daily a stone

“I really have but a few moments to devote to it daily; yet daily a stone, small or great, is laid upon the pile.” - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

It seems that most days I have little time to put towards my painting but I try to grab even 30 minutes or an hour here and there. So the other day I worked up this color study of a group of buildings. Unfortunately, I have no idea of the location of this view. But I wanted to just get down the general effect of these forms and the light that was pouring across them as the sun broke through on a blustery March afternoon. I worked on this at home from notes I made earlier in the day. It measures 8 x 12” and is more than just quick color notes but less than a complete painting. And there are problems with the perspective.

On these March days, when the air is really wet, the buildings liquefy and puddle as the distance pulls them away. It was really beautiful to look at and I wanted to get some of that effect down.

a bad painting

“What shall I wish you: good studies made after nature, that is the best thing.” - Paul Cézanne to Charles Camoin, 13 Sept. 1903

“Paint is worth attention even in a bad painting.” - Lynton Lamb, Preparation For Painting

A few months back I mentioned a watercolor painting I had started that was much larger (19.25 x 26.75”) than any I had previously done in that medium. I also said that, good or bad, I would post it . I’ve been finished for a while now and here it is, perfectly nice and perfectly boring. (The image will be cropped later.)

The subject is a roof line and water tower, visible from the intersection of East 17th Street & University, and is typical of the many thousands in New York. Water towers fascinate me. The plaster and brick walls, weathered and discolored, along with the random accumulation of antennas, vents, ducts, and other objects, make each one entirely different than the next. It’s fascinating, like people or snowflakes - - - you wonder how there can be so many with no two the same.

I have a growing amount of sketches and watercolors of these water towers and their adjacent roof lines. I also take photos, for backup. This painting was worked up from one of those small sketches and other notes. I see now I should have made more sketches and more notes.

But I didn’t want to get caught up in detail. Rather, I wanted to approach it in a simple and straightforward way. I am fascinated by the work of the English watercolorist John Sell Cotman (1782-1842). The simplicity of his paintings is almost deceptive. They have such beautiful, broad handling. That’s what I was attempting - - - not his effect, since that is his own, but his approach. This may appear to conflict with my ongoing efforts in (so-called) “realism” but it doesn’t. Really.

And I failed. This is a bad painting. But even failures are valuable. I will have to do it over. Despite my original intentions, I spent too much time on it and tamped the life right out. This was an attempt to work in watercolor at almost four times larger than I normally work at. The size of the brush, the relation of the brushstroke to the size of the image, is entirely different here than at one-quarter the size, as you can imagine.

When I paint it again I will further simplify my approach. But, for now, here it is, overdue and full of problems.

we're all happy in Jamaica

“The right time is any time that one is still so lucky as to have.”
- Henry James

“With the real travel snobs I have shuddered at the mention of pleasure cruises or circular tours or personally conducted parties, of professional guides and hotels under English management. Every Englishman abroad, until it is proved to the contrary, likes to consider himself a traveler and not a tourist.”
- Evelyn Waugh, Labels (1930)

“Come on Jamaica
Everybody say
We're all happy in Jamaica . . .”
- Elton John


I had the good fortune of being invited to Jamaica to do paintings for a store the last week of January. Air fare, painting supplies, accommodations, ground transportation and meals for the whole week, everything was paid for. Outstanding! It was a lot of work - - - more than any of us had accounted for, and I was very happy that my brother David and my friend Jim were both there. They had their own work to do but helped me out plenty. Two school children wandered in and I immediately turned them into apprentices. Look how talented they are.

The butterfly was painted on the front of a display counter. Other images were painted on the windows but that’s a bit difficult to make out in photos. Reflections on the glass and such.

The week went very, very fast and we all three wished to see more of the country. I had never seen water that color. It was sapphire and sparkled like the sun. It was so clear you could read the morning paper under water if you wanted. And the people were very charming.

We ate all our meals in the small, local restaurant, all but one being fewer than six tables. We stayed in a house in Negril, along the island’s northwestern coast. We effectively avoided the tour package experience. We were comfortable and well fed, but we did need some help with the language. Periodically, I couldn’t understand the local pronunciation and at some point would give up (who was it who said England and America were two countries divided by a common language? Likewise Jamaica.). I didn’t have enough time to really get an understanding of the money down there. A cup of coffee was sixty Jamaican dollars (about 70 cents American). Our driver for the week, Andrew, helped us out tremendously.

Our days were spent about an hour east in Lucea, a small coastal town that appears to have one main road wrapping through the center of everything like a ribbon. Two cars can barely manage to pass without clipping off each others mirrors. There were few sidewalks, the pedestrians just staying along the edge of the roads. Children walked along, side by side, in their various school uniforms. Voices were everywhere. The quarters were close and compact, and the brightly colored buildings all called out for attention. The sky and the water were both equal in their blues and the white plaster and the doorways painted in reds, blues, greens, and yellows all competed and then merged in my mind, adding to the visual energy all around me. Most business signs were hand painted, some carved, and described goods and services in color combinations unimaginable. But for all this dazzle Lucea was a town unhurried and there was a slow, easy pace to the streets.

A whole week in the Caribbean and I came back just as pale as when I left New York. Leave it to me.

only abandoned

“And first of all,
whatever good work you begin to do,
beg of Him with most earnest prayer to perfect it.”
- St. Benedict's Rule for Monasteries, tr. by Leonard J. Doyle

“A movie is never finished, only abandoned.”
- George Lucas

Mercy. Where does the time go? Here it is, 2009. One year passes, another takes its place, and I am again hit with the realization that there are so many paintings in my head that I want to work on but only a finite number of hours in a week to put towards them. I want this to be a year of real development with my work and know that total dedication and single-mindedness is required. The creative act is an eternal optimism that one enters into. But it comes up against the reality of daily life and one is forced to make cuts here and there. It's where the want for perfection meets up with the need for compromise. It isn't nice at all.

But without the discipline of making a decision, putting down a color, and moving on, little is accomplished. All those paintings just stay in my head.

Drawing is an important discipline for a painter and is crucial in my work. Not only do I try to fully work out all aspects of an idea for a painting through drawings, I also draw as an end in itself and believe, in most situations, it should describe the total form. Not just the shape but also a sense of the object's weight - - - the physical center of the thing, not only its outer surface. I'm always working on getting better and always feel that I have a long way to go. Vernon Blake believed that sculpting helps a draftsman develop the understanding necessary to represent form, that creating an object in three dimensions helps in comprehending it. He may have something there. So much of drawing is mis-handled as outline and ignores the physical stuff that comprises the whole thing. But a painter has to know what to focus on and what to ignore. It's all about making decisions.

In The Art & Craft of Drawing (1926),Vernon Blake insists against using an eraser, whereas John Ruskin, in The Elements of Drawing (1857), assures the reader about "rubbing out and out again, never minding how much your paper is dirtied". Even my heroes contradict each other.

the realm of observation

Paint what you know. - Andrew Wyeth

Here the danger to be avoided and overcome if it arises is the inevitable temptation to neglect some aspects of the object and to modify others in order to 'impart health to form', which is the beginning of art. We are in the realm of observation and of the mind's effort to describe it.
- Etienne Gilson, Forms and Substances In The Arts

(Still life) does not invent things for its own sake, or indulge in fantasy or caprice. The constant return to familiar things is a mark of sobriety and self-restraint, a refusal to enter into flights of imagination; on the contrary, their aim is to dispel illusion and remind vision of its actual place and powers.
- Norman Bryson, his essay Rhopography in Looking At the Overlooked


I thought these two egg tempera paintings would be an appropriate way to end the year. I was motivated to work in water-based media, specifically egg tempera and watercolor, after moving into a smaller space two years ago. My bedroom is at one end of the room, my work area at the other - - - the typical New York City compromise. So I was forced by necessity to work at a smaller, more manageable scale and to re-orient myself to how I work. The lives of painters can be an unreasonable balancing act, with the artwork always getting too little attention. And periodically we drop out only to resurface later. I have yet to hit my stride but continue to work at this and am making progress. I am pleased with these two paintings (the one of the pine cone is not finished yet) and I am happier with where my efforts stand than I was two years ago. Or even one year, for that matter. But Art is a hungry beast - - - the more you give it the more it demands. With more space, I suppose I would try bigger paintings, but I once had a separate, bigger studio and never got a damn thing done, anyway.

And I used the term "Art" a moment ago. I always found that term a bit pretentious but don't have another to use right now. For me it's Painting, for others it's something else.

But back to my previous comment - - - I started focusing on water-based painting media and really enjoy the control egg tempera affords. I make it fresh with egg yolk and dry pigments and have not developed beyond the initial baby steps. There is a painter by the name of Robert Vickrey whose work in egg tempera is really amazing. And he has completely broken free from the tight, fine cross-hatching technique that has been employed for centuries. To look at his work, you would think it's airbrushed or something, but it's not. I have both his books on egg tempera technique listed in the Materials & Techniques section of my other blog, Bullock Online Library (the link is included nearby). I have started with the traditional process of making the paint fresh in the morning before starting work, developing the slow, patient cross-hatching to render the image. It is time consuming but, also, meditative. If you are not in the right frame of mind "meditative" turns into "maddening" very quickly. If you click on the images, the brush work is magnified.

So this will be my last blog entry for 2008. I hope you all have a blessed and safe New Year.

let alone the sun

Painting is, and must be, a sacrifice of less significant truths in order to obtain truth as a whole. How can we, with our poor pigments, represent the luminous and the infinite gradations seen in nature, either of light and dark or of colour? Black and white, for instance - the pigments which represent for us the extremes of light and darkness - what relation has white paint, seen in the subdued light of room or gallery, where pictures must be seen, to the bright light on the rolling cumulus in the summer heavens; let alone the sun, the source of light, or its reflection on streams or from polished surfaces? Or black, to that intensity of darkness when from sunny daylight we look into some deep cavernous gloom? The same may be said of all pigments which represent colour; they all are sorry substitutes for nature's hues.
- Samuel & Richard Redgrave, A Century of British Painters, 1866


My watercolors tend to be fairly small and immediate. Most are done on the spot with an intuition that can be lacking in my larger, more "finished" work. Beliefs about good painting versus bad can, potentially, morph into an abandonment of instinct, if one is overly conscious of them. The beliefs aren't wrong, just potentially cumbersome. It is terrible to discover your best efforts leading you away from where you want to go. In painting, theory and intent can be your compass or your ball and chain.

Currently, I am at work on a watercolor painting that measures about 19 x 27" - - - the largest I've worked in watercolor. I want to see what I am inclined to do and am able to accomplish at this size. When it is finished I will post it - - good or bad. In the meantime, I don't want to show it "in progress".

The images I included here today are some watercolors I did this summer. Two were done on the spot. The other, the Brooklyn waterfront viewed from lower Manhattan, was started on location and finished in the studio. I'm pretty happy with it. It has a crispness and accuracy that I wanted without losing a sense of atmosphere and ease. I may do a larger version of it later.

learning to see

"We have no visual knowledge of any kind except that of form and space. The dimensions of space determine the world in which we move and live; and space, in turn, is established and defined by the objects or forms that occupy it. The artist, concerned with giving graphic expression to his perceptions and his creative imagination, cannot avoid re-creating form in space, for there can be no visual communication that is formless and spaceless - there can be just nothing at all."
- Graham Collier, Form, Space, and Vision (2nd edition)

"Drawing is learning to see. When we begin, we draw what we think we see..... As we look more closely, we begin to recognize shapes and relationships accurately; we engage with the subject and we begin to read and interpret the marks of the drawing itself, and we allow the subject and the marks of the drawing to guide us through the process. This is the beginning of drawing and learning to see."
- Margaret Krug, An Artist's Handbook: Materials & Techniques

"Form, line, texture, value, and color are the plastic means by which the artist can express graphic ideas. Although the term plastic denotes something formed or molded, as in the three dimensions of sculpture, the draftsman can, by a skillful use of line, texture, and value, create a very real sense of plasticity within the two dimensions of a flat surface."
- Bernard Chaet, The Art of Drawing


I am out and about most days with my sketchbook and nerdy mechanical pencil, finding in groups of buildings and other objects the arrangements of forms and colors that excite my imagination and lead to further study, sometimes resulting in the final layout for a new painting. Recently, I've become really intrigued by egg cartons, of all things. The logical, simplified forms and their relationships to each other in such close proximity was a lot of fun to draw. They are, in essence, architectural. I'm continuing to work on this and have some ideas to do a painting in, of course, egg tempera.

In the above quote, Graham Collier ignores color as part of our "visual knowledge". I don't know why he does. Color affects perception. The appearance of shapes and masses depends, in part, on their color - advancing or receding, standing out in sharp contrast or blending in with the overcast sky. It is an important part of visual knowledge. Sorry, Mr. Collier.