Behind the Easel
This Business of Picture Building
Robert K. Abbett
Published in Wildlife Art, Jan/Feb ‘00
This Business of Picture Building
Robert K. Abbett
Published in Wildlife Art, Jan/Feb ‘00
As you may suspect, there is more to most painting than simply standing at your easel and allowing ‘inspiration’ to roll down your arm and flow out of the brush onto the canvas. I call this business "picture building" purposefully, because in my experience the artist must bring many elements and activities together into a process if a truly successful painting is to emerge.
Ideas and vision fuel art, make no mistake about that ; without these - just as without light or pigment - art would simply not exist. Most artists I know indicate ideas are in good supply - even as we read of writers’ block - we suffer more from an excess. And we seem to have a mental corner where bits and pieces of ideas-in-waiting are stored pending later use. It is the artist’s vision (I don’t mean eyesight) that allows him or her to extend these into a compelling and attractive painting.
As my friend Bob Kuhn and I discussed more than once, the initial idea for a painting can come from a dozen directions. Artists are obviously visual people and take many cues from what they see. One will sometimes literally find a painting - a scene - waiting to be done. I’m reminded of the time I was driving west over into New York State. It was late afternoon and I passed a stream in a glade of mixed woods and literally did a tire screeching one-eighty to return, park and grab the camera. In the yellowing light, this was about as inspirational as ideas get. The picture grew to include an English setter and some flying grouse, and as things fell into place I found myself pushing previous commitments aside and guiltily continued working on it. That’s what inspiration is all about, by the way!
When I’m out in the field, though, more than not I’ll just see a see a piece of a picture such as a certain light effect with dappled sun shining on a horse’s back or maybe just a corner of a field with an old tree in it, or an inviting bend in a stream. I may be stimulated to expand it into a full picture, or at least ‘file it’ in that mental buffer. A certain color scheme can also be the germ of an idea, as can a mood, an old drawing or a story line. Subject matter is probably another typical spark - Ken Carlson may have an urge to do a moose painting, or he may have a request from a collector to paint one - both are equally valid. I’ll often think it’s just about time to do another Brittany or Black Lab.
Even seeing another artist’s work can sometimes push the go button - not to copy the picture, of course - but to experiment how we might work with that mood, colors scheme, even subject matter in our own way. (If there were a copyright on wolves and sunsets, there’d be a lot of painters in court about now).
The trick, then, is having the vision to know when the idea is a good one; and note it down somewhere, mull it over mentally and even sketch it out. Actually, rough drawings at this stage serve two purposes: while the idea is being refined, we learn exactly what source material we’ll need to research. I liken a painter to a movie maker, who, long before an inch of film is shot, must in some detail seriously concern himself with the main characters, settings, lighting, action, mood and color, even marketing - all to come together later in the completed presentation.
To me, research means finding just the right horse, dog or trout stream dictated by my picture. I’ll travel, visit kennels, talk to fisherman, take photos - I’ll do whatever is necessary so that when I begin to draw and paint I’ll know how to ‘explain’ the dog, or the stream to the viewer. I’ll want an appropriate sky and authentic locale for that time and season and I’ll want to know everything about every other detail of the picture so I can paint these elements in a way that is understandable to the viewers. Why? Because, if I know exactly how a dog’s collar is made, for example, only then will I connect to the viewers through their memories of how their dogs’ collars looked and felt.
For wildlife artists there is literally a world of source material waiting. If you can’t get on a photo safari to Kenya, you can go to the nearest zoo. There are books, films, video tapes enough to fill a boat - not to be illegally duped and traced down, but which can give a person a feel for the land, sky, water and animal life. I’ve read of private estates where animals of one sort or another are cultivated - you can always call or write for permission to visit - and there are even trainers who will rent you their animal for a day in its natural setting for a photo shoot. Also, one can buy slides from professional photographers who specialize in artists’ needs. In our ramblings I once found a small local museum which had dioramas and mounts of all our local game birds - very useful. I later met a taxidermist in Phoenix who allowed me to bring in my own lighting to photograph a polar bear, a fox and several western quail, and to move the mounts around to suit my photography. Here again, the camera was the quickest and most reliable tool for recording this excellent research material. To me, as artistically satisfying as field sketching may be, I often feel I’m wasting the chance to gather as much as I can with my trusty SLR. I’ll sketch later after I’ve brought in what I’ll need for the painting at hand. And realize, research is self feeding - rarely does an outing supply the needs for only one painting. Two miles of a trout stream will give me an awful lot of bends in the river.
As I remember from my own education and later as a teacher, beginners are preoccupied with the act of painting. They can’t wait to get elbow deep into those oils and I was the same way. Beginners may see the same mental picture - they just don’t see all the steps in the process, or the breadth to which an idea can be expanded. Like it or not, whenever a serious, even talented beginner picks up a brush, they are now competing with artists who are already successful and who have long identified, practiced and enjoy using these artistic building blocks.
If we’ve done our homework well and can postpone our desire to get ‘right to the painting’, we can take full advantage of this process and will watch our rough sketches blossom into meaningful compositions where we, like the stage director, will start to put it all together. In the following issues, "From Behind the Easel" invites your company as we continue to explore this fascinating journey from our painting’s first hazy mental stirrings to its final, well framed conclusion.
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Ideas and vision fuel art, make no mistake about that ; without these - just as without light or pigment - art would simply not exist. Most artists I know indicate ideas are in good supply - even as we read of writers’ block - we suffer more from an excess. And we seem to have a mental corner where bits and pieces of ideas-in-waiting are stored pending later use. It is the artist’s vision (I don’t mean eyesight) that allows him or her to extend these into a compelling and attractive painting.
As my friend Bob Kuhn and I discussed more than once, the initial idea for a painting can come from a dozen directions. Artists are obviously visual people and take many cues from what they see. One will sometimes literally find a painting - a scene - waiting to be done. I’m reminded of the time I was driving west over into New York State. It was late afternoon and I passed a stream in a glade of mixed woods and literally did a tire screeching one-eighty to return, park and grab the camera. In the yellowing light, this was about as inspirational as ideas get. The picture grew to include an English setter and some flying grouse, and as things fell into place I found myself pushing previous commitments aside and guiltily continued working on it. That’s what inspiration is all about, by the way!
When I’m out in the field, though, more than not I’ll just see a see a piece of a picture such as a certain light effect with dappled sun shining on a horse’s back or maybe just a corner of a field with an old tree in it, or an inviting bend in a stream. I may be stimulated to expand it into a full picture, or at least ‘file it’ in that mental buffer. A certain color scheme can also be the germ of an idea, as can a mood, an old drawing or a story line. Subject matter is probably another typical spark - Ken Carlson may have an urge to do a moose painting, or he may have a request from a collector to paint one - both are equally valid. I’ll often think it’s just about time to do another Brittany or Black Lab.
Even seeing another artist’s work can sometimes push the go button - not to copy the picture, of course - but to experiment how we might work with that mood, colors scheme, even subject matter in our own way. (If there were a copyright on wolves and sunsets, there’d be a lot of painters in court about now).
The trick, then, is having the vision to know when the idea is a good one; and note it down somewhere, mull it over mentally and even sketch it out. Actually, rough drawings at this stage serve two purposes: while the idea is being refined, we learn exactly what source material we’ll need to research. I liken a painter to a movie maker, who, long before an inch of film is shot, must in some detail seriously concern himself with the main characters, settings, lighting, action, mood and color, even marketing - all to come together later in the completed presentation.
To me, research means finding just the right horse, dog or trout stream dictated by my picture. I’ll travel, visit kennels, talk to fisherman, take photos - I’ll do whatever is necessary so that when I begin to draw and paint I’ll know how to ‘explain’ the dog, or the stream to the viewer. I’ll want an appropriate sky and authentic locale for that time and season and I’ll want to know everything about every other detail of the picture so I can paint these elements in a way that is understandable to the viewers. Why? Because, if I know exactly how a dog’s collar is made, for example, only then will I connect to the viewers through their memories of how their dogs’ collars looked and felt.
For wildlife artists there is literally a world of source material waiting. If you can’t get on a photo safari to Kenya, you can go to the nearest zoo. There are books, films, video tapes enough to fill a boat - not to be illegally duped and traced down, but which can give a person a feel for the land, sky, water and animal life. I’ve read of private estates where animals of one sort or another are cultivated - you can always call or write for permission to visit - and there are even trainers who will rent you their animal for a day in its natural setting for a photo shoot. Also, one can buy slides from professional photographers who specialize in artists’ needs. In our ramblings I once found a small local museum which had dioramas and mounts of all our local game birds - very useful. I later met a taxidermist in Phoenix who allowed me to bring in my own lighting to photograph a polar bear, a fox and several western quail, and to move the mounts around to suit my photography. Here again, the camera was the quickest and most reliable tool for recording this excellent research material. To me, as artistically satisfying as field sketching may be, I often feel I’m wasting the chance to gather as much as I can with my trusty SLR. I’ll sketch later after I’ve brought in what I’ll need for the painting at hand. And realize, research is self feeding - rarely does an outing supply the needs for only one painting. Two miles of a trout stream will give me an awful lot of bends in the river.
As I remember from my own education and later as a teacher, beginners are preoccupied with the act of painting. They can’t wait to get elbow deep into those oils and I was the same way. Beginners may see the same mental picture - they just don’t see all the steps in the process, or the breadth to which an idea can be expanded. Like it or not, whenever a serious, even talented beginner picks up a brush, they are now competing with artists who are already successful and who have long identified, practiced and enjoy using these artistic building blocks.
If we’ve done our homework well and can postpone our desire to get ‘right to the painting’, we can take full advantage of this process and will watch our rough sketches blossom into meaningful compositions where we, like the stage director, will start to put it all together. In the following issues, "From Behind the Easel" invites your company as we continue to explore this fascinating journey from our painting’s first hazy mental stirrings to its final, well framed conclusion.
-30-