30 Paintings in 30 Days, arrgh!

I’ve been wanting to challenge myself for a while, so this month, I decided to take the plunge. I signed up for the Strada Easel 30-Day Challenge, which has an added twist in that you must draw or paint from life each day (not from photos or imagination). Well, three days in, it’s already hard. I knew it would be. But hopefully, it will all be worthwhile. Here’s what I’ve done so far, the most recent being first. What are you doing to challenge yourself?

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Day 3. Oil on linen, 11 x 14
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Day 2, Oil on linen panel, 10 x 10.
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Day 1, Oil on canvas, 12 x 12.
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Internal plein air monologue

Truth be told, most every plein air painting I’ve ever done has been a struggle. Even though I spend a lot of time painting figures, I do feel like plein air is worth doing. For realist painters, plein air (painting “live,” directly from observing nature, rather than in a studio) is great for learning composition and also for learning how to carefully observe, because the brain does play tricks on us. Side benefit? Painting plein air means you get to hang out in the fresh air on a sunny day. But it’s hard. Damn hard. Usually my internal mental dialogue has gone something like this:

What a beautiful day!

Should I paint this? Or this? Is there shade?

Maybe this.

Is there a bathroom nearby?

Make a decision; you’ve got to paint something.

Okay, this.

Wish I could set up faster.

Horizontal, vertical or square?

Forgot to get the paper towels out. 

What am I looking at? Am I going to be able to draw this?

Forgot to get my glasses out.

No room for my glasses on my setup. Top of the head, it is.

Maybe I need the umbrella after all. 

Hope the umbrella doesn’t tip over.

What am I looking at?

How am I going to simplify that?

What color is that? Why can’t I mix that green? 

This painting sucks.

Why are other people so good at this? Will I ever get good at this? Why am I doing this to myself?

Oooo, the light just got brighter. So pretty. Let’s capture that.

The light changed. Keep going or quit?

Keep going. 

Oh, man, people are approaching. I hope they don’t stop. This painting sucks right now.

Damn, they stopped.

They must be so disappointed. I’m so embarrassed.

Will I ever get good at this? 

Keep going. Light is back. Besides, you’re here already.

How come I can’t mix that color? Why is paint so inadequate for light?

Is the shadow as blue as I am seeing?

I’m sweating. I need another shower.

My canvas is in full light. Gonna affect the color.

Move the umbrella. Again.

Warm or cool?

Is that a bee????? 

Contemplate if I can Epipen myself. If not, wonder how long it will be before anybody finds me.

Outrun bee.

Fresh look at painting. How is it possible for that tree to have too much detail and, at the same time, too little? Amazing.

Am I getting sunburned?

Out with the crazy lady flap hat. Protects my neck and face, but looks batty.

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“Overlook at Cranbrook,” 10×10, oil on linen, Cranbrook Museum, Bloomfield Hills, MI.

What am I looking at? What color is that? How do I separate the greens?

Titanium or flake white?

Flake white replacement. 

Shoo mosquito. Get bit anyway.

The Liquin is getting sticky.

That green. Cad yellow and cobalt? Viridian and cad red? Why can’t I mix the right grey? Is that shadow really that blue?

Too much detail. Scrape.

Better. But still awful.

Maybe not totally awful. I like some things about it.

Why is everybody else so good at this? I feel like such a failure.

Why don’t the other painters I know struggle with this?

Okay, most do. 

My feet hurt.

Values. Are they right?

Of course not. Fix.

I feel like someone is watching again. Should I turn around?

No, sir, painting is not relaxing.

Hope that dog is friendly.

Wait. The couple who’ve decided to make out and are blocking my view, will hopefully move. I was here first.

Stand back; assess.

Light is going. 

Panicked last few strokes to capture the light. Am I ruining it?

Light is gone.

Sigh. Time to pack up.

Better scrape the palette and clean the brushes now. I won’t feel like it later.

I hate this painting. Why do I do this to myself?

Should I scrape it out now? 

Wait. Sometimes I change my mind later.

I’m sweating. I do not look attractive right now. I hope I don’t run into anybody I know.

It’s a beautiful day.

Carefully stow wet painting.

I’m hungry.

Where’s the bathroom?

NEXT MORNING …

Guess I should look at yesterday’s painting to see if I can learn anything.

25% OF THE TIME:

It’s so bad. I suck.

49% OF THE TIME:

Hmmm. It’s not as bad as I thought. Put aside until I decide if it’s salvageable.

20% OF THE TIME:

Huh. This might actually be good with a few tweaks. Who knew?

5% OF THE TIME:

Shocked. Good as-is. Why do I beat myself up so much?

1% OF THE TIME:

When I finish, I think it’s decent.

What’s your process?

Fellow painters, weigh in. Does this sound familiar, or is your plein air experience different?

 

 

Inspiration. Everything for figure painting.

IMG_6592Who knows why some people inspire us to paint well and others don’t? The longer I paint, the more I suspect that it is a combination of a great pose and also my own personal level of intrigue with the model. I painted two paintings on this day. In the morning, I didn’t paint well at all, but in the afternoon … like a happy pill, the antidote appeared. One of my all-time favorite models was booked for the afternoon session. I find her super intelligent; a great combination of smart, thoughtful and nice. Big plus? She holds really still. And then this painting happened without much struggle. Pleased with it overall, but might do a couple tweaks; haven’t decided yet. Alas, no camera ever makes a painting look nearly as good as it does in real life, and Photoshop is woefully inadequate for helping. The contrast is always too much, no matter how you fiddle with it. The human eye is so much better than a camera. 18×14, oil on canvas. Can’t wait until she comes back!

Yesterday’s output

Trying to share the journey as honestly as possible. That includes paintings that are not always the best I can do. Yesterday, we had two models who moved a lot. I don’t quite have the skill level to compensate for that. Yet. Something to work on. Still, I think the costumed one (14×11) is a decent start and I rather like the nude (12×9). Both oil on linen. 

Just. Keep. Painting. (I.e., today’s output)

It’s important to paint a lot. Some studies I throw in a drawer forever; others I finish later. Working at it is what matters most, not the result. I will likely finish these, though the nude will be hard since there’s no reference photo. There rarely is for nudes. Most models, understandably, do not allow photos for nude sessions. Great model today; it makes all the difference. I do not envision taking these paintings much tighter; I rather like them the way they are.

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She was wearing a boa, which I eliminated. Notes to self: Must work on that arm a bit more. Maybe lengthen the dress?

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The contrite painter

Been a little lax in recent months on posting paintings. Here’s a few recent ones I’ve liked. Not sure I have much insight, other than I feel like I’m breaking into a new level. Special thanks to Professor Erin Scott, who’s helped me to think better and triple-dog-dared me on occasion.

Painting on “natural talent,” and why that’s kind of bogus

Three years ago, I started painting after a couple months of messing around with colored pencils. I was stuck and needed some guidance. So I took my first classes. Truth be told, the instructors were rather surprised at how well I did, considering I had zero painting experience and had not drawn at all since high school. I remember the great Roumen Boudev, my instructor, asking me, “which one of these is medium?” and replying, “What’s medium?”

I was a total rube. Despite that, I plugged along and did some passable portraits. “You have a natural gift,” people would tell me. At the time, I considered that to be a huge compliment.

A different perspective on painting

Flash forward three years. Lately I’d been finding those words, always said with good intentions, to rankle. I wasn’t sure why. But one day, my life drawing instructor pulled me aside to discuss my work and my grade. And he said something that pinpointed my annoyance for me. After talking about his reaction to my work, he said, “You are an extremely hard-working and motivated artist.”

I was rather taken aback. I honestly hadn’t thought about myself that way. Sure, I knew I’d worked hard, doing hundreds of paintings in the past three years. But I didn’t really appreciate how hard I’d worked or that it was noticeable. I thought most painters worked as hard as I do. But … some do, some don’t. And focusing on inherent talent alone discounts the value of the hard work I’ve chosen to put into my paintings.

The case for hard work

Consider these two paintings of mine. The one on the left was my first figure drawing and figure painting ever. It was done in 2.5 hours. While I do still like the colors, otherwise it is utterly incompetent. I remember being super angry when class was over; I knew I could do better. And I could. Compare that to the painting at right, which I did a couple months ago, also in 2.5 hours. Huge difference; right? But both were done with the same amount of innate talent.

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Do I think I have a natural gift? Probably. But I think that it’s only about 10% of the equation, maybe less. Most people possess some degree of creativity. It is the cultivation of that gift that makes an artist. Because, even with talent, painting is HARD. Damn hard.