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CRIT NOTES No. 20 - Feb. 08 No. 19 - Nov. 07
No. 18 - Sept. 07 |
Critique Notes - No. 18/Sept. 2007 IN THIS EDITION: The panoramic landscape The design of a landscape space that stretches outside the standard landscape proportions poses some interesting challenges. With lots of extra east-west real estate, how can integration be maintained? How can you make sure that what's happening all the way to the left feels related to what's happening all the way to the right? Urban alndscape painter Michael Stasinos, who has devoted considerable time to panoramas, says that he tries to divide the panorama into a diptych or triptych, making sure that each segment can stand on it's own. This doesn't mean that the canvas has to literally be divided in half or in thirds, but that the implied divisions create compositions that could theoretically stand alone. You can see Michael's panoramas at his website.
There is also a book called Landscape Illusion by Daniel Chard, who discusses and diagrams many panoramic landscapes. When is a painting done? It's great to be emotionally attached to your goal, but not so in love with the painting that you become unwilling to make changes. Michael Stasinos says, "If you're in love with it, you're done." If you love what you've done, the more attached you are and the more resistant to change you will be. And that is the key point. One wants to be satisfied with their progress, but not so much that it inhibits continued exploration. The openness to change should be greatest at the start, and then diminish as you proceed to finish. One of the reasons some of my paintings take a long time is because of my willingness to give it an overhaul in the eleventh hour. If the painting asks for something something, I give it to it! (But only if it asks nicely.) In addition to being satisfied with the outcome, another clue that I'm approaching the finish line is that whatever changes I make seem to make less and less difference. The new strokes don't make the painting any better. Plein air vs. studio painting The differences between plein air painting and studio painting area perennial topic of conversation among landscape painters. Should you try to capture the same expressive qualities in your studio work as your plein air sketches? Is it realistic to expect your plein air sketches to resolves subtle issue of color and composition in the same way a long studio painting might? Landscape painters divide their time between the outdoor and indoor studios in different ways. Some work exclusively outdoors. For them, the direct response to nature and the sense of immediacy that is captured is the definition of landscape painting. Their plein air works are their studio paintings. Other painters develop their landscapes almost exclusively in the studio, yet often return to nature to keep their translation skills limber and to gather inspiration and source material. Most landscape painters, though, work in both studios. They know from experience that indoor and outdoor works are different dialects of a single language, each suited for a particular type of poetry. Outdoor work is typically infused with a spontaneity and fluid brushwork that is less common in larger studio works. But larger works are capable of accomplishing feats the small, quick plein air study cannot. Although both approaches are informed by a direct observation of nature, there are conceptual and practical differences between them.Regardless of your preference, there is no denying that the study of landscape painting necessarily involves a direct experience of nature. Under the sun, in the caress of a cool breeze with clouds cascading overhead, and wide open spaces in every direction is the only place we can draw our initial inspiration and take our foundation lessons.
True, there are some artistic personalities who are naturally able to transpose the innate spontaneity and painterly style of small work into larger studio pieces, but for most, this isn’t something that comes naturally. In my experience, larger, more time consuming studio paintings and plein air work are different sub-genres of the landscape motif. The small work does things the large painting cannot, and the large painting achieves things not possible in the small. They are different dialects of the same visual language and should be respected for their differences. Working large also requires you to scale up your artistic consciousness—your paint, your brushstrokes, and your movements. For some, considerable inertia needs to be overcome. If you use dime-sized daubs of paint in plein air work, you’ll need to squeeze out half dollar-sized daubs for larger paintings, especially if you hope to infuse some level of painterlyness. If 4-, 6-, and 8-sized brushes were used for small work, then brushes at least twice that size are needed for the larger painting. Using more paint and putting it down can take some courage. |
Recently, one of my students, who up to that time had only worked outdoors, told me he was making his first attempts at larger paintings based on his outdoor studies. He said, “I’m trying to keep the same level of spontaneity as in the small studies.” The way he said it suggested that he was having trouble. My reply: “Don’t try to make them do the same thing.”