Fine Art for Sale
I just completed “Santa Barbara Mission,” and added it to the site. The original oil is sold, but giclees and hand-worked giclees are available.
When I visit my daughter in Santa Barbara, we sometimes take at look at the old Santa Barbara mission. On this day, we encountered an art group that was painting the mission and I chatted with several members about their paintings and their group.
I have been watching realistic painting demonstrations on YouTube. In one of them, Cesar Santos recommended that artists try to answer three questions about their paintings: “What is my situation in the world? Why do I paint what I paint? What can I do that is powerful?” These seem like great questions for any artist to consider. In what follows, the first section is my interpretation of what Santos meant by the artist’s situation in life. The second and third sections are my attempt to clarify for myself what is my intention at the heart of what I am doing with my choice of subject matter. I sometimes feel slightly vapid in selecting subject matter unconsciously, rather than with a clear intention. For this reason, I was attracted to Santos’ questions. The third question, what makes a painting powerful, is the most challenging for me.
Your situation in life: Painting is a culmination of your life experiences. All of the things, people, and places you have known contribute to it. Whether you are young or old, financially comfortable or struggling to make ends meet, these things shape your perspective on the world, and influence your choice of subject matter. Your painting’s content reflects what is important to you and what concerns you. To some extent, you cannot help but paint about contemporary life, because you are immersed in it. A figure painter may set his or her subject and background in a past period of time, but may unconsciously choose a body type that reflects contemporary ideals. Even a landscape painter is documenting that the sun shines at a certain time of year or that the fog rolls in on June mornings and that trees and streams exist—that humans haven’t yet “paved paradise and put up a parking lot,” as the song goes. Non-objective art could be an exception, yet even shape and color choices seem to have fashions anchored to a period in time.
You can find your inspiration in the patterns of daily life going on around you. As you observe the day-to-day background of your life, you might find subject matter that peaks your interest and invigorates your imagination. You become aware of, and sensitive to, the things around you.
Why I paint what I paint: I want people to respond to my paintings with “awwwwe…,” but without the paintings being trite. I like my paintings to reflect the majestic and beautiful in life. Such paintings are reminders of the finer elements of human experience. In contrast, one of my former life drawing professors likes to paint the faces of men on skid row. Some of his paintings are eight feet tall, consisting of a huge unkempt, weathered, and sad face staring out at the viewer. My teacher would go to Los Angeles and ask men on the street to let him sketch them, making several sketches and offering to give each man his pick of the sketches to keep. My professor ruefully reported that these men invariably seemed to select his best sketch. How did they develop such good taste? I didn’t ask my teacher why he painted these sad sack men, because it seemed likely to me that he was making a social statement, reminding viewers that this aspect of life exists along with the impressive achievements of humanity. In reality, those struggling to survive are vastly more common than are outstanding achievers.
Why I paint what I do is a different question from why do I paint at all. I would probably answer by saying that I want to leave some worthwhile products behind after I am gone. In the meantime, I enjoy my paintings and others do too. I also like challenging myself to find out how skilled I can become. I routinely get myself into predicaments as I paint and seek ways to resolve them. It’s deeply satisfying to finally break through the impasse.
What I can do that is powerful: My former professor’s paintings were certainly powerful. I was even tempted to buy one of his small paintings, because there was something so soulful and, well, beautiful in the eyes gazing out from a mass of wrinkles and a mane of wild, filthy hair. Ultimately, I decided that it would be too much of a downer to have that piece in my home, both for me and for my house guests. I’m not sure such paintings are meant for a home so much as an office space, college, or museum. I first saw my professor’s paintings in the library of the college where he and I worked as faculty members. An entire wall was filled with half a dozen of the eight-foot tall versions of his paintings. The experience of seeing them was unforgettable. I freely acknowledge that my paintings are less powerful.
My painting, “African Mother in a Yellow Dress,” has received a more positive response than any other of my paintings, followed closely by “Almost Shirtsleeve Weather”. Since one of these paintings was completed at the beginning of my art instruction and the latter represents the current state of my painting skills, I have to conclude that it is the content that is gripping more so than my skill in portraying the scene. Both are mother-daughter paintings, in which one of the two people in each painting is looking directly out at the viewer, unsmiling. Both paintings provide a background that supplies context. These similarities also hold true for my paintings “African Mother in a Blue Dress” and “Green-Eyed Madonna”. These two paintings were the most popular at my solo show in 2016. “Blue Dress” came in first as the popular choice and I had a buyer for “Green-Eyed Madonna,” although he backed out later. My painting of “Jane Goodall with an Infant Chimp” also has a similar format, with Jane looking away and the chimp gazing out at the viewer. This painting has an indistinct background that provides a minimal context. Even my painting of my Siamese cats, “Tai Lounging on Tae” has a similar format, with Tai “unsmilingly” gazing at the viewer while Tae looks out a window.
Another of my mother-child paintings, “Double Devotion” packs a punch because the mother in that one has a large tattoo on her arm. Neither mother nor child is gazing at the viewer, which reduces the impact of the painting. This isn’t one of my popular paintings, although I like it. I was inspired to paint it, after seeing a mother lovingly cradling her toddler, while sporting a full tattoo sleeve. Mike and I were attending an outdoor summer concert, and I responded to the tableau by feeling slightly repelled but also attracted to the sight. I thought this would make an edgy painting. I didn’t photograph the scene, out of respect for the mother’s privacy, so I essentially had to make up my own composition.
In each case, there was something that attracted me to the person and scene. Many of my portraits depict a relationship between mother and child that suggests tenderness. The painting “Sweet Dreams” also depicts a tender moment, with a small boy taking a nap with his cat. This is a double portrait, like so many of my paintings are. A trio of figures is supposed to be a magical combination in the art world, but I seem to go for a pair of subjects every time.
In summary, I was attracted to Cesar Santos’ questions because I haven’t had a conscious purpose directing my selection of subject matter. I was somewhat chagrined to discover while answering these questions, that I often don’t choose my own subject matter. It seems that my situation in life is likely to seep into my paintings even if unintentionally, so perhaps I should think of myself as representing the current era and have a good look around me to see what is worth capturing and commemorating. I like to create paintings that inspire and remind people of the most delightful aspects of human life. Finding what makes a painting powerful still eludes me to some extent. I have tried to work backwards in my thinking from the responses my paintings have had to learn what sorts of compositions resonate with people.
I haven’t yet given up on a painting, once I have started it. Yet it isn’t at all uncommon for me to abandon a painting, partway through working on it, and not return to it for a year or more. Luckily, I’m careful when I select a subject matter, so I don’t tend to lose interest in the topic of my painting. Yet, with many of my pieces, I reach a point where I’m not satisfied with what I have produced and feel frustrated about how to get myself through the impasse. I routinely feel stuck, knowing something in my painting isn’t working, but unable to fix it. I think I am trying to produce an effect that is above my skill level. I’m still learning. For me, painting isn’t so much play as it is challenging work. However, the result is deeply satisfying.
I spend at least 20 hours and as many as 50 hours on a painting, so I also am susceptible to becoming tired of them. Sometimes, I let them dry and then hide them from sight in my studio, so I can look at them afresh later.
The portrait painting method I’m currently studying doesn’t allow for this tactic, however. Each painting must be completed before it dries. There are many strategies employed for keeping the painting wet, so that it can be worked on for months. However, I had to make an exception to this practice when one of my portrait paintings, not quite dry or even completed, was accepted for a show. I rushed to finish it, even though I knew that by continuing to work on it, I made it more wet. I used a space heater to encourage the painting to dry. A month later, when I had it back from the show, I wanted to rework it, dry as it was, because I felt I hadn’t entirely captured the loveliness of my subject. I think I did substantially improve it, but still…it doesn’t quite do her justice. Hmm. Shall I give it another try?
There are times when I revisit “completed” paintings, because I’m continually learning new painting techniques, and I see things that bother me in these older pieces. This is a weird experience, because some of these paintings are on a cotton canvas, whereas I currently paint on boards that are completely free of texture or pliability. I have two sets of brushes—those meant to forcibly move paint across the normal texture of a cotton or linen canvas, and the delicate, natural-hair brushes I use for portraits on a texture-free board. I have tried a few plein air landscapes on a smooth board, with my portrait brushes and oil-infused paints, and realized that I even like these tools for that sort of painting. An unexpected yet charming aspect to using clove oil (a drying retardant) as an additive to my oil paints, is that when plein air painting, I often attract bees to my palette.
What about you? Do you relate to this struggle with unfinished pieces of art? If so, how do you cope with them? What causes you to abandon a painting? Do you usually get back to those pieces and finish them? Where do you store them in the meantime? Do some of your pieces get painted over or tossed out? Cezanne, and other famous artists destroyed many of their paintings that they thought did not reflect well on their ability, so if you have done that you are in good company.
May was a great month for me, at least artistically. I was featured in the Torrance Art Guild newsletter as the featured artist of the month. Click on the page below to link to the full article.
We’re all hunkered down waiting out this Pandemic. Family and friends are safe and we hope you are. We have a whole bunch of shows planned. Looking forward to telling you about them.
