I'm still working on that autumn landscape I talked about here.
The bigger the painting, the more stuff there is in it. Which means there's more to irk you every time you look at it. I'm an expert at seeing exactly what's wrong with my paintings, though less so at knowing how to fix them - and given that this one will probably be around long after I'm gone (unless Google has plans to upload everyone's consciousness to a computer*) and will have my name on it, I'd rather it looked as good as I can make it.
Which means whenever I learn or think of a better way of doing certain things, I feel the need to update this painting.
I've painted the sky four times now. I've reworked the bush on the left twice, the stand of trees in the middle four times, the threadbare hawthorn on the right for the third time. And it looks better for it.
I've written about the dangers of overworking a painting, but this is more a case of learning as I go. From three plein air studies, a lot of drawings, a bunch of photographs, and a video clip, I've made a painting I'm not altogether ashamed of. That it's taken me over six months and I still don't feel it's quite done yet is slightly embarrassing, but I can live with that.
Recently I reworked two paintings I'd abandoned in 2009, unable to finish them as well as I wished.
But there's more than one way to skin a cat. The solution? I cut off the bad bits. I used right angled pieces of mount board to find the best places for the new edges, then used a Stanley knife and straight edge to cut the canvases down. I sawed pieces of MDF to size, and marouflaged the canvases to them with PVA.
Result? Two problem free paintings, ready for framing.
What moral can we laboriously draw from this slight tale?
- Good painting takes time.
- Good painting takes skills you might not have right now but can acquire.
- Sometimes, you have to settle for what you can get, and a painting whose problems have been surgically removed is just as good as a painting whose problems have been solved.
In years to come, when my body has succumbed to strong drink, I shall download my psyche into a robot avatar** and continue to roam the lanes and paint. Occasionally thrashing my metallic arms about and firing lasers in an alarming manner.
* It'll be an option in their new TOS next year.
** I'll choose the 'Robbie' model, from Forbidden Planet.
The bigger the painting, the more stuff there is in it. Which means there's more to irk you every time you look at it. I'm an expert at seeing exactly what's wrong with my paintings, though less so at knowing how to fix them - and given that this one will probably be around long after I'm gone (unless Google has plans to upload everyone's consciousness to a computer*) and will have my name on it, I'd rather it looked as good as I can make it.
Which means whenever I learn or think of a better way of doing certain things, I feel the need to update this painting.
I've painted the sky four times now. I've reworked the bush on the left twice, the stand of trees in the middle four times, the threadbare hawthorn on the right for the third time. And it looks better for it.
I've written about the dangers of overworking a painting, but this is more a case of learning as I go. From three plein air studies, a lot of drawings, a bunch of photographs, and a video clip, I've made a painting I'm not altogether ashamed of. That it's taken me over six months and I still don't feel it's quite done yet is slightly embarrassing, but I can live with that.
Recently I reworked two paintings I'd abandoned in 2009, unable to finish them as well as I wished.
But there's more than one way to skin a cat. The solution? I cut off the bad bits. I used right angled pieces of mount board to find the best places for the new edges, then used a Stanley knife and straight edge to cut the canvases down. I sawed pieces of MDF to size, and marouflaged the canvases to them with PVA.
Result? Two problem free paintings, ready for framing.
What moral can we laboriously draw from this slight tale?
- Good painting takes time.
- Good painting takes skills you might not have right now but can acquire.
- Sometimes, you have to settle for what you can get, and a painting whose problems have been surgically removed is just as good as a painting whose problems have been solved.
In years to come, when my body has succumbed to strong drink, I shall download my psyche into a robot avatar** and continue to roam the lanes and paint. Occasionally thrashing my metallic arms about and firing lasers in an alarming manner.
* It'll be an option in their new TOS next year.
** I'll choose the 'Robbie' model, from Forbidden Planet.
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| Photo credit: x-ray delta on Flickr. |
