Beauty and Irony

 

While Coming into Mt. Shasta

I love the unexpected inspiration that comes from road trips. My husband and I traveled recently up I5 and then over to the southern Oregon coast, then inland to Portland for a few days. We headed back home via I5. 

This scene struck me as we entered the town of Mt. Shasta for the final night of the trip. The town is the namesake of the second highest mountain (after Mt. Rainier in Washington State) in the Cascade range. 

To be honest, the beauty of those simple sheds and solid colors is what first caught my eye. The irony of that simplicity against nature's rugged majesty is what caused me to paint the scene. 

In Love...with California Live Oaks

 

California Live Oak 1
8" x 8" watercolor
Arches 100% cotton hot press

I haven't yet unlocked the code of how to paint California live oaks (AKA coastal lives oaks), but that doesn't keep me from trying. They're so lovely to look at, these drought-resistant trees that populate the hillsides, sometimes all by their lonesome. This time of year, the contrast with the dry, whitening grasses is especially beautiful, though with this recent hot spell, we're especially ready for the fall rains to begin.  

California Live Oak 2
10" x 10" watercolor
Arches 100% cotton cold press paper

Iowa

 

Iowa
5" x 7" watercolor 
on Arches 100% cotton hot press paper

Each state has its beauty. Iowa, my home state, has plenty of it in skies, fields, and prairies. 

The Joy of Practicing

Corner of Morton and San Jose
7" x 10" watercolor
on Arches 100% hot press paper

Lately I’ve hit an inspirational doldrum as a painter. Travels, such as my recent trip to Colorado, tend to tickle the Muse; routine can soften her voice, even though I live in a place surrounded by beauty and great weather. 

So this week I took two mornings to drive around our island in search not of subject matter that reaches out and touches me, like travel does, but that at least interests me in terms of light/dark, textural, or color contrasts.

For this painting it was the light/dark contrast of the sun-soaked houses (including that bright white trim of the charcoal-colored house on the right) with the darker trees and the shade they threw on the sides and foreground.

The yellow right-turn sign on the bottom left was the icing on the cake. I left it out of the value study below but decided to keep it in the top painting.

This is not a painting I’ll frame, but painting both the value study below and the full-color painting above did provide me with a couple of hours of transcendent joy as I practiced with lights and darks. And it might make a fun card folded in half to some friend who appreciates my quirky paintings.

 

Value Study to Painting: Kinda/Sorta

Okay, so here's kinda/sorta how those value studies work. On top is a finished painting.

Just below is the initial value/color study. For that, I first used just one color, a fun color called "Moonglow" by Daniel Smith that separates into subtle pinks and blues as it dries, to decide where the mediums and darks would go. (I left the lights white.) 

Then I added a few pops of color here and there, to begin to experiment with what to use for a color palette. 

From there I sketched the composition onto an 10" x 10" format, and painted, trying to stay as loose as possible, and trying not to get caught up in details, especially in the middle ground and back ground. I thought the viewer's eye might first go from tree to tree, but I also thought the diagonal pattern in the foreground might lead the eye to those lighter rocks that go up at an angle just behind the trees. 

It's not a perfect painting, but there's some appeal in it for me, both visually and symbolically. In early August I hiked Colorado foothills northwest of Ft. Collins with two long-time friends. We stood by these trees one day; to me, they represent a deepening sisterhood that transcends time and place. 

Here's the value/color study, below. 

The Value of Value Studies

 

Suddenly my eyes are open re: the value of value studies, thanks to Geoff Allen, whose 2-day workshop I took last week in Alameda, Ca. What a talented artist and great teacher.

Geoff emphasized the creating of small value studies in order to work out lights, mediums, and darks before starting a painting. It helps balance the composition as you link the medium-value areas for unity, and, as importantly, determine where to save the white/light areas. (Since watercolors are mostly transparent, you can't use lighter colors over darker ones; you have to save the light areas all throughout the painting process.) 

Awhile back I took a workshop from Midwestern artist Andy Evansen, who also emphasizes value studies. I did them for awhile but fell away from the practice. But I'm older and (theoretically) smarter now, and I see the need more clearly. 

I'm having a great time with these studies in my 7x10" spiral-bound Stillman & Birns sketchbook, Zeta Series. Typically you use just one color of paint, but sometimes it's tempting to add another color or two, for emphasis/interest or to test out foundational colors for the painting.

Of course, sometimes the value study is better than the ensuing "real" painting. (That is the case re: the top study; I've tried two versions that have bombed.) Or sometimes the study doesn't grab you enough to want to make a painting from it. Whatever the case, I'm having fun trying, and I think this is an important skill to develop within the watercolor learning curve. 

Line of Trees Near Fort Mason
10" x 10" watercolor
Arches 100% cotton cold press paper

Thank you, artist Howard Jones: your demo painting of a tree could be life-changing. Yes, I've thought this before with other artists, and I know this painting doesn't show it yet, but I feel like Jones' demo unlocks some of the keys for loosening up as a watercolorist. I won't go into detail; I'll just continue to practice some of his techniques and see what develops.

I've painted three compositions in the last two days, none of which makes my heart sing. But I've been reviewing wisdom from Art and Fear: Observations on the Perils (and Rewards) of Artmaking, by David Bayles and Ted Orland, and this passage reminds me that these "blah" paintings are necessary:

"The function of the overwhelming majority of your artwork is simply to teach you how to make the small fraction of your artwork that soars. One of the basic and difficult lessons every artist must learn is that even the failed paintings are essential....[Y]ou learn to make your work by making your work, and a great many of the pieces you make along the way will never stand out as finished art. The best you can do is make art you care about--and lots of it!" 

So today a big thank you goes to Howard Jones for new ideas and to Bayles and Orland for inspiration to continue.