"We Are What We Repeatedly Do."

"We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act but a habit." - Aristotle.


I've been thinking a lot about habits lately. I just finished reading The Power of Habit  by Charles Duhigg. The book will give you lots of ideas if you want to get rid of bad habits or install some new and better ones. A habit is something that we do over and over again, sometimes without our full realization of it. The important thing to remember is that we get some kind of reward from a particular habit, or else we wouldn't do them. The habit is the trigger that results in a certain behavior that gives us a reward.

Personally, I've always had better luck adding new good habits than attacking my bad habits head-on. Say, for example, you're in the habit of snarfing a bag of caramels when you get home from work, not that I would ever do anything so shameful. If you simply make yourself a mug of virtuous green tea and enjoy that before you attack the caramels, you might forgo the caramels or maybe eat fewer of them. Or then again, you could end up finding yourself with a green-tea-and-bag-of-caramels habit.

Incidentally,the artist Paul Foxton has set up a website, Creative Triggers, which encourages art practice based on cultivating habits. I highly recommend it  if you're trying to squeeze a lot of things into your day and have trouble finding time to teach yourself how to create art.    

Many artists have a series of habits, or procedures, to help them get into (and through) their work day. I don't have a problem getting to the easel, but I sometimes have to settle myself down before I can concentrate, especially if I'm feeling pressured or anxious or I think a painting is starting to fizzle. My studio habits are just simple daily routines that convince my brain that I am in fact going to do something wonderful today; they help me get focused. I'll bet that most artists have some version of what I'm writing about in this post. A lot of people seem to think that artists only work when they are inspired. It's the other way around; I go to work on a regular basis and then the inspiration hits (if I'm lucky).

The first thing I do is change into my standing shoes (thick rubber soled clogs). They make a big difference when you stand for hours at a time; I'm told that surgeons and chefs wear clogs too. You can't really dance in them, though.

Next, I fill up the electric teakettle and make a pot of tea. I try to drink at least half of it during the day and I often drink the whole thing. I'm partial to rustic, earthy teas but I'll try anything once. This Australian tea, Bushells, is nice; so is Billy Tea and Yorkshire Gold.

I put a tea cozy over the pot to keep it warm for hours after you take out the tea leaves. This tea cozy is made out of an old sweater my mother made me when I was little; I took off the sleeves, doubled up the body and put in some fiberfill stuffing to help retain the heat. I've been known to wear this on my head when the temperature drops and I don't want to turn the heat on, but mostly it's a nice daily reminder of my mom.

Putting the paint out on the palette is a thoughtful routine for many artists as they begin their work sessions (see my prior post on my palette). I either keep my paint covered with plastic wrap at the end of the day or put it in the freezer.

Next, I put on an apron; I have at least three of them. I also have a home apron for when I'm done in the studio and need to do things around the house. This helps me change gears psychologically from art-maker to care-giver, which was important when my kids were little and it was critical to be present for them and not brooding about what next to do with my artwork.

Finally, I decide whether to put on some music. I probably get more done with silence, but if the neighbor's dog starts barking endlessly I put something on. I like ambient and classical music and the occasional audiobook.

Colors on my Palette

I don't always use exactly the same colors, for a number of reasons.  For example, I often leave out the pale colors next to the whites because they take up too much room. I was using a more limited palette for a while, but the photo below is what I'm working with right now. Sometimes I'll play with various brands and put new colors in there also (for example, I often use a deeper green than Viridian). These are small blobs of paint in the photo - I'll put on more of some paint than others, depending on what area I'm working on.

From left to right:
Titanium Dioxide
Flake White
Brilliant Yellow Light
Rosebud
Kings Blue Extra Pale Light
Radiant Violet (first time I've used this, not sure I'll keep it)
Yellow Ochre
Genuine Naples Yellow Light (I'm not sure this is made anymore)
Vermillion
Pyrrolo Red
Dioxazine Purple
Cobalt Blue
Ultramarine Blue Deep
Viridian
Green-Gold ( sort of a Cinnabar Green)
Capucine Red Light
Transparent Oxide Red
Ivory Black

The palette itself doesn't usually look quite this bad. I need to sand it down and re-finish it. It's a hand-held palette but I frequently clamp it to things when I'm working so I don't have to hold it the whole time. A few years ago I woke up one morning and couldn't lift my arm up higher than my shoulder - my arm was frozen in the holding-a-palette-position, which was fine if you're a painter or if you don't need to hail taxis very often, but embarrassing since I needed help getting dressed or, say, brushing my hair. Physical therapy fixes this issue, by the way, but much better to prevent these sorts of problems in the first place.

And here's a photo of the brands I'm using at the moment:

The white is an alkyd white (I don't know why the flake white isn't up there on the table, sorry about that. I'm not seeing the purple either). I was having some problems with the flake white on my current painting since it wasn't drying fast enough for my taste so I'm using more titanium in the flesh than I usually do. I work in layers without a grisalle underpainting, so I don't know how I would describe my style of painting, not quite alla prima but not classical technique, either.

I'm also oiling out with the Gamblin solvent free gel - this is the first time I'm using it and I like it a lot. I've got a self-tubed tube of Oleogel also (if you're self-tubing, try to find the tubes with big black caps, don't buy the tubes with white caps like I have shown here). My brushes are piled up in the middle - maybe I'll do a post later on my favorite brushes.

Drawing the Active Body: "Force"

There are a lot of ways you can draw the human body. One way is to take your time and carefully observe, measure, study and draw each beautiful form and aspect, preferably over several days or weeks. Another way is to draw a body in a more dynamic pose, one which is (usually) difficult or impossible to hold for a long time. This second type of drawing, usually termed "gesture drawing", is approached a little differently, and illustrators and cartoonists often train to draw the figure this way. Sam Prokopenko (see link on the right side of page) has been posting videos recently about gesture drawing.

A good book about capturing the energy around this type of dynamic drawing is Force: Dynamic Life Drawing for Animators by Michael D. Mattesi.

Cover of the book, Force (my scan of the book cover; see link above for the Amazon link.)

One of the things I like about this book is the author's emphasis on remaining open to the richness and intensity of the human experience. It's important to remember that it's not all about anatomical accuracy when you draw, there is something else that's important taking place - your drawing is an expression of yours and the model's humanity:

"When drawing the model, stay present and in utter awe! When he or she takes the stand, it is as if they are a god or godess presented to us. They represent you and the rest of humanity. Become amazed and stay open to this fantastic occurrence. Your experience with the model is your drawing. Therefore, the more rich, incredible, and dramatic your experience, the more rich, incredible, and dramatic your drawing. You are the vehicle to this journey so if you are closed and fearful, so is your work. Use the idea of having the richest and most stimulationg experience drawing the model's humanity while using your very own as the purpose to drawing. All of the technique throught the rest of this book is to serve that higher purpose." Mattesi, Ibid, p ix

In addition to discussions about forceful lines, rhythms, forms and shapes, the discussions about perspective are very useful. One of the objectives of expressive drawing is to slightly exaggerate perspective to make the drawn forms seem more alive. One way to exaggerate perspective is to be clear as to what recedes in space and what comes forward. Establishing which forms are in front of others is what's known as "overlap." What you don't want to do is create tangents, where forms seem to be touching one another:

My scan. Mattesi, Ibid., p.82

Another way to establish the spatial relationship of forms is through varying the thickness of lines. In the example below, the artist has thickened the lines which are closest to the viewer:

My scan. Mattesi, Ibid., p.85

Mattesi also talks about drawing animals and people in public as they go about their business, paying attention to mood, character and interaction. His chapters on these topics are excellent.

All of this is making me want to post some of my own sketches here. I'm rarely without a sketchbook when I travel and I usually indulge in this covert activity in airports; I think I'll do a separate blog post about this later on. 

"Sir Duncan Campbell" by Sir Henry Raeburn

I get over to San Francisco pretty frequently and when I do, I try to get to the Legion of Honor Museum and visit "Sir Duncan Campbell" by artist Sir Henry Raeburn (1756 - 1823) . The painting is usually hung at eye level, gazing down benignly into your own eyes, since Campbell was clearly painted on a somewhat elevated model stand.

"Sir Duncan Campbell"  Image taken from this site.

I have tremendous respect and admiration for Raeburn. Born in Edinburgh, Scotland and orphaned, he taught himself how to paint by working with a jeweler, painting miniatures. After deciding to pursue portrait painting as a career, he married well, met the famous English painter Joshua Reynolds and then went to Italy to study art for two years. Raeburn returned to Edinburgh and started his very successful career in commissioned portraiture.

  "Charles Hay, Lord Newton",   by Sir Henry Raeburn, image from this site.


Raeburn's painting technique is characterized by bold brushwork, dramatic lighting and a sensitivity to the characteristics of the individuals he painted. His paint handling is fluid and expressive, with remarkable control of tonal relationships. Sitters would come to his studio and be entertained by his wit and good nature as the painter worked on capturing the likeness. He seemed to have an immediate and fresh response to his sitters; he had "... an unpremeditated view of the outcome, which meant a minimum of planning and little preliminary 'drawing' on the canvas in the sense that [English painter Sir Thomas Lawrence] would have understood the term." Duncan Thomson, Raeburn: The Art of Sir Henry Raeburn, Scottish National Portrait Gallery, Edinburgh 1997. This meant that some of his paintings evidence signs of overpainting and changes as the painting progressed. It also means he employed a variety of paint techniques throughout his life. Many of his paintings are broadly worked in the manner of Velasquez, but he also painted portraits which are subtle and nuanced.

Raeburn worked sight-size, meaning that he set up his easel next to the podium for his sitters. His studio was lit by a large north-facing window which he had built for his use, and also installed a complex series of shutters to control the flow of light into the room.

Thomson, Ibid., page 24. My scan, which is a little fuzzy, sorry.

Darren Rousar has written a wonderful post on Raeburn and his sight-size technique on his Studio Rousar site here.  Rousar's site is a terrific source of information about painters working in the realist tradition, I highly recommend it to artists.

My books and my research online indicates that Raeburn apparently left very few drawings or preparatory sketches. However, around ten years ago, in the early days of Ebay, my husband found this online, "Portrait Drawing of a Lady, by Sir Henry Raeburn." He paid around $200 for it. It has no particular provenance except that it came from Canada. Is it a fake? I suppose so, but well, here it is anyway. If anybody reading this is a Raeburn expert I hope you'll email me. A few years ago, I did get to go to Scotland and briefly thought I would take this with me to show the experts up in Edinburgh, but then I thought I might not be able to get back out of the country with it.

"Portrait of Lady" by...... ?...

Meanwhile, I try to sketch Raeburns whenever I'm in museums. I often don't have much time; it depends who I'm with, but I do stand and draw them whenever I can. Raeburn was amazingly prolific in his career and his paintings are widely distributed. One of my best experiences was in the sparsely-attended museum in Dublin. The museum guards wanted to bring me a chair and were extremely nice to me, especially after I told them I had distant Irish roots. This is what I did with Sir Duncan Campbell in San Francisco:

My little sketch.

Narrative Art, Part Three - More About Sequencing

Let's return for a minute to Will Eisner's classic book,  Comics and Sequential Art. (This links to the Amazon page for the book.)

If you're a figurative painter with a desire to produce a narrative painting, then obviously you're going to need to consider what your figures will be doing in your painting. A key consideration is selecting a gesture and a posture to convey whatever information you're trying to get across. These considerations are broadly thought of as "body language", which are particularly important in the case of a "traditional" painting where you wouldn't have text or any particular verbal clue as to what the artist intends (unless you have a fairly obvious title for your painting, perhaps).

Eisner starts first by discussing gestures. These drawings below are very broad, theatrical gestures, caricatured for comic purposes, of course. You might want to tone gestures down in a painting, or even make a gesture as neutral as possible, but you'll understand what he means here:

Will Eisner, Comics and Sequential Art, p. 104 (my scan)


You're going to have to put your figure in some kind of posture, too. Broadly speaking, a posture is an visually recognizable attitude or position manifested by a figure, such as resting or digging a hole with a shovel. Your figures can be in an infinite variety of postures and you'll have to select one which best expresses your plan for your artwork. Your selected pose is then "frozen in time" on your canvas, so you'll want to select a position which most accurately describes the action or situation you want to convey:

Will Eisner, Comics and Sequential Art, p. 107 (my scan)

How do you feel about each of these figures in the two rectangles above? Which one looks more aggressive to you, the one with the arm reaching toward you, or the one with the shield up? They're the same figure, of course, but do you see how simply selecting a different pose changes the focus of our attitude toward the figure? It's the same figure, but (and this is important, I think) at different points in time.

Remember also that even a figure at complete rest, with a sleeping, neutral expression, is in a posture, and it's a living posture, not the attitude of a dead body (see yesterday's blogpost).

Making artwork come alive, with movement and, a little later in history, sound, is of course the province of the animated film. More on this later on.

Narrative Art, Part Two: "The Raft of the Medusa"

"The Raft of the Medusa" by Theodore Gericault. Photo from Wikipedia. One of my favorite paintings, hanging at the Louve.

First, a little background: in 1816 the French frigate Medusa ran aground off the coast of what is now Mauritania. The lifeboats could not carry everyone, so 147 passengers and crew were left to drift on a hastily constructed liferaft, which they endured for 13 days, suffering terrible hardships. Only 15 of the 147 survived the ordeal. The incident became an international scandal.

Gericault was a young painter (he was only 27 when he painted this) and the story of the tragedy fascinated him. He created this large, non-commissioned work by doing a lot of intense research, including interviewing two of the survivors, and went to morgues to learn about how he could best depict dead flesh. This painting caused an immediate sensation and helped launch his too-brief career.  Gericault died young at 32 but his reputation far outlasted him and he became one of the leading lights of French Romanticism.

Gericault went through many preparatory oil sketches in the design of this massive painting, as you can imagine - he wanted to get the design right and spent much time in the planning stages of this piece. But after he decided on a composition, he seems to have painted directly on the canvas without preparatory sketches:

[Géricault's method] astonished me as much as his intense industry. He painted directly on the white canvas, without rough sketch or any preparation of any sort, except for the firmly traced contours, and yet the solidity of the work was none the worse for it. I was struck by the keen attention with which he examined the model before touching brush to canvas. He seemed to proceed slowly, when in reality he executed very rapidly, placing one touch after the other in its place, rarely having to go over his work more than once. There was very little perceptible movement of his body or arms. His expression was perfectly calm ... 
Quote from Wikipedia.

One of the problems with this painting, by the way, is that Gericault used bitumen as one of his colors, which degrades over time to a kind of treacle, eventually destroying much of the painting. I've also heard that there is a problem with Gericault's white in this piece.

I'm including this painting in my narrative art series for many reasons, but first I want to point out that it segues from what I was talking about the other day. It's an example of changing the viewer's perspective to maximize impact for narrative purposes. When I talk about the viewer's perspective, I mean that this scene is painted as if the artist were standing on a boat just a little to the back and off to the right of the raft. This is not quite a bird's eye view, but it is a broad, omniscient view, and it might be interesting to contemplate how the artist could have swiveled this around a bit to portray this scene while facing the waving figure, for example, or perhaps a dying-person point of view from the raft. Both options would have changed the way we interpret this piece, though possibly in a subtle and hard to describe way. The way it is depicted here seems as if Gericault is not only making a statement about the horrors of this incident and the dramatic rescue of the few survivors, but that he is also making a statement about the perennial hope of mankind for some kind of rescue. You don't have to know a thing about the historical background of this massive work to be moved by it. It has a broader and more universal appeal.

I think that this painting also shows an internal, left to right sequencing, from the death and desolation on the left, through life and hope climaxing at the the top of the composition as the crewman frantically waves to the passing ship for help.

Gericault spent 18 months on this painting, working intensely. It obviously took over his life for a while, as you can imagine working on a painting this size (193.3 in. x 282.3 in., or, 16 feet x 23.5 feet). He was consumed by this painting. Gericault is one of my heros.

If you get to the Louve, there is a big bench in front of this painting where you can sit and gaze up at it, imagining yourself part of the raft, or maybe you can imagine yourself becoming Gericault for a time, trying to get this all down on this massive canvas.

Narrative Art, Part One: Sequencing

The concept of  narrative and sequencing in art is important (to me, anyway) and I'm going to have to break it down into several blog posts, so please bear with me, this is going to be... well, sequential.

Photo of Will Eisner, taken from Amazon's site about him.

Will Eisner (1917 -2005) was the author of the seminal book Comics and Sequential Art (that's the Amazon link to the book). Eisner was a genius and he broke new ground in trying to take a serious, scholarly look at the process of  telling a story that unfolds over time. Mr. Eisner taught for many years at New York's School of Visual Arts and  is famous among comic fans for his groundbreaking role in the comic industry, inventing The Spirit, Sheena, and other characters. Incidentally, one of my favorite novels, Michael Chaboun's The Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, is reported to be based partially on the life of Will Eisner.

I'm primarily an easel painter but I'm fascinated by the concept of narrative in painting and the implications of the passage of time. Sequential art has prehistoric roots, encompassing such forms of expression as petroglyphs, Egyptian hieroglyphics and ancient friezes from many cultures. To a large degree, easel painting has evolved into an art form which depicts one moment selected from a long chain of potential moments. The unspoken assumption about easel painting is that the painted image is basically a moment in time, frozen so that we can go back and revisit that moment, if we chose to. Artists talk about the "timelessness" of certain moments, usually involving beauty. But comics and other forms of visual sequential art (the classic illustrated children's book is one form; movies are another) aren't about "timeless moments", because they function within time. They must not only build interesting visual patterns in a single frame but link each frame in a convincing fashion so that we are taken from image to image in the narrative.

Eisner wrote some interesting things about the concept of time and "framing time":

"Albert Einstein in his Special Theory (Relativity) states that time is not absolute but relative to the position of the observer. In essence the panel (or box) makes that postulate a reality for the comic book reader. The act of paneling or boxing the action not only defines its perimeters but establishes the position of the reader in relation to the scene and indicates the duration of the event." - Eiser, Comics and Sequential Art, p. 28

Eisner is thinking cinematically, not necessarily like an easel painter, who in a traditional sense sets up objects or people and works near them and tries to "capture" some element of reality. Eisner's not thinking, "how accurately can I paint this passage?", he's thinking, "is this what I want to portray in order to advance my narrative?"

He is, however, thinking about how to compose within the frame:

Eisner, Comics and Sequential Art, p. 88 (my scan)

He's thinking, how can I compose this panel to convey the emotion I'm trying to describe?

Eisner is also thinking in terms of perspective, but not really in the sense that easel painters think about perspective. He's trying to manipulate the viewer's orientation for a specific purpose:

Eisner, Comics and Sequential Art, p. 89 (my scan)

Even if you're not interested in narration or content in particular, simply by adjusting your point of view to another location in space changes everything you might want to convey to the viewer. As in everything else in life, what you see as an artist depends upon where you stand.

More on this later.