setting them lovingly aside to dry. Unless you’ve dropped them in cow muck, soap is never necessary. But you should have enough water at hand to regularly clean your brushes during the painting process. Change it as soon as it gets dirty.

In oil painting, it’s best to rag-clean your brushes during the painting process. If you must rinse in mineral spirits, carefully towel the brush dry before you start painting again, or you’ll end up with soupy paint.

When you’re done, you need to get the paint out of bristles and ferrule. If your brushes have splayed, the most common culprit is paint dried deep within the ferrules. It’s impossible to get that out, so it’s best to get them clean right after use.

I have a video on how to clean oil brushes here.

Apple Blossom Time, 9×12, oil on canvasboard, $696 unframed includes shipping in continental US

Set out fresh paint

I store my oil painting palette in the freezer between painting sessions. The paint is good for several weeks, but as soon as it develops a film or becomes stodgy, it’s history. Oil paint is carefully formulated at the proper consistency and pigment load. You cannot refresh half-dried paint by adding mineral spirits or medium to it.

“I hate waste,” you say, and so do I. But the most precious thing I have is time. I won’t waste it on a painting that’s destined to fail.

Organize your palette

Watercolorists keep your paints in the same pans because you’re wetting and reusing the same paints over and over. You’re smart to arrange them in rainbow order. You do not need 50 different paints. A paired primary palette, plus a few more for fun, will get you to any point in the color spectrum.

Oil painters can plop their paint down anywhere, but it’s a terrible idea. Lay them out in a rainbow order and then stick with that. (That’s a good reason to not scrape your palette perfectly clean between uses; the trace colors will be your guide.)

I encourage my oil-painting students to paint with tints, because it’s a fast way to lay down bright midtones. But even without this, an organized palette that you understand is a fast route to success.

Owl’s Head fish shacks, 11X14, framed, $1087 includes shipping in continental US

Do a value drawing

If you tend to make more duds than successes, you need to slow down and do value drawings first. Don’t proceed to painting until you have a sketch you really like. The value drawing lays out the overall composition and the focal points before you ever get to paint. That fifteen minutes at the beginning is not just a tremendous time-saver, it saves you from setting off on a fundamentally-flawed path.

If you are unfamiliar with the concept, or don’t know how to do it, I recommend my online class, The Value Drawing.

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What is style?

Beautiful Dream (Rockport Harbor), oil on canvasboard, 12X16 $1,449.00 framed, includes shipping in continental US

Style is tricky. It can have different meanings depending on context, but we all know it when we see it. Just as we recognize Modern Farmhouse in decorating and Vintage in fashion, there are styles in painting.

The major families of painterly style are:

  • Realism, representing the subject as accurately as possible.
  • Impressionism, focusing on fleeting impressions of light and color.
  • Expressionism, emphasizing the emotional and psychological.
  • Abstraction, or non-representational painting.

Within them, however, are myriad other categories, classified by the choices the artists have made in each of the elements of design.

Larky Morning at Rockport Harbor, 11X14, on birch board, unframed, $869 includes shipping in continental US.

Don’t overthink your own style

I’m all for understanding our own points of view; that’s the deepest discipline in painting (and life). Yes, style ties our work together in one body, and it ties us to a specific time and place. It’s the art historian’s best tool for classifying artwork.

But style should develop naturally. Forcing it stymies development.

I can never be a Scottish colourist, any more than I can be Wayne Thiebaud. Imitating the style of Dead Masters is a sure path to irrelevance. Once you’ve learned to paint, you should spend at least as much time with your peers as with the past. Painting is, above all, a dialogue, and you live here and now.

Ketch and Schooner, 8X10, oil on archival canvasboard, $652 framed includes shipping in continental US.

It takes some deep scratching

Good painters choose truth over stylishness, even to the point of seeming awkward to their contemporaries. They investigate thorny questions, not just about the world, but about painting itself. When they’re answered, these artists move on. Often, by the time they get through the cycle of making and mounting a body of work, they’re no longer that interested in it. There’s another struggle engaging them.

Each time we pick up the brush, there’s variation in how we approach painting problems. That’s why it’s important that you have facility with big brushes, small brushes, palette knives, detail, broad strokes, and tiny strokes. Even if they’re not part of your regular repertoire, they increase your versatility and scope.

Don’t box yourself in

‘Embrace your style’ is a trap that painters may not be able to escape.

There’s a difference between style and being stylish. I enjoy fluid, assured brushwork. That’s not styling; it’s self-confident skill.

Sometimes, what people call style is just technical deficiency. For example, some painters separate their color fields with narrow lines-white paper in watercolor, dark outlines in oils. That could be a design choice, or it could be that they never learned to marry edges.

Skylarking II, 18X24, oil on linen, in a handmade cherry frame, $2318 includes shipping in continental US.

Direct and unconscious

I do not love painters who use the same scribing or pattern-making on the surface of every painting. If you study the best mark-makers, like Vincent van Gogh, you’ll see that their surfaces are highly varied.

Style for its own sake is just a ruse to cover up badly-conceived paintings. “People often mistake verbose for skill,” a reader mused recently. “The best writing it direct and almost unconscious. I think the same thing is true of painting.”

Mature artists don’t generally think about style. At that point, style is the gap between what they perceive and what comes off their brush. That’s deeply revelatory, and it can be disturbing when we see it in our own work.

Some of us try to cover that up with stylings, not realizing that those moments of revelation are what viewers hunger for. They-not the nominal subject of the piece-are the real connection between the artist and his audience.

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I’m learning a new art form

I’m slowly learning to act naturally in front of the camera. It’s been a difficult process.

The ancient Greeks used ποίημα (poiÄ“ma) to describe workmanship. It comes down to English as poem and poetry. Poesis, which means bringing something into being that did not exist before, is another derivative.

It’s no surprise that ancient Greeks thought of creativity in poetic terms; they were masters of verse. We do the same thing today, letting language romp across various art forms willy-nilly. Composition and dissonance, for example, mean the same thing to a musician as to a painter.

That’s because the structure of art is oddly consistent across genres. My bass player husband can pick up any string instrument and coax decent sound from it, because the principles are universal.

There are exceptions, of course. “What is the equivalent of a sketch in photography?” Ron Andrews mused in response to this post. Ron’s right about static photography not needing sketches, but storyboards are just sketches for moving pictures.

The two classes I have finished so far; number three should join them shortly.

You don’t know what you don’t know

At the beginning of this year, I set out to make a series of online classes about painting. I want to get through the seven steps of a painting by the end of this year. I’m almost done with step three, composition. It’s been a doozy. The lesson is long and complex, but so is the subject of composition.

Just the brain dump would be challenging enough. On top of that, I’m still learning the medium. I have no director, so I’m learning to speak slowly and naturally to a camera in an empty room. I’m learning to do voice-overs and tinkering with ways to demonstrate technique. I’ve learned to edit audio and video on three different platforms.

Then there are the exercises and quizzes. To write them is easy; to make them work interactively online is more difficult. Thank goodness for Laura Boucher. She’s my operations manager, daughter, and software guru.

Then there’s Monday Morning Art School, which is free, of course.

Look to the experts

I don’t watch television or movies and I’m too old for Tik-Tok. To overcome this, Laura has me studying YouTube videos. Sandi Brock is a middle-aged sheep farmer from Ontario with close to a million subscribers. She’s an improbable influencer. I learn a lot from her.

The most liberating lesson is that people really don’t care about my flat Buffalo accent or wrinkles. To some extent, the artifice of perfection is irrelevant in contemporary social media. People find their own tribe and ignore the rest.

Painters today have incredible resources compared to the last century. My father taught me to paint, but for most people, learning opportunities were limited to what the local art gallery had on offer. If, like Bob Ross, you were interested in realism in a town where abstraction was king, tough. You were out of luck.

Today you can go online and study with just about anyone, including me. You’re the captain of your own ship, for good or ill.

I have already made a few hundred ‘resources’ for this online class. I’m getting better at it as I go along.

I’m a convert

When I was young, I took voice lessons. I still love to sing, but my voice is a mess. Right now, I’m looking for a place to take voice lessons online. The beauty of this scheme is that I don’t need to show up at 6 PM on Tuesdays; I can do the lessons whenever I want.

Three years ago, at the start of COVID, I fought the idea of teaching online. Today I’m a convert. The proof is in the pudding, and my Zoom classes have proven more effective than ‘real life’ classes in creating professional artists, and almost as effective as intensive workshops.

And that’s why I’m, at age 64, learning a whole new form of ποίησις. The medium may change, but the impulses of creation are universal.

So tell me in the comments, what new skill are you working on?

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