On Looking

 

I believe it was Goethe who said:  "Thinking is more interesting than knowing, but less interesting than looking."  I like to consider that in the realm of painting, because for me, one of the biggest rewards of being a student of painting is the pleasure it brings to daily life; I see things in a way I otherwise would not, I see the effects of light that might otherwise be overlooked and taken for granted, and in a way, that would be living Life unappreciated.

The big challenge, for me, is to try to see life everyday, to look at it and think about it and then try to find a way to represent that on canvas, so that others might see it that way, too.  My poor skills keep me from succeeding at this, but occasionally, lately, I manage to catch just a small piece of it and that seems like a big victory.  And then other times I see something and I know that there is absolutely no use trying to share it, because it is so glorious that nothing I can do will ever come close to it.  Like the walk on the beach with Greta, photo above.  Even the photo cannot share the quality of the light that day; it was so bright and luminous, so pure that the whole world seemed washed clean and fresh and full of hope and joy.  Looking was definitely more interesting than thinking.

Sometimes, though, I would add that remembering is just as interesting as looking, especially those memories of growing up, loved ones now long gone, places and times that are lost forever to the past except in memory.  There are times when, especially upon waking, I am transported back to places and events that are like precious stones, and I savor them and wish I could share them, but to even attempt to grab pen and paper to write them down is to lose connection with the sweet memory, and so I just stay as long as I can in those moments, hoping one day they will congeal in a way that makes it possible to catch them in words.

For the present, I must reconcile my desires with the hard truth that this is an ambitious journey, this effort to learn the way to catch these feelings.  And so I post paintings that fall short, but mark the trail toward possibility.  Here is one such recent work that fell short, but represents the study of the grander subject:

And here is another photo of some of what I see that cannot be translated:

Examining the Process

Heartbreak Cove. 18x24 oil

Above is a work in progress, which could mean that I have a great deal of work left to do on it, or it could mean that despite my best intentions to make it into what I initially envisioned it may languish in this unfinished state until it is eventually painted over to at least salvage the board.  I get to this stage on certain paintings and pause, make a list of things I need to go back and work on, and yet even after addressing some of those things either they don't end up how I imagined and need even more work, or other things that I had ignored pop up and demand work, too.  Other times, it is the original composition that is at fault, and no matter how much dabbling I do, the thing refuses to behave.  For example, in this one I'm not sure about the couple of pinch points where the eye must squeeze its way through in order to get further into the scene.  I had thought the eye would begin in the quiet water in the foreground, slip between the rocks and then continue up to the notch between the two small islands.  But it may be that the large dark mass of rocks creates a barrier for the eye.  It looks a little like a landslide of crude potatoes, and at one point I briefly considered turning them into walruses crowded on the beach, but for now they just remain unresolved.

It seems to happen that inspiration arrives tied up in the bright bow of Hope and Possibility, with a vision in my head that matches the emotion I felt when on the scene.  But after a few hours of painting, striding confidently through the lay-in, then wading through the heart-break zone of the painting refusing to cooperate, coming out on the other side where things start to congeal and Hope returns, if only...  if only I had the skill, if only the idea were better conceived...  It may be a spiritual journey, but the spirits are dampened more often than not.  Still, this blog demands posts, and so we hammer on.

Starting The Year Out Slowly

DarkWater 20x20

I'll readily admit that I begin the new year with the best of intentions, as many do, but Time is not easily herded into corrals of productivity, and it slips away incessantly, new year or not.  Inspiration does not herd so well, either, and my latest projects have moved more slowly than I had hoped.  The above rascal refused to cooperate, probably because the intention was far too complex; the subtleties that attracted me made it much harder to execute than an ordinary and straightforward landscape.  What seems like a clever idea can turn out to be an invitation to frustration.  The most difficult part, for me, was the delicate tracery of the mossy limbs that floated like ghosts and defied representation.

Morning Willamette 12x16

The more traditional landscape above took far less wrangling, though it did not promise the potential excitement of the more colorful one above.  The rocks on the shore were initially much more stark, until I laid a faint glaze of Indian Yellow over them, resulting in that soft glow I was after.  I love learning about a technique, waiting for the right moment to use it, and then discovering that, yes, it does work just as promised!  Painting, I am discovering, is not quite like climbing a mountain; one is not necessarily rewarded with better and better views at the accumulation of more hard work.  A step forward may not feel like it, and it is only after many steps that one may look back and be assured that progress has been made.