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Tag: Schoodic Point

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Sunset over Cadillac Mountain

Sunset over Cadillac Mountain, oil on archival canvasboard, $869 includes shipping and handling.

I’m not certain who among my students at Sea & Sky at Schoodic first suggested the twenty-strokes challenge, but it was so much fun that I asked my students at my Berkshires workshop to do the same thing. If you’ve never done it, it’s a great exercise for controlling the noodling that sometimes ruins a promising start. The only rule is that you do a painting in twenty strokes or less.

We all concentrated on making every shape count, including using a larger, well-loaded brush and filling in all the continuous areas in one shot. I was able to lay out the painting below in four carefully-considered strokes. The rest was just details. (Sadly, I didn’t photograph it before I added some extra emphasis brush strokes.)

Baby pine tree, 8X10, oil on archival canvasboard, private collection. While this final painting has a few more than the designated twenty strokes (I’m terrible at taking process photos) it’s not by a lot.

This was also an exercise to demonstrate that a centered composition is not inherently bad; it’s what you do with the rest of the space that counts. Centered compositions in themselves are imposing and serene. For proof that they work, see King Tut’s funerary mask or Arkhip Kuindzhi’s imposing Russian landscapes.

Before we did that fast-painting exercise, we went out to Schoodic Point to paint the sunset. None of us were counting strokes, but the sun dropping behind a mountain moves very fast. I doubt there are many more strokes in this than the prescribed twenty.

I took it home to my studio intending to finish it, but there is nothing I can do to improve on what’s there. It says everything one needs to say about the sun setting over Cadillac Mountain without a single extraneous brushstroke. Anything I add would diminish it.

How much is that painting worth, anyway?

Sometimes I am asked why a Cy Twombly scribble is worth $70 million. The high-end art market is complicated, being composed of talent, money laundering, speculation, rarity and social cache (and I have no opinion about the value of each).

The same question might be asked about why this painting is worth the same amount as Lacecap Hydrangea and Daylilies, which is the same size and a lot more complex. It’s not about how much I struggled to paint it (and the flower one was a terrific struggle), but about all the knowledge I brought into the painting.

Nocturne in Black and Gold: The Falling Rocket, 1874, James McNeil Whistler, courtesy Detroit Institute of Arts. This is the painting which so peeved John Ruskin.

James McNeil Whistler was panned by the legendary art critic John Ruskin, who by 1877 was no longer up to the challenge of modernity. Ruskin wrote, “I have seen and heard much of cockney impudence before now, but never expected to hear a coxcomb ask two hundred guineas for flinging a pot of paint in the public’s face.”

Whistler sued. He did not ask 200 guineas for two days’ work, he argued; he asked it for the knowledge he had gained in the work of a lifetime. He won, although he received only a pitiable farthing in damages. The case bankrupted Whistler and probably accelerated Ruskin’s mental decline. However, time has vindicated Whistler.

Art is not judged by the effort that goes into a particular piece, but by whether it ploughs new ground, challenges ideas, is technically skilled and provokes a response.

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Practicing polite deflection

It didn’t seem like it was going to be a crowded day when we set up. All photos courtesy Jennifer Johnson.

Acadia had nearly 38,000 fewer visits this June than it did last year, but you’d never know that from the crowds at Schoodic Point. I’d intended to bring my class elsewhere, but the winds on Tuesday produced big rollers crashing across the rocky promontory. That’s a special experience, and I wanted my students to have the opportunity to paint them.

Apparently, John Q. Public also likes the drama of big seas, and he came along as well, bringing everyone he knew with him. They came in their hundreds and their thousands, and they kept standing in my view. The nerve.

Painting on the hot rocks of Schoodic.

Life in a National Park has its comic moments. Walking across the parking lot, I heard a cranky gentleman remonstrate to his wife, “There’s nothing here but water!”

It also has its terrifying moments. Waves crashing against big rocks can be killers. I hate watching people skirting the edges of the rocks in blithe disregard of the danger, especially with their children in tow. On Monday, I saw a woman heading down the slope in her bikini. Since I didn’t read about her in the Bangor Daily News, I presume she was warned off.

And there are sublime moments. For much of the day yesterday, a big fat seal cavorted in the surf, entertaining the crowds.

Painting in public can be a wonderful experience, a way to express yourself and share your art with others. But when you’re trying to get something done, it can be irritating.

We took a short break to discuss the theories of Edgar Payne and John Carlson, because that’s how we roll.

The best defense is a good location, but there are few of those on the open rocks of Schoodic Point. Karen managed to set up with her back to a ledge of rock. That protected her from the problem another student was having. “They stand behind me, breathing loudly,” she said. That’s a slight improvement over the people who stand behind you making unsolicited comments.

My personal bête noire is the person who stands behind me saying, “that looks like so much fun!” Done right, painting is darn hard work, but we do it because the payoff is so great.

One could set clear boundaries with body language, but that’s hard to maintain when you’re concentrating. One student mused that she’s going to put a sign up that reads, “Artist at work: approach with credit cards.” Of course, they could wear earbuds, but then they couldn’t hear me.

Another technique would be a debris field. I, like many artists, am particularly good at dropping things. If I’d stop picking them up, after a few hours, I’d have a dangerous physical barrier between me and the public.

I once knew an artist who had a large QR code on his paint box. When people spoke to him, he just waved his brush irritably at the code.

In the afternoon, I did a short demo.

But I think the best technique is polite deflection. My monitor, Jennifer, has some rehearsed phrases, like, “this is a class. Our teacher, Carol Douglas, is over there.” Sometimes she even points in my general direction.

For the poor schmoes in my class, I can only suggest, “I’m really focused on this painting right now, but I appreciate your interest,” or “I’d love to chat later when I’m on a break.”

“See that woman over there?” She’s our teacher, and if I don’t finish this quickly, she’ll hit me with her stick,” however, is completely over the top.

My new class, The Essential Grisaille, is available now.

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The bones of painting, and a cute story

Watercolor grisaille by Rebecca Bense

Because I’ve been eating, drinking, sleeping and thinking nothing but grisaille recently, I decided to invert my usual lesson plan and start my Sea & Sky workshop at Schoodic Institute with a lesson on monochromatic underpainting.

We started with a soft blue sky that gradually resolved to a lovely milkiness and then to glumness as evening drew in. (It’s forecast to get downright surly before it clears.) But my students had strong value structures, which carried them over the rough passages.

Oil grisaille by Ann Haskell

Simplify, baby

Plein air painting can be challenging even without constantly changing light. By concentrating on value, my painters were able to focus on the bones of their painting without getting wrapped around the dual axles of hue and chroma. (A review of those terms can be found here.) As I wrote on Monday, value is king.

Oil grisaille by Linda Delorey

Let’s hustle

I’m writing this at 0:dark:30 on Tuesday morning as we try to figure out if and when the threatening storm will hit us. Don’t worry; I have a backup plan; in this case, it’s fervent prayer.

I normally write my posts the night before they’re published, but my students Karen and Diane have planned a cocktail party for Tuesday evening. We’re going for a short hike on the Sundew Trail before class, so I got up especially early to write.

I like speed and efficiency in painting too. I want to attack my color passages au premier coup, or at the first shot, instead of dithering about mixing and laying colors repeatedly on the same small section of canvas. That’s a surefire recipe for mud, whether you’re painting in oils or watercolor.

Demonstrating in watercolor to my intrepid band of students. (Photo courtesy of Jennifer Johnson)

And then there’s the brain

Grisaille is an excellent way for artists to train their eyes and minds to observe value and see underlying composition. It helps us to become more sensitive to the nuances of light and shadow, which are crucial for plein air (and indeed, all) painting.

Remember when I said ‘value is king’? Its co-regent is composition. Every other element of painting is subservient to this pair.

Linda Smiley had just started to add color information when we snapped this photo of her grisaille.

Let’s just screw around

I do my best experimentation with either a pencil or a brush in the grisaille phase. That’s where I can figure out the texture of a blueberry barren or the shape of clouds. It’s infinitely easier and faster than trying to do it in full color.

A wee anecdote from Monday’s class

A young girl, a member of a religious sect, stopped to observe us painting. She is interested in art, so Karen explained the value of a drawing practice. “Carol draws everywhere,” she said. “She even draws in church.” She told her the kind of things I draw in church, which you can find on my Instagram feed. “You could draw in church, too,” Karen added.

“I could never do that!” the young lass exclaimed.

I’m the poster child for hyperactive inattention. I believe drawing calms me down enough to open my ears. I’m not much of a believer in multitasking, but that’s one place where I think it works.

My new class, The Essential Grisaille, is available now.

Reserve your spot now for a workshop in 2025: