Yesterday's Plein Air Painting

I resolved not to do another blog post until I had another of my own paintings to share. No sooner had I made this resolution than the weather went downhill. I'm not a "hardcore" plein air painter (you know -- painting in a hail storm with the medium turning to frozen jelly) so I waited it out. Yesterday it was nice and I found time to get outside and paint.

This little 8" x 10" depicts my backyard storage shed. I built the shed a few years back with help from my good friend Eric Herzog. It's a Cape Cod and sits tucked in beneath the branches of a giant mulberry tree in the back corner of my yard. I planted a sycamore tree back there a number of years ago, which has matured nicely and shades the front of the shed. I've been wanting to do a painting of it for awhile, and yesterday seemed as a good a time as any.

I'm pretty happy with this one. I'll probably tighten up the drawing of the shed a bit, but I'm pleased with the composition and color. Especially the color. We all struggle with green ("all" defined as: "Bob Baker"), but this time it really clicked. For this one I blended Permanent Green with, variously, Yellow Ochre, Raw Sienna and Ultramarine Blue. Like all great artists I also concentrated on making sure the negative space isn't simply dead space: there's cool color there, even if not readily apparent. But what really made the thing pop was judicious use of Cadmium Red (appropriately -- or inappropriately -- blended with other secret colors). It also helps to have an energentic Collie barking his head off and running circles around you as you paint. Thanks for the inspiration, Sparky!

Robert Henri: Plein Air Artist

Robert Henri (pronounced "HEN rye"), 1865-1929, may be my favorite American artist. His paintings are stunning, of course -- reason enough to love any artist-- but it isn't just that. It's that Henri's artistic sensibilities -- his sense of what we are trying to do when we paint, and, by extension, how we should go about doing it -- are invariably spot on.

If his rival William Merritt Chase (see earlier post) represented America's artistic establishment at the turn of the twentieth century, Henri was the iconoclast. For Henri, art was never simply about painting a "pretty picture." Henri wanted to capture the truth of, and search out the beauty in, everyday life. As a result his paintings frequently focus on commonplace, even conventionally ugly, things. Yet Henri somehow sees into and through his everyday subjects, managing to distill their essential beauty.

Henri was born on June 25, 1865 in Cincinnati, Ohio. In 1883 the family moved to New York City and then to Atlantic City, New Jersey, where Henri finished his first paintings. In 1886 he enrolled in the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts, where he studied under Thomas Anshutz. Two years later he traveled to Paris to study at the Academie Julian and embraced Impressionism. Later, he was admitted to the Ecole des Beaux Arts. At the end of 1891 he returned to Philadelphia and continued his studies at the Academy. In 1892 he began teaching at the Philadelphia School of Design for Women.

In Philadelphia, Henri attracted a group of followers who met at his studio to discuss art and culture, including some illustrators for the Philadelphia Press who would become famous as the "Philadelphia Four" -- William Glackens, George Luks, Everett Shinn and John French Sloan. While in Paris during this period, Canadian artist James Wilson Morrice introduced Henri to the practice of painting pochades on small, wooden panels (see earlier post). This method facilitates the rendering of the spontaneous, urban scenes for which Henri would become famous. Below, right, is Henri's Snow in New York, a well-known example of Henri's urban impressionism.

Henri began teaching at the New York School of Art in 1902, where his students included Edward Hopper, Rockwell Kent, George Bellows, Norman Raeben, Louis D. Fancher and Stuart Davis. In 1906 he was elected to the National Academy of Design, but when painters in his circle were rejected for the Academy's 1907 exhibition he accused fellow jurors of bias and walked off the jury, later referring to the Academy as a "cemetery of art."

In 1908 Henri organized a landmark show entitled "The Eight" at the Macbeth Gallery in New York. Besides his own works and those of the "Philadelphia Four," the show included paintings by Maurice Prendergast, Ernest Lawson and Arthur B. Davies. These painters and this exhibition would come to be associated with the "Ashcan School," an artistic movement that celebrated the beauty to be found in ordinary life.

Henri and his friend John French Sloan were great admirers of Walt Whitman and of Whitman's Leaves of Grass. Like Rembrandt and Dickens, they claimed, Whitman "found great things in the littlest things of life." Henri admired Rembrandt, Hals, Velazquez and Goya for their truthful rendition of the ordinary lives of human subjects.

Henri thought beauty could be found in ordinary life if seen by an extraordinary artist. The work of a number of Henri's students explores darker emotions. Many of Hopper's paintings, for example, are only coldly beautiful -- one senses a "love-hate" relationship between artist and subject. Henri was different: his paintings show a fond regard for the subjects portrayed. Henri loves his subject in spite of or even because of its ordinariness, or even its ugliness. (To understand this concept, think what it must be like to own and care for an English Bulldog.) Above, left, is Henri's Cumulus Clouds, East River, in which he reconciles urban life with a scene of stark, natural beauty. Classic Henri!

Henri's advice to his students is about the best I've seen anywhere, and I follow it (or at least try to follow it!) whenever I go out to paint. To achieve the direct transmission of self into art, Henri advised painters to work quickly on the entire painting surface rather than labor over individual parts. "Do it all in one sitting if you can. In one minute if you can." Most important, in Henri's view, art must be of its own time, based on subjects drawn from the artist's own experience -- and Henri thought that experience should be as wide as possible. Above, right, is Volendam Street Scene, in which Henri captures the simple elegance of everyday people going about their daily work.

In my last post I quipped that if you want to Channel William Merritt Chase, go to breakfast in the dining room of the Helmsley Park Lane hotel in New York, and gaze out the window at Central Park. You need no such elaborate prop to channel Robert Henri: to do it, just look out your back window and notice whatever is pleasing there that you hadn't noticed before. A good collection of Henri's work can be found online at The Athenaeum. Here's a link: http://www.the-athenaeum.org/art/by_artist.php?id=663

One final note: Because of the focus of this blog I've been mainly concerned with Henri's landscapes and street scenes. As you will quickly see if you follow the link provided above, Henri painted a great many human subjects, as well, creating moving renditions of common people in everyday life. They are not to be missed!

William Merritt Chase: Plein Air Artist

What's not to love about William Merritt Chase (self-portrait, left), one of the nineteenth (and twentieth) century's most important American painters and teachers in the Impressionist tradition?

Born in Indiana, Chase was the son of a local merchant. The family moved to Indianapolis in 1861. He showed early artistic talent and studied under local artists in his youth.

After a stint in the Navy Chase was encouraged to move to New York. Arriving there in 1869 he enrolled in the National Academy of Design. For financial reasons Chase left New York in 1870 for St. Louis, Missouri, where he became active in the art community. He exhibited his first painting at the National Academy in 1871 and drew the attention of wealthy collectors in St. Louis. Some of those collectors arranged for Chase to visit Europe for two years.

In Europe Chase attended the Academy of Fine Arts in Munich, studying under Alexander von Wagner and Karl von Piloty. While in Europe Chase focused primarily on figure painting. He later traveled to Venice, Italy, in 1877 with fellow artists Frank Duveneck and John Henry Twachtman, both friends from the Academy of Fine Arts.

In contrast to Tom Thomson (see March 18, 2009 post), it wasn't all about plein air for William Merritt Chase. No "shack by the lake" for him! By 1878 Chase was recognized as one of a number of new, and gifted, European-trained artists in the United States. In New York he opened a studio in the Tenth Street Studio Building, home to many important painters of the day. There he moved into Albert Bierstadt's old studio (more about Bierstadt in a future post), decorating it lavishly. Chase depicted his "inner studio" at Tenth Street in one of his paintings and it is truly remarkable -- fit for a sultan.

Chase was also a member of the Tilers, a group of artists and authors including such artistic notables as Winslow Homer, Arthur Quartley and Augustus Saint Gaudens. In addition to his painting prowess he was an urban sophisticate of the first order.

Chase was actively involved in teaching. He opened the Shinnecock Hills Summer School on eastern Long Island in 1891 and taught there until 1902. He adopted the plein air method and often taught his classes outdoors. He opened the Chase School of Art (now the New York School of Art) in 1896 and taught there until 1907. He also taught at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, the Art Student League and the Brooklyn Art Association.

Chase the landscape painter is best known for two themes of subjects, both painted in an Impressionist style. The first were summer landscapes at Shinnecock (see, for example, Shinnecock Hills I, above left), which are emblematic of American Impressionism at its zenith. The second were scenes of Prospect Park in Brooklyn and of Central Park in New York (see On the Lake, Central Park, below right).

Chase's landscapes frequently feature people at leisure, especially women and children. When I'm in New York on a warm afternoon and find time for a walk through Central Park, I feel the presence of Chase. If you're ever there, try having breakfast in the dining room of the Helmsley Park Lane on Central Park South. Take in the view. You'll be channelling William Merritt Chase!

There's an elegance and sophistication to Chase's work that fairly leaps off the canvas. You find yourself standing a bit straighter having taken in one of his paintings. Along with Robert Henri (his rival) Chase was the most important teacher of artists in the United States at the turn of the twentieth century -- his students included Charles Demuth, Marsden Hartley, Georgia O'Keefe and Edward Charles Volkert.

For more information I highly recommend the William Merritt Chase Virtual Gallery at: http://www.william-merritt-chase.org/. It's a beautiful collection of Chase's work and includes valuable information about his life and artistic career. The images in this post are courtesy of the Virtual Gallery. I am also indebted to the Virtual Gallery for much of the biographical information in this post. Thank you, Virtual Gallery, and thank you, William Merritt Chase!

Coda to March 30, 2009 Post

On March 30, 2009, I posted a couple of my paintings from our family trip to Panama City Beach, Florida over Spring Break. Regarding the boat/beach painting I posted, I commented that I'd hurried the foreground because it was time for lunch. You'll be relieved to learn I've gone back and completed that foreground! For your entertainment pleasure (and in the name of art) the finished work is pictured above left. I will call it: "Boat/Beach Scene - - Post-Pastrami and Swiss on Rye With Side of Chips Version."

Painting With a Pochade Box

"Pochade" is a French word that translates to English as "sketch." In art-speak "pochade" is used to describe a relatively small, rough painting done in the field, sometimes to serve as the basis for a more elaborate studio work, sometimes to stand on its own. For the record (and in case you hadn't noticed) all my pochades are rough, and all stand on their own. I also drive a '98 Crown Vic.

For ye uninitiated -- a pochade box is a small (or small-ish), portable wooden box designed to be taken into the field to execute a pochade -- it's a "mobile painting studio" that usually includes storage space for brushes, paints, panels and maybe a ham sandwich. It always incorporates an easel and pallette set-up, and these days most such boxes are set up to sit on a folding tripod. It is one of the most nimble of all painting systems, even easier to lug around than the plein air French easel that invariably appears in your thought bubble, right next to the beret, when you ponder outdoor oil painting.

Pictured above is my pochade box in its open, "ready to paint" position. This is the "Bitterroot," hand-made by Ben Haggett of Alla Prima Pochade in Missoula, Montana. I placed a painting in the easel so you can see how it works. There's also, as you can see, a place to put your brushes while you're working. The flat surface serves as palette. I covered my palette with a cut-to-size piece of Lexan for easy clean-up. The two drawers are crammed with paints and other stuff.

Inside its specially-designed lid, the Bitterroot has slots for storing painting panels. Dry, ready-to-use panels are transported to the painting site inside the lid, and wet panels can be safely stashed there for the trip home. Above is a photo of the Bitterroot's panel storage lid. You can see two 8" x 10" panels and two 9" x 12" panels ready to go. Neat as a pin.

When you're ready to hit the road, the whole thing folds up into a nice, easy to carry package that you can pop into the car trunk or drop on the seat. The Bitterroot features tricky drawers that will not slide open when the box is fully shut -- a nice feature when you're in transit. Below right is the Bitterroot in its closed and locked position. As you can see, the box itself is a work of art. So if you get tired of painting, you can just sit there and admire your pochade box. I often do.

I highly recommend a pochade box if you get heavily into plein air painting. They make life easier. One word of warning: showing up to a painting site with a pochade box is like showing up to a bowling alley with your own ball -- there will be expectations. Don't worry about it -- art is not a competition!

I studied up on pochade boxes before purchasing the Bitterroot. There are a number of good ones on the market. I highly recommend all of Ben Haggett's products from Alla Prima Pochade. Ben is a plein air painter himself and has an intuitive sense for what you need out there. On top of everything else he's a great guy and very easy to do business with. Check out the Alla Prima Pochade website: http://allaprimapochade.com/. And no, I don't own stock in the company -- I just appreciate quality.

You will also want a good tripod. Most pochade boxes, including those from Alla Prima Pochade, will work with any standard photographic tripod. Fully loaded, my Bitterroot weighs in at a little over 8 lbs. (I pack heavy.) You'll want to make sure your tripod can handle the weight. I found that the "store brand" tripods from Calumet Photo are a very good bang for the buck. Here's the website: http://www.calumetphoto.com/.

There are lots of other little items you can collect. Those will be the subjects of future posts.

Plein Air Painting: Panama City Beach, Florida

My family and I just returned from Spring Break in Panama City Beach, Florida, where I was able to complete a pair of new oil paintings using my dandy little pochade box from Alla Prima Pochade (the subject of a future post).

Panama City Beach has gained a somewhat dubious reputation lately as a college Spring Break mecca and as an example of typical "Florida overdevelopment." But I've been going there since the 1960's and still love the place, warts and all. The area still has some cool natural beaches and wetlands left, like St. Andrews State Park and Shell Island -- an undeveloped barrier island accessible only by boat.

That's where I painted the beach/boat scene above. It took me a couple of hours and a duo of cold Heinekens to pop out this little 8" x 10" and I was pleased with the composition and color. The boat pictured is Lucretia, a 28' Carver cabin cruiser owned by my good friends Glenn and Kris Prechtel. I had to hurry up with the foreground because it was lunchtime and I was hungry!


Here to the left is another little 8" x 10" I painted outside my dad's house, just up the road from St. Andrews State Park.

Midway into this one I thought I'd created a mess, but a half hour or so later it really started to come together. I'm very pleased with the composition. The intense colors felt right at the time and the values are good, so what the heck? This painting evokes my feeling in the moment, which was ebullient considering it was 75 degrees and sunny and I'd just come from Chicago where it was 30 degrees and gloomy! I can almost hear Gato Barbieri playing Poinciana on tenor sax when I look at this one. Or maybe Chuck Mangione -- remember that dude?

I painted both of these on canvas covered board, which generally worked fine. I did have a little problem with the canvas detaching from the board a bit, due to the high humidity, but nothing I can't fix pretty easily here at home. Next time I may just go with Gesso-painted board. Not a huge deal, though.

If you get to the Florida panhandle be sure to check out St. Andrews State Park and Shell Island in Panama City Beach. Destin is a great spot, too. My favorite seafood restaurant anywhere is Captain Anderson's in Panama City Beach. And try driving down to Apalachicola, which is reminiscent of the Florida Keys of the 1950's. Boss Oyster in Apalachicola is not to be missed.

Tom Thomson: Plein Air Artist

One of my favorite plein air artists is Tom Thomson, born August 5, 1877 in Claremont, Ontario, died July 8, 1917 in Algonquin Park, Ontario.

A largely self-taught painter, Thomson first visited Algonquin Park in 1912. He roamed with friends around the wilderness of Canada, especially Ontario, capturing in broad brushstrokes its raw, natural beauty. His style has been compared with that of post-impressionists Vincent Van Gogh and Paul Cezanne. He was a direct influence on the Group of Seven.

Thomson first exhibited with the Ontario Society of Artists in 1913 and became a member in 1914, when the National Gallery of Canada purchased one of his paintings. For several years he shared a studio and living quarters with other artists, before moving into a shack on Canoe Lake in Algonquin Park. It was in Canoe Lake that Thomson drowned in 1917. (The drowning has been called accidental, but rumors abound that Thomson was murdered or took his own life.) Thomson's work has increased in popularity and value since his death. In 2002 the National Gallery of Canada staged a major Thomson exhibition.

I'm drawn to Thomson and his work. He personifies the plein air painter of my imagination -- trekking through the wilderness, maybe stopping to fish for lunch or pausing just to take in the air. And the paintings! Thomson's work is as straightforward and stark as the landscape he depicted. I find myself shooting to paint like him, if only I could -- his work is deceptively simple. Jack Pine, 1916, (above) is a prime example of his spare, rugged style. Hemingway in paint.

Check out the Tom Thomson Art Gallery in Owen Sound, Canada, which maintains an excellent website:

http://www.tomthomson.org/

The Essential Vermeer

In my opening post I commented that "I'm no Vermeer." That's true, but then again, who is? Vermeer, of course! I can't think of a better way to get started in oil painting than by studying the Delft master. Vermeer was shrouded in virtual obscurity for hundreds of years until his recent rediscovery. His known paintings number in the mid-30s and are concentrated mainly in Europe, though we have a few examples here in the States -- the largest number being a handful in the Metropolitan Museum. One of Vermeer's works on display at a Las Vegas casino was recently stolen (don't look at me). Another, on display in Boston, met the same fate.

Why the swell in popularity? Vermeer's works have an immediacy, an intimacy, seldom seen elsewhere and are executed with great precision and sensitivity. Like many of the greatest works of realism, his paintings faithfully represent "what is there" while simultaneously transcending material reality. Vermeer's paintings positively glow with a sense of the sublime behind the stuff of this world -- they are religious works in the highest and best sense. Vermeer was in love with the light and the figures he painted were invariably captured in a spontaneous human instant, with guard down, revealing the soul within. Irresistible.

Despite the paucity of known paintings attributed to Vermeer, it is possible to lose yourself in the study of his work. To study Vermeer is to study the human condition and its link to the divine. A wonderful website, The Essential Vermeer, has been devoted to the study of all things Vermeer. The site includes a catalogue of Vermeer's known works, summaries of his life and times, a discussion of his techniques, an extensive bibliography and much more. It is highly recommended and here's a link:

http://www.essentialvermeer.com/

There's also a very interesting book out, authored and published by Jonathan Janson, entitled How to Paint Your Own Vermeer: Recapturing Materials and Methods of a Seventeenth-Century Master. I haven't read it yet, but I plan to! Here's a link to a site where you can find the book: www.lulu.com/content/388584

How I Got Started Oil Painting

I studied oil painting for a single semester when I was a Senior at DePauw University in 1981. My teacher was the artist Robert Kingsley. At the end of the semester, when Kingsley met with me to discuss my progress, he glanced down at my file and said "you took this class pass/fail, right?" When I responded "yes," Kingsley said "good."

I respected Kingsley then, and still do. I was, without doubt, at the bottom of my oil painting class that semester. On the other hand I had an honest interest in painting and an earnest desire to learn. I loved the class and had a great time, and after graduation I repaid Kingsley's courtesy by continuing to try. Slowly I improved. I'm still no Vermeer, but I'm passable -- a sort of bogie golfer of the art world.

I learned more from Kingsley than I realized at the time. I'm still working on and learning about painting, and the discipline has given me endless pleasure and stretched my powers of observation in ways I never anticipated when I started out. Thanks, Kingsley!

Kingsley, as artist, is the real deal and a very nice guy. Check out his website at: http://www.artistkingsley.com/.