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Category: workshop

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Falling apart

American Landscape with Indian Camp, by Ralph Blakelock, showing the damage that can result from tinkering with technique.
Yesterday I mentioned the deterioration in Albert Pinkham Ryder’s paintings. He was not, by any means, the only painter whose work has suffered over time.
Prior to the 19th century, painters had a limited range of materials at their disposal: vegetable oils, waxes, plant gums and resins, and eggs, milk, and animal hides. Pigments were made by either grinding minerals or extracting dyes from plants and insects.  Some of the extracted pigments turned out to be fugitive (meaning they aren’t light-fast) but generally those old paintings are in remarkably good condition.
The 19th and 20th centuries were a period of constant modification of materials. Some changes have been inarguably for the better—for example, there would have been no Impressionism had there not been an explosion of new pigments in the mid-19th century.
Holy Virgin Mary by Chris Ofili. Now, seriously, how does a conservator preserve elephant dung stuck to a canvas? (And in this case, does it really even matter?)
Whenever I visit the modern collection at the Albright-Knox Art Gallery I am struck anew by how badly some of their paintings have aged.  20th century artists had no reason not to use the tremendous variety of synthetic materials that industry was creating—synthetic media, plastics, adhesives, and drying agents. As the definition of what constituted painting broke down, artists also incorporated materials the ancients would have understood to be ephemeral or beneath their calling: dung, straw, paper, urine, blood, etc.
Woman, by Willem de Kooning, 1965. He definitely experimented with obscure additives to keep his paints open longer, but so far scientists haven’t actually found any mayonnaise in his paintings.
Willem de Kooning, for example, allegedly mixed house paint, safflower oil, water, oil and egg in with his paints. Some surfaces of his paintings remain soft and sticky fifty years later, which has to present a bit of a problem for conservators. Anselm Kiefer has used lead, sand and straw in many of his paintings.
Mildew attacking orange paint in a Clyfford Still painting.
Learning to paint in the 1960s and 1970s, I used a medium made of equal parts varnish, turpentine and linseed oil, with a few drops of cobalt drier thrown in. Having seen the ghastly cracking of fifty-year-old paintings made with this medium, I decided that medium shouldn’t be a DIY project. Better to trust the scientists who work for the reputable paint manufacturers.
Another technique I discontinued is underpainting my oil paintings in acrylics. Certainly, oil-over-acrylic won’t delaminate the way acrylic-over-oil will, but who can say how the two paint systems will interact over time? I think it’s fine to paint in oils on acrylic-primed canvas, but any part of the painting that shows through (and that includes the toning) should be done in oils.
It was trendy a few decades ago to dismiss the archival aspects of painting, to embrace the ephemeral. If, say, de Kooning is the equal of Rembrandt, why would we not want to see his works survive for the ages?

One more workshop left this year, and it starts a week from today! Join me or let me know if you’re interested in painting with me in 2014. Click here for more information on my Maine workshops!
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Nobody owns technique

This recipe doesn’t spell anything out for you; it presumes you understand how to bake. (BTW, confectioners sugar no longer weighs out at 2.5 cups to the pound. I’d guess it’s milled differently today.)
In 1954 a woman named Doris passed this cookie recipe along to my mother. Its telegraphic style always makes me smile. Those of us who learned to bake from our mothers or through 4H can follow this recipe without a problem. Those who didn’t, probably can’t. It presumes a basic understanding of baking.
Once a friend was fretting about how she couldn’t find an uncomplicated muffin recipe. “But they’re all just lists of ingredients,” I said. “You always assemble them in the same order: sift the dry ingredients together, beat the wet ingredients together, and then fold the two mixtures into each other.”
I showed this recipe to Jane Bartlett, who remarked that when she teaches Shibori she frequently tells her students that nobody owns technique. This is a very apt observation for both baking and the fine arts. There is nothing one can patent about artistic technique, any more than one could patent the order of operations for baking.
Dance of the Wood Nymphs, by Albert Pinkham Ryder. It was probably a lovely painting when he finished it, but his disregard of commonly-accepted protocol meant it was an archival disaster.
Painting is so straightforward that departing from the accepted protocols is often foolish. A few years ago some of my students attended a workshop teaching painting into thin layers of wet glaze. The tonalist Albert Pinkham Ryder did that in the 19thcentury, and his works have almost all darkened or totally disintegrated.
One can learn a lot from books, but one can’t learn everything.  A kid in my studio announced her intention of making an apple pie the other day. (She is an excellent cook but her food heritage is non-western.) I gave her a cookbook and the supplies and left her to it. Imagine my surprise when this was what she came up with:
Elegantly layered, but it’s not an apple pie. Not everything can be learned from books.
To make an apple pie, one needs to know what an apple pie looks and tastes like, but it also helps to have assembled an apple pie under someone else’s tutelage. The same is—of course—true of painting and drawing. Yes, one can learn something about them from books, videos, and the occasional visit to an art gallery, but a good teacher really does help.

One more workshop left this year! Join me in October, 2013 at Lakewatch Manor—which is selling out fast—or let me know if you’re interested in painting with me in 2014. Click here for more information on my Maine workshops!
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Start with the canvas!

Autumn leaves…. as done by a painter.

When the gifted Shibori dye-master Jane Bartlett offered to help me make fancy cookies for an event, the planning revolved not around the baking, but what array of icing colors would yield the most natural fall colors.
“I suppose I have to get up early and make the dough,” I sighed.
“Yes, you must start with the canvas!” she answered.
The canvas: my mother’s Christmas cookie recipe.
My trusted assistant Sandy Quang (who has a BFA from Pratt) also pitched in. At one point I was lamenting that the maples leaves I made with fuchsia and chartreuse looked good; the ones with fuchsia and green did not. “That’s because the pink and green are too close in value,” Sandy observed. I’m so happy that her pricey art education is paying off.

Jane Bartlett puts her dye-mixing skills to work, in a medium she’s never used before.
“The reason male artists are more successful than their female counterparts is that they never get sidetracked into projects like this,” I grumbled as the hours stretched on.
She left the color streaky, to imitate the veins of the leaves.
“No, they get sidetracked into furniture-making. This is ephemeral art,” Sandy chirped.  
A good array of pre-mixed pigments speeds the job up.
I suppose that label could be applied to all good food preparation, which certainly gives humanity more joy than, say,  Mark Quinn’s Self, which is a frozen cast of the artist’s head made of his own blood. 
Sandy specialized in oak leaves; I specialized in maple leaves. Jane was a generalist, but nobody particularly liked doing the sumac leaves.
Each time I teach a workshop at Lakewatch Manor, my students react with joy to the artistic, delicious meals they are served. I observe that the innkeepers seem to take equal joy in making them.

One more workshop left this year! Join me in October, 2013 at Lakewatch Manor—which is selling out fast—or let me know if you’re interested in painting with me in 2014. Click here for more information on my Maine workshops!
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Giclée this!

Wouldn’t it be nice to have a Van Gogh–impasto and all–hanging on your wall? His Wheat Field with Cypresses, 1889, for example.
I really love Van Gogh, but never felt like hanging a print of his work on my wall. Paintings which sing through their brushwork tend to look anemic in prints. Printing technology has improved amazingly over my lifetime, but the ability to capture impasto has thus far eluded us.
Dutch researcher Tim Zaman may have broken that barrier. He has developed an image capture technique capable of recording a painting’s surface details. The captured image is then reproduced using OcĂ© high-resolution 3D print technology (brought to us by Canon, of course). The process works like a dye-sublimation printer, with the printing head moving back and forth many times, adding a new textured layer with each pass.
Reproductions with brushwork have existed as long as there has been offset color printing: the texture was simply brushed over the printed image (a slightly-nicer version of decoupage). Marrying this to giclée* printing—with its great color accuracy and fine grain—could give an awfully good imitation of a painting. But not even the best “enhanced” giclée print on the market would ever be confused with an original painting.
Ever since Durer was making wood-block prints of the Passion, there’s been an effort to bring art to the masses. It’s been a losing battle, since art is essentially elitist (which is why museums wax rich selling images of paintings by artists who never earned a penny from their work in their lifetimes).
Now, imagine being able to buy an exact replica of, say, Anselm Kiefer’s Nigredo—with straw and other stuff sticking out of its surface—for, say, five thousand bucks. Sure, it’s an absurd price for a print, but a bare fraction of the cost of the original. If you are interested in disseminating art to the masses, this is a fantastic trend.
And what about being able to see a virtual Mona Lisa up close and personal, instead of from 45 feet away and behind bullet-proof glass? The real painting could be retired to an oxygen-free tank, and its exact copy displayed for the masses. When some idiot attacks it, the copy can be quietly retired and a new one printed to take its place. Or how about having a virtual Mona Lisa in every city art gallery, instead of just at the Louvre?
Anselm Kiefer’s Nigredo, 1984, would look a heckuva lot better in a 3D print than in a flat one.
(If you object to that, you might be mistaken about just how much of the Mona Lisa that we see today was laid down by the hand of Da Vinci. By the time a painting has undergone generations of conservation, it’s more of a collaboration than a masterwork.)
*If the word giclĂ©e bugs you, you’re a smart student of language. It’s an American neologism for high-end inkjet prints. It is based on the French gicleur, or “nozzle.” Rumor has it that it is also modern French slang for ejaculation, so I have to remember to not use it when in France.
One more workshop left this year! Join me in October, 2013 at Lakewatch Manor—which is selling out fast—or let me know if you’re interested in painting with me in 2014. Click here for more information on my Maine workshops!
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Rye Painters on Location, 2013

Regatta off Milton Point, 24X20, oil on canvasboard. A terrible photo of a decent painting.
Rye Arts Center’s Painters on Location is back and in fine form. I love this event—I get to see good friends, paint serious plein air, and then attend a swank little reception and auction. In general, Rye Arts Center does as much as is humanly possible to take care of its artists, and we appreciate it.

Brad chatting with another artist.
This year I painted with my pal Brad Marshall. It made for a great time and for better paintings from both of us—I think—since we coached each other over the rough patches. I saw Linda Richichi, Marilyn Fairman, and Kathy Buist, and met some new friends. (If I have any twinges of regret, it’s that Bruce Bundock sat this year out; he’s buried prepping for a portrait show at Vassar.)

Painting with Marilyn Fairman and Brad Marshall. Marilyn was blessed by a seagull shortly after this photo was taken; mercifully, it missed her canvas.
This year, I had an anonymous telephone bidder putting in bids for my auction piece. I can’t say that’s ever happened before, and it lent a fun twist to the evening. Since painters have collectors, I thought I’d guessed who the anonymous bidder was, but it turns out my guess was wrong. Now I’m just baffled. But if you know, don’t tell me; I enjoy the mystery.

Painting with Brad on a luminous autumn day. Perfect!
One more workshop left this year! Join me in October, 2013 at Lakewatch Manor—which is selling out fast—or let me know if you’re interested in painting with me in 2014. Click here for more information on my Maine workshops!

My painting in its frame.
The bidding public. Rye supports its arts center.
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Honey, I’m home!

The Delaware Water Gap, 9X12, painted on another stopover along Route 80.
Well my rig’s a little old,
But that don’t mean she’s slow.
There’s a flame from her stack,
And the smoke’s rolling black as coal.
My hometown’s coming in sight,
If you think I’m happy you’re right.
Six days on the road and I’m gonna make it home tonight…

(Six Days on the Road, by Earl Green and Carl Montgomery)


The beauty of traveling from New York City to the western part of New York is that you can bypass much of the state itself. In addition to cheap New Jersey gas and the absence of New York’s exorbitant tolls, traveling via US 80 allows you to pass through the Delaware Water Gap, which is surely one of America’s unsung natural wonders. I have often stopped to paint there, and I always stop to walk a little way along the Delaware River.

The Delaware Water Gap looking picturesque today.
Today the park rangers were stringing plastic tape preparatory to closing the park entrances, in anticipation of a government shutdown tonight. It’s an absurd gesture, since most of the costs of the park—mowing and maintenance—will continue whether or not we travelers are allowed to stop or not.

They’re ready to close the park entrances in the case of a government shut-down tonight. Pity, this.
I wasn’t going to paint today in any event. But it is a transcendent autumn day with glorious clear, golden light, and puffy clouds. The Poconos are at their peak of autumnal color, and the far hills vibrate violet-blue. Some days aren’t meant to be painted; they’re meant to be remembered.
The Poconos are at peak color right now, but it’s hard to take photos while driving.
One more workshop left this year! Join me in October, 2013 at Lakewatch Manor—which is selling out fast—or let me know if you’re interested in painting with me in 2014. Click here for more information on my Maine workshops!
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Seven Days of the Group of Seven—Frank Johnston (1888-1949), FH Varley (1881-1969), and Arthur Lismer (1885-1969)

As you’ve probably realized, there were more than seven Group of Seven painters, and I’ve devoted more than seven days to them. I love them because they combine the freshness of impressionism with a love for the northern landscape. Here are the last three…


The Shadowed Valley, by Frank Johnston
Born in Toronto, Frank Johnston also worked as a commercial artist for Grip, Ltd. He exhibited with The Group of Seven only once, in their first show at the Art Gallery of Toronto (now the Art Gallery of Ontario) in May, 1920. 
Johnston was an extremely fast painter, which allowed him the luxury of many one-man shows. In 1921, he moved to Winnepeg. He resigned from the Group of Seven shortly thereafter, explaining that there had been no rupture, but that he wanted to exhibit on his own.  
Stormy Weather, Georgian Bay, 1920, FH Varley

Born in Sheffield, England, FH Varley studied art in Britain and Belgium. He immigrated to Canada on the advice of his friend and future Group of Seven co-member, Arthur Lismer, to work at Grip, Ltd.

Varley was an officially designated war artist during WWI, and is primarily remembered for that work. He accompanied Canadian troops in the Hundred Days offensive from Amiens, France to Mons, Belgium. His combat paintings were based on his experiences at the front.
Isles of Spruce, 1922, Arthur Lismer
Varley’s childhood chum Arthur Lismer also studied art in Britain and Belgium. He preceded Varley in coming to Canada (in 1911) to work for Grip, Ltd. 
Lismer was also an Official War Artist during WWI, although he was stationed in Halifax, not in Europe. From 1916-1919, Lismer was President of the Victoria School of Art and Design (now the Nova Scotia College of Art and Design).
Join me in October, 2013 at Lakewatch Manor—which is selling out fast—or let me know if you’re interested in painting with me in 2014. Click here for more information on my Maine workshops!
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Seven Days of the Group of Seven—AY Jackson (1882-1974)

I’m off to Maine and Rye! I’m leaving some of my favorite landscape paintings for you—works by Canada’s mighty Group of Seven painters. I love them because they combine the freshness of impressionism with a love for the northern landscape.

The Edge of the Maple Wood, 1910, AY Jackson
As a young boy, Jackson worked as an office boy for a lithographer (there’s a trend here) after his father abandoned his six children. It was here that Jackson began his art training.
In his early 20s, Jackson worked his way to back and forth to Europe on a cattle boat, returning to settle in Chicago, where he took classes at the Art Institute. By 1907, he’d saved enough money to go to Paris to study painting.
On his return to Canada, he achieved recognition but no financial success, until The Edge of the Maple Wood was purchased by Lawren Harris. Jackson began corresponding with Harris and JEH MacDonald, which drew Jackson into the Group of Seven orbit.
Frozen Lake, Early Spring, Algonquin Park, 1914, AY Jackson
As the most traditionally-trained of the Toronto painters, it’s no surprise that Jackson is in some ways the most conventional among them. But it would be a mistake to dismiss him for that. Jackson evokes the bracing atmosphere of the northern woods like nobody else, and he scrupulously avoids the Art Nouveau stylings that sometimes impinge on Group of Seven paintings. He’s brutally honest about what he sees; the shadow in the foreground of The Edge of the Maple Wood, for example, is not there for compositional reasons.
Join me in October, 2013 at Lakewatch Manor—which is selling out fast—or let me know if you’re interested in painting with me in 2014. Click here for more information on my Maine workshops!
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Seven Days of the Group of Seven—Lawren Harris (1882-1974)

I’m off to Maine and Rye! I’m leaving some of my favorite landscape paintings for you—works by Canada’s mighty Group of Seven painters. I love them because they combine the freshness of impressionism with a love for the northern landscape.


Winter Landscape with Pink House, 1918, Lawren Harris
If Tom Thomson was the artistic godfather of the Group of Seven, Lawren Harris was its beating heart. I adore the man, and not just for his absurd hair.
He was born into a wealthy industrialist family, and had the excellent education of a coming man of his time, including foreign study in Berlin. After the requisite dabbling in Theosophy and marriage and children, he became interested in art. Being wealthy, he was able to travel across Canada to paint; being generous, he sponsored trips for other Group of Seven painters.
From the North Shore, Lake Superior, 1927, by Lawren Harris
Harris’ was an artistically-restless soul; he evolved constantly, from the heavy-impasto paintings of Algoma and Georgian Bay to his simple, silent, ethereal depictions of the Great White North. By the late 1930s, he was painting pure abstraction.
  
Join me in October, 2013 at Lakewatch Manor—which is selling out fast—or let me know if you’re interested in painting with me in 2014. Click here for more information on my Maine workshops!
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Seven Days of the Group of Seven—Tom Thomson (1877-1917)

I’m off to Maine and Rye! I’m leaving some of my favorite landscape paintings for you—works by Canada’s mighty Group of Seven painters. I love them because they combine the freshness of impressionism with a love for the northern landscape.
The Jack Pine, 1917, Tom Thomson
I’m well aware that Tom Thomson was never a Group of Seven painter—he died before the group was formed. But his was the artistic force that set them on their path.
As a graphic designer with Grip, Ltd, Thomson was in a position to influence a generation of artists. He himself was largely self-taught. His career as a painter was shockingly brief—he started painting seriously in 1912, and was dead five years later.  In that short time he produced hundreds of small field sketches.
The Drive, 1916, Tom Thomson
Many of Thomson’s major paintings began as field sketches before being expanded at his studio, an old utility shack with a wood-burning stove on the grounds of the Studio Building, an artist’s enclave in Rosedale, Toronto. Thomson sold few of these paintings in his lifetime.
Thomson disappeared during a canoeing trip in Algonquin Park on July 8, 1917. His body was discovered in Canoe Lake eight days later. Although the official cause was accidental drowning, there have been questions raised about his death ever since.
Join me in October, 2013 at Lakewatch Manor—which is selling out fast—or let me know if you’re interested in painting with me in 2014. Click here for more information on my Maine workshops!