Making Stuff Up

At The Bar, 16 x 12

I get a big kick out of making stuff up. I don't know if there's a difference between painting from memory and making stuff up, but it's all the same to me. I particularly enjoy inventing environments, characters, and stories when I'm painting from a live model, often in a figure class or an open session.

Typically the model just sits in a chair with not much else going on in terms of props and set up. Sure, there are times when you have the luxury to set up exactly how you want your painting to look, but unless you are a committed figure painter, (I'm more of a landscape guy) you take what you can get.

Just because the set up is less than exciting, it doesn't mean your painting has to be boring also. In fact, a minimalist set up is like a blank canvas. Because there's nothing there to distract you into limiting your imagination, it's much easier to just create whatever you feel like.

But of course, being able to imagine a situation is not the same thing as being able to paint it. Whenever I do these, someone will always ask me "how do you do that?" The truth is, there is no trick to it except practice, practice, practice. If you draw a thousand trees, I'm certain you can draw one from memory pretty well. The same with figures and furniture. It helps to know your perspective rules in order to construct objects on your canvas. It helps to know what kind of shadow patterns you get when light hits an object, but that too, can be deduced and constructed if you know your perspective rules and the basic (very basic) rules of light and form.

I can't do what some of these concept artists do for sci-fi movies and video games. I don't have that kinda patience and control, but I can do some landscapes and interiors with figures in them. I usually paint the model first, then take cues from the abstract marks I'd made during the process. I stare at my painting till an idea presents itself. It doesn't come all at once, but it develops piece by piece. In this painting, the guy in the white tank top was the model, and he was sitting in a regular nondescript chair. I painted him first, then added a table in front of him. The table became the bar. He needed a drink, so I gave him one. He looked lonely so I quickly indicated a friend(?) next to him (guy in green tank). When I added a girl on the other side, I started to sense a story, and next thing I knew, I turned the guy in green to face the girl, ditching his friend in the white wife-beater shirt. I painted the girl with no particular gesture in mind, but she looked like she wasn't interested in the guy in green. So she must be interested in something or someone else. Which prompted me to add the guy on the far end. Everyone got beers. I added a few other figures to make the bar crowded, and some abstract color notes to suggest an interior. At this point, our main character is isolated despite the fact that he is surrounded by people. What's his story? I don't know, but I can think of a few interesting short story ideas.

To tell you the truth, I developed my habit of making up environments when I was an illustration major at Art Center. You see, I believed that, when I graduated and became a real illustrator, I would have to be able to draw and paint anything and everything the client asked me to. I was afraid of being in a situation where I wouldn't be able to fulfill my client's request, so I tried very hard to learn how to deal with all kinds of lighting situations, drawing objects not by copying but by constructing, and to draw tens of thousands of gestural figures. My early efforts were dismal, but I knew that it was possible to learn this skill, because I'd seen it done, and it seemed to me a very logical process. In other words, I was very much encouraged by the fact that it is learned skill, and not raw talent that made it possible to "make stuff up". I'm sure raw talent couldn't hurt, but I wouldn't know about that. I have friends who seemed to possess unfair amounts of this talent stuff, and I had to work three times as hard just to do what came naturally to them.

Anyway, I'm still practicing every chance I get. The difference nowadays, is that I'm not driven by fear and anxiety, but by fun of seeing a picture – and a story–emerge out of nowhere. That I'm not doing this for clients is a big plus, because I am allowed to fail and I won't get fired.

Delta Towns

Schoolhouse, Locke, 9 x 12

It's been a very, very busy week. Five straight days of teaching and drawing and painting from morning to night! I can't remember ever being so tired, except when my kids were little babies - you parents know what I'm talking about.

The figure drawing workshop I taught last weekend was, as expected pretty intense. Going from 15 second stick figures to sanguine-and-conte-on-toned-paper in just two days. That's a lot to cover in such a short time and of course it's impossible to learn to draw the figure in two days, but I hope at least some information will have stuck and the students can use it to further climb the learning curve.

The next few days were spent on the Sacramento Delta with my friend Georgia, an artist visiting from Australia. We went from town to town along the river painting whatever caught our eye. Our first stop was Locke, a little one block town (literally) which was a Chinese settlement. Established 1915(?), it still looks pretty much as it must have in the olden days. Very narrow road flanked by old rickety buildings, none of which are standing straight. Talk about character!

The first painting is the old schoolhouse at the edge of the town. That is to say, it's at the end of the block. We were situated under the eaves of buildings across the street, so we had plenty of shade. It did start to heat up mid morning and quickly got into the 90's.

Boarding House, Locke, 12 x 9

But we pressed on. This is my second sketch. I just turned the easel 90 degrees and painted this boarding house - which is now restored and made into a museum ? I think. That bright lime green is something you rarely see in my paintings, but that's what caught my eye, so there it is. I did knock back the saturation a little bit to make it look like a Miura painting.

Beer Stop, Walnut Grove, 12 x 9

After lunch at a truly fabulous old dive called Al the Wops, we drove a mile down the river to Walnut Grove. We parked the car intending to paint another funky restaurant, Tony's, but I saw this view and went for it instead. It just meshed better with my recent Road Trip series. As they say, you don't paint what you see, you see what you paint.

This is mid afternoon so the light is still sort of achromatic. Later it became really warm and orangey and moody, but I wasn't going to chase it. I'll just have to do another painting in the studio later. The cars came and went, obviously (it's a gas station!) so the ones I painted are non-specific. Just montages of different cars that stopped to fuel up. Worked out pretty well.

Hotel Del Rio, Isleton, 12 x 16

The next morning, we started in the town of Isleton, 10 miles down river. Isleton is just slightly bigger than Locke and Walnut Grove. The economy has done a number on this town too, and majority of the businesses along the main street were closed and boarded up. Kind of sad and depressing. A lot of history here too, and the buildings have great character. It must have once been a thriving little community.

We were able to set up on the covered balcony of a closed business and paint this view. We had a really interesting back-lit situation, and I set out to capture the nice mood it suggested. But I got a little carried away and injected too much atmosphere, thereby ending up with something other than what I wanted to do. That's OK, I like parts of this painting and I think I've got a good point of departure for a studio painting. That's what these plein air sketches are anyway.

River Road, Isleton, 9 x 12

After lunch we drove around a little bit looking for spots. Because we've been painting a lot of town stuff (read; drawing-intensive), we decided we needed a break and do something more organic. We had a little bit of trouble finding a spot, though, because the land around here is so flat, and there aren't many places where we could park safely, set up in the shade (temperature was in the mid to upper 90's) and have a decent view with something to hang a focal point on.

The river itself is interesting but again, not easy to find a spot that meets the minimum requirements. Anyway, we finally settled on this shady spot under a giant oak, and I did one of my familiar motifs.

The design is such that the eye falls off the right hand side of the canvas, so that's something I will fix if I decide to develop this one further.

Worker's Quarters, 9 x 12

And this is the last sketch of this series, done on Day 3. With this one, I really tried to paint in as few strokes as possible, not fussing over anything. I also tried to do that now-you-see-it-now-you-don't thing, where only a small amount of recognizable detail pulls together an almost abstract painting.

Now that I look at it on the computer, I see I could have pushed the abstraction further. Abstraction is so elusive for me that it continues to tease me into trying harder.

There is so much poetry in a painting in which abstraction is executed beautifully, and yet, there is no way to define how that works. For an artist with two left brains, that is just maddening.

It's like a drug.

Sunny Dress

This morning's three-hour session. You'd think anyone can sit still for a painting session. But no, if you've ever sat for any length of time, you know it isn't easy. The problem is, too many people become models thinking it's an easy way to make some money, and end up flooding the pool with incompetence.

But I'm not going to go into a rant about incompetent models here. That would get outta control pretty quickly. Sometimes, I'm just happy if they show up on time.

Amy (today's model) is great. She was willing to sit with her legs crossed for this pose, knowing she was going to be hurting later (and she was, too.) Not only did she not complain, but she held the pose and her sunny disposition didn't waiver. Yeah, it's work, both for her and for us artists. I don't know about you, but if the model is suffering up there on the stand, I can't do what I need to do either. Nobody wins. So if a model can sit for a long-pose session with legs crossed and still be happy, I really appreciate that.

Anyway, this painting came together fairly smoothly - except for the hands, with which I struggled and ended up overworking - she was actually sitting on a regular metal folding chair. I changed the legs of the chair, and added the rest of the environment as I painted. That is to say, I made everything up except for Amy.

I think I've said this before, but this way of painting - making stuff up as I go - is really fun. Like writing and reading a short story at the same time. It's fascinating to see a storyline develop as you are painting, and sometimes there are surprises along the way. If the painting comes out OK, that's almost a bonus. Very satisfying.

This weekend I'm teaching a figure drawing workshop. I think it is going to be a pretty good workout!

Down Toward the Bay

Down Toward the Bay, 12 x 20 inches, oil on linen

Here's the new painting with a hint of the coastline in the distance. As I mentioned a couple of posts ago, in the foggy road painting I noticed that the brushstrokes in the distance looked like it might be suggesting a coastline. It was just accidental, but it set the course for this painting, in which I actually suggested a coastline on purpose. It's still vague and ambiguous, but that's the way I like it. I will make it more obvious in another painting, when I'm looking for a different mood.

It's About the Gesture!

Figure Drawing Intensive
A Two-Day Workshop

July 17 - 18, 2010
Tuition: $250 + $20 model fee

There are still a few spots left in this figure drawing workshop!

This two-day workshop will focus on figure drawing in the tradition of the Italian Renaissance.

Emphasis will be on capturing the gesture and depicting form, using charcoal, sanguine chalk, and conte.

Working with short poses, we will have in-depth discussions on the relationship between light and form, and will learn about short-hand techniques and mark-making strategies.

Demos, critiques and individual instruction.



Please contact the School of Light and Color to register for this workshop.





The School of Light and Color
10030 Fair Oaks Blvd Fair Oaks, Ca 95628


phone: (916) 966-7517

email: sarback@lightandcolor.com

Sonoma Coast

This one is a little plein air sketch I did this weekend. We drove back out to Russian River again, this time to pick up our son at music camp. The drive out there is beautiful, but boy, three and a half hours on the road is wearying to say the least, especially with a three year old in the back seat. So this time, we decided to stay the night nearby on the coast.

Driving fifteen or twenty minutes northward from Jenner, where Russian River meets the Pacific, on an extremely windy, vertigo-inducing cliff hugging Coast Hwy is a little place called Timber Cove, and it is nothing short of spectacular.

All along the Northern California coastline, there is not much in the way of civilization. You really feel like you are at mercy of this immense power that is nature. It's awe-inspiring and a little scary if you notice you're low on gas. But not this day. We made it safely to the Inn, warmed up by the fire, and had a (surprisingly) excellent meal, and got some much needed rest.

In the morning, I got up before my family and walked around the grounds, taking in the views from many angles. Thinking, this would be one awesome place to do a workshop! I think I already knew that I wanted to do this, and I was just going through the checklist of requirements for what makes a good workshop spot. This place met all of them, and then some. So hopefully it'll happen sooner rather than later - interested? Shoot me an email, and I will make sure you will hear about it first, before I announce it on my website!

So the morning was gray and cool in this marine fog, which was just fine by me - I enjoyed my solitary walk, and to top it off, I did a little sketch from atop a cliff. I guess this one isn't a "road trip" painting, but it was done on one. Not that it matters~

On The Road Again

We are back on our virtual road trip. In the last few weeks, I've driven out to the coast twice, first to drop off my son at music camp and second time to go hear the amazing performance at the said camp. This painting is inspired by the drives out to the coast.

We have all kinds of weather out on the Sonoma Coast, but in the cooler part of the day, typically, the marine layer rolls in and envelopes the landscape in fog. Sometimes thick, other times just a thin veil. The atmosphere makes for really moody views, perfect for a Miura painting.

As with many of my landscapes, this one was done from memory. When I say painting from memory, I don't mean I have some kind of photographic memory and can recall views more or less accurately. I can't do that. It's just a very general sense of a place that I conjure up. The painting is conceptualized and composed in the studio without references, using vague recollections of places I've been in, using my visual vocabulary to build an image which conforms to an idea in my head. Sometimes I'm successful and it comes out exactly how I think it should. Other times, well, I have something else - usually because my "idea" was too vague or my craft was lacking.

In his book, Carlson stresses the importance of working from memory, and I have to say, it's one of the best ways to hone your skills. Painting from direct observation is absolutely essential, but memory work will force you to make sense out of your observed reality and add to your arsenal the ability to say what you want to say, and not just interpret, reiterate, or heaven forbid copy nature.

Sargent too, said something about observing anything and everything when you're not painting so that you develop the ability to edit later. To me, that's directly relevant to memory work.

Phil Hays used to tell us to build our visual vocabulary so that we may be able to visually compose an idea into a picture.

It's all the same thing, see. We need both observation work (plein air) and memory work in order to say what we want to say about what we're looking at, whether it's a bunch of trees in front of you, or in your head.


It's difficult to see in this painting, but if you click on it you'll see a larger version and perhaps you can kind of see, in the very top of the picture, the horizontal strokes vaguely define the landscape in the distance. I noticed that it kind of looked like a harbor or a bay back there, so in the next painting, I will capitalize on this discovery and let my painting evolve in that direction.

Keep on truckin'~

Character Study

Jim, 9 x 12 inches, oil on linen

First of all, my heartfelt thanks to everyone who commented on my last post! I really appreciate that you took the time to read, analyze, and write such thoughtful comments. And so many of you, too~ This blog thing sometimes feels like a narcissistic exercise and I never really know who's reading and who cares what I have to say, much less actually give some serious thought to my ramblings. So thanks everyone!

It was interesting to see that there wasn't a consensus on which cropping worked best, though in general the inclusion of the sky seemed to resonate with many. Composition is, obviously, very important to every artist and we can talk about that in more-or-less objective terms till the cows come home and still not arrive at a single best solution. That in itself is fascinating, but even more insightful to me, are your emotional responses to the cropping of choice. I'm always interested in what triggers an emotional response and why, so your flood of commentary was extremely helpful in that sense also.

I still haven't decided what to do with the actual painting - I'm going to work on the clouds some more, and then reassess my cropping options. I'll let you know what I end up deciding!

Now on to the next painting. Here's a little figure painting from a model, Jim looked like a biker, what with his rugged and tired looks. Something I've noticed over the years, is that artists who tend to draw gesturally - as opposed to those who painstakingly measure everything and carefully render the surfaces - tend to caricaturize even when they're painting portraiture. Just ever so slightly exaggerating features that characterize a person's identity brings out the personality - or more accurately, the artists perception of the model's personality. I'm a gesture guy, so I notice this a lot not only in my own paintings, but in others as well. Without intending to, I made Jim look more like a biker-type than he actually did, and in my last figure painting, I made Emily look more like a retro TV sitcom mom than she actually did.

It must be the illustrator in me.

The Diner v3.0... Crop It!

27 x 18

We return to our now-familiar diner and truck. It's not a road painting, but I see it as belonging to the same series. It's a road trip series now, and you can't talk about road trips without talking about diners!

This one was done from a photo reference (see below) and as you can see, I moved some things around to build my composition.

The painting right now is 27 x 18 and so far has taken me about eight or nine hours, with at least six hours invested in the sky, the least complicated part of the picture. I just couldn't get it right!

Getting the sky to read as sky isn't so hard. Because my palette is limited, color harmony wasn't a problem. But the sky has such a dominant effect on the overall mood of the painting that every little decision I made in the sky seemed to change everything!

I tried more blue, less blue, more clouds, more atmosphere, less, more smog and dirt, more clarity, different types of clouds... I must have repainted the entire sky at least a dozen times. And each time, the trees had to be reshaped, too.

Oh I had color studies, but when I scaled up, what worked at the little size was overwhelming at the larger size, and I had to abort my plan.

I'm still not satisfied. I think the colors are getting close - the mood is finally how I envisioned it, but pictorially I want a little bit more defined shapes (sharper edged) to the thunderheads, and I'm having some trouble making that work with the rest of the picture.

...And then I had this thought; I'm obsessing over the part of the picture, while extremely important and influential to the overall mood, is neither the visual nor the conceptual focus. Do I really need that much sky? Let's try cropping it out a bit.

I have to be able to frame this painting in a ready-made size frame, so with that in mind, I tried several cropping options in Photoshop;

24 x 18

This is 24 x 18. I like it better already. See how quickly the overall effect changes? I always marvel about that when I explore cropping after the painting is (more or less) done.

16 x 20

16 x 20. I took a little off the bottom as well. As the focus narrows, the story starts to change as well.

18 x 18

18 x 18. Got to think about the balance of visual weights of the different elements. Unequal distribution of visual weight is much more preferable.

14 x 18

14 x 18. I've cropped out the blue part of the sky, so it's no longer clear that we have thunderheads in the distant sky. I love thunderheads as a seasonal visual cue. Although it isn't really applicable in the part of California where I live, in many parts of the world it's a familiar signifier of a hot August afternoon.

12 x 18

12 x 18. Not a ready-made frame size, but I happen to have a frame this size in my studio so what the hell. Try it out. The sky is now a very minor player.

8 x 18

8 x 18. I don't have a frame this size, but we've come this far, let's try taking out the sky altogether. Hmmm... interesting. I like the lack of contrast in the truck compared to the diner. I would push that direction in another painting and make the diner more dominant.

8 x 18 w/chair

Just for fun, I took out the little table thing in the extreme right and placed a chair in the "area of maximum contrast" in Photoshop. Now I have a more definite focal point. We have a very different story / mood from the original 27 x 18 painting, don't we? It usually bugs me when I have to deviate from the original concept or story due to the undeniable fact that I wasn't able to communicate an idea–to me, that means I lacked skill. Stumbling across a new idea during the struggle is, nonetheless fascinating and if the new story is a good one, I might even be excited about it and try and do a fresh canvas so I can do it properly. I think this is one such case.


I'm curious to know what you think of the different croppings. Which one is your favorite and why? What kind of feeling do you get from the one that works for you, as opposed to the ones that don't? Is it a purely technical, design-based response, or does your emotional response change as well?

Vote on your favorite cropping in the sidebar, and let me know why in the comments!!