Squint they say. Squint!

Wildflowers

Original oil painting  14x18"

by Susan Roux

I have to admit, I really can't see. 

I don't mean that I'm blind, though I often refer to myself as the blind artist. Without my glasses the world is a blur. I like to think of it as a good blur. 

Most art teachers will stress the importance of squinting. It eliminates detail and reduces your subject to a series of values. It's a great tool. You can quickly evaluate which darks are the darkest and assess exactly where the light turns to shadow. Sometimes color can be confusing. It can play tricks on your eyes. An object of bright color placed in shadow may appear lighter than another of a dark color in light. A quick squint and the real values come into clear view, instantly. I think it may be one of an artists most important tools. 

I teach to a new group of beginners twice a year through a local Adult Ed program. I've come to realize how useful it is for me to teach this class. It keeps me focused on the fundamental basics. When you take people who've never picked up a brush, perhaps never even drawn before and try to teach them to achieve pleasing results in a total of 16 hours, you find yourself focusing on the bare essentials. My first lesson is all about learning to see. I refer to it as apple night. We paint a single apple three or four times within two hours. I've found the first thing a student needs to know is how to begin looking at things.

Objects of any kind can be broken down as a form. If you learn how to see the basic make up of forms, you can be taught to imitate the values and thus capture form on your canvas. It is the fundamental premise of representational art. 

Squint. Remember to squint!

I began the above painting during my artist retreat at the mansion last month. In one sitting (standing really) I played wet into wet capturing this simple marsh scene. I was unhappy with part of the foreground. Now I wish I had photographed it at that stage to show you, but it didn't occur to me to do so at the time. All I was thinking of was fixing it! The swooping bush of delicate white flowers didn't read as a full bush. It was a problem of overlooking form. The entire form. In this case, the bush. I had focused too much on capturing the tiny delicate flowers and by doing so, overlooked it as an entity. What I needed to paint was the bush itself and then add flowers. 

Today I set this sorry painting on my easel. I removed my glasses. It helped me see beyond the dotted details I had spotted in. Looking at my reference, all I could discern were the values. I picked up my friend, the BIG brush. (It's a number 10 filbert that measures about an inch wide.) Fearlessly, I chopped into my white dotted flowers and began to establish the form of a bush. Immediately it improved. I dropped a few more quick colored strokes, adjusting my values. 

No squinting necessary. 

Without my glasses, I see a lovely blur. A blur that has the same effect as squinting. Not only is it a great painting tool, it's even saving me from developing an abundance of crows feet! How can you beat that? After capturing my form, I put my glass back on to clean up my details. 

I would have to say as a teacher, I forget to remind my students to squint. I've grown so accustomed to not needing to, that I forget to mention it. How about you? Do you remember to squint? Are you an on the glasses, off the glasses type of painter too? How do you go about finding your values?

Playing with mud

Morning Fog, Monhegan

Original oil painting  24x18"

by Susan Roux

When Don Hatfield came to teach his workshop here a few summer's ago, he showed us how he mixes paint on a glass palette. Forget the palette knives. He took his stiff bristled brush, dipped in several colors and turned it in circular fashion in the center of his palette. With that mess which appeared like mud, he showed us how he could move the puddle from warm to cool and back again by simply adding a new color to it. As he continued to demonstrate, the mud puddle grew and grew. You can mix anything in here  he told us. 

Much to our surprise, he demonstrated portraiture using this puddle of mud!

Since then, I have to admit I've learned to embrace the puddle. I even have my students using the puddle. There's something interesting about mud. All those neutralized grays... Subtle in their own right, yet clearly distinctive added to the canvas. It's amazing how many different shades of neutral gray one can make. 

Hatfield (that's what he likes to call himself) told us of his early studies with pastels. He learned to add color to a gray toned paper. It worked beautifully. In time, when he began to paint, he brought this knowledge to the canvas. I've never seen anyone like mud as much as he does. Where many fear creating muddy colors, he becomes the master in control when it happens. And just as with pastels, colors sit beautifully on mud. 

As I painted Morning Fog, Monhegan it's all I thought about. Mud. So much mud. I was painting an entire scene with muddy colors. I found myself lost in the slight variations I could create. I was being seduced by it. I was pulling and pushing shapes. My first strokes for the flowers were a simple diagonal swish of hot pink. It was a flat area of color. As I worked in the flowers, I was making decisions about which one's came forward and which ones would recede. And when they did recede, which flowers would be furthest back.

I watched my canvas evolve as I played with mud on my flowers. I felt in complete control. If I wanted a flower to push further back, I had the ability to do it in a instant. Frankly I'm surprised I finished this painting. I was having so much fun being the master of my flowers, it's a wonder I finally stopped. 

It's easy to paint drama with strong sun/shadow patterns. It's also easy to create drama with dark and light values as seen in my previous painting. What I was after here was to see if I could create some drama without any of those things. No sunshine, no high contrast areas, just mud and a bit of pure color. 

Do you ever try to challenge yourself with something new? If so, what? Do you enjoy getting out of your comfort zone? I do. It can be lots of fun. 

Note to Don: My deepest condolences for the loss of your dear sweet wife, Janey.

Art direction?

Floral Emotion

Original Oil Painting  12x30" gallery wrap canvas

by Susan Roux

Where is your art going this year? Will it be taking a different direction? Will you try new techniques or work on perfecting your current ones?

With all the talk of New Year's resolutions and dreams for the year, I have trouble not focusing on my art when answering. January of last year marked the birth of my girls at the beach with simplified backgrounds. It seems as though I've been working on them much longer. When I began, I wanted to play with pale shadows that still read like shadow. I've tried to hold that as part of my focus, but also delving into developing fundamentals.

I'm certain you recall me using words like painstakingly. Trying to improve our painting habits is never an easy plight. We become comfortable doing certain things and it's easy to continue to repeat them. Forcing your brain to think differently, apply the paint differently and try to have a result that doesn't look like you spent too much time "thinking" in the first place can be a very painstaking act. I speak to you from experience. 

Personally I'm drawn to great paintings that offer a balance of creativity, meaning that pure emotional spontaneity, with perfectly executed fundamentals. When these two dance on canvas poetically it's difficult to look away. I'm drawn to surprises. That creative use of color, unexpected in its location, yet working beautifully to unify the composition. A harmony that leaves something to the imagination and elevates the viewer to drift and dream. 

As you can see I set my goals high and I still have a long way to go to achieve them.

Working on fundamentals engages the brain. Spontaneity and gut reactions go out the door. Focusing for a full year on these has helped me develop, but a fear of being unable to shut my brain down grew. What if I can't access that creative side again? What if I want to analyze every stroke all the time? I'm striving for a balance of the two. How will this be possible?

The holidays presented me with very little time to paint. I'm certain you can relate to that or at lease to the growing desire to just pick up a brush when time doesn't allow it. The feeling became so great that one day I just exploded on canvas! I didn't want to think. I didn't want to follow any rules. I just wanted to paint!

And so I did. 

The painting posted is pure emotion pouring on canvas. Oh how it felt good! I look at it now and want to return to it to define some element more. Pick a cluster of flowers, maybe just one flower, and give it a bit more attention. I know it doesn't resemble my other work. That's ok. I could go back and define it, but I want to keep it as is. It'll be good to hang in the studio as a reminder that my creative side is not dead and can still be accessed. Now I can relax and continue in my development of fundamentals. 

Something inside still drives me. My work feels cut out for the new year. My direction is clear. Develop the fundamentals further and begin to allow the creative side to dance with it. Somewhere between my girls at the beach and this emotional outburst lies the place I'm headed. 

So I ask again. Where are you headed with regards to your art this year?

Trusting instincts

A Marilyn Moment

Original oil painting  28x22"

by Susan Roux

Painting is unusual. Most things, do them long enough and you almost become an expert.  I know this like the back of my hand. Sometimes you feel you could even do them with your eyes closed.

Not true with painting.

It seems no matter how long you paint, or how good you get at it, there are always those pesky paintings that give you a run for your money. For some unknown reason they just won't come together. It's like back paddling, never pushing you forward. You begin to feel like you're just moving paint around. Colors that were once alive, dull. The more you layer, the worse it gets. At some point you might even consider wiping down the entire canvas. It's how I felt yesterday while toiling on this painting.

But...

Frustration can be your friend. Seriously. It doesn't feel like it at the time, but when you get to the point where you're ready to just trash the entire canvas, freedom and spontaneity take over. The big brushes come out. There's fearlessness pumping through your veins. That "I don't give a care" attitude can propel quantities of emotion onto your canvas. With big bold strokes, you find yourself hacking into your work. Where you once delicately painted detail, you now obliterate with a single stroke. Oddly it seems to be better. Either that or you just feel better unleashing. The painting takes an unexpected turn. A clearer direction, perhaps a new direction announces itself.

Often a new day and fresh eyes help. You might even put off going into the studio. After all you're expecting to see a terrible mess, but it usually isn't as bad as you remembered. Those bold strokes of late yesterday seem to compliment. That's when you know your gut took over. There's an empowering drive in trusting your instincts. It's comforting to see your instincts didn't fail you.  Even through bad days behind the easel, the creative you persevered. There's wonderful energy in that. Part of you suddenly becomes reassured.

When the going gets tough the tough get going. Kevin Mizner recently posted about keep on working especially when everything is going wrong. He never brings it full circle to connect with the painting process, but it's implied.

Where do you land on this? How long do you work a painting? Do you try to salvage or does it get dumped as soon as it begins to go awry?

Are you trusting your instincts?

Monhegan Coast

Monhegan Coast

Original oil painting 16x20"

by Susan Roux

Hurricane Irene passed, tourist are leaving and school is beginning. As summer winds down and fall approaches, it triggers a change in routine. With regards to art, for me it means a different mindset. I kind of lollygag along during the summer months. It's not to say that I don't work hard, rather nothing seems to matter. There aren't any pressing deadlines to meet and it becomes more a time of play or experimenting. I do whatever I want. Paint what I want. Nothing is created with a specific destination in mind and I'm free to take as long on a painting as I choose.

It's a lot like a day at the beach. You know, sit around all day. Take a stroll, pick up a few rocks or shells. Drag your toes in the sand. Watch the waves roll in time after time trying desperately to remember the range of beautiful colors in it's endless dance to a frothy break.

But vacation's over and it's time to buckle down and get serious again.

Do you morph like this in autumn too? I've already begun changing. Papers are rising on my desk. Printed sheets of tasks I want to do, things I want to look into. I've already searched out a bunch of galleries I'd like to approach and a serious pace to prepare packets will soon follow. This is also the time of year I begin seriously painting new work for next year's gallery season.

I spent time taking lots of photos this summer and hope that I have ample references to carry me to next year. Between what I paint on my own time and all my classes, it takes a large amount of good photos. Which leads me to the painting posted, Monhegan Coast.

This is a painting I did with one class. We pulled out our palette knives. Yes I said palette knives! I never do that. To mix paint, yes. But never to apply paint to canvas. So in it I jumped, all the while trying to direct my students without knowing what I was doing. I thought it was the perfect tool for the rugged coast that covered most of our scene.

It turned out to be very freeing. Jags of paint left tiny shadows which created additional cracks in the rocks. Some students who get caught up in too much detail found themselves playing in paint. It was a great exercise for everyone. I suspect I'll be picking up the palette knife to lay down paint again soon.

The ocean was interesting to do. It has a very different appearance when looking at it from high above as oppose to being at the beach. Students wanted to make breaking waves as they know them from the shore. But the shapes flatten out and all that is left is change in values and color.

This was a fun painting to do. I took lots of coast photos on Monhegan. It's hard not to. So perhaps another rugged coast painting will show up before I know it. I remember the day class arrived and saw this scene. No one thought they could paint it. I'm happy to report that they all amazed themselves. I had some real beginner students in it too and they left with something they were very proud of. Great job class!

So now that summer's ending... what kind of changes does that mean for you?

Critique, yes or no?

Lupines in the Sky

Work in progress

10x30" gallery wrap

by Susan Roux

Where do you stand on the subject of critique?

My last post showed a painting before a critique and where I pushed it following a critique. A good critique is priceless, in my opinion. I wish I had one for every painting I paint. I find it elevates my work to new heights. It keeps me pushing, trying to achieve something beyond where I previously stopped. Just last night Mike and I were discussing this and he wished he had to a good photographer friend who could give him a good critique.

Odd thing is, as much as we would like to be continually critiqued, there are many who are opposed to it. It takes a tough skin to listen to your creative work be interpreted by another. We become tied and connected to the things we create.

It's a reflection of ourselves. Who has the right to tell us what's wrong with it?

Rejection in any form is difficult. It can knock the wind right out of you. But I don't think of a good critique as a rejection. Quite the contrary. When someone takes the time to analyze a work they usually already have an attraction to it. The critique isn't designed to crush an artist, but to urge him (her) to think of it in different terms and possibly see it differently as well. We get very close to our work. Especially those of us who work a painting for an extended period of time. So much of ourselves is invested in it.

Though just as love is blind, so often is the artist who has a certain goal in mind. We'll set parameters for ourselves. Things like a limited palette or brushstroke edges. Some soft, some hard, some blurred, some bold and distinct. We can focus so hard on certain aspects of our work, that we'll easily miss other things. Things we already know. They slip from memory temporarily. A good critique allows you to retain what you've captured and helps you push it to an even stronger finish.

Imagine all the paintings you've ever painted. If you could take the best things from them and put it all together in one work of art, wouldn't that be wonderful? This is the critique to me. No one is teaching you how to paint it, only allowing you the insight to add a bit more and turn your work into a wow. It's never about repainting the entire painting (though Don's sent me to do that a few times as well...). It's about taking what you have and adjusting it. It might be defining something or dulling something. Perhaps adding a punch of color or contrast.

There exists a fear of loosing what we've already captured and ruining it. Loosing that look of freshness. Getting it overworked. But returning to a painting for adjustments needn't be done with your largest brushes. Often tweaking with something tiny that can be blended with the existing work will do the trick.

The other factor that comes up in conversation is the qualifications of the one critiquing.

Yes, I'm very fortunate to have Don Hatfield as my mentor and critique-er. (I can make up words, right?) Yes, he is highly qualified. But often the gut instinct of someone not highly qualified can be as helpful. Your kids can be very honest. Painfully so sometimes when they don't get what this part is. Even after you explain it to them and they tell you well it doesn't look like that.

You'd be surprised how many people can give you a good critique. Many of us have the knowledge, it's getting it on canvas that's the challenge!

So where do you stand on critique? Is it a gift or an insult?

Sweet Dreams

Sweet Dreamer

Original oil painting 28x22"

by Susan Roux

This series of ladies at the beach has me entranced. My spare time is completely devoted to creating more of them. Even times that aren't spare get caught up in it. Certainly I would define this as crossing over from passion to obsession. I can't describe what fascinates me the most as I'm painting these. Is it color? Is it the sensuality? It's almost as though life breaths into them. I've never been so directed by what's emerging on canvas as I am now.

Both the figure and the background tantalize me equally.

The beginning starts off simply. A quick gesture sketch put on by a large brush, allows the form to move and morph into shape. Colors start to appear as random as my whim. Slowly it takes shape. This is when the fun or stress really kicks in.

The decisions I make stop being random and the art takes control. What starts out vague and undefined begins to have a voice. The further I develop the canvas, the more important it is to listen to it.

Is the canvas really talking? Well not in the out-loud voice we recognize with our ears. Someone better lock me up if that happens. Just make sure there's an easel and paints with me behind those locked doors...

No the voice I'm talking about is quiet and soft. Sometimes it's hard to hear. Backing away helps. Reflecting. Really seeing what's happening on canvas. Making decisions. Unwavering. The painting takes a turn. It finds a direction. Until I grasp this feeling, I can't bring the painting to completion. It's just a figure in a space prior that.

Each one is different. They all speak differently to me. Sometimes it's difficult to know the direction. Other times it's loud and clear. Usually the title will come to me when I find the direction. It wasn't the case with Sweet Dreamer. She sat completed. I observed her trying to come up with the right title. The longer I contemplated I began to notice she was also in a contemplative state. She looked so far away, deep in thought. What was she thinking about? Who was she thinking about? Was she longing? Was she sad? Was she reliving a moment from earlier in the day? I didn't have the answer.

Luka Bloom was singing in the background. Oh, how he serenades me continuously while I create. Sweet dreams Baby were the words that softly repeated from his lips as he sang True Blue. It fit my girl. It didn't matter if I understood her mood. She was dreaming. Day dreaming about whatever. I wanted to think it was a happy dream. Her clothes and stance supported that thought. And so it was that she became titled Sweet Dreamer.

I wish I could show you how the light moves in the background. Seeing them live is the only way...

Paint the poetry

Garden Stroll

Original oil painting 24x18"

by Susan Roux

I've had the pleasure of interacting at length with some of you lately via email. I have to tell you how fun and helpful it has been for me. I hope you feel the same way.

Have you ever noticed when you try to explain something about your process to someone, it helps you improve? We already know what we're doing (well at least most of the time) but putting it into words helps bring every aspect of our process to the forefront.

While talking to another I spoke of attempting to paint the poetry. My dictionary describes poetry as a special intensity given to the expression of feelings and ideas by the use of distinctive style and rhythm. I like these words. Special intensity, style, rhythm, the expression of feelings. Nowhere in this is anything about details or precise representation. The focus is on feeling, style and rhythm.

Doesn't that just put a whole new spin on everything?

All these years I've been trying to paint the elements in my composition and it turns out that wasn't the challenge after all. Paint a unified feeling on your canvas. Think of ambiance. You know, like that nice candlelit table setting you'll be preparing for your sweetheart on Valentine's Day. You'd pay attention to every detail so the whole entity, including tablecloth, candlesticks, dishes, flowers and vase would support an unmistakable feeling of romance. Yes the wine and dinner are probably your focal point, but everything about the table supports this feeling of love.

And so it must be with art...

I thought I finished Garden Stroll the other day. I knew she wasn't as strong as my other girls in this series. I placed her in a garden and trying to interpret this new style in a landscape was challenging. I had put her aside, but was left a bit dissatisfied. After talking to an artist about how I take a long time tweaking my paintings with the idea of painting the poetry in mind, I looked at her and realized I stopped short of what I wanted to capture. Does this happen to you?

You set a painting aside and next thing you know, it calls you back.

I couldn't ignore her. She was really urging me to continue. I'm glad I put her back on my easel. I'm much happier with the results. I may not be capturing the whole poetry thing, but I think I'm on the right track by having it in mind.

Do you ever paint the poetry?

Don Hatfield

Testing the Waters

Original oil painting 16x20"

by Susan Roux

Have you met my friend Don yet? He's unlike anyone else I know. Of course, that could be said about most of us artists. Our uniqueness overflows beyond our canvases...

But let me tell you a little about Don Hatfield.

He may be a bit scary at first. His essence fills a room. His voice carries and the words may be gruff. He'll definitely catch your attention. I don't think it's possible for Don to go unnoticed anywhere. Busy mall, you spot Don. Crowded city street, you spot Don. Golf course, you can hear him from three holes away...

Do you get the picture? Don stops and talks to everyone. I bet he has trouble driving down the street. He must pull over to talk to every pedestrian he passes!

Is it ego? Certainly. Is it humor?

Well you tell me. Anyone who posts this kind photo of themselves over the internet, for all to see, has got to be funny. Hilarious is more the word. If Mr. Hatfield hadn't made it in life as a master artist, he could have been a renowned comedian.

I know you're aware that my sense of humor is askew. I might laugh at things no one else finds humorous, but I can assure you, Don has more than myself nearly rolling on the floor with laughter.

So how did mister comedy himself get to be such a great artist? Some people are just blessed with lots of gifts... One of mine is knowing Don personally. He's made a real positive difference in my art.

Beyond that coarse exterior lies the heart and soul of a gentle man. One could not paint amazing light-filled images such as these with a hardened soul. His understanding of color, values and technique go far beyond most. His paintings captivate us with beauty, softness and joy in timeless settings with alluring compositions.

Nowhere in his work will you see this gruff exterior he tries so hard to portray. It becomes easy to see why such a gentle soul might try to appear tougher to the world. But after just a few minutes of conversation with Don, his facade drops and the real man surfaces.

Aside from being a great artist, Hatfield (as he likes to refer to himself) is proving to be an amazing teacher. Not only can he capture delicate, dainty forms, he can explain how to do it.

Don excites when he finds artists with the desire and commitment to improve. There is nothing he prefers (well maybe golf...) than to share his knowledge about art. He's a man filled with art history and amidst any conversation can drop a list of old masters to refer to for the information you seek.

I'm proud to announce that Don Hatfield is giving you the opportunity to learn and improve. He'll be sharing his gifts by offering a Maine workshop in July. Stay tuned and I'll be posting more information...

Did I mention you should really take this?

Design, Part 3

Work in progress

(still not done...) 18x24"

by Susan Roux

Part 1

Part 2

Color and value. Those magical tools that keep artists addicted. Make a color change or a value change and you can redirect the viewers eye instantly. How do you keep it all in control?

First of all, don't loose sight of your initial plan. Second, when it comes to color with respect to design, repeat it. Color has the ability to hop the eye from one place to another. To keep your viewer exploring the entire canvas, repeat colors and their eye will bounce around in rhythms.

If you don't get too caught up with local color and build your darks throughout your painting using the same colors, you'll establish a color harmony. Some people like to limit their palette to ensure harmony, but others like myself paint with a palette-full. Either way can work.

With harmony in mind, I worked the rosebush. I used shadow values. This allowed me to take my time establishing where I want sunlight to move across it.

Notice how color was added randomly at this stage. This keeps the eye interested and moving. Even in this close-up, where there isn't information to identify the subject, the eye dances around in varied movements. Had I chose to paint each blossom identically, the eye would quickly tire and the exploration would cease.

Next I began adding sunlight to the blossoms. I took my time, stepping back frequently, making sure to retain variety. So far so good.

It became trickier as I added sunlight to the greenery. The deep rich darks that added contrast to the blossoms were being lost. To bring the painting to completion, close attention to value is necessary. Adjustments need to be made. This is when being able to critique yourself becomes critical. You need to ask yourself, what's wrong and how do I fix it?

The answer isn't always easy to find. The eye will travel to the place of most contrast and the sharpest edge. Unfortunately, as I lost the high contrast around my blossoms, the spot of highest contrast and sharpness became my top window pane. Oh man, what a pain!

So here is my dilemma. I've purposefully kept my blossoms in loose edges to project their softness. Each time I would crisp one too much, I didn't like the stiff feeling it created. Now to keep with my initial idea of the roses being my focal point, I must figure out a way to retain the attention there. I do like the idea of the blossom reaching out to the window. It helps in the exploration of the canvas. As my eye goes to this window, it picks up on the tree shadow and swoops back down to catch the blossoms on the ground.

I thought I was posting a completed painting today, but as I review the many photos I took, its clear to me that my painting lost drama along the way. I've never photographed a series of my work in progress before. It's proving to be a very interesting tool. Also I'm finding that talking about my process is a good learning tool as well. I hope you'll follow along as I push myself for improvement...

Design

Work in Progress 18x24"

by Susan Roux

Good design. How important is it? Is it important to you?

Artists will tell you of the importance of good design, but often have trouble explaining it. That's because there are many elements that affect design. Elements such as line, proportions, value, patterns, color, texture, etc. In a way we can think of this as complicated or as I prefer to see it, giving us lots of tools to help achieve a good design.

A good design will hold your viewers eye, sending them on an exploration of your entire canvas.

It isn't extremely complicated. As a matter of fact, it can be quite simple. Keep your viewers interest. How do you achieve that? Shake it up a bit with variety to keep the eye stimulated and traveling about. You can focus on any of the design elements, use them in proportions near 2/3 to 1/3 and you're already off to a great start.

Design comes in right from the start. It isn't something that just happens on your canvas. Consistent good design is planned. When you select a photo or arrangement to paint, there's always something about it that struck you, otherwise you wouldn't have chosen it in the first place. Identify that. Know why you've chosen a particular image to paint.

Here is the image I'm working from. It's quite obvious by the way I took this photo that the rose covered fence is what struck me most. If you think in terms of thirds, it's covering about 2/3 of the canvas. Rather than begin with an intense drawing of this complex scene, I chose to place my basic design lines first.

As I painted them in, I adjusted them. Though I was putting lines, my mind was imagining the bulky shapes these lines represented. I had to move several of them. It's a great time to back away and imagine your image within the boundaries you've created. At this point I was concentrating solely on design. Where am I going to place the components in my painting and how will they interact with each other in this placement?

Notice how the lines already travel your eye in a unified direction. As I stepped back to imagine my scene, I thought of the direction things were pointing. Keeping in mind that my floral fence was my center of interest, I could see the movement in my painting was already supporting that. Don't loose sight of your initial idea. If it remains your goal throughout the painting process, the result will be more powerful than if you switched ideas on yourself along the way.

Next I looked at intervals. To keep the viewers eye interested, variety is necessary. Were my intervals varied enough? Not at first. I had to move most of these lines, because as I followed my photo, the lines seemed to be evenly spaced. For the sake of a painting, even if representational, it's better to create interest than to copy an image precisely. (Save that for when you're doing portraits.)

Paying attention to the bare bones of your painting is simple. By doing so, it allows you to concentrate on what you've created that is already working for you. In this case I identified direction. Don't you just love pointers? Make sure their helping you and not pointing the viewer in the wrong direction...

As I continue to develop this painting, I'm keeping in mind this directional movement. I'm supporting it with the colors I'm choosing and the values I'm placing. The bare bones are there to help me, but it's necessary to keep adjusting things as I go along. This will help me build upon the initial structure. Concentrating on good design is a good way to improve your work.

I'll continue to show you the development of this painting, explaining my thought process as I make choices. You'll see how the various elements of design come into play individually. Breaking things down simplifies the process. So rather than have to concentrate on all the elements of design at once, thinking of them one at a time and adjusting them, just as I adjusted my initial lines, becomes easy to understand.

Cheers!

It's not your ordinary week. I don't think I have to remind you. Reading everyone's posts and finding many of you missing, is just an added reminder that everyone's lives are turned a bit upside down this time of year. I'm no different.

My classes are cancelled for the week.

I hope that doesn't mean my paintbrushes will be too, but one never knows what to expect as Christmas approaches. We suddenly take on additional chores and hopefully with good cheer we celebrate our blessings with people we love.

Thursday, just as class was beginning, am enormous Dick Blick order arrived. I often order for my students and it's kind of like Christmas every time the boxes come rolling in. Several of my students decided to upgrade their paints to the lovely Gamblin's I'm enjoying. What a nice Christmas gift! I can't wait to see how their work will change. When class ended, I looked at my palette full of paint and knew it would shrivel up and dry before finding easel time again. Blick-stamped cases of canvas cluttered my entry. Next thing I knew I was opening various sizes and applying a layer of color.

Oh how fun

it is to paint

on brand new

Blick canvas!

Happy Holidays everyone! Thank you for stopping by and leaving your wonderful comments. They mean so much to me, as do you...

When easel time manifests itself, I'll be ready!

K. Mizner

Work in progress

by Susan Roux

Ok, I've kept an interesting blog to myself for long enough now. Its time for me to share.

Remember Chicken Coop man? Well he signs his canvases K Mizner. Frankly I don't know why, because Chicken Coop man is so much easier to remember...

If you recall I met Kevin at a workshop and painted in his studio Coop with Nora Kasten. Kevin is quite hilarious and even at the workshop, we were drawn towards each other. We set up our easels side by side and more off-handed comments were slapped around than paint! At the time I thought it was our shared Maine residency that drew us together. We seemed to have the same off-kilter view of things. But now as time passes, I think it was his humor that drew me in.

Kevin didn't blog.

Well, that never settles well with me. Why not? I asked. Its a great thing. After all, its how Nora and I met. I explained, I'm certain with wise cracks thrown in (some people bring that out in me, but I won't mention names... Rick), that blogging is a great way to meet, interact and network with artists from all over the country and the world. Well Kevin may be from the backwoods of Maine, but he's no dummy. Up here, backwoods doesn't mean backwards. There are some pretty smart cookies tucked in around here.

I think it was the very next day that I received an email from Kevin announcing he had started to blog. Smart guy.

He's posted daily since. He has so much to talk about, frankly I don't know what he did with all those thoughts before he could rant them out on a blog. You need to go be a follower. I mean seriously. He'll crack you up everyday. He can't help it. It just pours out of him. I literally burst out laughing aloud while reading it. My husband asks what's so funny? I'm just reading Kevin's blog...

I've chosen today to send you there, because he has a wonderful chilling Halloween story to tell you. He spoke of this while we visited his Coop, but the story he shared then was different than the one he posted. So you can urge him to post more on the subject. He's got stories...

Chicken Coop man currently has 9 followers. Yes I know, its sad. Go make his number rise. I'm sure he'll appreciate it. And for you, a daily post full of laughs with some art thrown in here and there. How can you go wrong?

Posted is the progression of the Wednesday Night Ladies class painting. We finally filled in the remaining white canvas and I allowed some of the sunlit flowers to emerge. Hey, I had to keep them happy...

One more note: For those of you who've been asking, I found artists to fill the four bedrooms in the February rental.

Utter frustration...

Its been an interesting day, to say the least.

Toby and Leslie are evolving. I added more color to his face and worked hers some. I lightened the background to the left of his ear. That helped. The proportions are still off. If I could make a vertical fold just left of her nose and bend it to reduce the size of her face as it approaches Toby's, I'd be doing pretty good. Unfortunately this is not paper and I can't move the right side closer to the left like that on my canvas.

Here is a superimposed version of the painting and the actual photo I'm working from.

It clearly shows some major problems. When I line Toby's face up she looks like this. When I line her flowing hair up, she looks mostly correct, but he's all askew.

I was advised by the master to begin anew.

Say what?

I'll repeat it. I was advised by the master to begin anew. I did not take to these words lightly. Verbal resistance was my immediate reaction. In the end it all came down to how much I wanted to push myself for the sake of learning. I've never been one to settle for mediocre, so in complete frustration, I grabbed a new canvas and got to work.

I won't put you through the exasperation and groaning I experienced yesterday, but for those of you who heard I never came to blog, this is why. I was very busy in an angry sort of way. Suffice it to say, my attitude wasn't pretty.

Here's the new version. (Yeah, again my colors are off. The camera just doesn't understand what's on my canvas...)

Here's the new painting superimposed with the photograph.

Do I need to say anymore?

Water Ballerina

Water Ballerina

Original oil painting 11x14"

by Susan Roux

I took Martine-Alison for a walk. From my home, we can easily walk to two different ponds, though the forest keeps them hidden. She brought her camera. It was a beautifully warm, sunny day and we took our time strolling, benefitting from the pleasures nature offers. Our senses enjoyed the many sights and sounds, from birds to frogs to packs of just-emerged dragonflies that danced around merrily and even landed on us as tiny hitchhikers.

It was a day of simple pleasures.

The beach was filled with mothers and toddlers. Older children were still at school. We sat for awhile watching the activity. Martine-Alison instantly focused on a darling girl swimming in a ballerina tutu. Captivated from the little girls movements, her camera pointed at no one else. She thought she was taking pictures for me to use, as she knows I adore painting children at the beach.

But that didn't totally turn out to be the reality...

Once home, she decided to paint her too. We've always wanted to paint the same person together. Now we had the chance.

To make this happen, during our quickly diminishing visit, she had to deviate from her normal process. Typically she paints her 20x20" canvases with brushes smaller than my signing brush. Can you believe it? Smaller than a signing brush..?

It takes her nearly a month to complete one, though she paints day-in day-out. It was obvious we needed to speed up her process.

I passed her a cluster of larger brushes. At a half-inch wide, they seemed enormous to her! I laughed. She wanted to attempt my method. "Teach me," she said. (like she needs teaching...) So, bravely abandoning her comfort, Martine-Alison played with paint on a canvas whose finish is much rougher than her own. She's never painted so quickly!

Water Ballerina

Original oil painting 14x11"

by Martine-Alison

Four artists gathered here to have a painting party. It was the perfect activity for a rainy day. Svetlana Beattie saw what we were painting and she too decided to paint the little girl. Music was turned on. Of course it was Luka Bloom... Such a wonderful serenader for the activity of painting. Our bodies swayed like our brushes to his magical, dreamy music. The artists all said it was the best music to paint to.

It created a mood. An energy in the room. Suddenly Svetlana asked, in her strong Russian accent, if Luka just said, ballerina?

Oh yes, I replied. Ballerina, just like we're painting. Its my favorite song, Water Ballerina.

Water Ballerina? Its exactly what we're painting! she remarked.

Oh yes it was. And there suddenly, came the title to all of our paintings...

Water Ballerina

Original oil painting 14x11"

by Svetlana Beattie

I told Svetlana how I bumped into Luka while strolling castle grounds in Ireland. Our encounter amazed her. His spirit was circling in the room, affecting how we painted. She said I must write to Luka to thank him for his inspiration. So Luka, if you're listening, I just want you to know how wonderfully inspiring your music is. Its the perfect accompaniment for painting. You continue to chant me away to my glorious painting-zone...

We have three artists versions of a sweet little swimmer. They are as different as the artists are. One impressionistic, one an experiment and one that I'm finally happy with.

Too bad the child's mother will never know her daughter is artistically-captured for all eternity. Three times..!

Are artists ever satisfied?

Geranium Garden (detail)

Original oil painting 12x16"

by Susan Roux

I visited Rahina Q.H.'s site this morning and she admitted destroying a lot of her paintings during the past few weeks. It reminded me of a conversation I just had yesterday with artist/friend, Sandy Dunn.

Is an artist ever satisfied?

Sandy thought yes. Masters who know exactly how to capture what they want to convey and are in total control, must be satisfied. As we talked further on the subject, we were both left really wondering.

I recently did a painting and got to the point where the canvas was covered and appeared complete. It struck me because, years ago I would have been very satisfied with my achievement. Now however, I was not. There was a feeling I'd set out to capture that wasn't present. I contemplated for a few days trying to decide how to continue. I did return to the canvas, improving the feeling, but wishing I had nailed it better.

We discussed this. As an artist improves, does his or her expectations increase? And if so, will we ever be satisfied? Or... do the artist's expectations continue to increase at an equal rate to their seasoned ability, never allowing satisfaction?

I think we'll never be satisfied.

That's not to say there won't be a few paintings along the way that we are happy with. It just seems to me the further I get in this art world, the more I try to push myself and the less I feel satisfied with my work. Perhaps this on-going tug is what propels us. What drives us. Dare I say, sometimes insanely, to create and capture that which we have never achieved. I seem to want to be in control. I feel I should be in control. But too often, I feel like I don't even know what I'm doing!

Painting is hard.

I think it will always be hard. No matter how seasoned an artist we become. Yes, we'll figure out some things and be in control of those. But we'll always want to be in control of more. Like a crazy carnival ride that has us feeling like were flying by the seat of our pants, each painting gives us that same exhilarating rush. We're forever addicted to this seemingly idle activity, that really has our insides jumping and twisted completely out of control!

Sandy and I painted outdoors for the first time this year. Relaxed in the haven of my garden, we both found ourselves anxious. Forgetting how to paint in plein air fell upon our shoulders... Each year it seems occur. How to incorporate what we've learned in the studio during the past year, to the outdoors. It was less scary doing it together. Sandy and I are good for each other. Encouragement eased the anxiety.

Posted is a close-up of the painting I did. Here is the full painting.

The detail version was my favorite part of the painting. I decided to try another capturing that dreamy feeling. This is the outcome.

I want to attempt a third, using the top version as my guide. It will be interesting to see if I can achieve this feeling again... (note: the harsh visible darks are only present in the photos.)

Are we ever satisfied?

Perhaps the real question should be, "Do we ever stop learning?" And the answer is, "I don't think we do."

Is art dying?

Best in Show

Its no secret to anyone that art is taught completely different nowadays than in the past. What was once structured and guided by rules has completely flipped to pushing creativity in search of the "never-been-done" before. I question myself, "Is art dying?"

Maybe its just me. Maybe I don't get it as much as I think I do. I know art is conceptual and so lends itself to many different interpretations. What captures one viewer may not capture another in the least. But it is my understanding that art is emotion. What pours out of an artist onto canvas (or other support) is their emotional response to their subject. A whole range of emotions can find themselves on canvas. Sadness, anger, happiness, love... To me art happens when the artists can actually convey their emotion to the viewer.

I don't believe art is doing something no one has ever done before.

All that is to me is simply, "something that has never been done before... " If I sit my muddy cat on a clean canvas, I don't call this art. If I grind mud into my canvas and drizzle unset strawberry jello over it and wash it down with organic apple juice, I don't call this art. It may very well be things that have never been done before, but to me, that alone doesn't make it qualify as art.

Maybe its just me...

Posted is a painting that took best in show at an association-run gallery. It is Bacon. It's a print made with bargain bacon on Asian paper. The jurors said, “This very powerful print gets its strength from the color and shape of the composition. The scale of the image, the way it is presented and the placement within the frame all add to a very compelling piece. The work finds success between starkness and complexity that makes it intriguing and fun. The unconventional materials used in producing the work inform the piece with a good mix of metaphor and irony. We applaud the artist for their creativity and exploration.” — Robert Lash & Kerstin Gilg

This is a huge juried show in Maine and the gallery can get as many as 300 entries. It is perhaps the biggest fund raiser the gallery has. A few years back, a wide variety of art could be found there. In recent years, some University professors got involved and the whole flavor of the once totally embracing association changed to exhibiting mostly contemporary art. The three big winners were all created in a sepia tone. Is this the new direction of art? Did I miss the memo? Did I waste my money on my recent order of colored paint?

I didn't enter the juried show. This post is not my anger lashing out because I didn't make the cut. I'm saddened that as time goes by, the college professors are young and they too have never been taught the rules that guide us to great art. The rules that the masters of yesteryear have left behind, passed down from generation to generation. Is art dying?

"A very compelling piece," the jurors said.

To whom? Five marks in a typical counting block is anything but compelling to me.

In todays struggling art market, all too often we hear comments like, "I don't like art. I don't understand it." These are from people who rarely expose themselves to art. They must have never been moved by a piece before. Perhaps the only exposure they get are images of winning pieces posted in local newspapers. They see images like this bacon piece. They are not moved. They continue to think they don't like art. Is it a wonder? I fear a growing negative trend in future potential-art-buyer's minds.

I ask again, "Is art dying?"