Artist on Art Spring

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01 The Painter’s Reference By Jeremy Mann

09 S tanding before creation By Michael Klein

18 C onceptualism on parade By William Wray

21 t he sense of light By Daniel Gerhartz

27 F ireflies and the art of design By Kevin Beilfuss

37 M  y Art. my world. By Dr. Ernest Biscardi

43 C apturing the essence By Michelle Dunaway

50 Strength through abstraction By Seth Haverkamp

55 C ollectors and the unspoken language of art By Kristen Thies

61 in support of artists By Emily Dietrich

Modern trends are affecting painters in countless ways, and trusting in a photograph as a reference is one of the detrimental departures from where our hearts should be when painting. We should be mindful of the haste of the present and our dependence on the deceitful photograph. The first step is acknowledgement, and then to focus on challenging lazy ignorance with purposeful elegance.

Like words to a poet or notes to a composer, the marks an artist makes within a painting hold the voice of emotion. Composition is nature’s underlying geometry of beauty, incorporating an undefined layout of shapes, lines, values and balance. Color speaks to the soul, and can release moods from the heart of a viewer. The arrangement and quality of the formal foundations are the ingredients for brilliant paintings that stir wonder and emotion in the viewer. But

the grocery store of a reference photo is at best limited in its stock. There is no substitute for nature. Study from life should be the highest priority for every artist, because having a good reference makes all the difference. And life is the best reference. However, there are still plenty of us who need—or want—to work from a photograph. Culturally, we no longer

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The Lure of the Muse, 24 x 36 inches, Oil on Vellum, 2012 Sold through The Safehouse Show 4 dress as gentlemen, lounging in the gardens and fields, drinking wine with elegant beauties in gowns as seen in so many 19th and 20th century works. Instead we speed across freeways, scan the interwebs for instant gratification, get off the bus at the Grand Canyon to snap some wicked photos, before hitting up Vegas. Photograph as reference has become a norm, the quiet blight—a too simple and available tool that clouds our judgment of painterly beauty. But if we know this, let us not be lazy slobs to our culture and our audience. Let us learn to bring life back into our work with a complete disregard for the photograph’s blind team spirit. Our lenses may be similar, but the camera lacks a soul. It cannot feel the wind in its face and witness trees bending and resisting its blow, or feel the heat of a hot summer day burning your upturned face. It cannot suddenly realize that its feet have gone numb in the snow and that it should hasten

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back to a fire, or enjoy the quiet of a lost field. This is plein air painting. The photograph cannot compare. How often do you see a relative’s photo album of last summer’s grand RV adventure to Yosemite, and then the standard excuse: “The photo doesn’t do it justice.” But sit in those same backcountry fields and lakesides, forest and hills, hear the hum of a mosquito, the running of a stream, and the clank of your bear spray at your side, and you will know what nature can offer. Your first defense against the ridiculousness of photographic landscape references is to study plein air (or alla prima for figures and still life). I often find the best way to capture the true feeling of an outdoor scene is to force the pace. In freezing snow, rushed and white, with a limited palette of only the necessary colors that appear before you (often whites and blues—pretty easy).

Plein air studies in Lake Tahoe, CA

A wonderful study of changing harmonies and fleeting moments comes from a quick five minute plein air thumbnails of the sunset. Consider pushing yourself as a way to lessen the attention you spend on what’s before you. Perhaps you just need a warm-up or quick visit to nature, as a way to focus on simply the “feeling” of the scene you are “in.” With a photograph, you work from “outside,” and doing so only encourages the viewer to also experience your painting from outside. In nature, you are immersed in it—you feel nature from within, and if you paint in nature, the viewer will be absorbed in your work, and join you there. But at some point we may find a photographic reference is the only way forward with a painting. Adjusting that reference requires a journey into the underworld of photo editing, and you should be well versed in its astounding capabilities. I have been influenced by the brilliance of my comrades to traverse, undercover style, the wickedness of digital imagery. I’ve

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learned its capabilities, and returned to my studio of oils and thinners to strike my reference in its weak spot. Here are a few weak spots to adjust in your photographic reference before approaching the painting. Focal point Good Lord—the camera “crispifies,” and brings clarity and focus to every square inch. It’s natural for the camera to do this, and should not be admonished for it. But we artists should criticize ourselves for ignoring the differences. Eyes need a place to rest, a focal point full of details and intrigue. The eyes need to float to a secondary point of interest, then out to the depths and distance, led back then to home. Add details where necessary. Add more stuff in the area of focus—more branches, more grass, more people, cars, lights. Do so with a splendid negligence, whilst leaving other areas flat or atmospheric, “full” with less stuff.

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“You need some plastic portable toilets, details like “stuff ” in the yard as if the place has been lived in. “Stuff ” as paint is just more touches, but you don’t want to know what it is, you don’t want to know they’re plastic portable toilets.” – Bill Maughan Atmosphere Photographs fail when it comes to understanding the landscape before them, while simultaneously comprehending the sky. Not only do photographs harden distant mountains and objects with sharp edges, but they increase the contrast, value range, and mock their true color. Why is the sky blue? (My father told me because if it was green, I wouldn’t know where to stop mowing.) Because there is water in the sky, the more distance between you and those mountains, the more water is “in the way,” making things bluer, foggier and more blurry (think windshield in the rain). Quite revealing

Morning at Thousand Islands Lake, 48 x 73 inches, Oil on Panel, 2011, Sold through John Pence Gallery

once understood; unfortunately we strive for perfection, and copying our reference is inherent—whether nature or photograph. But knowing these things, you can push the atmosphere in your painting to be more full of the atmosphere’s color (whatever that color may be—yellow sunsets, red mornings, perylene nights), while lessening the value range as distance deepens. You can create edges lost and found and full of life, all of which will leave the viewer with a calmer and more natural state of being.

Color The purpose of color is to fill harmony within your work, and evoke a mood in the viewer. According to my photographs, everything in the city at midday is beige and blue. I don’t believe them. Learn to adjust the reference’s color patterns to match the mood you wish to convey, and spend a lot time doing it. If you are not sure, create many different color harmonies of the same reference, thumbnail them real quick in a sketchbook, and the answer will become much clearer.

Highlights and Shadows The camera’s dead giveaway is that it cannot see simultaneously, as we can, within the shadows and directly into the light. Bracketing your shots (shooting one underexposed, one evenly exposed, and one overexposed) will at least give you a range of reference from which to choose intelligently. Advanced editing allows you to superimpose all three together. I learned from Coro, a good friend of mine, that even in life, shadows are always lighter than you think. Painting them as such will add vitality to your paintings. You can spot a painting done from a poor reference if there are three or more heavily highlighted areas competing for first place. The same goes for shadows. Unless you’re working on a fantasy novel cover, there probably shouldn’t be shadows so deep and black that not even light can escape—avoid painting black holes and Higgs bosons in your work (unless required by a commissioned client of course).

Practice adjusting your reference in concert with alternating warm and cool patterns. Use other artists’ color choices as inspiration; use complementary or split complementary color palettes; use magazine cutouts of interesting colors. I personally de-saturate my photos to near death. It gives me more control over exactly where I wish to saturate my notes in the actual painting, and keeps me from being a slave to the rainbow of colors so easily lusted after in photographs. I prefer to work from a large mounted monitor. Aside from giving me the physical freedom to paint with more reckless abandon, the large monitor allows me to change the reference as I choose, should I need to, but also because I paint light. With a printed photographic image, unless your reference source is a Litebright, the printed image is already dull and stunted in its value range. Colorswatch samples from my sketchbook.

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Adding and Subtracting Alfred Stieglitz once spent an hour in the snow on Madison Ave waiting for all moving elements to align. Today we do not have to use expensive silver films or colloidal wet tin plates. We can take a hundred photographs in only a few minutes. So why not do so! If there is a scene that captures you, photograph it as you would experience it from life— from many vantage points. Or remain still and take many shots of one view, as people and vehicles move by, as the light changes—capture life in still frame. Then combine and remove these elements in your references within the studio,

Unmodified original image of several images pasted together

cutting and pasting images together as a conductor adds and quiets instruments in the orchestra. Move trees, raise buildings, remove odd facades, add people, get rid of people, kill grass and grow flowers. Cut and paste an abstract area from one of your previous paintings onto your reference and simply play with the layer blending. I prefer mine gritty and raw; perhaps you prefer them softer or lighter. Each artist is different; be true to who you are. All efforts to control your reference first will better train it to behave later as you wish.

Reference photo after many alterations

Although I focused this discussion on landscape and cityscape, the same principles apply to working from the figure photographic reference, which perhaps presents even greater difficulties. My random babblings on the alluring beauty of a figure, and my emotions for it, would wander far from this discussion, but I apply the same ideas to my figure work. In a sense they are one and the same. Strive not to be a portrait artist or a cityscape painter, but simply a painter. The end result is this: the closer your photographic reference is to an actual painting, the better your work will be. Choose your reference well. In the beginning, choose and crop your reference with a de-saturated monitor. This eliminates the distraction of color, and focuses on the importance of composition—like smelling scents with your eyes closed. Never completely trust your photographic reference. Always remember it is a shortcut, and the emotion behind your painting must come from within you. Learn to control the reference, and don’t say, “Oh, I’ll fix that area when I paint it.” Just fix it now and save yourself the struggle.

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Construction #3, 36 x 36 inches, Oil on panel, 2011, Sold through the Principle Gallery

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There are many other ways to mold your reference to have better manners as an aid in painting, but we must always remember that it is just that—an aid. A more expensive and flashy hammer won’t build a better palace, and attempting to construct your painting without the scaffolding of fundamental knowledge, study and artistic experience will only end up in a terrible waste of time. Study from life, always. Paint with a purpose, a reason, about something you respond to and that fills you with emotion—whatever the emotion that burns you. And make sure the voice in your marks, the flow and balance of the piece, the mood and the harmony of colors; make sure all qualities you paint give justice to your subject’s beauty. •

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Lament, 48 x 48 inches, Oil on Panel, 2011, Sold through the Principle Gallery

About Jeremy Mann Jeremy graduated from Ohio University with a degree in Fine Art before earning a Masters at the Academy of Art University in San Francisco. Now living in downtown San Fransico, with his studio at The Safehouse Studios, Mann paints his surroundings with intimate and dynamic expression. To see more of his traditional landscapes and figures, as well as his contemporary works, please visit www.redrabbit7.com

There is nothing more misguided than the belief that the only created order in the universe is that of man.

After returning to New York from a three-and-a-half year sojourn abroad, I realized the profound impact beauty has on our lives. On our property in Buenos Aires there are two small houses and a large artist’s studio. While in Argentina, my daily routine consisted of waking up in the morning, and walking through a beautiful rose-filled garden. Being back in the states, I now wake up to the reality of city life—very little fresh air, no vegetation other than a couple trees planted for aesthetic reasons, and a lot of noise as people rush to work. The reason I mention this contrast is because beauty is crucial to understanding nature, and therefore, art. “‘Beauty is truth, truth beauty,’ – that is all/Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.” John Keats’ nineteenth century

poem Ode on a Grecian Urn reflects on the idea that beauty is a very present reality—we can’t deny its existence. And because beauty exists, we can know that truth exists as well. By contrast, eighteenth century Scottish philosopher and skeptic David Hume wrote, “Beauty in things exists merely in the mind which contemplates them.” If Hume’s view is true then beauty does not exist as a thing in itself, and everything is just random chance. But common sense tells us that randomness by definition does not have order, and that one of the essential qualities of beauty is order. To be more precise, mathematical order can be found in many different aspects of composition of both music and painting.

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Spring Floral, 8 x 12 inches, Oil on panel

Think about the sound of a crowd cheering. Then compare that to a choral piece by Bach. Both are created with human voices, working together to produce a desired effect. One is a completely random attempt to cheer on a favorite team— some with loud voices, others less so. In this instance the pitch or tone at which they are screaming doesn’t matter. Now think about how much practice, talent and orchestration is required to produce the Bach composition.

reason for the stark difference is apparent when we hear LeWitt’s explanation of his creative process: “The draftsman and the wall enter a dialogue. The draftsman becomes bored but later through this meaningless activity finds peace or misery. The lines on the wall are the residue of this process. Each line is as important as each other line. All of the lines become one thing. The viewer of the lines can see only lines on a wall. They are meaningless. That is art.”

With this you can begin to understand that defining things is an important part of distinguishing varying aspects of the world around us. One could easily say that the chant of thousands of people cheering for their favorite team is something beautiful to behold, and I agree—although it is in a fundamentally different class than the beauty of a Bach choral piece.

This contrast between the work of Whistler—a source of beauty—and the work of LeWitt—an expression of meaninglessness—illustrates the difference between art and a form of obsolete intellectualism.

We could make a similar comparison with visual art. If you set Whistler’s Harmony in Blue and Gold: The Peacock Room against Sol LeWitt’s wall drawings, the difference is astonishing. The

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After many years of painting, I now believe that great art embodies the soul of man, just as through the created universe we are able to see the invisible attributes of the creator God. This is not a fashionable avenue down which to travel, but I have become profoundly aware of the importance of understanding myself and my art in relation to God.

The apostle Paul wrote in his letter to the Romans, “For the invisible things of Him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made.” Without the physical creation of a thing—a painting, a musical work—you cannot come to know what the artist thinks or feels. The proportions of man, color harmonies that exist in organic objects and natural design such as the Golden Rectangle, point to beauty made for a reason—beauty created by an artist whose character and soul can be seen by what he has created. Artists have historically incorporated elements like the Golden Rectangle into their paintings and sculptures. But if we think that nature is essentially meaningless, then any claim we make about order in our painting is essentially meaningless as well. There are two sides to this coin. Artists who do not incorporate a theistic worldview cannot come up with any concise reason as to why painting matters. To be completely fair if everything is an accident—a proposition that I completely reject—then anyone can do or say whatever they want. Followed to its logical conclusion, every aspect of society would soon arrive at a kind of barbarism. White Harmony, 24 x 18 inches, Oil on linen

Diana Resting, 6 x 10 inches, Oil on panel

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Awaiting Work, 29.5 x 47 inches, Oil on linen

Representational art is the only part of life that actually has been affected by this move toward meaninglessness, because it has become completely conceptual. There is no such thing as a world where ideas do not have consequences, and where a moral code—secular or biblical—doesn’t exist. Painting is a luxury that brings joy to our lives, it allows us time to sit in front of nature and be awed by the beauty that exists. If postmodern artists were to advise their physicians to practice medicine in a way similar to the way they practice art, they probably wouldn’t feel too comfortable in the doctor’s office. To be honest, a trip through the MoMa gives me a similar feeling. We create because it is essential to our character as human beings. Think about why we create music, sculptures or paintings. Art serves no purpose for survival. If we had to go without art we could. Everything we experience as human

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beings is reflected in our art. It is not until paintings or sculptures are created that we begin to see the art spirit take form. Art is the conduit for the artist’s soul to escape into the here and now of present-day reality. I often say that the essence of our spirit is sustained in a thin layer of paint on canvas for generations after us to behold. We know in the depth of our souls that staring at a modern canvas painted all white does nothing to us. People are therefore once again returning to representational art. Countless tourists from all over the world walk the halls of the Metropolitan Museum of Art every year. It would be fair to assume that the average person probably doesn’t understand the technical process behind any of the works they are admiring. But being unable to discern what went into the painting or sculpture does not hinder observers from enjoying the art’s inherent beauty.

This observation of inherent beauty is also true for a sunset or a waterfall with a rainbow in the mist. No mind can fully understand the depth of how glorious a sunset is. I’m not discrediting any sort of science that describes the process of light refracting through the atmosphere. I’m talking about the creation of light and matter arranged in a way so that it can be perceived as a sunset. In order to even see anything we need to have vision, which is a miraculous concept in itself. Imagine for a moment: because of our inability as human beings, we can’t fully comprehend where everything comes from. Our life is sustained by an infinite number of tiny variables. If any one of these were off, we could not exist. Something is holding every piece of the puzzle together. The notion that anything can come from nothing is hard to imagine but many brilliant people think this way. Science would lose all meaning if the world was an accident, because nothing could be predicted.

If painters of our time only try to duplicate a similar aesthetic to paintings that have already been made, they will unfortunately always be “re-presenting representation.” If we are inspired only to paint something that is visually similar to paintings we have seen from the past, then we are limiting ourselves to a superficial discovery of what art is truly about. I believe that art is the celebration of creation. It is a response to the beauty in the natural world. Art is an expression of thanks to the One who created everything. Right now the art world seems almost completely devoid of beauty and truth. There is a spirit, but it is one that is far from meaningful.

Spring Floral, 8 x 12 inches, Oil on panel

Realism will be accepted by the art world. It is the humble pursuit of beauty and truth that will not be accepted. If you paint an image of a little girl posed in white, this will not be accepted. But if you paint with the same amount of ability and skill something shocking, it will be accepted. There is a trend occurring, and I believe it all stems from the philosophy that says everything comes from nothing. The new Atheists have been successful in convincing the world that nothing was designed. Someone would think I was joking if I told them that my latest painting happened when my palette fell to the floor, and paint bounced up and landed on my canvas, in perfect representation of flowers and a vase. This illustration may seem silly, but on a grand scale Karina’s Rose, 12 x 9 inches, Oil on linen

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Studio Table, 24 x 45 inches, Oil on linen this is what many people believe about the world around us. The evidence for the world being the work of a thinking, creative being is overwhelming—all you have to do is look at a flower or the waves of the ocean. The Golden Rectangle is just one of many signs that show there is order present in the universe.

At one point I said that “I will spend my life trying to paint something beautiful.” Now, I would change that, and say instead, “I will spend my life painting what is already beautiful.” •

Demonstration I commence the block-in with a soft pencil (6B) on smooth watercolor paper taped to a drawing board. The paper I’m using is hot pressed Fabriano Artistico. Then after the completion of the drawing I seal the paper with a Poly Vinyl Acetate (PVA) size. This process makes a separation from the watercolor paper to prevent it from rotting. Image 1: I block in my darks and lights to establish a value range. This step is fairly easy when you have a block-in guiding where you’ll be placing the darks initially. If you do not do the first step, you will need to concentrate much harder during this stage because essentially you would be setting up all of your composition at the same time you construct the drawing.

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Image 2: I continue drawing with my brush using accurate color notes and paying attention to the sense of space between the back flowers and the foreground.

Image 3: Starting to focus on atmosphere and how edges relate to one another. Keeping my colors subdued, I think about subtle things such as the way the underpainting will show through in parts creating a nice color harmony.

Image 4: At this point I’m slowing down trying to push the painting from the block-in, to some of what will remain the final layer.

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Image 5: I have worked two days and put in about 6 hours total so far. I work the different sides of the bouquet on separate days to allow for any changes the flowers will make.

Image 6: Working on blocking in the transparent warm notes on the vase.

Image 7: Continue to think about the quality of the glass and work on the character of the vase.

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Final Painting: I have to consider the painting complete at this point, although they never are. I move on to the next project and think about what I could do to improve on my process.

About Michael Klein Michael started his training at ateliers in Minnesota where he was offered a rigorous academic program that adhered to the stringent French academic tradtions. After finishing his studies in the Midwest, Michael sought out the renowned painter Jacob Collins. Through the influences of his peers, Klein has developed in a direction unique for his time. Michael lives in the Bronx, NY while spending time throughout the year in his wife’s hometown of Buenos Aires, Argentina. For more information, please visit: www.michaelkleinpaintings.com

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Conceptualism on

Parade Commentary by William Wray

Art as Totem Why did so many people find themselves drawn to the Big Rock being moved to LACMA this March? People love parades. Face it: we love exhibitions in any context as long as they are really bloody BIG. A 500-pound rock being pulled in a kid’s wagon by angry baboons might get on the news if an overly curious onlooker’s face gets torn off by an excited baboon, but the public needs something of substantial tonnage to really spike their awe meter. We love Clash of the Titans immenseness. Gigantic-stone-gods-getting-theirleviathan-on-juggling-whales kind of spectacle. Awe mixed with a dose of instinctual fear of being Monster Truck crushed brings the bumps to our flesh, the “Oh my God!” to our lips, the little stain to our collective panties.

In the case of the LACMA Rock, the public will literally be looking up and staring potential death in its rock face. Walking under its suspended power will be a must-see art stop. Cringing under the Rock’s shadow will be the culmination of the complete Los Angeles art vacation package. Love the idea or loath it, let me explain why visiting the boulder in question will affect you no matter your resolve to resist its power. Because of visual context, your bowels will quiver in its presence. Scale is the key; even a kid’s toy embodies dominance over us when it’s giant. I’ve created some visual aids accompanying this article to help the reader understand this theory.

Figure 1: Real world scale. The Bennie Baboon is more or less to real scale, nothing to get excited about. No investigation into deeper context of the subjective duality that enhanced scale can achieve. An intellectuallevel equivalent to a small town art show or a bathtub fart.

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Figure 2: Scale is used to re-purpose visual context by re-imagining a giant Bennie Baboon as a totem-like art entity. Jeff Coons has made effective use of this juxtaposition to give power to a childlike metaphor for a post-modernism deviation of chrome balloon animals. Keep in mind—to attempt to make any object art rocket to museum art totem level you need a minimum of ten million bucks. Otherwise it could be confused with a giant logo over a car dealership or tire store. My own example here would be more effective if it were plated with gold. Metal makes the big cute toy into the God symbol and gives it the weight to crush puny humans, essential to instinct awakening in the arttotem-worship area of the brain. Figure 3: This scale goes past the art context and achieves the power-potential-deityworship from the masses. While Figure 2 can be conceptualized as an effigy of an art Totem, Figure 3’s gargantuan scale can’t help but make the puny human instinctually drop into prayer supplication mode. The dicey part of this is the real danger of symbolism confusion. Is it art or a symbol of God or Monster? Does the work tap the instinctual need to worship that’s in every human’s unconscious? Hollywood has capitalized on this theory since King Kong. The fine art world is just now catching up.

Rock God One can now understand how an oversized Baboon can be king, but how can a Big Rock have the same power as giant Monkey Ju-Ju? Big Monkey can grab us in its paw and stuff us in its maw. Giant rock just sits there. Rock needs the power of nature producing a landslide or man levitating it with a crane to transcend to the monumental status that will make it stand out from the other peasant rocks at the quarry. The King Rock needs the artist to turn it from mere debris to art totem.

The artist used to go to the mountain and carve out presidential effigies so people would know he was a great artist. These days since carving rocks is hopelessly passé, the giftedly financed artist brings the rock to a museum. When the Rock is parked next to a building, context ensues and the rock achieves its metaphor power as an upwardly

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stationary city rock, unlike the quarry county bumpkin-type rocks destined to be ground up for your driveway. So is the Rock a symbol for the power of nature or the arrogance of man’s ability to destroy Rock if that whim is exercised? Is Rock a God to be worshiped or kissed for good luck? Personally I think the Rock is magic-mountain-meetsHollywood conceptualized as art. Artists will tell you that fine art is a pure form of unique personal expression, light years removed from the shallow hype of Hollywood imagery, but it’s just a matter of time and space until the artist moves the whole mountain and that feat will take real Hollywood money.

What about the lowly painter? Will art ever go back to just being a simple act of talent without ten million dollars’ worth of showmanship behind it? I think it will—by the totem art becoming is own category and leaving the regular mortal artists in the earthly world of painting. One of the most derisive put-downs one hears from contemporary artists is their judgment of representational painting being suited for a “tourist art gallery.” But something tells me a lot more tourists will come to see the Rock right after they visit Universal Studios than will come to visit my gallery in Cambria. •

About William Wray William Wray has lived in California most of his life and studied painting at the Art Students League in New York. Making his living as a cartoonist who specialized in painted subjects, he spent many years coalescing a eclectic array of art styles, ultimately finding his voice in a contemporized reflection of traditional California regional painting that focus on humble subject matter rarely considered as fine art. To see more of William’s work, visit: www.williamwray.com

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As an artist, continuing education is necessary and critical to my development. My primary means of gaining new information has been to visit museums here and abroad, and absorb the works of the masters. I have studied, copied, and dug deep to try to understand how they solved problems, and how their explorations can offer insight into ways I deal with matters of light and form.

As I reflect on what I have seen and experienced, one question I always try to ask is, “What were the works that most moved me?” As I have tried to identify the reasons why certain works emerged, it is often easier to identify reasons why others have not. It has certainly not been the subject matter. My favorites have ranged from the simplicity of a pail of potatoes, to a young child with pearlescent skin tones; from the beauty of youthful spring to the lament of the dying. It was not the color alone that drew me in. My favorites have varied from the colorful, vibrant beach scenes of Joaquin Sorolla, to the most impressive reserve in grays by Emile Carlsen. Nor was the composition necessarily the element that caused my heart to skip a beat. While the design may have grabbed my attention from across the room, I don’t believe that was what mesmerized me in the end. What was this element, I wondered, that courted my soul and set my sense of wonder astir? I believe it was the convincing effect of light captured by the artist. When I refer to the “effect of light,” I don’t necessarily mean just a strong, bright source of light, but instead one that is perhaps the

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The Sketch, Gertrude Käsebier, 1902 Beatrice Baxter Ruyl in Newport, Rhode Island

most subtle trace of twilight light, or the soft coolness of an overcast afternoon. Once I had identified that the sense of light was the unifying link that moved me most, the obvious question as a student of art was, “How did they achieve such effects?” In my experience, when I have been most successful capturing light, it has not been when I consciously set out to do so, but instead, when I honestly tried to reproduce the effect before me. There are no tricks to painting light, although some may suggest otherwise. An accurate portrayal of the values and edge relationships is the essential key. Some may think that color is the necessary ingredient to painting the effect of light, but I would ask you to consider works in monochrome, such as drawing or photography that can carry an amazing feeling of light without color. The etchings of Anders Zorn or the photographs of Gertrude Kasebier are two great examples of the effect of light in monochrome.

The New Song, Anders Zorn, 1903

She is not gone, 60 x 48 inches, Oil on linen

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I would agree that color does add another dimension to the effect, but it is not the foundation of the feeling or mood that is carried through light. There is another reason I know this to be true. In the past, when I have had paintings that did not read like light, I thought I could remedy the problem by adding more color, but this only made the work noisier and less sensitive. When I am teaching I see this tendency in students as well. No amount of color will make up for out-ofkey values and edges that are not accurate representations of what we are actually seeing. Here are a few works that help illustrate valuable tips I have learned to assess the subject in order to most accurately relay the correct values and edges. To be able to see the correct relationships of form, value, and edge, the first and most important technique is the act of

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Autumn’s Last Harvest, 30 x 24 inches, Oil on linen

squinting at the subject. For an in-depth look at my approach to squinting, please see my Technical Insights blog, post #3. In terms of value, once you have identified the extremes in value through squinting, it is crucial at the beginning stage of your painting or drawing to render in the lightest lights and darkest darks. You can then use these extremes to judge every other value relationship. The reason we use the extremes as benchmarks is that they are the easiest to identify. It is very hard to judge the middle values when the extremes are not in place. Often if one begins without these benchmarks, the piece can start out too dark or light in the overall light tone of the form. Every other subsequent value is then misplaced, throwing off the whole effect of light. This is a common mistake, particularly when working with an extreme light source such as candlelight, sunset or backlight.

In the Stillness, 38 x 40 inches, Oil on linen

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As in the painting Golden Light, if the overall values of the model’s face and white blouse had not been keyed dark enough, there would not be enough light left in the value range to accomplish the striking brilliance of her backlit hair. Keep in mind that if you intend to transpose the key to either a high or low key work, the extremes in value may not go from a number one to a number ten in value. Transposing will not be detrimental to the effect of light, but will simply shift the key. The relationship between the values is the critical element. Much the same can be said about the approach to accurately assessing the edge relationships. One must squint at the subject to allow the hardest edges to emerge, and then establish them on the canvas as early in the process as possible. Again, this provides an extreme against which to judge other edges. As an example, the edges on the model’s shoulders in In the Stillness are very sharp on the top edge and soften as they descend past the scapula and ribcage. They harden again as the fold moves out horizontally away from the subject’s waist and in again. In her face, the sharp edge on top of the nose accentuates the soft, graduating light as it descends across the face. These combined elements build the sense of light that originally drew me to the subject. All of this brings me back to where I started. Allow yourself to be mesmerized by the sense of falling light, strive to be honest in your approach to the subject, submit to the subtlety, and record the beauty you see. As my breath was taken away by the works of the masters because of their genius with light, perhaps someone may experience a work of yours one day and feel the same. •

About Daniel Gerhartz For more information about Daniel, his paintings, workshops, and publications, please visit his website at www.danielgerhartz.com

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Golden Light, 16 x 12 inches, Oil on Linen

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With this simple, albeit brief conversation, I realized that Carolyn was seeing things much differently than I was! I had always been taught to draw the figure as if you were constructing the subject itself: “This is how you draw the head.” “This is how you draw the eyes.” “This is how you draw the nose.” “How many heads tall is the figure?” Etc. I was drawing the subject without regard to the design of the painting as a whole. What was catching Carolyn’s eye in the subject was the negative space between a mother and her child’s head as they read a book together. She was not as drawn to the subjects themselves, as she was to the negative space that allowed her to see gesture, and design. Our conversation was short because I didn’t know what further questions to ask, but what I learned over time, as I tried to comprehend what Carolyn was seeing, was that the subject can become secondary in importance to the overall design of the painting.

I was up late one night, struggling to figure out how to put into words for my workshop students just what I was seeing when I viewed a subject as a painting. It was at that moment that the idea of fireflies came to mind. Our eye’s main focus is to seek out detail. Imagine yourself outdoors at dusk with the sky a blanket of darkness. Suddenly a spark of light appears, and vanishes. Then another spark appears, then another. With each spark our eye moves to a new position. Our eye is trained to go where something is visually grabbing our attention. When approaching a painting, the concept of fireflies can help the artist understand how one’s eye is naturally led around a subject. The eye will always seek out something new and different to focus on—basically it seeks out contrast. Contrasts come in the form of value (lightness/ darkness), “activity vs. passivity,” and contrasting colors and textures. All of these contrasts—these “fireflies”—will catch the eye’s attention. Ophelia, 24 x 36 inches

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Sophia, 24 x 36 inches

Let’s take a look at these fireflies individually and see how they can help us design a painting. Value If a subject has a strong light on it, there will be distinct light shapes (where the light is reflecting off the subject), and distinct dark shapes (where the light is being absorbed by the subject (a shadow is being cast, or a turning of the form.) Most artists seem to start with a fairly light background (canvas, panel, or paper). Even if there is a tone on the surface, it is usually not darker than a middle value. We start to draw these dark shapes against our lighter backgrounds, thus producing a contrast. Getting these dark shapes in the right relationship to one another is what will make the subject before us, look like the subject before us. As an artist, if one chooses not to paint the subject exactly as they see it, but rather thinks as a designer, the value structure can be altered to make a possibly more interesting design,

thus allowing room to use more color in the shadow areas. For example, the shadows can be lightened, and not painted as dark as they appear when squinting. As long as the shadow shapes are darker than the lights on the subject, they will read as a shadow. So value contrasts are the firefly I seek out first when designing a painting. Activity vs. Passivity Finding the “active” and “passive” passages of your subject is probably the most difficult “firefly” to describe. The easiest way to explain this phenomenon is when viewing the nude figure. It is especially easy to see when the body twists, or bends. Where the muscles are bearing weight, they will become taut and full to keep the model in balance. This is known as the active side. On the opposing side you will find the muscles becoming more relaxed and stretched to allow for the activity of the muscles opposite them. This is known as the passive side.

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In the weight-bearing areas you will find activity—there will be sharper angles, more pronounced shadow shapes, more tension. Folds and creases in the skin occur around where the muscles are tight and where the form bends—just like the folds in fabric where it is cinched. All of these details act as fireflies to draw our attention, and this is also where I find the negative space to be the most interesting. In the passive areas the form will appear softer, with more gentle, longer curves. It is in these areas that one can decide to loosen an edge, or have the form meld with the background. It is also in these areas that I like to “edit” out unnecessary information. The old adage “Less is more” is a concept to keep in mind. Allow room for the viewer to “fill in” areas of the painting. There’s no need to spell everything out for them—they’re smarter than you may think!

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Color I have a theory on color: it doesn’t matter! My main focus when approaching a painting is not to capture the subject exactly as I see it. I am more concerned with creating a design for the painting than I am with getting the exact color temperature hitting my subject. By approaching a painting from an abstract point of view, the gesture and rhythm become the main focus. The subjects in my paintings are usually human beings, but when designing a painting, the subject could be anything. When approaching a painting in this way, one is less concerned with capturing the likeness of the subject and is instead more focused on playing with the color harmonies. I remember a day back in art school (I’m surprised I can remember back that far!) when I had a huge mental block.

Study on Active/Passive

will be able to judge immediately whether the color (or value) you just put down will work for the painting or not? It was out of this frustration of trying to figure out the exact color I was seeing, that I decided to use some “funky” colors to loosen up. I find now that I will use bright blues, greens and pinks in the early stages of the painting to keep me from over-thinking the color issue. I usually place these bright color notes in the areas where my “fireflies” are, thus also keeping me focused on the overall design, and where I want to lead my viewer’s eye through the painting. King of the Yard, 8 x 36 inches As I looked between the model and the colors on my palette, I could not for the life of me figure out what colors to mix to capture her flesh tones. As I tell students now, “Just put something down!” Why stand there wasting time, when you

My final thoughts on color—for now—are that as long as the color is in the right value relationship (in the shadow, or the light), then it doesn’t matter if it is “correct.” As an artist, you’re the boss. Does the color fit within the boundaries you have set for the painting? If it does, then nobody can tell you that you’re wrong. If it works, it works. Una Poca Siesta, 18 x 24 inches

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Aiya, 16 x 12 inches 32

Texture The last form of fireflies I see when creating a painting is in the use of texture. The relationship of thin areas (where the canvas is showing through), against thick bold paint applications creates another example of contrasts to catch our eye’s attention. For me this relationship is just as important as those I already mentioned. Our eye tends to go to the bold, thickly painted areas. There may be only a few of these passages. But in the same way that small areas of bright color will leave the viewer with the impression that the painting was colorful, the viewer here is left remembering the whole painting as deliciously thick! Even as our eye tends to gravitate to the textured areas, I find I usually paint the skin of the model (especially women, so as to appear soft), with thinner applications, yet surround those areas with the bolder paint. These juxtaposed areas will catch the viewer’s eye, and lead them through the painting. For me, the relationship between different textures in a painting draws

me in more strongly than a painting where the surface texture is consistent. So, as I sit and think back on my conversation with Carolyn, I have to stop and say “Thank you.” I don’t know if this is actually the way she thinks, but by allowing me to figure out what works for me, she gave me a great gift of discovery— the ability to grow, and learn for myself! What I have learned is that designers no longer have to be allocated to the “commercial art field.” As “fine artists” we should not ignore, but rather explore this role in our own paintings. To all you designers out there—let the firefly be your guide. • About Kevin Beilfuss Kevin lives near Chicago with his wife Janice, and son Drew. To view more of his work, see gallery representation, and workshop schedule, visit: kevinbeilfuss.com

Demonstration

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Sometimes the world is not a kind or welcoming place. We spend much of our lives searching for secure, calm, and safe havens that are often difficult to find. So why not create them? Why not spin our own cocoon from which to emerge energized and excited? This is the concept on which I base my collecting.

For me my art is not merely an embellishment to my environment—it is the foundation upon which my environment is built. It is the stage set that takes me wherever I might want to go. It provides, on demand, the various emotions, feelings, and stimulations that I might choose to be surrounded with on any given day.

be with a piece, and allow it to remind me why I purchased it. My art tends to be a tangible reflection of the moments in my life that have provided rich memories—memories both wonderful and dark, yet always memories from which I have grown. Like creating files on a computer, the artworks become my emotional storage spaces.

We live in a colorful world where there often is no color. This is why I lean toward figurative, highly dramatic, and mysterious pieces—pieces that will evoke thought and excitement, as well as action.

The Artist’s Bedroom by Jeremy Lipking, for example, embodies my entire Italian Catholic upbringing. That enormous red rosary hanging from the mirror surveying the room is a familiar memory. Now whether that memory evokes a smile or abject terror is a whole other article. Yet it is my life. Its placement in my dining room allows me to extrapolate from it the fond memories it conjures up: Grandma cooking, Grandma yelling (Italians don’t speak, they yell), and

Now before you stop reading because I sound like a lunatic, let me just get down to it: beautiful and evocative things just make me feel better. As I pass through my home, I can stop,

In the great room, works by Michael Klein and Jeremy Lipking

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Grandma forcing us to, “Eat more!” Placed anywhere else those memories would not be as much fun. Strangely enough, however, I do allow the piece to take me to darker places on occasion. I suppose we all have our dark days! The Last Sticks by Michael Klein has a proud placement in the center of my home. It represents to me all that I have been through and all that there is left to do. No matter how old that old pile of sticks becomes, it is still there. In Man and Superman, George Bernard Shaw wrote, “I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work the more I live.” For me, this piece is the incarnation of that thought. Flood by Aron Wiesenfeld stores all of my fears and follies. Not just superficial fears and follies, but those that are darkly profound. The image of the unknown girl emerging nearly naked from the murky woods is one of the finest representations of vulnerability that I’ve seen. Its placement in the library of my home allows me to step into my fears surrounded by my books. Books represent knowledge and truth to me, and it is knowledge and truth that can ease fear. It’s a safe place to revisit my fears and mysteries, as the answers are always near at hand.

The Artist’s Bedroom, 30 x 20 inches, Oil on linen

The total mystery and weirdness in Daniel Sprick’s Snow Bird is a constant reminder of who I am. I love those, “What the hell is going on here!” situations that life hands us on occasion, and I love even more what we have

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The Flood, 24 x 24 inches, Oil on canvas

to do to figure them out. In confusion there is the ability to learn. My philosophy is that unless I am there, in the center of chaos, then I am not really living. After all, once you have figured it all out, life may be easier, but it is sure to be boring. Where else but in the main hallway should it hang, as I go from one area to another in search of new places to be?

Snow Bird, 24 x 16 inches, Oil on panel

Side by side with Snow Bird in the main hall is Ron Hick’s The Journey Begins. The image of a woman with sadness, excitement, and hope in her eyes as she embarks on a long ride just says it all for me: Never stop searching and never stop being courageous. Life is full of new wonders. Candace in Yellow No. 2 by Julio Reyes is a perfect example of looking into the face of a stranger. We know nothing about her. Do we make a human connection or do we run for the hills? If we run we will never know how our lives might have been altered if we had stayed. It is one of those paintings that give me pause as I remember all the times that I ran. It hangs invitingly in the guest bedroom. Deluge by Jordan Sokol is one of my favorite pieces. The looming image of a man in black emerges from an indistinct

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The Journey Begins, 39½ x 41½ inches, Oil on linen

background. Although he is clothed and bathed in darkness, mystery, and solitude, he somehow seems approachable. There is also a sense of agelessness and timelessness about him. He can be anywhere, in any time, and still be who he is. That’s power. Each night before I lay down to sleep I pass him as I enter my bedroom. So art is my old friend. It allows me to visit and revisit my life trials and experiences. It shields and sheaths my memories and allows me the ability to never forget. It adds depth and beauty to my life. Poor Sybil. She only had sixteen different personalities to find containers for. Not only am I blessed with many more, but in addition, my containers, which house my memories, my hopes, and my dreams, are exponentially more beautiful, glamorous, mysterious, pleasing, and alive. •

Candace in Yellow No. 2, 10 x 8 inches, Oil on copper Bottom left: In the bedroom, paintings by Michael Klein and Camie Davis Below: By the Fire by Michael Klein

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Deluge, 110 x 80 cm, Oil on linen

In the guest bedroom, The Storm Glass by Brad Kunkle

About Dr. Ernest Biscardi Ernest lives and works in New York City, retreating to his woodland home in the Catskills to relax and enjoy the majority of his collection. His life, career, and art synthesize in harmony, making him very happy.

In the dinning room, paintings by Jeremy Lipking

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In painting, essence is what fascinates me. As artists, we are attracted to and become enchanted with subtleties—the light cascading over a subject, the rhythms of compositional movement, the nuances of color notes, just to name a few. We lay a solid foundation of structure to highlight these beautiful aesthetics. And though my eye becomes infatuated with these visual elements, my soul falls in love with the essence.

After all, it is another human being sitting in front of us, allowing us to observe them and see a glimpse into the story of who they are. For a moment we get to experience the essence of that person, even in some small measure, and that is truly something to be cherished. Even when painting a landscape or still life, we are witnessing a transitory moment in time that will never be quite the same again. Observing, experiencing, and expressing such moments enriches us exponentially as human beings. One of my favorite quotes by Robert Henri from his book The Art Spirit states this so succinctly. “There are moments in our lives,” Henri writes, “there are moments in a day, when we seem to see beyond the usual. Such are the moments of

our greatest happiness. Such are the moments of our greatest wisdom. If one could but recall his vision by some sort of sign. It was in this hope that the arts were invented. Signposts on the way to what may be. Sign-posts toward greater knowledge.” The essence, that intangible quality we connect to and experience, infuses everything. It’s defined as the intrinsic or indispensable properties that serve to characterize or identify something—the most important ingredient, the crucial element. When beginning to paint a subject, that is what I want to be aware of, connect to and fully experience; to somehow imbue within the work.

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Among the Aspens, 40 x 26 inches, Oil on linen

When painting from life, our minds must of course be focused on the fundamental technicalities that compose painting. It is essential to lay the foundation of accurate drawing, structure, variations of color temperature, conservation of values, etc. After all, these are the only tools at our disposal with which to express the more ephemeral qualities. What is in front of us, though, is so much more than that. While my mind delves into the technical aspects, I try to keep in the forefront of my heart the exquisite privilege of being able to study another human being; to see, even if just in some small measure, part of their life story. My deepest desire is that the painting resonates with a glimpse of that story. One of the things that inspires me the most is the seeming dichotomy we exhibit as human beings. We are, each of us, a completely unique culmination of our varied life experiences. No one on this earth has experienced life, thought about life, or observed life in exactly the way you have. We are varied and unique individuals, yet at the same time we all experience the same emotional journeys through life as human beings, and that connects us in a powerful way. We all long for and desire the same essentials—we all want to matter, for our life to have significance and purpose, to love and be loved, to experience peace, freedom, and happiness. These basic fundamental human needs profoundly connect us in a way that is independent of our personal histories or geographical culture. As an artist I am captivated by the unique aesthetic beauty of an individual, and am utterly mesmerized by our underlying connectivity to each other through our emotional journeys.

“Relation and connection are not somewhere and sometimes, but everywhere and always. The divine order does not stop where sight stops.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Morning Light, 10 x 8 inches, Oil on linen

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Remembering Home, 20 x 15 inches, Oil on linen Right: Life study for Remembering Home

I always tell students in my workshops: before laying brush to canvas, invest time to take in the subject visually; to observe, study, and ask yourself the question of what you want to capture—what moves you visually. Form that intention before beginning and then retain that intention while in the process of painting, while simultaneously allowing yourself to be open to the creativity of the moment. I believe learning to see is as vital as learning how to paint what you’re seeing. Remember to pay attention to the traces of emotion that pass across the subject’s eyes or face in the subtlest of ways when they are lost in thought. Connect with that, become aware of it, and it will be transposed into your paintings in beautifully subtle ways. Painter Cecilia Beaux wrote about this in her notes on portrait painting. “The mood of the painter who undertakes to deal with a living soul,” Beaux said, “must indeed be poised and alive at every point. He must feel in the depths of his own nature the shadow of a shade of change—

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of expansion or contraction, that passes over the being before him.” The paintings that capture that essential nature move us in a way that we can’t quite explain. It is beyond accurate drawing, beautiful brushwork or exquisite color shifts, but by all means, all of those elements are present in the finished work. The paintings that capture our attention and make our breath catch resonate with the ineffable, indefinable spark that is intrinsic to a human being. John Singer Sargent, Joaquin Sorolla, Jules Bastien Lepage and all the great masters captured this human spark in their work. You not only marvel at the technical attributes, the handling of paint, the accurate portrayal of elements in a representational way, but their paintings always resonate with a strong sense of essence. Whether it is Sorolla’s paintings of working fisherman on the beaches of Spain, Sargent’s

Fisherman in Valencia, 30 x 41¾ inches, Oil on Canvas Joaquîn Sorolla, 1904 paintings of high society, or Lepage’s portrayals of people in the countryside, the character of the subjects permeates the painting. We are seeing a glimpse of life, an essence of the subject, and an insight into the artist. We are left with a feeling of stronger awareness and appreciation for having seen those paintings. Viewing a great work of art doesn’t just give us inspiration as artists; it also gives us a heightened appreciation and awareness simply of life surrounding us. And isn’t that what painting is all about? It’s about capturing a moment of life, visually paying attention to the world around us, and encouraging others through our creations to do the same. It’s to remind each other to stop for a moment and pay attention, to appreciate—and to express that appreciation creatively. One of my favorite poets, Mary Oliver, puts it poignantly: “To pay attention, this is our endless and proper work.”

I really believe art changes the world. I know this sounds over-generalized, but when we see art, the observation of it changes us. We walk through the world differently. We engage with the world from a new perspective, from a higher intention, and that changes things incrementally. This concept became very clear to me when I was 24 and living in Philadelphia, working on a commissioned sculpture. One day I was walking around Center City, looking at some of the fantastic murals that dot the area. I was standing across the street from a mural thinking about art, its significance, and my own life’s path. You see, this was the first time I had lived in a crowded urban city. As much as I enjoyed the culture of the city, I had also seen a lot over the months that left me dismayed and searching for answers. The week before I had seen a father physically abusing his young son on the street.

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so aggressively that I was afraid the boy’s arm would be pulled out of its socket. My heart sank at the sight, but then something happened. The little boy looked up at the mural, the tears suddenly stopped and his face lit up with the biggest smile. There was a complete transformation at seeing art for that little four-year-old. His circumstances were the same, they hadn’t changed, but he had become different, elevated above his circumstance through the viewing of art. Now just a note, this wasn’t a colorful children’s mural; it was a tonal grey mural of Benjamin Franklin. Even though it’s not what one would consider inspirational to a child, it still gave him joy and still produced in him a transformative effect. The little boy continued smiling in a lofty daze even after passing the mural, as if carrying it with him on the inside. Right then I knew, yes, art is enough.

Autumn Wildflower, 8 x 6 inches, Oil on Linen

By the appearance of the boy’s face it was obviously not the first time. Thankfully, through a series of events the boy was removed from that abusive relationship. But the event left me feeling extremely stressed and depleted, although grateful that I could do something about what I had seen (an eyewitness account was what child services needed to take effective measures). I share that story because as I stood there looking at the mural just days after that event, I remember thinking, is art enough? Maybe I should become a lawyer and really try to change things instead of just painting pictures. At that moment, just as I was questioning the relevance of doing art, a man walked in front of the mural on the other side of the street. He was very roughly pulling a young boy of about four by the arm, while simultaneously yelling obscenities at him. He was dragging the crying boy

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Oliver Wendell Holmes said, “Man’s mind, once stretched by a new idea, never regains its original dimensions.” Art inspires us; it transposes the ordinary into the extraordinary. Through the giving of our attention and creative efforts to it, we become part of that process of transformative power. It’s power is alchemic, giving us inspiration, and an inspired human being is someone who is not hindered by circumstances or limitations. A person inspired can do anything. I am so thankful to the artists who have had the courage to follow their inspiration throughout history and to the present day. They are human beings expressing themselves and the world around them creatively. They remind me every day: as a human being I can do the same, and so can you. Connect with who you are when you’re painting, connect with the beautiful intricate essence of your subject, learn the technical aspects (your ABCs), and then write your novel or your poem in paint. Speak your truth with those tools because it will add so much to this world and it will inspire others in ways you can’t even begin to imagine. “Art is the giving by each man of his evidence to the world. Those who wish to give, love to give, discover the pleasure of giving. Those who give are tremendously strong.” ~ Robert Henri

About Michelle Dunaway Michelle trained in California under contemporary masters Morgan Weistling and Jeremy Lipking before teaching at the renowned California Art Institute in Westlake Village and at the Los Angeles Academy of Figurative Art. She currently lives in New Mexico while teaching nationally through various workshops. www.dunawayfineart.com

Katie and Jenni – The Daughters of Jane Seymour, 30 x 20 inches, Oil on linen Finalist in Portrait Society of America International Portrait Competition and Award of Exceptional Merit winner

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One of the most common characteristics of my work is the abstract background. I use it to give power to the subject and weight to the painting. Here’s how I do it—and why.

Painting portraits is my passion. Nothing holds my attention more than painting a face—young or old, man or woman. I can spend half a lifetime painting a face, striving countless hours to capture the unique quality of that face. However, as my painting years progressed, I noticed that I struggled to finish paintings. Although I liked the concept of the backgrounds I chose to paint, they were impossible for me to finish. I couldn’t focus on them. Somehow, they got in the way of the portrait and did not support the subject. I would do anything to keep from painting when it was time to “fill in the rest.” I have been painting and drawing most of my life, and I feel I am just now starting to figure out both how and what I want to paint. I have always been inspired by what other artists have created, but too often I have been too influenced, to the point of wanting to simply emulate them. This led to subjects and objects I just plumb wasn’t interested in painting. Of course I didn’t realize this at the time, so I kept making the same mistake time and again. I came to the conclusion that painting was supposed to be misery, and that every artist out

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there hated their passion. Another problem with being overly influenced by others was that my paintings lacked a common thread linking them together. A couple of years ago I noticed on a trip to the National Gallery of Art that the vast majority of portraits had simplified backgrounds. I don’t know why this had never dawned on me before—it’s as clear as day now. I realized that I had been complicating my painting unnecessarily. Some of the greats—Rembrandt, Sargent, Klimt, and Ingres—all used simplified backgrounds. A few modern masters like Wyeth, Shanks and Schmid also approach backgrounds with the attitude of less-is-more. What a fantastic realization: many masters, past and present, often simplified their backgrounds. I decided to experiment. Although certainly not a new way to paint, it was new to me. I came up with this style of splashing paint for the backgrounds of my portraits. By building up layers, I can play around with colors and textures in ways I feel are most supportive to the subject.

Essie’s Yellow Ribbon, 51 31 x 24 inches, Oil on linen

The way I now create my backgrounds I always work the portrait and the background simultaneously. This helps ensure that the background and the subject relate and fit together as one. I first put a thin coat of paint on the background, usually transparent brown oxide. This is my grisaille color and starting point for my paintings. After the grisaille dries, I brush on a thinned-down color (the general background color) with a lot of turpenoid mixed in. After laying the painting flat, I cover the subject with paper towels and start to fling thinned paint with a big cheap bristle brush onto the panel. I generally use strong colors, and attempt to get a color theme going. By varying the thinness of paint, I can achieve a wide array of different-sized paint splatters. I do multiple layers and glaze different colors until I feel the background both supports the subject and also has a weight of its own. I want the backgrounds of my paintings to be able to stand on their own, yet not distract from the subject.

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Virginia, 31 x 24 inches, Oil on linen

There are many different ways to approach these backgrounds that lead to highly varying results. For example, if you paint a wide area with relatively dry paint and then splatter turpenoid on top, it spreads the paint out and leaves the color underneath. You can also do this with some stand oil mixed in and you get yet another result. Part of the fun of this process is that you never know exactly how it’s going to dry. What is a painting anyway? To me, it is a visual experience: this one moment in time captured forever by me, in the way that comes naturally to me. As I strive and continue to become my own artist, I paint how I want to paint. And that is the difference. I enjoy it.

Villi, 31 x 24 inches, Oil on linen

Penelope, 31 x 24 inches, Oil on linen 53

Most of my portraits have the subject in the center of the painting. I often stick to this simple composition partially because I’m not trying to do anything clever or say anything more with my paintings than simply “here is an interesting person to look at.” I hope viewers will think the paintings are painted in a beautiful way, both the subject and the background, and are beautiful to look at. For me, at the moment, that’s enough.

same period is Thomas Wilmer Dewing. He will forever hold me enthralled. His subtle tones, encasing figures frozen forever in acts of simplicity, are some of the most beautiful paintings to behold. One other artist I have to mention is Andrew Wyeth. Such strength and heartbreaking grittiness. Much like Dewing—in the sense that his paintings portray a loneliness—it appears to me that with each painting Wyeth reveals a slightly different angle of himself.

One influence I have is Gustav Klimt. His backgrounds opened a door for me that was previously locked. His use of negative space surrounding his subjects has a tantalizing effect on me. He gave me “permission” to experiment with unreal backgrounds: a great painting can lack foreground, middle ground, and background. Another artist from the

Finally, after years of painting, I have come to the point that when I am engrossed in a painting, I don’t look at the work of other people. I discovered that I was the subject in the middle of the painting, and all other art becomes abstract background. •

About Seth Haverkamp Seth comes from a family of creative out-putters. One of Seth’s earliest memories is painting in his older brother’s room. Seth remembers driving his brother nuts with a nonstop string of questions concerning painting and how to achieve what his brother did. Seth still does this, except now he is asking his children the questions. Seth currently lives in Falls Church, Virginia with his artist wife, Kat, and four children. www.sethhaverkamp.com

Echo’s Headdress, 31 x 24 inches, Oil on panel

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by Kristen Thies Curating Fine Art Collections Since 1998

At some time in their careers, most artists ask why collectors buy the paintings they do—a question that is usually followed by, “How can I entice them to buy more of mine?” To better understand what attracts fine art collectors to the work of certain living artists, while that of others goes unnoticed, I asked some prominent connoisseurs about their reasons for collecting.

Although several said they acquire art as an investment, their answers were as varied as the representational paintings and sculpture they own. But they did share a common theme: an emotional connection with the works they purchase. Interestingly, some collectors agreed with Leonardo da Vinci’s concept of cosa mentali, the spiritual component that makes fine art more than just the application of paint to a surface. “There are many reasons I’m led to purchase a work of art. I feel the moment art moves you relates to the moment the artist had in mind when he or she set out to capture the scene. This is the silent whisper that comes to both the artist and the collector — uniting them in a special way.” ~ J.S. Sometimes a painting stirs strong memories, transporting us back to a favorite place or time long past. For example, upon acquiring a forest landscape one collector reminisced:

Shoreline – Naushon Island, Oil, 11 x 14 inches, ©Clyde Aspevig Painted on location during a painting trip to the Forbes family island off of Cape Cod, MA

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“As a child I loved the forest. Our house in Maryland, bordered by acres and acres of forestland, backed up to a reservoir. My sister and brother and I spent countless hours back in the woods. We used to peel up the moss, move it to one spot and make little beds to sleep on the lush, green moss (scared the whole time!). This painting by Timothy reminds me of our marvelous childhood.” ~ S.L. Another collector shared a special vision for the future: “My wife is purposefully, carefully and discerningly putting together a collection of master works because it is an inspiration for her: and because she has a vision that such a collection will inspire others in the future. She has been, and is, very committed to this vision.” ~ W.B. Then there are collectors who purchase paintings for the pure joy of viewing them on a daily basis, and for the ambience of peace they create: “One can’t help but look at something beautiful. There is an elegance and beauty in art that’s so touching; it illuminates and enlivens the beauty within me.” ~ V.F.

Sacred Pines 30 x 18 inches, Oil, ©Timothy R. Thies Painted en plein air during four consecutive days, 2004

“Art chose me. Being an artist is a passionate pursuit of something indefinable and indescribable; it is a driving inner force to paint. Fine art is my life’s work. If you’re painting for your self–for your soul–your work will endure.” ~ Timothy R. Thies (2006)

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Arpeggios, 15 x 22 inches, Oil, ©Richard Schmid 2012 New painting by Richard Schmid, featured in the upcoming Summer 2012 Exhibition – A Return to Understated Excellence, opening July 6, 2012 on Cape Cod, MA. For more information visit www.WestWindFineArt.com

Nancy Guzik is internationally recognized as one of the truly gifted painters of her generation. The winner of numerous awards, she is regarded by many as a leader in the exploration of new ways to celebrate the experience of life through art. “Creating an artwork that is compelling enough to make a viewer want to possess it, starts from skill of course, but the real connection happens when the artist, myself for example, is painting from personal inspiration– free that is, from what I am supposed to do. Keeping the purity of my inspiration alive throughout the painting is the hard part, because I am often trying something I have never tried before and that can sometimes make me feel vulnerable. This is why confidence is so vital to success, and why this adventure is so exciting.” ~ Nancy Guzik (2012)

Samantha in White, 14 x 11 inches, Oil on linen, ©Nancy Guzik 2011-2012

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In addition, a couple of collectors shared their connection with the silent stories captured by the artist’s brush or forged by the sculptor’s hands. “A common thread runs through our collection of representational art. Whether it’s a landscape, a figure, or a still life, we are drawn to paintings that move you beyond the surface into the essence of the subject– paintings that give you the sense that something more is going on than what you see. The artist’s interpretation and subtle variations of brushwork, color, and edges can give a painting an inner quality that draws you in and makes you feel that you’re participating in the moment– making a connection with the subject and the artists. Giving you stories and memories, you can’t quite know but want to imagine. The emotional connection is what we look for in a painting and why we collect original art.” ~ D. & M. B. With this in mind, it becomes even clearer that art is an unspoken language—a direct communication between the artist and the viewer. I therefore recommend knowing to whom you’re speaking, especially if your intention is to establish a market for your work. Capturing nature’s awesome power is evident in paintings and sculpture by George Carlson. Aspiring artists can learn much from George—undoubtedly one of the most

Rosetta Waiting, Bronze, 21 inches high, ©George Carlson

prominent American sculptors and painters of our time. His bronze pieces grace private and public museum collections throughout the world, and he is the recipient of the Prix de West, numerous gold medals, and countless other awards. He just won the Artist’s Choice award at the Masters of the American West Exhibition at the Autry Museum show in February of this year. His paintings were sold by purchase draw and both boxes were stuffed with collector’s names. Only one name was drawn and I witnessed many disappointed people who really wanted to purchase one of his extraordinary oils. I asked George for his thoughts on the artist/collector relationship. “The artistic act of producing something that is fine,” he said, “is mainly the act of caring, giving and loving. Success of a work is when the viewer feels the same wonder that drew you to the subject in the first place.” George’s life-long passion for excellence and the creative process are other key factors to his distinguished achievements. He added with a smile, “I’m in the prime of my life and I’m having the time of my life!”

George Carlson with his paintings at the 2012 Autry Exhibition. Photo ©Kristen Thies 2012

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Clyde Aspevig is one of the foremost Landscape painters in America, recognized for his role in establishing a major presence for representational art. He has won countless awards including the Prix de West and was honored with the

Moonrise Over Vineyard Sound, 24 x 30 inches, Oil, ©Clyde Aspevig Masters of the American West Award presented at the 2007 Masters of the American West Fine Art Exhibition at the Autry National Center in Los Angeles, California. During his long career, Clyde’s paintings have been exhibited in dozens of one-person museum shows throughout America. His latest book, Visual Music: The Landscapes of Clyde Aspevig (2010), published by Juniper Ridge Studios, is exquisite.

as an artist to awaken our senses to the beauty that surrounds us every day, to seek it out with a little vigor, like my father, who always kept an eye open for the beautiful and the unusual, even in a familiar place. Life is an incredible journey of curiosity, imagination and awe. Beauty stands all around us if we just build the habit of looking for it. That’s what I want to help people do.”

When I asked Clyde to share some of his thoughts, he said, “The artist’s job is not to copy nature, but to bring something different to it. If I do my job right, the viewer’s mind can fill in the details I’ve left out but implied. I want to use my skills

I then turned to Richard Schmid for his words of wisdom. He is my dear friend and the beloved painter and author of Alla Prima, which is now in its eleventh printing. He has won nearly every major art award in America and has just

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completed a master work of Abbotsford – The Home of Sir Walter Scott, in Melrose Scotland, which will be unveiled at the Wichita Center for the Arts on September 29, 2012. At age 76, Richard is one of the most prosperous American artists in history. He is a master of the unspoken language and his books, DVDs and lectures have helped establish a powerful force for the renaissance of representational art worldwide. “The great golden ages in art,” Richard told me, “have always been times that celebrated the highest aspirations of the human spirit. We’ve been in a period in which the nihilistic aspects of human experience are emphasized and publicized. Now as we enter the second decade of the 21st century, the demise of this unfortunate art trend is becoming increasingly apparent as more and more thoughtful artists express something that has meaning to it. I choose to paint what is meaningful to me, and if it is compelling, my work will be significant to someone else. Painting is a direct visual communication between the artist and the viewer. It is a joyous affirmation—a reverence for just being alive. It’s a realization that being an artist is a privilege—it’s a prayer to creation.” Says Schmid, “Art is always about the artist– a self portrait of its creator.” If we learn only one thing by following the example of these five great masters, it is this: the success of their work is measured by their great love of beauty and dignity of life. Perhaps Carlson said it best: “When I am in the presence of the subject, I strive to be in sympathy with that life form, to use every ounce of my talent to forge a work that will honor that life.”

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For me, it really comes down to this: Successful artists are defined by their passion for creativity–they always strive for excellence and choose inspiring subjects. Each of these great artists has put in the time to master the tools necessary to create art that is meaningful, with profound authenticity. Ultimately, their Art captivates the viewer with harmonious colors, a variety of edges, values, and excellent drawing skills, and with sculpture, fidelity to accurate form and exquisite patinas. Striving for excellence is the key to success in life and in the arts. It is my hope that if you continually strive for excellence, your art will resonate with the viewer. So much so that collectors simply will not be able to resist owning the beauty of its silent yet compelling language. • About Kristen Thies Kristen established West Wind Fine Art with her late husband Timothy R. Thies in 1998. She assisted Richard Schmid in producing his landmark book, Alla Prima and four of his instructional DVDs. In addition, she helped to curate Schmid’s Retrospective Exhibition at the Butler Institute of American Art in Ohio in 2003. She is the author of Wisdom and The Dreamer: Achieving Fulfillment in the Arts, published by West Wind Fine Art in 2006. Currently Kristen represents the Art of Richard Schmid, Clyde Aspevig, George Carlson, Nancy Guzik, Carol Guzman-Aspevig, Daniel J. Keys, Judy Stach, and prints by Timothy R. Thies. In addition, Kristen has just launched her new blog site: www.MyLifeWithTheMasters.wordpress.com

Artists thrive when surrounded by people who nurture their self-expression and creative spirit. With the proper physical and moral support artists can achieve anything.

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From the initial idea to the final brushstroke, artists wrestle to bring forth their art, as a butterfly strains to break free and fly. The struggle is a labor of love, and is a part of the creative process. As Robert Henri said in The Art Spirit, “A work of art is the trace of a magnificent struggle.” But a struggle an artist should not experience is with their supplies, particularly their painting supports. “To create art,” said Oscar Wilde, “is the most intense mode of individualism that the world has known.” Part of that individualism is finding the right support for your painting style. Robert Henri said, “Your style is the way you talk in paint.” And your support should speak your style, enhance it, and preserve it through the ages. There has always been the need for a strong painting support that will endure for generations. Traditionally, stretched canvas has been the popular choice. Large paintings can be removed from their stretcher frames for easy storage and transport. However, the process of re-stretching and re-keying the canvas creates fine tears in the natural fibers, and the paint film eventually cracks.

Because the back of the canvas is exposed, stretched canvases are more susceptible to damage during handling and environmental conditions of dust and mold. To avoid these issues, conservators recommend painting on a panel. Ross Merrill, former chief curator of conservation at the National Gallery of Art in Washington D.C., said that to restore paintings and prevent further deterioration, the museum mounts them onto a rigid surface. So why not avoid this process by painting on a panel from the start? The value of painting on a panel may not be universally understood. Artists prefer panels for plein air because transport is easy, and sunlight does not penetrate the back of the canvas and distort colors. Yet we sense a growing paradigm shift among artists to use panels exclusively for both studio and plein air work. Aaron Westerberg made the switch and prefers panels over stretched canvas. After painting on a RayMar panel he said, “I am addicted and don’t want to use anything else! These are the strongest supports I have used and they do not

Left: Emily with John Burton (6th annual RayMar Competition Judge) at Weekend with the Masters 2011 Right: Garrapata, 12 x 16 inches, Oil by John Burton

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warp at all.” However, Aaron said one of his galleries, “. . . preferred a stretched canvas simply because it ‘looked’ better or more classical.” He told the gallery, “I would hope a buyer purchases a painting because of what is on the front not the back.“ He went on to explain to the gallery why a panel is more archival than a stretched canvas. Artists know the value of painting on panels but galleries and collectors may not. So what are the essential elements of a museum-quality painting panel? Most importantly the panel should be pH neutral to resist degradation over time. Whether you purchase a panel or make your own, you must use a pH neutral adhesive to bind the canvas to a high quality board or archival surface. Next, the panel should be balanced to prevent warping. If the back of the panel is left bare there will be unequal stress on the two faces, which will then cause the board to bow. Sealing the back of the board can prevent this. Ross Merrill suggested mounting canvas to the unpainted side of a whiteboard, which is hardboard with a tough, white coating on one side. Made of melamine—a resin-infused paper—this coating equalizes the pull of the paint from the one side of the canvas to prevent warping.

Aaron Westerberg Admiration, 48 x 24 inches, Oil on linen panel

William Wray Backdoor, 24 x 24 inches, Oil on canvas panel

“Once I tried panels I had no interest in stretched canvas. I like their solid feel with no give. The rigidity allows me to “attack” the surface with my choice of tools. Stretched canvas flops around too much and is easy to dent. It’s a luxury to open a big pack of fresh custom-made RayMar panels (I even like the smell) and I’m happy to get to work.” ~ William Wray

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“As an artist, I do not need to be rich but I do need to be richly supported,” said Julia Cameron, author of The Artist’s Way. As my mother Cathy (co-founder of RayMar with my late father) and I became more involved with our professional artist family we wanted to do more to support them and be connected with their art. In 2005 we launched RayMar’s first annual Fine Art Competition, an online painting contest with professional artist judges and cash awards. Our innovation was to request that judges write critiques for the winning paintings. We wanted to create an environment for artists to support and learn from each other. Robert Coombs was motivated to enter so judge Hui Han Lui could view and critique his work. Coombs was our first Grand Prize Winner. I later met Robert at a gallery opening in Scottsdale. He took me aside and said, “Your competition helped jumpstart my career.” It was music to my ears, and confirmed our contest idea was a success. Michelle Dunaway, a finalist in the fifth annual Fine Art Competition and a monthly judge, said: “I believe supporting each other as artists is fundamental to our own individual artistic journey. We all stand on the shoulders of those who have forged the way before us. That is why teaching and sharing our knowledge with each other is so important. So when I was asked to judge the RayMar Fine Art Competition this past February I quickly said yes. I believe art contests like this really help aspiring artists enter into the art scene. When up-and-coming artists ask my advice, the first thing I tell them to do— after telling them to paint from life as often as possible and hone their skills—is to enter contests.” Entering contests helps artists in several ways. First, you receive valuable feedback and critiques, which we all need in order to continue in a constant upward growth of our artistic skill. A good critique can help an artist portray with even more clarity, boldness and sensitivity, the subject they are choosing to depict. When Michelle Dunaway was a finalist in last year’s competition she said, “the four critiques I received on my paintings gave me fresh perspectives on my work and helped me to more fully understand how some of my artistic choices translated to the viewer. That is a gift of knowledge that I will carry into future paintings.”

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Above: Emily and Cathy Dietrich with Robert Coombs, the 1st annual $10,000 grand prize winner Below: The Grand Prize Winning Painting, First Leaves Of Autumn, 16 x 11 inches, Oil on linen panel

Contests also help the artist get their paintings seen by a large number of people. There were several finalists in the competition whose work I had never seen before. Now I will definitely be watching their work because I found it inspirational and well executed. Scott Jones, general manager of the Legacy Gallery, has followed the RayMar competition on the Internet since it began in 2005. “I never miss looking at the monthly entries,” Scott said. “It’s a great venue for seeing quality artwork and discovering artists to watch.” Scott has even invited artists he found in the competition to exhibit in the gallery. Michelle Dunaway reminds us: “The key is to not let the acceptance or non-acceptance into these competitions define the worth of your art in your mind. As anyone who has judged a competition knows, beyond looking at the paintings from a technical aspect, it comes down to a gut response… the intangible indefinable something that draws you to one painting over another. It is so subjective. So if your painting does not make the top finalist it may still be an excellent painting and if it does make finalist, you still may have room to grow (we all do). S o when you paint something with the best you have in you, you are doing something brave, something vitally important. You are affirming life and you are doing it in a creative, positive and powerful way, and that in and of itself is a great, worthwhile endeavor.  ompetitions such as RayMar’s and others do much to C educate and elevate the standards of representational painting. They encourage us, as artists, to push ourselves to do our best work and have the courage to share it with others. Truly the inspiration that it gives to others is the biggest reward you can ever receive.

Michelle Dunaway Mucha and Peonies, 34 x 16 inches, Oil on linen

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My father John, who passed in 2007, instilled in me the belief you should always remain a student. I take pride in upholding his legacy and believe our competition helps artists grow and learn from one another. Cathy and I believe it is our calling to support the arts. This year through RayMar we will sponsor American Artist’s 75th Anniversary Competition, along with awards in the Plein Air Salon, and the John August Dietrich Memorial Award in OPA’s Juried Exhibition. We are proud to be involved in Artists on Art’s innovative publication, written by artists to inspire and share their knowledge. We enjoy supporting your art and look forward to meeting you. Your success is our reward. • “Genius is not the possession of the limited few, but exists in some degree in everyone. Where there is natural growth, a full and free play of faculties, genius will manifest itself.” ~ Robert Henri

About Emily Dietrich Emily and her mother Cathy own RayMar Art based in Phoenix, AZ. Emily moved to New York City last fall to expand RayMar’s East Coast presence. You will find her at gallery openings and sponsored art events around the country. Inspired by the energy of the city’s art scene she has enrolled in painting classes at the Art Students League of New York and continues to pursue her passion as a classical pianist. Keep up with Emily and all the news from RayMar on their Facebook page. Please visit www.raymarart.com for museum quality panels and wet painting carriers and follow the RayMar competition at www.raymarartcontest.com.

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