
I've just returned from painting in Maine. Many images to come.
I'm back into a painting I started in mid-May. The hardest thing is getting the rowers in the right position, oars on the correct sides. When I did the painting, the boat was a blur as it went by and there were oars, reflections, colors merged together. As much as I want the work to show what it was like in that moment, the painting was done as a commission and I need to fulfill the expectation that a few details will show the team, the athetes. Now that I've put in those dashes of paint, I need to work on the whole -- finding the rhythm of the paint. The composition, as it stands now, has a strong diagonal feel with the rooftop seen above the bridge (I think it's at the Philadelphia Zoo) pulls you toward it. I may switch things around and see if I can alter the experience a bit.
The view in every other direction included a stream, rocks, trees, a bridge... and the jockeying of artists for a "good" spot left me with a view of the parking lot. Walt Bartman has passed along the advice (I don't know who said it first -- Charles Hawthorne?) that you should pick the pretty scene you want to paint and then turn around and paint what's behind you instead. So, I was facing a parking lot.
Yes, this is the same painting I was working on in the last post. Why the dramatic change? I was uninspired by the first result, which was a pretty literal look at the scene. I don't have a need to work that tired approach into the ground, so I decided to force the issue of focus -- what you are really looking at -- by silhouetting the front house and trees and pushing the painting toward the spot of yellow that I'd always wanted to be the focal point. As a thought process and a concept, I'm happier with the outcome. Not sure, though, that I'm where I want to be in terms of turning the concept into a visual experience.
As I was painting this lockhouse on the C&O canal (the canal is at my back), my first impression of the site was quickly overwhelmed by an interest in the textures of the lockhouse stones, the rough tree bark, the long grasses in front of the building. Those textures, though, exist largely in my memory, and aren't what I'm actually able to see.
This is the view from the Reflection Terrace toward the teahouse at Brookside Gardens. The memorial is a contemplative spot, dedicated to the memory of the victims of sniper attacks 7 years ago. Right in front of me were the words "hope for a gentler world and seek a reverence for life among all people."