A purplish gray light comes through my window this morning. Outside is a dark, cold and quiet world dusted with snow. It is stark, bleak; and silent. Winter has come. 

I find it inexplicably beautiful, and can’t help but wonder why?  What is in this that speaks to me? And what is it within me that is being spoken to and can hear it? 

Honestly, I’m not sure, but somewhere deep in my marrow I know the Wheel in the Sky has turned and that it is the time for holidays and family, for rest, sleep and dreams. 

Winter has come.   


If you have interesting ideas about why the starkness of Winter can be emotionally evocative and even beautiful (to some at least), I’d love for you to share your ideas in the comments on this blog. 

 I don't know what I was expecting when I went to Arizona last January, but I wasn't expecting the colorful, starkly beautiful, ancient and expansive land I found. It was really something. 

Arizona is so different than Kentucky.  Here in the eastern United States Nature seems gentle, rounded, fertile, inviting, providing, even motherly.  But in Arizona the scale is so large, and it's all desert and red granite cliffs and well, though astoundingly beautiful, the land seems unforgiving.  In olden times someone traveling across Arizona either knew where they could reliably find water (in what they referred to as "tanks") or they perished. Hmmm... maybe not just in olden times. 

If all goes according to plan, I'll be walking across the red granite of the Superstition Mountains east of Phoenix late this upcoming January.  And I'll be hoping to not have to rely on the "tanks" as I'll be packing a LOT of water.  And my camera. Hopefully, some good art will come of it! 

 

Like many European cities, Paris offers an incredible bounty of aesthetics and antiquity. Everywhere you look there are beautiful old buildings, sculptures, gardens, bridges, streets, and lots and lots of people everywhere enjoying it all.  It is food for the artist’s soul. I walked for many miles while I was there, and here is a little 10" x 8" from a sunny afternoon stroll near the Seine.   

 

When painting a scene like this I attempt to represent human figures as simply as I can and still infuse them with gesture, balance, grace, and life. In the lower right hand section of this painting you can see a couple taking in the statue before them. A few strokes of paint and voilà we have a man and his wife considering Rodin.  

I recently returned from my first trip to Europe, and as those who have traveled in Europe know, it is a visual feast for artists! 

 

Here is a street scene for you, from Vienna, Austria. With map, compass and camera in hand, I was attempting to weave my way on foot to Stephen's Platz, the site of an extraordinary gothic cathedral in the center of the old town, and I suspected I was getting close but couldn't really tell.  It didn't matter much because scenes such as this just kept presenting themselves every minute. 

 

In this painting, I attempted to convey a sense of light and atmosphere along with the bustling activity on the street. So how to make something look really lit up? In painting the sunlit umbrellas of the outdoor cafe, I recalled two useful concepts; "flat looks lit" and "the halo effect". Really strong light burns out detail; our eye just can't see into such bright light and that creates a "flat" look to the object. A halo of light surrounding the umbrellas also makes them look as if the light striking them is so strong that it bursts into full luminescence upon them and scintillates into the surrounding atmosphere. This "halo effect" if done subtly can really make something look lit up, but if overdone can make the object look as if it was sent from God-- not what I was going for.  Balance is the key.

More paintings from Europe to come!

It's nice here this morning. Our skies are mostly clear. It is a gentle and coolish summer morning, always these days with a hint of Fall. Just a hint. Maybe it's the shorter days, the longer shadows, the quality of the light, or a change in smells, or the obvious coolness, but really, who knows what we perceive and understand on a subconscious level. We are after all animals: human, goose, heron, muskrat... all of us expressions of the same "something"... all of us part of the same "whole". 

 

That’s what was running through my mind just a few days ago while canoeing on the Dix River.   The above painting was done from a combination of photographs, feeling and memory.  Fall colors aren’t due until next month here in Kentucky, but because I pushed the warms in the sunlit areas and cools in the shadows to get more of the feel of strong sunlight I ended up with a painting that carries an “end of Summer/early Autumn look”. It might not be coincidence; that “look” reflects many of the feelings and thoughts I was experiencing while there on the river. 

 

Maybe this painting will evoke end of Summer/early Autumn feelings in you too, and if it does, then perhaps the subject of this painting has become something "more than a River". 

Just like in a classic chiaroscuro still life, this painting is about mystery in the shadows and an intensifying path of light revealed by the objects upon which it shines.  At one level it is about light and mystery; at another level it is about the literal and psychological power of water. 

I find the "mystery" part especially fitting, as this waterfall resides beside one of the oldest trails in the Smokies.  What is now called the "Road Prong" trail is in fact an ancient trail that existed prior to the settlers' arrival to the region, and was known in the 18th century by the name of the "Indian Gap" trail.  Makes you wonder, doesn't it. 

It is a beautiful thing to be walking immersed in the deep woods and find an unexpected "power spot" such as this.  How many times over the centuries have people traveling this trail sat beside this very falls where I sat and felt wonder at the drama, beauty and mystery of Nature?  How many before me have sat there and felt connection to the whole?

Connection: one of the main reasons I hike, and paint. 

  Clouds can make challenging and wonderful subject matter, and towards the turn of the day, they can take on such subtle yet beautiful tones.  I often go out with my dogs, sketch kit and backpack chair in the late afternoon when the cumulus clouds are building and sit out somewhere lost in the country sketching clouds.  Here's a few examples of what I do, each being about 2 x 3 inches:

              

For me, the trick with clouds (and maybe for anything) is to paint them simply and still strive to maintain exquisite fidelity to their drawing and character.  We do want to get the feel without overworking, and towards that end I analyze patterns of shapes, prepare to distill areas with numerous colors and values down into one tone, simplify lines and masses and really leave out as much detail as I can get away with.  But at the same time, I am extremely careful to get this simplified drawing "right".  It's about letting go of trying to be literal, while at the same time still maintaining fidelity to the drawing and the character of what we are painting.  

To quote David Leffel, "rendering is longhand: painting is shorthand".  At its best, painting is really effective shorthand. 

That's a key for me: simplify and still strive for exquisite accuracy, so that it will ring true and keep its strength, undiluted by superfluous detail. 

No offense meant to them, but my figure drawing models are dogs!  

Molly, the hound mix on the right is a luscious dare I say full figured blond; what we might even call "Rubenesque".  Casey on the left is a sculpted Jack Russell Beagle mix (I call him a "Jack Regal"), and though he is getting along in the years he still dreams of finding and slaying a mastodon.   No luck yet.

These dogs are not only my traveling companions in life, going hiking and plein painting with me, but they also stand in as my daily figure drawing models.  The great artist and teacher Quang Ho says that throughout all the classes and workshops he's taught the number one problem plaguing art students is drawing.  And the number two problem...  also drawing.    I've been told the inscription over the entrance to the Louvre translates to "well drawn is well painted". 

If "success is a few simple disciplines practiced daily", then I should choose to spend time drawing each day so that I can become a better painter.  So I do. 

In the quiet time of each morning I get on the couch with my dogs, a cup of coffee beside me, and practice the very enjoyable daily discipline of drawing, including drawing my lovely napping dogs. 

I did this simple oil sketch (3" x 4") as a demonstration for an exercise we did in the weekly oil painting classes I teach at Artists' Attic. 

 

First we painted from a black and white photograph (for those of you who know this area, it's from a breathtaking overlook of the Kentucky River near Danville, looking towards the Chenault Bridge) and simplified it into a mosaic of 3 to 7 interesting value shapes, each one painted a grey tone representing the average value for that shape. Secondly, we tinted those grey tones with just a little color and re-painted the same composition with the color tinted greys, adding just a little finish at the end.

It is always surprising to me to see the strength in simplicity and freshness. 

Simply put: less is more. 

 

As a poet says much with few words; an artist should consider just how much to say.  Should we attempt to spell out all of the detail we can see? Would that really make the painting "better"?  Or should we attempt to translate reality into poetic brushstrokes and beautiful pieces of paint?

So this is to help me remember how much more effective it is to say little, but to say enough, and to say it well-- in Art as in Life.  

Welcome!

So here is my first blog, sent to my friends, those curious, and whomever might wander this internet way.  Thanks in advance for your interest, and for the simple fact that we who strive to make visual poetry, though we strive for reasons within ourselves, do appreciate the viewer, as it is the viewer who completes the connection.  And Art, at its essence is about connection, to someone or something.  More on that later.

So, check out some connection to this old Sycamore Tree!  How do you not love trees!!  Trees have all the poetry, grace and balance as do figures, and that's why they are so difficult to paint and so beautiful if you get them right!  Those of you who know Sycamores know they have a Nature-- a creek lovin' nature.  Some of you also have creek loving nature.  And so you share this.

What Nature do you share?