“While the existing natural forms remain the same… their appearance changes with the time of day, light, and atmospheric conditions. Similar to the way memory takes things separate in time and assembles them into a new entity.
“…the actual subject of the art is not an event proceeding in linear fashion but multifarious simultaneousness of layers of time.”
The more familiar a location becomes, the more the variations, differences and similarities created by the seasons, weather, time of day reveal themselves, filtered through mood. My paintings are not of one moment in a location, but many; often not one location but several combined in memory into one place that feels familiar. I know where it is, but you probably see it at somewhere else.
The cliffs in my forthcoming Edges Exhibition, for instance, remind many of Kilt Rock. But to me it’s not as there’s no waterfall. That cliff painting is still a work-in-progress that might still get finished in time for next Monday’s 6pm exhibition opening.
I’m sure you’ve heard how soft, northern light (or southern, if you’re on the other side of the equator) in your studio is critical. But it’s all too easily an excuse, another aspect of Never Moving Beyond Liking the Idea of Being Creative. Work around what light you’ve got; your paintings aren’t going to be hung in unchanging light anyway.
This photo shows sunlight blazing through the northwest-facing window near my easel (and sunlight isn’t as rare on Skye as many believe!). Yes, I could moderate it with a blind, but that would not only shut out the view over the sea, but upset studio cat who enjoys lying on the wide windowsill.
The inspiration for titles for paintings comes from all sorts of places; sometimes a title even leads to a particular composition (such as “Lambic Pentameter”). In this instance, the comments on my abstracted painting inspired by a rocky shore about it looking like people and war led the in-house art critic to suggest the military term “Beachhead” as a title. Works for me on several levels, and thus this painting now has a title.
“I believe in what the subject makes you do – yes, I do believe in a subject in the sense that it’s your starting point. And I suppose I am essentially a romantic. I believe in the sort of emotion that you get from what your eyes show you and what you feel about certain things. … I don’t really know what I’m painting. I’m just trying to paint!”
— Joan Eardley (1921-1963), BBC interview 1963
I’ve been looking a lot at the flower/field/landscape paintings by Scottish artist Joan Eardley. I like her abstraction, with enough realism to anchor it, giving viewers a path to connecting with and understanding a painting.
Sometimes an idea takes quite some time to make it into paint (and not every idea does). I’ve previously done a rocky shore as a pencil drawing and in charcoal, as well as an etching. This version doesn’t have a sea/sky horizon.
I started by creating a dark ground, using a chromatic black mixed with texture medium. Once this had dried, I “drew” with various colours of Golden’s High Flow Acrylics. Once this had dried, I painted the sea and ‘tops’ of the rocksy, again using very fluid paint. I’m now, once again, waiting for paint to dry, and will then access whether I’ll be doing anything else to it. Right now I think not, but looking in it in different light tomorrow will tell me.
Here are a few details from the sheep painting I’ve been working on (see work-in-progress photos), as well as an overall photo. It’s now at the “don’t fiddle with it” stage, put to one side where I can see it but not to be touched unless I’m going to do something very specific. I particularly like the texture* on the sheep, which catches the light at certain angles.
*The texture was created using Golden’s Light Molding Paste (Buy Direct: UK Art Shop or USA) [compensated affiliate links] and a Catalyst Blade, which looks like a pastry brush (Buy Direct: UK Art Shop or USA) [compensated affiliate links] .
These four photos show this painting-in-progress I was working on yesterday.
Photo 1: Though you can’t see it in the photo, the sheep in the foreground and the cliffs in the distance had been ‘sketched’ in with texture paste, which is why I had put down colour on the sky, hills, and sea only. This having now dried, I started by adding yellow to the foreground, knowing the blue under this would show through, shifting it towards green. I applied the yellow directly to the canvas, then used a brush dipped in clean water and then some glazing medium to spread it around.
Photo 2: Without cleaning the yellow from my brush, I picked up some blue from my palette and let this run down, creating green. I added dark (perylene green) for the sheeps’ heads and legs, and applied a little to the distant hill. Then I started adding white for the sheeps’ wool.
Photo 3: I’ve added more colour to both the foreground and the distant hills. Permanent rose mixed with the leftover blueish colour on my brush/palette, giving a range of pink-purples, suitable heather colour. Then another round of white added to the sheep.
Photo 4: I’ve applied more dark to the faces (running the brush along the texture of the horns), and greens to the background. This wasn’t tube green, but created by mixing quinacridone gold with leftovers on my palette. Now it needs to dry completely before another round, which I’m hoping will get me to the “is it finished yet?” stage.
Last year  I painted almost nothing but flowers to accustom myself to a colour other than grey, that’s to say pink, soft or bright green, light blue, violet, yellow, orange, fine red. And when I painted landscape in Asnières this summer I saw more colour in it than before.”
Looking at the daffodils in the sunshine this spring, all the different yellows, I’ve found myself thinking about that quote attributed to Picasso about “they’ll sell you thousands of greens but never the particular green you’re after”. The yellows of the same daffodil change as the sun shifts, as the light falls on different parts, as shadows move, blooms open and fade.
To paint them I feel as if I need to dig out every yellow, blue and green I’ve got along with some reds and oranges. The temptation will be procrastinating into colour mixing. The way around this is to mix on the canvas not my palette. I may still get distracted by colour, but can all form part of a layer in a painting.
Vincent van Gogh’s various paintings of cut sunflowers in a vase (e.g. Sunflowers 1888) are probably his best-known flower paintings, but he also painted growing flowers, such as these irises. I enjoy not only his use of colour and mark making, but the way he makes flowers fill the whole composition and flattens the depth of field (an influence from Japanese art on him). A floral colour field, to apply a concept from a few decades later, and another influence on my painting, Rothko.