Conundrum: When to paint over a painting

Wanting to start a new painting, I was bummed to realize I was short on 24" x 36" stretched canvases. Too impatient to want to go out and buy one, and wishing to save money, I ran across an old painting of the aforementioned size that I wasn't too fond of. The gears in my head (as dusty as they are) began to turn...I could paint over this. Right?

I didn't end up painting over it, and don't know if I ever shall. I don't think there is anything wrong with the act of painting over an older work, and that extends to all mediums. I've drawn over countless old sketchbooks thousands of times, and they aren't any less precious to me than this one particular painting. What is the painting of, since I mentioned that I wasn't too fond of it? It's a self-portrait I painted from looking in a mirror. So many things went wrong with it that I could save that story for a separate post. It is almost as if, because it was such a troubled painting, that I feel some sort of guilt in contemplating the act of covering it up, almost as if to conceal my mistakes.

It's entirely possible I hesitate for a completely different reason. It could be that, despite the problems, I still put in a lot of work into the painting and do not wish to revise that fact. However, it calls into question the power of placing preciousness on any particular object. Why do we do it? Why are some things off limits and others not? I don't know. But I do know the tugging sensation in your chest when something feels wrong. It may be that this is simply the wrong call to make at this point in my life. Perhaps it would feel better, or right, if I was older and more experienced to make that call. 

Could it be that it is simply the first self-portrait I painted from life that makes it special to me? I think that's part of it. The fact that I haven't made that many since also makes me feel the need to keep some sort of evidence that I tried. Some day, once I have painted many more self-portraits, this one might finally join the ranks of the sketchbooks, not too sacred to reclaim its material, but nonetheless well loved.

-Gigi M.

Observations: Singin- wait...no, Painting in the rain!

You ever chilling outside in cloudy weather, and you feel that...cold, condensation-filled breeze touch your skin... so distinct and ominous? I felt that a few times while doing this most recent plein air painting, and before I knew it, rain was coming down, not too heavy, but not lightly either. I used an umbrella to try to protect the painting, but it, as well as my palette, got wet regardless. I've gotta say, it was the most fun I've had doing an alla prima plein air in a long while, perhaps because of the added stakes of dealing with the rain and potentially halting or ruining the painting. Being an oil painting, it was repelling the water: droplets stayed on the surface and I found that I could dab them off gently with a paper towel without too much trouble. I cannot say the same for the palette. Trying to mix colors just became frustrating as water was mixing (somehow) with the paint, making this concoction that just refused want to stick to the surface, let alone getting it on my brush. Oil and water not mixing? Never heard of it! Just kidding...

moist painting

even moister palette

What drew me to the subject matter in the first place so much that I would risk the rain? I had this very discussion with a friend of mine as I was painting this. I scoped out this beautiful maple tree as a subject a few days before because I was enamored by the the vibrancy of its red leaves. Interestingly, I believe that because of the way light was scattering and being distributed throughout the clouds that day, the leaves appeared to be glowing, almost electrically so. Did I successfully capture that in the final painting? Alas, not completely. The deeper I got into the painting, trying to cover the surface with as much paint as possible before the rain came, I got distracted by the many hues hidden in the grass, which is never just green. What could help me achieve my initial vision for this painting in the future? I think the foremost maple tree, my main subject, currently gets lost within the background due to a lack of sharp edges. Upping contrast in terms of brush texture in addition to value would help it stand distinct from its surroundings. Also, it happened again! The perceived coolness of the painting when viewed outside was diminished when brining it indoors.

-Gigi M.

Art Appreciation: Alfred Sisley - "The Kitchen Garden"

Twice now I have attended the Farm To Table: Food and Identity in the Age of Impressionism exhibit at the Cincinnati Art Museum, and there is one painting that still has a hold over me since my first visit. The Kitchen Garden by Alfred Sisley (1839-1899) was the painting I chose as my favorite out of the works I saw both those days. I can confidently say there were countless beautiful and touching works of art on display, and were each enjoyable or admirable in their own way for different reasons, one to the next. Where I might have been drawn to a different work if I was younger or were older, The Kitchen Garden stands out to me at this place in my life for my fascination with plein air paintings, my role as a painting student, and simply as a human being who with a love for these types of spaces.

Now, to talk about the piece itself.

https://kimbellart.org/collection/ag-201501

Every aspect of this painting feels lovingly attended to, which is to say, given the care that it asks of the artist for the intents and purposes of their painting. For instance, the buildings in the background on the horizon are at face value nothing more than small blocky strokes of white and brown, with small dabs of blue-grey for the implications of windows. "Implications" being key here, especially given that Sisley was an Impressionist painter. On the flip side, the greenery and the garden itself is given the same level as care, but begs for a different technique compared to the human architecture of the scene. The leaves of trees and petals of flowers are made of small, round dabs, and the stalks of vegetables and trunks of trees call for longer, vertical paint strokes.

Compositionally, I appreciate the break in the sky on the right half of the painting by the trees in the background. Though the horizon lies on the middle of the picture plane, the asymmetry of the top and bottom halves of the painting, and the movement created by the lit dirt path that snakes its way through the garden, create such a visual interest that nothing feels unnaturally balanced; quite the opposite. One little area of this piece that I treasure is the block of shadow cast by a building on the bottom left of the painting, acting like a cool area for one's eyes to rest on their journey through Sisley's The Kitchen Garden.

The inception for my love of oil painting began with a landscape painting class in my high school. Since then, the way I have observed the world around me has been, more often than not, through the lens of painting. Whatever Sisley was feeling at the time, he captured the sense of peace that comes with existing in this humble and beautiful space, and this is something I aspire to achieve with my own work. Whether he was conscious of trying to capture his particular time and place in the grander scheme of history, or simply desired to paint a slice of his life, I am grateful to have had a glimpse at the world through his eyes.

-Gigi M.

My lovely photo, can you tell I wanted to be a photo major?

Observations: Painting En Plein Air in the shade

This last week, I did a two hour plein air painting of some trees. I was feeling pretty good about it, I thought I got close to capturing the values that I was observing in the scene. Most of all, I thought I achieved the quality of temperature I was noticing: a blue-tinged coolness brought about by the shade of the trees. However, upon bringing the painting indoors, the hues were a lot warmer than I thought, and the range of values seemed to collapse. So why did this happen, and what can I do about it in the future?

I have painted en plein air a handful of times before, all in different lighting situations. I was painting the scene from under the shadows of the very trees I was depicting, so here is my understanding of what happened. The coolness of the space around me was having a direct impact on my perception of the temperature, hues, and values of the paint itself in relation to what I was observing. The consequence of being in the shade meant that as it was making my painting only appear cooler (as a result of being in a shadow on a blue skies day), I was not using as much blue as I thought I was using. In reality, I was putting generally warmer paints on the surface, which was apparent upon bringing it indoors.

Interestingly, despite painting in the shade, upon taking it inside, it was far darker than it appeared outside. It is my assumption that painting in the shade, I might have compensated by making the lighter values even lighter than they ought to be, but the opposite was true in this case. The lighting outdoors might have been better dispersed, or it was hitting the surface from more angles. Whichever the case, it was bright enough that I accidentally made the painting too dark, or I at least compressed the values dramatically.

How can I combat this phenomena for future plein air paintings? I think a solution is to, when painting in the shadow of something on a clear skies day, to use more cooler hues, like blues, whites, and crimsons, than you think is necessary. In general, it is not a bad idea to exaggerate, especially when you're still learning and working from observation. As for achieving a better range of values under the same conditions as before, perhaps bringing the painting into the sunlight and testing it under different lighting situations will give you a better idea of the direction you're going. When in the shadow of a doubt, make it bluer!!!

-Gigi M.

outdoors

indoors

Conundrum: Thinking of stripping a painting...

Now, why do I want to scrap this painting in the first place? That is a difficult question to answer, one I have been working on solving for weeks now, and to be honest, I don't think I'm all that much closer to finding that answer. However, the fact that I'm now considering reclaiming the admittedly nicely constructed cradled masonite board from the paint that lies upon it tells me that a strong part of me is ready to let go. But why, I keep asking myself. What has happened during the process of making this painting that brings me to want to not simply put it away to never be seen, but commit to erasing its existence?

The painting in question

I don't hate this painting at all. The subject matter of a dying wizard on a bench on a bridge handing the viewer an egg is something I've had in mind for a while, if not in the form of a painting, then a sculpture. I wanted to paint this in the vein of Caravaggio, employing glazing (which...I am not terribly fond of), and plenty of chiaroscuro. Caravaggio was chosen in particular for his piece The Calling of St. Matthew, a work that has had a great impact of me since taking art history in high school. There was something I really wanted to try to say with this painting the way The Calling of St. Matthew said to me: whatever you were before now, none of that matters...

Is all this information besides the point? If I had done a lot of pre-planning, if this was something I've always wanted to make, then why do I feel no drive to finish it? I think I have an inkling towards why. To preface, which I should have done at the start of this post, none of this might make any sense. But, during the critique I got on this painting, I felt as though I said through words, using my voice, what the painting was trying to say, and it was enough for me. It was enough for me to say those words, they were powerful enough on my tongue, and I seemed to have disarmed the painting in some way. It's as though I let its value be determined by the potency of its message, and once I took that away from it, it finally became a painting again, one I didn't particularly want to work on anymore. 

I love wizards, and I actually came to like some of the glazing process as I painted this, so largely, this was an enjoyable process. But what would I be working towards if I finished this painting. It might be a beautiful painting by the end of it, and it would be completed. I wouldn't have to look at its unfinished state, and be reminded of how close I came. Is that satisfaction enough for me? I don't think so.

I think I got everything I needed to get from working on this painting, not necessarily what I wanted, and that's not a bad thing. Finishing was never the lesson I needed to learn, I know how to finish paintings, even if its a hard line to draw. I think it came down to making the painting have to be about something before I let it be what it was, stripped away of that. The things I say may come across as matter-of-factly, neat and tidy conclusions, but reaching this point was anything but that. I have never stripped a painting from its surface before, and saying that I've though about doing it is different from actually doing it. The experience will never be lost, but I will be sad to see it go, if this is the path I decide to take.

-That's all for now,
Gigi M.

AHOY-HOY!

Welcome to the Mad Artistic Ramblings of very confused art student (me). Here you will find entries in which I discuss my artwork, art-making, art theory/history, artists who inspire me, and the artistic conundrums that occupy my mind. It is my hope that writing about these things can help me work through the problems, confusion, and curiosities I've been encountering and will continue to encounter everyday as I grow as an artist and person. As I make these posts, please feel free to leave your own thoughts below if you would like. Anyhow, thank you for stopping by!

-Gigi M.