Much of the work in the past month has been focused on Sherwin the Snail. I’m truly enjoying creating these illustrations. They come straight from my imagination directly to the paper, doing preliminary drawings in pencil, then proceeding to ink and finished with watercolor.
I’m having a lot of fun with these. Rather than a continuous story, I’m approaching them as stand alone images with captions. I’m finding it’s a lot harder to do the written parts than the illustrations.
Some will be elaborate drawings in full color.
Others will be spot illustrations, some with color and some in black and white. I’m currently participating in Inktober, a world-wide challenge to produce one ink drawing each day for the 30 days of October. I’m using it as an impetus to produce ideas for the Sherwin project.
The full size illustrations are in the 10″ x 12″ range. I’m finding I prefer doing the ink and watercolor work on Strathmore Watercolor paper, 140 lb, cold press. I’m working directly in the 11×15 spiral pad.
The smaller illustrations and sketches are done in my favorite sketchbook: Canson’s “Mix Media” spiral bound 5.5 x 8.5 pad with 98 lb paper.
The ink work is a combination of Sharpies and Micron pens.
I don’t know if this is really a spring house or not, but it makes me think of one. There’s a large white barn not far from our son’s home outside of Columbus, Ohio. I suspect that it was originally part of a dairy farm, but now there is a big daylily farm behind the barn. Every time we passed this place, my eye was drawn to this little attachment at the front. It always calls to mind N.C. Wyeth’s painting “The Spring House”. I’ve recently done a couple of gouache pieces to keep from getting too rusty, and this was one of them. I didn’t spend nearly as much time on my little painting as Wyeth spent on his, but I thought I’d share this one anyway.
I am so far behind with this blog. But I confess there are days when I don’t think I have much to say. Anyway, how about a little catching up?
Much of the work in the past few weeks has been ink & watercolor. I love doing these little drawings. I can take the ink line work as far as I like and then add texture and form with subtle use of color.
Barn at Centerburg, 8×10, acrylic
The painting of the barn at Centerburg, Ohio is one of my recent attempts at acrylics. The biggest discovery I made while painting this one was that I don’t like painting on canvas. I find the canvas texture to be a distraction. Just a personal quirk on my part, but there you go. This collection of barns, sheds and silos sits just off highway 36 as it enters Centerburg from the southwest.
Passages, 8×10, acrylic
Passages was painted on illustration board, a surface I’m much more comfortable with, and therefore much happier with. It was based on a reference photo taken in Hocking Hills State Park in Ohio. This was a rare occasion for me to use a palette knife, and I found it both enjoyable and frustrating. The knife rarely did what I wanted it to do, but when it did, I loved the result. I like this little painting.
This little pen & ink sketch was from a photo of a barn somewhere in upper Ohio. I’ve been inspired recently by the etchings of James McNeil Whistler.
House and Shed, 5×7, ink & watercolor
I love drawing interesting houses and structures. Porches, dormer windows, chimneys, rusty roofs… they all add interest and texture to a scene. I believe this house was spotted while we rode a golf cart around the island village of Put-In-Bay during a recent trip to Ohio.
Garage, 5×7, ink & watercolor
Never underestimate the value of a simple scene like this open garage next to an alley in Mount Vernon, Ohio. The reference photo wasn’t planned. In fact, I believe it was shot as a drive-by while going to visit one of Nell’s brothers. Composition, texture, and color, along with the lights and darks of shadows and openings, all present themselves suddenly, and shooting the image has to become a reflex action. The eye sees, the brain processes, and the hand records… all in an instant. When we travel, the camera is within reach at all times.
Barn on 183, 9×12, ink & watercolor.
While I love recording subjects for reference when we travel, I also try to be just as observant of the world close to home. This old barn sits just minutes away off Highway 183 in Leander, Texas. It is on one of the routes we take when running errands several times a week.
Barn near Galloway, 9×12, ink & watercolor
The beauty of combining ink an d watercolor is that there is no limit to what can be done. Finding the right amount of textural line work becomes the challenge. Do I create the shadows with ink crosshatching or do it with watercolor? Do I draw most of the foliage or simply indicate it and let the paint carry the weight? I rarely decide at the beginning if I’m going to draw the subject tightly and realistically or loosely with a whimsical feel. I often just sketch a barn like this very quickly and simply with pencil, then let the pens do the work.
The ink work in all of the drawings are done with a combination of Sharpies (the fat ones and the Extra Fine) and Microns (#1, 3 and 5). The pens, brushes, watercolors and palette are all part of my urban sketching kit.
In keeping with the theme of my last article about Keeping The Dream Alive, I’m posting a link here to a post from 2010. Some things have changed since then, but not the part about art. I hope you’ll find some inspiration in the article. Go here: Thoughts on Age and Art
Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you have imagined.
~ Henry David Thoreau
I was reminded of this quote recently in a Facebook post by artist and FB friend Bill Kassel. When I saw it, I had to ask myself if I had lived up to it. As a teenager, I was a dreamer, but my dreams were not like those of most of my peers. The life I had imagined was a bit bohemian for the times: sidewalk cafes, poetry, jazz, coffee shops and cool art galleries. Keep in mind I was a teenager in the late 50s. I remember being interested in art, Norman Mailer and Jack Kerouac. My dream was to be an artist. It wasn’t a life pursuit that was encouraged, so I probably didn’t go after it with confidence. At some point, reality stepped in and making a living became the driving force.
Fast forward to just a few years ago, when the new president of the last company I was employed by interviewed each employee. During our interview, he finally said “…so basically, you’re an artist who has spent his life working at crappy jobs to make a living.” Talk about cutting to the chase. That was one of the most concise descriptions of my life I had ever heard. Don’t get me wrong here. I’ve had some good jobs, some in art, some in management, a couple of them have taken me to some interesting places, and provided a good living. But there was always that underlying desire, almost like a life force, that said “but you’re an artist.”
The ultimate dream was to actually make my living as an independent artist, working in my own studio, selling my art through galleries. That did happen a couple of times, but through a variety of course deviations and some setbacks, usually of my own doing, it didn’t happen often or very long. Now, in my seventies, I sell some paintings and drawings, but it certainly isn’t a living. Did I fail in the pursuit of my dreams? Some would say yes, but I’m not so sure. Throughout my lifetime, drawings and sketches may number into the thousands. In the past few years, in what I suppose are my “golden years”, I have produced several hundred paintings and studies.
Today, the internet is my coffee house, where I can share and converse with other artists, and my sidewalk café, where I can watch the passing parade of humanity. It is my Jackson Square, where I can lean my art against the digital fence for the passing world to see. And it is my art school, where I can continue to learn from others, and study the work of old and modern day masters.
I’ve been writing this art blog for several years. Much of it has been focused on my use of gouache as a painting medium. When my enthusiasm has flagged and I’ve wondered if I was just having fun listening to my own voice, and if I should continue, I get another comment or email from someone thanking me for the inspiration an article has given them. So here we are, still at it.
Being a studio artist is a sedentary activity, and now, at 72, my body complains when I’m more active. I now have checkups with a cardiologist, my primary care physician wants to see me more often, and a recent back sprain has me seeing a physical therapist.
The physical therapist asked me what I wanted to accomplish by working with him. Without a second thought, I said I wanted to be able to hike to a good painting location, carrying my art equipment, and stand for hours at an easel. I don’t even consider myself a plein air painter, but maybe in order to keep my body in better condition, I need to become one. In that regard, expect to see more mediocre paintings as I struggle to learn a new painting medium, continue to stretch my wings and produce new art.
So what is the point of all of this? The point is that, however haltingly I’ve done it, even with all the meanderings and detours, yes, I have followed my dreams. All those years ago, I honestly imagined myself living in a little place either in the woods, or in the mountains or near a beach, spending my days painting and drawing. While my studio may be tiny, I still make art, and I share my life with the most wonderful partner I could ever have hoped for, in an environment not too far from the original vision. If it’s not the life I imagined, then it’s pretty darn close.
The dream only dies if you let it
While I do love painting, Nell and I tend to agree that drawing is where my true passion lies, and pen & ink is my first love. In all my years of drawing, I don’t remember ever doing many landscapes, especially in ink. It just seemed too complicated. When I started painting, I focused on landscapes, and have come to love observing the lay of the countryside, the shapes of trees, and compositions with boulders and rocks and water. The work I’ve done over the past year… the whimsical trees and houses, the storybook forests, and even the urban sketching… have all brought me back to the pen. Just recently, I decided to try my hand at some serious landscape work, strictly in pen and ink.
Hocking Hills State Park in Ohio was a good source of subjects to start with. The canyons, caves and boulders in this fascinating natural wonder provide a wide range of textures and forms. I’ve found myself going through my reference images looking for the seriously complicated subject matter that I have tended to avoid in the past.
Hocking Hills gives the impression of the kind of landscape the Hudson River School of painters recorded so masterfully. The patina of old rock, trees growing right from the edges of stone overhangs, along with the carpet of leaves, bark and twigs all present a new challenge when restricted to black and white.
When I started painting several years ago, an artist mentor asked if I wanted to be an impressionist or a realist. At the time, I thought it was pretty thoughtful of me to say I wanted to be a little bit of both, painting in a realistic manner, using impressionist techniques. I’m not sure I ever really mastered what I saw in my mind’s eye.
My pen and ink landscapes are tending more toward the realistic, which, to be honest, is the way my brain actually works. However, I can see the possibilities of playing with compositions and lights and darks even while taking a realistic approach.
I think it’s going to be one of the most serious drawing challenges I’ve ever taken on.
When I get to thinking that I’m developing a drawing/sketching style, I stop and look at the work I’ve done over the course of just a couple of weeks. There is quite a variety, both in subjects and in the way I’ve drawn and rendered them. Some artists might be concerned about that, thinking “but I’m not developing a style!” At this point in my life, I find I’m more interested in how I can produce this image at this hour on this day. The variety is part of the fun, and it almost seems as if the diversity of my past work is telling me “this is who you are. Don’t fight it. Just let it flow.”
“Live Bait’ could be an illustration for a story about the Texas Gulf Coast. The scene is a bait shop on an inlet near Aransas Pass, Texas. I’ve simplified the view considerably, eliminating other boats, a shoreline across the water, and a multitude of flotsam that’s normally found lying around and hanging in places like this.
“Pennsylvania House” is an entirely different style: clean and simple, but much more loosely drawn and less precise than the boat scene above. The story here might be a family history surrounding life in this old Victorian house.
The structure itself is Virginia’s On The Bay, a seafood restaurant that is one of our favorites in Port Aransas, Texas. Dinner on a weekend often calls for waiting in the foyer or out on the patio. A friend told me this didn’t look like Virginia’s, because it didn’t show the steps and patio at the entrance, which is by the palm trees shown in this drawing. In this case, I wanted to indicate the architecture of the structure as well as the fact that there is a marina next door to the restaurant. The drawing, while still loosely done, is a bit more precise, and reflects a bit of my architectural rendering background.
The houses in Mount Vernon, Ohio have always fascinated me. especially up from the square along High Street and Gambier Street. This one never fails to capture my attention, with its covered balcony and corbels above the front porch. Although I did do a rough pencil layout first, I kept the ink line work very loose and suggestive. A relative saw this sketch on Facebook and immediately saw a haunted house.
When I was an art major in college, I wanted to be an illustrator. Bernie Fuchs was one of my idols. Somewhere deep in my psyche or memory or artist’s soul, I have apparently never given up the desire to portray things in an interesting manner.