Plein Air Painting

The first heat wave of the summer brought me out toting the plein air portable easel. Which is portable in much the same way that a steamer trunk full of brick samples is portable, if you have a fork lift to hand.

Actually, it's not so bad. Load up the backpack with camera and drawing book, load up the easel box with tubes of paint, brushes and turpentine, and you're good. The easel has a sturdy leather handle, and a substantial carrying strap. My subject is just a fifteen minute walk away, but it's as well to remember that you also have to haul the damned thing back when you've finished painting.

Starting to draw on a quiet rural road is an open invitation to the whole world. Last week, with no one in sight and not a sound but for bird song, within thirty seconds of putting pencil to paper I had company in the form of a kid on a motor scooter and an old guy driving a forty foot curtain sider who stopped to ask for directions. We put the lorry driver straight, then I waited out scooter boy's curiosity and he headed off after telling me I could draw. It's always nice to get an unsolicited testimonial. The best thing about spectators is that they quickly realize that watching someone paint is only marginally more interesting than watching paint dry, then make their excuses and leave.

I've got a morning painting and an afternoon painting on the go, which seems like a good way to handle it. Evenings I stroll back with a drawing book and take pictures too. There's a sweetness to the evening light at this time of year which is probably too saccharine to paint but is nonetheless very enjoyable. Everything looks to have been shot through warm up and soft focus filters. Golden light rakes across blossom and glowing green grass, and lights up trees that reflect in the stream. Far too pretty to paint.



Hey, wait a minute... note to self: Pretty is good. Forget everything you picked up at art college. These days I walk around looking at stuff until I see something that makes me stop and say, 'Dang!' Then out comes the A5 drawing book for a biro drawing. Followed by the camera for reference shots. Followed by the big drawing book for a watercolour study, maybe, and then a full scale painting expedition at some point.

The paintings so far all pass through a stage I've come to call the heeby jeeby half hour, when it seems impossible that they could ever come good. You just keep painting, and at some point realize that it's turning out okay. If you learn to trust the process you've developed, it usually pays off. Look at your subject, draw it, judge tone and colour and mix your paint. Apply paint, working from dark to light. Cover up all the white ground and painting gets easier.




Picture Framing - Or, You Win This Round, Random Bearded Stranger.

So I bought a mitre saw.

As I was walking away from the B&Q, some bearded cove passing by took a look at the box I was holding and informed me, unasked, with that malice the English reserve for strangers, 'Those things aren't very good for cutting mitres'. I was glad to rebut this allegation with my personal experience that provided you take care, clamp the moulding securely, and let the blade do the work rather than trying to force it, you can, with a little skill, cut excellent mitres.*

Little did I know.

Besides, of the options out there, a manual mitre saw was the only one I'd countenance. I could have bought an electric rotary mitre saw, but I have a special relationship with power tools. I refrain from using them, and they refrain from scattering my favourite body parts around the room. I'm very attached to my fingers. And I intend to keep it that way.

I did price a Morso mitre cutter, the best option of all, while I was looking, but those things start at £500 second hand, and I can't currently afford one. Or, indeed, have anywhere to put it. So a manual mitre saw it was.

Because I have to frame my paintings.

This whole business of picture framing is something I've only just got to grips with. I priced several framers online, one of them conveniently close and very good, but the fact is they're all too expensive. So I'm forced to develop another skill set. (Website coding, picture framing, fixing my jeans with duct tape - is there no limit to what one man must do?)

The fact is, a well framed piece does look 647%** better than the identical piece unframed. That's just the way it is. An unframed painting is like a man sitting around unshaved in his vest and slippers - in no fit state to receive visitors. A framed painting says someone went to the trouble and expense of putting this bad boy in the painterly equivalent of a very nice suit, so he could impress the ladies. For those potential customers who wouldn't know a good painting if it bit them on the face, a great frame might be the only thing they really see. Worth thinking about before you show your work to anyone.

In the past, I've had to take paintings all the way to Nottingham to get them framed at a franchise outlet, which is basically half a day lost and a wearisome train ride. Now I've bought a stock of picture frame moulding online, and the only inconvenience is remembering not to trip over the stuff in the hall, given that I can't figure out where else to store it, or indeed how to get the 10 foot lengths out of there.

In the past I've used dado rail mouldings glued to planed timber, which worked pretty well and looked classier than you might expect. I once sent a picture to a London gallery in a plain pine frame made this way and got it back after the show painted and gilded, and a very nice job they did too. If I have to cook up some gesso and learn how to apply gold leaf myself, I'm up to the task. Essentially I'm spending time instead of money, time which I could use to paint - but the skills, once you have them, are always there, ready to be called on.

But oh, the irony...



* Having just spent a fretful afternoon and evening wrestling with this particular saw, I'm forced to eat my words. While my previous mitre saw cut perfectly accurate mitres, this one doesn't. It's slipshod, rickety, ill made, tacky, plasticky and pot-metally, and it's ruined most of a length of moulding.

Watching YouTube videos of smiling picture framers getting perfect results with similar kit is particularly galling. 'Use a see-saw motion to get a straight cut.' Yeah. And when I do it, watch the blade skitter and jump like a frog's leg hooked up to a car battery. I could get better results blindfold, using an axe.

Seriously, this is not a good tool and I can't recommend it to anyone. Yes I know, a bad workman blames his tools. The fact remains I could work wonders with my old saw. But not, apparently, with this one.

So... plan B. Save up, buy Morso mitre cutter.

Still, there's always a silver lining. I failed to make a decent picture frame, but I now have some rather fancy firewood.

Yippee.


** Actual made up statistic.