Delta Dusk

Delta Dusk, 16 x 20 inches, oil on linen

Since we're talking about atmosphere, here's another Delta painting that takes advantage of moodiness created by heavy atmosphere. Let's see if we can go through the check list of depth-creating tools. 

–big value range in the foreground, narrow range in the background. More specifically, darks in front, none in back.

–sharp edges in the foreground, soft edges in the background.

–scaling; representing similar things both in the foreground and back, and making sure it becomes smaller as we go back in the distance. In this case, the strips of land mass and bunches of trees.

–overlap. Things in front overlap things in back.  Ya think this is a dumb rule, but I see artists miss the opportunity to do this all the time. 

–detail in front, no detail in back.

–activity in front, less in back.

Let's see, what have I left out? Oh, how about color? saturation? hue variations? More in front, less in back?  Oh, but wait. I clearly see more color in the sky than in the foreground. How about that, huh? 

Well, it's because this painting features the big sky. If I didn't give you enough interest in the sky, you'd never look up there. Instead, you'd just look at the landmass and say, (or I would, anyway) Nice atmospheric perspective, but boy, what a waste of canvas space. 

Which brings me to this point. Rules are meant to be broken, but you gotta do it purposefully. Breaking rules by accident (because you don't know them well enough to control them) is not the same as doing so with intent. You may end up with something nice, but that's just getting lucky. Don't get me wrong. Luck is good, but if I relied on that, I couldn't possibly make a living at it.  

A little kid who can't read might play with scrabble pieces and come up with a  profound statement by accident, but that's not the same thing as a great poet composing grammatically incorrect lines that nevertheless has the power to move people.  Not that I'm claiming my paintings move people, but we strive for that kind of excellence, don't we?

So in order to break rules intentionally, you have to first learn them. (damn!)  You have to first learn stuff like spelling, grammar, vocabulary and rhetoric before you can compose effectively. Painting is exactly the same!  

Here's the good news. The rules are not that complicated. They're logical. The difficult part is paying attention to all the rules all at once. The best way I know to do that, is just practice, practice, practice. Eventually, some of the decision-making processes start to become semi-automatic and you can free up some of your brain power so that it can pay more attention to more important things. Like composition. Or concept. Or what to make for dinner. 

I'm thinking.... chicken.

Painting Fog (and other atmospheric situations)

OK, so I've decided to do a little post on the structure of a painting like the one I showed yesterday. I don't intend this to be a tutorial, because there's just a thin line between that and presenting a formula. I think it would be a huge mistake to build up your painting skills by accumulating formulae, because whereas you may learn the hows of a process, you won't gain insight into the whys of it. Consequently, you'll have a hard time adapting the knowledge to different situations, and an even harder time breaking rules and still make it work.

...but that's another post entirely.

So let's get to the atmosphere, and see if I can explain what I did. In the picture above, I marked off four different areas. 1 is the foreground, and is closest to the viewer. As we go up in number, we recede into space. 4 is the farthest that we can see. Simple enough so far.

When painting atmosphere, you are essentially seeing through "stuff" like water vapor, dust, smog, etc. and so you have to paint what the landmass looks like when you see through this "stuff". Obviously, the farther you go back in space, the more of this "stuff" you are seeing through.

The simplest way to think about this, is to mix the color of this "stuff" and mix it into everything you see, and more of it as you go back into the distance, until you're seeing so much of this stuff that the land mass becomes completely obscure. The denser the atmosphere, the shorter the distance between the clearest foreground (1) and complete obscurity (4). On a typical day, this distance might be miles. In dense tule fog, it could be just six feet. But the principle is the same; gradual increase in the amount of "stuff".

But what actually is the color of this "stuff"? Now I have to emphasize that this is not a formula, but a good place to start would be the color of the sky just above the horizon. In fog, it's just what you'd see when you look at the point where everything become obscured. It would be pretty close to white. I don't actually go all the way white, because I like to keep the extreme values in reserve in case I need it in the foreground.

So if I'm mixing this very very light valued color into everything I see, and more of it as I go back into the distance, what would happen to the values of everything? The light stuff, like the water reflecting the sky (all fog, in this case)would be very light already and wouldn't change much at all as we recede into space. The land stuff, which I painted very dark in the foreground would become systematically, and dramatically lighter as we go back in space until it becomes indistinguishable with the water (and sky) It becomes the color of the "stuff" at the farthest point we can see.

Another way of explaining this is that in the foreground (1) we have a huge value range from light to dark, because the light (water) is very light, and the darks are very dark. In area 2, the range become closer, because I don't use the dark darks. In 3, the range become narrower still. The main land mass value may look the same as it did in 2, but you'll notice that the slightly darker "accents" that I used in 2 is missing in 3. And in 4, it's almost all the same value.

So that's the value structure. Now let's look at color. In a tonalist, heavily atmospheric picture like this, the overall color theme is more dominant than the local colors of the elements you're painting. In other words, you can almost forget about the color of the reeds or the grass or dirt, and just pick a hue subjectively. In the foreground (area 1), we would expect to see some local color because it is affected less by the atmosphere, but after that, you can make any color work, as long as you keep it consistent. That is to say, if you use a greenish gray for the land mass in 2 (as I did in this picture), Don't switch to orange in 3. Use the same greenish gray, and mix the color of the "stuff" (that we talked about earlier) into it.

If you have different types of vegetation, and you want to show that by altering hues, make sure both are represented in both areas, so that the same vegetation didn't suddenly change hues as we go back 20 yards farther.

You might notice that the color of the land mass becoming cooler as we recede, and say "a ha! cools recede!" Actually, it only does that because the color of "stuff" that we're mixing into the green grays are cooler than these green grays. If I were painting L.A. smog, it would get warmer as we dropped into distance, and still be convincing. So you see "cools recede" isn't a good rule.

The sense of depth is farther orchestrated by manipulating edges, amount of detail, amount of activity, change in scale, and overlapping shapes. See if you can spot examples of all of these, and you will have a pretty good understanding of how depth is created in landscape. (that is to say, without the help of obvious linear perspective.)

Below are some examples of my paintings which have heavy atmoshpere. You can see I used the same "tools" to create depth as the top pic.




Darks get lighter as we recede into space. Lights don't change much in value. I mixed the slightly violet-blue gray in the extreme distance into the bunch of trees in the mid distance. Notice I completely ignored the local colors of what you'd expect to see in a tree.





Very heavy atmosphere. The dark value of the cows systematically become lighter (closer and closer to the color of the atmosphere) as we go back into space. So do the greens. Again, because the color of the atmosphere is much cooler than the green grass, the grass become cooler (as well as lighter) as we go back into space. It's not because "cools recede".





Violet atmosphere is mixed into the stuff in the distance. Compare the tree mass in the front with tree mass in the back. Again, local colors are totally ignored, except in the extreme foreground, where I used a bit of green for the grass.





An example of subjective color. Yellow brown atmosphere affects everything. It could have just as well been painted with a blue theme or green or whatever. You can use any color you like, as long as you keep it consistent throughout the painting. This is also an example of value ranges narrowing dramatically as we go back into space. (Compare foreground trees with the back one, which is pretty much just a silouhette.)






I took the dark blue green of the closer trees, and mixed with the light blue gray of the atmosphere to get the color of the trees in the distance. More and more atmosphere as we go back farther and up the hill where the low clouds hang.




Again, subjective color theme at work. Even without fog or haze, backlit situations often look very atmospheric. The light coming through the "stuff" accentuates the veil effect and simplifies everything into shape and stepping values.


I hope this long-winded post wasn't too confusing. This stuff is basic and is explained in a lot of the popular art books out there, and I know they're a lot more articulate than I am. If I didn't make sense, I'm sure one of these books will do the job for you with... like... one paragraph and you'll be saying, "Now why didn't Terry just say that!?"

Quiet Waters

Quiet Waters, 12 x 16 inches, oil on linen

Taking a short break from painting cityscapes. It was very nice to not have to check every line against a vanishing point. Consequently, I was able to let my brush go a little free-er than I normally could, resulting in more abstraction.

When I was at my framer's this morning, I saw a beautiful moulding which I thought would be perfect for a tonal landscape like this, so I'm having one made in this size. I can't wait to try it on this baby~

Napa Valley Art Festival - Artists' Choice Award!

Artists' Choice Award

Afternoon Lines, 20 x 20 inches, oil on linen

Just found out that my painting Afternoon Lines received the Artists' Choice Award at the upcoming Napa Valley Art Festival, which takes place on August 15th at the V Marketplace in Yountville, California. Click on the link and check out the line up of artists who are in this show. A talented and formidable bunch, to be sure.

Because I'm not doing any juries shows or events this year except for this one, I'd forgotten that there were awards at this show. When my friend Paul Kratter called to tell me that I'd won, I choked on my coffee and made a mess. What a pleasant surprise!! The award, that is. Not the mess.

The Artists' Choice, as you know, is voted on by artists who are juried into the show. Your peers, in other words. It's a great honor because it is recognition by people who really "get" it. Sure, our goal in making art isn't peer recognition, but I'm really happy to get it. Painting is such an isolating and isolated endeavor that sometimes we need to be told that what we're doing is OK, and not by our moms either. Sales of artwork is one kind of validation, but an Artists' Choice award by people who paint better than I do is a huge stamp of approval and a confidence booster. It's happily humbling.

The timing couldn't be better, either. As you know, I'm preparing for a big "Return to the City" solo show coming up in the fall, and I've been painting a lot of cityscapes lately. And because it's a lot more challenging for me to paint cityscapes than landscapes, I've had to scrape a lot more than I normally do, wreaking havoc on my confidence. So needless to say, this award is doubly sweet.

Bill Cone won the Juror's Choice and Janette Jones won the CAC award. See their winning paintings here. Congratulations Bill and Janet!!

My Little Studio

Today, I thought I'd share my little garage studio with you. It's about 340 sq. ft, ( a regular two -car garage minus space taken up by household junk) which is a far cry from what I used to have, but hey, at least I have some dedicated space. I've lived in tiny apartments where we had trouble doing anything without getting paint all over ourselves. This works pretty well for now.

My lighting over my main easel is a combination of 6500K flourescent tubes (eight of them) and several halogens on a track. It's a little too warm and in need of adjusting.



I have a door table in the middle of the studio on which I do flat work, making panels, framing, etc. When I have to use my power tools, I just drag them out to the driveway. Beats picking out sawdust from wet paintings!





Requisite coffee. Against the wall is another door table, on which I have a small joiner and various framing paraphernalia.



My palette. 16 x 20 inch glass surface.


The tableau that I built. It's a prototype. I'm building a slightly bigger one, with 16 x 26 inch palette, and side trays customized to how I use my tools.


The wall. In front are some kitchen cabinets that I took out of my kitchen. I didn't like the looks of 'em in my kitchen.


In the corner is my vertical rack, already full and overflowing. I really need to go through 'em and get rid of half the stuff in there...



More storage. Most of these are small floaters.


My new portable AC! Thanks to Janette's suggestion, I can now work without feeling like a rotisserie chicken.


Another view of the framing table stuff. See the beautiful seascape hanging on the wall? That's a painting by my friend Erik Tiemmens, who's got more talent in his pinky than most of us in our whole bodies. This painting usually occupies a much nicer wall inside the house, but I was studying it recently so it's currently among my junk. Sorry Erik!




As you can see, I live in Anysuburb USA.




My flat work table is made with two doors separated by a few 1 x 2's. Makes for a quick flat file.
Underneath it are my two Pelican boxes, which I use to pack all my plein air gear when flying to a location. Keep my equipment safe when they're throwing my luggage around at the airports. The plastic tub contains old clothes which I cut up to use as painting rags. Ain't nothin like worn cotton!



Brushes, etc.



Skye's push cart. She likes to push it around in the studio, bumping into paintings and easels.



One last look. The laptop is my stereo, plus sometimes I use it to display reference photos. I prefer my reference pics on paper usually.

Thanks for visiting my studio~ I'd love to see your workspace too. If you have a blog, how about uploading some studio images and letting me know?? David? I know you've got a killer space! Share!

Early Morning, Paris

Early Morning, Paris, 12 x 16 inches, oil on linen

[Edit] I uploaded a more accurate picture. It's much cooler in tone than what I had before. More...February.

Painted from a photo I took a few years ago. I have lots of vacation photos which are just random snapshots that are neither composed nor accidentally good. It's only years and hundreds of views later that suddenly I see potential paintings in them.

Often I really have to work at bridging the gap between a mundane shot and a designed painting; cropping, pushing values, editing visual elements, and altering color. Even then I can't always come up with a good composition. In fact more often than not, I end up abandoning the pursuit after spending an hour with a photo and a sketchbook and the computer.

What helps, sometimes, is recognizing a certain narrative in the image. In this case I saw the figure standing at the light, (as I was, at that moment) thought about what his story was. Was he taking a leisurely stroll in the early morning while the town was still quiet? Was this a routine for him? And if it were, did he notice the height of the shadow changing each day as he stood at the light at the same time every morning? I think I would. Then again, that's the sort of thing I look for in the first place.

The point of this exercise is to compose a picture around an idea, a concept, and not merely a depiction of an intriguing view. With a clear concept, the subsequent design decisions are purposeful and logical. When editing or altering a visual element, I only need to ask myself "does this help tell my story more effectively?". If the answer is no, then I seriously need to consider taking it out, however interesting that element might be.

Just another iteration of the mantra, "Paint the concept. Nothing more.)

The Home Place

The Home Place, 48 x 84 inches, oil on canvas

Yesterday, The big olive grove painting, framed in a beautiful natural wood floater with black interior, was delivered and installed in Chris and Linda's home. It took what... eight months to do this painting? Of course I was working on other things at the same time, and my house was going through some major construction projects for four months, but I took my time studying and developing this picture just the same. I spent the first three months doing studies of the grove from photographs, learning the character of these 100 yr old olive trees, trying out different color schemes and degrees of realism, and once I had a good idea of how I wanted to tackle this thing, I took a trip down to the ranch and spent a weekend there sketching and painting, and trying to get a feel for what it was like to be in the grove, and not merely looking at it.


Then I worked up a color sketch, got some feedback from Chris and Linda, and started the final canvas. Here's the recap;



First I built the stretchers, using three cross braces and 10 inch corners for strength and stability.




...Cut the canvas to size...




and stretched it. You might remember that on my first try, I ripped the canvas on the last staple and had to redo the whole thing.




Then finally on to the painting. I gridded the canvas, and using a photo of my color study displayed on my laptop screen, (I laid out a grid digitally in Photoshop) I drew in the major elements using a turpy brown wash.




Nothing too tight or precise. Just the positioning of the major trunks and branches, and perspective lines and the eye level were indicated.




Using a house painting brush, I washed in the darker areas.



Then the lighter areas. Runny, drippy washes obliterated most of what I'd drawn.




Back in with less washy darks to work out the big tree trunk shape.



And continuing with the shadow patterns on the ground...




Beginning to fill in the foliage with textural, impressionist(ic) strokes.



Developing overall color direction as I fill in the foliage.




By this stage, I can see value relationships and color directions.



Just keep going...




Referencing the color sketch, I work out some smaller branches. The branches are characteristic of how these trees are pruned for maximum fruit yield, so as organic as these things are, there is definite rhythm and logic to how they're shaped. Had to get that right.





A few more thousands of strokes for the foliage.



Nearing the end stage. A lot of adjustments and fine tuning. Looking for overall cohesiveness and orchestrating visual hierarchy.


And this is the finished painting. If you'd like to see it big, click on the very first image of this post. It's a pretty big file so you can actually see the strokes.



And here it is being installed. Chris and Linda were very happy with the final painting, and so was I. As they said, it looked like it belonged on that wall, as though it had always been there.

The process was long but it was absolutely worth it. I learned a hell of a lot from doing this project, and it has made me a better painter. My studio feels empty now, but I know that this baby is where it was meant to be and I can go visit it if I feel the need to. I'm awfully glad about that. Thanks so much, Chris and Linda for this wonderful opportunity to work on such a great project!!

I would insert a photo of Chris and Linda sitting in front of their new painting, except Linda told me not to. Maybe another time~

Breakfast At Perry's

Breakfast At Perry's, 9 x 12 inches, oil on linen

So, the cityscapes are evolving. Recently I've been re-examining how I use the brush, and trying out different ways of laying down paint onto the surface. I've also been revisiting brushes that I bought long long time ago and have forgotten that I even had them.

Changing tools changes everything! It's a good way to shake things up when you get into a little rut. Not that I was in a rut just now, but I do like mixing things up and trying new things just to see if I can make new discoveries.

In this particular painting, I used mostly softer brushes which gave me more precision when laying down sharp edges. Typically, When I paint landscapes I use soft/broken edges as a default and bring out the sharp edges where I need to emphasize something. I tried reversing that "rule" for this one. It is painted mostly with sharp edges, and softer edges represent only a small percentage. Most of what looks like soft edges are in fact sharp notes with close value transitions; they just look like soft edges.

I'm liking this new (new to me, that is) way of looking at my edges. The decision making feels a little more subjective somehow. It's worth digging deeper.

The Olive Grove - Teaser Details

...and a few tips on painting natural light effects a la  Impressionsts...




The big Olive Grove painting is finally finished!! Last week the framers came and took it away from my studio, and I'm just waiting for them to call me. It should be done by the end of the week. I've never worked with these guys before, but they seemed very professional and they work with some of the galleries in town, so I'm not worried. I'm just really excited and anxious to see this baby framed properly and hung!




I will post a large file of the entire painting later on, but here are some detail shots as a sort of an appetizer.

Unlike the cityscapes I'm working on right now, this painting is very Impressionist. You can see the short, choppy strokes and the characteristic high key shadows that lean heavily towards blues and violets. If you look at the ground plane in the background, you can see just how close the values are between the lit areas and the shadows, and that the hues are complementary.

In the foreground, (still talking about the light and shadow relationship on the ground plane) the value jump increases. Actually, the value of the light side doesn't change as much as the shadow. By systematically bringing them closer as we recede into the distance, we have the basics of atmospheric perspective. And this painting has a lot of that.



Another key element of depiction of natural light –and this isn't limited to high-key Impressionist approaches– is that although the warm light / cool shadow temperature relationship is maintained throughout, the darkest darks in the foreground is almost always warmer than the surrounding shadow areas which are lighter in value. It's no surprise when we consider that the shadows are generally cool because 1) sunlight is warm, therefore the shadows must be cooler by comparison, and 2) The secondary light source, the greatest of which is the blue sky, affects the shadow areas. The darkest darks, or "dark accents" represent areas in the shadow where it's not affected very much by the sky. So by comparison, they are likely to be warmer.



Another favorite Impressionist trick (OK, it's not a trick. It's not even an optical illusion. Just a handy painting tip) ; When painting something whose color is difficult to discern... say, something gray like a tree branch in the shadowy parts of the foliage, or some small element - a twig, or telephone poles and wires against a dominant background like the sky– ignore its true local hue, and let it be influenced by its surrounding colors. Keep the value, borrow the hue. I used this idea to paint the branches in the first and the fourth pic dark blue. The same with the little twiggy parts. Notice the bigger branch in the first pic is not as blue as the smaller one? That's part of the diffraction rule (or was it refraction?); given the same local color, the smaller the shape, the more it will be affected by the surrounding color.

Next time you paint telephone poles and wires against a blue sky, try it. Paint them a darker shade of the sky instead of the local gray. If you do it right, it'll help you achieve a greater sense of light and atmosphere.